#nameless moon presence

[blood-starved-beast]

Can we talk about the Nameless Moon Presence and Gehrman and the Hunters being like those animals who have higher rates of fecudity as to combat high infant mortality rates?

So every great one loses its child and yearns for a surrogate we know that we get it. We see variations on this all over. What's interesting with the Nameless Moon Presence's version is that as opposed to say, Oedon or even Kos, is that while she's got Gehrman locked in as surrogate baby, he's not 100% secure in his situation. He can be replaced if you do either the Honoring Wishes Ending or the Childhood's Beginning Ending (the latter more extremely so, cause you do become her Child in the very very literal sense). In order to achieve those endings, you have to kill him. And for all we know, Flora doesn't seem to mourn that, now turning her interest towards you.

In population biology, one of the theories around species fecundity is the r/K selection theory - basically states that in nature, there is a tradeoff between quantity vs quality of offspring and parental investment. In species that have high numbers of babies born per litter (r-selected) there is notable less parental investment. In frogs or fish for example, infants are left to fend for themselves, or in alligators, mother gators do protect their young, but it's not as involved as such a great ape or an elephant. In species with less babies born per litter (K-selected), there is more parental investment - again elephants, humans, apes. Colloquially, r-selected reproduction is seen as "cheap and fast" vs K-selected being "expensive and slow." More parental resources are devoted to caring for their young in K-selected species, and the loss of a child in these species is more devastating (in more ways than one). But the guarantee that a specific child would survive is greater there.

But how does this apply to the Moon Presence and Bloodborne?

Interestingly enough, the theory posits that r-selection is favored in more unstable environments. There is a high chance that most children won't survive, so reproduce as much as possible so at least one survives. Yharnam, by the events of the game, is virtually collapsed. Refuse and corpses liter the streets, Huntsmen have gone mad and are attacking people On Sight, there is no order and the Beast Plague runs rampant. We find a lot of dead Hunter corpses all over the place. If you were a great one searching for human surrogate children, r-selection seems like a good option here. Get a lot of Hunters, so hopefully, maybe, at least one ascends or becomes your kid. And that's what the Moon Presence uses Gehrman to do. If you, the Good Hunter, are lucky You become that special baby!! Congrats!!

But there's also another dimension working here. Cause when you reach Bloodborne endgame, you don't just ascend. Gehrman gets up from his chair to fight you. Now he has his reasons (claiming to save you from your fate) but if we're to take a biologist's perspective - consider. In many species, infant animals are competing with their siblings and relatives since birth, even beforehand in some like sharks, where fetus sharks will kill and consume their siblings in-utero.* Larger tadpoles eat their smaller cousins and siblings so they've got a higher chance of survival later. Sometimes, parents get involved - they discard or kill one of their infants if they believe the chances of their other offspring surviving is greater as a result. Egrets have been found to do this, among others.

Gehrman believes that by killing you, he is saving you from achieving his Fate - his reasons one can argue are justified, but he is also defending his position as Flora's chosen surrogate child as a result. Only he can be the surrogate, no other Hunter. It is just like a frog to cannibalize their siblings. And Flora permits this, cause in the end, the most Fit child - the one that has the best chance of survival - will be the one that remains. And until our Hunter arrives, that child had always been Gehrman.

(Sidenote: Kos arguably used K-selection. One child, likely in a Deal with a male partner to produce the Orphan. Lot of parent investment, such a shame when of that was lost.)

*Note scientists believe fetal cannibalism in sharks is an extension of sexual selection. Shark litters with less fetuses tend to have one father, whereas larger litters have multiple. It's believe the smaller litters had older fetuses - the male had copulated with the female earlier than the other father - resulting in older babies that in turn, ate their smaller siblings. Either way the larger fetuses were born larger, and thus had higher chances of survival than the smaller, less 'fit' half-siblings.

[baqsy]

so there's this ancient Eskimo belief that the moon is a patriarchal figure called 'The Lord of Women' and 'He' can impregnate a woman while she sleeps uncovered beneath 'His' full gaze. it stems from womankind being identified with moon throughout history, but also strongly influenced by its fluctuations. this links to the menstrual cycle that corresponds precisely with that of the moon

something something Oedon blessing wombs of chosen women who happen to be Cainhurstian, and Cainhurst is itself connected to the moon, e.g. numbing mist having the same effect as Moon Presence's attacks

oh and how the moon was worshipped by mesopotamians as the goddess Ishtar (or Isis, who gave birth to Osiris. someone posted a theory that Oedon may be Moon Presence's child or related to her in some way), was known as 'the Mother of all' or 'the Opener of the Womb', reminded me of how Moon Presence made a surrogate child out of Gehrman in the dream

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

This story, for which there are seven parts, is dedicated to everyone affected by Hurricane Helene. It was not written because of that, but a water-based natural disaster is part of the plot. It does not focus on it, but is a story of hope. The text of section one is under the cut. I hope to post all sections before the end of the Inklings Challenge. Despite this being my third year, this is the first I've actually posted anything other than snippets, so I hope I'm doing this right. I haven't yet written more than this, but I do have an outline for the other six parts, so hopefully that will work. @inklings-challenge

One: Admonish the Sinner

First of all it must be understood that every world is connected, as every village is. Some are just further away.

This is not a story of Earth; this is a story of a world nobody bothered to name, in a village nobody called anything other than the village. But that does not make it any less beloved—by people or by God. Sometime, a long time before this story is set, someone from Earth came to this nameless world and gave them the greatest gift of all, truth: but that is another tale entirely.

The night sky of this world is strikingly different from ours. Most prominently, two moons watch the world below, and every forty-seven years or so, flooding hits the island. They call it Big Tide, for it is the pull of the two moons combined that does this. It is regular enough, and has enough warning signs, that everyone should be perfectly ready for it.

As is common in humans (and these are humans like us, though the world is different), not everyone believes the evidence laid out in the world.

This is a story of Big Tide, specifically the one of the year three thousand, two hundred and twenty by their reckoning. This is a story of Paula McArthur.

%%%%%%%

The wattles were flowering, and it was Paula’s favourite time of year. There were several different wattles, but this was the deep gold ones she loved the best, the ones she gathered by the armful and adorned her home with. Now she only held a single sprig and enjoyed it to the full. It was too close to Big Tide to unnecessarily damage the wattle trees; they could be badly damaged by the rushing waters, and might need everything they had to survive. But one twig wasn’t going to hurt it.

The sky was a clear pale blue shot with fine clouds, a mass of them shining near the horizon with the sun gentle on them. Paula raised her face to the sunlight and closed her eyes, smiling. It was spring, and she never felt more alive than in springtime. 

She had been working all morning to prepare for Big Tide, largely transport. Her hands were tired of the precise positions needed to be held in order to hover exactly enough to transfer items in mid-air between hoverboards rather than landing to do it, which would waste time. Tide waited on no man, but Paula was skilled enough to know when she could be sloppy about hoverboarding, and enjoyed hoverboarding in a more slapdash manner than most people she knew. She had graduated earlier than most of her classmates from a controller to haptics. Tomorrow, though, she might use the controller again to make sure she was fresh enough to hover efficiently overnight during Big Tide itself. 

Presently she took out her lunch, and ate it while walking. In the distance a kookaburra laughed; Paula came to an abrupt halt as a green-blue iridescent flash clued her into the presence of a river dragon nearby. It turned and looked at her, bright blue eyes wise and calm. After a moment of silence and mutual respect, the dragon moved properly into her view and arched its sinuous back, raising its crest. Paula lifted her chin and brushed back the dark fringe to look more intimidating. The only sign the dragon gave of seeing any change was to raise its scales in a largely vain attempt to inflate its size. Abruptly it put down its scales and ran in a blaze of colour, uttering a high keening cry that faded as it retreated.

Paula turned to see who had disturbed her, smiling as she recognised the intruder. “What brings you here, Martha?”

Her friend grinned in response, lighting up her tanned sombre face. “You, actually. I came in search of you.”

Paula half gestured to herself, merrily. “Why trouble yourself?”

Martha grew serious at once. “I care about you. Aren't I allowed to?”

“Certainly, as I do.” 

Martha smiled a little incredulously. “Anyway, surely it's time to go back now?”

Paula raised a single eyebrow, then tilted her head back and assessed the position of the sun. “I guess. Why did you come to find me, Mar?”

“Oh, you know, I hardly see you now.” Her manner was evasive, which baffled Paula. “You're always out walking.”

“It's spring.” Paula waved the sprig of wattle at her. “The best time of the year. What's your favourite season?”

“Winter,” said Martha definitively. “Cold and empty and bleak.”

“Why do you like it that way?” she asked in surprise. Last time they'd talked about the seasons, she thought Martha had waxed poetic about the dying fire of autumn. 

“It's silent,” was Martha's quiet response. “Nobody bothers you.”

Paula paused to assess the time, decided they had to go back and led the way; Martha trailed her. “I thought you liked people.”

There was a short silence. “People don't tend to like me.”

“That's nonsense,” she responded immediately. Martha smiled, sad and sarcastic. 

“I don't tend to like me.”

Her calmness bothered Paula, and she sped up slightly. “Well, I do. You're fun, conversational and well read.”

“Which is why you disappear alone for hours.” She caught up and shot Paula a sidelong look, as if to say, I know your secrets. Except there were no secrets to know. 

“I like spring. It feels so alive and fresh, like all the past year's mistakes are washed away and there's new growth instead.”

“Very poetic.” Instead of amusement, Martha's tone was sour. She dodged past Paula and trotted quickstep the whole way back.

%%%%%%%

“I don't know what I did wrong,” finished Paula, twisting her hands nervously. “She got mad and I don't know why.”

Her mother glanced hurriedly across to check the next load wasn't ready, then turned to Paula again. “When people aren't happy it can be a temptation to take it out on others, especially those who are.”

“She said she was worried, and then she just changed and didn't want to talk to me.”

“Rebecca!” The shout made her mother focus on her own work; Paula moved her hoverboard closer to her father so he could load it up. This one was three bags of flour, heavy on the back and requiring stabilisation, which Paula remained still for while her father adjusted the controls. When it was done, he gave her a thumbs up and she gestured with her gloves, rising away from the site and on the journey to higher ground. It wasn't as easy to handle the unbalanced board; she would have done a lot more, and easier, with a transport hoverboard rather than the jury-rigged family board, but it was more economical and the decree had been that fuel, not time, was of the essence, since they'd planned well in advance. Indeed, today being the day before Big Tide, they had expected to have no more transport to do apart from the people, but someone had been digging too enthusiastically in their garden and cracked an underground storage container, so all of that had to be moved. 

She was most of the way there, wind in her face, when a fast personal hoverboard raced up beside her, village elder crouched to stave off the wind. He matched her speed, then unwound and said, “I'll take over from here. Take my board and go back—we need you to persuade people to go.”

“What?” She was already moving, assessing how to swap boards without any risk of either of them tumbling into the trees below while stepping across. “Why?”

He grimaced. “Turns out there are people who haven't prepared and don't want elders coming to help. Your dad suggested you could try and help instead.”

She started to shuck the gloves, then changed her mind and pressed buttons, keying them to the elder's hoverboard instead. As ownership switched, both boards lurched violently, and Paula barely held her position. The elder was wearing magnetic boots and so didn't run the risk of falling. Once she had stabilised it, she said, “So where do I start?”

“Ask your dad when you get back.” His expression was calm and focused as he adjusted the settings to accommodate for his weight. “For now, just get going. Time is of the essence. Big Tide waits for no man.”

[anilyan]

Venti theory before i go to sleep

Edited 30/7/2024: I wrote a proper theory post here

Not so crack theory: Venti is Phanes and is the androgynous being born of the alchemical marriage between the Primordial One and Istaroth, before she was betrayed by the Sinners

(I should really go to sleep)

Also yes, I also think Istaroth has the ability to create alt looms of fate through those seeds she gives away, those basically grow into trees that are databases not controlled by Celestia

And I am using this lore in my old mondstadt fic, Nameless (actually soon to turn into trilogy, since vol 2 is about venti rewinding time and vol 3 is present time story and I took so long to plan all the lore with all the canon crumbs and theories we had...)

Here is extra stuff I claimed in my fic and repeat in the notes of chapter 14, that basically got confirmed in some of the next videos:

Teyvat is theoretically 2 worlds, the version we know and the mirror world. Not sure if the mirror world is the abyss but I chose to go with that for the fic. But it’s likely, and we can even see similar world structures in Honkai Star Rail, especially in Penacony, where the world there is literally mirrored and a dream too.

Cycle: People die » are absorbed by the roots » are supposed to travel to the top of the world tree (inverted, so top is in abyss) to become Irminsul fruit / stars » said stars form constellations that determine people's fate, or more accurately, since they are all in a dream, are data that allows the tree to predict their fates » it’s because people exist as stars that their fates and presence can be summoned in the form of shooting stars

Dainsleif confirmed that the leylines can be woven to determine Fate / have their records changed. The Loom used to weave them is a Symphony, or in other words, Remus’ Symphony of Fate is very similar or the same thing as the Loom of Fate. Add to that some Penacony’s parallels, and you can infer that the Symphony is controlled in the floating palace , that is actually a Grande Theater, by the Sun(day) (potentially Phanes), and it’s reflected by the moons (Aria, Sonnet and Canon, so the musical associations are fitting). Considering that the 3 moon sisters are also probably the mythological Moirai who weave Fate, yeah, that tracks.

I made up the part about the seeds given by Istaroth being used to create an alternate database that can contradict the information on Irminsul, but who knows, maybe I got it right. I mean, just recently I saw people associate her with Khaenri’ahs soldiers because they used the 8 pointed Ishtar star in their uniforms, so with her, anything is possible. Venti got a badass mom.

Some videos I suggest that basically confirmed some of the ideas I am going for (and that explain several of the reasons I say what I say):, from most recent and relevant to oldest and not so relevant

[tender-rosiey]

all that glitters — gojo satoru x reader

a/n: it’s time we embrace that I am a loser who can not stick to a single decision

gojo gazed at the corpse of his friend, best friend. the shaky sigh that left his lips was inevitable.

he didn’t know if he will be able to destroy his body with his own hands and technique, so he chose to at least bury him in a secluded area. it’s only after the evening that gojo is done.

his eyes are dull, his eyes are tired, their void is dark.

the stars are not glittering.

today, he walks to the grave, looking at the stone where he carved his friend’s name. he had done this a thousand times, the only difference today is that you’re with him.

your hand in his, and your thumb stroking the back of his hand. he can’t help but let out a small sigh. you’re here at least, he thinks.

geto’s name name stares back at him; however, it’s less daunting now and he doesn’t know whether it’s the passage of time or your hand that’s grounding him.

“you okay?” you call in a soft voice. its sweetness startles him for a moment, but you don’t notice. he likes it, your voice.

after composing himself, he hums lightly as you finally come to a stop.

“was he was a good guy that succumbed to madness?” you speak up.

he shrugs, “not exactly, suguru was a great person, kinder than I am, more righteous; it’s just…” and he loses his words, they are on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know what to say exactly.

you nod in understanding, “…I think I get it…”

his eyes slowly fixate on you, and you continue talking, “you know that it’s okay to feel remorse and sadness, right?”

he nods slowly, “but I am the strongest—if I am not in my best shape and standing tall then everything falls into chaos.”

you listen closely as he continues.

“some people’s faith is only there because they know that there is someone who is called the ‘strongest’ for a valid reason and can actually back it up,” he exhales, brows furrowing as he stares at the ground.

a bitter smile makes its way to your face, “that’s true in a sense, but that, in no way, erases the fact that you’re human.”

“you feel, you love, you care and you break like anyone else,” you look at him and he turns to you, and even with the blindfold on, you know he is looking you straight in the eyes.

your hands slowly go up to cup his face and gojo holds back from leaning into your touch, “what makes someone strong isn’t their inability to feel sadness, but the ability to feel it and then recover from it,” you pause and stroke his face, “you, satoru, have done that and you’ve proven to the world that you’re the strongest in more ways than one.”

he chuckles lightly, but it’s empty, “not all people think like you, y/n.”

“that’s because they’re blind,” you sharply respond making him smile slightly, “plus, you’re much more than the ‘strongest sorcerer’ to me and to a lot of people.”

“oh yeah?” he quips, anticipating your response and you nod with confidence.

“to some, you’re their mentor and their guidance, to others, you’re an irreplaceable friend and presence, and to me, you’re my husband and the love of my life,” you feel his hands come to rest on your hips and your husband can’t help but press a kiss to your palm.

he takes a breath, “sometimes I wonder just what did I do to deserve someone like you.”

you rest your forehead on his and smile, “well, fate just decided to put us together; who are we to say no?”

night has fallen, both in the sky and his eyes. both have stars that fill their canvas, but, for once, the stars in satoru’s eyes glitter and shine brighter than the ones in the sky.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @bakugossanity @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @fiona782 @ginneko @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or i will be castrate you

[captain-legarde]

🎫🐐 <- This goat gives you a free ticket to talk about GHOST as much as you'd like 🔥❤️‍🔥🎶

YIIPPEEE thank you Moon!! :3

I'm going to use this opportunity to talk about…. GHOULS

I love the nameless Ghouls a lot, their designs are so cool and their stage shenanigans are so much fun! I'm biased because this is how they looked when I first got into Ghost, but I'll always think that the Meliora era Nameless Ghouls are the coolest. Just look at them!!

I wanna talk about some of my favorite Ghouls:

Linton Robino, one of many "Water Ghouls", was only a Nameless Ghoul for around a year but he's worth a mention because his stage mannerisms are so silly and make him stand out so clearly

After leaving Ghost he went on to form another band that I really like, Priest! They also have (electronic) Satanic themed music :)

Per Eriksson, "Dewdrop/Sodomizer Ghoul", is a fan fav but my personal favorite thing about him is that he was the lead guitarist of a death metal band I love called Bloodbath! It makes me laugh when metal elitists say anything along the lines of "Ghost isn't real metal/real metalheads don't like Ghost" because I doubt they'd say that to a death metal guitarists' face lol. Dewdrop is also the Ghoul who licked then threw money at me ❤️

AND FINALLY MY FAVORITEST GHOUL 🫶 AETHER 🫶

Chris Catalyst, "Aether Ghoul", was a guitarist and backup singer for THE SISTERS OF MERCY. He has my favorite stage presence and antics, he also said that Aether Ghoul "would dropkick a transphobe". I love him so much and it makes me so sad that he's no longer with Ghost... live shows won't be the same without him 💔

[yharnam-is-a-fuck]

"Chat, Chat, I'm NOT gonna beckon the Nameless Moon Presence Chat. I'm not gonna do it. I'm not gonna get trapped in the Hunter's Dream, okay? Alright, okay, maybe I'll just like... give it a call. Just for a second. It'll be fine, Chat" - Germa the First Streamer

[you-know-honey]

𝕯𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘

Chapter I:ℜ𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔶 𝔇𝔞𝔶

Sodo/Dewdrop x fem!reader

Summary: Copia summons a new nameless ghoul

Word Count: 1977

Note: bad english, i'm new to this whole ghost thing, correct me if i'm wrong on anything, I will use a name for the protagonist for more practicality.

Chapter II...→

The place was devoured by darkness, thunder rumbled outside the abbey like cries from heaven in response to profane acts, the wind hit the stained glass windows and lightning illuminated them with a flash of light, stained glass windows that reflected images of Baphomet and other demons. . Regarding Cardinal Copia, his face seemed extremely serious, something unusual for him but the situation warranted it. In each corner of a pentagram were each Ghoul and Ghoulette, the tools of the ritual. It would be an important night, a gift for the group, a refreshing element for the world.

Copia looked up at the sky, looking behind the glass dome above their heads at the moon obscuring the sun, the time had come, he walked down the stairs towards the group, with a light touch to the ground and the gunpowder ignited, burning powerful and bright, until completing the figure of a pentagram connecting with each Ghoul. The group placed their instruments in front of them, giving each other a supportive look.

Montain set the rhythm with the drums, Cumulus took the keyboard with Cirrus, Swiss and Aurora started the singing, Phantom activated his rhythm guitar, Rain shone with his bass and Sodo showed off his guitar. The instrumental flooded the chapel, the melody reverberated in every foundation and made the place shake. The ritual had a single motive, a single need, each Ghoul gave his best, letting some of his essence flow over the fire, calling one of his own, inviting whatever responded on the other side to come out of the darkness and join them.

"Belial, Behemoth, Beelzebub" Cardinal Copia sang, calling to the great leaders, asking for a demon from among his legions "Asmodeus, Satanas, Lucifer"

The place was filled with abysmal and intelligible murmurs, beings from the other side of the pentagram observing from the shadows without daring to cross the threshold. Copia looked proud and excited like a child to feel so many presences present with him, all interested in her vocation. Lightning fell around the Ministry with more force than before, attracted by the power, Swiss and Aurora began their prayers, in a language that only the creatures of the abyss could understand.

A murmur rose from everyone, a shiver ran through the body of all the Ghouls, something had answered the call and had crossed.

Thick black smoke emerged from the gunpowder and condensed into a humanoid figure with no fixed features other than shining fangs. He made small jumps inside the pentagram from one side to the other, looking (if you can put it that way) at each of the ghouls, analyzing them with amusement.

He danced with small childish leaps from one to another, from air to earth, from earth to quintessence, from quintessence to water. She tried to get closer to Sodo, the fire demon. He showed her fangs and the small cloud of smoke walked away scared, it was clear that she didn't want another Fire Ghoul and honestly one was more than enough. She snuck between Montain's drum set cymbals, breaking her personal space several times to check her height in amazement, the ghoul couldn't help but smile nervously.

Cirrus and Cumulus greeted the entity excitedly, letting out small laughs to get its attention. The figure floated towards them and smiled back, playing with the cloaks on their shoulders. She briefly made eye contact with Rain, but out of shyness it wasn't long before the ghoul looked away from her. The specter laughed softly and danced around Phantom a little, plucking the strings of his acoustic guitar with his ethereal hand. Swiss and Aurora laughed at the scene, enjoying seeing how the humanoid being seemed delighted with everyone present, both demons rubbing shoulders in complicity.

Cardinal Copia was excited, this was his first ritual to summon Ghouls from hell, although he somewhat regretted Sodo's bitter attitude, he counted on the others and especially the Ghoulettes to give a good welcome.

The figure took one more turn and his laughter echoed like a child. He returned to the center of the pentagram, looking at the eclipse behind the dome, and raised his hands to the sky, as if he could touch the moon. One after another drops of cold rain began to fall quickly, until they almost became a sea on the ministry, the figure smiled and turned towards Aurora, the latter tensed immediately and one shiver after another crossed her back. The air began to get cold and become salty, capable of hurting the nose when inhaling, everyone could feel it, even demons like Sodo so carried away in their element felt cold, the type that you can only find if you get lost in space or in the last circle of the hell.

Aurora took a step back. The band's instrumental was accompanied by a piano and an energetic female voice, the humanoid figure approached Swiss and extended his hand.

"Hello" the figure greeted before a group of lightning fell again, filling the entire room with absolute white, extinguishing the infernal fire and thus ending the ritual.

Everything returned to darkness after such a dramatic birth, Cardinal Copia applauded excitedly and the lights turned on showing a strange lump covered with a thin and opaque black fabric, a hand with shiny black enamelled nails peeking out of it.

The ghouls avoid the gaze of the lump on the ground, somewhat uncomfortable and extremely tired. But Cardinal Copia waited to see the slightest movement to ensure that the ritual had gone perfectly.

The lump trembled with a movement similar to a first breath.

"Okay, everyone out." announcement, the Cardinal "It's time to find out what they have sent us from hell"

The group's rib cage calmed and a huge sigh of relief escaped everyone's lips. Cirrus and Cumulus crossed their fingers, it was no secret that since Aurora's arrival no girl ghoul had arrived. The ghoul area needs more feminine energy.

"Swiss, can you wait outside?" Copia asked him.

Like owl heads, the group looked at Swiss waiting for his response. Even the disinterested Montain had turned to look.

"Yes," he responded with the firmest tone he could fake.

Aurora approached and pulled one of her sleeves, she didn't have to speak, her concern was obvious. The last time it had been Aether who had stayed at the ritual to bring Phantom. Aether never came back.

Swiss approached Aurora's ear in a hug. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, trying to calm her agitated essence.

The ghoulette didn't believe him, clearly. But I trust him, because Swiss never lied.

Inside, Swiss's soul wanted to run after them, but his duty prevented him from showing that kind of rebellion.

He turned to the Cardinal, this walk way towards Swiss handing him a shiny new helmet, accompanied by the usual uniform.

Copia crouched in front of the bundle, lifting the fabric a little to discover what it was hiding, squinting in case everything had failed, giving it more suspense. The figure trembled and both Copia and Swiss took a few steps back.

Little by little the figure stood up, showing a wild tangle of short black hair from which two small black horns with white tips protruded, its tail uncoiled from around its leg and waved behind its back, its hands holding the blanket to avoid being naked.

"She's a she," Swiss sighed with the air contained in his lungs and his lower lip slightly fallen.

"Wonderful" Copia pronounced with some pride, the girl raised her head quickly and the Cardinal was met with a gaze of coal-black pupils and eyelids that contrasted with the glaucous blue of his irises, the creature opened its mouth showing its fangs, perhaps to speak but I don't breathe out any words.

Swiss knocked after the Cardinal, a sign that he should start talking before everything became awkward.

"Do you want to get dressed?" Copia asked in a friendly tone. The girl nodded and the Cardinal nudged Swiss lightly to hand the package to the demon.

Her eyes lit up when he saw her clothes and without shame he completely dropped her blanket, amazed by everything he had before her. Swiss immediately looked at the ceiling and prayed to Satan that Copia had done the same. The lack of what they called modesty was normal in new ghouls, small details that lost importance in hell.

"It would be ideal if you could start with the pants," suggested Copia who had turned around.

They heard the fabric slide down her legs, the metal buttons clicked as she pushed them into the buttonholes of her pants, the next time she put her feet on the ground it was with the boots, giving her a few extra inches of height.

She continued dressing, tucking the Victorian-sleeved blouse into her arms and securing the vest to her body. She looked at herself for a few minutes, satisfied with her appearance.

"Already?" Copia asked, who had turned around with a hand over his eyes, he seemed somewhat uncomfortable or self-conscious about the situation.

"Yes" A feminine and friendly voice answered him.

Copia looked through his fingers to make sure before removing his hand from his face and remembering that he had a script to follow and had to start as soon as possible.

"Ahem…" He cleared his throat and began to speak. Swiss stood silently next to he, holding her helmet. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Yes" replied with a timid tone.

"You are here to be part of Ghost, to help me with your talent to bring the message of the Clergy to the whole world, do you understand that?" The young woman nodded "Do you understand that you are not indispensable and can be replaced if you become a stone in my way to fulfill my mission?" That was the part of Copia that he hated the most because he tended to get more attached to his ghouls and ghoulettes than he should, the punishment of returning to hell was too great for small delusions of fame or prominence, that is, he had forgiven Sodo several of those but He remembered that that was the reason why Papa Emeritus III had been taken out of circulation.

"I understand, sir." He pronounced as seriously as the situation warranted. "My only duty is to help you fulfill your duty to the Clergy and bring our Lord's message to the world."

The girl walked forward, face to face with Cardinal Copia. Now came the fun part, Copia took the helmet from Swiss's hands and placed it on the girl's head, thus sealing the 'contract'.

"Well…I…" Copia took a moment to remember the next step. "What's your name?"

"Aesir, sir," she responded quickly, almost over the Cardinal's question.

"Well…Aesir, the third quintessence ghoul" He raised his voice, proclaiming. "Welcome, dear" Copia lost the threatening and vehemently image that she had maintained until then, when she gave Aesir a warm welcome hug.

The girl seemed happy to have that hug but Swiss was sweating cold.

"He's one of your companions, Swiss," Copia said and the demon approached and extended his hand towards her.

"Hello," Aesir took Swiss's hand, shaking it in greeting.

"Swiss" I call Copia.

He sighed, afraid of the next words the Cardinal might say.

"Could you take Aesir with the others?" The ghoul's mouth opened a little in surprise, he was expecting farewell words "The girls will be very happy to see another female face in the pavilion."

Swiss smiled with deep relief and nodded. "Yes, Cardinal." He directed the girl to the door. "After you," he offered chivalrously.

"Oh, Aesir," Copia called. "If there is any problem, don't hesitate to tell me. In cases of emergencies or things like that." The Cardinal said goodbye.

"Bye," she said as Swiss closed the door behind them both.

I hope you like it, I'm new to the fandom and the lore is somewhat complicated, all help would be VERY welcome.

[blood-starved-beast]

Okay so what's the deal with the Art of the Quickening being named That? Bloodborne has a lot of birth related metaphors and such but why is Quickstepping called that???

So for anyone who doesn't know, "quickening" is an old timey term for the moment when a fetus in the womb starts to move and the mother begins to feel it. Historically, this is when it was believed the soul of a person was enshrined in the body. This term has largely fell out of fashion.

Now this isn't what it's used for in Bloodborne obviously. The Art of the Quickening means to move the Hunter quick in-and-out for rapid kills in the Olden days when speed and efficiency were the Modus Operandi of the Hunt. Several hunters use this most of which are found within the Nightmare (other than Gehrman) but idk. There's something to be said that the main Actual Named Users (Gehrman and Maria) occupy similar roles in their respect Dreams/Nightmares with relation to the Great Ones there, and how they both raise their hands in the "Make Contact" gesture upon death. Maria is abandoned (I mean, she was just a Tool really, the Main Living Failure) but the Nameless Moon Presence seems to "hear" Gehrman's call and responds according to what the Hunter has done prior to the battle (she also abandons him, but for different reasons here). Idk there's something connecting the two here and I'm metaphorically spinning my pen in my hands trying to pierce together what though.

[aestheticpearl]

— can’t catch me now

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] xanthus claiborne

a/n: just a heads up this is not written like my usual fan fictions <3

a cold numbness spreads through xanthus’ body as he watches the scene in front of him unfold. the lifeless body of his lover lays on the floor in front of him. their blood pools around them as xanthus looks up to the assailant with eyes that pierce through their soul. what happens next xanthus can barely remember, the room is flooded with painful screams as they plead for mercy but in the end he now stands over two bodies, covered in blood that is not his. the warmth of his lover has faded and is now only a distant memory. he cradles their corpse in his arms and lets out a wail of grief he didn’t know he had in him.

the next few years tick by agonizingly. the empty feeling hasn’t left him since that faithful day. the hole that his lover left feels as though it grows deeper with each passing month. he sees them everywhere in the little things humans do that resemble them when they were still among the living. it’s always the smallest thing, like the way someone in the distances laughs or a passing smell of a perfume/cologne they had used. their presence lingers in xanthus’ mind always, they’re stuck in his memory.

every person he feeds from leaves a sour taste in his mouth, for in his mind it is not the same. he is drinking to live but before he was once drinking because he loved. each taste is bittersweet and unfamiliar.

‘it’s not fair.’

xanthus thinks to himself as he stares down at passed out body of his latest victim. he wonders why he wasn’t strong enough to defend the love of his painfully immortal life. every waking moment he exists, he is haunted by the ghost of what could’ve been.

xanthus drowns himself in sleepless nights with nameless people trying to feel what he felt before but to no avail. the emptiness is never filled, he remains hollow and feels like a half of him is missing, the better half of him.

unfinished paintings litter the floor of xanthus’ home, all portraits of his deceased lover and each one is painted slightly differently then the one before it. the details of their face are fading in the memory that xanthus was once so proud of. it hurts to slowly forget someone that he once loved. he regrets not taking more photos over them when he had the chance.

he picks up a blank canvas and his brushes to begin on another painting of the face that he once kissed with his own lips. he starts painting the only face of yours that his burned in his memory, unfortunately for him it’s a face that wasn’t living. after only a few hours he stands back from his work and lets his eyes drink in what he has created.

if no one knew the story behind the painting they might say it’s the most beautiful piece they’ve ever seen, but xanthus refuses to let anyone other than him see the worst image he has in his memory. he knows that only he should be the one to live with the pain, since he believes it is his fault for the death of his partner.

hot tears stream down his face as xanthus bares his teeth in anger. he throws the painting across the room in a fit of rage and collapses on the floor in a broken mess.

‘they are gone because i wasn’t fast enough. i was careless.’

the painting lays broken in a mess across from an open window, the draft it creates carries the smell of fresh paint throughout the large building. the moon’s glow floods the rooms and creates a makeshift spotlight on the destroyed painting, which draws xanthus’ attention away from his pity party.

the wet paint glistens in the pale moonlight until a shadow appears on the windowsill, the shadow of a small bird. xanthus looks at it quizzically and carefully shifts to move closer, worried that the bird might flee at the sudden movement, but it doesn’t. the bird remains on the sill even as xanthus looks over it, in fact it even looks up at him to chirp happily.

without even realizing xanthus extends his finger for the bird to perch itself on and it does so with hesitation. he’s confused about this little fearless bird, birds are the definition of fight or flight and yet this one chooses neither.

‘could it be?’

xanthus’ mind fills with delusional hope for in the back of his mind he knows it couldn’t be possible, yet he has no idea why this bird is not afraid; maybe it’s because they never were.

the bird chirps once more almost as if to say goodbye before flying back out of the open window. the moon shines off its wings and xanthus watches as it goes. maybe someday he’ll be with you again, flying together above the trees in the moonlight.

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

i get so many requests about the listener dying so i was like i wonder what xanthus would do with himself after?

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

[samstree]

words can wait (until some other day)

Jaskier does not panic when he falls in love. It happens a bit further down the road. (geraskier, 3k, cw: panic attack ☆ AO3)

Jaskier does not panic when he falls in love.

The summer sun blurs his vision when he finds Geralt in a patch of meadow, familiar swords on his back, metal armors reflecting the bright light. He’s whispering to an anxious Roach in that particularly gentle tone, petting her mane patiently. He doesn’t even register Jaskier’s presence for a moment.

And then, there’s the smile. A soft smile tugs at Geralt’s lips when the mare finally calms. It’s reserved and quiet, but Jaskier knows all the world’s joy is contained in that small, warm smile. Roach nuzzles Geralt’s chest, and it grows. Crow’s feet form around soft golden eyes, and Jaskier falls in love right there.

Perhaps he should panic, he thinks, just a little. This is Geralt, his best friend, his companion, the reason for all his songs and the beat of his heart. But only sureness pools in Jaskier’s stomach like warm tea on a rainy day. There is no tightness in his chest, no constricting of breaths.

His love for Geralt brings no harm, only safety.

He is decidedly and unsurprisingly not panicking. It’s Geralt, after all.

So Jaskier calls out for his name and runs right into his arms. Geralt is perplexed by the sudden hug, but he catches Jaskier steadily as always. The smile doesn’t fade when Jaskier pulls away, half amused, half exasperated.

“Jaskier?” The sun is blinding, but all Jaskier can see is the gold in Geralt’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier can only shake his head, his own smile mirrored back, spreading so wide on his cheeks it nearly hurts.

“Nothing,” he answers. “Just… let me hug you. Just a moment longer.”

Geralt allows Jaskier to burrow deep into his embrace again, indulging what looks like a nameless bout of clinginess. They stay there for a while, swaying back and forth, despite the summer heat, despite Jaskier’s foolish heart.

☆

Jaskier does not panic when he realizes his love cannot be returned.

The fall rolls around with a crisp blue sky and a forest of golden leaves. The ground becomes colder, digging into Jaskier’s back when he struggles to fall asleep. Between his dreams, Jaskier counts the crackling of the campfire and the quiet shuffles of Geralt’s movements. A chill creeps into the bedroll, and Jaskier holds his lute closer, shivering and drifting in and out of consciousness.

Somewhere during the night, when the moon is high and the forest is quiet, warmth envelopes Jaskier from behind. He lets out a long sigh, and the shivering stops. He gravitates towards the warmth, angling his body to fit into the source.

He wakes up in Geralt’s arms, head pillowed on his shoulder and their faces a hand’s breadth apart. Both of their cloaks are wrapped around him, tucked under his body carefully. They are not nearly big enough to cover the two of them, so half of Geralt’s body is painfully exposed in the autumn chill, but Jaskier is warm and toasty even to the toes.

He’s breathless from all the love in his chest.

“Hmm?” Geralt mumbles, blinking open his eyes. In the dim morning light, his features are soft and open, all the hardened exterior disappearing when it’s just the two of them, holding each other close on a chilly morning. When he finds Jaskier staring at him, an eyebrow raises in question. “Alright?”

��Yeah,” Jaskier whispers, not wanting to break the moment. “I’m just… very warm.”

Geralt catches Jaskier’s hand under the cloaks in his, only to touch Jaskier’s warm fingers with his cold ones.

“Good,” Geralt says, voice rumbling from sleep. “Humans don’t deal with cold that well.”

Jaskier pauses, looking up at Geralt’s slack face and slow-blinking eyes. It’s rare for a witcher to drift off casually once he’s woken in the morning, but Geralt does nonetheless, in a rare state of lazy contentment. Jaskier stays wide awake.

He loves Geralt, and he knows Geralt cares for him. In his way, Geralt cares so deeply, often to his own detriment. Despite what they say, despite all appearances, Geralt has a deeper capacity for love than anyone Jaskier has known.

Geralt can love deeply, that much he is sure.

It’s just that Jaskier isn’t special. He resides in a small corner of Geralt’s heart, cared for amongst countless humans weaving through a witcher’s long life.

Jaskier settles against Geralt’s shoulder, content. At peace, somehow.

Loving Geralt is enough, even if it’s unrequited, even if he’s alone in his love.

☆

Jaskier also does not panic when he decides to tell Geralt about his love.

It is the winter’s first snow, a soft, fluttering thing that drifts across the grey sky, falling and melting on Roach’s mane silently. The year on the path has officially ended, but Jaskier lingers.

Urged forward by his treacherous heart, Jaskier follows Geralt all the way into Kaedwen. The final fork road stands before them, the last moment before their separation.

Jaskier rambles on, complaining about his frozen fingers in the lecture halls of the university he can only half-heartedly call home—the real one is this. The road, monsters and ballads. Home is Geralt, since he was eighteen.

“I don’t care if Kaer Morhen is an ice castle up in the mountains, Oxenfurt has to be colder! I am not leaving my winter doublets with you again. Help me, Geralt! Check again!”

He wrinkles his nose, digging through Geralt’s pack to find another one of his fur-lined doublets. Their things get mixed up during the year. Jaskier may have sneakily slipped most of them in so he can linger a bit longer without thinking about the giant hole that is going to take up his chest in Geralt’s absence.

“You know you can just not mix them with my things.”

“Hush, dear. Be smart later. We must find the gloves! My fingers cannot be exposed to the cruel winds of winter! It’s the dampness, I tell you—Oh.”

Jaskier touches something soft and squishy at the bottom of Geralt’s pack. He pulls out not gloves, but a small, hand-sewn horse plush.

It’s not the most delicately made, most of the seams lopsided and the dark brown fabric of the horse’s body fixed up with patches old and new. The two buttons are different sizes, but they look rustically charming with a big smile on its face.

“Jask, it’s—um. It’s a…” Geralt, amazingly, is starting to fluster. “It’s nothing. It’s a… horse.”

Jaskier feels like he’s stumbled onto something very intimate.

“So it is.” He looks up, not sure what to do with his hands, so he keeps holding the soft toy carefully. “She looks like Roach.”

“It’s from that girl. Around ten years ago.” Geralt looks away, as if embarrassed by having a cuddly toy in his possession. “Got her out of the manticore nest.”

“I remember. It was a close call. Her parents were worried sick.”

Geralt reaches out as if to touch the little horse, only to pull away last minute. “I checked on her a year later, passed by the village. She had made this.”

“She did?” Jaskier smiles fondly. “I remember she wouldn’t stop crying, so you introduced her to Roach.”

“And you did the voices.”

“It worked wonderfully. She made a friend that day, and went home to make you a friend.” Jaskier waves the horse’s front leg cheekily.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of Geralt’s lips. “Roach is easy to love.”

Jaskier looks down at the small horse plush, the most precious lopsided toy in the world. It’s like he’s holding Geralt’s heart between his hands. Handle with care, he reminds himself. A witcher’s heart breaks easily.

So he puts the horse gently in Geralt’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. Geralt rubs its ears on instinct, a subtle motion that seems to soothe himself.

“She really is,” Jaskier whispers reverently, not sure who he’s talking about.

There Geralt is, holding a small gift from a decade ago, a tangible proof that he was once appreciated, remembered, loved. It’s a good sight. Geralt deserves to know when he is loved.

Jaskier’s breath catches when he meets Geralt’s gaze for a moment too long, nearly struck dumb by the split-second decision he just made.

Geralt deserves to know.

Too few love him. If one does, one should declare it loudly.

His chest is warm with calmness, a quiet acceptance of his unrequited love. It will be okay. Even though Jaskier will not be loved in the same way, it will be worth it.

They finish finding Jaskier’s things and bid goodbye, the plush toy sitting in Geralt’s pack safely. When Jaskier walks away, he looks back with every other step, heart full of tenderness. He cannot say it yet. It will be the most important thing he does in this life. A poet should be granted enough time before proclaiming his love. He should be allowed the dramatics, at least.

“Wait,” Geralt calls out.

“Hmm?”

Jaskier turns around, thoughts lost in planning the day already. Flowers. He should pick flowers—Geralt loves them, even though he never shows it. Also those candied fruits he likes. Good food is always a nice opening for serious words—

“Jaskier, just… wait for a moment.” The flustering is back when Geralt catches up with a few long strides. “You don’t need to go.”

Jaskier frowns. “But I do? It’s well into winter already. I can’t make it to Oxenfurt once the snow sets in—”

“Don’t go to Oxenfurt,” Geralt interrupts. “Come to Kaer Morhen. With me.”

Snow melts on Jaskier’s lashes, blurring his vision.

“Really?” His heart hammers, the thrumming beats revealing too much. “You’d want me there?”

Geralt only takes his hand, thumb rubbing gentle circles on Jaskier’s wrist, an anchor to calm all the butterflies in his stomach.

“Must you ask?” he says softly. “You know the answer.”

When Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand in return, the familiar warmth enveloping him, he realizes that he does. He learned the answers to all things Geralt a long time ago.

☆

The mountains are slow to accept spring’s arrival, sitting far above the rest of the world, but it waltzes in gracefully anyway. Snow seeps into the ground, bringing back the first sprouts of life. Kaer Morhen stands too close to the sky. Colors return to the crumbling keep, stirring their quiet life with restlessness.

It’s the last day before they set out for another year’s journey. Jaskier relishes his last moments in the keep, sitting cross-legged on Geralt’s bed with the lute in his lap, strumming an absent tune. It’s also become his bed since the dark days near solstice. My room is warmer, Geralt insisted at the time, with more sunlight. It’s only practical.

Jaskier isn’t sure how he’ll cope once they leave the keep, without Geralt’s presence grounding him at night. It’s trouble for the future him, he reckons. For now, Geralt is padding across the room quietly to join him, lying down on the pillow next to Jaskier’s thigh.

His fingers stop for a moment to brush the loose strands away from Geralt’s face. His witcher grumbles sleepily, eyes closed, snuggling against Jaskier while slowly drifting off into a nap.

The lute is soon left on the ground. Jaskier curls up under the cover and falls asleep too.

When they wake up, it is to the setting sun hanging above the horizon, casting long shadows through the window. Geralt stirs, only to bury his face in Jaskier’s neck, the tangles of his hair tickling Jaskier’s skin. They fall into a mess of giggles, and Jaskier pretends to push him away.

The orange-gold sunlight lines Geralt’s silver locks beautifully, golden eyes meeting blue in quiet contentment. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jaskier answers.

This is the moment.

All dramatics are forgotten, all poetry set aside. It’s just him, giving away his heart at the right time, asking nothing for himself.

“Geralt, dear, I—” Jaskier breathes steadily. “I love you.”

It’ll be alright. It’s only Geralt, who deserves the world and more. Jaskier is only a simple bard with his lute and silly songs, hoping all of himself is enough. Geralt knowing he is loved is worth ten times the heartache of Jaskier not being loved in return.

“Oh.”

“Don’t say anything.” Jaskier’s voice is still relaxed with sleep, so he leans in close, the exchange barely above an intimate whisper. “I know you don’t feel the same, but I do. Love you, that is. I love you, and you deserve to know. You are loved, without condition or a price, for as long as I live.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt nearly sounds pained. He shouldn’t be, not when he’s loved.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier says. “You don’t owe me anything. I understand. All I ask is a place by your side so I may walk with you, as we have done before. I never want you to feel guilty for not returning my feelings.”

“But I do.”

Jaskier blinks, only now realizing his vision is getting blurry. Geralt watches him, eyes full of joy and sincerity.

“You—what?”

Suddenly, Jaskier’s throat is very tight, his breath shuddering. The panic that has been kept at bay makes a strange appearance from deep inside his lungs.

“I love you too,” Geralt says, holding Jaskier’s shoulder, keeping him close. “I thought you knew. I thought you could tell. Jaskier, I—”

The thundering of his heart is all Jaskier can hear. The room is too small and the air too thin. With all the time he’s spent preparing himself for the eventual rejection, he’s never dared to imagine the other possibility.

Geralt loves him.

Oh.

Jaskier’s chest seizes as anxiety takes hold, his words stumbling over each other and his vision tunneling.

“Forgive me—” Head spinning, Jaskier just wants to get out of this room, away from Geralt’s worried expression and the warmth of his hands. “I wasn’t expecting… I just need a moment. It’s all very sudden, I…”

“Hey, Jask, slow down. You are hyperventilating.” Geralt, as if he needs to get more lovely just to torment Jaskier’s delicate heart, notices his panic and reacts immediately. “Just try to breathe. It’s alright. Just breathe. I’m right here…”

Geralt tries to pull Jaskier into an embrace, an old trick to calm him, but it’s all too much. Jaskier needs to get out of the room.

He mumbles another apology, limbs tangling with the sheets as he scrambles out of bed. Geralt calls for him through a fog of confusion and worry, but Jaskier is gone from the room, half stumbling and half running.

☆

Jaskier is most assuredly panicking right now.

He wanders aimlessly in the keep, trying and failing to catch his breath, only instincts guiding him to a place of comfort. He pushes open the door into the small but well-kept winter garden in the corner of the backyard, the pressure on his breastbone finally letting up in the crisp mountain air. He breathes in the mixture of plants and dirt and leans against the cold wall, sliding down with all his energy sapped.

Geralt loves him back.

Jaskier turns over those words in his head slowly, easing into the idea.

It’s a good thing. As the panic eases from his mind, his senses return slowly. It hits him just how ridiculous he looks, running away from the man he loves, simply because he was loved in return.

There’s dirt on his bare feet, and Jaskier hugs his knees close. He takes in a deep breath, and then another. Slowly, painstakingly, the panic subsides. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but clarity returns eventually, and he rests his head against the wall with relief.

“Jaskier.”

The door creaks open, and there Geralt is, holding a large blanket and looking awkwardly unsure.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier answers, voice still tight.

Geralt all but softens. He sits down next to Jaskier but doesn’t touch, only holding out the blanket. “May I?”

Receiving a nod, Geralt wraps the blanket around Jaskier’s thin shirt, careful not to invade his space. Jaskier almost feels like a dam breaking when he throws himself into Geralt’s arms, burrowing under his chin. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Shh. Don’t be.” Geralt rocks him back and forth, a hand running down Jaskier’s arm. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“I panicked,” Jaskier sniffs.

Geralt chuckles quietly. “I could tell. But why? I thought the conversation was going somewhere… well, somewhere good?”

Jaskier lifts his head but lets Geralt hold him close, soothing his nerves patiently.

“It was going somewhere incredibly good,” he admits. “Too good, perhaps. I wasn’t ready for it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt tilts his head, observing him.

Jaskier hides away from Geralt’s knowing gaze. “You must think it was stupid. To be fair, I was. Who would have a full-on panic attack because the love of their life actually loves them back?” He lets out a self-deprecating huff. “I had accepted it, that I was alone in my longing, and that nothing would change after my confession. But now… things will change, and it was suddenly too real.”

“It wasn’t the confession that gave you panic. It was knowing that I loved you.” Something in Geralt’s expression crumbles, guilt and shame creeping up on his brow. “All these years, I thought you knew. I’m not good with words, so I tried to show you, instead.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier blinks, thinking back on every detail of their companionship in a new light—the quiet protectiveness, the trust, the care. The answer pieces together like puzzles falling into place, a clear picture forming in his mind.

Geralt, always putting Jaskier before himself.

Geralt, smiling and laughing because of Jaskier, and making Jaskier smile and laugh in return.

Geralt, inviting Jaskier to his home.

The only conclusion—

“You love me. You have loved me all this time.”

Geralt smiles. “And you love me.”

Jaskier’s heart picks up its pace for an entirely different reason this time. “That’s… wonderful.” He’s smiling so hard it makes him giddy. “Whatever shall we do now?”

“Now? Anything, I suppose. Everything, or nothing at all.” Geralt turns to kiss Jaskier on the temple, making his cheeks heat up rather embarrassingly. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Jaskier echoes. “For now, we don’t need words yet.”

Another year begins tomorrow, the seasons passing by as they walk the path.

But for now, they stay in the little corner of a keep that stands too close to the sky. For now, they don’t need words yet.

[flippervoice]

“The nameless moon presence beckoned by Laurence and his associates. Paleblood.”

[katyspersonal]

Wait I don't remember what was patched with MP.

It is like the Japanese name?? Did it went from "nameless (...)" to just moon presence?

Yes, they did! This is brought up in the retranslation document!

( x )

Again, like I said, this change makes sense, since Doll does pray to 'Flora of the Moon'!

(from 3:20)

Flora IS MP's name, mentioned in Gehrman's cut content lines as well:

"Laurence, the end is not far away, now. Every last dream will burn out, and Flora will return from the moon. As for us, the time has come to honour our vows. Hunters are needed no longer. You and I shall fight to the death, and she will consume the victor. The way we've always said we'd end it, you recall. Oh, Laurence. Of course you remember." ( from 3:54 )

I am curious to know what was the thinking process with these! My guess is that by choosing to remove the dialogue where Gehrman does mention the name Flora, they maybe decided after that the lore of her name mentioned would be too ambiguous! The video I've linked mentions that 'flora of the moon' prayer has 2% chance of happening, and on launch it was only 1%! But later either 1) they decided to not overthink that and resume initial idea since it was still clear Flora was someone's name and not random plantlife (it is capitalised in translations for a reason), just forgor to edit the ingame note in other languages or 2) figured that lore Youtubers already spread name 'Flora' in like, first hour after game's launch so there was no need to play vague anymore XD

Basically, the key here is that Gehrman's dialogue never reached the final game, even on launch! I agree with the decision since he basically explained exactly what was happening. Like.. yeah, dude, we could TELL that if you get killed we take your place and get consumed by her, no need to spell it out fdshfds

[raxistaicho]

Where do you think the people who are specifically pro-Church of Seiros are coming from? Generally fans seem to pick their faction through some combination of their ideology and the lord's personal appeal. However, Church fans seem to mostly rewrite the church's ideology with their headcanons, and while they like the green hairs, it doesn't feel as intense as with the other lords. I guess genocide comes up a lot in their takes, but then they don't seem too concerned with Duscur.

I have noticed a desire from Church of Seiros fans for there to be a religion in a JRPG game that isn't evil (I think the presence of evil churches in JRPGs is somewhat overstated, personally), and I guess they partly project onto that, but that doesn't really explain all of it.

I think the bigger reason is simply that the game gives people a lot of cause to sympathize with Rhea. She's a genocide survivor who never really grew up or escaped from her tragedy. There's several scenes of her emotionally letting down her walls and expressing the long centuries of pain she weathered, and even Crimson Flower, the route where she's at her worst, portrays her end as a wounded, cornered woman, desperately and vainly calling out for her mother to save her. The final panning shot of her corpse is a somber one.

It's far, far easier to picture sad, lonely, and burdened Rhea, the woman who did her best to keep Fodlan together all on her own, than it is to imagine the generations upon generations of people who suffered and died in Fodlan, in the the world she created the social framework of when she glorified Crests as the the manifest approval of the goddess. Just as the game never really questions Edelgard's ideals, only her means, it never questions whether Rhea at least tried to do good, even if she ended up causing more harm than she ever intended.

Media simply primes us to care more about characters and less about nameless masses, see how Strikes hyper-focuses on Edelgard striking down Judith while ignoring how she then spares all of Judith's grunts in that very same moment. See how people praise Claude for trying hard to protect his friends at Derdriu, while ignoring the way he futilely throws away the lives the generic soldiers standing between him and Edelgard. See how people just don't give a shit about Fleche despite her being a perfect reflection of Dimitri, the person so many praise for his character arc, in her final moments.

Because Rhea ties all her work and all her identity to the Holy Church of Seiros, Edelgard fighting it means fighting her. People who sympathize with Rhea more than Edelgard are naturally going to oppose her and want to support the church, though this comes at the cost of building up Rhea's positives and ignoring her own flaws and the flaws of her church.

As for the huge difference in reaction to the Duscur genocide, there's a lot of pieces to it. The biggest thing is that the narrative of 3H just doesn't care about Duscur nearly as much as the Nabateans. The only person of Duscur we ever meet is a character who properly exists on only one route and who does not have plot armor, so in every route other than Azure Moon you'll barely hear about Duscur, and unfortunately because Azure Moon is obsessed with tying everything in Fodlan into Dimitri's personal tragedy we hear more about how Duscur effected him than it did the actual genocide victims. Also we just don't see Dedue weep for the slaughter of his people the way we do with Rhea.

Hope that cleared some things up!

[chopper-mon]

CMND/CTRL | cod fanfic.

my first cod fanfic x) reader is female but they might refer to her as a he. still not sure whether i should make it ghost x reader or soap x reader, i will decide later when the story progresses through a poll or something (or ill just write for both separately lolz)

Gum.

That’s what they call him.

Or her, nobody really knows.

- - - - - - - - - - -

"We're directly entering the tiger’s den. Expect heavily fortified defenses."

Station Chief Kate Laswell walked out of the briefing room, besides Captain Price and three other soldiers, after unveiling the news of a new player in the game. The mission was to infiltrate the base of a terrorist organization. The stakes were raised as a formidable adversary entered the picture, utilizing complex security systems and highly encrypted databases.

The databases contained intel of coordinates and maps of underground tunnels that were being constructed to smuggle weapons.

“We’re relying on a wildcard here.“ Laswell handed him a paper out of the file in her hand. Price’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the paper in his hand, flipping it around to check the other side, his surprise doubling.

“It’s empty.”

“Gum is the name. That’s all you need to know.” Laswell replied.

- - - - - - - - -

The directive to collaborate with a nameless, faceless, ID-less and presence-less hacker elevated the tension within the force.

Not that the faceless aspect is unfamiliar to them.

Gathering around the helicopter, Price’s tone reflected the gravity of the situation. “Listen up. The plan is far from straightforward. The place is riddled with traps. This is why you need to follow their commands. If Laswell has eyes in the sky, this person has eyes on the moon.”

“You follow their lead, no deviations. That's an order. Trust them like your life depends on it because, quite frankly, it does. Clear?" Price emphasized, his words echoing with the weight of command, gaining hesitant nods from everyone.

As the team absorbed the weight of the situation, price took a breath before calling out to the unknown ally for a comms check.

“Gum, how copy?”

“Loud and clear.”

Almost immediately, a modulated voice echoed through their earpieces, catching them off guard. The thick voice emanated as distinctly male, slightly tinged with a robotic undertone, the effect of a voice changer.

The team exchanged glances of wariness.

Soap and Ghost specifically side-eyed each other.

[fantomette22]

Since when does beast blood crept up the right leg?

It came to my attention that some people missed a detail that was already in the base game concerning the thing about how the best blood "crept up the right leg". Apparently injecting blood in the right leg (and having consequences from it) is something that could have happen way before the healing church and the old hunters.

Like you might be aware (if you played the dlc) many old hunters have belt on their trouser & right leg (Like Henryk, Djura & the old hunters) :

Old hunter trousers that protected countless hunters from the beasts in an older age. A widespread belief of the period was that "beast blood crept up the right leg", and this led to the double-wrapped belt.

+ Gehrman is missing's the end of his right leg. (well we have 0 idea how he loose it to so... mystery not sure it's link but it probably didn't help in the collective imagery).

It seems to indicate that smt is going on with it right ? Could be just a belief but I think there's a bit a truth in this.

Here's an image of an half transformed Yharnamite in Yhahar'gul. Like the cleric beast & huntsmen it's their left arm who are bigger / seems to transformed first.

Why ? Well blood transfusion. It's where they got their blood transfusion.

Then what about the hunters legs ? Where could this rumors about the right leg come from ? Well were do we (the hunter) pass our time injecting blood vials to heal ? Bingo. The right leg. In that case, it made sense that some of the hunters who turned into beast would begin their transformation in this part.

Now there's another interesting details concerning the right leg thing. And depending on the timeline it's really interesting and confusing. It seems that the old Cainhurst knight were missing their right leg too. Perhaps for a similar reason? So that "legend" could be even older!

Take a look at the staircase that led to the Queen's chamber just after passing Logarius and before the room with Annalise.

Ok you see the statues? All the knights armors are missing their right leg below the knee.

So what does this status depicted? Well personally I don't think they're the Vilebloods we know when the beast plague strike Yharnam and when they were enemies of the church. but old cainhurst knight. Maybe a few centuries ago.

The following armor, really similar to one illustrated in one painting we can found in the chalice dungeons. It does look more akin to those missing a leg don't you think?

Ah yes Cainhurst went to war with Pthumeru and their pthumerians cousins it seems. But it's another story. (+ they got their ass kicked and that's perhaps why Gehrman just thought that using lighter clothes could be more efficient. old armors are bad.)

Also...Here's a cut content enemy that has supposed to be found in the chalice dungeons. The "Nameless Cainhurst knight"

He is missing his right leg too....

So...why are they missing a leg ? Using old blood before everyone? Hm who knows...

and yes I know moon presence basically take our left leg but a bigger part too

(I just wanted to show off the the knight armor on their horse! many people miss it apparently an I was advice to share it!)