#but when he dies its gonna be like . its gone

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 69 - Eat Your Heart Out, Van Helsing

You and Gandrel have a chat.

On AO3.

The gur looks haggard. Bags under his eyes and a tired slump to his shoulders. But there’s a light in his eyes that tells you physical exhaustion ain’t gonna be an issue for him right now.

You lift your hands, “Whoa, whoa, hold on!”

The clearing is small. The brown horse is saddled and bridled. But there’s something else over its muzzle. A bag. It’s ears flick to y’all, but it otherwise seems unbothered. You wonder if there’s herbs or something in that bag to mask the smell of all the blood.

There are no visible injuries on the dead deer.

And lying next to that, flat on his back, is Astarion. Blood coats his front, from mouth to groin. It bubbles up around that horrific stake buried in his chest. He ain’t breathing, ain’t moving. Head tilted slightly back, but his eyes are on you, bugging out. His mouth moves but no sound comes out.

“What the fuck, Gandrel?” you say all soft.

“Easy now,” he says. “He’s not any deader than usual, and he’ll remain that way. His kind are quite difficult to kill, after all. It seems you knew my quarry after all.”

You lied to his face. Protected Astarion from him. But also protected him from Astarion.

“I was trying to avoid a fight. He ain’t hurting nobody out here. I mean, unless we’re already fighting them.”

“I have no idea what he or any of you are doing out here,” Gandrel says. “Nor is it my business. That lies in Baldur’s Gate.” He eyeballs you, and the ghost of a wry grin tugs at his lips. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to turn away and let me finish my hunt?”

Astarion is soaked in blood. And you’re pretty sure it’s all his. You seen people shit-scared; you seen people in Faerun as they fucking died. That is the level of terror staring out through the elf’s eyes. His fingers give the barest twitch and he manages a wet, rasping sound.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to let him go?” you say. “We can pay more than whoever sent you.”

Probably. Taking donations from all the others. Y’all could make a down payment, at least.

“Pay?” Gandrel says. He seems actually startled. Then he turns to look at Astarion and lets out a bark of laughter. “I see. No, my friend, I’m not here on account of pay. My mission lies much closer to home”

A wet, clicking sound, this time. New blood bubbles outta Astarion’s mouth. Must be shoving the last of the air in his unmoving lungs up his throat just to try. The adrenaline burns through you, hands all numb, skin gone icy.

“What’s with him? Why can’t he move?”

The crossbow doesn’t even twitch. “Are you not familiar with vampires? You seemed knowledgeable about the hag.”

Above, the crow coughs her hideous laughter. Fucking witches.

Gandrel follows your gaze. Nods, and there’s that tiredness in his eyes again. “I seems you angered her enough she accepted my terms.”

She should be fucking dead. That’s why ain’t nobody should mess with fucking witches. Then the rest of what he said catches up. Gandrel went for help to find Astarion. That crow flutters, cocks its head with that eyeball still in its beak.

It’s…it’s been following y’all. The whole time. The hag spying on y’all. That night with Astarion in the woods, when you woke up after that disastrous talk when you got your soul stuck in a jar, after the goblin camp massacre. She’s been watching.

“You been following us,” you say.

“Indeed.” You study him again. Brown hair tied back in a partial tail. Beard tidy and waxed to a point, framed by kind, brown eyes—

One brown eye. The other pale, glazed over like a cataract. The same color as that eye in the beak of a bird.

“You’ve been difficult to catch up to,” Gandrel continues. “I only managed it this morning with a hard trek through that storm. I thought it would take longer to corner my quarry alone, but he is a vampire spawn, and they’re greedy, wretched things. He took the poisoned deer quite readily.”

Fuck. Fuck. He ain’t been eating for days. Not since the goblin camp, you think. He’s half-starved, running on fumes. He ain’t never said nothing about eating already-dead things—memories of a putrid rat and congealed blood sticking in his throat, and you’d avoid that for the rest of your life, too. It’s too easy to imagine him coming up on that deer. Slow. Maybe shaking. Clearly weak—either too old or too sick, and it’s perfect predator bait. White hunters and park rangers used to bait meat to slaughter wolves and coyotes (and then wondered why the woods started pulling back for grasslands cause there were too many goddamn deer to feed so they started stripping saplings).

Wasn’t enough to kill Astarion outright. Wasn’t meant to. Just slow him down, make him sick enough for Gandrel to get close enough with that stake.

You find the gur watching you. Something like sympathy softening his mis-matched eyes. “You truly know nothing of his ilk, do you?”

Ilk huh? Lotta meaning packed into that word. “I ain’t from here.”

“How lucky you are, then, to live free of such monsters. A stake through the heart—”

You wince.

“—paralyzes him. I have safer methods, but that will do until I can put some distance between this trail and the Gate.”

Jesus, if you hadn’t had to pee when you did, if you’d slept through the night…

“Why, then?” you say. “If nobody’s paying you?”

He hunts monsters; gave up a fucking eyeball. Astarion is a vampire. Maybe that’s all the justification he needs. Maybe it’s some bullshit pride thing. An honor thing. Or maybe monsters is just that bad—Astarion ain’t a peach on the best of days.

Then the skin around Gandrel’s eyes tightens, and his lips go thin when he says, “He stole our children.”

You don’t hear him right. That damn dirt potion. The words don’t make no sense, even as the meaning stabs you in the heart.

Mother and the Pastor came for you, hiding underneath Grandpa’s kitchen table. Grandpa—sly, laughing Grandpa—crying as he wrung the paper in his hands. Court documents. Because she was your mother (White woman) so she had more claim over you. And the Pastor came from money, so the Nation would have a hard time fighting courts and others had done it before only to be painted as drunk, druggies, sluts and poor, poor dirty Indians. You can’t leave an innocent child with those people. They deserve better.

Kill the Indian.

Save the man.

Steal the children and dress them proper and cut their hair and beat their mother tongues outta them. Not as much to your Nation as to others, but them others? Oh. Whole generations killed on purpose. Deliberately. Meant to bleed an entire people off the face of the earth.

Grandpa cried so hard he shook as he held you that last time.

“Wh,” you start. Swallow through sand. “What?”

“He and his fellow spawn, led by the vampire lord Cazador Szarr. They came in the night four tenday ago. They stole our children. All but the twin babes too young to leave their mother’s sling. My elder sent me and several others when we heard whispers one had escaped his master’s control. I will return Astarion to my people so we can question him.”

It’s one of the most sadistic forms of genocide. Literally stealing away the future. Killing them outright—disease, abuse—or changing them so much the person, the culture, came back as something else. Something strange. Altered forever. The soul gone, the language erased.

“Why?” you say. You mean, “Why your people” but your mouth don’t wanna work.

Astarion has stopped trying to speak. He just stares at you, silent and unmoving. He looks like a corpse.

“His master’s orders,” Gandrel says. “Beyond that, Szarr is a vampire lord. He needs no reason for cruelty. So he sent his spawn, who cannot disobey their lord.”

“But…but why go after Astarion? Why not that fuckface who sent him?”

In his position, drowning in the kind of rage you only catch echoes of, you already know why.

“Because we cannot reach him,” Gandrel says. “Not yet.”

You close your eyes.

The world is not just. Not unless someone is already rich and powerful. Everybody else lives under a different set of rules. And when one of them high and mighty fucks lashes out and hurts somebody, when the other somebodies know they can’t ever touch the one who did it?

They settle for a scapegoat. A crony. A lesser member of the high and mighty. Somebody they can reach. Somebody they can hurt.

“This creature,” Gandrel says. “This spawn can tell us how to get to his master.”

Two hundred years as a slave. A puppet. You saw how Astarion watched everything in that swamp after y’all left Gandrel behind. The way he peered into the dark beyond camp for nights afterward.

You’ve tasted that prey terror yourself.

“He’ll probably just tell you all that if you let him,” you say. Glance to Astarion’s wide, scared eyes. “I suspect he wants that fucker dead just as bad as you.”

But Gandrel shakes his head. “I cannot risk that. Nor can I turn down this opportunity.”

That word don’t make no sense. Getting information’d be as easy as pulling that godawful stake out. You’d bet all your Faerun possessions that Astarion would leap at the chance to sick a band of vengeful monster hunters on that fuckface.

Gandrel, apparently, clocks your confusion. “Vampires are elusive monsters. They hide in the shadows, use manipulation or compulsion to coerce others to do their bidding.”

And the man gives you such a soft look. You nearly snarl at him.

“It’s a rare thing to capture one. Even a spawn. My people can learn much from him. Use this chance so we may better protect the defenseless. Prevent anyone else’s children from being snatched in the night.”

He’s right. That shining line in your head knows it. A chance to study the enemy, learn how they work, see how they operate.

Take them apart.

They have a right to their anger. And it’s logical to learn more, to do better, in order to stop it.

But he’s going to torture Astarion probably to death.

“I want to help you,” you say, and can’t look away even as Astarion manages another horrible sound. “But you don’t got to take him. We’ll help you, Gandrel. All of us, in any way we can. Please.”

Pity. That’s what he’s looking at you with. The anger in you bares its teeth even as your skin crawls.

“You’ve made your decision, then,” he says. Sighs. “It’s not entirely your fault. They are masters of deception. I don’t know what he promised you—”

“He didn’t and he’s been a bitch the whole time.”

But your attempt to bleed off some of the tension fails.

“Or what he’s done to ensnare you,” Gandrel continues.

The devil tempts you. Calls to sinners. Especially women, who are evil by nature. Too soft, too female. Too weak to hold morals and too easily corrupted for anyone to trust. They have no judgment, no logic, you cannot help your base instincts—

“Don’t you fucking presume I ain’t making my own goddamn choices,” you say.

Gandrel gives you a small smile. “You’re a brave one. Loyal and caring, too. I suspect that’s exactly why he targeted you.”

The weakest link, the lamed gazelle. That shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, you shouldn’t let it, but all them suspicions come roaring back. He bit you cause he knows you got no connections, hit you up cause you’re the most desperate out here.

And you’re pretty good at holding a blank expression, but Gandrel is perceptive as fuck. He gives you a sad smile. “I won’t force this choice upon you, friend.”

And his fingers moves on the crossbow trigger.

“No Gandrel wait—”

A chunk. Something green flashes—

You wake to cool dirt and choking. Try to lift up, but you cannot move. The panic bites deep and you twist, try to thrash, and manage to turn your head enough to blow dirt and pine needles away enough to suck in a gasp.

Torchlight flickers. You’re face down in the woods. Your muscles fucking shake. It don’t hurt, but you can’t stop it. Fingers twitch. Arms seize and release. Feet kick around in the detritus of dead tree needles.

A dragging sound and a grunt. You got to turn the other way. Barely manage, whole body shuddering like your thighs did after that first run with Lae’zel. More clumsy and flopping than a newborn foal.

Gandrel drags Astarion by the armpits. Heaves the man a few steps closer to the horse. Astarion’s head flops uselessly at the movement. Lolls to the side as Gandrel stops to take a few breaths, and the elf’s gaze lands on you. Man’s half-crazed. He knows once Gandrel gets him on that horse, he’s looking at death by torture.

He stole their children.

He’s been a puppet for two hundred years.

He’s a murderous cunt.

He’s saved your ass at least three times by now.

He threw you away.

And now he’s being dragged off.

His laugh is bitchy and he’s mean. He teases you and makes sure you know what species you’re looking at. He keeps your secrets and cuts your heart out and holds your wounds closed and doesn’t talk to you and tries to fuck Lae’zel and seeks you out after he got rejected to watch you fucking cry and he don’t tell a soul about it or make fun of you.

“Guh,” you say.

Gandrel huffs. Looks to you. “Don’t worry. The toxin should wear off shortly. You may be numb or experience trembling on and off for several days, but it should fade entirely.”

This bitch poisoned you. It’s almost fitting.

“Wa,” you say. And yeah, it’s real hard to talk when your lungs keep shuddering and gasping like you’re hyperventilating after getting kicked in the chest by a horse.

“Take it easy, friend. These woods are dangerous, even without a vampire on the loose. Drawing attention to yourself by shouting for your companions could draw something else to you. I’d advise you to save your strength until you can get up.”

You pant. Blow more dirt from your nose. Another wave of the tremors rips through you and your head kinda flops around. Lands you face down right as your lungs suck in and you inhale in a mouthful of dirt.

The gag reflex kicks in. You make awful sounds. Can’t breathe, fuck fuck air. Which just feeds into itself and you gag and retch again. Whole body heaves and your eyes water and you just want air. Just need to inhale—

A sound. A crunch next to you. Hands grab your shoulder and Gandrel rolls you onto your side. You meet his gaze for a second, your eyes watering, face smeared with dirt and spit.

He’s a monster hunter, hunting a monster that stole a people’s children. He came back to keep you from choking to death.

You cannot let him take Astarion, and most of the choking was real. But not all of it.

Your body is a numb, seizing mess. Fine motor control is gone. All you can manage is a single shove. One, single roll.

You hit his shins. All your mass keeps going. He tries to stumble back, get clear, but there’s too much of you and it happens too quick.

He falls.

Something cracks.

The clearing goes silent, save for your shuddering, heaving gags.

Then Gandrel moans. Shifts.

He fell on a rock. Cracked his head. Much better than you expected. His chin lifts and the side of his head is smeared in red. Your body ain’t under your control—arms flop like dead meat as you writhe along the ground, in the dirt, stones and sticks digging into your flesh.

Gandrel moans again. One hand comes up, waves around the side of his head before flopping down. Head injuries are serious things. They don’t actually, conveniently and cleanly, knock people out like hitting a restart button on a computer. Best case, he’s got a bruise and a cut scalp. Worst case, it’s a traumatic brain injury and his brain swells up and he dies.

But between all that, he’s got a chance to wake up and hurt you. Kill you. Get Astarion on that horse and disappear into the night.

You cannot let that happen. You can’t.

You continue to flop and shimmy your way along his body. Not for Astarion—he’s too far away and you can’t grab that stake like this. Not for the knife glittering in the torchlight that Gandrel must’a dropped.

The man tries to sit up. Collapses again. And you’re level with his chest. Just below his chin. He’s knows he’s hurt, knows something bad is going to happen.

Your hands are useless. Feet useless. You got nothing as you sort of flop over him. He’s warm beneath you, smells clean, the fresh air clinging to his clothes.

“Sor,” you manage as one of his hands comes up to bat weakly at you. This man who came back to help you, to keep you from choking on the dirt.

He’s kind, when he can be.

You can’t think about that. Can’t let that man and his sad smile exist. You shove that down. Down and down into the deep and the dark. Take all of that, all the could-be’s and walk them down rickety, wooden steps that squeal beneath you. Walk it along loaded shelves, over to the back wall where you can chain it tight amongst evaporated milk and canned peaches.

And then you walk yourself back. Lower them creaking doors. Lower, lower, until they clack down onto the frame. Until you slip that chain through the handles and click down the great, big padlock to keep them shut. Keep them down there, screaming in the dark.

You find Gandrel’s neck.

You start chewing.

[lokh]

oughh i wanted to do a cute laishuro take on the blu ray extras (what if laios had been eaten instead) but lets be honest. they absolutely would not have made it as far without laios

[oatbugs]

lmao looking at her insta highlights was a mistake

[what-is-it-to-be-pk-esque]

My partner finally finished BG3 but has no idea that his ending was actually bad cause he was a pro-Vlaakith githyanki who rode off with Lae'zel but got NO EPILOGUE where Withers points out y'all died im 😭😭😭

they have no idea what happened with Gale or anyone else (who was still alive) after flying away 🙃🙃🙃

[this-doesnt-endd]

I used to have a really giant family like tons of tias and tios and cousins and i say used to cause like it seems like after my grandparents died on both sides both families seemed to never speak again and i had no chance to even try and keep hold of those ties i was in elementary school watching my parents marriage crash and burn in real time dealing with major death in the family and then subsequent family abandoning me at the tender age of 11. Hell my brothers were older and jumped ship it was just me and the horrors

[todayisafridaynight]

arasawa 'but are they You Know' can be so funny check this out. literally any scenario involving ichiban being nosy

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

Thinking about Berserk again. I havent read any of the new chapters because Miura's death kind of got to me really bad so thinking about or talking about berserk at all just made me really depressed and I think I probably havent even looked at it since he passed (after I used to reread huge chunks of it like every week) but now its been like two years and Im thinking I should just accept it and give the new stuff a shot.

One thing I am always thinking about though is how Miura's death effected discussion around Berserk and how much it will continue to effect discussion. Like, I always felt Berserk never got enough criticism. You can search Berserk on here and find all my old posts complaining about how everybody was jumping the gun on calling it One Of The Greatest Manga Ever when it wasnt even done and at the time most people were convinced it hadnt been good since like what, conviction arc? And that was back before Kentaro Miura died and his death has only made the discussion even more like "Berserk is a beautiful wonderful masterpiece and anyone with problems doesnt GET IT".

So like I stopped reading under the idea that no matter what happened it wasnt gonna be what REALLY shouldve happened, now I think thats kind of unfair and maybe I should give it a shot, but I think that idea is gonna be influencing how people talk about a manga that was already being given alot of undue praise and adoration from people who seemed to mostly never have actually read it and had nothing more interesting to say about it beyond it being the manga that popularized the idea of a guy with a big big sword. I dunno.

[fagoutboy]

sorry. still thinking

[anthro-cat]

what will i do once my cat dies?

[bamboozled-distress]

I HATE IT WHEN I HAVE HYPERFIXATIONS ON SHOWS OR BOOKS AND THINGS AND THEN WHILE THIS IS HAPPENING I HEAR THAT THR SERIES OR WHATEVER IS ENDING AND I GET SO SAD YOU DONT FUCKING UNDERSTAND

I BARELY GOT TO LOVE IT AND ITS ENDING WHAT DO YOU FUCKING MEAN ITD ENDING I LOVE IT YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME PLEASE

[oetscop]

developing an emotional attachment with a character and promptly hitting them with my beam that givesthem schizophrenia

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

[minimoefoe]

my troy fixation mostly leaving and being replaced by a fixation with endless content is truly the best christmas gift I coulda asked for like one thing about me is I'm gonna try my best to obsess over something that's current so it's not really a surprise that ftwd ending has made my troy obsession lessen slightly (tho he has appeared in my dreams two nights in a row now so...) and after spending like 7 months fixating on a character with barely any content the dw fixation returning is a solid development idk (tho i've been into things with far less content than troy has so it coulda been wayyyy worse, i remember being pleasently surprised at how many ppl were still posting about try despite him being dead 6yrs, and then ofc it picked up a bit once he was rumoured and confirmed to be alive with didnt happen too long after i got obsessed with him)

I do think tho that troy has become kinda a consistent interest of mine like twd became near the end of last year and like dw has been since 2019 like even tho I'm not thinking about him all day and likely have another fixation on the go, I can always go back to a bit of troy/ftwd content yknow I'm not abandoning it like I do with basically every other obsession I have except dw and twd

[aashiqvi]

death tw 😫😫 venting coz if i hit post its like letting it out into da universe n burning it

[chisatowo]

Thinking abt Aris and Tali's family again and it fucking kills me anytime I think abt them even a lil bit just everyone involved deserved so much fucking better. Except for Aris' mom she deserves to burn.

[ghosts-of-the-apocalypse]

Everything we have yet to see in the series (as of ep 6) that was shown in the trailer.

1) Charlie with Alastor's Microphone!?

Er hello, wtf how what when were how!? Did Al give it to her to use or is this kinda like one of those oh no character died/is gone and all is left is this moments?

2) The Hazbin's preparing for extermination day.

Aw Sir Pentious's lil outfit he looks so cute <3 Angel with the feather hat and tie love that too. It's almost like he just tore off an outfit from on top of his usual clothes but idk. But like this paired with the song in the trailer. UGH! I CANT WAIT TO SEE IT!

3) Whatever this scene is!!!????

[The little picture on the door is of Husk, Angel, Nifty and Sir Pentious with the word "Besties!" under it] istg if they kill off Angel Dust ;_; Look at Charlie she's crying AJDHKHKGADACAHFAHFAHFQFGJAUG. Did he get redeemed? Did he die? Did he get captured? Did they all die/get captured?

4) ROSIE MY GAL!!! <3<3<3

No comment I love Rosie and can't wait to see what's in store with her. Does Charlie get another overlord to help her out? Idk but either way ITS ROSIE!!!! (I just hope they don't go the Mimzy route with her too cuz I might genuinely cry)

5) Alastor going apeshit (again)

From the sign on the side it looks like he's on the roof of the Hotel. Trying to protect it during the angel attack maybe? Hmm

6) Rebuilding of the hotel

You just know this is gonna be such a sweet scene. Love Vaggie with that pony tail she's rocking it! (Also has Charlie always had that kinda magic because it looks super similar to what Lucifer's looked like too?)