#i've got so much lore bottled up

[quijotine]

things that made me feral and rabid and a concern for animal control in dandadan ep 11

jealous okarun is actually "so anxious i am about to vomit" okarun and i love that for him

jiji being Like That the second he enters momo's class and immediately announcing that not only they live together, they're lovers 💀 jiji💀

but you know what, in jiji's defense i see the Vision. like those 0.5 seconds where he actually got real with momo were >>>> this boy is best boy.

okarun reacting by working out to bottle up his emotions and get ripped instead of dealing with them is so terminally Man of him it's the only time I've ever rolled my eyes at him fhdbsbsbs

MOMO AYASE WHAT DO YOU MEAN "I'LL FEED YOU"

iconic behavior queen, iconic.

girl was flirting with okarun so mf hard and the way this boy was about to have a fucking aneurysm dndbsbsb stop

the anatomy model guy with okarun's golden ball. (i had an out of body experience just typing this. dandadan is not a show, it's an acid trip dhdbsbs)

i need to read the manga to catch up with the lore because I have so many questions about okarun's transformation. Does he rememeber what he says in yokarun form? but also it's such a nifty little pressure valve for his personality like

i don't think he has no feelings as he described it the first time momo helped him transform, it's like, his emotions actually take over but this guy is so lonely and clinically anxious that what he's been feeling for so long bubbles up to the surface. and that something is Depression. lol. depression and apathy.

because also he gets blunter when he transforms and he doesn't seem to remember he literally calls momo "babe" when mans cannot even bear to have girlie on a first name basis??

but also BUT ALSO the way they had me kicking and screaming at okarun already half in yokai form when he was running after momo and jiji because didn't he say that he transforms when he is feeling angry? and the way he was already transformed, which means his anger was already getting the best of him, already making him blunter by actually admitting out loud he didn't like that jiji kept hugging momo fjdbshsushsbsjssb

chat I'm unwell

i know it's such a dumb little thing but it meant SO much

having me howling and clawing against the walls

but also I didn't get why he didn't just run the first time when he transformed? he had to do the thing two times until he put his shoes away? was he waiting for his coat thing or was he just being ocd and couldn't run until he put his shoes away?

ALSO

THE WAY HE IMMEDIATELY FIXED HIS POSTURE WHEN REALIZATION DAWNED ON HIM THAT HE LOVES MOMO AFTER SEEING THE FRIGGIN ANATOMY DOLLS FIGHTING FOR THEIR LOVE (dhsbaba acid trip acid trip acid triiiiiip) SUCH A SMALL DETAIL SUCH A DEFINITE AND ELEGANT WAY TO SHOW HIS CHANGE OF MIND, HIS CHARACTER GROWTH, AND HIS RESOLUTION ALL IN LESS THAN A SECOND. DANDADAN THE SHOW THAT YOU ARE.

[yurozo]

resident evil — vape shop au

this overtakes restaurant au for the dumbest thing i've ever written. i work in a vape shop, and this has been a month-long conversation between the coworkers on what each resident evil character would smoke.

18+ only, because smoke stuff, don't do it kids. contains: carlos, leon, chris. please let me know if you want other characters, i am at your humble service.

as customers:

carlos: this man isn't much of a vaper, but he smokes weeds like nobody's business. every two weeks he comes in looking for a new bong (usually small, and needs to have some sort of cool decoration on it. if it has something pink, the man is handing over his credit card) because he keeps breaking his. either he drops them or one of his pets knocks it over. he also never goes through the process of cleaning them, which inevitably leaves jill the burden of having to buy bong cleaner for him in hopes that one day he will use it. it will collect dust with the rest of the bottles somewhere in his room, laying dormant on a shelf.

the employees are all horrendously down bad for him, mostly because he always comes right after the gym in muscle shirts and a tight pair of shorts. the whole work groupchat is filled with carlos smiled at me today, he wants me so bad.

not that it's necessarily their fault, he's annoyingly chivalrous and has a litany of pickup lines at the ready. you need a ladder to reach something? carlos is behind you and ready to grab it at a moments notice.

leon:

a firm man of routine-- buys the same flavour, same brand, every time without fail. peach blue razz, low puff count because he likes a small device. no, he does not want to try something new. you're wasting your time offering it to him. by the time a couple weeks roll around, you know exactly what to grab the moment he swings open the door.

he's embarrassed he's gotten into this whole thing honestly. hit luis' once after a stressful shift, and it was hook line and sinker. he calls them his shame vapes, and hides it in his sleeve so no one he works with will ever know.

god forbid if an employee ever flirts with him. he tried once to say something flirty back and got so embarrassed he didn't show up for two weeks, nicotine addiction be damned. if you can convince him into trying something new, he's not gonna tell you if he doesn't like it. he'll nod and walk out with his tail between his legs.

and honestly? he just kinda looks like a cop. younger people know to pull out their id when he's browsing, assuming he's undercover. ask him how his day is? he will respond "it's going." every single time.

chris:

tobacco flavoured vapes only. "what tastes most like a cigarette" type motherfucker. he'll try whatever cotton candy vape claire has, claims he hates it, and then take multiple puffs anyways. he really only got into it because claire claimed it was better for him than smoking a pack every day. he buys a vape and then proceeds to smoke a cigarette outside the store anyway.

his routine entirely depends on how stressed out he is, and this shop is both his nicotine hookup and his social outing for the week. it takes him a while to open up beyond the typical customer interaction, but once you get him out of his shell, there's no putting him back in it. bring up sports or something else he's interested in, and he's giving you a long lecture.

hitting on him will entirely depend on his mood and your approach. going in strong by complimenting his arms will only get a half-sheepish response, but gently nudging him into talking about himself is what will get you the full chris redfield experience. sometimes he forgets that these people live relatively normal lives, and will pull some batshit insane lore with the casualty of someone who has forgotten that most people have never even held a gun.

[toxictigertonic]

Alright, I've been cursed with new blorbos (don't worry DJ will always be my number one). Outlast trials has me in a chokehold, specifically Franco, but all the prime assets are running around in my brain causing problems. I'm subjecting you to my stupid food headcanons as a result:

COYLE

- This mother fucker drinks hot sauce. Like. Chugs the shit. You can't take him anywhere without him bringing a bottle of Tabasco.

- Takes his coffee black, but will add a little sugar if no one is looking. Can't let people know that he doesn't like plain black coffee.

- He feels like a big breakfast kinda guy, with all the fixings. If you took him to a diner that'd be what he'd get, no matter the time of day.

- Would he disgusted by energy drinks EXCEPT classic redbull. Now imagine this man hyped up on caffeine.

- Would still eat his scrambled eggs if he got shells in them. Would say some shit like "the shells put hair on your chest"

- Trusting this man to bake anything is a fire hazard, it doesn't matter if it's those pre cut cookie rolls, they're catching fire.

- Says he hates desserts then stares down a slice of pecan pie from across the room like it owes him money.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- The only one I trust to cook tbh, and that's not saying much.

- If you took her to get coffee she'd get the sweetest thing on the menu (and Futterman would bitch and moan about it the whole time) or she'd get a chai latte. Futterman would demand a black coffee.

- I would trust her to make me an apple pie and then she'd put the drill in it bc the crust came out wrong.

- She feels like a woman who really likes jam. Maybe I am projecting but jam is cool.

- She will not touch an energy drink bc they taste bad to her, and bc Futterman would throw a fit about how bad they are for your teeth. No caffeine fueled death sprint for her, but based on her singing and the whole angel dust thing I don't think she needs it.

- I would make her pancakes she seems pretty cool.

- Likes the batter for desserts more than the finished products.

FRANCO

- God help us where do I begin

- On one hand I wanna say he makes some bomb ass Italian food. On the other hand I wanna say he burns cereal.

- Speaking of cereal, he's the kinda guy who let's his cereal turn to paste in the bowl before he eats it.

- Considering what we know about the wolf's milk drink, I'm frightened by this man's palette. Genuinely terrified.

- I think he would die if he tasted hot sauce. I think Coyle is aware of this fact and has plans.

- Give him an energy drink if you wanna see him start doing flips. He thinks they're gross but he's also like "fuck yeah pure sugar I love these"

- Likes his cookies so underdone that they're basically raw (me too chief)

- If you cooked him a homemade meal he'd cry while eating it. Then he'd get pissed because you made him cry.

- He's my little skrunkly doo so I'm feeding him wet plaster ❤️

If I'm wrong about anything bc it's actually stated in the lore I do not care tell Red Barrels to get their facts straight (/J I SWEAR)

I haven't had time to look at Gooseberry's or Coyle's lore so I don't know if they have some super important amazing cooking skills that I'm missing out on. Feel free to tell me if you think I'm wrong or have your own ideas about these idiots.

[quinngefail]

So apparently at 19 Lawrence got institutionalized for 6 months from a psychotic breakdown. I’m pretty sure it’s mentioned in one of the video games. Do you think he’d tell Adam about it? How you you think adam would react? (Also why do you think he even had a breakdown?) love you!!! 🩷

Omfg okay okay I haven't played either of the games yet but I intend to. I did not know about that little bit of lore, though..... But tbh it slides in so perfectly with what I've been formulating for backstory headcanons,

I haven't actually written any of this out in my Google doc yet but. I feel like rambling and just laying out the relevant parts of what I've been brainstorming for him-

Putting a cut because this got longer than I thought it would. Also- tw for talks of emotional abuse, alcoholism, and a brief sui mention- nothing super detailed, though.

So uh. I've been imagining him growing up in this wealthy, very controlling, catholic household. And even from a young age it was extremely rare for his parents to even glance at any of his problems.., One part because they were absolutely the types to guilt him with the whole "THERE ARE CHILDREN IN AFRICA STARVING AND YOU'RE SITTING HERE CRYING ABOUT SOMETHING THAT IS SO TRIVIAL" and another part because I imagine his mother was diagnosed with cancer when Lawrence was just a kid. Which was hard on everyone, of course, but this also meant less attention being put on him and his problems (ft. more guilting because you should be grateful that all you have is a scraped knee, stop crying). Basically the response to any of his struggles would very often be Stop Moping and/or Go Pray About It y’know-

Sooo even at a young age, he quickly developed this mindset that none of his problems were actually 'real', because he had it drilled into his head again and again that he was in a far more fortunate + blessed position than others. Which yeah obviously he had a great deal of privilege on his side from the get-go, but he's still allowed to express hurt and his need for love and care, y’know,

So he just starts repressing everything, holding it all inside. Internally minimizing and invalidating just about anything that made him upset. He does this for years, and years. And by the time that first year of college rolls around, he now has the most independence in his life that he's ever had, finally away from that very, very controlling household... And I very much imagine him as the type to just go off the rails almost immediately, especially in the drinking department. His grades rapidly slip, and he knows there will be hell to pay when his parents inevitably find out about all of this- but it's easier to just sit back and drink, and let his cares about everything slip away.

And of course, his parents do indeed find out. And there is indeed hell to pay. More so from his father, though, as his mother's condition has been rapidly deteriorating, which was certainly just one of the many motivators for Lawrence's drinking. And it's not long before she does pass away, which I think was a final straw of sorts for his mental health.

Between the bottles and bottles of repression he's been holding in for years, the drinking, the fact that he's fucked up so badly with college + absolutely fuckin wasted an amount of time and money, the sheer outrage and disappointment from his parents, his mother's death, and the shattering of his already shaky faith (because evidently, praying for his mother's health didn't do a goddamn thing)... It's a wonder he didn't break sooner,

So then this is where him being institutionalized just SLIDES IN SO EASILY... And I do think right before this happened, he had attempted to take his own life, unable to deal with it all. The treatment helps him back onto a straight path. And maybe he'd already been interested in the medical field, but the loss of his mother was sort of the final push towards wanting to pursue oncology specifically. So after being released, it's college take two: and it goes far better than the last time.

However, he develops this fear of losing control again. He finds comfort and necessity in order. He almost needs it to feel okay. He still has a hard time voicing and downplaying his problems, though, still feeling like they're not 'real'... This being a particular souvenir from growing up that he just can't seem to overcome.

He's also not at all surprised to get a call (in either his late 20s or early 30s) that his father had drank himself to death. Just seemed inevitable.

Then, to cut to the Becoming Closer With Adam Era, I don't imagine he has a hard time explaining that both of his parents have passed away, and why. But he has a very hard time disclosing everything else that happened. Because his problems aren't 'real', of course, and it's just an extremely touchy subject for him in general. Been imagining for a while now that he has this whole Thing where he's far more focused on helping Adam with his own problems- and y’know, part of that is just the fact that when they finally reunite in my AU, Adam is obviously deeply in need of help, because things have gotten bad for him in the months following the bathroom trap. But another part is just Lawrence still having troubles with expressing his own struggles; whether they be traumatic incidents of the past, or the more current Jigsaw related traumas.

Adam eventually catches onto this, especially as his problems become less urgent. And while he's not necessarily going to interrogate Lawrence over anything, he does begin to more frequently urge him to talk about things when he's obviously upset. Lawrence still isn't as good at masking as he thinks he is, much to his dismay. Something specific that I imagine Adam reminding him, with a earnest voice of kindness and patience, is that "this isn't just about you helping me, it's about me helping you, too."

Lawrence does eventually start to open up more about his more current struggles, but it takes a good, long while before he begins scratching the surface of that period of his life. They would be upsetting conversations for the both of them, of course, but the fact that they happen at all are just testaments to the trust they've built together. They feel safer and safer being vulnerable with one another, and it brings them closer together.

And maybe, it brings them closer and closer to things finally just feeling okay.

...WOOH If you are here, thank you for reading- didn't think I was going to ramble this much, but EVIDENTLY I HAVE MORE THOUGHTS ON THIS THAN I REALIZED LMAO..... WHEN I SAY I HAVE A SMALL NOVEL WORTH OF THOUGHTS ABOUT THESE TWO I'M NOT LYING HRKSKGK

A lot of this is also still in the brainstorming stage at this point, so things may be subject to change :] WE SHALL SEE...

And thank you for the ask, and the kind words!!! I hope you enjoy my brainrot HSKGK

[memen18-m5r3]

Please drop the centricide lore please 🙏🙏

(sorry it took a while, I wanted to add some pictures!)

I'll be focusing on the AuthLeft quadrant and Posadist specifically, cuz it's what I've been thinking of most. I feel like compared to other quadrants, AuthLeft got least amount of screen time (and 97% of it was Commie lol). And I've got things to contribute!

So the one thing I mentioned was AuthLeft acting like a big ant colony/family. And they are, quite literally, a big ant family - they perceive each other as family members, and share certain traits, like family members would. It's something that is unique about their quadrant, being so concerned about "unity" above all else. Now, that doesn't necessarily mean they're a picture-perfect family from a TV commercial. If you know a thing or two about ants, it becomes pretty obvious. Most if not all of their "family gatherings" result in ugly squabbles, everyone calling each other "fake Marxists", and Marxism himself pondering how it got to this point.

Marxist, obviously, acts as the family's patriarch and holds utmost authority, with everyone else desperately trying to make him proud and prove that they are the "true heir". Ironically, Marxism doesn't want to be proven anything. To him, they are all his children, grandchildren and so on; they are all "true" in his eyes, even if some pursue…unique ways of interpreting his teachings. I'd call Marxism the "wise grandfather", someone whom you look for advice but also consolation.

Next in line would be the Communist (or Marxist-Leninist, or Stalinist…he's got a lot of names), and Trotskyist. Sibling rivalry through the roof, TONS of bad blood. If you know how Stalinists tend to talk about Trots, you understand. I believe the reason we didn't get to see a glimpse of Trotskyism in canon is…well, they're kind of dead at this point. Or rather, in a condition close to being dead. Something like an ideology coma? And Commie is sort of kind of responsible. He believes it was a "necessary evil for the greater good" (like he always does), and he did it with a heavy heart, but still. Trotskyism is pretty much out of the picture. And this finally brings us to…

Posadist! Aka Trotskyist's son and Commie's nephew. Now look, I LOVE the OG show, and I would love to say I don't wanna change a thing about it…BUT…I am kind of perplexed in regard to how well Commie and Posadist get along. Posad is a Trot. Like, literally a branch of Trotskyism with an "eccentric" coat of painting. Shouldn't they be frenemies at best? Yet in Centricide, Posadist seems to look up to Commie and pretty much admire him without question, and Commie acts fairly nice to them as well. No grudges, no visible disagreements, no nothing. Sorry, but I find that hard to believe XDD I get bonding over common enemy, the enemy of my enemy is my friend yadda yadda, but I need more than that, and I need tension still present. And while I also don't think there's nothing but pure black hatred between the two (it is in their ant-like nature to care for one another, after all), their relationship is a lot messier in my headcanon.

To give you a quick rundown of my Posadist lore. They didn't start out the way they are in Centricide - they weren't always a "wackie". Sure, their views and sense of humor were rather…unorthodox right from the get-go ("let's blow up the planet to get rid of capitalists, us communists will survive this one trust"), but honestly, I've heard worse. And if you squint really-really hard and drink a bottle or two, it might even start to make some sense.

Posadist was always the eccentric one, that's for sure, so it was hard for him to find his place amongst the family. Trotskyism was the cold and absent father, always sighing and shaking his head in disagreement. And when he were gone, that void of parental approval really started getting at them. Commie (tasked by Marxism to look after Posad, in a horrible dramatic irony given that he was responsible for Trot's coma) tried his best to "strife them towards the right path", aka shape them into what he wanted, hurting them in the process. Posadist had little to no Ws on the historical field, not without Commie's "help". Breaking their printing presses, actively driving them out of their bases. When the missile crisis got resolved, Posad was furious, the angriest he ever was. It felt like the hardest slap in the face. What was Commie's victory was their biggest loss. And then…the aliens came in.

I think what happened here was a mix of two things. First, feeling alienated (no pun intended) by their quadrant and wanting to seek some place where they would be welcomed as they are. And their eyes were always looking up above, at the infinite space. Second, human influence. Ideologies are fun when you think about it; they hold undeniable power over our lives as human race, yet they are shaped and malformed by us. God-like entities whose entire line of thinking depends on those they rule over. It's a funny contradiction. Remember when Commie was reading into stock market and began to have "ideas"? This sort of thing. Uncontrollable, intrusive thoughts. Voices that must be act upon. Except unlike Commie's case, this wasn't a one-time thing. And it was progressing. Slowly but surely Posadist was starting to make less and less sense. All Marxist and the others could do was stand by and watch, cuz nothing they were capable of would make a difference. All Posadist could do was succumb, discarded as a lost cause.

He self-isolated, determined to find those Marxists from outer space, if only to finally put himself at rest. And…he succeeded! (lets make aliens a thing in Centriverse, I think Posad deserves this little Win). He did find them! Or rather…they found him? It was very much in style of "The Whisperer in Darkness", and I imagine the aliens to be something close to Mi-Go. They tasked him with the important mission of "preparing" planet Earth for their arrival. And this is the part where the nukes come back into the scene.

After "getting enlightened", Posadist transformed into the alien-y mushroom cloud look I draw him most often in, and broke away from the regular AuthLefts, finally turning into a wackie ideology. And then he went on to create and organize the Wackie Council but that's a whole other story (and this post is already way too long). Funny enough, I'd say becoming a wackie helped Posadist not follow suit after Trotskyism and instead grow in power significantly. Not many people would believe in nuclear annihilation as means of achieving utopia I imagine, but alien Marxists? Communicating with dolphins? Living underwater? Sign me tf up.

If you look at it one way, Posadist's fate was inevitable, determined by human society. But if you look at it the other way, Commie was, once again, kind of responsible.

To finish this off with some thoughts on his relationship with Commie. I think Posadist did truly look up to him at the beginning, and that's the tragedy of it all. They WANT to hate him, but they can't. He's still their tío. Posad's ant-like antennae make it clear - they'll always be part of the family, like it or not. And Commie…oh Commie. The type who "inflicts good" without realizing most of the time. The way he treats AnCom in canon is pretty telling. Commie's always right and he always knows what's best for everyone and he only does the good thing. But we all know that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

[erinartemis]

OMGOMGOMGKFMSGSKB IM FREAKING OUT IT'S HERE!!! MURDER DRONES EPISODE 7 TEASER!! EEEEEE!!! I went frame by frame and picked out some cool scenes I wanted to scream about, so get ready for a bunch of crazed ramblings and some theories !! (Long post ahead, folks)

Okay first of all- just- the lighting in these shots ✨ simply gorgeous... Also that "poster" thing in the background of the first image is very interesting.. obviously it says HELP (though that looks scrawled-on afterward with probably blood), and it looks like there could be possibly eyes? EDIT: it's not eyes it's two drones standing !!!

Also can we appreciate how creepy cool that hole in the ground is :00

THEIR ROOMS! THE SILLIES' ROOMS!!! WHAT SECRETS DO THEY HOLD?? I hope we find out

EDIT: THEY'RE LOCKERS NOT ROOMS OOPSIES

Good to see we've still got a bit of that classic md humor: "not to be overdramatic but core collapse" xd

N oh no N IS HE OKAY?? what am I talking about ofc he's not (I'm going to cry at this episode)

OKAY NEXT-

This thing. What is this thing. Probably part of the Solver, as it's all organic and eldritch-y, and it has veins. It looks lit from behind, almost like we're looking out from the inside of something? I think it's possible somebody gets dragged into one of those physical manifestations of the Solver, and this could be their perspective from inside it! Oooor we're looking at it from the outside, and there's something glowing inside the mass.

Next up, these guys??? So many possibilities here... They look like humans, but they aren't necessarily so, just like the "Tessa Isn't Human" theory. And from what little you can see in the teaser, they are moving in an odd way- suspicious. I originally thought they could be manifestation of the Solver or something, created to confuse, but after considering it for a bit, I realized it's more likely this scene is a flashback to when the core collapsed.

SOLVERUZISOLVERUZISOLVER- OHHHH BOY SOLVER UZI

Okay. This shot is a bit confusing; can't really make out what's going on- To me, it looks like something is possibly exploding? And the red string things are lasers or something? Also the blobs in the foreground definitely look like Solver hands, but- that's all I've got for this one

Tessa. Tessatessatessa tessa are you pulling a sword on Uzi? oh no, you are, aren't you, ohh no

WHAT DID UZI SEE. ON THAT TV SCREEN. HELP SHE LOOKS SO TRAUMATIZED- Also also wanted to point out the "freaking ninja star" on the ground.. little callback there :,)

the crucifix will be important, oo religious imageryyy eee

DOG.

Small thing, this is clearly the same scene from the GLITCHx 7/8 teaser, but it's the shot from a little bit before the clip in that teaser plays. I wonder how much control Uzi has over herself at this point... These robots are going to so much pain someone help them

norinorinori nori I'M SO READY FOR THE LORE AND FLASHBACKS EEEE

OMGOMGOGMOGMOMG YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HYPED I WAS WHEN I SAW THIS- WE'RE GETTING MURDER N YALL!!! FIRST TIME SINCE THE PILOT EEEE!!! Oh my gosh I just KNOW it's going to be an emotional response to something horrible happening- something to do with Uzi getting fully possessed, or almost dying, or N THINKING she's dead, or just all the stress of EVERYTHING, along with V's (hopefully not actually) death, and it just pushes him to his breaking point OH AND all the repressing he's been doing this whole time WILL NOT BE HELPING WITH THAT !!! I'm SO EXCITED TO FIND OUT AAAA-

Oh it could also be that N gets factory-reset, causing him to actually lose his memories or something, which is AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT PILE OF ANGST, but personally I hope/think it'll be closer to the first one... It seems very likely to me that all of the stuff N's been going through (and how he's just been pretending everything's fine) would catch up to him, and it would lead to an "outburst" of everything he's been bottling up. PLUS do y'all remember that merch ad?? I know it was just a promo, but merch stuff has been shown to be kind of relevant to the plot in the past soo... yeah I'm feeling very good about this theory-

Okay so this is the same guy from the earlier image with all the humans- That feels notable, like they're going to be important. And is it just me and my poor video quality or does the Sentinel hand look glitchy?? Could it have turned on the humans like the one that turned on "Tessa" in Cabin Fever??

Oh dear, that's oil (or blood; they whole thing's too red to tell) coming from Uzi's eye... Feeling like the same thing that happened to Doll happens to Uzi... agh the ANGST hdfbsjsb

DOOOOOLL DOLL DOLL !!! SHE'S THERE !! I THINK SHE HAS BUTCHER KNIVES AGAIN !! I wonder who she's fighting... (I mean it could be a sentinel, but it looks like she's talking, so I'm guessing it's one of the group) ee I'm excited to see where Doll's character goes from here !!

ALLLLRIGHTY!! This has been a breakdown of my personal thoughts on the teaser! I am SOOO excited; these next two weeks need to go by FAST but ik they won't- Anyways... thanks for reading ! :D

[i-will-go-with-you-five]

My Five Lore

Heyyyyy I thought it was finally time to make this post! I've been doing ZR for about nine months now and have been posting from the sidelines so I figured it was about time to introduce myself and Five. Just a little rundown on what my Five is like and her story and stuff. She's basically me, but with a couple things changed.

Apperance:

She’s on the shorter side- Sam is always putting his elbow on her shoulder to annoy her but she secretly loves it :) And pretty stocky but really strong. Simon challenged her to a lifting competition once and while he eventually won, she had him sweating and it was a close thing. She wears her hair in really long double Dutch braids, and has a round face with bright hazel green eyes and a big smile. She also wears really brightly colored gear, especially shoes, its a long-lasting joke with her and the other runners. She's unreasonably attached to axes and baseball caps, and is pretty much constantly wearing something Jody made her.

She has a couple of pretty faint nicks and slices on her hands, from before the apocalypse. She got those was first learning to butcher as a teenager. But since the outbreak, she's gotten a stab wound on her left shoulder, and permanent bruising on her shins. She's very susceptible to shin splints, but its the apocalypse, so it's not like she can properly rest and treat them.

UPDATE: she has new scars now from the ending of Season Two. They are Pretty Important.

[One day I will make the most beautiful drawing of her ever. One day.]

Background:

Five is basically me, with a couple things (appearance, where she lived, some family details, etc) changed. She lived in Northern Montana, a stone's throw away from Canada, and was doing college remotely while working on a farm that raised big animals, and took care of her nieces and nephews while her siblings were at work. That's why she's such a jack-of-all-trades, with book and street smarts, she had a very diverse range of skills due to how she grew up. I consider Five as an AU of myself if I had been thrust into the apocalypse, so personality and history-wise Five and I are similar, except for the trauma of the apocalypse, where she was on her own for almost four months after Z-Day, and hardened her a bit. Five's real name is Lydia, but not a single person besides her knows that.

Early Outbreak:

She went on a rare vacation with her best friend, Nina, and her best friend's family to London two days before the outbreak, in early November of 2023. The worst timing. One day she's on a plane, the next she's seeing Big Ben for the first time, and the day after that hundreds of people have turned, including Nina's family, and they're fleeing for their lives in the chaos.

The plan was for the two of them to try and contact Lydia's family and try to find a way to get home, but the phone lines were all down within a day. So they decided to just get out of the city. Nina got bitten when they were on the outskirts of London, after a week of them surviving together. Lydia stayed with her as she died. Nina begged Lydia to kill her zombie-self, but Lydia just couldn't do it- she fled instead. She decided to kill her name, Lydia, along with her friend's death. It was the only way she felt that she could mourn.

She was then on her own for about four months, and her circumstances really changed her. She'd always been a a happy and trusting person, but each person she tried to group up with ended up betraying her, in a multitude of ways. She threw up mental barriers and became pretty grim and trusted no one. She can talk, but only to people that she likes, and only to one or two people at a time. The bigger the crowd, the quieter she is. But when she gets in a place of being comfortable, she has a lot to say. But in those four months, she said less and less, to the point where some people assumed she was mute. She had to stifle who she was in order to survive, and it took a huge toll on her. The pain of her bottled-up emotions was buried deep.

She's a Christian, and the only thing that kept her going in the apocalypse was clinging onto Christ with all of her might, even if her faith had been shaken by what seemed like the end of the world. She just kept running and fighting for something greater than herself. Save the next person stuck in a building, even if they stole her supplies. Run supplies to different groups of people, even if they then beat her bloody and left her for the zombies. Lead a pack of zombies away from a guy trapped in a tree, even if he then throttled her neck and made it even harder to speak. Give a message to a radio outpost, even if they then dishonored their side of the agreement and held her at gunpoint, rather than just attempt to send airwaves to the States in search of her family. Because if she couldn't do the right thing, and try to stay faithful to her values and Jesus, what good was left in the world?

She ended up at Mullins because, once again, she got betrayed. A group of highway robbers caught her unawares, and she literally ran into some soldiers, who promised to just help her get out of the tight spot, but instead brought her to Mullins and enlisted her. Sour and panicked, she was so uncooperative to the point where they shipped her out to Abel for Project Greenshoot so they wouldn't have to deal with her anymore.

Getting to Abel:

While the apocalypse has been The Worst Thing Ever, getting her helicopter shot down was probably the best thing that ever happened to her in the apocalypse. It was the last thing that she expected, a rocket launcher barreling towards her, after everything she's already been through, and it shook her. For the first time since when she had a depressive episode as a preteen, she just simply wanted to die. Death seemed like the best option as she fell through the air to the sound of hungry zombies beneath her. Everything hurt too much. God wasn't answering her sobbing cries of help every night. She'd given it her all and it still wasn't enough. Gave far more than she took and got hurt every time. If she gave up, everything would just be easier. She was about to accept her death and simply let go of life. It wasn't like she had any friends or family left to love her anymore.

But when that voice crackled into her headset, urging her on and giving her a name, Five, which felt right in a way she couldn't explain, encouraging her- she knew she had to keep going. Life wasn't over yet. There was still hope. So she ran. And the longer that voice, Sam, spoke, the lighter she felt and the less emotionally exhausted she became. A voice in the back of her mind told her that this was the answer to her prayers for a friend, and for help. But she was still incredibly cautious. This seemed like the nicest person in the world, but what if he hurt her? What if she got betrayed again? After all, she knew nothing of who this Sam Yao was, beyond being awkward and sweet and kind of adorable. Wait, adorable? Where had that thought come from?

She wanted to be mistrustful of everyone at Abel when she got there, that was her intent. Especially after the doctor threatened to not let her in. But having those people show her kindness that she hadn't seen in months crumpled her barriers like wet paper. By the time her 8-week training was over she'd sunk right into Abel perfectly. Jody was her good friend who was always up for a hug and a story, Janine was smart and practical and reminded her of her older sister to the point where she started to treat Janine like an older sister, Eugene was a goofball who made bad jokes with her while sympathizing with what she'd been through, and Maxine was a God-send for figuring out how to turn off her survival mode again.

And during that time, she wanted to become friends with Sam, the voice who saved her, so badly. But he was wrapped up in grief from Alice's death. Which she understood. Nina's death still ate at her. Not to mention having no idea if her family was dead or alive. So even though it killed her, because this was the first time she'd wanted to have a friend in forever, she kept her distance to protect him from her brokenness. Because even though she'd lightened up, she still was a woman of few words who held all of her pain back from everyone. Even if that voice in her head saying Sam was God's answer to her problems got stronger and more insistent every day. And even if Maxine told her multiple times that Sam relied on her more than he could express or she could realize. She had to hold back.

Being a Runner: falling for each other

Until the night run in the dark. [fanfic one shot here that will eventually become a twoshot once I finish the post-run debrief.] Where all that slammed through Sam's head was I need a miracle for Five, and all that slammed through Five's was I'm running for Sam. And the moment she crashed into Sam's arms, him sobbing with relief and her sobbing with exhaustion and delirium, was the moment that she realized that she did, in fact, love Sam Yao. And for Sam, that was the moment he realized that he had to become her best friend. And the rest of that night was the first time Five told anyone about her past and her pain and what the apocalypse had been like for her. And Sam was there. As they talked and listened to one another was the moment they firmly became best friends.

Five’s love for Sam only grows in the next few months. But… she doesn’t know what to say, or even think honestly. She’s never been in love before. Ever. She’s, well, she’s scared. Which she knows is stupid. But what do you even say about something like that? ‘Hey Sam, you've chipped away at the hardened exterior that I was forced to adopt bit by bit, and I've become myself again, and you push me to be even better than I was every day. Also I am totally in love with you.'? So she says it in every way besides words. With each moment with Sam. Each gesture is her way of saying I love you. And she runs. For the same reasons as before- her faith. Her trust in God. Her putting goodness back into the terrible world. But now for another reason too. For Sam. For his voice. And even if he doesn't understand it, how he pushes her to trust in her faith even more. Her faith and trust in God are stronger than ever now and she's very strong in it and tries to shine that light to others.

Sam realizes that he loves Five when someone sends Five to die out of spite, as revenge. She's coming back into the gates, angry but not as angry as he is. He's ready to throw down with the person who did that to his runner. Then the way she just grasps his shoulders, locking eyes with him, and reminding him to breathe, he just- falls. So hard and so fast. He knew that this was coming. He's felt it growing since she came back brandishing supplies with the biggest smile in the world for the DnD campaign he was starting. But he ignored it. And now he can't anymore. Because it's Five. His Five. But what do you even say about something like that? ‘Hey Five, you mean everything to me, actually. You've given me something to fight for each day, given me hope when I've had none, and have helped me grow so much and overcome my doubts. I really, really, really love you, more than anyone or anything.’ So he tells her with his words, with every single thing he says. Every voice crack of fear or excitement over comms. Except those three, which are coincidentally, the most important ones. He talks, for the same reason as before. To protect the people he loves. But now for another reason too. For Five. For her running. For who she's pushed him to become. How she's taught him to fight for something even bigger than before.

There is an ending for their story (its REALLY good) but you're just gonna have to wait to read it until I'm done writing it tehehehe! It's more climactic that way. I'll link it here when it's done.

And there we go! A little bit about my Five and her story <3 Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!

@stellar-collective drew my Five!! You can see her here<3 It's from this fanfic dabble

@tazzy-zooming the incredible made another drawing of her that I adore

and my dear friend @book-girl4evaaa did another here!!! Go flood her reblogs please

oh and @masterfuldoodler who is a WONDERFUL human being did her in her survival running mode SO WELL

and then she awed me again with this one which is like,,, the coolest thing EVER?? All of them are just SO SO SO GOOD IT PHYSICALLY PAINS ME HOW AMAZING IT IS

oh we are EATING now and have even MORE talented friends who have done me the honor of drawing my Five here's @valesyn 's incredibly dramatic rendition of Five fleeing zombies to that epic verse in Heavydirtysoul by Twenty One Pilots

Ao3

[alfredojesta]

Could you please draw Corpse?....I'd really like to see how it is :)

ABSOLUTELY! my drawing tablet isn't working rn but i have some quick ibis doodles (i never had a real ref sheet of her because i created her as a joke before she became an actual character)

thank you so much for the ask AHHH it means a lot that anyone would wanna know more about my silly fanon kid 😭‼️

here's some extra info i've typed up if that's anything (small comic at the end):

CORPSE is 15! she's a doll built by Jason. both Candy Pop and Jason designed her. Pop made the concept art on his own, but Jason tweaked it because... he's Jason? duh? in order to bring the creation to life, a soul was infused with it—also how Jason created Mr. Glutton, Liquorice and Red Mouse.

being a doll, she ages with models rather than yk. normal biology. so she has different models for different age groups. Jason and Candy Pop agreed to create her at the age of 6 because they didn't want to deal with a whiny baby! ^_^ therefore, she has multiple models (6-8, 10-12, and so on).

to differentiate them Candy Pop is called Pops! and Jason is just Father. there's plentiful lore in this AU. the timeline's fucking whack but i can't explain that here because it'd be too long so i'll describe Corpse real quick—

Corpse's personality is versatile. on one hand, it's respectful and polite. she speaks formally—thanks to Jason's influence—and tends to be a listener more than a talker. she's outgoing, but unfortunately a people-pleaser. Corpse has a tendency for holding back her emotions. a fear of upsetting others. Candy Pop advises her to not bottle up her feelings. and sure—she was more expressive when she was younger! but at 15, it has come to a point where she's only ever open with her bestfriend and parents. her insecurity also derives from the fact she's a doll. Corpse has never felt like she fits in with anyone else.

doesn't mean she's not fun, though. being the daughter of a silly jester means she's got some humour of her own. Corpse can yap for hours... she just prefers to listen and nod... but if a mic is handed to her... yeah that girl can TALK.

ANYWAY LIKE I SAID BEFORE SHE'S ALSO ANXIOUS AND BECOMES OVERWHELMED QUICKLY ESPECIALLY IF THINGS ARE TOO BUSY. THAT'S JUST BECAUSE JASON AND CANDY POP ARGUE SOMETIMES AND SHE GETS SCARED LOLLL there's no violence and there's no fighting. those two just bicker over. their opposing parenting styles. and then they make up after some DISCUSSION.

besides, jason and candy pop are two really emotional people and that can get the better of them if they aren't careful.

so yeah... if you made it this far here's a bonus comic of 10 yr old corpse and jason :) for context: corpse comes to the mansion sometimes while jason works. panda/pandora is corpse's niece. another fanon kid... belongs to nathan and ciara.

[archangeldyke-all]

hi angel!!!

sevika and vampire reader again because i can't get them out of my head <3333 can we get vampire reader turning sevika into a vampire and how their lives would be after her transition?

black reader pleaseee <3

yes yes yes let's do it! i'm going to include an idea mars, @sexysapphicshopowner gave me too! so be sure to check out their blog if u like the bucket list bits <3

same disclaimers as always with this series! i don't know much about vampire lore, so i'm just guessing and making shit up as it goes haha. also, i'm white, so i'll try my best to make this an obviously black reader, but if i mess anything up lmk!! i'll change it asap :)

man and minors dni

sevika's getting older.

a few grey hairs here, a few new wrinkles there, some new aches and pains she'd never had before-- it's an inevitable part of life. at least it is for most people.

but sevika's got you, now, and you've got an out for her-- a very permanent out, but an out nonetheless.

for a while now, she's been pressuring you to change her. about a month ago at work, she very narrowly dodged a fatal blow, and you started taking her demands seriously.

but-- there's a few things you want her to do before you guys go through with it.

you didn't get the chance to live out your final mortal desires before you were changed. you know just how depressing it can be to mourn being human, especially when you don't get to properly say goodbye. so, you've been helping sevika make a 'bucket list' of sorts-- all the things she wants to do one last time before she won't be able to do them anymore.

soaking in the sun, wearing silver jewelry, drinking a glass (or bottle) of whiskey-- stuff like that.

she's been steadily checking items off the list, and now you're down to the last few, and she wants to check 'em off all in one go.

she wants to eat a big, full meal-- steak and potatoes and a slice of chocolate cake on the side. then, she wants to feed you, one last time. and finally she wants to do what all humans are eventually bound to do: she wants to die.

that last one makes you nervous.

changing her requires that you drain her completely before you kiss her back to life. there's going to be a solid ten or so minutes where she's completely dead-- and she's apparently looking forward to it.

"i wanna know what it's like. see if i feel anything, see if i see anything." she says with a curious shrug.

it makes you nauseous to think about.

the entire reason you're doing this in the first place is so sevika never has to die. the idea of her body going still and cold beneath you, of her eyes glazing over and staring off into space, of her breaths ceasing, it hurts you to even fucking think about.

you're trying not to think about it at all.

"babe." sevika says to you over the table as you place her plate in front of her. you look down at her, smiling, and she reaches up to grab your hand. "this look fucking amazing." she says, not even looking at the plate. you snort. "you look... nervous." she says. you groan and slump down into her lap, scooping up a bite of potatoes and shoving it into her mouth. she chuckles.

"i'm trying not to freak the fuck out." you say. sevika hums, grabbing the fork from you to tear into her steak.

"it'll be fine babe." she mumbles around a mouthful. she groans. "fuck, this is divine."

"enjoy it." you say. she grins.

"i'm trying to savor it but i kinda wanna wolf it down and get your teeth in me." she says. you snort.

"eat slower." you demand. she giggles.

"baby." she says, putting her fork down to hold your hips. you lean forward, pressing your forehead against her shoulder. "i promise it'll be okay. it's gonna be fucking amazing, actually. just think about it-- in a few hours i'll be able to float around with you, we can start hunting together, i'm gonna be able to stay up all night with you. think of all the endless sex we'll have once i've got vampire stamina." she says, kissing your head. you snort.

"i'm just. i really don't want you to die." you say. sevika hums, rubbing her hand up and down your back.

"i know. but it's gotta happen one way or another. it's either this-- you killing me with your sexy fucking teeth then fucking me back to life or whatever--" you giggle. "-- or, i die at work or i get sick or something and you're not there to save me. and then we'll both be miserable forever." she says.

you sigh. she's right, of course, but you're still worried. you think you will be until she blinks back to life.

sevika reaches behind your back to grab another bite of her food. with her free hand, she reaches up to gently rub your cheek.

"you're everything to me, you know that right?" she asks around another mouthful of steak. you smile.

"feeling's mutual." you say. sevika smiles, gently toying with the tiny curl near your ear, pulling it straight then watching it coil back up again when she releases it.

"and i wanna spend infinity with you. if you'll have me." she says. you snort, and flick her head.

"course i will." you say. sevika grins.

"so there's no problem." she says.

you'd be lying if you said there wasn't at least a small part of you that's looking forward to tonight. you've been fasting for a month-- in preparation to drain sevika. you're ravenous. and sevika's your favorite fucking meal.

especially now, with her all glowy and happy after a big meal, a little tipsy from the bottle of wine you'd bought her-- she looks delectable.

she grins up at you from her spot on the bed. "hungry?" she asks. you chuckle.

"starving." you say, licking your lips. "i gotta say. i'm really gonna miss your blood."

sevika chuckles. "we'll find something else you like. together." she says, reaching up to thread her fingers through yours. you sigh, leaning down to kiss her, gently trailing your fangs over her lower lip. sevika shudders.

"c'mon, babe. i'm ready." she says, kissing the back of your hand, tilting her chin up, and widening her legs. you laugh.

"i'm not fucking you tonight." you say. sevika gasps.

"what?! why not?" she asks, pouting. you snort.

"because, i gotta stay focused." you say. sevika groans petulantly.

"but!" she tries. you press a finger to her lips.

"i'll fuck you when you wake up." you promise. sevika sighs.

"that works, i guess. is vampire sex any different than human sex?" she asks. you giggle.

"i dunno, it's been so long since i was a human it's all a bit of a blur now. you'll have to tell me." you say. sevika smiles.

"alright." she says. "c'mon." she says, tilting her chin up again. you giggle, leaning down to press a few kisses over her pulse point. sevika sighs, relaxing into the bed beneath her. "i love you more than i've ever loved anything or anyone, you know." she says shakily. you smile against her neck, licking her artery.

"you're sure?" you ask, one final time. sevika reaches up to hold your hips like she always does when she's beneath you.

"more sure than i've ever been about anything in my life."

"i love you sev." you whisper.

"i love you too, baby." she responds.

you take a deep breath, and sink your teeth into her throat.

sevika shudders and sighs, her nails digging into your skin as you retract your teeth and lick against her wounds, before you start sucking down her blood.

she tastes so fucking good. you're tempted to stop, just so you can keep her around as a bloodbag for a bit longer, but you know she'd be pissed if you did. so, instead, you let your instincts take over, and you start to devour her.

sevika's squeaking and gasping beneath you, her hands clawing into your flesh, her thighs squeezing together as you drink.

"th-that's it, honey, drain me. take it all from me. make me yours. make me yours." she whimpers. you growl against her neck, reaching down to hold her shoulder, gently tracing your thumb back and forth on her collar bone. sevika sighs. "c-can't believe you aren't gonna fuck me, shit! gonna make me cum in my p-pants." she says. you groan and readjust, shoving your thigh between sevika's. she laughs as she starts grinding down against you. "fuck i love you." she mumbles.

sevika cums a second later, shivering underneath you as you continue to slurp her down. you're messy-- messier than you've ever been before. something about the fact that you're changing her is making you fucking feral. you can taste the rush of hormones as she cums, and you shiver on top of her at the taste.

sevika goes limp beneath you, her grip loosening as she tries to catch her breath. she's getting lightheaded and dizzy, you can tell from the way she keeps giggling.

"f-fuck." she mutters. you hum against her. "feel drunk 'r somethin'." she says. you snort. "'m so fuckin' in love with you. you gotta marry me now, y'know." she says. you chuckle.

sevika's breaths start getting shaky, the hands on your hips slipping down to her sides. you reach out to hold her hand, intertwining your fingers again. she hums.

a minute later, and all of sevika's sounds stop. you can still hear her heartbeat, but it's much slower and softer than it usually is. your stomach flips, and you continue to drink from her.

when the gentle rhythm of her heart stops completely, you nearly choke with fear.

it's happening. fuck, it's happening.

you take a few more sips from her, draining her completely as she grows cold beneath you, and then you pull away with a gasp.

the usual high that accompanies a recent feed is nowhere to be found, dread taking its place.

sevika's eyes are shut, her skin clammy and cold, and she's not breathing, not moving, her heart completely silent.

you take a second to wipe your face of her blood, licking it off your arm, looking down at your girlfriend. she looks... peaceful. you hope she's feeling peaceful too.

you wanted to give her a solid minute or so to experience death, but your anxiety's too high. you only manage a few seconds before you lean down, cupping her face between both of your hands, and leaning down to gently, shakily press your lips against hers.

sevika's lips are cold and unresponsive.

you start to freak out.

you kiss her again, licking your tongue against her lip.

she stays still.

you gasp, sitting up to tap her cheek with your palm. "sevika." you call. she doesn't respond. tears start to well up in your eyes as you duck back down, sucking her lip into your mouth, running your tongue against it.

she still doesn't move.

you begin to panic.

"sevika!" you shout against her mouth. you bite her bottom lip, then follow it up with a quick peck. sevika remains still beneath you, and tears begin to well in your eyes. "wake up, you bitch!" you cry against her as you press your mouth to her again.

suddenly, sevika gasps and snaps upwards, her lips moving against yours, her hands coming up to hold your hips. you sigh in relief against her, and sevika flips you, pinning you to the bed. you squeal.

"oh thank fuck." you whisper up at her. she grins down at you.

"that is a hell of a way to wake up." she says. you chuckle, a few stray tears escaping your eyes as relief floods your body, and you reach up to grab her by the hair and pull her back down against you.

sevika chuckles against your lips. "you really thought i'd leave you behind?" she asks. you sob.

"fuck off. you had me worried!" you say. sevika snorts.

"i don't think you even fully let me die, babe." she says. "could hear you the whole time."

you giggle, and sevika gently swipes your tears away.

"how do you feel?" you ask. sevika grins, her fangs descending, and you gasp. fuck that's hot. you think.

"honestly?" she asks. you nod up at her. "better than i've ever felt before. what did you do to me?" she asks. you giggle.

"exactly what you asked me to!" you say. sevika grins.

"i didn't know i'd feel so... refreshed!" she says. you chuckle.

"i'm so fucking glad you woke up." you say. "i was gonna kill you if you died on me."

sevika snorts. "how would that work, exactly?" she asks. you groan and shrug, then reach up to pull her against you again, hugging her to your chest. sevika hums, nuzzling against your neck.

"i love you so fucking much." she says. "so fucking much."

"let's get married." you say. sevika grins against your neck.

"that's my line." she says. you giggle and blindly reach out to pat down your bedside table, pulling the drawer open and fumbling for the tiny box you've been hiding for months now. you pull it out and pull sevika away from your neck by her ponytail, before shoving it in her hand.

"i'm dead fucking serious." you say. sevika blinks, her eyes going wide.

"fuck-- really?" she asks. you nod.

"i mean. we're already spending eternity together, what's a ring and some paperwork?" you ask. sevika grins, then tears the box from your hand, tears welling in her eyes.

she opens it and bursts into laughter as she reveals the gold ring, strung on a gold chain so she can wear it all the time. you smile as you watch her squint, trying to make out the inscription.

your secret admirer it reads. sevika bursts into laughter.

"oh fuck-- i love you so fucking much." she cries. you grin up at her.

"yeah?" you ask. "is that a yes?"

"of course it's a fucking yes! are you kidding me?" she asks. you grin, and sevika swoops down to press her lips against yours. "thank you." she mumbles. "thank you thank you thank you thank you."

"for what?" you ask. "i should be thanking you!" you exclaim.

"for stalking me! for falling in love with me and being so fucking sweet and all the gifts and how much you take care of me and changing me and being my fiance and--"

you cut her off with another kiss. sevika hums against you.

"i love you." she finishes.

"i love you too. for infinity." you say. sevika grins.

"for infinity." she agrees, pulling the chain over her neck. you smile as the ring dangles down over you, gently tugging her closer by it.

"you want me to show you how to float?" you ask. sevika grins.

"fuck yes. but first i want to pay you back for that orgasm." she says, leaning down to kiss you.

you giggle, and sevika grins, and right before your lips connect, you think that even forever with sevika might not be enough time.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

[commander-rahrah]

Talking to the Moon: Part V

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~6200 Warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, arranged marriage, slight family angst aka daddy issues? I'm terrible at these

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here part III: here part IV: here

Summary: Set at the end of Act II, after Moonrise Towers and Kethric. Reader/Tav leans on Astarion and reveals more about their family and their story from before the Nautiloid.

Notes: I've emerged from my cave I made on the couch in my basement and finally finished this update! I got bronchitis a week or so ago and it kicked my booty, but I'm finally feeling better!! YAY! I have no voice still, but good thing I don't need that to write fanfiction!

So this update reveals more of our Selune blessed Tav's backstory that is based off my original D&D character. I was really hung up on whether or not I should include more backstory and lore for this GN!Tav/Reader, since it isn't very typical for a lot of the gn!reader fics I've read. But it was giving me such writers block if I did not include it, as I honestly have the rest of this fic completely planned out and the endgame I have for this pairing relies on more of this backstory, so I decided to include it! Also, its my fic… and my character sooo I hope you enjoy my baby and the little story I wrote for them five years ago. This character will have a special place in my heart forever, and I'm excited to share more of them with you all!

I also desperately wanted to include a scene of Astarion and Tav/Reader kissing for the first time since his confession and them setting boundaries about physical intimacy and contact. I know the game just lets you click the kiss option right away, but I like to think its something that Astarion would build himself up to again and would maybe even have to relearn — not kissing like it was a performance, but instead an expression.

Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts! It means so much to me and every time I see a notification! It fills me with infinite joy ♡♡♡ I know there is lots of posts circulating about this and tags get filled with it, but reblogs and comments are so so appreciated!! :)

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He wasn’t sure how you did it. Astarion was exhausted, beyond that actually — shattered. His feet were stiff and aching, his mind fuzzy with weariness. Yet you were still smiling, accepting the gratitude of every single person at the Last Light Inn with humble nods and smiles. He’d never had a longer day in his life. The temple, the Shadowfell, Shadowheart, Moonrise Towers, the goddamn Absolute. Gale... Gods, you had talked down Gale from fulfilling the desire and demands of an actual goddess. All in one day. All he wanted to do was to fall into a bed with you, and sleep. To just pretend for one moment that there wasn’t any marching armies or impending vampire masters waiting in Baldur's Gate. To ignore the thrum of anxiety and fear that coursed through him as he remembered exactly what was carved into his back — what Raphael had finally revealed to him. Just for today, he had wanted to rest. But no — the end of this never ending day was to finish with a celebration. An annoying, lively celebration.  The vampire was being stereotypical as ever — standing in a shadowy corner, moody and silent as he nursed a red glass. It was wine. Gale had found a decadent bottle, buried away and forgotten about on some dusty shelf. The wizard had made an eloquent toast to the group gathered on the bottom floor of the inn. But he was now standing with Wyll — the two of them conversing politely with a pair of obviously flirtatious tieflings. Karlach had her arm wrapped around Damon, the two of them chatting enthusiastically and laughing.  Astarion was surprised to not see Shadowheart by Karlach — the two of them inseparable as of late. No, what was more shocking was that the dark-haired cleric was sat next to Lae’zel. Their mouths barely opening as they spoke to each other in low voices, buried under the noise of the celebration in the inn.  He almost choked on the sip he had just taken as his red eyes finally returned to you — where several people were forming a makeshift line to speak with you. The next one more bashful than the last as they leaned in to speak with you, all flushed cheeks and batting eyelashes.  You always had a certain charm about you, an innate ability to draw out easy smiles and laughs from others. You were also undeniably attractive — anyone who said otherwise would be a blind idiot. But other people being enraptured by you had never bothered him before. He had just silently agreed with them — that yes, you were indeed a prize like no other.  But you were his now, weren’t you? As he was yours. Even without the label or words that he still couldn’t figure out how to say. That he was too afraid to say. Regardless, why were you entertaining these fools?

He'd not felt this before — was it jealousy? Gods, he was being like a petulant child who didn't want to share their toy. You were a person, you could make your own decisions. That was the entire point of all of this. 

What was he going to do — follow you around like a lost puppy? Drape himself over you, clutch onto you like a coat so others would see he was with you? 

You must have felt his red eyes piercing through you as you suddenly flicked your eyes over to meet his gaze. Your face instantly brightened, a smile tugging on your lips. An overwhelming sense of relief went through him as you waved apologetically to the small group in front of you, before weaving your way over to his dark corner. 

"Yes, darling?" He drawled as you approached, trying to hide any emotion betraying on his face as he tipped his wine glass in front of it and took another sip. 

"Why are you hiding away in this corner? Not feeling like being paraded around like a hero?" You said sarcastically. 

Astarion rolled his eyes at you, replying dryly, "I am many things, but a hero, I am not."

You leaned in conspiratorially, lowering your voice until it was just a whisper. "I would beg to differ. But you have a reputation to uphold, don't you?"

He barked out a laugh, before flicking you in the nose gently. "You cheeky pup." 

"Ow." You feigned, scrunching your face up at him. "That hurt." 

A wave of courage swept through him as he pushed back the little voice in his head. He leaned forward and pecked his lips onto the tip of your nose. He hoped the tingle that spread across his lips as they met your skin would spread to you. It seemed it did as your skin then flashed a delicious, brilliant shade from surprise. A tiny squeak even escaped you, your eyebrows shooting up. 

You had not kissed, not since his confession. Not since all of this had started. Not a brush of lips against hands or cheeks, nothing. The look on your face and the sudden increase in the thrum of your heart had him feeling light headed. Did he truly have such an effect on you? 

For a moment, he let his gaze from you lapse as he swept his eyes across the inn. To the disappointed glances of a few partygoers, and the knowing looks of his companions, watching the pair of you interact. 

A flash of gratification went through him, satisfied at the effect he had not just on you but at those who had eyed you before. It squashed the jealously that had made a pit in his stomach, instead twisting it with a new, slowly recognizable feeling. 

"There, all better?" He smirked. 

You let out a breathy laugh, nodding at him. 

Astarion rubbed his lips together, the tingling sensation on them lingering still. "How much longer does the Hero of the Shadowlands need to stay down here?"

You looked over your shoulder to the gathered patrons, the crowd thinning out more and more as the evening faded into a dark, late night. "Bored already?" 

He let out a weary sigh, letting his shoulders droop. "Exhausted, darling. And I know you are too." 

You were always a sight to see, holding a beauty he could have never imagined or conjured up in his head. But he could see the purple circles under your eyes, the usual sparkle in them had long gone dull. 

Your eyes flickered to your boots, nodding your head in defeat. "You're right." 

"I believe they have set some rooms aside for us, if you wish—"

"Do you?" You caught him off, trying to hide your own eagerness.  

His gaze softened, a smile tugging on his lips, "Very much so."

The pair of you bid goodnight to your companions quietly, subtle nods and waves as they continued their own conversations or headed to their own rooms. Astarion walked slightly behind you on the stairs, his hand resting gently on the small of your back as you led the way.  The path you took was familiar, the worn floor boards creaking before you were outside the private room the two of you had occupied once before.

Astarion let out a sigh of relief as he closed the door softly behind him, the sounds from the lingering party below muffled and leaving you in a peaceful quiet. But as he found reprieve in finally being alone, you suddenly crumbled.

You dived for the bed, a heartbreaking sob escaping you as your hands covered your face. 

Your name choked out him before he crossed the room quickly and joined you on the edge of the mattress. Gods, what was it about this Inn and room that had you breaking apart on it? "Darling, what's wrong?" He asked, concern etching every feature.

"I- I, didn't-"

He remembered your words earlier today — gods, was that today? How comforting his touch was for you, being reminded of his presence. He placed his hand carefully on your own that was trembling on your thigh as you tried to speak. 

You finally gasped out, "She wasn't there, she wasn't-"

Mol. The little tiefling girl. You had promised those rascal children downstairs you'd find her. And it was you who had told them she wasn't in Moonrise tonight, swallowing deeply as they dipped their heads with disappointment. But you had told them not to give up hope, that she was resourceful and strong. You had sounded so convincing that even he had believed you. 

But here you were, sobbing and breaking apart in front of him. "Oh, sweetheart. Gods, I should have seen this, I'm sorry."

You sniffled, glancing up at him with wide eyes. "Why are you apologizing?"

He gave you a sad smile, his eyes shining with understanding, "I know you better by now. It was a mask you were wearing tonight...," He tucked a stray hair back behind your ear. "I hate it when you wear it."

"I just wanted everyone to be okay, I tried so hard..." Your voice cracked and broke. 

"You've done so much, darling. Look at what we did today, that was because of you." 

You always took care of everyone else. But who took care of you? Astarion thought, perhaps... him. He could… he would.

He had been.

"Oh my little moon, you don't have to carry the world by yourself, you know?" 

You sniffled and nodded, silver still lining the bottoms of your eyes. 

"May I?" He echoed the question you so often asked of him. You'd never touched him without asking the question first. Your consent you'd granted him was a separate conversation, one where you had told him casual, simple touches were okay. A silent conversation and agreement sometimes was exchanged with a look of your eyes. But with him, you had always asked. He thought that now he would return that favor to you, as you opened yourself to him — vulnerable and upset once again on the edge of this mattress. 

He hoped you appreciated the sentiment, as much as he did.

The vampire reached down, hovering his hands over your boots. Your brows furrowed slightly before you were nodding. Your eyes never left his pale fingers as he untied the laces of your boots, gently prying them off before setting them down neatly at the foot of the bed. Then he did the same to his own before he slid his way up the bed, leaning against the headboard before patting the spot next to him. 

"Come here." 

You hesitated, before beginning to scooch over to him. When he opened his arms as a silent invitation you hesitated again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please come here." He nodded solemnly.  

Astarion willed himself to keep steady and clear, drawing a breath he truly did not need. He enveloped you in his arms as you laid next to him, trying to stop his limbs for stiffening. It was all so foreign, it was terrifying. 

But your familiar scent filled his nose, and he could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat with your chest pressed to his side. His fingers laxed as you settled into him, bunching into the material of your shirt. Your breaths started calming and eyes fluttering as you laid with him. 

"Is this okay?" You whispered — uncertainty laced every word. 

"I was just going to ask you the same thing."  He said softly, before swallowing thickly. "I don't know what I'm doing." You started to remove your limbs his, but he tightened his hold on you. "Don't, please."

"Astarion if you aren't comfortable—"

"I am, it's not that." He rubbed the soft material of your shirt between his fingers as he spoke, "I want so badly to be this for you, to be what you need. But I don't know how."

You craned your neck up to look at him, "I think you're doing a good job of it."

He looked down at you through his long lashes, "Truly?"

"Yes, Astarion." You sounded genuine, "No one... no one has ever made me feel the way you do."

He let out a sigh of contentment, settling in deeper with you before resting his chin on the top of your head. "I know we have so much left to do... But laying here with you. It makes it worth it."

"Are you scared?" You asked in a whisper. 

"Terrified, actually." He admitted. 

Your thumb rubbed across his stomach in smooth lines back and forth, "I will be with you every step of the way."

"That's part of what makes it all so terrifying." The vampire whispered, "Sometimes, I know that I couldn't do any of this without you by my side. But other times... when Ketheric turned into that thing, that abomination, with you looking so small in front of him..."

"I know." 

Astarion moved his head so he could look at your face, "You were right though." 

"Hmmm?" You hummed. 

"This is nice. Gods, when did I get so soft?" He chuckled, the movement of his chest vibrating your head until you joined him. 

Both of your faces were etched with bliss and contentment as you laid in the bed. On this bed where before he had laid awake, willing himself to fall into a trance, convincing himself to keep his distance from you, trying to protect himself from the inevitably of you. 

Now, you both fell asleep like that, still in your regular attire, wrapped in each other's arms with your head buried on his chest.

The stars caressing their moon. 

• • •

The journey towards Baldur's Gate was turbulent and nerve-wracking while also... hopeful. 

The group was buzzing with energy — the anticipation of returning to Baldur's Gate had made some of your companions restless in more ways then one. 

You were all sat for a short rest, relaxing in a patch of long, green grass just off of the dirt road you were traveling on. It was just your group now, the other parties and groups had begun moving at different paces and times until it was just your familiar companions now. 

Astarion was laid out in the grass, his head resting on your lap and your fingers absent-mindedly playing with his soft, white tresses. His eyes were closed, basking in the glow of the sun that was set high in the sky at this time of day. Occasionally the shadows on his face would bounce as his long lashes flickered, opening his eyes to glance at you with a dreamy expression on his face. 

It made your movements stutter each time you noticed it. But the grip he had on your heart — that was steady and true. He had possessed you in a way you still could not articulate, even all these weeks later. 

But you blinked back to reality as Gale's voice broke the silence. "You're a beautiful couple." 

You looked up, a sheepish smile spreading across your face from being noticed. Astarion craned his neck, his red eyes rolling back to look at the wizard before settling back into your lap with a disinterested look crossing his face. 

"Oh, I'm sorry... I'm made things awkward, haven't I?" Gale mumbled, his hands twirling with the blades of grass in front of him. 

You couldn't help the blush that was spreading across your cheeks at the attention. Especially as you realized the rest of your companions were looking over with small smirks. 

Gale continued as you remained silent, "I just meant that... Well, its nice to see my friends so happy. That's all." 

"Thank you, Gale." Astarion drawled, readjusting himself so he laid deeper on your lap. 

The wizard blinked in surprise, "You're welcome. Are you — is it a secret, or?"

"Not a secret, no." The vampire purred with a shake of his head. 

"We are just taking our time." You finished, a soft smile growing on your face to match the one spreading across Astarion's. 

"Hmm, that's nice." Gale trailed off, a wistful expression on his face. 

Before the silence could really settle in again, the rest of the party started a conversation up. 

"Won't be long now until we get to Baldur's Gate." Wyll said, his face hard to read. 

"Are you nervous?" Karlach stretched her long leg, nudging him in the ankle playfully. 

His mouth scrunched and nose crinkled, "I... I don't know how to feel."

"I can't fucking wait! I'll be able to show you guys my old stomping grounds!" The barbarian said excitedly, falling back dramatically into the grass with her limbs spread wide. She addressed you, shouting up to the blue sky, "What about you, Giggles? Excited to see home again?"

"Oh," Your fingers froze, hovering over Astarion's hair. "I had only lived in the city for just under a year. Home will always be in the north."

"The north? I don't think I've heard you speak of your home much." Shadowheart asked quietly, a quizzical look on her face. 

"I, yes— near the Ice Spires." Your mouth twitched.

"You hail from a noble line, yes?" Gale asked. Everyone was eyeing you with curiosity, even Astarion still stretched out on your lap. His red eyes shifting slightly as he studied you. 

You swallowed, painting on a polite smile before speaking, "My father is a Viscount. He is a formidable figure in the region." 

"Ah." The warlock grimaced, his eyes sad. "Why do I get the feeling our stories are more similar than I realize?"

You bristled. "I'm not exiled or anything... It's just been some time. That's all."

"That's all?" 

A humorless laugh escaped you, "I am a second born child. And my older brother is much more obedient and better suited to the game of politics than I am." You couldn't help the sad, bitter smile that spread across your face. The thought of home stung in more ways then one. 

Astarion noticed how tense you had become, his hand squeezing your knee as he pushed himself up with a dramatic huff. "We are never going to get to the city if we sit here lounging all day." 

You shot him a grateful look, and he gave you the slightest nod in recognition as he offered his hand to lift you up. He did so easily, brushing off blades of grass lingering on you both gently. 

"You were the one complaining not long ago about how long we had been walking for!" Gale said, sounding completely exasperated as Wyll helped him up.   

"Me? I said that? I don't think so." The rogue playfully scoffed, shaking his head so his soft curls bounced dramatically. He looked over his shoulder at you with a conspiratorial smile before stretching his hand out for you. His fingers intertwined with yours easily as he pulled you along the dirt path, away from the questioning and burning curiosity of the rest of the party. 

• • •

Your group finally settled down for the night — picking a small clearing just off of the well-worn, dirt path you had been traveling down. Perhaps the last time you would be sleeping in the wilderness. You would be at Wyrm's Crossing by midafternoon tomorrow. 

Astarion had set up your tent on the edge of camp, attempting to give you both some sense of privacy from your busybody companions. He knew they meant well, that they hadn't meant for this afternoon to turn into an interrogation. That, like him, they were just curious to know more about you. As kind and good you were to all of them, you were still somewhat of a mystery. You had revealed the origins of your powers to the group yes, but you rarely spoke about yourself or your home.

Not even to him. 

The vampire had been content to let it lie. He knew it would come with time — and he certainly couldn't make any demands of you. Not after how gracious and patient you had been with him. But he couldn't deny that part of him wanted to know more. Astarion had somehow become an open book with you — revealing and exploring parts of himself that he had buried down so deep that he was surprised he could find them. 

He worried that it all had been about him for so long. His trauma, his past, his goals. That maybe you had kept parts of yourself hidden away, on the back burner for him. 

You had your back turned to him at the moment, the golden flickering of the candles in the tent illuminating the curve of your spine and freckles across your bare skin. Your muscles stretched and tensed beautifully as you lifted your arms over your head —pulling your nightclothes over yourself as you changed in the corner. It was a boundary that was set much earlier, that he had slowly started making less and less strict. 

He wasn't ready for anything more yet — he knew that. But his red eyes couldn't help but roam your figure. He couldn't help the familiar sensation of want twisting low in his stomach, the twitch of his fingers at his side as he imagined running his fingertips over your soft skin again.  

The smile you gave him as you turned around was dazzling, even in the dim light and tight space of the shared tent. You joined him cross-legged in the center of the tent, both of you not quite ready to go to sleep just yet. 

He picked at his nail for a moment, trying to seem nonchalant as he opened his pink mouth to speak. "So... the Ice Spires?"

You raised a single eyebrow, a hard to read look crossing the rest of your features. "Yes?" 

His fingers continued to fidget in front of him. "It's cold... all the time?"

"Not all the time. Our winters can be brutal though." You said with a scrunched nose. 

"Oh, what a lovely sell. I can't wait to go now!" He said sarcastically. 

"Ha." You laughed dryly, before your voice turned wistful. "It's beautiful honestly... I miss it."

The vampire studied your face as you undoubtedly saw visions of your home in your mind's eye. The edges of his lips curved up as he remembered your promise to take him there one day. He broke you out of your daydream with a quiet cough before he spoke again, "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want. But why did you leave there, darling?"

Your eyes flashed to the floor of the tent, your mouth forming a hardline. "Promise me you won't be upset?" Your voice was barely a whisper. 

His eyebrows furrowed together at your reaction. He took two fingers, dipping them under your chin so you would look up at him. "Why would I be upset? You leaving home for whatever reason is why you are here now. With me."

Your eyes softened with his answer, before you nodded. Yet you still licked your lips nervously before speaking, "Well... you know that Selûne told my mother I would be destined for a different path then the life of nobility. My mother agreed to it all those years ago, both my parents knew and yet... they still hoped they could reel it all back in. That enough etiquette and language lessons would shape me into the perfect child they hoped I would be. But it was never me. I tried for them, I really did. Instead I started to fantasize about the people in our history lessons like they were characters in a book, and I spoke too loud and laughed at the wrong moment at dinner." 

Astarion couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he imagined you as a child — your face round and soft with innocence, your brilliant smile with missing teeth. The havoc that you would have caused, racing down wealthy halls as you acted out scenes from your books and danced in an empty ballroom with your melodic laugh echoing in the space. A piece of himself he had long forgotten about twinged inside him. He couldn't remember his own childhood anymore — it was lost to the last two hundred years of darkness. But something warmed in him as he dreamed up what yours was like. 

He snapped back to reality as you spoke again. "But I had a duty. I'm the second born, I wasn't being primed to one day take over for our father and run the keep, but I could be used in other ways. I've known of it since I was twelve."

His white brows furrowed again, "Known what?"

"When I became of age I would be married off to secure wealth and political ties with other territories. I'm engaged... technically." You admitted. 

His eyes dropped immediately to your fingers, the several jewels that adorned them from the moment he met you. He had never thought anything of them — thinking they were an artful display of rings that matched your personality and appearance well. But there it was — a golden ring of much higher quality then the rest, with a large ruby sitting in the center of it. Gods, how had he missed that. 

"Oh my gods. I'm a homewrecker." Then he burst out laughing, his head thrown back and his hands holding his stomach as he howled.

"Astarion, you'll wake up half the camp!" You leaned forward and hissed. 

"I'm sorry, I just —" He let out between gasps of breath, "It's so funny. Of course the person I fall for is to be wed to someone else."

You joined his chuckles, shaking your head. "It is like a cliché plotline from some terrible drama."

"It is! Or like a punchline to some joke. Did you hear the one about the vampire and the fiancé?" You both laughed for a moment, before he clutched onto your hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  

"So you aren't upset?" Your voice a whisper again, uncertainty flooded every word. 

"Upset? Darling, why would I be upset?" 

You huffed out an exasperated breath, "Astarion, I just told you I am betrothed to another person."

"And you are on the other side of the continent from them. Not married. And sitting in my tent. Is this why you left?"

Your eyes widened in surprise, "Yes, we planned it all out actually— my betrothed and I." 

"Really?"

You nodded, "They had also spent the last years troubling over it, attempting to delay it for as long as possible." 

"I'm assuming getting kidnapped by mind flayers was not apart of that plan?" He said with a smirk. 

"Definitely not. I so badly wanted to travel, to see the world outside of our keep I'd known my whole life. So... they insisted to my family that they needed a spouse that was learned and well-traveled. That I could enroll in a college to become a more suitable match."

Astarion raised a white brow, "And that worked?"

"It did. I think my father was so desperate for it all to work out that they just agreed."

"And how did you attending a college lead you to Baldur's Gate so many miles away from home?" 

You let out a dry chuckle, "I will say that I did go to the college like I intended. I lasted a week. Just long enough to purchase supplies and stationary from the college before paying for a spot on the next wagon out of Silverymoon." 

"Stationary?"

"I've been sending letters home for the past year, using stationary from the college so my family believes I'm still there studying and being a model citizen." 

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk spreading across his lips. "I'm impressed. That's very conniving... I didn't know you had it in you."

You smiled sheepishly, your fingers twisting in your lap. "I'll admit it was a clever idea. I ran out of supplies about a month before the Nautiloid." 

He pursed his lips as he finally understood, "They haven't heard from you since then?"

You shook your head, "No. I imagine my father has sent some of his men to check on me, and they have long discovered that I took back my tuition deposit and left months and months ago." 

"This whole time we were worried about a vampire master storming our camp, when really it could have been a disgruntled father or worried mother finding us?"

A large exhale left your nose as you shook your head, "Oh, my father would never come himself. He would just send his second-best men and a strongly worded letter ordering me back home. My mother though... I can only imagine how she betrayed and worried she feels." 

The vampire squeezed your hand again before running his thumb along the backs of your knuckles. "Why did you never tell me this?" 

"Astarion, the hardship and abuse that you went through...," Your eyes shined with pain, "My story is nothing compared to yours."

"Your story is not nothing." He shook his head, his voice earnest. "Your story is you — and you are everything. Never spare parts of yourself from me." 

"Even the messy parts that years of etiquette lessons couldn't train away?"

He let out a breathy laugh before smiling at you, "Especially those parts, my lovely moon." 

"You have gone soft on me, Starry." You teased before matching his smile. 

• • •

After another day of travel, you stood in the abandoned castle in Wyrm's Crossing, bracing yourself on the stone wall. The skyline of Baldur's Gate could be seen from here, the distant sound of the bell's ringing heard even from here. 

Your party had finally made it — after all of these weeks. You would walk the familiar cobblestone streets of Baldur's Gate tomorrow. The familiar scents and sounds of vendors and citizens, the bustle and crowds would be so different from the wilderness and forests you had been traveling through. 

The group's energy was buzzing as you settled for camp in the abandoned castle — a strange mixture of excitement and nerves. Astarion hadn't hidden his feelings with you — his anxieties and insecurities surfacing with every step closer and closer to the city limits. With every step closer to Cazador and his ritual. Hundreds of different ideas were bouncing around his head, you could tell. 

Yet your confession to him last night was still replaying in your head, especially as your stared at the ring on your left finger — the red gem catching the light. You weren't sure why you wore it anymore. A habit, you guessed. 

The sound of purposeful, shuffling feet announced that you were no longer alone. Craning your neck you looked over to see the man who normally consumed your thoughts, climbing the stone steps that led up to the falling apart battlements you stood on.

"What are you doing up here, darling?" 

"Just taking a moment."  You admitted as you loosed a heavy breath. "And you?"

"Oh, just over pretending to be interested the idle chat by the fire." Astarion waved his hand, before sliding in next to you. He braced his elbows onto the edge looking out over to the skyline. You watched him take a deep steadying breath, his eyebrow crinkled with worry for a moment. 

You fiddled unconsciously with the golden ring on your left hand as you watched him. The movement caught the vampire's attention, his red eyes snapping to it before looking up at you. He chewed the inside of his lip, before speaking, "Can I ask you a question?"

Your stomach tightened with sudden nerves, "Of course."

"This wedding... Your arranged marriage." 

"Hmm?" You hummed. 

His pale throat bobbed as he swallowed, "Would you have gone through with it? If there was no Nautiloid, no tadpole — none of this. Would you have gone through with the arrangement?"

A heavy sigh escaped you as you pushed your elbows off of the stone edge and stood up, "I would have... I would have tried. It felt inevitable before — inescapable."

He shifted around, so he was facing you — standing to his full height and looking you in the eyes. "And now?" He whispered, his long fingers reaching to brush the insides of your wrist lightly.

"Astarion... I never could have imagined any of this. I spent my whole life fantasizing and daydreaming of an escape and grand adventure. Nothing I've dreamed up has ever come close to being with you. I have fought mind flayers and ogres, refused Gods and marched across the country so that we can keep going. So that we can have a chance. I will take my father's disappointment and wrath for ruining his plans for financial security." 

"Heh — We can add him to the list of people we've angered along the way." He joked, but his eyes were glimmering with unspoken emotion after your declaration. 

You studied the handsome man before you, your lips parting slightly as you took him in. He was radiant in the moonlight, his white hair and pale skin shining. The way his usually sharp eyes softened and rounded as he looked at you.

Gods, you loved him. You had known for sometime now that you did. The words had been crawling up your throat, lingering on your tongue and swirling in your mind for days. But you would be patient for him. 

One side of his pink mouth turned up, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Your head cocked to the side, "Like what?"

"You..." He seemed like he was at a loss for words for a moment. He shook his head at himself, before he admitted in a whisper, "They way you look at me... you make me feel like I'm poetry."

"You are, Astarion." You said simply. Courage suddenly flooded through you. You knew you would be fine, no matter how he answered. You wouldn't dare rush him. But you wanted to ask tonight. "May I — May I kiss you?" 

He blinked in surprise before his red eyes flicked down to your lips and he unconsciously licked his own. Then he locked eyes with you, nodding breathlessly. "Yes," He whispered back, his long lashes fluttering. "Yes."

Moving your hands up slowly and gently, your fingertips gripped the side of his strong jaw. You heard his breath sharpen as you moved your face to meet his — slowly, giving him time and space, allowing him to change his mind and pull away. But he didn't. Instead his eyes closed softly, his head tilting towards yours as he waited for you to kiss him. Then your lips locked as your mouth pressed softly against his, carefully as you waited to see if he would kiss you back. A low noise escaped you as you felt his lips press harder against yours, returning the kiss. 

You had long thought of your first kiss with Astarion in the woods near the Druid's Grove all that time ago. You thought you had memorized the sweet taste of him on your lips, the scent of leather lingering from his armor and groans that made the hairs on your arms stand up. 

But this — this was so different. Not practiced, not ritualistic like he so often said. 

This new first kiss was so painfully soft and tender. He tasted like wine, rosemary and honey. His hair softer then you remembered as your finger toyed with the curled tips at the base of his neck. The happiest of sounds escaped him as he parted his lips for you, allowing you to deepen the kiss as your tongue slid across his teeth. You both stood like that for a moment, relishing in the feeling until you both felt dizzy. Your lips stuck together slightly as you pulled away. His forehead was pushed against yours, like he was no longer content to not be touching you. 

Astarion's eyes were ablaze in the moonlight as he looked at you, his mouth falling open as he caught his breath. "Again. Kiss me, again.” “Starry?” You asked, your brow twitched. “Kiss me. Please. I miss it, I've missed you." One of his hands gripped the tip of your chin as you moved your mouth back towards him, halving the movement as he pulled you back in for another kiss. The other intertwining with yours in between you, squeezing your fingers gently. 

His sharp teeth dug into your bottom lip, causing a shudder to run down your spin. "Slow down, my love." Your groaned out.

"I have — weeks of this — to catch up on." His voice was breathless and he continued to interrupt his own words as he pressed lips to yours over and over. 

You pulled away, studying his face — the skin around his mouth pink from kissing, a slight flush crossing his complexion. But his eyes were fixed on you, filled with want and need. "I'm not going anywhere, Astarion. We have time." 

"Good. " He beamed, resting his forehead on yours again as you both breathed each other in. The two of you silhouetted on the crumpling battlements as you held on to each other for a moment longer.  

Read Part VI here

[emcapi-gaming]

"So you're here to try and save the world?" She gives a single, bitter laugh. "Bit late for that. I mean, I appreciate the thought, but it's not worth it. This place is too far gone. You're just gonna get yourself killed - or worse."

"I've come this far, haven't I? I have to try."

"…Just what this place needs, another stubborn heroic dumbass." She shakes her head. "There's no arguing with you, is there."

"You've got that much right."

"Well. If you don't mind the extra company, I might as well follow you around and yell at you when you're about to do something particularly stupid. Sure could have used that, myself. Besides, it sounds more interesting than moping my way across every square ilm of Norvrandt like I've been doing."

Ardbert chuckles. "I've seen some pretty strange things, but I think being yelled at by a ghost would be a new one. Sure. Why not? Although I'll have to try and explain you to my friends, lest they assume I've started talking to myself."

(fun facts/notes/lore under cut as usual!)

Originally this was supposed to be part of a poly week prompt (combination of role/outfit swap + alternate universe) but I never got around to the other part with Zero. Ah well! I'm still happy with how this turned out.

I think the most interesting part of this shot + bonus drabble was thinking about some of the ways they're different! They have, frankly, an absurd amount of things in common - most of which were unintentional! - but I like exploring how they differ as individuals also.

In this case: Ardbert is way more of a (justifiably) grumpy little shit here in canon, lol. Between the two of them, he definitely has more of a temper and is more likely to default to anger as a reaction. Ardwin will absolutely snap if pushed, but outside of battle, she is, by comparison, a little more patient and willing to laugh things off or pretend they don't bother her. (Although her tendency to bottle things up comes with its own issues.)

Some of that difference is just down to different hormonal systems. (I have it on good authority from my husband that going on T shifted his default emotional response when upset from being sad/crying to getting angry.) However, some of it is just that: a personal difference!

Thinking about it a little more, maybe Ardwin would be a bit more expressive in this AU. I think that Heavensward, in particular, amplified her pre-existing tendency to repress her shit and Not Talk About It, because Alphinaud and Tataru were really relying on her to be their anchor. She absolutely did not wanna burden them with her own problems. (Let alone the whole, uh, "a smile better suits a hero" bit, which, come to think of it, also absolutely did not help.)

In this AU, though, Ardwin would have been running around with Ardbert's friends. This means she no longer would have been the only Warrior of Light, or the only one being relied on to be The Strong One (given that between Branden, Cylva, and Ard___, the First WoLs have 3 tanks lmao). She definitely would still feel like she should be the stoic leader, but they would probably successfully (lovingly) bully her into talking about her feelings every so often, so she doesn't end up with the Pit of Emotional Repression in the same way.

[thecheesiestcheese23]

the hand that feeds (and the heart that bleeds)

47 was an unknown and innominate man whose mind was a gaping maw of death and destruction; who was a blight upon some and a freak of nature to others. He thought he was nothing more, could be nothing more.

Until he remembered.

Until Six.

Until Lucas.

--

hello!! this is my first time writing anything in like,,, ever so please don't judge lmao. i recently got into this game and the lore and storyline is soso good compared to other fandoms i've been in recently.

for some notes: this is mainly based off of the trilogy, however i have added some aspects of the old games and from what i've seen of the comics. also, i have not read the comics, so i have taken some liberties on them. the title is loosely based off of ozymandias by percy bysshe shelly (which is a really good read) and i def recommend. ALSO if anyone has any song recommendations for my hitman playlist pls drop a comment ty.

please do enjoy!

words: 4.6k

--

A timeless chasm tears open within his mind, the hungered mouth swallowing everything that he knew.

“This is your gift.” An empty voice speaks to him and a blank-faced boy. He blinks, and the boy dissipates into ash. “Your gift, and your curse.” A heavy hand rests upon his shoulder (upon his mind and his memories, burying them) and squeezes, a nameless man looming above him. A voice booms from the man, and yet he only shows a vacant visage. “To touch lives only by ending them.”

--

Agent 47 was no stranger to being called a machine.

He's heard it from other ICA agents spread through gossip, an off-handed comment from Diana, an insult spat from the lips of Soders as he died. He let it fester, doing nothing to stop it. It had never bothered him before: let people think what they will.

After all, it was partially true in some form, not that he remembered- he was genetically modified for killing, his bare atoms torn apart and made into an unempathetic and inhumane killer. He was a twisted and unsettling imitation of a man, a vicious mockery of what he should have been. An improbable being made of stone and dust where blood that is not his own drips down his body and pools beneath his feet.

Before he remembered, 47 thought he could be nothing more. The call of death hummed in his veins with the handle of a knife fitting perfectly within the palm of his calloused hand. It was all he knew since waking up in the asylum, knowing nothing more than the most effective way to kill and how the recoil of a gun felt.

The ICA had given him a sense of purpose. A home, of sorts. Diana, in turn, appeared in his life, a constant presence in his ear, her quick-witted humor and steady voice filling in the void where he knew someone else should be.

The thought would give him pause at moments, which was unlike him. 47 knew he didn’t remember much of anything beyond the art of death, but there was always this pressing feeling that there was more that he should know. It settled like ash on his tongue, sour and grainy.

The only proof that he held of this feeling was the polaroid clutched between his thumb and forefinger. Angry eyes stared back at him, a cold blue that mirrored his own detached ones. It was him- he was sure of it. The picture sat heavy in his scarred palm, an unnamed weight tied to it.

47 sees the face every time he blinks his eyes, an unknown slate of himself pushing against his eyelids, a haunting image following him wherever he goes. It presses down on his shoulders, bears down on his violent mind. He leans back in the leather chair that sat in the hotel room, the material squeaking in protest for a moment. There had been points over his time employed at the ICA where he had wondered if his past was really worth remembering.

His eyes slid over to the open briefcase on the made bed, the light from the windows catching on the sliver of the guns and the glass of the bottles. He remembers what Diana had told him over the phone call, her smooth voice crackling over the phone, over the many continents that separated them.

“I, too, know what it’s like to have everything taken from you.” Diana admitted, her voice tinny over the phone. 47 says nothing, letting her speak. “He claims to know about your past; your childhood, your memories, everything Ort-Meyer stole from you.”

Would it be worth it? To join Providence just to remember his past? More importantly, how did Providence know who he used to be? There had to be something more than what they were telling Diana.

He didn’t know if it was worth it. It was as if the world had just spat him out; opened up to a gaping maw where he was made not from a mother or father but from death itself. If that was all he remembered, then maybe there was a reason for that.

47 slides the photo into his pocket, smoothing it over as he stands up fluidly from the chair. With a snap, he closes the briefcase and takes it in hand. There was little else for him to take- he never left a trace of himself anywhere. (Distantly, somewhere far away, a rosary hangs from a wooden gate, swaying softly in the wind.)

He strides out the door, a ghost in everything but name.

--

The first memory 47 could recall was of a snow white rabbit.

It was a runaway lab rabbit with beady red eyes and silky fur. The first time 47 had met it, it had been hidden underneath his bed. Curious, he reached his hand out to grab it, yet it had scurried away.

He was unsure of what to do, how to continue. It was unnerving.

47 did not know how to be kind.

Over the expanse of a few weeks, 47 taught himself how to care. He cared for it as well as he knew how- he fed it scraps from dinner and water smuggled from lunch. Slowly, it no longer flinched away from 47’s heavy hand- it leant towards it instead, like a flower to the sun.

He was surprised by the softness of it all. The kindness it exhibited. It was a feeling 47 had never experienced before and it acted as reprieve from the constant tests and pain that the Institute provided.

He knew Ort-Meyer didn’t approve- he made it known with condescending glances and patronizing words, saying that boys like him didn’t need unimportant attachments to such things. Still, he did nothing to remove it, so 47 kept it.

Unlike everything else at the institute, it was gentle- forgiving, even. It was not jagged at the edges or venomous in its words.

And then there was Six.

47 eyes the boy in his room, ever untrusting. The boy (who he distantly recognizes as Subject 6) sputters for a moment, standing up straight from where he was crouched over the rabbit. “You’re supposed to be on a mission.”

47 nods slowly, analyzing the room. Six continues. “I had just heard you had this rabbit. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He tilts his head, thinking. “It is… alright. You are Subject Six, no?”

Six nods, seemingly more relaxed than the other. “Yes. And everyone knows who you are, 47.” He looks to the rabbit and then back again. “I did not mean to intrude. I can leave if you wish.”

He nods again. “You can… visit more often, if you like. The company would be enjoyable. You do not seem like the others.”

The boy smiles, almost giddily, and 47 is taken aback for a moment.

The next two years pass in a similar motion- the two becoming closer and closer by the day.

That was, until 47 came back to a dead rabbit.

Six was away on a mission, so there was no one for him to turn to. He knelt down before the dead rabbit where it was beaten senseless and bloody, the red blood seeping into the cold concrete below. The other boys had always been particularly cruel. Something burns in his eyes, and before he can blink whatever it was away, it drips down his cheeks.

He stays there, broken and crying before his bloodied rabbit.

--

Streaks of blood stream down Wazier Kale’s forehead. A smoking gun is hidden away, slipped behind the black void that is 47’s suit.

“The infamous Maelstrom is dead.” Diana hums in his ear. “Excellent work, 47.”

47 sometimes wondered about the people he killed. About the families and dreams they left behind; about the opportunities not yet taken. About their life- their past. He wondered what it was like to have the opportunity to be something.

It wasn’t something he enjoyed thinking about often.

“Mission accomplished.” Diana says, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Time to find an exit. It’s almost too bad we can’t stay for a vacation. Lovely weather this time of year.” She jokingly muses, humming and not expecting a reply.

47, as expected, says nothing as he leaves the building. He leaves no trace behind: the gunshot unheard in the loudness of the streets, the gun unregistered, and he easily blends into the crowd.

Diana had asked years upon years ago about his past. About who he was. All he had to answer her with was a number made name and the suit he wore. If asked now by her, he would say that he was a hitman. A contract killer. Others would say that he was a freak of nature, an animal in the skin of a human. As he slid into the cab, to the people wandering the street, he was nothing more than a man.

His back is set in a straight line, the guns resting at his hips barely noticeable. The cab rolls over the brick of the road, and it takes a few minutes before Diana speaks. Usually, the two wouldn’t speak until 47 was back in a safehouse, so he listens intently to her words, wondering if something had gone wrong.

“Agent 47,” Diana breathes, and to anyone else, she would sound impassive, but 47 knows better. She sounds almost giddy, yet she tries to reel it in with a front of professionalism.

He says nothing, not wanting to freak out the cab driver, so he just hums.

“I have been tracking any suspicious purchases of large or abandoned buildings lately after the dismantlement of the base in Colorado, and just now, I have received a notice that an abandoned building out in Romania has been purchased by an antonyms investor with the use of cryptocurrency. It has to be Lucas Grey.”

Lucas Grey. The Shadow client. The man they’ve been hunting for the past year. To have this much of a lead on him would allow 47 to put an end to this once and for all.

But this is almost too easy. Grey has been covering up his tracks well enough over the past year that even Providence hasn’t been able to track him.

“But,” Diana continues, taking the words right out of his mouth. “Even if this does end up to be Grey, it still very much could be a trap.”

The cab sputters to a stop with the driver shouting something in Marathi, and 47 takes that as his cue to get out. He gives the cab driver more than what the fee would have been, but he’s gone by the time the cab driver can process this.

“It is the most we’ve had on him in the past year.” Agent 47 says smoothly, not agreeing or disagreeing on Diana’s hesitance as he strolls on the long-since abandoned sidewalks towards the airport.

“It is.” She agreed, and he can faintly hear typing in the background. “The plan is to wait for a few weeks to monitor the place; see if there will be anyone else entering or leaving the compound.”

He’s silent for a moment before Diana continues.

“47, this is the only way to return your memories. To learn what Ort-Meyer has stolen from you. Don’t you think it’s time to get some closure?”

47 thinks of a polaroid burned long ago. Of angry blue eyes. Of a past long lost. Of a boy he killed.

He finds that he agrees with Diana.

--

47 and Six run through the forest with nothing but the clothes on their backs and each other. Gunfire rings out, bullets lodging themselves in the wood of trees and the soft dirt of the ground.

They duck beneath branches and hop over streams of water, silent as they could be. Their breaths stay quiet and even, trusting in the other to follow them wordlessly as they continue through the endless forest. Their feet sink into the soft earth as down-pouring rain splattered down around them, drenching their jumpsuits as they blinked the water out of their eyes.

“The rain’s good.” Six had whispered to 47 after they had taken out the guards at the main entrance, hovering close behind him. “It’ll cover our tracks.”

47 swiped the access card he had stolen from Ort-Meyer earlier. He was the only one who could get close enough to do so. “It can cover theirs too.” He said, sparing a glance at Six as the door soundlessly unlocked.

The two had been planning this for months on end through hushed voices after dark and on assignments, not wanting to be caught by Ort-Meyer or any of the guards. Finally, they had put their plan into motion: a piece of concrete broken off from the underside of the cafeteria tables had been all they needed to distract a guard and strangle him with a homemade fiber wire. They choke out the others, snap the necks of some, and kill the rest with silenced pistols.

The smell of earth and the taste of liberation on their tongues was a heady feeling.

Now the two sprint towards the promise of freedom with bullets flying at their backs, never taking a moment to rest when they knew it could be their last. 47 dutifully followed Six, never faltering or doubting for a moment.

That was, until he tumbled forward onto the wet and slick ground below. He slides for a moment, unsure of what had happened until a dull pain spreads throughout his shoulder. One of the guards had gotten him. Grunting silently, he pushes himself up with his good arm to his feet, staggering for a moment.

In an instant, Six is by his side, a question on the tip of his tongue before 47 shakes his head. “I’m fine. We need to go.”

Six stares at him for a moment, assessing, before nodding his head in a sharp jerk and taking 47 by the good bicep to encourage him along. “C’mon, 47, aren’t you supposed to be the best of us?” He attempts to joke as they continue running, but it falls flat. Still, 47 finds it within himself to huff a laugh.

They continue to run, only this time side by side with Six clenching his bicep in a death grip as if he was afraid he was going to disappear if he let up for even one second. At least with the movement, he could feel that the bullet had gone clean through, so there was no need to dig it out once they were safe.

Yet safety never came.

With another two resounding gunshots, 47 felt a bullet lodge in his lower stomach, and if knowing by some innate feeling, he shoves Six out of the way to get another bullet lodged in his leg instead of his brother’s.

He tumbles down once more, a wet gasp leaving his mouth as his injured leg connects to the ground below.

“Why would you take that bullet, you-!” Six knelt down beside him, fluttering hands skating over the wounds, not knowing how to help in a moment of panic for his brother. “Shit! 47- fuck, come on, you need to get up!”

“Six.” 47 gasped, more so in fear for his brother than for himself. The barking of dogs and the pounding of footsteps only grew closer. “You need to run.”

“No, come on, I am not leaving you. Not here. Not in their clutches.” Six shakes his head, resolute. 47's heart throbs in anguish. And then his wounds sear in pain as Six attempts to pick him up. He was always the more hopeful of the two.

47, in one last attempt, gets up with the help of his brother before he lurches forward in pain. He knew that even with three bullet holes in him, he would still be able to run, but he would only end up hindering Six. Closing his eyes, he shakes his head. “You need to run.” He repeats.

Six protests immediately. “No-”

“I’ll only slow you down. You and I both know this.” He insists steadily as he stumbles away slowly, acceptance slowly blooming within his gut.

“I’ll carry you. You’ll heal. I can’t go on without you. I won’t know how.” Six continues on, distress clearly showing in the lines of his body.

“The bullet is still in my leg. I won’t make it long without proper medical care.”

“I’ll dig it out myself-”

“Six.” 47 interrupts him, speaking through a mouth full of blood. It dribbles down his chin and stains him. “Please.”

He was never one for words, and he never begged, not for anything, but for his brother, he would do anything. He would get down on his knees before the altar of a long-forgotten god and beg for his safety, he would cut out his heart if Six needed it, he would kill for him, die for him, return to that god-forsaken institute for him. ”Live your life for me. For the both of us. Be free.”

He hesitates for a moment, but 47 can see the dawning realization on his face. His older brother swallows harshly, encapsulating one of his hands in both of his. “I’ll come back for you, okay? I’m- I’m not just going to leave you here.”

He should tell him no. He should tell him to run and forget about everything that has happened here. About the Institute. About Ort-Meyer. About the torture, the experiments, the pain and suffering.

About him.

But he allows himself to be selfish, to hope one last time. He nods shakily, drawing in a deep breath. “Okay.”

Six squeezed his hand, yet the ever-increasing closeness of the guards spurred him away. He disappears into the foliage, looking back one last time before the forest swallows him whole. 47 pitched forward, catching himself on the rough bark of a tree as black spots danced in his vision.

With a shuddering sigh, he forces himself back up and makes his legs move in a different direction, intent on leading the soldiers away. He makes as much noise as possible before he heaves forward, a tangle of limbs on the ground.

The last thing he sees before he passes out is the looming building of the Institute that hovers over the tree line and the muzzle of a Weatherby Vanguard pointed at his face.

The black void engulfs his vision, grief and blood heavy on his tongue.

--

The place, just as Diana had described it, was deserted.

And familiar.

It was familiar in a way you had something at the tip of your tongue, yet couldn't name it. The way a dream slips away. The way you walk into a room and forget why you’re there.

“He’s here.” 47 says as he approaches it.

The dilapidated building stood crumbling yet tall with vines crawling along the stone sides and in through the broken windows. Getting there had 47 traversing through acres upon acres of foliage with only Diana there to guide him at points. There was something odd about this forest, however. At points, there would be bullets deeply ingrained into the trees or embedded into the dirt below.

“The breadcrumbs were almost too easy to follow, 47. This could be a trap-” Diana’s voice wavers for a moment before being forcibly cut off.

“Not a trap.” He muses to himself as a window flickers to life with light.

The gate swung open easily, creaking. If this was any other mission, he would have found another way in.

Deep down however, with a churning gut and unknown past, he knows he knew this building. He loads his gun.

“An invitation.”

Now it was time to find out how.

--

47 sits straight in an uncomfortable chair, the cold of it seeping into his bones. His head is held high as he stares at Ort-Meyer’s back as the man hunches over, fiddling with something.

Resentment pools within his gut and hatred burns the back of his throat.

It would be so easy to slam Ort-Meyer’s head down into the metal table until his face was nothing more than flesh stuck to his palms, but he had to bide his time before his next escape attempt. Six had already gotten out, and that was more than enough for now. To know that his brother was free from the Institution's clutches gave him more than enough hope that he could get out next.

His thigh, shoulder, and stomach all throb in a distant reminder of what had happened: not in pain, but as a dull memory; the wounds have all long since healed. 47 grits his teeth and bides his time.

The rest of his brothers had already been killed or had been placed in another part of the building, but he knew that he wasn’t going to be next. If he was going to be, they would have put him down in that forest. He was too useful to them. He was the perfect clone.

‘Too useful to waste.’ Ort-Meyer apparently agreed with this sentiment.

Something akin to fear settles deep beneath his skin when Ort-Meyer turns back around, filled syringe in hand. The man begins to pace, circling around 47. He tenses and his nails dig into the metal of the chair, leaving crevices behind.

“47,” Ort-Meyer begins, voice even. “I understand your actions. You felt trapped, scared. 6 had been tormenting you for so long."

Confusion paints his face white, but he refuses to show any fear. He swallows harshly as the doctor continues.

“It would only make sense for you to lash out like how you did. However, I would prefer it if you only kill the people we ask you to, 47.”

“What do you mean, father?” 47 asks, fingers twitching as he stares at Ort-Meyer’s neck. Dread pools in his gut and a feeling of wrongness weighs him down.

Ort-Meyer hums in compilation, and 47 hates like never before. “How you killed your tormentor, 6, after he pushed you too far, of course. How he had bullied you for years upon years until you snapped. How you had fled the facility in fear, thinking that we would punish you for such a deed. However, that is not the case. 47."

His heart hammers within his chest, and fear thrums in his nerves. Why is Ort-Meyer telling him this? Did they kill Six? Did they find him? Bile rises up to his throat.

He flicks the tip of the syringe, examining how the light reflects off of the liquid. “We are impressed by your so-called escape, even at the loss of Six. The thoughtfulness you exhibited when you hid his body, made a fiber wire out of a window sill and broom, oiled the door hinges to prevent them from making noise, and shot the guard dog with a bow and arrow is impressive. We cannot let such talent go to waste.”

‘No,’ 47 thinks, an indescribable feeling of dread washing over him. ‘They found him. They killed him. Six is dead because of me.’ “That’s not what happened, father.” 47 says steadily, but his voice sounds shaky even to him. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Ort-Meyer stops behind him, and alarm bells set off deep within him, making him nauseous. “When we’re done here, 47,” Ort-Meyer caresses his head in a mockery of a loving touch, thumbing over the bar code at the back of his head as if he was trying to comfort him. 47 wants to kill him. The prick of a needle at his throat stings for only a moment, and a feeling of numbness settles over him like a scratchy blanket. “It will be.”

--

A shattered mirror lies at the top of a staircase.

The broken pieces jut out like a venus flytrap, and 47 can see the faint traces of blood coating them. 47 stares at himself for a moment, his body broken up and spread through the many pieces.

An angry blue-eyed boy watches him. He blinks, and 47 stares back.

The inside of the building was just as broken down as the outside suggested. Mildew and mold coated the walls, wallpaper torn and spiderwebs crawling along every surface available. 47 stalked forward, following the twisting and turning halls easily as if he knew them like the back of his hand.

The place seemed to be void of any personality: the wallpare a musty green and the flickering lights a sickly yellow, aged with time- yet it gave him this peculiar and inexplicable feeling of home. It sickened him like never before.

His free hand trailed along the decaying walls, something akin to unease settling in the pit of his stomach. There was something about this place that made him want to flee and never look back. It was strange and left him uneasy like never before.

A flickering light beckoned him forward, and shoving everything aside, he followed.

In front of a gaping hole stood Lucas Grey, his silhouette cutting against the harsh light of the afternoon sun. 47 steadied his gun, arm straight and true, yet something made him hesitate.

“You can home.” A haunting voice came from the man, gun in hand. He shifts it so that he held it by the muzzle, turning ever so slightly so he can look 47 in the eye. ”I knew you would.” Grey tosses the gun aside into a puddle, the water rippling for a moment as 47 looks on in muted surprise. “You’ve come a long way, 47. And even now, you don’t remember.”

47 should shoot him down where he stands. He shouldn’t prolong this any longer, but he doesn’t pull the trigger. “This place…” he begins.

“This was our prison.” Grey interrupts, hatred coating his words. He spits the words out like a curse, as if they burned on his tongue. He turns around, and 47’s head pounds. “Where father trained us, shaped us into killers for Providence.”

He stalks forward, gun hand never wavering, but what Grey says next gives him pause. “Now you don’t remember, they ripped it out of you, wiped it away, but I do. I remember everything.”

A hand on his shoulder. A comforting presence. A house yet not a home.

47 shakes his head, finger ghosting the trigger. ”You’re a terrorist with nothing to lose. You’d say anything.” Grey moves to the left, towards the wall, and 47 nearly makes him a smear upon the wall.

The man squats down and digs his fingers into the wall, tearing it away. Two bloodied handprints sit there, and 47’s hand stings in a reminder. The muzzle of the gun is pressed to the back of Lucas’ head as a reminder.

He swallows harshly. “I know it’s difficult. You never miss your mark or question your function. But we made a pact, you and I.”

47 stares at his scarred palm. He had forgone gloves for this mission, and now the matching X on his palm stands out more than ever. Lucas turns, and emotions that 47 can’t catch paint his face. “Do this… we both lose.”

47 remembers little but he knew he was a killer in more ways than one. “There was an incident. That boy… he died by my hands.”

“He lived.” Lucas says, the words dripping out of his mouth like nectar. “Because of you.” He fluidly stands, gray eyes boring into his own, searching frantically. “Don’t you remember his name?” He asks desperately, pressing forward, only stopped by the barrel of a gun kissing his forehead. ”You know this. Deep down, you know. What was his name?”

A forest. A promise. Pain and hope. A brother.

Six.

He raises his gun, hand twitching. “Subject Six. Your name is Subject Six.”

“And what is our purpose?”

Suffering. Experiments. Killing. Flesh tearing anew.

“To destroy them all.”

--

please excuse if the characters are ooc, i haven't written these characters before so i'm still trying to get the hang of writing them. i hope you all enjoyed it! i may write some more on this fandom later on! :)

[letters-from-woodsboro]

messy freestyle review of the substance (2024)

i! love! this! movie! i love it so much! spoilers under the cut. if you haven't seen it and somehow missed any of the buzz, go watch it before you check out ANY reviews because this would make for a hell of a blind watch. ideally get some pals together for it as a group bonding activity even

first things first demi moore and margaret qualley bodied these roles (pun absolutely intended). they were the perfect choices to portray these characters. i've seen the term "career best" in reference to both their performances and i wholeheartedly agree

i love the over-the-top angle this movie takes. there's no escape from it, it's relentless, and it's supposed to be

seriously if you wanted this movie to be more subtle then you probs just wanted to be watching a different movie. and that's fine! this one isn't gonna hit for everybody! BUT it has a very clear vision and it takes you on that journey whether you like it or not

and yeah it's gross but again, that's the point which i think is so fuckin great. more gross movies. more movies that make you wince and shift in your seat. culturally we are at the PERFECT time to bring creature features back into the zeitgeist. anti-aging as body horror is such an incredible take

i've seen people say it's misogynistic in its portrayal of womanhood, with how elisabeth's backstory is never explored or anything, but that really does loop back into the "that would be a different movie entirely" thing i mentioned before. it wouldn't have added anything for me if we got to explore her backstory, because we are already getting such an intimate look into her psyche. im actually fine with her not having a feel-good arc about how she learns to love herself and dismantle the problems in her past that made her feel lesser-than

it's also just smart to avoid the specifics. part of the Point is that these thoughts and behaviors can take hold of anyone, regardless of age or beauty or status. elisabeth's lore isn't half as important as that, she could be anyone, but she is in the upper echelon of society to further drive home the thought that Anyone Can Feel That Way. i love this element of the film!

the scene near the end where sue goes absolutely batshit is maybe my favorite thing to come out of cinema in the past decade. only kind of a joke

btw while we're talking specific scenes. dennis quaid shrimp scene is the grossest one in the movie im being so fr

and the finale! the boob and the blood and the puddle. it was definitely A Lot. i think that's what the movie needed to really drive it home, something completely off the fuckin walls. as much as i was into sue killing elisabeth as a climactic moment in the story, i thought the hard steer into blood-drenched insanity was fuckin awesome. so goofy and so FUN while simultaneously being disgusting and heartbreaking

also not really related to any of the other ones but i loooove the environment in this movie. everything is so weird and uncanny, the little details are great! it sets you up right away with the "this is not what you're used to" feeling, the alternate modern-day thing is just a good time all around

my final score: 5 out of 5 activator shots in the single-use bottle. this was one of my only five star reviews on letterboxd this year. i cannot stress enough how much this movie actually fuckin rips. if you love body horror and you haven't seen it yet GET ON IT !!! i might write up another post abt the substance (drug not the movie) itself sometime because it has such fascinating implications. that's all for now tho :)

[irregularcollapse]

before you say cut is my absolute comfort fic i've read it too many times to count

very happy to hear there's gonna be sandra in the sequel bc you write the mota women so so well <3

oh my goodness <3 thanks so much, anon! i really appreciate people coming out of the woodwork to say nice things about this fic! i'm still really pleased with how it turned out, and i feel like it hits the things i was trying to do with it (which is nicely confirmed when people like you say things like this weeeeeeeeee)

WOMEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you for loving my love of women <3 i just truly think that even if i'm writing primarily about men, there's no reason not to pay some respect to the canon women. i'm really excited to write more Sandra (Westie!!!!!!!) because i really enjoyed doing her in the little tennis b-side that i did. some actor Sandra lore is that she has a weird little will they/won't they UST game with Marge, however given that Marge is an agent (not Sandra's agent, but an agent nonetheless) it would very much be a professional conflict of interest for them to do anything about it. not particularly ethical!!

and this is also the reason why Marge and Gale have never gotten together in this universe, because while their relationship is primarily professional, Gale is still very attracted to her and also she's one of his favourite people. it is a thing he struggles with a little, regarding his own sense of self-worth: as he says in this b-side, it's a bit sad that his best friend is his agent.

anywayyyyy yay women! i also have a bit of Helen in an unfinished one shot that i'd really like to return to at some point but can make no promises about:

Kissing girls with lipstick on has always felt a bit extra dirty to Bucky, like he was taking something painted and perfect and poised, and leaving his mark. He liked the smooth slide of a lipstick mouth against his own; he liked the way it’d smear, over his lips and the girl’s, leaving her all messy and making her look wanted; he liked, when she was nice enough to get on her knees for him, the smudges he’d find on his cock when he washed up after.

“That’s your color,” Helen had said to him while the other girls were righting themselves and tidying up their little impromptu party, wiping the bar and figuring out where to toss the now-empty bottle.

“What’s that?” But Bucky had already known, and was wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand; something else gotten from the bottle, not just the liquor.

“The first one we’ll call a freebie,” she’d rolled on like he hadn’t said anything, conversational and conspiratorial, and Bucky would wager she had a few brothers. “But if you want an assortment, enough to share around, it’ll cost you.”

“Yeah? What’s the going rate on blank love notes these days?”

“One of your field Lucky Strike four-packs, and the same number of your pros.”

Bucky had whistled, eyebrow raising and grin straining against his attempts at being aloof. “Quite the hefty price tag. Now what would a nice young lady like you be wantin’ with that many helmets?”

“Loose lips sink ships, Major. If you’ve got them, leave them on the rear right wheel of the kiosk.”

also Tatty!! i have some background/past Tatty/Bucky sitting in yet another unfinished one shot lmfaoooo i just think! they would have had a fun little time together!

you didn't ask for any of this :)) i guess i'm feeling chatty and: WOMEN.

also the first time i tried to reply to this ask i got this error:

which feels a bit on the nose considering the erasure of women in fandom spaces lmfaoooooo

[the-blossica-fan]

Greetings!

This Undooming Arcana AU is so interesting that it can be very funny and angsty at the same time.

Either its funny with the researchers attempting to figure out her arcanum or very tragic and angsty with the likes of 37 and Vertin.

I can really see Vertin absolutely getting into a screaming match with Arcana in uh three months max of her living in the suitcase, Arcana in canon got under her skin within seconds of meeting Vertin.

Like if we run with the idea of Arcana knowing and having a thing with her mother I hc here to a very, VERY complex and twisted way Arcana does want to see Vertin succeed... its just the manner of showing concern or "genuine" attempts to undoom the yuri absolutely pisses Vertin off. She cant take anything from Arcana, be too close or even entertain anything she says for fear of nodding off into another illusion to wake up to see someone littered in bullets again.

(Random thought: Arcana somewhat knows esperanto so probably can teach Vertin arcanum, but this is unlikely)

In other news, u think Arcana would win in a drinking match with Lilya? Would alcohol have an effect on her?

What would a Tennant and Arcana interaction look like? Or even Lucy actually.

Hello again Comrade!! You seem to enjoy Undooming Arcana AU

Before I begin, I gotta say I don't think Arcana is undooming what she has made out of actual want but more so it's easier and more entertaining for her. She's certainly not as malevolent but still evil even if slightly, so she's just doing it because she felt like it

In terms of Vertin losing her patience, it's been a warning since the very beginning. Arcana is annoying, as I've said before, and sometimes she says things that can be taken nicely and others she tells them to push other people's buttons. Vertin is, of course, on edge and she always ends up yelling at Arcana while the devious woman takes a sip of her tea.

A shame she can't hurt her physically, she wouldn't win in a fight either way.

And it's so confusing for Vertin how she seems so nonchalant about fixing everything she did wrong but also so into it, and not in a good way. Sort of like a game where she sometimes gets genuinely into it but then she just gets bored

Vertin is definitely angry at the fact that she's the one to be in charge of Arcana. Had half a mind to push this problem onto someone like Z or Tooth Fairy but decided not to. She still finds ways to hate Arcana that didn't know existed.

Does Arcana want Vertin to succeed? Eh, sort of. It's more like she wants her to be okay because of her mother, but not because she quite likes Vertin. She finds her intriguing, much like her mother, but wouldn't go as far.

Teaching her about incantations is something she wouldn't do. She would offer but in a way that would guarantee an insult from Vertin, as a way to tease and annoy her.

Arcana would definitely win a drinking competition. She's like, goop made a body, she can definitely take the alcohol while Lilya would need a break from it after so many bottles.

Tennant and Arcana... Mmm, Tennant tried to flirt with Arcana and get some money but after a little lore dumping Tennant turned around and went her merry way, never to speak to Arcana ever again.

As for Lucy, she's compiling information about Arcana in her brain as they speak, a way to keep a watch on that woman while also getting key information about her origins. It's a complete one sided conversation but if they start joking, run.

[seasidewanderers]

How Did I Even Get Here? Or As I Like To Call It, How I Became Syscourse Informed

I've been meaning to make this post for a while. I've been in syscourse for years now, more precisely from I think it was 2019. So for those curious of how even does one get into syscourse... Here's all the lore and backstory.

I'll put it under a cut. Read with extreme caution if you choose to, it's... gonna get ugly in here

Warnings: long ass post; talking about trauma, drug and alcohol abuse, self harm/suicide, psychosis

I had just started university and everything was going to shit. Yeah, I like cold opens alright. You should read my stories. A-hem. I had just started university. I was struggling to make friends - I never had friends before university - I had just shaved all of my hair off. New beginning and all that. My grades in high school weren't stellar but I was managing, while in uni it went all down the drain within the first month.

Living alone meant I could be doing everything I could ever dream of! Getting blackout drunk almost every night. I was buying a bottle of gin and a pack of Monster Ultra White cans to mix in my personal gin and Monster tonic every other day. I was an already psychotic teenager fighting regular psychosis with alcohol induced psychosis, having so many nightmares I was consuming the equivalent of 15-20 espressos a day just to stay awake. The only times I managed to get more than 3 hours of sleep I was near comatose. I wish I was misusing the word.

I was near constantly actively delusional.

(I've talked about it once or twice in here in the context of delusions related to trauma and DID, my most prominent delusion is related to survivor's guilt and early infancy medical trauma. I still get episodes, though now it's more chronic bizarre thoughts and sporadic psychotic depression)

In a year, I left my dormitory room to be with other people in the dormitory exactly once.

I also got to know a guy who turned out to be a drug dealer. I mean, a really nice guy otherwise. He never got me on hard drugs (it was his personal policy to not start someone who has never done hard drugs on hard drugs, and I had mad respect for that lad); he did otherwise just give me stuff if I asked for it. Mainly it was sleeping pills.

I was minding my business with a mix of alcohol, tranquillisers and caffeine up until a point where I took a little too much, fell asleep in class, and couldn't wake up no matter how much my friend was trying to get me awake. I got rushed to the ER and now I'm banned from taking sleeping pills again. Somehow my liver is intact though! Yay

So... what does it have to do with syscourse, you might ask. And you'd be absolutely right to ask.

Nothing and everything. I discovered my system eventually in university. I started noticing that even when I was not drinking, I wouldn't remember shit anyway (which only made me drink more, if I'm not to remember anything, why bother staying sober?)

I then started noticing that I didn't remember anything. About anything. My childhood is a blank. Middle and high school is so fragmented I have no idea what happened, and the few memories I have I'd rather forget.

So what does a 19-20 years old with no friends, almost always drunk, lots of the time high as a kite, forgetful and incredibly depressed, do with their free time?

Tumblr. I started out with looking up people who were talking about ADHD, thinking my forgetfulness was poor attention; then nothing really clicked, so I moved on to mood disorders spaces, thinking it was just depression; then again, yes I do have depression, it's been terrible for many years now, but stable enough, so the sudden heightening of forgetting and not being "really there" didn't really make sense to my depression.

By the end of the school year in June by means that I don't fully remember, I landed in system spaces. First just people talking about being plural, then I discovered the pit full of burning acid that is syscourse.

It actually wasn't so bad for me at first, but I was having a nice time online because I was just following that handful of blogs that I liked, and also I wasn't active in syscourse, just lurking around like a bog creature.

When I started expanding my niche of syscourse blogs, it was... something for sure though. I didn't understand why people were fighting. I didn't understand why everyone is so awful all the time. I get that spaces filled with trauma survivors are bound to get emotionally charged, and as the old adage goes, hurt people hurt people. I get that rationally, I get the anger, sadness, and grief, but I wouldn't imagine taking my frustration out on a passerby who's not the cause of my trauma. I don't get being mean on purpose.

At some point a few years ago I stumbled upon @sysmedsaresexist and @thecircularsystem (or rather, circulars-reasoning and circular-bircular)

If I remember correctly, they were both anti endo when I got to their blogs, and I was very pro endo. I didn't, and still don't, have any reason not to be.

I started reading everything they were putting out. Every little link and file they shared got under a microscope by my part.

Part of it was just paranoia - I know they're saying something terrible. There has to be something in there that says endos are all murderers or something and I'll be in so, so much trouble for being pro endo.

Part of it was just curiosity - what do they have to say? Let me take a look at that.

And then... There was absolutely nothing that made me believe they hated me specifically (more broadly, nothing in their resources that disproved the existence of endogenic plurality, but at the time that to me was equal to "if you're pro endo I hate your face and I'll be stabbing you in a dark alley first chance I get")

And... I loosened up a bit. I still didn't properly talk to them until this year, after SAS' Changing Mindsets post, and I can say I regret not reaching out sooner. I kept reading everything they were putting out, laughing at memes, and asked lots of questions. I tried going at it with more and more curiosity and less and less fear of stepping out of an imagined line.

It didn't always go well. I am very paranoid and it takes very little for me to retract into my shell like a turtle. But! I made a lot of progress with that, too. I also learned that a) I don't have to immediately respond to asks, comments, etc out of impulse or anger, I can actually take my time! and b) I don't have to reply at all if I don't want to!!! How great is that!!!!!

I don't know why people keep saying that you can't be friends with pro/antis. That's what I needed to do! I needed to get the fuck out of my own head, get to know other people, talk to them, see where they're coming from.

Though I wouldn't say I'm friends with them exactly, simply because friend to me has a specific connotation, but they are nice people who I love talking to. Who'd have thought the Scary Anti Endo could be *reads notes* a person with their own interests and hobbies?? Oh SHIT this is NEW.

Enough talking about my background, over to the thanks, like it's my wedding day and y'all are my best men.

Circ, Dude (and all other SAS mods, though I know half of you half as much as I would like), thank you. You've done a lot for me even if you didn't know who the fuck I was until two or three months ago. You threw some PDFs and links over to my general direction and, man, I needed that.

I've been very bad. And then I've been slightly better, and then very bad again, and I'm better again. This time I don't plan on going very bad again though. I hope I can get better every day.