#either its as i remember it- and no one mentioned it back then outright- or its always been that way and i somehow blissfully | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feyascorner · 3 months

Text

6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it.

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

��Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back. Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot.

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @aelieknox @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @bitterbeanren Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3 #angst

520 notes · View notes

offshore-brinicle · 17 days

Note

Other misc things:

- Chains of others gets the Gloom effect rather than Pride when Meur uses it in story. Given how he says outright he wishes to protect Heathcliff and how the idea of an unfair judgement [from Erlking judging that all Heathcliffs must die to the court in his novel] is a theme they both share.

- In the end scene, Rodya is at the back of the bus and seemingly in deep thought, can't remember her saying much in the later parts of the Canto either. Something must've hit her hard.

- Is the river under the Heights something connected to the 'stream of human consciousness' [paraphrased] that I believe was mentioned in lobcorp?

- We know boughs can be destroyed, but I wonder if one can be 'reactivated'. The one Dante hold onto in Pass On is charred black but still intact.

- To add to the parallels, Heath n Yi Sang both get stabbed in the heart by a bough, one by their own volition in an act of love, and another by someone else.

- Why does Demian remember Cathy. It's probably something to due to the stars but half the time I'm fairly certain he's just standing invisible somewhere during the story given how much he knows. But given the body and coffin were both still there, I doubt ctrl alt deleting someone fully erases them from everything.

OK answering one by one:

I LOVED THAT MOMENT SO MUCH. In general it was such a surprise and treat to see how much more active Meursault was in this Canto and I was wondering about the Gloom change unless I was just misremembering the color since Pride is also blue but thanks for confirming. Meursault......... It's also so so cool to see the EGOs being used for practical uses like restraining someone like Meursault does, it makes me wonder what it can be do with some of the others like for example Ishmael's anchoring with Snagharpoon or Yi Sang's teleportation in Crow's Eye View

Actually good point though she actually spoke quite a bit I think, mainly in the first part about the resentments she has towards the rich, and the moment she has when they're approaching the mansion that brings up her dark side to the others in full force even if just for a second. Since apparently she's gonna be the focus of next Intervallo I hope it means she's getting more character development...

I say "yes, most likely" as I talked in my previous answer, taking in count Hermann has an interest in it and finding "the prime form of humanity" and The Well they talk about is the origin of everything in the world and humanity itself and responsible for The Light and EGO and everything, it's not the first time there's been a physical entrance to it somehow, the other most notable one is the Black Forest in the Outskirts that comes up more in-depth in Ruina.

Yeah I wonder how it can even get "burnt up" in the first place and what they're even gonna do with it since getting the charred Bough is treated as a grey area of sorts between success and failure. I wonder just How it lost its power and how it can be reactivated though taking in count it's basically magic

I SEND AN ASK TO MY FRIEND ABOUT THIS TOO, the other party involved for each Heathcliff and Yi Sang's cases are also the two most important women to them and great symbols for their own nostalgia and overall arcs, and they are connected to them through flowers that carry symbolic meaning and are tied to their homelands. Heathcliff stabbing himself as an act of showing his love to Catherine is also interesting because Dongbaek's reason for stabbing Yi Sang could also be interpreted as being a form of love, but...marred with heartbreak and hatred and resentment for what happened to the League like in the original Wuthering Heights [edit cuz I forgor: this is something amplified by the fact that when she stabs Yi Sang she quotes the line from The Camellias where the protagonists fall in love together both physically and metaphorically], specially since she was so overwhelmed seeing him she went for him when she was going to initially attack Dongrang derailing her plans. How she talks about it when questioned adds to it too since she kind of justifies herself saying that Yi Sang wanted to die too and isn't spiteful like she is towards Dongrang even being calm seeing he was just fine despite her murder attempt (but also the fact that she was unphased by that still gets me. She's really got no sanity left), and she was correct in claiming Yi Sang was longing for death even if the moment left a big emotional scar on him, much like Heathcliff's heart was broken by Catherine and so he breaks it in a literal sense for her.

Honestly Demian is just Demian. He's a weird little guy and probably exists out of time or something tying to his star. It's probably for the same justification as to why Heathcliff and Dante remembered Cathy, and she's def not truly "gone" since they couldn't really erase the consequences of her actions and presence. Hindley and Linton are still dead because of her.

#answers #Canto VI spoilers #project moon #limbus company #lcb Meursault #lcb Rodion #lcb Yi Sang #lcb Heathcliff #lcb Catherine #lcb Dongbaek #lcb Demian

35 notes · View notes

bbygirl-aemond · 1 year

Text

All the Laws Viserys Violated by Making Rhaenyra His Heir

Hi hi! I'm in the midst of writing a post about Otto's motivations throughout HotD and the portion about why Otto was so sure Alicent's sons would end up as heir when he pushed her to marry Viserys got wayyy too long so I'm just going to write it here.

I cannot emphasize enough how crazy it was that Viserys kept Rhaenyra as his heir. He has literally no law or precedent to back him up; every single possible precedent actually works against him. Full disclaimer, I genuinely think Rhae would make a good queen and support her over Aegon, but I don't think Viserys made her heir for the right reasons and I think because of the following he was setting her up for failure.

First, Westerosi laws of inheritance say that a woman cannot inherit if she has a trueborn brother. This has always been the case. Remember that as of right now Dorne is NOT a part of the Seven Kingdoms, so the Seven Kingdoms unanimous in its institution of male-based primogeniture. There is literally no region under Viserys's domain where a woman is allowed to inherit if she has any trueborn brothers. You'll never find any instances of a woman being made heir when she has surviving trueborn brothers. When we see women in power, like Jeyne Arryn or even Sansa Stark, it's always because they either have no brothers or their brother is occupied with another title. And honestly, in like half of these cases the title gets passed to a woman's uncle rather than going to her if she's the sole child.

Second, the Great Council of 101 set the precedent that even if a woman is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, she should be passed over for a male. Rhaenys was Jaehaerys's heir according to Westerosi laws of inheritance as the only child of his previous heir, so she was even backed by the actual law and precedent. And the threat of war was dangerous enough that it forced the literal King of Westeros to concede matters of his personal inheritance and violate precedent just to pass over a woman. That's how sexist they are!!! They literally broke the law so that they could be MORE sexist!!

Third, Widow's Law specifically stipulates that it is not meant to be used to allow a woman to inherit over her trueborn brother. I know a lot of people think this law can actually be used to support Rhaenyra, but I think this ignores the context of the time. Remember, even though Alysanne wrote the law, Jaehaerys is the one who implemented it and is the only one who had the final say in its wording. And, as mentioned above, Jaehaerys straight up does not have the power to allow women to inherit, even when the law is backing him up. He's also a super misogynist and has proven unwilling to listen to Alysanne on feminist matters. So I'm not sure why people think he'd have the desire or the power to instate a law that says a daughter from a first marriage gets to inherit over a son from a second marriage. The lords would never allow something like that, because most of them use and discard their wives for the sole purpose of gaining male heirs and I guarantee there would be a moral panic about women getting too much power the same way there eventually was with Rhaenys and Rhaenyra. And not just the lords, but Jaehaerys would never allow something like that: They're all grade A misogynists, remember? That's why Widow's Law specifically placates the lords by assuring them that their precious eldest son can still inherit before even introducing the new law. Because Jaehaerys knew he wouldn't be supported if he said that women could inherit when they have trueborn brothers, so he made sure everyone knew he wasn't trying to do that.

So Viserys has 0 laws and precedents backing his decision, and 3 laws and precedents that his decision outright violates. And he keeps Rhaenyra as his heir anyways, out of guilt to Aemma. This is why I think Otto was genuinely flabbergasted by Viserys's decision; because he demonstrates remarkable awareness of the misogyny in Westeros and is fully aware that this WILL incite rebellion. He says it himself: It doesn't matter to the lords of Westeros how good or kind Rhaenyra is. They've demonstrated, time and time again, that they will not allow a woman to inherit a title, including the Iron Throne, if there are ANY trueborn male relatives available--AND that they have the power to force the King to let them decide his inheritance!

TLDR: Viserys really did Rhaenyra dirty. He made and kept her his heir out of guilt about Aemma, not out of love for Rhaenyra. And he did this knowing that it violated every single precedent or law relating to inheritance out there, and knowing that previous kings weren't able to uphold their female heirs, even when they had a stronger claim than Rhaenyra would have, because the lords threatened to start a war over it. And that's not even getting into how he completely failed to teach her about politics and did nothing to prepare her to become Queen.

This is also part of why people say it's not just about Rhaenyra's bastards. I fully agree that having them weakened her claim even further, but what you need to understand is that Rhaenyra was doomed from the start. She was doomed by the misogynistic laws, and by the misogynistic precedent, and by the misogynistic lords who never tried to hide that they'd start a war if a woman inherited the throne. And Viserys put that burden on her anyways, and put her and her children's lives in genuine danger, all so he could feel better about his decision to butcher his wife.

226 notes · View notes

who-is-page · 4 months

Note

That person you and Rani were arguing with about phantom limbs apparently got called out a few days ago for having zootherians in their pack

I saw a post about this; namely, because the associated Therian Amino call-out used my Beware as a main citation for talking about the known bestialist LycanTheory.

I haven't reblogged or commented anything regarding it because, in all honesty, the evidence as I've seen so far has not been substantial enough for me to feel confident in commenting and saying anything one way or another. All I've seen is a single video on it (x) which was incredibly difficult to parse or understand with my audio processing disorder and the filter the therian chose to use: the video cited the Therian Amino post I mentioned earlier (x), which offered no proof to its claims regarding Thorn nor its claims regarding PinkDolphin, and a highlight reel on Instagram (x), which is also very nearly fucking impossible to navigate and once again has claims that are very difficult to prove on the basis of a single messily-edited screenshot that stay up on the screen for just a few seconds.

So... let me look into this more and give an informative summary for the people just now hearing about this before I give any sort of real, proper response.

I'll give you the TL;DR now: The accusations leveled at Thorn from Therian Territory regarding this claim seem to be false.

The claims that I'll be focusing on here are that Thorn is an active part of the Evergreen Unakite Pack (EUP), which also supposedly contains the founder of the BITE Discord, Dayn, and his partner, Autumn. The BITE Discord is a bestialist-friendly Discord which masquerades as a safe space for paraphiles; some of you may remember LycanTheory, the predator who sexually assaulted his pets and who has sexually interacted with minors via texts and videos, and his bestialist partner Jade who was a long-time member and moderator on the server.

Thorn of Therian Territory has made a response video (x). Thorn states that there is no association between themself and LycanTheory, pointing out that the original call-out also doesn't showcase any proof for that claim either; much the opposite, they've had some really nasty experiences with LycanTheory. Thorn claims to not have known that Autumn and Dayn were zoophiles, as they did not actively identify as zoophiles at the time of them being in a formal pack together and it fell apart soon after. When Jade entered the friend group, zoophilia more generally became a topic and things fell apart due to Thorn's discomfort. Thorn outright says they do not support zoophilia.

I went digging and looked into the EUP's first pack meetup (x). There is an Autumn at the meetup, who identifies as a black wolf and a zebra; the screenshot displayed of Autumn333333 from Twitter claims to be a zeta with a zebra and husky theriotype. There is no one at the meetup who identifies as an ANCD wolfdog, Dayn's theriotype as displayed in the screenshot of vilewolfxD from Twitter.

The Twitter account Autumn333333 joined Twitter in December 2021; the Twitter account vilewolfxD didn't join until October 2022. The EUP first howl meetup was posted on August 16th, 2021, and was likely taken earlier than that. This seems to support Thorn's claim that Autumn and Dayn were not public about being a part of the Zeta community until after the pack had already disbanded. Thorn also supplies a screenshot of what is supposedly the first time Autumn333333 liked a post on Twitter from someone in the Zeta community, dated April 16th, 2022. I'm not really dedicated enough to scroll all the way back and check myself, but if it's accurate then that also supports their claim. Autumn333333's Twitter is empty outside of likes, but searching for "Thorn" and "Therian Territory" and "Evergreen" on vilewolfxD didn't garner any results for my Twitter.

So, ultimately... these accusations of Thorn being a part of a pack with Zetas seem to be false, and based entirely on a single YouTuber, intentionally or accidentally, misrepresenting a timeline in order to make someone seem significantly worse than they actually are.

#Ask #Anonymous

43 notes · View notes

you-remind-me-of-the-babe · 22 days

Text

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIPs

Thank you for tagging me @ic3-que3n @theearlgreymage @wellbelesbian @shrekgogurt @orange-peony @youarenevertooold @whatevertheweather @thewholelemon @cutestkilla @aristocratic-otter @monbons @emeryhall @valeffelees (wow everyone is out here playing huh?)

🦈Tell us the name of your / one of your WIP(s)

As of right now, I’m going with Back and Back and Back but that may change.

🍄Decscribe your wip / one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Past flashbacks in which Baz grows up being visited by an older Simon in the woods outside his house in Hampshire + current 7th year Simon suddenly finds himself traveling back in time to visit young Baz = both Simon and Baz trying to figure out what’s happening in the present, resulting in them falling in love in a mesh of past and present

🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your wip(s) need if you intend to share it?

Soulmates, time travel, canon divergent, Watford-era, angst with a happy ending, kid!Baz, lightly inspired by Time Traveler’s Wife.

🧭An alternative title to your / one of your WIP(s)?

I mentioned this last week, but I quite like Start at the End, even though I don’t think it technically is accurate or describes the fic.

⚠️Which wip you’re most likely to finish or update next?

Idk, this one will be quite long, but everything else in my WIP folder are just attempts at starting a premise I liked, but none of them have gotten much traction, so probably this one? Hopefully?

💾What is your document of your wip / a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

Time Travel AU

🖍Post Any sentence from your wip

He whistles, looking around and finally taking the time to fully appreciate the tree house.

“Did you make this?”

“With help,” I explain. “Some from Father. Mostly from you.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. That’s one thing I’ve yet to figure out, why he forgets. Sometimes, he remembers our past visits with more detail than I do. As if they’d just happened the day before instead of years ago. Other times, he can’t remember something as big as building a treehouse with me. He reminds me of my grandmother, when her dementia had its grips on her. She’d recall something from her childhood so clearly, and the next minute, she’d forget my name.

Father didn’t want me to call attention to it in front of her. He said it would only make her more confused. So I don’t mention it to him, either. We just sort of…dance around it, without mentioning it outright. (He’d fit right in with my family, honestly.) I just clarify things and then we move on.

♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

I was thinking about having the Humdrum be a time traveling younger Simon, or something like that, in addition to current Simon being a time traveler. Like, they discover there’s another version of him traveling, but I thought that would be too confusing. So instead, he’s just the regular ol’ Humdrum.

🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

I have a lil Drabble in my head about Baz being sad while his wedding ring is getting fixed by the jewelers for a week so Simon has to cheer him up. (It me. Rubbing my empty ring finger all week while it’s getting fixed and I hate it not being there.)

🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?

Actively? I think just this one right now. There are about 4 other half starts from earlier this year when I was just throwing spaghetti noodles at the wall to see what stuck. Some of them I may come back to if I get a burst of inspiration or something.

🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

(One of) the big reveals because the scene carries a lot of emotional weight, and I want to do it right.

❤️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

And kudos to anyone who read this far!

Anyone else want to play? @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @blackberrysummerblog @run-for-chamo-miles @mooncello @angelsfalling16 @artsyunderstudy and anyone else interested! 💜

#tumblr tag game #writing process #my writing

25 notes · View notes

justalonelyslytherin · 2 years

Text

Happy Father's Day - Ransom Drysdale

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x female Reader

Warnings: fluff, a baby, brief mentions of ransoms foul relatives but none of them are actually in this

Wordcount: 643

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don't allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don't steal my work.

A/N: The Ransom & Reader in this work are part of the 'Drysdale Jr.' universe, which is a (still unpublished) series of mine/multichapter fic of mine. This is part of a 4 series and is a request from the amazing @nana1000night for my 200 Follower Celebration. The divider is from the talented @firefly-graphics

Ransom Drysdale didn't knock. Not even at his grandfather's house - especially not at his grandfather's house. Harlan was used to his antics, never outright bothered by them. If he wanted to, he had his grandson handled. For the most, he didn’t seem to need to though.

It was no surprise to Harlan as he sat in his office, behind his massive wooden desk, and read over the latest draft of his book-in-progress, when the door suddenly opened and his grandson sauntered in. Ransom’s ever sour and pissed-off expression on his face wasn’t surprising either, and still, Harlan was happy as always to see him.

He stood up and walked around the desk, open arms ready and waiting for a hug. Ransom was less enthusiastic, grumbling his protests about anything and everything. Nonetheless, he reciprocated the hug of his grandfather, finally mumbling a “Happy Father’s Day granddad.”

Harlan was very happy about this, patting him on the shoulder and smiling.

“Come sit down with me,” he invited and pointed towards the chairs.

“Are you alone here? Where did you leave your entourage?”

Ransom shook his head, seemingly remembering something or rather someone's absence. Instead of sitting down, he turned towards the door. From the hallway other voices were echoing into the room.

“She and Martha had to chat,” he grumbled. Moments later a woman appeared in the doorframe, in her arms a small baby, only months old. Walking over, Ransom reached towards her. He rested one hand on her back and ushered her into the room. Poking his head into the hallway one last time, he closed the door, isolating the three of them. Both from eavesdropping ears as well from other unwelcome guests.

“Hello Harlan,” she greets him, having now made her way over to the older man, “Happy Father’s Day.” Harlan grinned at her.

“Hello Dear. Thank you so much.” Harlan wasted no time looking down at the small infant in her arms. The small babe had its eyes closed, soundlessly sleeping in its mother’s arms. The patriarch reached one hand out to lay it over the small torso, softly rubbing the small babe’s belly.

“My, has he gotten big already!”

“He has,” she enthusiastically agreed as Ransom stepped up to them. She could tell he was keeping up the facade of the unamused, outright bored man who would rather be anywhere else, but she also noted his relaxed stance. Not to mention he was less mouthy than usual. That alone always was a sign of the mask being there only out of old habits and the possibility of other family members barging in. He was much different at home when it was just them. Even if he knew none of his other relatives would arrive at his grandfather's he was much different.

“Ransom go take him for a second so I can hug your girlfriend!” Harlan demanded. She snickered at his antics but turned around to comply, passing the baby off into his arms. Although not before she pulled down the miniature cable knit sweater the little boy was wearing, matching Ransom’s.

They embraced while Ransom held his son. Out of the corner of his eyes, he was watching his girl and Harlan until the little boy in his arms gave a yawn. The action made the corners of his mouth twitch. He would never admit it but he was enamored by the little guy. He had never thought he’d one day tolerate or even enjoy the presence of an infant so much.

Too occupied with the little wonder in his arms, he didn’t notice the embrace ending. Not until Y/N’s hand landed on his bicep. Her other hand softly cupped the back of their child’s head.

“Happy Father’s Day Ransom,” she murmured softly against his cheek. This time he actually smiled a little, looking at her with fondness.

#sly's 200 #ransom drysdale x reader #rasom drysdale x female reader #ransom x reader #ransom drysdale fluff #soft!ransom drysdale

371 notes · View notes

maccreadysbaby · 5 months

Text

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

this chapters kinda short but I wanted the ANGST to have its own moment lmao, loved leaning into damian’s insecurity for this one

also thank you dami for refueling bentley’s incredibly irrational and borderline stupid idea making tendencies

part nine

❝ PITY ❞

THURSDAY — AUGUST 6 — 5:11PM

BENTLEY DIDN’T SLEEP AGAIN AFTER HIS NIGHTMARE, AND NEITHER DID BRUCE. Instead, they went back to the cave after a while and sat with Dick. All of Alfred’s swabs and tests came back clear, which meant he hadn’t been injected with, inhaled, or even misted with any kind of toxic chemical that could do this to him. (Bruce had told Bentley about fear toxin, an inhalable chemical one of their past villains used that made a person live through their worst fears in their head.) A quick comparison of current Dick’s vital charts and past-Dick-on-fear-toxin’s charts looked freakishly similar, despite one major change: he didn’t have any fear toxin in him.

Which meant, if it wasn’t chemical, he was being attacked psychologically. Somehow.

All signs pointed to it being the Secret Keeper, but she hadn’t done anything to anyone besides plaguing them in bad dreams, much less knocking them out without touching them and wreaking havoc on their brains for six hours. (Which was how long Dick had thrashed and cried and whined for in his unconscious state.) On hour seven, he went limp and still, which probably meant he’d tired himself out.

Bentley didn’t go to school on Wednesday or Thursday, and he didn’t sleep Wednesday night, either. Bruce didn’t seem to mind (he actually seemed a little relieved) and Bentley didn’t want to risk seeing the Secret Keeper out and about. His teachers posted his classwork online, anyhow, so he wouldn’t miss any schoolwork. He spent the better of the two days switching between using Tim’s old computer to do his schoolwork, playing red light green light around the Manor to avoid Damian, drifting down to the cave to check on Dick, and attempting to take power naps that never lasted that long.

Not to mention being texted… like a lot. Ot started when Nico texted early Wednesday morning to ask if he was okay, and why he wasn’t at school. Bentley simply told him he had been sick the night before. (Technically not a lie.) Then Nico took it upon himself to text Bentley all about their environmental science class, even including pictures of their worksheets, and had also taken it upon himself to ask how Bentley was feeling just about every hour. (He always just said better than last night.) Then, Bentley got a text from a random number at lunchtime on Wednesday about how Damian was, quote-on-quote, so creepy. And only ten minutes later and lots of confusion from Bentley did that number come back and say, oh yeah, it’s asten, got your number from nico. heard you were sick. sucks dude.

While Asten wasn’t as incessant about asking how Bentley was doing as Nico was, he did tell him about Spanish class and rant about Ms. Venetstantos making him speak Portuguese every day. And he decided Bentley was a good outlet for all things conspiracy and detective-y, because he kept sending him random articles about metahumans and missing people and Secret Keeper sightings and typing long, drawn out theories about what was going on that ranged from plausible to outright impossible. (Bentley only pretended he read the ones about the Secret Keeper.)

He didn’t remember until those texts that he and Asten had both put detective as their dream job on their get to know me sheets. (Nico had pointed it out on the second day of school when the teacher put those up in the hallway.) He was obviously getting started early. The amount of recon and web-surfing and conclusion drawing he did reminded Bentley of Tim.

Speaking of, Tim and Jason and Steph and Cass had all shown up at the Manor Wednesday and Thursday. Which was strange, considering they’d all been avoiding Damian like the plague. But he didn’t mind — he liked having everybody home.

Bentley started to get really worried about Dick when, on Thursday at five in the evening, (42 hours after Dick had collapsed on Patrol.) he was still laying in that same bed, not thrashing like before, but tossing and turning, still visibly distressed.

He’d been long since changed out of his Nightwing uniform and into some loose sweats, and was connected to drips and other things to keep him hydrated and nourished in his unconscious state. Bentley had finished another color-the-map geography paper about an hour ago and made his way back to the rolling chair stationed next to Dick’s bed.

He had no earthly idea what was wrong with him, but he wished it would all stop. It'd been hard enough seeing Dick during a nightmare he could wake up from — but now, when he was trapped in his own head and no amount of yelling or shaking could snap him out of it, it was practically a form of secondary torture for the entire family. Tim had retired to the Batcomputer, trying so hard to find some kind of solution, or at least a case of something similar, and Bentley didn’t think he’d been upstairs since Dick collapsed.

As of now, five in the evening on Thursday, he, Bentley and Dick were the only three in the cave. Alfred popped in and out often, and Bruce a little less often.

Bentley was sitting next to Dick’s bed, telling him about all the texts he’d been receiving. (Alfred said talking to him would help, so Bentley was trying his best.) He’d taken to telling him about Asten’s conspiracy theories and the new group chat he’d been added to not three minutes ago, with Nico and Asten, in which they were arguing about the possibility of said conspiracies and asking for Bentley’s input. (Asten’s conspiracy about aliens swapping a human’s brain for an alien brain via something he called ‘materialization tech’ and endowing them with the power of the stars being the origin of metahumans was the one on the table now. It was already segwaying into metahuman world domination.)

But eventually, even with the group chat blowing up his phone with the probabilities of metahumans turning the country into a dictatorship, he fell quiet and just took to holding Dick’s hand. He didn’t scream when he grabbed it, at least. But it didn’t seem to make anything better, either.

He was just debating on whether or not he should try to wake him up again when a voice sounded from the doorway of the medbay:

“Hey, Bentley,”

He glanced over, brown eyes locking onto Tim’s icy blue ones. He looked exhausted. Bentley knew he’d been working hard on the missing person and metahuman cases before this happened to Dick. But now? Bentley wasn’t sure if self-preservation was even on his radar anymore. He hadn’t seen him ingest anything other than coffee in a solid two days (given he very well could have when Bentley wasn’t around.) and he was pretty sure sleep wasn’t even a thing he thought about anymore. Though he looked like he needed it.

“Hey,” Bentley replied quietly, slipping his hand out of Dick’s and pulling it back to his lap.

“Doing okay?” Was Tim’s next question, and he moved forward just enough to rest a hand on the top of Bentley’s head.

He shrugged. “Have you found anything to help Dick?”

The weakly plastered-on content expression fell off of Tim’s face. “No. I haven’t been able to find anything.”

Bentley said nothing, but looked back at Dick, who was moving his head back and forth with soft whines.

“Is he going to die?”

It was a heavy question, yeah, but a question that had undoubtedly been floating around in all of their minds since his unfortunate patrol. With all the metahuman stuff out of the way, Dick would technically be classified as in a coma. And lots of people who went into comas didn’t come out of them.

Bentley heard Tim let out a puff of air.

“I don’t know,” He said, hardly a whisper, letting his hand move down Bentley’s head and rest on the back of his neck. “He’s stable, even if it looks like he’s in pain. It’s not ideal, but it’s… better than anything getting worse, I guess.”

Bentley nodded slightly, and hoped that Dick would get better soon.

He heard someone walk across the room on the other side of the cave, and both he and Tim glanced over just in time to see Damian disappear back up the stairs to the Manor. When had he come down there? He wasn’t down there five minutes ago.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Tim suggested after a quiet moment. “He might actually open up to you.”

Bentley glanced over at him skeptically. “Damian? No he won’t.”

Tim snickered. “That kid would never in a million years cuddle up next to anybody sick like he did you. And he definitely wouldn’t get up in a hospital bed with any of us except, maybe Dick.”

Bentley said nothing. He did kind of miss Damian. Like, the old, not-angry Damian, that took him around the Manor to do things and actually talked to him.

Bentley shrugged. “I’m afraid he’s gonna stab me.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tim snickered. “Seriously, though, he cares about you. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“I know, but…” Bentley trailed off, glancing down at his hands.

“There’s still a chance,” Tim finished his thought. “Yeah, I know.”

Bentley said nothing.

“It might be good for you to go upstairs for a while,” He continued, and Bentley glanced back up at Dick, who was still shifting uncomfortably in the bed. “I’ll sit with him.”

Bentley nodded. He wasn’t really in the mood to argue, and he needed to finish his schoolwork anyway.

He pushed himself out of the chair and bid goodbye to Tim, heading back up to the Manor. He took to reading the group chat messages he’d missed on the way through the house and up the stairs. Nico was currently trying to explain to Asten that aliens couldn’t use technology he’d made up, and he was arguing that they could because they could read everyone’s minds.

Bentley had nearly made it into his room when he bumped right into someone.

“Sorry-“ He muttered, glancing up from his screen to meet Damian’s ice cold blue-green eyes. The assassin’s glare alone shut Bentley up.

Damian walked past him with nothing more than a faint scowl, heading for the stairs.

He wasn’t planning on talking to him, but it was a better opportunity than seeking the angry assassin out.

“… hey, Damian?”

Bentley turned on his heel, and Damian did, too, shooting him another dagger-like-glance.

Bentley wanted to recoil and say nevermind, but that wouldn’t be very helpful. “What’s wrong?” He asked instead, really focusing on the fact that Tim said Damian wouldn’t hurt him.

“You should know well enough, Whittaker,”

Bentley nearly flinched when Damian used his last name instead of Bentley like he always did. Why in the world would he know what was going on when Damian wouldn’t tell anyone?

“I don’t…” Bentley blinked, searching Damian’s face and then looking at the floor when the unpleasant expression got too reminiscent of his father’s. He knew what that expression meant. And coming from Damian, it made him want to cry.

A moment of silence passed, and when it was clear Damian didn’t intend on speaking, Bentley muttered in a tiny voice: “You’re mad at me?”

Silence.

Bentley thought and thought and thought about all the interactions he’d had with Damian before he started getting upset, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember doing anything wrong. He’d asked Damian to teach him about throwing knives, but he’d told him yes. (He hadn’t done it yet. Was it maybe Bentley’s fault for never asking again?) He didn’t think that was enough to make Damian so upset for so long.

Bentley wished he could bring his knees up, but he was standing, so he wrapped his arms around himself instead. He hoped Damian couldn’t see the slight wetness brimming in his eyes at the very prospect he’d done something so bad the assassin didn’t even want to talk to him anymore and he didn’t know what it was.

He looked at the floor in a vague attempt to hide it. “What did I do?”

“Exactly what you’re doing right now,” Damian replied bitterly, in a tone that literally made Bentley want to start crying. “You weaseled your way into this family with nothing more than pity. All you have to do is shed a few tears and you have the whole household at your feet — the only reason you’re here is because my father and brothers feel bad for you. Because you’re exactly what your father trained you to be. A manipulator.”

Bentley did flinch, that time, like he was dodging knives made of words. It wouldn’t be any use — Damian never missed.

“Your relationships are built on pity, your place in this family is built on pity. Even Drake has contributed more than you, and I’m not shy about discussing his obvious inferiority,” Damian spat. “I am a Wayne by blood and I have to work to be part of this. If I had even considered doing anything like you did with your father, considered betraying this family like you did, they would…”

Damian trailed off.

“You don’t deserve to be here. It’s pity that’s keeping you in this house, pity that’s holding your relationships together, and once that pity is gone, what’s going to be left? Nothing. Because pity is all you are. Pity is what you’re built for, and once it’s gone, you’re going to be left with nothing, useless, just like your father created you to be.”

Bentley watched through blurry eyes as Damian turned and continued down the stairs like he hadn’t just dispatched a carefully-sharpened killshot right through Bentley’s chest.

Damian didn’t want him there.

Thank goodness he was right next to his bedroom, because he hardly had time to get inside and close the door before he started crying.

Everything Damian said was right — he was in this family out of pity. If it weren’t for pity, none of this would’ve happened.

And Damian didn’t want him there. This was his worst nightmare. Tim was wrong, Damian had hurt him.

He walked over to his bed in the dark — the lights were off but the sun was still somewhat out — and curled up in a tiny ball in it, covered his head with the blankets, and cried.

Dick had been taken in when he had nothing, and became Robin to help Bruce fight crime. Jason got taken in off the streets and became Robin. Tim got taken out of a neglectful household and became Robin. Damian got shipped here from overseas to be Robin. Cass, Duke, Steph, Barbara, they were all superheroes, crime fighters, vigilantes.

What the hell did Bentley have to do to make himself deserve being a Wayne?

Become a superhero?

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

27 notes · View notes

bramble-scramble · 7 months

Note

Wanted to send you this earlier, but I fell asleep, lol.

On the topic of Super Paper Mario, I think I saw the analysis you mentioned too, but I can't find it either...

I really love how the music in this game does more so than being an atmospheric background, like the clocks telling you to hurry up in Castle Bleck and suggesting you that the memories you're reading at the end of the chapters happened in the past. Or how simple yet explanatory it is that "Bounding Through Time" has a more mellow version of Bleck's theme in it.

I love this game, it really deserved more.

This is fantastic timing, because I just asked about the same thing on Twitter and someone found it for me!

This is a really great video, definitely deserves more views. Also made me remember when my blog name was welcome-to-flopside, lol

I have passionate opinions and theories and defenses about SPM in general, about how even its "inexplicable" gag parts that everyone thinks were the devs just trolling, actually serve a purpose. The parts where you have to slave away for Mimi, or run back and forth in the Gap of Crag putting in an absurd block-based password, or fight the Sammer Guys, etc.... all emphasize people making you WASTE TIME in a situation where time is of the essence. In some situations, it proves how the villains (well... really just Mimi) are effective at getting the heroes to waste time, which is honestly a better purpose than outright fighting them since the Void is growing on its own. In others it shows how the people of the universe might try to look the other way and not acknowledge the disaster about to strike (this makes absolute sense for the cragnons especially, since they were already causing environmental destruction and ignoring it).

Even if not everyone sees it this way, I seriously think almost every part of this game, from the music to the jokes, fit together to tell its story. That's why it's one of my favorite games of all time.

#alter answers #super paper mario #spm

41 notes · View notes

mr-stottlemonk · 2 months

Note

Sorry it’s been a minute, but MC-Anon back again!

If you could write an episode, what would it be about? Or alternatively: if you could confirm Stottlemonk in canon, how would you do it?

(This is a hard question so u can think about it so so much to make up for me being away for a minute. Also not back immediately but just figured I should say I’m still here)

hi dear mc-anon!! welcome back /0/ <3.

yanno, xD. i'm giggling cause like, this ask gave me ANOTHER idea for a fic (someone save me) but also i have a couple ideas for fics that seem like "episodes" that could be canon too!!

now hmm, if i could confirm they were canon with the subtle way they like to hint at things in the show:

monk making leland lunch every single day after the episode very, very old man [s02e05]. leland going "why tf is he making me lunches all of a sudden?" + the precinct going "oh who's the girl cap'n?" -> the girl is monk, you fools. monk doesn't know he's pining either, he just wants leland to be well fed and know he's loved. monk's love language is acts of service <3. the way to a man's heart is through his stomach somethin' somethin'.

NEXT UP. *drumroll* we can also go for the classic (hilson) move: them moving in together!! living together!! domestic feels!! domestic love!! coming home to each other!! going home together after a case!! being there when the other has a bad day!! JUST BEING THERE AND HOLDING HANDS BY ACCIDENT WHILE WATCHING TV. pls imagine leland doing the dishes exactly the way adrian likes them... without asking. would our beloved mr. monk not cry a damn river right there? adrian buying leland his favorite packs of beer. recording the shows he knows leland likes... i feel this should have happened in s5/s6. we we're robbed y'all 😔✊️.

now the third one ;"). everyone starts mistaking them for a couple - like they dont outright mention it but after the couple of times recently that every damn witness/suspect etc goes "are you two like... *vague hand gestures" or "your man over there. don't know how you deal with him" or the officers in the precinct going "monk, the captain's having a real bad day, could you come over for a while?" pls. everyone is shipping them. even randy going "we're the children of divorce" @ natalie (ง ื▿ ื)ว

the fourth is just me being silly and wanting cottage husbands au... its kinda canon?? cause it DID happen sorta... but them retiring and moving to a small town... i feel like i'm going off topic xD.

stay safe dear!! remember to drink water! take care of yourself :3

but yes! that's what i feel could confirm stottlemonk canon.

also, i asked a friend ( @s-misaki ) and they said: adrian getting shot in front of leland (he doesn't die ofc, but dramatic af adrian + leland going through so many emotions. them helping each other out to recover... hehe)

p.s that first idea is actually a fic i'm writing.

p.p.s: so is the second idea ( ´ ꒳ ` ).

#forget gave me one idea anon you gave me two #someone save me and write some of these in my place #i dont got enough hands.#but i also wanna be fed yanno?#nomnomnom stottlemonk #anon asks #mc-anon #stottlemonk

15 notes · View notes

uptoolateart · 6 months

Note

at the s5 finale,after gabe’s wish. It didnt reset the world but rewrote it? Right..?😃

Cause now im also seeing rumours such: ladybugs nd cat noir’s memories were erased of everything. that happened until now. (Not adrien and marinette’s memories itself but like..when they were transformed)

Like did any memories get erased in the first place? ANYONES.🤦🏼‍♀️👩🏻‍🦳

@hannahzthoughts

Correct - he rewrote it. They were very clear about the rules. You get one wish and it involves a sacrifice of equal weight. Only that exchange should be different.

Where I get confused is over the notion that it's Emilie at the pool party at the very end. If it is, then both she and Nathalie are restored to health, and I call that two wishes, not one. If that was Amelie by the pool, I accept it - his wish was for Nathalie, which was the right thing to ask for. However, what did Gabriel sacrifice? Because if it was his life for hers (possibly theirs), I don't think that's of equal weight. He said he only had hours (by that point, probably minutes) left to live, due to the cataclysm. We saw his finger crumble right off. Is that really a sacrifice, if it's about to happen anyway?? Either the writers don't see that the way I do, or Gabriel sacrificed something else that we have yet to see.

But to return to your question - at the end, Marinette is in her bedroom with Alya and Su-Han and she tells them she went back to the basement to search for the butterfly miraculous but never found it. She also refers to the wish having been made. From that, we can deduce that:

She remembers the battle

She must remember that Monarch was Gabriel

She remembers Gimmi / the wish happening

She knows the world has been altered

She's told Alya and Su-Han all of this (because she just mentioned details to them, casually, and they weren't surprised, so they already knew)

When she then slides the twin rings on Adrien's finger, her words are double-edged and highly suggestive that she knows he's a sentibeing. We can even see it as her using the rings to give him an order not to take them off. I get that its for his safety but...just tell him. That is so wrong, Marinette.

Also, when he's about to make his wish, Gabriel asks Marinette not to tell Adrien what he did / who he was. He wouldn't ask that if everyone's memories were about to be lost. We can then infer that she has decided to keep that promise to Gabriel, for the sake of Adrien (which I totally disagree with, but that's by the by). Therefore, she's told everyone else that Gabriel helped her defeat Monarch and died in the process, going down as a hero. However, it's very clear that she remembers the truth and she's told select other people, as well. (She needs to tell Cat Noir - like...a;skldfj;lskjf this is why I write fan fiction)

As a final point...as per the rules laid out by Gimmi, people's memories being erased would have to be part of the wish, and there would need to be a sacrifice made to balance it out. If you outright wished for memory erasure, I'm not sure what the sacrifice would be. Maybe someone else gets burdened with heaps of awful, painful memories so that someone else doesn't have them?? Anyway, when we see Adrien at that pool party...it's so brief that we have no way of knowing what he remembers. Maybe he does remember the white room but he's choosing to move on from it because he believes (due to Ladybug's lie) that in the end, his father did a wonderful thing. Or maybe Adrien doesn't remember the white room because the nature of Gabriel's wish included wiping that away.

If Gabriel restored Nathalie to health, maybe all memories are the same but people believe she had a miraculous recovery. If he brought Emilie back to life, too, that would necessitate some altered memories, for sure, because how could you explain to everyone that she just came back from the dead?? So, I guess everyone could now believe she was always alive (although this creates a paradox because Gabriel never would've done everything he did to bring her back and even make that wish, if she'd always been there, and this is where it really messes with my head).

But then...does Marinette remember Emilie used to be dead?? Because she remembers the battle and the wish being made - so who in this rewritten reality knows what previously happened to Emilie?

Alternatively...you know, they always refer to Emilie as having 'disappeared'.... Apparently, Thomas once said there was a funeral, but they never actually show or refer to this anywhere in the show, and even if there was a funeral, they couldn't have had a body because Gabriel had to keep her preserved. It must have been one of those symbolic funerals they do when they presume someone dead but have no firm evidence. If she only disappeared, then no one knows she died and she could well have a sudden, miraculous reappearance, which would make a lot more sense and avoid issues of paradox. (All that said...I'm not sure the writers have thought this through to that degree....)

No matter what's going on in this new world...it definitely hasn't all been reset. Things have just been altered, and we will find out the specifics in S6.

#ask me anything #ask me stuff #ask me things #ml analysis #ml s5 finale #ml recreation #ml s5 #ml marinette #ml adrien #adrien agreste #ml gabriel #gabriel agreste #ml ladybug #chat noir #cat noir #ml speculation #ml theory #ml s6 #ml s6 speculation

26 notes · View notes

katyahina · 1 year

Text

Okay but why THE heck Byrgenwerth leads you to the Nightmare of Mensis?

So, you DO actually see Mergo's Loft (aka Nightmare of Mensis castle(s)) from Nightmare Frontier!

It is not surprising since both locations are accessed from Byrgenweth - Nightmare Frontier from the first floor and Nightmare of Mensis from the second one. Well, by Byrgenwerth I mean the Lecture building:

(Using retranslation document by Last Protagonist ( x )). Like, yes, we can confirm that Nightmare Frontier and Nightmare of Mensis are, indeed, the same location, only one is placed higher than the other in altitude. But this is still interesting that Byrgenwerth is stuck between "reality" and Nightmare, and in either case it leads to the Nightmare realm.

I always felt like the implication that the rest of the Byrgenwerth is, in fact, stuck in the Nightmare (as in, Willem and the scholars could not meet each other anymore) had something to do with Rom! Rom appears to be a kind of a Nightmare Apostle - the 'spider' title suggests that (same as with Patches the Spider), and she is likewise a spider creature with a human head; only that her head is... less human now, it mutated with too many eyes. And if Patches' behaviour is of any indication, Nightmare Apostles are Amygdalae affiliates!

An Amygdala delivers you to the 1st floor of Lecture Building, and you fight one in Nightmare Frontier; meanwhile, Amygdalas are heavily associated with School of Mensis! But also, Micolash says this somewhere within his ramble:

'Sleep could' of course refer to like... sleeping... lol (a nightmare is a type of a dream), or to the sleep of the Great Ones that Pthumerians started to deify, or both. But in either case, the 'Lake' (like the 'Sea') is the boundary between humanity and Eldrich Truth. So, to no longer see the Sea means to... well, no longer see this boundary, I guess? As in, by now he is not stopped by it. Like he overcame that boundary so he now can contact the 'cosmos'!

(Heh... I just thought of something - funny enough, very often, at the first glance chaotic ramblings of a madman actually make surprising amount of sense and logic, once you know the context...)

Rom is in the lake and it is her presence there that conceals Mensis Ritual! Not stops it, that's important, only hides it. It is not clear within the timeline for how long Rom was important for Byrgenwerth, but it is very possible that Byrgenwerth might have been using her powers to be in 'enough' contact with the Nightmare realm for their research! They became an isolated institution after falling out with Healing Church, and whereas there are Slime Scholars in the Lecture Building itself, in the area of the 'real' world there are Gardens of Eyes who surprisingly look like they must be Kin of Amygdalae (not monsters/devotees like Nightmare Apostles).

So: what if for a while, thanks to Rom's powers, Byrgenwerth was able to go back and forth with the Nightmare realm to do their own research? Basically not only protecting the humanity, but also cleverly gatekeeping everything from the detractors and just naive, ambitious fools (remember that Choir and Mensis are higher echelons of the Healing Church)! And Micolash's mention of "no longer seeing the Lake" refers to him either tapping on that power or simply overcoming it! He might have deliberately done something to be connected with where Rom is, using her as a 'phone' to call Kos xD (since Rom can see everything, and is said to have been blessed by her!) But that meant to have 'access' to Byrgenwerth... And that included messing with its architecture, so Lecture Building could no longer be accessed from what remained of Byrgenwerth in the waking world - including Willem staying there and not being able to see his scholars anymore, who are now trapped between worlds.

Internal filenames of the locations suggest outright connection between the Lake that Rom guards and Lecture building:

My friend @val-of-the-north brought this up, and also correctly pointed out that 'Innermost' in internal files typically refers to the boss arenas (here is also Hemwick Mansion as an example) :

Also, you might be familiar with 'Rom, the upside-down fool' from Micolash's cut content dialogue ( ( x ), at the 0:40), right? This is also the case in Japanese voice acting of his cut lines! Upside-down will be 逆さま (sakasama), and here is Micolash's Japanese dialogue with both used and cut lines: ( x ). You can clearly hear 'sakasama no hakuchi Roma' from 2:41 to 2:45! ('hakuchi no kumo, Roma' is Rom's Japanese title, 'hakuchi' (白痴) means intellectually disabled, idiot, etc, and 'kumo' (蜘蛛) means spider).

(There is a document ( x ) that features Japanese text of Mico's cut dialogue AND transliteration AND a nuanced translation, done by a person that speaks Japanese if you are wondering from which dimension I am pulling these facts from. It is really helpful, and I still encourage everyone to refer to Japanese scripts in your loredigging, as they are actually canon and truthful to the game creators' intentions. In this case, canonical cut content, as oxymoronic as it sounds xD)

Again, mostly it points out to Micolash boasting about how not even Rom's barrier could stop him from accessing the Nightmare! But all in all, Lecture Hall appears to be a 'train station'... that he might have ruined, or turned to his favour. You can see the handcuffed victims in the chairs in Nightmare of Mensis too - a right sign of him having had victims before our Hunter finds him!

I mentioned that in a kind of old post about alternative (and slightly outdated in some parts) take on Edgar's quest as a spy ( x ), but there is also a possibility that Micolash cut the connection between two parts of Byrgenwerth (waking world one and Nightmare one) specifically to not be found through Byrgenwerth by people like Yurie, Fauxsefka etc. The entrance to the part of Byrgenwerth where Rom resides now is additionally guarded by Shadows of Yharnam! Nightmare of Mensis is full of servants of Mergo and also Shadows of Yharnam, so he must have some sort of authority as the one who stole Mergo, right? So that could also have been his doing to send those Shadows over to even further prevent the risks of interrupting the ritual!

So yeah... I've gotten a bit carried away, but you see what I am trying to say! Funny how much, again, can sprout from only a minor clarification for the translation.

#bloodborne #micolash host of the nightmare #nightmare of mensis #bloodborne theory #bloodborne observation #not art #text post #i was not even going to post it at first like...#this post started as me rambling random thoughts in my other blog #but then it became something coherent so I chose to put them here

68 notes · View notes

maranello · 1 year

Note

Why is Santander the root of all evil 😗 very curious to know

Sigh. Okay. Just know that I am not un-biased and I am just. tired and fed up fed up with Ferrari F1 shenanigans. Buckle up, kids, this is going to be a long one:

1. In the two periods of Santander's relationship with Ferrari (2010-2017; 2021-current), we have seen a Spanish driver in a Ferrari seat, questionable-at-best management decisions and from the pit wall, the phrase "internal politics" underlie every conversation surrounding why Ferrari has not won another title since 2007/2008, while Red Bull somehow are snagging consecutive titles. Did I mention our cars are not performing well either?

So if I had a nickel. For every time this has happened. I would have two nickels. And two times is not much in the grand scheme of things, but it is in the span of 15 years. Like. 10 out of the 15 years. You know, the very same 15 years since Ferrari last won an F1 title.

I personally think if you have not won a title in 15 years maybe you should stop doing the same things that have not won you a title in those 15 years. 2. Putting the viscerally unsavory flashbacks of longsuffering tifosi and outright conspiracy theories aside, to put it bluntly: Santander Group, a Spanish bank, had been the title sponsor (first period) and is one of the the biggest sponsors (current period) of Scuderia Ferrari F1. When you are such a big sponsor, you have a say in things, and Santander have a vested interest in seeing the Spanish driver they are backing to succeed at Ferrari. Now, whether that is in Scuderia Ferrari's best interests or gives it the best shot at winning anything is a different matter— The board and the management of Ferrari are obligated to contend with what Santander wants. It would be wrong to assume that Santander can single-handedly call the shots in Ferrari as a big sponsor, but it would also be wrong to deny that they can, possibly do, and likely have played a part in the famed internal politics of Scuderia Ferrari in the time(s) that they have been sponsors. 3. It is one thing to say that Silverstone 2022 was "gifted" to Carlos Sainz Jr. But another to highlight what Santander's official account posted under Ferrari's post praising Charles' efforts in the race (after the pit wall royally screwed his race up with a win on the line and more importantly, a championship, mind you, at that point, still to play for):

While we always have to keep in mind that official social media accounts are often just corporate personas and are very deliberate about what they do to get your sympathy and your engagement— What can you possibly gather from a comment like that?

I want to see Scuderia Ferrari consistently challenging for and winning championships again. I want to see decisions being made that support this goal. At that point in 2022, Charles was still our best and realistically only shot. To see a comment being made like that so blatantly on an official account that could (and from a PR standpoint, should've!!!) easily be using corporate teamwork language?

It was hard to give Santander the benefit of the doubt that this partnership, this time, does enough to serve Ferrari in its goals rather than obstruct it. And a large part of that is also on management for not being firm with how much input to take balancing what a sponsor wants and what is good for the team.

4. The bulk of the issues that Ferrari fans have with this whole Santander situation has a lot more to do with Ferrari's internal politics getting in the way of doing what needs to be done on a management level to win - and the way that affects the relationship of Ferrari with other talented drivers, such as Kimi Räikkönen (which this article someone dug up on Twitter from 2012 goes into) and Felipe Massa, whom I need you to remember was not just some almost-world champion of 2008, but was considered one of the very best talents of his generation and groomed to be the heir of Michael at Ferrari in 2006.

This is not a knock at "Santander-backed" drivers or to say they unfairly got their positions and brought nothing to the table. I, for one, have a soft spot for the Fernando Alonso years because he was the first Ferrari driver I actually got to see race in person. He came so close to the title in 2010. And to this day I still have no idea how he was a title contender to the end with that car in 2012. And clearly in the year of our lord 2023, you see he still has that killer drive to get to whatever team it takes that can give him the best shot at winning and still has all the talent in the world + experience as a 2X F1 world champion/Le Mans winner today to back it up. (I would have loved to be watching him race if I could bear to look at Formula 1 this year with how Ferrari is doing.)

Charles Leclerc is, to the tifosi, and I believe to good part of Ferrari itself and many who had been a part of Ferrari, special, though. He is a generational talent. He has grown up through the ranks of Ferrari's own driver academy and is the very first to make it to the works team, in a very short time too. To many of us longsuffering Ferrari fans, it seems that surely, provided he has the right car and a good team in the pits and on the wall, he will bring the championship back to us. If Ferrari cannot win with him, who has been steadfast and loyal even through a rough year like 2020 and has performed nothing short of miracles with a shitbox of a car, then Ferrari's the problem. And the biggest problem being things—whether it is internal politics (largely) or ego (also huge) or plain bad decision making (I don't know how to fix this) or technological development (least of our problems really, Ferrari is capable of producing good cars)—keep getting in the way of Ferrari fixing its problems and winning a goddamn championship.

So, we are at Santander Ferrari 2: Electric Boogaloo. Charles' current 5-year contract is ending in 2024. If, let's just say, poor decision-making from the pit wall at crucial moments costing not just wins but potential championship contention, internal politicking that seem to leave a legendary racing marque completely unable to get out of a 15-years-and-counting deep hole it keeps digging further, technological developments that despite sacrificing seasons for keep missing the regulations and even when it gets marginally right will ultimately be sniped by poor pit wall calls or the FIA & co. anyways, etc., Charles, who has taken the brunt of a lot of blame off the shoulders of the team and repeatedly reiterated his dedication to winning the title with Ferrari, decides to look elsewhere—

Do you see why alarm bells are ringing for Ferrari fans?

I feel that it's just such a misrepresentation to say that all the reaction we have been seeing against Santander are just Charles Leclerc fangirls looking to discredit Carlos Sainz Jr., making up conspiracy theories about "Sainztander," and bullying his fans etc. Santander meddling in Ferrari is not a newly invented narrative nor is it a completely unfounded suspicion by salty fans.

To me, Ferrari will always come first. Ferrari always should come first. So it is great when the interests of big sponsors, drivers, the management, and the team itself all align. It is also incredibly rare. This entanglement with Santander, from 2021 onwards, just increasingly feels like a mistake because it seems that—and I hope to God I am wrong—Ferrari has not learned anything from our first stint with Santander, and it will cost us.

5. So we arrive here: the morning of April 15, 2023.

Lapo Elkann, with his wild eyes and tattoos, colorful personality (and personal history) to match the blazers and pants he wears, has been in a lot of contact with his brother John Elkann, the chosen heir of the Agnelli family of Fiat fortune, recently. After a period of rather unusual quietness on his usually busy Twitter— perhaps coinciding with the various woes that have been falling upon family-owned sports franchises named Juventus FC and Scuderia Ferrari, of which he is an avid and active fan of— Lapo has returned to the public light, tweeting his thoughts on anything that he sees fit, punctuated with pithy uses of CAPITALIZATION and a variegated arsenal of emojis 🔥♥🙏👀.

AND SO, on this fine morning of April 15, 2023— nearly two weeks after a disastrous Australian Grand Prix to forget for Scuderia Ferrari— Lapo Elkann tweeted thus:

Ferrari 🏎️ needs ❤️ Seriousness and [a] Winning Team in the Pits and Outside it's time to WAKE UP enough with politics and games like this WE WILL NEVER WIN ‼️ ‼ ‼ ‼ ‼

Is—

Is that—

Mamma mia.

Here we go agai—

#I am exhausted after writing this.#this is by far not a deep dive receipts account of everything santander might have committed against those of us on ferrari's side #I feel like there probably is a twitter thread somewhere or other blog posts/articles written around the time of Santanderrari Round 1 #but I am too done with all of this same bullshit to go looking #for the things I KNOW will upset me #maranello.ask #I am SICK of the continued argument that only Ferrari has internal politics so convoluted they have become perennial LOSERS #i am SICK of SATANDER #and I am SICK of Ferrari not proving that argument WRONG #just. BE DONE WITH IT.

57 notes · View notes

moltz23 · 8 months

Text

Random Three Houses & Hopes Trivia: How Edelgard & Dimitri's relationship is shockingly far more convoluted than you would think.

...And arguably how it's also kinda contrived, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

A few weeks ago, I had a realization about something surrounding Edelgard's past which lowkey explains her whole dynamic with Dimitri a ton better than the generally accepted theory that the experiments "those who slither in the dark" did to Edelgard affected her memory (not saying it isn't a factor, mind you). After sharing my thoughts with the Three Houses subreddit, people pointed I either got some facts wrong or was missing some key details, so I went back and did a more thorough research on the whole topic again. And once getting a full picture of the whole situation, I feel it was worth making this post.

To explain what I mean by claiming that Edelgard & Dimitri's relationship is shockingly complicated, we first need to go over everything both Three Houses and its Warriors spinoff tells us about their shared past and experiences:

1. Edelgard in the Goddess Tower scene says her first love was a noble from the kingdom a lifetime ago.

2. In the Blue Lions event "Childhood Memories", Dimitri says the following about his past with Edelgard:

Dimitri: We were born and raised in different territories, without ever knowing the other even existed. Yet, against all odds, for just over a year, we became childhood friends. [...] Unaware of each other's stations or backgrounds, we met and became incredibly close. This was when she and Lord Arundel were living in the Kingdom.

Incidentally, Dimitri also says this in his A-Support with Hapi:

Dimitri: As [Anselma/Patricia] was seeking asylum from the Empire in the Kingdom, Lord Arundel was obligated to hide the Imperial princess's whereabouts. She would undoubtedly have become a political pawn in the Kingdom as well. If her location had gone public, the Empire would have demanded her return. [...] I did not realize until much later that the girl I'd met under such strange circumstances was my stepsister.

3. In the AM event "Questions and Answers", Edelgard is noticeably shocked when Dimitri gives her the dagger back, which brings back the memories of when it was gifted to her. Besides realizing Dimitri was that kid, she also calls him once afterwards "My dear, forgotten friend...".

Oh, and Dimitri also calls her "El" a few times, which is important.

4. In Three Hopes, in one of Edelgard's Expedition lines, she recalls the following about how she got her dagger:

Edelgard: Have I told you about the boy who gave me the dagger? I called him "Dee," which is all I really remember about him.

5. In Edelgard's A-Support with Byleth, she mentions near the end how "there's no one left who calls me El..."

6. In Cindered Shadows, this exchange happens the second time you get to explore during the side-story:

Dimitri: Pardon the odd question, but something has been bothering me for a while now. Your hair...was it always that color?

Edelgard: That is an odd question. But yes, if you must know, it was a different color when I was a child. How could you know that? Is it possible that we met before the academy?

7. And finally, in Three Houses itself, not only any mentions of Edelgard calling Dimitri by name in flashbacks were removed with the last update in the English script, checking the OG Japanese one with Fedatamine.com reveals Edelgard never outright called Dimitri by name in those flashbacks, meaning the changes made to the EN script post-launch were likely done for consistency's sake (as in, the localization took some liberties with the Edelgard and Dimitri flashbacks, the devs likely noticed them, and ordered the translation team to remain faithful to the OG script).

In short, the "tl;dr" version of the whole Edelgard & Dimitri dynamic, in both Three Houses and Three Hopes, is that:

Dimitri recalls all of his past time with Edelgard back when they were kids. He remembers growing close enough to Edie to call her "El", but admits that neither Edelgard nor him knew who the other really was by then. Dimitri also states he eventually put two-and-two-together long after Edelgard had left the kingdom.

Edelgard meanwhile, remembers meeting a boy in the Kingdom whom she once had a crush on. She called him "Dee", recalls receiving her dagger from him and... That's pretty much it.

What exactly does this all mean then?

It means that, not only Edelgard does not remember her past with Dimitri the same way he does (jury's out as for why that's the case), her & Dimitri's recollections of events makes abundantly clear that, for most of Three Houses, Edelgard is 100% unaware that Dimitri and "Dee" (as in, the boy she befriended in the kingdom) are one and the same.

As always, many thanks to everyone who read this post! Looking back at it, I'm lowkey mad that I figured this out so damn late into the game's lifespan given all the evidence pointing it had been staring at my face all along.

But what do you all think about their whole dynamic? Does it make the whole tragedy of both sting deeper? Did it happen to confuse you even more somehow? Does it raise more questions than answers? Or does it feel needlessly complex?

#fe3h #crimson flower #azure moon #scarlet blaze #azure gleam #few3hopes #fewath #fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem warriors: three hopes #edelgard von hresvelg #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #trivia #fire emblem

29 notes · View notes

itsjustlux · 9 months

Text

figuring out who the hell Crowley is

Huge disclaimer: bible related things are extremely contradictory and i have not studied it formerly. I'm doing my best and this is all just for fun. Buckle in, this is a long one.

And yes, pun absolutely intended in the title. Now, I'll take you through my thought process step-by-step here.

Now, it's stated in s2 that Crowley must have been a throne, dominion, or higher in order to access the file. That's a great starting point. So, we're going to be looking at any angels that are a throne, dominion, cherubim, or seraphim.

I thought a good place to start would be to actually look at Crowley's rank as a demon. My thought process here was that Crowley's rank should sort of 'carry over' (at least in theory). We know he's not a duke because he's offered that as a reward in s2. But it's very difficult for me to believe he's just some random demon. I mean, he was *the* snake. Having him be the snake theoretically should place him as Lucifer, but he mentions 'hanging out with' Lucifer by name sometime in s1, so that's not right.

Here's where I hit a snag. Based on what we know of Crowley's fall (which is not a lot) he should either be a king (again, he mentions being around Lucifer in s1), a prince, or a marquise. Problem is, he can't be a prince or a king if he was offered the position of duke by Beelzebub. He's probably not a count on account (see what i did there?) of him being a demon before humanity really existed (Counts are, to my understanding, angels who Fell over being jealous of humanity).

So he's probably a marquise. Great! This would (again this is taking some massive hypothetical leaps) place him originally as a dominion. If he was a president, the equivalent would probably be a principality, which is too low. This should all work out then, right?

NOPE! It's very unlikely to me that Crowley would be a marquise especially after a) hanging out with Lucifer before Falling (which would actually place him as a king if they were close) and b) being all but outright stated to have been incredibly powerful (to the point where he basically runs a meeting between all the fancy archangels despite them all hating him).

So what gives? There's only one decent explanation I can think of.

Crowley was demoted after Falling.

Think about it for a second. Why does Shax (an actual marquise) keep asking him for help if they're the same rank and they could get in serious trouble for doing so? Why is Crowley of all people trusted to deliver the antichrist to the hospital? There were probably other options. Why do people keep asking if Crowley remembers them? It's because he was probably higher up than he is now. It's the only way any of it makes sense.

Adding onto all of this: Crowley disappears back to Hell for 35 years after doing one (1) good thing. Next time we see him, he has a cane and asks for Holy Water. Obviously the implication is...unpleasant, but I suspect this is not the first time its happened. Maybe it was worse this time for one reason or another (leading to him asking for the water), but there are thousands of years of Crowley being a good person unaccounted for. He's probably endured far more punishment than we know. The end of s1 was just the last straw.

So who is he? Well, you're probably not going to like my answer.

I don't think it matters.

I think his angel name might start with a J (Jegudiel if I had to guess right this very instant) but other than that I genuinely don't think his biblical counterpart is going to tell us all that much. I mean, does Aziraphale’s? In actuality the angel Aziraphale is fairly low down, but Neil has since clarified Aziraphale's ranking within the show. He's not the highest up, but he's certainly not no one.

And this is something I realized while making this post. If I am right and he was demoted (or at least punished by Hell more than once for being good) that has some pretty major implications for his character and why he's so insistent that he's not a good guy. 'Goodness' as a trait becomes dangerous to Crowley, something he can't identify with. He has to be evil or he'll risk punishment, even if he isn't by default. And when you're told you are (or at least should be) evil for so long, you must start to believe it at some point. And you can never open up to anyone because that emotional closeness puts you both at risk, especially if the other person is an angel. So you spend your engaging in self-sabotaging behaviors all alone because that's what you're supposed to do. And love, loving someone, well isn't admitting that just the antithesis of what you should be? Angles are characterized by their ability to love. A demon can't do that. That's what makes his little realization moment so incredible to me. It's a moment of realizing how much he cares for Aziraphale yes, but it's a look of something else too. May I propose: fear. It's a look of fear. I mean, Crowley can't even admit he might love his houseplants. How in the Something is he supposed to admit he loves an angel? He can't. Not when saving one (1) girl one (1) time had him dragged to Hell for 35 years and scared him so badly he asks for something he knows could end him.

#crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #good omens #this post is so long im sorry #i had so many realizations while making it #i love this show #ineffable husbands #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable divorce

30 notes · View notes

fanfoolishness · 10 months

Text

bad trip (Jedi: Fallen Order)

Cal's badly wounded after the Haxion Brood fight, but his trust in Cere and Greez has been shaken. They take care of him anyway. ~3800 words, whump, angst, family feels even when times are tough. CW for vomit mention. Takes place immediately after the rescue from the Haxion Brood arena, when Cal has just learned the truth about Trilla.

---

Cal shivered, the adrenaline finally leaching out of his system. Felt like he’d been running on it for hours, and now that he was safe, the exhaustion had caught up to him. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out in a prison cell on a Haxion Brood outpost, but jumping from waking up groggy to fighting for his life in an arena battle royale hadn't been easy.

There was something worse than that, too, lurking in the back of his head where he was trying not to think about it. Trilla, the Second Sister. What Cere had done to her.

It made him dizzy.

There wasn’t time to think about it, though. Cal shut off the holotable with its new message from Kashyyyk. “We’ve got our lead,” he said, and limped off to the engine room.

He knew he should stop in the kitchen, get something to eat and drink, but he needed to be alone. Greez and Cere's apologies still echoed in his head, Greez for his gambling debts entangling Cal and nearly getting him killed, Cere for not telling the truth -- for outright lying to him -- about her Padawan. Cere was the one who’d let the Empire get its claws into Trilla, and she didn’t deny it.

No wonder he didn't want to look at either of his shipmates right now.

The door closed behind him, and he relaxed for a moment, grateful to be alone again with just himself and BD. The relief was short-lived when he sank onto his narrow bed and gasped with a stabbing pain in his leg. He reached down and clumsily rolled up his pant leg to find a nasty bite the size of his palm.

The swollen skin around the wound was mottled purple and green, and as he watched, thin rivulets of blood slid out of the bite marks, flowing down the side of his leg. He tried to touch the wound to staunch the bleeding but whipped his hand back as if he'd been burned. Kriff, that hurt!

"BD?" he called quietly, his heartrate rising. It’s okay. BD will sort it out for me. It’s going to be fine. BD bounced down from his shoulder to the floor, whistling anxiously when he saw the wound on Cal’s leg. He scanned it immediately, his beeps growing steadily louder and more alarmed.

Cal tried looking closer at the wound himself, and his stomach turned. Flesh should not be that color. It must have happened sometime during the arena fight, but everything had happened so quickly he’d barely felt it.

He remembered BD telling him on Kashyyyk that wyyyschokk venom had a myriad of side effects. He wished he could recall any of them right now, but his head pounded, distracting him. He closed his eyes and groaned, breathing with short, sharp breaths.

"Boop!" BD-1 trilled loudly.

"I need a stim, Beedee," he whispered, holding out a trembling hand.

“Brrrreep!” We need more stims!

Cal opened his eyes with an effort. “Oh. Yeah.” He knew that. He’d needed all of them to get past that fight, between the creatures and the bounty hunter.

There were backups in the galley, but trying to get there right now suddenly seemed impossible. “Just -- just give me a minute,” he muttered. “I’ll get up.”

He slumped against the bulkhead, shivering, sliding down until he rested against the wall at an odd angle. He didn’t mind. It felt blessedly cool.

I’ll get up in a minute. I’m just resting my eyes --

“Beep! … Berreep?”

---

Hands pawing at him, cold, unfeeling. Every touch hurt, and Cal hissed, trying to roll himself away. He couldn’t move, his hands and feet weakly flopping when he tried to control them.

Alien tongues chattered above him, harsh voices that made his head pound. He had to get up, had to escape, but how?

“Leave me alone,” he tried, but the words caught painfully in his throat, sending it spasming. He retched, bringing up the last dregs of his lunch. Dinner. What had he eaten? Poison?

He curled in on himself as the hands kept scrabbling, touching his face, shoulders, sides, legs, hands. Cal tried to cover his face, but they pulled his boneless hands away. Scrappers in dark blue and yellow-orange stared dispassionately at him, towering over him. They were all so tall -- or he was so small -- The wrecked ships above him wheeled and circled, whirling under the rainy skies, the streaks of hyperspace, a desert sun. The white lights of the Albedo Brave hurt his eyes.

“Stop it,” he gasped. Pain radiated up his leg and arced a direct line to his head, which felt like it was going to explode. He could hardly think, could hardly form any words at all. “Hide. Trust no one. Trust only in the…”

One of the aliens peered in at him, its vast face swimming in a sickening blur. It chattered something, a string of blistering curse words. Cal flinched. They’d found him somehow after the escape pod crash-landed, found Master Tapal and put the pieces together. Of course this scrawny robed child was a threat, of course he was a Jedi, and they knew what to do with those --

“No, ‘m not a Jedi,” he said frantically. The faces above him blurred and wavered. “I’ll work for you -- I’ll pull my weight, promise --”

The vast-faced alien leaned in, pressing a hand to Cal’s forehead. Cal retched again at the blinding pain, panting. What was happening? He didn’t understand -- he’d left Bracca, hadn’t he? He tried to balance on a Bogano mesa, but started falling. He flailed, grabbing onto his bed for support within the wreckage.

The Guild representative slid their hand down to his arm. The tattoo gun sparked and seared, his arm burning with every touch. There were no other options. He had nowhere else to go. He was so small, and everything ached or burned, and maybe they really had found him after the crash. He couldn’t have gone to Zeffo, or Kashyyyk. What would he be doing off-planet anyway? He was scrapper trash, he always had been -- it was all he would ever be --

He thrashed under the cold hand, struggling to breathe, and something sharp bit him in the arm.

---

Cold eyes stared into his, a soulless, empty gaze. Cal blinked. He knew this face. He knew this fear --

“Trilla!” he gasped. The woman recoiled, lips curling into an angular sneer. She tossed her sleek hair back, and her piercing eyes bored into his mind.

“Weak as always, Cal Kestis,” she leered. “Look what you’ve gotten yourself into. You’ve failed again, haven’t you?” She prowled around him, red lightsaber humming at her side, emitting the tortured whine of a turned kyber crystal. He tried to step back, reaching for the lightsaber at his belt, ready to stand and fight.

But there was nothing there. His hand brushed his hip and felt only fabric. He froze.

Trilla flung out her hand and the Force crushed him downward, staggering him until he crumpled onto his bad leg. He tried to touch it, tried to remember when he was wounded. A lightsaber burn? But that didn’t explain why it felt so swollen, so moist --

His hand came away sticky with blood and ichor, and he scrabbled backward, hand curling around a lightsaber hilt that wasn’t there. “Beedee, help,” he begged.

From a great distance he could hear BD’s beeps and warbles, and something different, familiar, beyond it. Greez? Cere?

“What’s happening?” he asked, even as the room bucked and swayed around him. Zeffo was Kashyyyk was the Albedo Brave was Coruscant. Master Tapal gave Cere a worried look. BD-1 perched on a clone trooper’s shoulder, his eyes flashing red. Trilla’s saber pierced Prauf’s chest, and Cal sank to his knees, stifling sobs.

“You have to rest, kid,” Greez said urgently, and four hands pushed him down.

---

“This is bad.”

“Beedee says that it should pass, now that we’ve treated--”

“You only think that’s what he’s saying. I know your binary’s rusty. He could be saying Cal’s gonna die and we wouldn’t even know!”

“Calm down, Greez. He’s already looking better --”

“Don’t shoot,” Cal muttered to the clones. They lifted their bone-white helmets, tilting them to the side at identical angles. The black visors showed nothing of their eyes. “I’m not the -- not the enemy.”

“We’re not fighting,” said one of the clones.

“What do you think he sees?” asked the other one anxiously.

Cal rubbed his face, breathing hard. Sweat slicked his hands. Another wave of cold nausea passed over him. “Medbay,” he said, his heart pounding, the room whirling around him. “Please, help me. My master --”

“We’re working on it, kid,” said one of the clones. “His master? Oh, geez.”

“You were bitten by one of the giant spiders,” the other tried to explain. “You’re sick, but you’re going to be all right. You need to rest.”

“No,” Cal said, getting to his feet. Bright lights flashed in his head, half-fractured fragments of psychometry -- or was it just his own memory? A spider bite, a roaring stadium, an asteroid -- His breath came quick and shallow. None of this was real. He looked wildly for a blaster, his lightsaber, anything. He was going to have to fight his way out. He reached for the Force --

The Force slid away from him, wrapped in an oily sheen that made it hard for him to reach through to it. His connection felt muffled and slippery, a thousand parsecs beyond him It was worse than living on Bracca, worse than when he’d tried stuffing the Force down, down, down where he couldn’t feel it anymore. Worse than when he had pretended he had never been a Jedi.

No. No. I started fixing it, I can feel the Force again, I was getting better. Why can’t I reach it? I have to reach it!

His next attempt left him reeling, and the shakes hit him as badly as the fear, roiling, wracking spasms. “I’m going crazy,” Cal whispered, his leg throbbing with each beat of his heart. He thought it might burst open. Maybe that would be better than the agony he was in now. “Or I’m dying. It’s one or the other, right?”

Cere’s face was dispassionate and hollow, a perfect reflection of her former Padawan’s arrogance and cruelty. “Then you’re of no use to me, Kestis. We will leave you for the Empire.”

Anger flared within him, nauseating, smothering, stabbing. “I knew I couldn’t trust you,” he hissed, and flung outward with the Force --

Cere rolled with the push, staying upright, though he could see it took a toll on her. She braced herself against the wall. “We’re helping you, Cal. Close your eyes. Trust me.”

“Better listen to her, kid,” said the shorter clone. Shorter? “Please rest. Just because you look better doesn’t mean you don’t still look terrible.”

“You look terrible,” said Cal sullenly. Cere took off her clone trooper helmet and set it aside. Her armored hands reached out, and he reached up to protect his face, the old scar on his cheek burning --

She tucked a blanket around him, and his hand fell back to his side. He stared up at the ceiling. The Albedo Brave had never been so small and close before.

Tears collected at the corners of his eyes, mingling with sweat. He could taste both at the edges of his lips. What’s happening, what’s happening, what’s happening --

---

Cal blinked. The emergency lights greeted him in gentle organized lines on the wall across from his cot. He tried to swallow and tasted stale breath, a hint of sick, the driest tongue he’d ever felt.

He tried to figure out his surroundings. He was on the Mantis. When was it? The last thing he remembered was the disastrous Haxion Brood fight, the tense air between him and Cere and Greez, and then--

He reached out a shaky hand to his leg, under the blankets. He realized someone had stripped him down to his underclothes. He could feel a warm, pulsing welt on his leg, safe beneath a bandage. While it hurt, he could touch it with only a little wincing.

He fell back against his pillow. He remembered BD-1 warning him about wyyyschokk venom, that it was used to immobilize prey for later digestion. Something about neuroparalytics. In sentients, the venom could also cause blinding hallucinations --

Oh.

“Boop?” BD-1 asked suddenly, his lights flashing. Cal squinted against the onslaught of brightness, shading his eyes with a clammy hand.

“I’m here, Beedee,” he croaked.

“Beep!” BD trilled excitedly, and took off down the hall, his little legs whirring. Cal groaned.

“It’s okay,” he tried to call, but the words were barely audible even to his own ears. “You don’t have to get them --”

“Cal?” Greez asked, clattering into the room, Cere coming along a few steps beside him. “Oh, man, kid, are you a sight for sore eyes.”

“You look better, Cal,” said Cere. She smiled at him, but it was restrained. He looked away, unable to look her in the eye. Not yet.

“What happened?” Cal asked. “The last thing I remember is realizing one of those spiders got me.” He struggled to sit up, his head spinning. He took a deep breath and reached out with the Force, and the spinning slowly stopped. The Force felt better, cleaner, more like itself now. Or maybe it was that he felt more like himself.

“Thank goodness for your little droid there,” said Greez, jabbing a thumb in BD’s direction. “You’d passed out and we might not have realized how bad it was if it wasn’t for this little guy. You’ve been a mess, you know. That thing really did a number on you.”

“How long have I been sleeping?” Cal asked, dreading the answer.

“Sleep is a relative term,” said Cere. Greez nodded. “As far as we could tell, the venom gave you terrible hallucinations. We treated you with stims and bacta, but enough of the venom had gotten into your bloodstream that we couldn’t keep you from experiencing some of its effects.” She took a deep breath, her shoulders sagging. “I only wish we’d realized you were injured earlier. It might have gone much differently if we’d been able to treat it right away.”

Cal foggily remembered stalking off to his room after boarding the ship. I could have said something then. Maybe it would have kept him from getting here, maybe not. He wasn’t sure he could have done anything different, given how he’d been feeling about Cere and Greez at the time. He wasn’t sure he could do anything differently now.

Yet he was grateful, too. “Sorry for worrying you,” he offered. He reached up, gingerly brushing his sweat-soaked hair back and out of his eyes. His head barely ached when he touched it, a marked improvement.

“What’d you see, anyway?” Greez asked. Cere gave him a stern look. “What? He was saying some pretty wild stuff, I was just curious.” A guilty expression crossed his face. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. If it was something you’d rather not think about.”

Cal stared down at his hands, resting atop the blanket. Blankets. He realized there were multiple layers of them, including Greez’ favorite throw from his great-grandmother and the thick warm blankets Cere always wore over her shoulders on hyperspace jumps. They were sweaty and funky-smelling and rumpled now, all of them piled high over him.

He glanced over to Cere and Greez and BD, who wore him the same worried look in their own ways; Greez with it plain as anything on his expressive face, Cere with a concern that was both reserved and genuine, and BD with the tilt and turn of his antennae.

He thought of Trilla’s feral eyes, the way she’d spat Cere’s name, Cere’s lies that Trilla had been killed by the Empire. He thought of the Haxion Brood knocking him out for Greez’s debts and throwing him into a ring to be killed for sport. He thought of muzzy, half-remembered nightmares. There were a lot of things he could say right now. There were some that he knew he shouldn’t.

Cal gave Cere and Greez a tired smile. “You know, I don’t really remember what I saw. Just weird stuff that didn’t make any sense.” He shrugged. “I thought I was dying. Guess it’s a good thing you guys were here to bring me back.”

Greez grinned in obvious relief. “That’s right. We look out for each other on this ship, and don’t you forget it. Now, promise me, kid, you get into any more scrapes with something with a venom gland, you tell us about it so we can watch out for you. Deal?”

“Deal,” said Cal. He reached out and shook one of Greez’s hands, and though his handshake wasn’t anything near as strong as it ought to be, it still put a smile on Greez’s face.

“You still need your rest,” said Cere gently. “You were out for three days. It’s going to take you a few more rotations to fully get back to yourself.”

“Days?” said Cal, his heart rate jumping. “But the mission -- we need to keep looking, we have to get back to Kashyyyk and find Chieftain Tarrful --”

Cere stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll complete the mission, Cal. But we’ll only do so with you healthy and rested. If you’re still injured, you’ll be an easy target. We owe it to Tarrful, and the children named on the holocron, to do everything we can to achieve a successful mission. We can only do that if you’re well.”

Cal swallowed, blinking back sudden stinging in his eyes. Master Tapal’s voice rang out suddenly in his mind, after a ground battle where Cal had been injured and was desperate to get back out to help their troops. Master Tapal had had to order him to stay put, but it had been the right call in the end; their troops were only able to free the Republic outpost with all men on deck. Men they would have had to spare to protect Cal if he’d hurt himself further.

He let out a long, frustrated breath, and hung his head. “I know. I’ll be more careful next time. It was a stupid mistake.”

“Don’t beat yourself up like that, kid,” said Greez, frowning. “The spider already did a good job, you don’t have to give it a hand.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cal said automatically.

“Rest up, Cal. We’ll get you some food and water,” said Cere. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, but closed it again. “Greez will fix up something nice and light for you.”

“Right,” said Cal. His stomach growled, hungry for the first time in days. He laid a hand over it to silence it.

For a moment the three of them looked at each other. He wasn’t sure what to say. He was glad they’d looked out for him -- dank farrik, he could have died -- but there was still a lot to set right, and he didn’t even know where to begin. The ship hummed around them, and the silence stretched.

“Boop?”

The reverie broke. Cal smiled at BD-1. “Hey, buddy. Yeah. I’ll be back out there in no time.” He gazed up at Cere and Greez. Things were complicated… but not everything had to be. He spoke, and he meant it. “Thank you, both of you, for helping me.”

The air felt calmer again. Cere nodded and gave him a small, faint smile. Greez took a little bow.

“You’re welcome, kid. Now what do you think -- mudhorn egg omelettes, or loaded ronto wraps?”

“A light meal, Greez.”

Cal watched them head back to the galley. Something complicated unfurled itself in his chest, a ball of tangled feelings. Hope was there, and anger; disappointment, gratitude, doubt, determination. He didn’t know what all it meant.

But he knew whatever it was, it was real; it was something bigger than the nightmares of clone troopers and Inquisitors, old fears and new failures. It filled him more than anything had in a long time.

He held onto it, and he drew his blankets closer.

#jedi: fallen order #jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order fanfiction #cal kestis #bd 1 #greez dritus #cere junda #my jedi fic

32 notes · View notes