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judasrpc · 28 days

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TIPS FOR WRITING COMBAT, TACTICS, AND / OR FIELD MEDICINE SCENARIOS PT. 2

Hello again! Coming out of the woodwork with my niche interests and hoping to pass along some information about writing things such as combat, tactical operations, and / or field medicine!

Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, nor am I someone who has served in the military or law enforcement in any capacity. Any information in this post is gained from personal research in mostly internet circles. Some topics may be unsettling/disturbing, so please take care in reading.

You can view part one of this post [HERE].

Note: This part will be written more in-depth, as the sources I've pulled from are either no longer accessible, or from narrators I would not feel comfortable platforming due to their motives for sharing this information (e.g., anti-human rights individuals with qualified backgrounds). Knowledge is power, but we don't have to platform fascists in order to share it (* ^ ω ^)

To start this post off, I'll share some archives I've found since part one! This way, if you're just looking for resources and don't want to read something super lengthy, this post is still (hopefully) useful to my fellow writers.

Safety Data Sheets [Archive] - A collection of safety data sheets for what looks like various types of compounds, mostly based around industrial work (e.g., concrete mixes, roof coatings, etc.). While arguably not relevant to this sort of topic focus, I think it could be in the right scenarios, especially as sheets provide first-aid instructions, hazard classification, and details about specific compounds.

War Medicine [Archive] - Definitely a more historical reference (dated 1918), but published by the American Red Cross Society in France covering… war medicine. Includes various diagrams and topics.

Field Manuals and Technical Manuals [Archive] - A collection of field and technical manuals from various military services spanning across various decades. I believe most of these are U.S.-based.

Now, for the in-depth written information, placed behind the "keep reading" button.

CLOSE-QUARTERS BATTLE (CQB) / MILITARY OPERATIONS IN URBAN TERRAIN (MOUT)

CQB is typically defined as a short duration, high intensity conflict characterized by sudden violence at close range. MOUT is an example of a scenario where CQB may be applicable.

When in these environments, it's important for your character(s) to know how to navigate them. The presence of closer-knit buildings, various entryways, and populated environments means there's a lot of risk for both them and those around them.

As such, one of the founding concepts is entry and clearance.

There are many different ways to enter and clear rooms within a building, but the three primary types are as follows:

Conventional (aka: Strong Walling) - The leading individual "commits" to the room by stepping in with their full body, pressing their back to the wall opposite to the door's attachment, and using their upper torso to sweep the room with their light/weapon.

Lateral - The leading individual enters the room at either a 90-degree angle to the door (straight toward back wall of room) or a 45-degree angle (toward the corner opposite to the door).

Framing - Rather than step into the room, the leading individual peeks around the door frame and conducts their sweep from within it (think of them as using the door frame as a "mount" for their weapon, if they have one).

These can be conducted solo, or with a wingman.

A wingman is usually one other individual who stacks beside the leading individual, and uses an over-the-shoulder vantage to provide a secondary set of eyes for cover, while also being able to cover tasks such as opening doors.

Then, there's navigating environments as teams. With teams, there comes a need to develop tactics. With CQB in particular, there are two primary types of strategies:

Dynamic - Rapid movement and clearance; Your character(s) are likely in a high-intensity/time-sensitive scenario where speed is more important than safety. In these scenarios, your character(s) is/are more likely to clear rooms by committing with their entry and flooding in if in a team.

Deliberate - Slower movement and clearance; Your character(s) are likely still in dire circumstance, but they're able to take the time and prioritize safety over speed. In these scenarios, your character(s) is/are more likely to clear rooms by framing and entering one at a time to ensure all angles are covered.

But not every room is a perfect rectangle with wider-open spaces. Regardless of the structure, dead space is an important factor to consider for characters both outside and within these environments.

Dead space simply refers to the space that has not been cleared by the individual(s) entering the space. There are a few different types, including:

Anchored - The object creating the dead space is anchored to a wall, and thus prevents flanking. This could be a dividing wall, and certain types of cabinetry or other furniture.

Unanchored - The object creating the dead space is not anchored to a wall, and thus allows for flanking. This can be… any piece of furniture, crates/boxes/shelves, even certain installation pieces such as a 360-fireplace or showcase tank/terrarium.

Low - The object creating the dead space cannot fully conceal an individual/individuals who are standing, but could if they were crouched or laying prone. This could be things such as couches, tables with cloth over them, etc.

High - The object creating the dead space is elevated above the entry point. This usually, and pretty much only, includes things like stairwells, but it could include higher cabinetry if your character(s) is/are creative enough or able to navigate that.

Moving away from specific scenarios, there is something I've seen written a lot in fanfic and in rp spaces that I think would be important to clarify:

Do. not. attempt. to. catch. a. falling. gun.

I'm serious! In active combat, this isn't as applicable because your character's goal is (ultimately) to neutralize whatever threat is in front of them. Beyond that, though, your character(s) should never attempt to catch.

"But why? Wouldn't you want to stop it from discharging?"

That is why.

Yes, the firearm may discharge when hitting the ground… but in catching it, your character(s) may also discharge it. Unless they know for a fact they will not grab the area around or within the trigger guard, it's highly likely that a finger/fingers will slip into the guard and, due to the force of the catch, end up pulling.

The best practice, especially for a character/characters who are skilled with firearms and versed in safety practices, is to put the hands up and let it fall. Step back, find cover if possible, and retrieve the firearm after it has landed.

And again, I am not responsible for what y'all do with this info. Read responsibly, and stay frosty!

#rph #rpc #writing guide #tactical guide #guide #judasrpc

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usafphantom2 · 4 months

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How the SR 71 program died. This picture is of the retirement ceremony at March Air Force Base 1990.

You cannot see the faces of the Warriors in this photograph that are possibly holding back their tears when the SR 71 program was canceled prematurely. The men The Pilots and RSO’s (reconnaissance systems officer) that flew in an airplane without any armament at 85-90,000 feet above the Earth. Theirs was the fight for justice and freedom from 1964 to 1990 of a War that never ended. We are still fighting a Cold War against communists. They put their life on the line for the freedom of the United States. These SR-71 Warriors were going to battle as they dressed slowly and precisely in their pressure suits. These brave men preparing for battle they knew they may never come home again to their family. Their families shared in the glory, and in the tension that surrounded them, I noticed that some of my fellow Habubrats have anxiety disorders. That is understandable.

SR-71 was not designed for airshows or any glory it was designed by the Skunk Works to stealthily find out what our enemies were planning.

THE SR-71 PREVENTED WAR.

Satellites could never replace the SR-71. Satellites don’t orbit east to west. Satellites can’t collect 100,000 miles of data per hour and it is easy to predict the path of a satellite. There was new money for projects in the Air Force if they went with satellites so they did. The Air Force Chief put Lockheed out of the SR 71 business. The Chief said that Lockheed trying to keep the SR 71 alive was going to hurt their chances of winning the F-22 contract! Contractors like Lockheed only have one customer the Department of Defense.

Open POM in 1985 Generals found out the cost for the first time of the SR 71. Open POM was to take classified programs such as the B2, the F1 17, and the SR 71 and reveal their cost to the air staff board so they could see what the Air Force was funding. It sounded like a good idea and probably was. The Air Force at that time had some of the new programs classified and hidden from view, but it was the kiss of death for the SR 71.

The SR 71 funding was in trouble because first off the Air Force did not use the data collected by the SR. The users were the Navy, Army, DIA, and a little bit (ELINT) for NSA.

NSA never liked the SR-71 Why? Communications intelligence SR went too fast for COMINT they thought communications intelligence was the only kind of intelligence that was useful. When the Air Force Generals saw how much the SR was costing them they revolted they said more than $200 million for operating only 10 airplanes which is ridiculous.

U-2 funding was in the General Defense Intelligence Program DIP controlled by the DIA. The Air Staff could not get at that money or they would have.

The SR money was in Program One called Strategic Forces. The reason it was in that budget was that when it came over to the Air Force from the NRO and the SRG the budget for the SR was too big for the GPIP and would have revealed how much was being spent. To cover up the cost they put it in with Strategic Bombers and Missiles, which had a very big budget

About the time of open POM in 1984. The Air Force became a Haven for fighter pilots with the death of General O’Malley the four stars were all from Tactical Air Command (TAC) they even put a TAC General in charge of SAC! SAC got the highest fastest flying aircraft and the TAC was always trying to catch up. One might ask how did this affect the SR -71? The reason once this very large amount of money was being spent on satellites they no longer wanted to fund the SR-71 The SR went from a national collection platform to Tactical intelligence asset.

The SR 71 would be flying today like the U-2 if the Air Force had not received the funding data. ( The U2 is supposed to be retiring again. I’ll believe it when I never see a U2 in the air again.)

Linda Sheffield

“The Very First” written by Colonel Richard “Butch” Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

#sr 71 blackbird #usaf

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fanlore-wiki · 23 days

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Wank Wednesday: Wincest vs Destiel

It’s the battle between giants! This Wank Wednesday, we’re looking at the clash between two juggernaut pairings from the Supernatural fandom: Sam/Dean (Wincest) and Dean/Cas (Destiel). This ship war, which can be dated back to 2009, is particularly known for its length and how it migrated across different platforms.

The participants of the Wincest vs Destiel ship war used many of the same tactics found in other fandoms’ ship wars, including making hateful posts about the other ship and character, advocating for their ship, and spreading hate in the Tumblr or Twitter tags. Both groups have also come up with derogatory nicknames for fans of the other pairing, such as Bronlies to refer to Wincest fans and Destihellers to refer to Destiel fans.

As the ship war revolves around which character should be with Dean, there is also a great deal of hate directed at the characters of Castiel, Sam, and the actors who played them. For SPN fans who didn't participate in the ship war, or didn't ship either of these pairings, the hostility between the two factions often made them feel uncomfortable and unwelcome in the fandom.

Want to learn more about Wincest vs Destiel or wish to contribute your own perspective on the ship war? Visit its Fanlore page!

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We value every contribution to our shared fandom history. If you’re new to editing Fanlore or wikis in general, visit our New Visitor Portal to get started or ask us questions here!

#Fanlore #wincest vs destiel #Wincest #Destiel #Supernatural #SPN #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel #Sam/Dean #Dean/Cas #Ship War #Wank Wednesday #graphic by Airy

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clowngames · 19 days

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had a dream that Pikmin 2 had an insane endgame after you found all the treasure. You unlocked a hub on the moon you could move around on freely which had low gravity and platforming mechanics that weren't present in the rest of the game, and a couple unique pikmin including a hang glider pikmin(?) to make traversal in a more open 3-dimensional space easier.

On this hub you could go into first-person mode and look up at the stars and see a bunch of planets. If you centered a planet in your vision you could select it and travel to it, and each planet had 4 maps you could traverse and 3 unique pikmin types (with overlap in functionality). Your goal on these planets was not to find treasure but to claim territory by capturing all the marbles on each map like in the 2-player mode.

But the thing is each planet had a rival who was not only trying to stop you from capturing their territory but was also trying to capture yours on your planet, and they began operations the moment you loaded in the moon. Despite the fact that the moon ostensibly orbits your planet, it was sort of the funnel point that rivals had to travel to to get to your planet.

Rivals were using their own planet's pikmin to do battle, but the pikmin operated like the borbmin in singleplayer, where there was a larger one that the small ones followed and if you took that one out the small ones could be called by your whistle and join your team. Any pikmin too far from its "leadermin" could just be whistled to join your team without needing to do battle, and your pikmin count could exceed 100 this way.

On the flip side, rivals could do the same to your pikmin if they find them without you near enough. This setup resulted in a lot of decoy troop tactics and a lot of stalemates. My dream ended before any faction could capture any territory.

#dreams #pikmin

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mumms-the-word · 5 months

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Wandering the Gray

Pairing: Gale x gn!Tav Summary: In the midst of a brutal battle against Viconia DeVir and the Sharrans, Gale finds himself in the Fugue Plane once again. But this time, he recognizes a voice echoing in the distance. ao3 link A/N: You can 100% blame a 1 minute section of The Underworld from Epic the Musical by Jorge Rivera-Herrans for this fic. That's the entire inspiration for this fic. I don't want to spoil too much but if you've heard the song you know what's coming. also I suck at titles, every other title was too spoilery to me anyways enjoy the angst CW: some mention of suicidal ideation, death, grief, sad feels in general,

The air is thick with magical darkness, thick enough to drown in, and Gale is barely hanging on by a thread. He can feel the darkness choking him as he stumbles back, narrowly dodging a blade as it arcs toward him, appearing and disappearing in the inky black. Spell effects from the others briefly illuminate the darkness like obscured lightning amidst stormclouds, but nothing is effectively dispelling the swirling black. Shadowheart had warned them this would be the Sharrans’ tactics, and they had prepared as best as they were able, but the darkness was relentless. Gale had lost sight of her and the others ages ago. Now, he dares not cast spells with wide damage, lest he harm Shadowheart, his other allies, and Tav as well as the Sharrans.

His back hits granite and he realizes too late that he’s backed himself into a wall or platform of some kind. He grips his staff, jaw clenched, ready to swing outward or thunderwave the next Sharran that emerges from the darkness. His heart thumps loudly in his chest, in his ears, and though the battle rages all around him, it’s all he can hear. Every last desperate beat of a heart that is failing, his wounds too much to bear.

He nearly freezes as Viconia herself steps through the darkness. She sneers at him, but something in her stance assures him that he’s not worth her time. Before he can so much as summon a firebolt, however, she gestures sharply toward him, uttering a curse in Drowic. He feels the curse wrap around his chest, squeezing tightly, and his head begins to swim. A barrage of thoughts crowd his mind, clawing at his every insecurity and tearing them open to be laid bare and bleeding. Inadequacy, shame, guilt, terror, they all threaten to overwhelm him.

He sucks in a breath and flings a chromatic orb of crackling lightning at Viconia, but she blocks it readily with her shield. Smirking faintly, she steps backward into the darkness, leaving Gale with her curse, like a thousand voices screaming in his mind.

Pathetic. Weak. Flew too close to the sun. Defied your goddess. A shadow of your former self. Not worth redemption. Use the orb, Gale. Kill yourself. Kill yourself!

He doesn’t see the mace come arcing down toward his head until it’s too late.

—

When he opens his eyes again, he’s not surrounded by darkness, but by shades of gray. Gray and white fog swirls slowly around him and the sky overhead is shrouded in low-hanging clouds, all dull silver. Flakes of ash drift by, born aloft by winds that he cannot feel or sense.

The Fugue Plane, he realizes distantly, looking slowly around him. There’s nothing to see. Even the flat ground beneath his feet is a colorless gray, not quite stone but not quite earth either. When he shifts, his steps kick up a fine dusting of ash, or perhaps mist, which floats upward to join the shifting fog around him. There’s not even a shadow of the looming city of the dead to look for, to guide his steps.

Just an endless expanse of cloudy gray.

The sheer emptiness of it all settles over him immediately, threatening to make him fold. He’d hoped since the last time he died, he would never have to return. Or at least that the next time would be decades and decades away. To be back so soon…

He lifts a hand to his chest, as if seeking out the pouch that formerly rested over his heart, but he knows it’s not there. Even in the Material world, he no longer wears the pouch. Tav carries it now, though it bears little more than a scrap piece of parchment and a flute, the scroll of true resurrection used up some time ago. He knows he ought to be at least a little concerned, though logically, it won’t be the first time that Withers had dragged one of them from the Fugue Plane for a meager sum of gold. It’s just a matter of waiting.

But it is the waiting that wearies him. A moment in the Fugue Plane stretches on for aeons, in his mind. Even his movements feel weighted down. But with nothing else to do but sit or walk, he chooses to walk.

As he moves through the fog, the hush of the plane is oppressive. Like a droning whisper, the only sound he can hear is a white noise that feels thick enough to cut through yet distant enough that the source is always out of sight, out of reach. There are no words to pick out from the hush, however. As he walks, he moves through the mist alone. No other souls pass by or even materialize in the gray.

Never has he felt so desperately alone, so isolated.

But then…a voice.

He stops and turns his head as he hears it echoing through the fog, half thinking it’s his imagination. But then he hears it again, this time clearer and closer.

“…waiting…”

He grows still and would have grown cold, had he any body left. That voice…he knows that voice.

“It can’t be,” he whispers.

“I’m waiting…”

He takes a cautious step forward, following the voice deeper into the fog, straining his ears for more of that familiar voice. It must be a trick, and yet…

“Waiting…I’m waiting…”

“Morena?” he calls through the gray, but his voice is muffled, swallowed up by fog and mist. He turns to move in the direction of her voice, following it through the swirling gray.

“My darling boy…”

“Mother!” He stumbles forward and then to a halt, a figure materializing in the mist. “Mother…”

There she sits, perched on the flat of a rock, her hands resting demurely in her lap, the same way she sits in her favorite chair on her balcony overlooking the Waterdhavian harbor. A slate gray sea laps onto the ashen shore around the rock, the rest of the waters disappearing into the dark fog. The sound of the waves should have been familiar, comforting, but the sound is quiet, as if he stands yards away rather than only a few paces from the shore.

She doesn’t turn to look at him. Instead she sits, her head turned toward the water, just as he remembers her looking the last time he visited her in Waterdeep, over a year ago. Before his fall. Before his folly. She’d been admiring the sunset then, a wistful smile on her lips, a book abandoned in her lap. Now her expression is distant and tired.

She should not be here.

“Mother,” he murmurs, venturing another cautious step closer. But she doesn’t seem to hear him. She never once glances his way as he finally reaches the rock she sits on, kneeling down near her feet. He barely notices the water soaking his robes and trousers as the sea flows up toward the rock and ebbs away. “Mum...”

Again she ignores him, her white, clouded eyes on the horizon. Or what would be the horizon, if the swirling mist were not obscuring every view. She hums absently under her breath, little melodies that are heartbreakingly familiar, but she never once looks away from that hidden horizon.

She shifts, her hands making a stroking motion as if she were petting something in her lap. “I know he’ll be home soon, Tara,” she murmurs, her voice echoing softly in the mist as it did when he was searching for her moments ago. “I don’t mind waiting for him.”

“I’m here, Mum,” he says softly, his throat closing around tears he can’t shed. He doesn’t have a body to produce tears nor a physical heart to break. So why does he feel so desperately sad? Why does it feel like he’s about to unravel completely? Some part of him still desperately hopes this is all an illusion. A trick. “I’m…I’m right here.”

But she never hears him. The souls of the dead rarely see or acknowledge each other. He knows that from his last visit to the Fugue Plane. But she can’t…she can’t be…Tara would have said if she were…

She breathes a small sigh, smiling gently to herself and looking down at her lap. “My darling boy…my little love. I do miss him, Tara. But I know he’ll return soon. And when he does, I’ll be here for him. Waiting right here, where he knows to find me.” She looks again to the distant horizon. “I don’t mind waiting…as long as it takes…”

“No,” Gale whispers. “It can’t be…when...”

The answer unfolds in his mind with dreadful certainty. It doesn't matter when.

He took too long to return to her. His year-long seclusion in his tower. The journey from the nautiloid. Months spent traveling, moving farther and farther from Waterdeep. He kept himself away for too long and left his home and his mother entirely behind, and now…

Now it is too late.

He reaches up for her hand, but his fingers pass through her and her form flickers briefly. He curls his fingers into a fist, battling the swirl of emotions inside him. Rage at himself, fear, a desperate longing to say something, do something, to get her to simply look at him. To acknowledge him.

But mostly grief. A deep, irrepressible grief that yawns within him like a chasm with no end. Black and cruel.

“I’m here,” he says again, his voice breaking. “Mum…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I…”

He shouldn’t have stayed away. Yet even as he thinks it, what other choice did he have? There were no choices. There are no choices. Everything he’d done since his fall, he’d done to protect her. Every choice he makes now is for that very purpose, to save her and everyone else in Faerûn.

And now it doesn’t matter. They’re both dead.

“I love you,” he says, looking up at her, even knowing that she can't hear him. “All my heart, Mum, I love you. Forgive me. Forgive me.” He bows his head, bringing his forehead nearly to her knee, struggling to compose himself. “Forgive me…”

The hush of the plane and the faint sound of the sea are all that respond. But then a featherlight touch brushes his hair. He looks up, scarcely daring to hope.

His mother gazes down at him, her white eyes focused on him. When she sees him staring back at her, she smiles softly.

“My darling boy,” she murmurs, brushing the backs of her fingers against his cheek. Her voice still bears that distant, echoing tone, as if she’s a thousand miles away. “It’s time for you to wake up.”

“Wake up?”

“Wake up, my love,” she says again, and this time her voice sounds even more distant. Altered. Not quite her own. She covers his eyes with her hand, shutting his eyes for him, and he drifts into darkness. “Wake up.”

“Gale! Wake up!”

His eyes fly open and he gasps, his lungs desperate for air. He looks around wildly, expecting more of the Fugue Plane, but instead he finds the familiar wooden walls and ceiling of the Elfsong Tavern. He turns his head to find Tav staring at him, their eyes wide with worry.

“Tav?” he mumbles.

“It was just a dream, love,” Tav says, brushing a hand over his sweat-soaked forehead, pushing his hair from his face. “I’ve been trying to wake you for a while now.”

“A dream…” He struggles to make sense of it, but slowly the pieces fall into place.

Their fight at the House of Grief, where Gale had very nearly died. Nearly, but not quite. He remembers going with Shadowheart to free her parents, only to realize that their freedom meant their deaths. It had weighed on Gale’s spirit, watching her parents smile at their daughter mere seconds before turning into motes of light. He remembers thinking it was an impossible choice, one he couldn't have made on his own.

Something about it seems to have stayed with him. Even now, he half-fears that his dream is more than a dream. A premonition, perhaps, or a glimpse of the future.

Gods, he hopes not.

He sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. His shirt sticks to his sweat-soaked back and he wants nothing more than to splash his face and neck with cold water. But first—

“Where’s Tara?” he asks, dropping his hands.

Tav’s eyebrows draw together. “Tara?”

“I’m here, Mr. Dekarios.” She hops onto the back of the bed where it shares a backboard with Karlach’s. Tara always had an uncanny knack for being nearby whenever she was needed. She licks at one paw before fluffing her feathers and fixing her gaze on him. “Oh my. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Dekarios.”

He huffs a shaky laugh, but it’s without humor. “I almost fear I have, Tara. Tell me—this must sound like I’m mad but—my mother. Is she well?”

“Mrs. Dekarios? She’s as fit as ever, last I saw.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Why, only just the other day,” Tara said, flicking her ears. “I check on her regularly, you know. I wouldn’t miss our evening tea time for the world.”

Gale breathes a sigh of relief, dropping his head in his hands again. It was just a dream. Just a horrible dream. Probably left over from Viconia’s fear curse that had struck him during the battle earlier that day.

He feels Tav’s hand rubbing comfortingly against his back. “Gale? Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he mumbles. He takes a deep breath and drops his hands again, leaning back against the pillows. “Yes. My apologies. It was a bad dream, like you said.”

Tav is quiet for a moment before cuddling close, wrapping their arms around his middle. He shifts so that his arm is around their shoulders, his fingers trailing absently along their arm.

“Was it about your mother?” they ask quietly.

Gale’s throat closes up, but his silence his answer enough. He clears his throat quietly. “I saw her in the Fugue Plane. A dead soul.”

He can say no more. He reaches up to press his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, as if to block the tears that sting behind his lids. Even the thought of her sitting alone on her balcony, waiting for him, while he puts himself in more and more danger, is enough to break him. He takes a shuddering breath and Tav wraps their arms tighter around him.

“It’s okay,” they whisper. “I’m here.”

“I know. I…thank you.” He manages to compose himself enough to lower his hand and turn his head toward Tara. Her feline eyes glint in the darkness, watching him in silence. “Tara, will you—”

“I assure you, Mr. Dekarios, your mother is hale and hearty,” she says. “And we both have the utmost confidence that you’ll wrap up this Absolute business in time for the upcoming holidays, which you will be spending in Waterdeep, of course.”

“Of course,” Gale says, managing a smile. “But I have a request. I want you to go home.”

Tara blinks, and though she controls most of her expression he sees the fur on her neck start to rise. “Home? And leave you behind?”

“Please Tara,” he says. He rubs a hand against Tav’s back, knowing they’re listening quietly. “I will be fine here. You know you can trust Tav to look after me. But I need someone there to look after Morena. There’s no one more suited to the task than you.”

Tara’s tail flicks several times as she regards him in disdainful silence. But then her fur settles and she looks away. “Very well, Mr. Dekarios.”

“And don’t tell her anything. I don’t want her to worry.”

“Very well, Mr. Dekarios. If that is what you wish.”

“It is.” He knows he’s just worrying too much, but his dream has shaken him. Better to have Tara there, just in case, than to spend weeks wondering and worrying. “Thank you, Tara.”

“You’re quite welcome. But I shall expect you home within a few tendays, you know.”

Gale chuckles, settling in with Tav at his side. “We’ll see what we can do. Safe travels, Tara.”

“You as well, Mr. Dekarios. And you,” she directs her next words to Tav, who turns their head to look up at her. “Do see to it that he does not suffer more bad dreams.”

With that slight admonition, she hops down and disappears into the darkness.

Gale breathes a small sigh, shifting to get more comfortable and wrapping Tav more tightly in his embrace. “You should get some rest, my love. It’s still quite early in the morning.”

“What about you?” they whisper, their cheek resting on his chest.

He’s quiet for a moment. “I fear that after a dream like that, I’m wary of falling asleep again.”

His dreams rarely repeat in the same night, but he can’t shake the irrational fear that if he falls asleep again, he’ll just find himself back in the Fugue Plane. Searching for his mother.

“Hmm…” Tav turns their head to rest their chin on his chest, looking up at him. “Then I’ll stay awake for a bit too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” They shift to bring their lips up to kiss him before settling back where they were, pressed against his side with their cheek on his chest. “Talk to me for a bit. Tell me about your mother.”

“My mother? What would you like to know?”

“Everything. Whatever you feel comfortable with sharing.”

Gale pauses to think. Where does one begin when it comes to the venerable Morena Dekarios? But despite his hesitation, he’s grateful Tav is asking. He knows they’re only trying to distract him, but it helps.

“Well,” he begins. “My mother is the inimitable, dare I say unavoidable, Morena Dekarios. She resides in Waterdeep, in a home overlooking the harbor…”

As he speaks, telling Tav of his mother’s quirks, her affection for him, the way she seems to know everyone, her favorite dishes, her talents, and more, his anxieties eventually fade away. It’s as though speaking of her like this, in the present tense, is proof that she is well. And would still be well when he finally returns to her.

After a while Tav yawns, their voice heavy with sleep as they mumble, "She sounds lovely, Gale. I can't wait to meet her."

He smiles softly and presses a little kiss to Tav's hair. "Nor I, my love. I'm certain she will adore you."

Tav hides their sleepy smile in his chest and soon their breathing evens out, a sure sign they've been lulled to sleep. Gale listens to them breathing for a moment, grateful for every breath. Grateful, too, that they were willing to stay up and listen to him mumble quietly about his mother for an hour, of all things to talk about.

It’s enough to soothe his guilty conscience for the night. His dream was just a dream, he's more certain of that now. And one day, hopefully soon, he'll be back in Morena's parlor again, suffering her affectionate chiding and introducing her to the love of his life. The thought brings a smile to his face and he closes his eyes, comforted by daydreams of Tav meeting Morena Dekarios.

The daydreams soon bring with them the wave of exhaustion and at last he gives in, closing his eyes and drifting away for a few scant hours of dreamless sleep.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale #my fic #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #i have no idea why i wrote this in present tense #i started it in present and then felt like had to commit #but anyways here you go angst for you #if you need me i'll be listening to epic the musical and crying or something

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veterantrainerray · 1 month

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Hello. My name is Ray Clayton, and my ten year old niece convinced me to try blogging for the benefit of trainers out there.

My experience encompasses pokemon care, battle tactics, training regimens and trainer coaching. Ran the Kanto League back in the day, took part in a few others. Decided the whole champion schtick ain’t for me, but the League life is.

I’ve worked with gym leaders, aspiring trainers, professors and even Elite Four members.

I am NOT qualified to offer input on medical matters beyond the dos and don’ts of training safely. I am not qualified to diagnose or assess injuries on any form of remote platform. See a veterinarian or other qualified professional for that.

My niece says yall can send me questions directly on here. I’ll answer all of ‘em I can.

Already this blog has been the subject of a bit of toxicity. All I’m gonna say to you Negative Nancys is that I ain’t gonna give ya the time of day, and be sure to read and comprehend somethin’ before you mouth off about it. Odds are you’re criticizing an answer to a question you only imagined was being asked, when the answer was to the question that was actually asked.

#pokemon #unreality #pokeblogging #pokeblr #rotomblr

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gijoe-forever · 3 months

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#gijoe #skyhawk #tactical battle platform

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bluesturngold · 5 months

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Sub-Genres Included in Each Genre (Below the Cut)

Action includes Platformers, Shooters, Fighting, Beat 'Em Ups, Stealth, Survival, Rhythm, Battle Royale

Action-Adventure includes Survival Horror and Metroidvanias

Adventure includes Text Adventures, Graphic Adventures, Visual Novels, Interactive Movies, FMV Games, Real-Time 3D Adventure Games

Puzzle includes Breakout Clones, Logical Games, Trial-and-Error Games, Exploration Games, Hidden Object Games, Reveal the Picture Games, Tile-Matching Games, Puzzle Platformers

Role-Playing includes Action RPGs, MMORPGs, Roguelikes, Tactical, Sandbox RPGs, First-Person Party-Based RPGs, Monster Tamer Games

Simulation includes Construction and Management Simulation, Life Simulation, Vehicle Simulation

Strategy includes 4X Games, Artillery Games, Auto Battler/Auto Chess, Multiplayer Online Battle Arena (MOBA) Games, Real-Time Strategy (RTS), Real-Time Tactics (RTT), Tower Defense, Turn-Based Strategy (TBS), Turn-Based Tactics (TBT), Wargames, Grand Strategy Wargames

Sports includes Racing, Competitive Games (i.e. Rocket League), Sports-Based Fighting Games

[I read the sub-genre info but no genre listed here includes my favorite games.] The above sub-genre information does not fully encompass all of the smaller or more niche sub-genres that could reasonably fit into the core genres. I encourage you to think deeply about the gameplay mechanics and artistic influences of the games you enjoy the most to determine if they may be close enough to one of the listed core genres such that you can decide it's representative enough to say your tastes fall in that genre, or fall into two or more of the listed genres. Ultimately, it is up to your own analysis of your preferences to find a core genre you feel adequately encompasses your tastes and decide whether or not you need to click this 'other' option.

(Core Genres and Sub-Genres are lifted from the list of core genres on Wikipedia. If you need additional assistance picking a core genre you feel is your favorite, the hyperlinked Wikipedia article has a lot of good information explaining these sub-genres and what sorts of games fall under them. None of this is my opinion.)

(This post was inspired by a favorite video game genre poll that listed several action, adventure, and RPG sub-genres but omitted mainstay genres like puzzle games, sports games, or strategy games.)

#gamers #gaming #video games #gameblr #tumblr polls

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bumblee-stumblee · 1 year

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"How a child custody battle becomes an extension of coercive control.

Post-separation control is a form of abuse used by abusive men to exercise control over the woman after the marriage or relationship has ended. It is embedded in a power and control cycle.

Control tactics can include dragging women through expensive litigation, harassment during visitation, gas lighting, legal silencing, isolation, and using children to harass. child contact provides coercive control-perpetrating fathers with opportunities to continue their abuse of children and ex-partners."

Pdf: When Coercive Control Continues to Harm Children: Post-Separation Fathering, Stalking and Domestic Violence

Pdf: The System Had Choked Me Too

If this sounds familiar, it's because a version of this happened to Amber Heard.

This is a tactic that is almost exclusively used by men to punish and entrap women.

#domestic abuse and violence #radblr #radfems #feminist #radfem #radfems please interact #feminism #radical feminist #ipv #intimate partner violence

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howtofightwrite · 1 year

Note

Greek fire was an extraordinary specific weapon found in a particular time and region, naval combat was primarily an afar of rams (in the medaterriaan with its oar powered vessels) and armed roaring ie: getting as close as possible and just swarming onto your opponents boat to fight in melee, with some archery and whatnot. One of the sucesses of the eventual roman navy was perfecting a sort of boarding ramp to quickly put their troops on an enemy ship

Furthermore, in later periods, there are accounts of skirmishes in the atlantic between rival fleets. In which case the fore and aftcastles on the cogs are used as platforms to post archers and men throwing rocks and iron bars down on opponents ships while others boarded (hence why their called castles and elevated). Theres at least one account (I forgot of which battle) in which an English king boarded an enemy ship then abandoned his own as it sunk.

So, free advice, if you want to remain anonymous, you probably should make sure that both asks go through as anon. Though, I'm pretty sure Tumblr's extended ask length would have let you drop both paragraphs into it. Worst case (and I do realize I'm a poster child for looking like I ignore this advice), but when you run into a word (or character) limit, it's usually a good idea to start editing and trimming down the length until the system accepts it in a single pass. Splitting an ask into multiple parts is an excellent way to lose part of a question, or just make sure it never gets answered in the first place. Cut everything you don't absolutely need.

Either way, I'll err on the side of caution and answer the anon response to preserve your privacy.

I thought I made it clear that Greek fire was a much later invention. It's actually a little frustrating, because you'll see poorly researched history articles which will straight up make it sound like Greek fire was used during the Peloponnesian War. Which, yeah, no. A lot of the major Hellenic wars we think of today were around the 5th century BCE, while the invention of Greek Fire was over a thousand years later.

While you were talking about Greek fire in particular, what you said applies to a lotof weapons throughout history. When we're talking about something like the rapier or the claymore, those are weapons from very specific points in time. It's something to think about when you're mixing and matching technologies to create a fantasy world. No weapon exists in a vacuum, and they all develop as responses to the state of warfare around them. This doesn't mean you can't mix and match pieces you like, but it is something to be conscious of.

While it is outside the scope of the original question (because it's a firearm), one of the more amusing weapons from the age of sail were actual gun blades. These would be musket (usually a pistol), with a cutlass blade mounted under the barrel. (There were also examples that mounted an axe head under the barrel.) The intention was to be able to use the firearm during boarding actions and then switch over to using it as a melee weapon rather than reloading. The design was fundamentally flawed, the weight distribution was poor for a blade, and the (relative) mechanical complexity of the early firearms meant those components were too fragile for serious use. But for a couple decades in the 17th century these things saw limited use.

Now, I do need to give serious credit to A Number of Hobbies, who came back with a trio of fantastic reference articles. Naval Combat Strategies from Shadyislepirates.com, Choosing Naval Tactics for Your Pre-Gunpowder World from Mythcreants.com, and The First Punic War: Audacity and Hubris from the U.S. Naval Institute. So, if you're still wanting more information, those are all excellent resources to check.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers #military history #naval history #If these were seperate asks that I accidentally blended together... sorry.

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bigsoftmarshmallow · 19 days

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How would Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise react to a modern smartphone? If explained all the things it could do, what would they use it for?

If the Ganondorfs and Demise were introduced to a modern smartphone, their reactions would range from curiosity to amazement, with each of them finding different uses for the device based on their personalities and goals. Here's how each would react and what they might use a smartphone for:

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Wind Waker Ganondorf, who is more philosophical and reflective than his counterparts, would be intrigued by the smartphone’s potential to access vast amounts of knowledge. After a brief period of suspicion and doubt, he’d be captivated by its ability to show him things he’s never imagined.

What He’d Use It For:

Research & Strategy: Wind Waker Ganondorf would use the smartphone to gather information on the world, learning about history, geography, and strategies from other cultures to enhance his tactical thinking.

News & Global Information: He’d use the phone to monitor global events, especially geopolitical conflicts, finding parallels to his own goals.

Music & Art: Given his reflective nature, Wind Waker Ganondorf might also be interested in music and art, possibly developing an appreciation for symphonies or visual art from different eras.

Scene: Ganondorf sits in the ruins of Hyrule, staring at the small device in his hand. The world had crumbled beneath the waves, but this... this small box contained all the knowledge of the modern world. He swipes through images of landscapes, battles, and cities, his mind racing with possibilities.

"So much knowledge... hidden in the hands of mortals," he murmurs. "I could have ruled this world with such tools."

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Ocarina of Time Ganondorf, a megalomaniac with ambitions for total domination, would be both suspicious and fascinated by the smartphone. After understanding its potential, he’d see it as a tool for expanding his influence and power.

What He’d Use It For:

Social Media Manipulation: Ganondorf would use social media platforms to subtly spread his influence, sowing discord and manipulating public opinion to create chaos.

Surveillance: He would use the phone’s ability to track locations and spy on people via cameras to keep tabs on enemies, potential threats, or even allies.

Commanding Armies: The communication abilities of the smartphone would allow him to organize and command his followers more effectively, giving him the ability to control vast networks from a distance.

Scene: Ganondorf's eyes narrow as he watches a video of a global leader addressing a crowd. The people hang on every word. He smirks, fingers tapping against the phone. "I can make them follow me," he mutters, scrolling through comments and noting how easily opinions are swayed. "This world will be mine before they even know it."

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Twilight Princess Ganondorf, who exudes a more cold and calculated demeanor, would see the smartphone as a tool for both control and knowledge. He’d be less fascinated by its entertainment features and more focused on how it could serve his plans for domination and control of the Twilight Realm.

What He’d Use It For:

Hacking & Control: Ganondorf would likely develop an interest in the more technical aspects of the phone. He might even try to learn hacking to break into systems, control information, and manipulate governments.

Communication: He would use the phone to keep in contact with his spies and agents, communicating in secret codes and issuing orders from afar.

Twilight Magic Research: Ganondorf might be curious about scientific advances and new technologies that could be twisted to serve his purposes, particularly anything that could amplify his connection to the Twilight Realm.

Scene: Ganondorf stands in his darkened throne room, the soft glow of the smartphone illuminating his face. A security camera feed flickers on the screen, showing him the movements of a key political figure. "So easily manipulated," he mutters, tapping the screen. "This device gives me more power than they could ever know."

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf, the most battle-hungry and aggressive version, would initially scoff at the smartphone, thinking it weak and beneath him. However, once he realizes its potential for organizing large-scale assaults and coordinating his armies, he would embrace its power.

What He’d Use It For:

Battle Coordination: He’d use messaging apps and other organizational tools to coordinate attacks and manage his armies in real time.

Media Control: Ganondorf would use social media to spread propaganda and increase his influence over the masses, twisting narratives to present himself as a conqueror worthy of respect.

Entertainment: As a warrior, he might actually enjoy certain fighting games or watching videos of historical battles for entertainment and inspiration.

Scene: "Such a small device," Ganondorf grunts, turning the smartphone over in his hand. "And yet, with it, I could command legions." His eyes gleam as he sets up group messages with his generals, issuing orders with a few taps of the screen. "This... this could be my greatest weapon."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Initial Reaction: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf, who is intelligent and deeply strategic, would immediately see the smartphone as a means to gather knowledge and increase his hold over Hyrule. He would appreciate the breadth of information at his fingertips and the potential for subtle manipulation.

What He’d Use It For:

Historical & Tactical Research: Ganondorf would dive deep into the smartphone’s access to history and tactics, using it to learn about modern warfare, diplomacy, and advancements that he could incorporate into his strategies.

Social Influence: He would use the phone to spread subtle misinformation, manipulate public perception, and undermine the authority of those in power.

Mapping & Exploration: Ganondorf might use modern GPS and mapping technologies to expand his reach, exploring unknown regions of the world with ease.

Scene: Ganondorf scrolls through articles and maps, his mind racing with possibilities. "All this knowledge," he murmurs, tapping the screen. "Centuries of history, at my fingertips." He smiles, dark and cold. "I can twist it to my will. This world will never see me coming."

Demise

Initial Reaction: Demise would view the smartphone with disdain at first, seeing it as a weak human tool. However, once he learned about its ability to manipulate information and control masses of people, he would see it as a valuable asset in his quest to conquer all.

What He’d Use It For:

World Domination: Demise would see the phone as a tool to conquer not just Hyrule, but all realms. He would use it to study modern civilizations, finding weaknesses to exploit.

Manipulation of Fear: He would likely use the phone to spread fear and chaos, taking advantage of the interconnected world to stir unrest and manipulate leaders through fear.

Surveillance: Demise would love the idea of watching his enemies from afar, tracking their every move and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Scene: Demise stares at the smartphone in his hand, the glowing screen a stark contrast to the dark aura surrounding him. "A tool for the weak," he growls, but as he watches the world news flash by, his lips curl into a slow, menacing smile. "And yet... with this, I can spread fear faster than ever before. They will fall before they even realize what’s happening."

Overall Uses and Thoughts:

While each version of Ganondorf and Demise would initially react differently to a modern smartphone, they would all eventually see it as a tool for manipulation, control, and enhancing their ambitions. From social media manipulation to real-time battle coordination, the smartphone would become an essential part of their plans for domination.

************************************************************************

Bonus: HW Ganondorf, Ghirahim, and Zant Group Chat!

Group Chat: Forces of Darkness

Ganondorf: I have gathered you both here to discuss our next move. Hyrule is vulnerable. We must act soon.

Ghirahim: Ooooh, our glorious king is feeling impatient~ 😏💅 But of course, my liege, your wish is my command. 🌹✨

Zant: yEs tHe vEry FoUnDaTiOn oF hYruLe WiLL fALl UnDeR oUr miGhty bOOts!!! 😈👑

Ganondorf: Zant, I need you to speak coherently. We cannot conquer anything if I can’t understand what you’re saying.

Ghirahim: Yes, Zant, darling, try to keep up. We can’t have you tripping over your own madness during battle. 🤭💀

Zant: lOl i HaVe mAdNeSs On mY siDe, GhirAhIm. tHaT’s mY pOwEr!! 😵‍💫✨

Ganondorf: Enough. We have no time for your childish games. Focus. Our next target is the Hyrule Castle. Ghirahim, you will lead the vanguard. Zant, you will handle the diversion.

Ghirahim: Awwww, leading the charge? You're making me blush, Kingy~ 😘💖 Consider it done, my blade is ready. 🔪🖤

Zant: bUt wHy am i tHe dIvErsIoN?? i WaNt tO lEaD tOo!! 😡😭

Ganondorf: Because you lack discipline. That is why. If you want to lead, prove yourself first. And stop typing like that. It’s irritating.

Zant: 😒 fInEeeE… I’LL sHoW yOU whO lAcKs dIscIplInE… i’LL dEstROy tHem aLL!!!!

Ghirahim: Zant, darling, sweetie, please. You'll give yourself wrinkles. Now then, King Ganondorf~ Shall I prepare an ambush? Perhaps a little surprise for those meddling heroes? 🎭✨

Ganondorf: Yes. Proceed with your plans. I want them caught off guard. If all goes well, their precious kingdom will fall. Failure is not an option. Do I make myself clear?

Zant: yEs!! wE wiLL rAiSe tHe bAnNeRs oF dArKnEsS!!!

Ghirahim: Crystal clear, my king~ 😏💋

Ganondorf: Do not fail me.

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ghost-proofbaby · 6 months

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“I think…” she trails off, trying to choose her words carefully, “I think we need to talk.” His eyes crack open, an eyebrow lifted, “Perhaps I was wrong, and thinking is a good look on you.” “If you’re going to make a joke out of everything I say, then I can easily go back to avoiding you.” “So you admit it? You were avoiding me?” “I didn’t mean tha-”

summary: aruna finally confronts astarion about his vampirism. how badly could it go?

wc: 5.9k+

warnings: description of a dead animal (the boar from the game)

a/n: another one that's already been on ao3, but this means we're finally caught up across platforms! next chapter is the bite scene (and the bite scene only) my friends <3

ao3 | masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Aruna avoids Astarion for a whole five days. Impressive, given the gravity he seems to hold that continues to draw her towards him. But a necessary feat – all she can hear, every day and every night, is the echo of his words.

My dearest Aruna.

Her hands are reaching for her letter more often than she’d care to admit, always fearing she’ll find her pack empty. She knows Astarion couldn’t have possibly written the letter, it’s become apparent that he’d never met her before this entire misadventure, but it was too startling to be a mere coincidence . If she were smarter, she’d take the time to figure out what it all meant.

But she isn’t smart. She’s a fool, and she avoids the man that has begun to haunt her at every corner of her days.

She fills her waking hours to the brim with anything but the vampire. Reading, practicing magic, adventuring . She tries to ignore his mildly hurt expression any time she recruits companions to join her in her explorations and pointedly ignores going anywhere near him during the enlistment process. It’s as though he’s been plagued by something absolutely abhorrent to her, and she can’t possibly get far enough away from him in order to breathe.

And so she does what she must. They come across an owlbear den, and the mother nearly mauls them all before Aruna diffuses the situation. They explore more of the Grove, only to end up in battle with Harpies in order to save a lured child. Aruna finds that she fights infinitely better without an Astarion around to worry about saving as well.

She just chooses to ignore the fact that every time she fights with her daggers, Astarion’s muffled voice is there, in the recedes of her mind, whispering instructions that are actually helpful. She knows it’s not the tadpole connection, but that’s all she does know.

Some time during the entire ordeal, Astarion stops sleeping at her side by the fire at night. He must have returned to the Grove without her, because he’s suddenly the proud owner of a tent just like the one from her memory. A deep maroon, the fabric uncannily free of dust. She has no idea where he’s gathered all the trinkets and mundane items that litter both the porch of it and the inside that she catches glimpses of – she doesn’t even know when he set the damned thing up. There had simply been a morning in which she departed for the day with Wyll, Gale, and Shadowheart, and returned to Astarion lounging very comfortably right below the perch of her overlook.

It felt a bit deliberate, given how much time she spent up there in the evenings. The bastard.

Aruna’s terrible tactic only comes to a head when her group of vagabonds for the day stumbles upon the carcass of a drained boar, left behind in the dead center of the dirt path.

The deja vu gives her a headache.

Wyll brushes it off for the most part. Shadowheart seems intrigued, but after finding nothing seemingly intriguing about the dead animal, she’s already wandering off a few paces away. Gale is the only one even an inch within being as curious as Aruna is.

If you could even call her curious.

“Why, that poor thing !” he exclaims just as Aruna has paused to take a knee, only to get a closer look. Just as she had expected, there’s no external clue to the boar’s cause of death, “Do you think this might be the doing of the goblins?”

Aruna only sighs deeply, shoulders dropping and face crumpling microscopically.

No, this is not the doing of goblins. This is the doing of a particularly annoying prick in my side who’s lounging back at camp.

“Goblins would be messier,” is her poor attempt at an excuse.

They would be, to be fair.

Gale hums thoughtfully, crouching down beside her, “I suppose you’re right. I don’t even see any wounds on the ani-”

He cuts off as his eyes zero in on the neck of the boar. The fur there has been smoothed and smooshed enough to lay in an exposing pattern, almost a clear view of the two small puncture wounds that mar the skin beneath.

Astarion’s work, without a doubt.

“Have you ever seen wounds like that?” she whispers quietly, hoping that Wyll and Shadowheart will continue whatever boring chat they were trying to engage each other with.

She doesn’t want them to notice this. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them, but- Well, she simply trusts Gale more.

There had been an empty space at her side left behind due to the absence of Astarion. And Gale had easily taken to filling it in, stepping right into stride with Aruna just as her shadow once had.

After the Harpies, he had opened up to her some. She’d nearly snipped at the young tiefling child at the beach, but something deep within her couldn’t bring herself to be so cruel as her initial reaction had been. Instead of telling the kid to stop crying in such a callous way, she’d only found herself warning him to be careful and to be more mindful of where he wandered. Gale had been at her side not a moment later, murmuring in delightful reminiscence of how he was as a young and curious child.

It was sort of endearing. Almost familiar. Not quite what she felt with Astarion, but close enough for now.

“Never,” he looks dumbfounded. She wonders just how often he’s come up this clueless in his life, given all his prattling about knowledge , “But… well, rather peculiar indeed.”

“Peculiar is one word for it.”

Gale is quickest to agree when Aruna suggests they go back to camp. The day had mostly been wasted at this point regardless; the only thing they’d discovered thus far that was of any interest was a crumbling temple of sorts not far from their camp, right beside the beach in which they’d crash landed on. But they had found people there, other looters, and Aruna hadn’t hesitated to call her group to fall back the moment she spotted the figures arguing in the decaying courtyard.

They don’t need to know why she’s so eager to return back to camp. Or the absolute reaming she plans their entire trek back for a certain companion.

Astarion was either being deliberately dense and playing with fire, waiting for someone to catch on and call him out on his true nature, or-

Well. He was just truly that reckless.

Aruna storms back into the camp, the rest close behind and nearly nipping at her heels, to find Astarion perfectly at peace as he sits in front of his tent. At first, she thinks he’s simply reading. She can see the book opened up in his lap clearly, but his finger isn’t trailing along the words as he usually would. His head is far too tilted back to even be looking at the pages.

She stops dead in her tracks, dust kicking up from the abrupt halting of her steps, the moment she rounds his tent and sees him properly.

Her anger fizzles momentarily at the sight. All the harsh words she was prepared to spit at him, the ravings of his idiocracy and the grand reveal of her knowing his most sacred secret, are lost to the wind.

He looks peaceful . Perfectly, absolutely, at peace.

Eyes fluttered shut, mouth slack, skin bright in the warm afternoon sun. He’s basking in it. She swears every pale inch of him has begun to glow golden as he absorbs all the heat the sky has to offer.

“Have you finally decided you’re ready to speak to me again, or are you just here for a show?”

His voice snaps her from the trance. For just a second, it felt as though the radiant glow of his peace had dispelled every single one of her shadows from existence. But the echo of his words across the otherwise quiet camp reminds her of all her frustrations.

My dearest Aruna.

He’s a vampire. She has to save him. And somehow, he mysteriously has addressed her just as her bizarre letter had. It matter of fact sparks new found anger.

But not at him. It’s the strangest of realizations; none of her negative feelings are capable of being pointed towards him in this state. That golden glow gives him an innocence she had forgotten. She may know new information, she may have some sort of begrudging upper hand on their entire situation it seems, but he doesn’t. Astarion is simply surviving – the boar wasn’t some direct taunt from him. Probably nothing more than a small slip up in the process of keeping himself alive and well.

He had to feed. She couldn’t get angry at him for that.

“I think…” she trails off, trying to choose her words carefully, “I think we need to talk.”

His eyes crack open, an eyebrow lifted, “Perhaps I was wrong, and thinking is a good look on you.”

“If you’re going to make a joke out of everything I say, then I can easily go back to avoiding you.”

“So you admit it? You were avoiding me?”

“I didn’t mean tha-”

Gale interrupts them as he strolls up beside Aruna. He’s not quite a shadow, not quite as reflexive or secure as Astarion, but he nearly fits the mold left behind. “Perhaps Astarion might know more of what we found in our travels today.”

That catches the vampire’s attention. He displays upmost lithe as he quickly widens both eyes and brings himself to his feet, unashamed in his eagerness at the prospect.

The prospect of being useful again. The prospect of Aruna needing him again.

“Oh?” he asks, eyes darting between the wizard and sorcerer, “Pray tell – what did you morons find?”

Aruna is scowling when she replies, “A boar.”

He’s waiting for her to continue on. An act that’s working well enough on Gale, but Aruna catches the sudden stiffness of his spine.

“When you put it that way, it’s as if you want him to turn up his nose at helping us,” Gale mutters, entirely unimpressed. “It was a dead boar, but without any clear wounds. I- Well, I have my guesses as to what might have killed the poor animal, but-”

“It had peculiar marks on its neck,” Aruna finishes before he can start up a ramble.

Astarion is growing more tense with every passing moment.

“ Peculiar marks? ” he nearly scoffs, “And you think I’d be of any help regarding them why? ”

“Because you’re helpful,” Aruna deadpans, leveling him with a bored stare. It takes everything in her to assure that she doesn’t clue him in to the fact that she knows he was the one who killed that boar, that those marks were a bite left by his fangs, “Or at least you’ve proven you can be when you want to be.”

Maybe her faux boredom can be what lures him in. Perhaps the new approach can work in her favor.

“And what if I’m not feeling particularly helpful today?” he grins softly, tilting his head at her. The action is almost feline in nature, “I was quite enjoying relaxing here while the rest of you run around aimlessly, doing all the hard work.”

“That was quite the contradictory statement to your earlier sentiment,” she muses, struggling to keep her amusement from lacing up into her words. She hated that she liked playing these games with him. She hated that his taunts lit something deep within her. A whisper of come play with me, a need to dance along to the tune that he believed himself to be conducting, “Are we being useless, or are we doing hard work? Pick one or the other. As a matter of fact, you can ponder on it as you join me to go take a second look at this boar.”

Alone. An unspoken clause. She was going to get him alone and far from camp, and then she could confront him.

“A second look?” his eyebrows quirk, eyes darting to the horizon, “But the sun is sett-”

She cuts him off, “We’ll be fine. Besides, if we run into any trouble, you’ll protect me – right?”

Gale is biting back his laughter as Astarion’s face falls, eyes narrowing into slits. But he doesn’t protest, much to Aruna’s chagrin. He only spins and ducks into his tent, returning with his own daggers in hand. In the flash of a glimpse she catches before he’s secured them into his holsters, Aruna swears they could pass for her own. Same length, same silver blade, same black leather wrapped around the hilt.

“If we get into any trouble, I’ll leave you to the wolves,” he remarks as he steps up in front of her. Gale falls back, as if Astarion’s mere presence pushes him out of Aruna’s space, making room for the rightful shadow to return to her.

Aruna rolls her eyes, and turns to look at Gale, “Don’t let camp burn down while we’re gone.”

“Won’t be too much trouble,” he still fights a grin, eyes darting between Aruna and Astarion, “Seeing as our natural-born troublemakers will be out. I should be warning you against causing any chaos or arson.”

“No promises.”

Gale sighs, “Of course not. I forget who I’m speaking to.”

It feels right. It feels natural for Astarion to fall into step with her. To turn her back on the camp, and know that he is right there, a hairline fracture behind her and ready for anything that may interrupt their travels. She feels safer this way, she realizes, to hear the lack of twigs snapping behind her or gravel crunching as she paces the path that leads them from the camp and back out into the wilderness. Neither hers nor Astarion’s gear so much as clang a single metallic ring as they thread their way through the trees, both silent as ever as Aruna retraces her steps back to the boar. No complaining from Shadowheart, no nervous rambling from Gale, no tchs from Lae’zel.

They make a good team, as painful as it may be to admit.

“Your stealth has improved in the days you’ve been ignoring me,” Astarion notes as they break through the treeline not far from the entrance to the grove, “Manage to loot a new pair of boots in your misadventures?”

“Nope,” she looks down at the same worn boots she’d been donning since waking up on the beach, “Although, now that you mention it, I could surely use a new pair.”

“Are you sure you have enough gold for a new pair?”

She slows until Astarion falls into a leisurely pace at her side, no longer trailing behind her, “Who needs gold if I have a rogue to conveniently snag me a pair from one of the traders at the grove?”

He nearly trips over himself as he side eyes her. Immediately, she knows she had gotten her guess correctly – he was clearly a rogue, and the night she had spent skimming through the book on the class was decidedly not a waste.

“So you’ve figured out my class. Impressive .”

“It wasn’t hard. You do love feeding into stereotypes, don’t you?”

“Me? Being stereotypical?” Astarion scoffs, raising a theatrical hand, holding over his chest, “Darling, I’m hurt. I’ll have you know I’m absolutely one of a kind.”

She rolls her eyes despite her best efforts, “Right. Of course. You must be unique to be such a sharp pain in my ass.”

“Full of fire today, are we, my dearest sorcerer?”

It’s not quite the phrase from the letter. One word short, and yet it still stirs something in her. Triggering the exact thing she had been battling and trying to bury deep down the past five days.

My dearest Aruna.

If she looks close enough, she swears she can see the endless pathways of wires and threads alike between them, all crossing and knotting past the point of being detangled. There’s too much she doesn’t know; there’s too much she does know. Like how he’s a vampire. He’s a vampire, and for some reason, it doesn’t do anything to deflate her trust in him. As a matter of fact, his usage of that familiar nickname atop the heading of the letter in her pack strikes more wariness in her than his condition ever could.

But it doesn’t change the fact that she needs to confront him now that they’re alone.

She’s saved by the boar, it seems, as they finally stumble upon the carcass. It’s right where she had left it not even an hour prior. Still in the center of the pathway, still dead as ever. And still marked with those two fang-sized holes in what would be considered its neck.

“Is this it?” Astarion raises a brow, stopping a few steps short of the carrion, “This is the treacherous boar that Gale was rambling on about?”

Her throat threatens to close up from her swelling anxiety, “Look at its neck.”

Astarion is soundless, both in voice and movement, as he crouches down. She quickly realizes that his eyes were already glued to the suspicious wounds before she’d even pointed them out, already locked into the location before he had been anywhere near close enough to properly spot them.

For all she could rave about how sly and stealthy he can be, he certainly has his moments.

Did he ever plan to tell them? The admission would surely put him in danger. If she were in his shoes, she’d probably have been counting her days until a stake was aimed her way, always living with the fear of her deepest secret being exposed. He doesn’t know that she already knows. He has no idea that she’s already decided he’s worth the risk, and that his vampirism is just something to deal with. Just like her memory loss, just like Wyll’s heroism. It was a small thing to categorize rather than worry over. And yet, she knows – he never planned to tell them.

It’s practically written in stone as he tsks from his crouch and glances up at her, “I see. Looks like something bit the poor thing.”

“Something did more than simply bite it,” she argues, pushing her luck and desperately trying to make him say the words aloud, “It’s been drained completely of its blood, Astarion. Doesn’t that worry you?”

It does, and for all the reasons not implicated. She sees the flash of fear, the dredging up of anxiety. She’s yanking him from his shadows of safety, one push at a time.

“How do you know it’s been drained of all its blood? Have you even checked?”

“It’s dead, and there’s not a drop of scarlet to be seen.”

“Maybe it was killed with magic.”

“Or maybe it was killed by a vampire .”

Time stands still as she says the cursed word. It’s out in the air between them now, impossible to take back. She hadn’t even meant to spit it out so ferociously; it had simply slipped out as her heart rate picked up as she began her confrontation, knowing exactly what she was about to get herself into-

Could he sense her heart racing? He was a vampire, after all. He must be able to hear her pulse. He must.

He’s staring up at her, dumbfounded, clearly choosing his next words carefully. All she can do is lose herself, bit by bit, crack by crack, in those scarlet eyes.

“You think a vampire is roaming these lands?” his tone has gone hushed, and she must admit – he’s a decent actor when he gives it his best effort, “I… Well, that certainly changes quite a few things.”

Like what? she nearly snaps at him, Like whether we all can sleep peacefully in our camp at night, knowing the vampire was settled into a tent mere feet away?

“I do,” she chokes out over her nerves. He was certainly going to lash out, or run in fear. Her entire purpose since leaving that ship is about to be shattered, left in complete shambles as she fails the one thing she knows as her purpose, “There must be. Nothing else would have killed the boar this way.”

He rises slowly, eyes never leaving hers. He’s tense – just as tense as his neck and shoulders had been the night he’d humored her guessing of his class. Stoic and petrified. “And… what do you plan to do about this revelation? It’s not as though we can… hunt the fool. He surely can’t travel in the daylight, and we rest at nigh-”

She’s quick to catch his slip up.

“Who ever said the vampire was a man, Astarion?”

His entire face drops, the mask evaporating and in its place, a rampant fear spreads. She can see him making his choice in real time, grasping at the formulations of any plan or save he can manage. The excuses are nearly tangible on his tongue.

“Well-”

His voice is lost in the breeze as she turns slowly, facing him head on, “And why do you assume I’d want to hunt him?”

He’s trying to play it off, pitifully so. His hands are dancing out in front of him, arms slinging wildly before words have even begun to slip from his mouth.

“Well- I-” it’s the first time she’s ever heard him stutter, she realizes, “It’s a vampire , darling. A wild beast of the night. A vicious and violent creature. Why wouldn’t you want to hunt it down before it caused any more grief?”

If she didn’t know, it’d be the performance of a lifetime. But she knows, and it strikes a terrible pang of sadness deep within her. He believes what he’s saying – he truly believes vampires to be something vial, something dangerous, something violent. He believes himself to be all of those things. He sees himself as something vicious, as something cursed to creep through the night and leave a trail of bloodshed in his wake. A thing so terrible that he deserves the stake he expects she would drive through his heart if he admitted the truth.

He is annoying. He is exasperating. He is finicky. He calls for trouble to follow him more closely than his own shadow, it seems. He is all of those things, but he is not what he currently describes to Aruna. Not to her.

“A vampire is an undead creature,” she recites from memory. She’d snagged a book on vampires from Gale’s piles, as well. “Undead. Something, someone, once living. I don’t make a business of hunting, in case I haven’t made myself clear in the time we’ve spent traveling together.”

“We’re hunting that devil of Wyll’s,” he’s quick to point out.

“Wyll is hunting the devil, and I’ve simply offered minimal aid in exchange for his help in protecting us.”

Because I’m not enough. Because I can’t protect this group given my current state. And I highly doubt I ever could to begin with.

There are unspoken words drifting into nothing more than smoke and mirrors between them. She nearly reignites the tadpole’s connection just so he gets it . Her tongue nearly slips and simply blurts out that she knows, if for nothing more than to rip the bandaid off and make it clear she doesn’t see a monster when she looks at him. She sees an ally, a valuable member of their little trope. She sees someone worth keeping around. For better or for worse.

The nerves have died down now. The vinery of it all has slowly disengaged, no longer wrapped terribly around her throat or limbs. She chooses to finally crouch back down beside the boar, the source of this entire exchange, and let her fingers glide over the bite mark slowly. The fur lays flat beneath her touch easily.

She has nothing to lose. The only one between the two of them that has anything to lose in what she’s about to reveal is Astarion.

“I know,” she hoarsely whispers, staring down at the mostly healed wound on the animal. Nothing more than pin-prick scars, now.

“Excuse me?”

She clears her throat, taking a deep gulp of air for bravery, “I know about your condition. And I already knew a vampire had killed this boar. I didn’t need your expert opinion on the manner – I needed to get you alone.”

Really, she could have phrased it better.

He’s on the defensive immediately, taking two large steps backwards as he stares down at her, “What do you mean my condition?”

She finally tears her gaze from the boar to look at him as earnestly as she can offer, knees threatening to cry out in pain as she lifts herself back up slowly. It’s hard to imagine Astarion being scared of her – he has an advantage of height, he has an advantage of skill, he has the advantage of speed. He is more than physically capable of fighting her off if she were to attack him. And yet he’s still scared .

“You’re a vampire.”

There’s no taking back the words once she said them. She expected a weight to lift once she spoke them outloud, but the look on Astarion’s face weighs heavier than the knowledge ever did.

“You think I’m-”

“I don’t think you are,” she corrects, “I know you are. And stop reaching for your dagger, because I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve known for a while. If I was going to do anything about it, I already would have.”

Astarion is a vampire, and Aruna is part-drow. Two creatures of the night, two keeper of the shadows, face to face. Two sides of the same damn coin .

His chest heaves, likely out of habit, as he stares her down. He’s waiting for her next move, her next word. His eyes wearily watch as though he might be able to predict such, even if only a moment before it happens. All he would need is a second – he is a vampire, after all.

“When?”

She raises an eyebrow, “When what?”

“When did you figure it out?”

He takes another step back, and she pretends not to notice.

“I just… did,” she pathetically lies. In all fairness, once she knew, she did realize that he hadn’t been the most subtle about it all, “You’ve got fangs, you’re always leaving camp in the night, you never eat. Shall I go on?”

He’s fairly quick to shake his head, “Those things don’t mean I’m a vampire.”

“But you are, aren’t you?”

She’s almost giving him out. If he really wants to lie, now is his chance. He can deny, he can lie, he can ferociously dispel all her claims. And if he does, this can simply stay a secret between the two of them.

Her knowing, and him knowing that she knows.

His hand still twitches by the handle of his dagger, “And… if I am? Then what?”

“Then I tell you to be more discreet, and stop leaving your leftovers-” she pauses, kicking the boar at her feet ever so gently, “-out for others to find out. Just because I’m not in the business of hunting vampires doesn’t mean others share the sentiment.”

She doesn’t even know how everyone back at camp would react. But she knows that if he comes clean, if he simply says the magic words, she’ll defend him. An objectively stupid choice, but the hill she has chosen to die on all the same. Since the day she awoke on the beach, she has known one thing; save Astarion, no matter the cost.

Perhaps this is what the letter meant.

Maybe something happened from that time she has caught glimpses of in her memory she recovered, and it all links back to this pivotal moment. Even though it doesn’t make much sense given the fact she already knew he was a vampire in the memory, he had spoken freely about it and she’d even let him drink from her, it’s something to cling to. A comforting blanket of reassurance that she’s making the right choice.

He bites down on his lip in contemplation, and the tip of one of his fangs catches in the sunlight. It ignites the urge within her to keep speaking, to keep reassuring .

“It’s the same as the way Gale is a prideful wizard, or Lae’zel is a blood-thirsty githyanki, or I am apparently part drow. It doesn’t change anything, Astarion. I just… I’d like to know I’m not crazy.”

When he stays silent, still several paces between the two of them, she decides to try one last tactic.

Her tadpole squirms, almost in defiance, as she focuses her outreach to him. It’s not just to open a line of communication. This time, she has a far different goal in mind. She’s doing far more than just making snide remarks back and forth – she’s opening her mind to him. Inviting him in, beckoning across the ocean between them for him to see that she means no harm.

She only knows that he’s felt the invitation when that same warm pressure of his presence within her mind washes over her, down her cerebral and along her spine.

It’s all hesitant pokes and prods, uncertain wiggles as his face scrunches in simultaneous concentration and shock. She’s completely forgotten her memory that she had meant to hold sacred, has forgotten all the secrets she was drowning beneath the weight of. She trusts him; she knows he won’t go further than necessary, not with so much currently on the line.

And even if he does, she’s decided he’s worth the risk. There are far worse choices to offer exposure of her secrets to.

“You…” he whispers, eyes pinching shut and mouth twisting as she feels him dig deeper, “You’ve known. Hells, you- you’re not lying, are you?”

Not at all, she calls out over the connection rather than out loud.

His eyes snap back open. You’ve known, and you haven’t tried to stake me.

You said you would have preferred decapitation, if I’m not mistaken.

His laugh slips out in real time, and she can tell he hadn’t meant to the guffaw to ring out loud. But it does; it falls from his lips and echoes in the space around them. Pitched high with his shock, and cut short with realization.

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” his tone is soft, as hesitant as all his prodding within her mind. She was right, though, as she feels his presence begin to retreat – he didn’t go further than necessary.

“Partially,” she shrugs, daring to step closer to him and diminish some of the physical distance, “And partially just because you seem to enjoy being a royal pain in my ass.”

“I saved you, if I recall correctly.”

“I thought you were still in the business of denying responsibility for my survival?”

His mouth snaps shut, but he doesn’t even flinch as she takes another timid step forward. Baby steps. He’s not turning heel and running away from her. He knows that she knows, and he’s still here.

Save Astarion. For the first time their entire journey, it almost feels possible.

“I may have been… slightly responsible for it,” he secedes, eyeing her warily.

She hums, looking deeply within his carmine eyes. There’s a flame of trust that flickers beneath the surface that had not been there moments before. Not even when they’d spoken in their private moments. No, it’s something new, something warm . A door unlocked from this entire revelation.

“I wasn’t lying before. Vampires are dangerous,” he reminds her suddenly as she’s managed to sneak her way to nearly be toe-to-toe with him, “I could kill you as easily as I saved you. You are aware of that, yes?”

“I am.”

“I’m the one who killed that boar.”

“I’d hope so. I have enough trouble keeping up with one vampire, let alone two.”

His face twitches as she says it, nose scrunching slightly as he unexpectedly corrects her, “I’m merely a spawn, not a true vampire. Still dangerous but… The devil’s in the details, I suppose.”

That she did not know. He watches her reaction in real time, and clearly mistakes all her curiosity for shock. Or maybe fear. Maybe he’s still waiting for the other shoe drop, she realizes.

“It means I’m less powerful,” he vomits out quickly, holding both hands up, palms facing her, “I swear-”

She breathlessly laughs, reaching up and grabbing his wrists, yanking until his hands are back to being limp as his sides, “I gathered that much, Astarion. I just haven’t heard the terms before. Brain full of holes, remember?”

His entire body relaxes slowly, shoulders slumping as he looks as though he has to fight rolling his eyes at her, “Ah, yes. Pardon my forgetfulness. I suppose this means you’ll be wanting a full history lesson on vampires, then? When we return to camp?”

It would certainly help. She can’t deny the way her curiosity burns and gnaws at her insides, desperate for more knowledge, especially when it concerns him. She could push him to his precipice, force him to exhume all that he is to her as soon as possible. That selfish and ravenous hunger would certainly be delighted. But she can also see all his hesitancy and discomfort with the topic. And for some unknown reason, her heart has no desire to corner him in that way.

“You don’t have to,” she tells him quietly, finally shuffling back an inch and giving him space, “I’d like to know more, of course, but only whenever you’re ready to tell me.”

She means it. Gods, she truly means it, even if the unknown infuriates her to no end.

His lips crack into a lopsided grin, “How… sweet of you. I fear it’ll never be something I’m particularly eager to indulge in, though. The sooner we get it over with, the better.”

She remembers the ache from the memory. The sharp pain, the stabbing twist at his words.

Nothing good. Nothing good awaits him back in Baldur’s Gate.

For all that Aruna wishes to learn more about Astarion, she also fears that it might mean finding out exactly what that nothing good might be. And she’s unsure if her heart, if her soul cleaved in two, will be able to handle the information once more.

“Just tell me when,” she forces herself to say steadily, holding his gaze. Nothing good. Nothing good waits for him. Nothing good. “And I’m all ears, my dearest Astarion.”

Something about her own version of the endearment echoed back in his direction leaves an ashen taste on her tongue.

He must taste it as well, as he cringes slightly. “Perhaps leave the flowery endearments to the professionals, my friend.”

It nearly goes over her head. Nearly the entire walk back to camp, she’s in ignorant bliss. But once she picks up on it, somewhere between Astarion’s grand tale of the night in which he’d hunted down the boar and him scolding her clumsiness as she bumps into yet another tree branch, she revels in the soft whisper of it.

He called her his friend . Something he has already claimed to have never experienced, and yet he’s bestowed the honor upon her .

It’s almost soft enough to override the pestering twisting of her gut regarding the mystery that remains the letter in her pack. Almost.

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#ghost's stories #the moon will sing #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion is not the sneaky vampire he thinks he is huh #i'm so fuckin excited for the next chapter i'm tempted to double post tonight lol #well. double post on here. it's been a few days over on ao3.#i... just might.

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