I keep imagining the Avengers bursting into the citadel at the end of time in a righteous fury because they assume that Loki is up to no good, only to find him and Mobius making banana pancakes for "breakfast" and slow-dancing around their kitchen to Kokomo by the Beach Boys.
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Sorry for no activity i keep forgetting to post here but well i got into Moral Orel, have a Clay 🙏
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Thinking about how Astarion insisted on staying up to keep watch in the beginning of the game
Yeah, it could be because he needs to go hunt at night without anyone noticing, or because he's keeping an eye out for Cazador/his minions. But... It could also be because he's scared of sleeping/trancing in general?
He's got severe C-PTSD. I have that too. And one of the things I experience from it is a fear of falling asleep.
Sleeping is vulnerability. You're completely defenseless. It's terrifying to fall asleep when you're used to danger! And some abusers will purposefully do things to you when you sleep. I wouldn't put it past Cazador to have done something like that.
It's especially terrifying when you're sleeping somewhere unfamiliar, or as out and open as a forest. With strangers.
Add in the elvish reverie (if we assume Astarion still experiences it as he would if he were alive at his current age)... and he might even be reliving horrible memories every time he tries to rest.
(If you're unfamiliar with elvish trancing/dreaming, I made a post about it and some ways it might affect Astarion as a vampire spawn a while ago)
One of the reasons I think this could be the case is actually the other spawn, specifically what I noticed when we first meet Dalyria and Petras. At first I thought Astarion's eye bags were just a product of being undead. But... Petras, the very human looking spawn, doesn't have that. Dalyria is an elf as well, and like Astarion, she's got some of that tired sleep-deprived purple under and around her eyes.
So all this considered... I think it's very possible that Astarion has a fear of sleeping too. Or at the very least, trouble resting. Him and the other elvish spawn.
It also makes me wonder if he sleeps any better later on in the game. By Act 3 he probably feels more comfortable with you and the group. Sleeping near familiar people (especially people you're very comfortable with, but that's very dependant on your own choices in your game), and having established night time routines can make sleeping feel a little safer.
Plus by that point he's made many new memories he can visit in his reverie. Maybe instead of remembering the terrible things, sometimes he dreams of sun bathing, the first time he bit you or that bear, or any other happy memory he's created since being tadpoled.
Maybe for the first time in centuries, sleeping isn't such a terrible prospect.
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THROWING A PARTY WAS NOT A GOOD IDEA. or.. perhaps it was an excellent idea, because.. whenever her head was a mess and whenever she felt like screaming - hope knew that she needed to surround herself with people that would remind her of just who she was. call her arrogant, but.. whenever one was on a downward spiral, one that had just been made worse by a recent conversation - there was nothing better than a party with people who admired her. or with random strangers, who could turn out to be.. people who admired her in the future? maybe yes, maybe no. however, throwing the biggest party that the town had seen in the longest time was bound to be a good distraction. and so, when she saw someone lingering outside, she smirked, heading off to them with a champagne glass in hand. "well, hello there, gorgeous. come right in. would you care for some champagne and.. a dance?" @walstarterblog
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Abbattoir snippet
“Lady Hunger does not ask or accept worship,” the woman raised her brows, more disdainful than offended. “Illyria was once a friend to her, and so she is a friend to us.”
Hunger.
Cassian recognized the marks on the other, soaring, well-lit walls if nothing else. The facets of Illyrian worship that he’d never gotten to see well-tended, much less grouped together: wind, water, sky. Storm Maiden, Once-drowned Warrior, Grandmother Starlight.
What had been taken for so long, Cassian knew nothing else.
Lost before he’d ever been born.
The niche with what was nearly Feyre’s face- rendered beautiful, awing, familiar but utterly wrong- was much, much smaller. Darker. Littered in writing, names tracing up the wall behind her.
Cassian shook his head. “That’s Feyre Archeron.” He tipped back his head, staring at lights so high above they glittered, this stronghold he’d never even heard of. “You- you don’t follow the clans. That’s why you’re here?”
She flashed her teeth at him, wings wide as a sky flickering fuller in rage. “The little coward that pretended to be one of us?” A teenager, sitting before a vast stature wielding hammer and tongs, turned all the way around to hiss Cassian’s direction. “That child, ruling in the memory of a man who despised us? We are Illyrian, unlike you. We answer to no one.”
“But”-
“But nothing,” It was a snarl, and all Cassian could do was look, look at that impossibly perfect, impossibly familiar face.
Cassian scrambled forward, after her quick retreating form. “Please. What- the names?”
She rounded, robe flaring, showing a paler color up around the edges. “She is old,” the priestess intoned, like Cassian was very small, very stupid, ill-behaving child. Pitiable. “She pays her debt.”
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then again,,, i am great at convincing myself that i have a gazillion different illnesses and that everything will kill me...
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fav chuuya trivia: he’s a lightweight and a wine collector. combine it with the fact that poisons a weakness for him, ability wise, and too much alcohol is in fact poison. he chooses that often.
bonus: combine that with the fact that dazai’s coming of age came with going to a bar, and i don’t know what that means
anon cause shy
Untitled
I.
My dear, even though you treat me kindly,
I'm stubborn. After we parted last night,
I went drinking and berated some weakling. This morning,
Waking up, I remember your kindness
And sadly reflect on my vile behavior. And now,
I, a total fraud, will here confess that, without shame,
Stripped of all dignity, and therefore lacking honesty—
I was urged on by my own illusions, raving mad.
[...]
III.
In this world we sadly live in like this, your heart—
Don't let it grow stubborn my dear
Because I hope for intimacy with you
Your heart— don't let it grow stubborn my dear.
[Excerpted from Poems of the Goat, written by Chuuya Nakahara, translated by Ry Beville]
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