#me when I can use both literal and metaphorical vampirism as an allegory of being consumed by love.
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Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader
Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while.
OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it
Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other
TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)
this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)
"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.
Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until-
"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond? an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."
"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.
"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.
"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket.
"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already."
"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold."
Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us."
—
An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack.
"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."
Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could.
The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!"
Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you. Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you.
"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed. Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared.
You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing."
"No promises."
Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt.
"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more."
Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern.
____
Ambushed in the night.
A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept.
And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow.
Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest.
And Astarion? Their target?
He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger. With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion.
This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart.
Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over. Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.
You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying.
Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion. With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body.
Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.
The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt.
"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief.
Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name.
"SHADOWHEART!"
None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared. All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night.
The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.
"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled.
"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort. You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you.
___
Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart. Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.
And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first.
The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.
"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake.
"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them."
Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out."
You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed.
"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you.
"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.
Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste."
"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier."
Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something.
For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.
Blood. He needed blood.
The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.
You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered?
Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.
You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-"
The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed.
In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood.
The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape.
He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying.
"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).
Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you."
Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse?
Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.
Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him.
Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy.
Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck.
Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)
But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with.
You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile?
Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being?
The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.
“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand.
"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."
Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it.
Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"
Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl."
If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.
This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?"
Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you.
Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.
The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation.
Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.
___
Part Two Here!
Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.
#me when I can use both literal and metaphorical vampirism as an allegory of being consumed by love.#astarion x reader#astarion x you#Astarion x reader#astarion x mc#astarion fanfic#bg3 x reader#bg3 x tav#bg3 fanfic#Astarion self insert
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Mikaelson siblings as Titan shifters
Result of me being obsessed with the TVDU's Mikaelson family and Attack on Titan at the same time.
Is there any context or backstory? None. Reasons to think about this weird crossover? Not a single one. Would the lack of logic ever stop me? I think the answer is obvious. Guess who must have been preparing for the finals. Prepare yourself for the oddest thing you've read today, I guess.
Finn as the Colossus Titan. A thing I noticed in Kol's and Finn's confrontation after both were ressurected as vampires is that he is more willing to avoid Kol's blows and was fighting back only when neccessary. So, naturally, I've seen this as a sign of his suitability for the Colossus Titan because of it's general passive and defensive position in most battles. (also his height lol)
Elijah as the Armoured Titan. In general, I have a feeling that Elijah's suits always act as some sort of emotional armour that helps him keep going. Obviously, I drew an allegory between this psychological armour of his with the corresponding Titan (also... here somewhere lies the connection between Elijah's Red Door that he used to hide the atrocities he commited in the name of family, shielding himself from the guilt and trauma, and Reiner's ambivalent personalities: an image of a hero who protects his friends risking his life that he created to disguise the guilt of being a warrior who is responsible for the deaths of thousands. But we are not unpacking their metaphors of armouring themselves from the pain and responsibilities right now). Besides, Elijah's general physique mostly matches one of the Armoured Titan's one, imo.
Rebekah as the Female Titan. Literally very little explanation for this one except for the obvious connections and the fact that no ther Titans seems to be a better fit. Well, the only thing I can add is that Female Titan is known for the adaptivity and Rebekah seems like the most adaptive among her siblings.
Freya as the War Hammer. Decision mostly influenced by the fact that the ability of this Titan to create weapons out of thin air and the ability to fight remotely (by encapsulating the possessor in the crystal which reminds me of the way Freya can inflict damage without directly contacting/fighting the oponent) most of all reminds of magic which Freya possesses and the mystery of this Titan being held till the last season like Freya was mostly absent and non-active in the history of her family, each due to being held away from the main action (Freya by Dhalia and the War Hammer by the Tybur family).
Klaus as the Beast Titan. As Beast Titan is the projection of Titans' connection to nature, it was shows to possess the appearance of diffent animal species, and Klaus is undeniebly connected with his wolf side. So, his Titan would exhibit wolf-ish traits. Plus, it's simply hilarious for me.
Kol as the Attack Titan. As much as I adore the idea of putting Kol in the role of the Jaw Titan so he would be this little gremlin, Kol reflects Attack Titan's traits such as need for freedom, moving forward and, well, frankly, predicting various future plot evemts (tho I believe he didn't have the ability to communicate with his past and future identities). The Attack Titan is said to fight for freedom throught the history and Kol is known for seeking his freedom from Klaus' affinity of daggering whoever doesn't agree with him, and being short-tempered.
So little is known of Henrik that I have no idea what he possibly can be fit for, so I guess it's either the Jaw Titan or the Cart Titan. Dunno. Anyway.
Those ideas are not directly connected to the anime's plot, just me overthinking and having fun, I guess.
If you went the whole way till the end, congrats, you are such an adorable weirdo for being interested.
#i had this idea for a long time but the attempts to escape preparation for exams lead me to posting it#finn mikaelson#elijah mikaelson#rebekah mikaelson#freya mikaelson#klaus mikaelson#kol mikaelson#attack on titan#attack on titan au#tvdu#the originals#what am i doing with my life#mikaelson family
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Inverted Mobius, Mr. Tesseract and The Avatar of Truth
The mystery of the weird collar has deepened, thanks to @nebulousfishgills - by which I mean they totally solved it.
To those just joining me, I noticed this in my previous breakdown of the Loki trailer here.
Mr. Mobius, played by Owen Wilson, has an ‘inverted suit’. His collar is an indentation in his suit, rather than going on top of it.
So, first, a scene from Endgame that I seriously did think of when we learned there was a character called ‘Mobius M. Mobius’ in Loki (played by Owen Wilson). And yet I didn’t put this together. Thanks again to nebulousfish for making me realize that these things might not be coincidences.
When Mr. Stark is inventing time travel, he asks his AI to create a depiction of a Mobius Strip, inverted.
Which gets him this:
Anyway, what is a Mobius Strip, and who is Mobius M. Mobius? (Not to be confused with Morbius the Living Vampire, though wouldn’t it be funny if he was mistaken for Mobius M. if this show gets big first?)
I am not a quantum theorist or comic book aficionado by trade, so let’s do a Wikipedia-Fu on it.
In mathematics, a Möbius strip, band, or loop (US: /ˈmoʊbiəs, ˈmeɪ-/ MOH-bee-əs, MAY-, UK: /ˈmɜːbiəs/;[1]German: [ˈmøːbi̯ʊs]), also spelled Mobius or Moebius, is a surface with only one side (when embedded in three-dimensional Euclidean space) and only one boundary curve. The Möbius strip is the simplest non-orientable surface.
An example of a Möbius strip can be created by taking a strip of paper and giving one end a half-twist, then joining the ends to form a loop; its boundary is a simple closed curve which can be traced by a single unknotted string. Any topological space homeomorphic to this example is also called a Möbius strip, allowing for a very wide variety of geometric realizations as surfaces with a definite size and shape. For example, any rectangle can be glued left-edge to right-edge with a reversal of orientation. Some, but not all, of these can be smoothly modeled as surfaces in Euclidean space. A closely related, but not homeomorphic, surface is the complete open Möbius band, a boundaryless surface in which the width of the strip is extended infinitely to become a Euclidean line.A half-twist clockwise gives an embedding of the Möbius strip which cannot be moved or stretched to give the half-twist counterclockwise; thus, a Möbius strip embedded in Euclidean space is a chiral object with right- or left-handedness. The Möbius strip can also be embedded by twisting the strip any odd number of times, or by knotting and twisting the strip before joining its ends.
A Möbius strip does not self-intersect but its projection in 2 dimensions does.
Uh....right. Well, that clears everything up, doesn’t it?
Let’s crib off someone else’s work. Thanks to Thomas Wong on Medium, I was able to understand this a little better.
A Möbius strip is just a strip of paper, turned and taped together. It it only has one side, so an ant walking along the strip eventually returns to where he started. If we metaphorically interpret the ant, not as returning to a point in space, but a point in time, then it alludes to time travel.
...
As previously discussed, after a measurement, the quantum mixture (half born and half never born) becomes a definite state (born or never born). Finding the “spectral decomposition” is to find all the possible energies (eigenvalues) and states. Using these, one can determine how a quantum object evolves with time.
Combining this with the metaphoric interpretation of the Möbius strip, it could be that Stark found how to make quantum objects evolve such that they revisit a point in time, hence time travel.
Okay, that’s a little easier to understand. So how does this relate to the character Mobius M. Mobius, aside from him being named after the strip and the (apparently antiquated) ideas about time travel?
Well, he was based on Marvel Comics Legend Mark Gruenwald, a guy known for his passion for the lore of the comics, which he knew in innate detail. He even wrote the Official Handbooks and whatnot. Likewise, Mr. Mobius is a stickler for detail and one of the few members of the TVA even allowed a face - although it is off the rack, as he’s one an infinite number of clones (god I love the TVA so much already, it’s heaven for a Douglas Addams fan like me).
Despite being a clone, he rose through the ranks and is nearly the top guy, serving only underneath Mr. Alternity (and I am not familiar with these comics so feel free to correct me). Mr. Alternity has almost no comics history, but is based on editor Tom Brevoort.
There are several other misters, all of them near-identical to ‘Moby’. Mr. Orobourous, Mr. Paradox, Mr. Tesseract (!) and Mr. Oburos. They are also minor characters, but let’s look at all these names.
Clearly they are named after quantum theories of some-sort or another.
Mr. Mobius: Mobius Strip Theory - the idea that, essentially, is about the shape of time itself and the theory of traveling along that shape.
Mr. Alternity : Alternative universes
Mr. Ouroboros: A divine figure representing the beginning and the end of time in an endless cycle of death and rebirth.
Mr. Oburos - I’m not sure, but I think this is a variant of Ouroboros.
Mr. Paradox - Temporal paradox, causal loops - ex. The Grandfather Paradox
Mr. Tesseract - An object that exists in 4 dimensions. Time is often called the fourth dimension.
Obviously that last one is interesting, considering how the Tesseract will be the start of our adventure. The Cosmic Cube was renamed for the MCU, and in the comics has no relation to this minor character.
But what if it now does?
What if Tony has caused a change in the very appearance of Mr. Mobius when he inverted the Mobius Strip - literally inverting his clothing because he changed the shape of the Mobius - does that mean that these seemingly human-looking misters are in fact some sort of avatars for aspects of time itself? And if Mr. Tesseract is representative of how space and time intersect in the fourth dimension, wouldn’t a rogue god twisting space and time with the device that shares his name cause him some affect? Perhaps why the TVA noticed something was amiss to begin with.
This would be a departure from the comics, but the characters have almost no history there. They are ripe for new ideas.
Or, then again, since Loki will be working for the TVA - perhaps he’s the one who becomes ‘Mr. Tesseract’?
But continuing with that ‘Avatar of Aspects’ idea, let’s get away from this sausagefest for a second and visit my next newest favourite character -
I’m guessing she’s one of the Justices of the TVA. What gives it away? The imperious look, the giant oaken table, or the fact that I’m suddenly self-conscious when she looks at me? It’s the last one, of course. She’s a natural judge.
Of the named TVA judges, there’s :
Justice Goodwill, Justice Hope, Justice Liberty, Justice Love, Justice Might, Justice Mills, Justice Peace and Justice Truth.
Could they also possibly be avatars of their respective aspects?
If I had to guess, I’d say this is Justice Truth, as pairing up Loki with an avatar of Truth seems like it’d be a smashing good time, similar to how he was paired with Verity Willis in the comics. She might even be a composite character with Verity.
Verity’s power is detecting and seeing through all lies and illusions. I think this powerset will be given to Justice Truth, except instead of deriving it from a magic ring that she swallowed, she’d simply be the actual ‘Embodiment of Truth’ - and let’s get real here, when I said ‘Avatars of Aspects’, I was using that clunky phrase because the more obvious one - God of - is already ‘taken’. So Justice Truth may well be the ‘God of Truth’, as it were.
I think she’ll end up in something of a buddy-comedy with Loki, giving him someone to bounce off against who literally cuts through his carefully crafted veneer.
I’m reminded of a great quote from Taika Waititi when he was talking about what he wanted to do with Loki in Ragnarok:
“(He’s) someone who tries so hard to embody this idea of the tortured artist, this tortured, gothy orphan...It’s too tiring trying to be like that,” he says. “And, most humans, we get over ourselves, we get to that point where we’re like, ‘man, being a tortured artist is actually, like, a lot of work. Maybe I should just be real and present, and just be me, and I don’t have to be a tortured artist to be interesting, I can just be a f*cking weird New Zealander and that’s enough.”
...I think Taika is a living Loki, tbh, ha ha. No wonder he gets it.
Waititi, Yost, Pearson and Kyle did great work to cut through Loki’s illusions, both with dialogue and the visual allegory of his projections being dispelled by handy thrown objects, culminating in the very sweet ‘I’m here,’ scene at the end of the film. Loki seems to be much more open and expressive at the end of that film, and it seems like a weight has lifted off his shoulders.
But while this new Loki (Loki 2.0? Loki’s Show’s Loki? Loki II? Lokii? Lokii.) is shown a clip show of Ragnarok (one I previously theorized will be deliberately incomplete), that’s quite different from actually experiencing it, and he’ll be as performative as he was in Avengers and Thor 2. Instead of processing that ‘lack of presence’ as he did in Ragnarok, which came about as a result of Thor finally seeing through Loki’s illusions (guess he doesn’t fall for it anymore) as a result of their long history together, I suspect the band-aid will be torn off much more harshly by a total stranger who nonetheless simply sees through him.
Loki in general has a bad relationship with the truth (see the famous Vault Confrontation scene), and literally putting him on trial before the Truth Herself would certainly be enough to get him to switch from this phony expression:
To this one:
That’s not much of a facade there.
It’s not the same character arc as Ragnarok, but it does get us to a similar place, albeit in a darker and less healing way for Loki. I mean Lokii.
Anyhow. That’s what I got out of this thing.
#tva#loki#mobius#mobius m mobius#mobius strip#THE COLLAR#trailer#anaylsis#theory#loki trailer theory#justice truth#verity willis#loki trailer#loki trailer analysis#lokii
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i finallyyyy finished the explanations for my tlb playlistttt so come get yall juice
if you haven’t already seen my first (official) post about this silly little playlist then you are still in luck !!! here is the spotify and the youtube links !!! oh yeah also all of the songs are in chronological order (maybe not by month but definitely by year) because i had to be organized like that sbjhshsjbs
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❥ title
i mean. there isn’t much to explain about it but sbjshbsjhs it’s based on sam’s line “you’re a creature of the night, michael!” of course but i made it plural because this playlist is sort of a. general boys / movie playlist, if that makes sense??? but yeahhhh they’re all littol creechers who love the night >:o]
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❥ paint it, black — the rolling stones
so !!! i was kind of trying to relate it to the boys vampirism and. love of black clothes sbhsjbshjs but no. similar to the title, they. literally live in darkness because of not being able to go into the sun and because of the few lights in the lair but there’s also a sort of duality where being vampires in an internal darkness??? like. each of the boys takes heavy advantage of the benefits of being undead but i can’t imagine it’s without its faults outside of the lack of sunlight and such. i’m sure there’s a kind of uh. monster complex that follows it, especially with the way outsiders view them, which certainly fits with the song’s vibe of being washed with this sort of sensory overload to color and earning weird looks for it
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❥ riders on the storm — the doors
first of all, there’s a giant ass jim morrison poster in the lair therefore the boys definitely listen to the doors (if not idolize jim) so jot that down. but also !!! it has very Them vibes !!! i think the storm effects definitely relate to boys in how storms create a darkness that is soothing in its own way, and comes on strong, just like the boys’ presence. and. technically they Are killers on the road that Will kill a sweet family sbhjsbshjsb but no most of all the !!! “into this house we’re born // into this world we’re thrown” and !!! the found family that the boys have going. like, if you look at. vampirism as the house they have LITERALLY been born into it and been thrown into a whole new world, depending on each other for comfort and pleasure !!! oh also. they ride motorcycles so they’re also literal riders sbhjsbshjs (fun fact, according to genius lyrics: apparently it was the last song jim recorded before he died a few weeks later 😳)
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❥ love her madly — the doors
whole jim morrison poster and listening to the doors reasoning is sustained. HOWEVER for the rest of reasoning… perhaps it’s more straight up 95060 than anything but sbhsjbsshj the whole woman walking in and out of the audience’s life is very symbolic of michael being in and out with the boys, never really deciding whether he wants to fully join them and straining. all of his relationships with that indecision and sitting on the picket fence (those who sit on the picket fence are impaled by it). although, it could also be partly symbolic of that indecision, as he does find Some charm in the boys’ lifestyle and keeps finding himself drawn back enough to even consider partaking in it. also, if you wanna go the parko route, paul loves marko madly enough to go after the frog bros personally for killing him <3
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❥ walk this way — aerosmith
i am. blanking on how to tie it in other than being on the movie’s soundtrack (yes i avoided it and people are strange until the very end of making the playlist, but one of the evils got me clearly— have always ADORED people are strange though). but. i guess you can make the case that the song is full of innuendos and some scenes, like the feeding scene, are lowkey horny sbsjhbshjsbs and YES it’s the aerosmith version instead of the run dmc one because. i prefer this one and it’s my silly little playlist <3
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❥ the boys are back in town — thin lizzy
technically the boys never Left town but !!! *christopher walken voice* Boys !!! them cast ARE crazy and they’re ALWAYS dressed to kill, ready to spill some blood and pick a fight !!! yeah no it’s just a very fun song that i think really works to. represent their crazy lifestyle and infamy around town due to causing trouble !!! and you can almost say that in this scenario star is the girl who used to dance a lot and slapped the shit out of someone <3 just girlboss moments <3
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❥ xanadu — rush
hehehe… this started as the. desire to add more rush to the playlist for my own amusement but the more times i listen to it, the more i’m like “!!! it actually fits”… like. xanadu here is meant to a sort of utopia that’s long searched for, partly BECAUSE of the promise of immortality which !!! the boys have (unless. harmed in one of the ways at the end of the movie) because of their vampirism. like even if we don’t know the exact reasons they got turned, they all still, mostly indirectly probably, sought out that same principle. And the dining on honeydew and drinking the milk of ‘paradise’ is similar to their thrill-seeking tendencies and general enjoyment of being unable to die, leaving them to enjoy their undead lives to the fullest. not to mention, in [b part 2] (as genius refers to it) there’s talk of many, many years passing and waiting for the world to end, which we know there’s been quite a few years in between the boys getting turned and the movie, as well as i’m sure they sit back and wait on Some apocalypse, if not just to watch the world burn. in writing this, i’ve ALSO realized how it can be considered very Michael; he didn’t exactly seek this life out but he found it and indulged, only to be that “mad immortal man” towards the end of the song
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❥ runnin’ with the devil — van halen
i just van halen is neat sbjshbsjsh and would definitely be something the boys would actually listen to hsjbshjsb i don’t Necessarily think vampires are in any way tied to the devil but. here it’d be more like a metaphor of “taking a walk on the wild side” if you wanna call it that; also, they all truly live their lives like there’s no tomorrow (not that they have to worry about death until the very end), have stolen a lot of things just to get by (probably in life AND death), don’t bode well with the ‘simple’ life (likely including the idea of a nuclear family like max proposed) because of it’s lack of pleasures, and don’t exactly have any “love [that] you’d call real” unless you read into the subtext
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❥ hot blooded — foreigner
originally this was going to be another joke about the. lowkey horniness of the boys and the movie as a whole but i’ve realized in writing these explanations thus far and rereading the lyrics that it’s. it’s just michael-centric sbshjsbsh sam is “at the mercy of his sex glands” and so is the audience of both the movie and the song sbhsjbshsj like. michael finds himself attracted to star immediately and tries for two secret rendezvouses, with only one working, and. can be said that he also finds a fever running within him when he’s around david and the boys sbhjsbshjs i just 🙈
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❥ renegade — styx
renegade is my favorite styx song so i just said “fuck it” and added it sbshjsbshj but !!! you can say that, again, the boys live their lives on the wild side and. probably commit enough crimes to warrant dozens of sentences, some that would lead to death row (like, ya know, the. manslaughter) but they manage to get away unscathed. And the law man serving as an allegory to all of the people, including the frogs and grandpa, that want them dead for being vampires, with the bounty to be rewarded being the ridding of their trouble from santa carla
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❥ big shot — billy joel
mikey :o) … ok yeah he isn’t the. silver spoon in hand (nose) type but he’s LITERALLY the type to open his mouth and get himself deep in enough shit that a fight breaks out, potentially bloodied his eyes, nose, and/or fists. i don’t have much of an explanation outside of he is a himbo jock who pulled a “i didn’t know how to talk to my crush so i wrote a note telling them to get out of my school” except he said it with his fist instead of his mouth sbjshbshsj
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❥ boys don’t cry — the cure
pretty sure this is one of the ones i stole off of shovel (@/iswearimavamp) sbshjbshjs but i do love this song in a general sense too. in regards to the movie, like. none of the guys. obsess over masculinity or anything— and both david AND michael cry at different points— so that’s not necessarily an issue. but, there *is* still a lot of hurt and stepping on toes in many of the relationships in the film that can be stretched to fit, i would think sbjhsbshjs
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❥ highway to hell — ac/dc
this and back in black were some of the last two i put on here because i. wanted to make an ‘even’ 35 sbsjhsbshjs BUT, like with runnin’ with the devil, it’s about a devilish lack of care for one’s own life or the “status of their soul” and just doing what feels right or like the most fun, no matter if it lands them in hell or not. and !!! “my friends are gonna be there too” fits with the friendship within the boys’ found family and how they’ll all always be together, no matter what !!!
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❥ back in black — ac/dc
i can’t really think of an explanation that differs from highway to hell so just reread the above sbsjhsbsh
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❥ witch hunt — rush
OK !!! this is the song i’m the MOST excited to explain !!! right off the bat, moving pictures as a whole is an IMMACULATE album, absolutely love it. right so !!! this song literally SOUNDS like it belongs on the movie soundtrack; it has the same overtones and sounds as cry little sister and it’s just !!! and with the title, a witch hunt is BASICALLY what sam + the frogs went on in search of the lose boys, relying on little else but hearsay and catching glimpses at what was happening to michael, “confident that their ways are best” and moving along like a mob of three to get to the bottom of it. “features distorted in the flickering light // faces are twisted and grotesque” is very reminiscent of the faces the lost boys pull when they’re about to attack, and “they say there are strangers who threaten us” is symbolic of them being outsiders/outcasts that make everyone uncomfortable, even if You aren’t going to be their next victim. “the righteous rise with burning eyes” AND “quick to judge, quick to anger // slow to understand // ignorance and prejudice // and fear walk hand in hand” can apply to any number of characters, particularly the mains who are all pitted against each other, the humans fighting for their lives and the vampires fighting for their Right to live, neither taking into consideration the other’s perspective. i just… ADORE this song…
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❥ red barchetta — rush
this one was mainly just because of the car that grandpa keeps in the barn and both sam and michael’s fascination with it sbhjsbsshj and just to get more rush on here shjsbshjsbsh
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❥ maneater — hall & oates
one of the first songs to hit the playlist !!! because the boys eat people !!! they’re the lean and hungry type that only come out at night !!! they’ll be sitting with you but their eyes are on the door and if you want love from them, you won’t get very far !!! the beauty IS there but there are beasts inside that can rip your world apart !!! they’ll chew you up but also leave you begging for more :o)
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❥ hungry like the wolf — duran duran
the second song to have gone on the playlist !!! the boys are always on the prowl for fresh meat (in both the food AND turning senses) and they come alive while on the hunt, blood no doubt rushing through their veins (assuming it still can) !!! and in the movie, michael is the one they’re after for the turning connotation, all wanting a taste of him for themselves !!!
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❥ subdivisions — rush
this rush song actually went on before the others shbsjsbshj but !!! it still fits just as well (certainly better than red barchetta)… the movie all takes place on the fringes of the city, “in between the bright lights // and the far unlit unknown”, and while it’s not exactly in the suburbs, there’s still little comfort to soothe the restless dreams of youth. there IS a drawing like moths into the city, for both the emersons and the lost boys, which is what ends up bringing all of them together, although it starts are cruising for action just to feel the living night. and just !!! NOBODY fits in !!! if you take the movie title as them being Lost instead of an allusion to peter pan, then you get slapped with thinking about what actually makes them lost and how they don’t conform in any way, shape, or form to just about. anything. and !!! the emersons are new, which immediately puts them at a social disadvantage, but they Also don’t seem too terribly great at making new friends in general so !!! “nowhere is the dreamer or the misfit so alone”!!!
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❥ abracadabra — steve miller band
i just love this song for whatever reason. and i think the allusion to magic to very fitting for the hallucinations that david gives michael, putting a sort of magic spell on him if you want to look at it that way. not a lot of silk and satin going gone but plenty of leather and probably some lace in there somewhere ( ;o] ) … also michael DOES heat up like a burnin’ flame whenever his name is called and the situation with the boys just keeps going round and round with no exact end in sight, only the calling of desire
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❥ separate ways (worlds apart) — journey
you would think i would have more journey on here ??? because i love them ??? but instead i stole this off of shovel too ??? it’s fine. time to be back on the 95060 bullshit sbsjhbsjhs we all know david Really wants michael to join them but. michael is reluctant, so that hesitance sets them worlds apart from each other— as if they weren’t already— and there’s still love between them, or at least the bgeinning sparks of it, even if michael refuses to act on them and only keeps pushing david away
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❥ cum on feel the noize — quiet riot
just some boys loving to party <3 some boys with evil yet dirty minds, out of time singing, funny faces, and that have a lazy time <3 yeah no this is one they’d rock out to and someone would probably pull a muscle over because it’s just such a banger sbshjsbsjh
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❥ rebel yell — billy idol
Another stolen off of shovel sbjhsbsjhs also ever since it’s been pointed out to me that david looks like billy idol i’ve just been losing it a little sbhjsbshjs Anyway. they’d definitely idolize him to some degree, even if just for looks, and it certainly fits the way that they. most Definitely let out a rebel yell at the midnight hour if you know what i mean— *taken out by a sniper*
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❥ every breath you take — the police
would to believe to know i took it from shovel (i swear the last three where i say that will be rock you like a hurricane, livin’ on a prayer, and cherry pie sbshjsbsh) BUT !!! the watching every move is yet another. david keeping watch over michael and uh yearning from afar moment, heart aching the longer he’s away and the longer he keeps up this game of not knowing what exactly he wants to do
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❥ handsome devil — the smiths
ok THIS one was lent to me by ej (@/maybe-strawberry-blue) sbshjbshjsbs and let me tell you. this song (especially when paired with this charming man) is Very homoerotic, aka perfect for this movie shbjsbshjsbs like what got me first was “let me get my hands // on your mammary glands” and just. thinking about trans parko sbhsjbshjs but also in general the. “and i would like to give you // what i think you’re asking for” and “a boy in the bush // is worth two in the hand” and just sbhjsbshjs Everything. fits the ambiguous homoeroticism. And i think the boys would listen to the smiths (will elaborate more in the other smiths song explanation)
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❥ panama — van halen
i Told you all i think van halen is neat sbsjsshjb what can i say. the boys like fast moving vehicles, hard partying, and tender loving sbsjhsbhsj also forgot to mention that i think they’d all be :eyes: about pre-1985 david lee roth and i cannot blame
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❥ rock you like hurricane — scorpions
third to last shovel snatch sbshjsbh Here you can replace any one of the boys with the animals mentioned, as they’re always hungry and need to feed… they come out scratching and ready to win, willing to rock anyone who gets in their way like a hurricane— including with lust, depending on the situation
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❥ livin’ on a prayer — bon jovi
i actually can’t even manage an explanation for this one either just because of the song’s plot and how greatly it differs the movie plot <3 however it will stay because shovel said one of the boys (i forget which) would listen to it and friendship is more powerful than my small brain <3
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❥ the queen is dead — the smiths
rightttt so here’s the deal, buds and duds. something in my gut just tells me that david would pull a me and. listen to this entire album on repeat, particularly bigmouth strikes again and i know it’s over when in dramatics bshjsbsjh BUT to make a case for the title track itself, breaking into buckingham palce— or really any major building— with only a sponge and rusty wrench would ABSOLUTELY be an endeavor the boys would get up to And they’d all pale (worse than normal) about finding out they’re the descendant of some royal. “oh, has the world changed, or have i changed” and “life is very long, when you’re lonely” is quite fitting of their immortality, which i can only imagine would leave them questioning how the world has evolved and, although they have each other, i’m sure living forever still can get a Little lonely. And they’d certainly celebrate the death of a royal (because anarchy <3). mostly i’ve just been listening to this song on repeat for days sbhjsbshj but, i think it’s the most. generally related to all of the boys, whereas like. cemetry gates would be more solely 95060
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❥ need you tonight — inxs
my favorite inxs song… technically the 21st century Wasn’t yesterday when the movie came out nor when the song did sbhjsbshjs but there *is* a lot of sweating from desire and aiming to put that passion into use, very blatantly letting everyone know that sbjhsbshjs
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❥ bad medicine — bon jovi
there’s just something so fun about this song… and while listening to it on the drive home, i was thinking about it from a 95060 perspective where. david’s a bit lovesick (hence the love like bad medicine) and the choir of voices in the bg, saying “that’s what you get for falling in love”, would be the other boys knowing he’s gotten himself in over his head over what was supposed to be a minor tease or a small fling (would be a real fun and poppy animatic i think)
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❥ pour some sugar on me — def leppard
legitimately this started as a “haha what about my ‘what if the blood was kool-aid instead’ joke” and then i realized it was. a fair enough fit, especially with the feeding scene. except they’re actual vamps not just video vamps sbjhsbshjs anyway. sugar highs and red hot flames of passion for one another <3
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❥ cherry pie — warrant
ok THIS is the last song i took from shovel and. my reasoning is pretty much the same as pour some sugar on me and. Friendship
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❥ somebody told me — the killers
i wasn’t going to add any modern songs but. i thought it’d be funny if michael had had a girlfriend before leaving phoenix that looked a bit like david sbshjsbshj and then it only just added to angst sbhjsbshj
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❥ you know what they do to guys like us in prison — mcr
i was reminded that vampires will never hurt you exists but. i went with my favorite mcr song instead because. vwnhy is more like ??? a vampire that fears themselves ??? so like. an edward cullen type ??? while ykwtdtgluip is more about the homoeroticism and community ??? i said what i said
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❥ house of wolves — mcr
thank god this is the last song because i’m getting tired sbjshsjshb a little less homoeroticism, a little more general sinning and egotism <3
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Spookyfic Author’s Notes: Ghosts and Heroes and Metaphors
Via Yesterday’s Print
I said I’d do one of these every two chapters, didn’t I? Alas, Life Happened. The irregular schedule continues because this meta about The Ghost and its allegory got really long.
I said last time that the main catalysts for this fic were my brain melting post-semester and Night in the Woods. In the midst of all my NITW feelings, I considered the fact that Shirou would probably hate university. What do you even study, when your dream is To Be A Hero? I doubt the structure of academia would gel with him at all, much to his distress. Kid just wants to be functional, helpful, useful—nothing terrifies him more than the concept of him being useless, being a burden when he feels he owes the world so much. And isn’t a ghost story all about studying fear?
Another catalyst, which really helped to ground this fic when it was just a swirling cloud of “wouldn’t it be fun to write a murder mystery?” thoughts, was a paper I came across during the semester that melted my brain: Men, Movies and Monsters: Heroic Masculinity as a Crucible for Male Violence by Aaron Kipnis. I mentioned it in this post way back in April—as you can see it got into my head and got me thinking about a lot. It was an indispensable piece because it was one of the few I found in my wanderings through the subject of heroism and gender that said hey, listen, this idea that The Hero is always a manly man hurts men as much as it hurts women, though in ways we as a society don’t like to talk about. Kipnis suggests that chasing the ideal of The Hero—imposed by both modern action movies and ancient epic myths—has led generations of men to their deaths, whether in search of glory on a battlefield or as a result of self-harm.
If you can’t live up to the impossible ideal of The Hero, what do you fall back on? Well, you become a Monster of course. Kipnis observes that a lot of male-coded monsters, from vampires to the serial killers in thriller movies, have the same traits we celebrate in Heroes but warped and taken to their natural, nasty conclusion. This idea of The Hero and The Monster, two character types that stand in opposition to each other, being two sides of the same coin was fascinating and honestly kind of heartbreaking to me.
More realistically, though, if you can’t live up to the impossible ideal of The Hero, all you’re left with is a crippling feeling of inadequacy that society has in no way prepared men to deal with. A Hero is infallible, self-reliant, can take down entire armies singlehandedly, and certainly never falters or doubts himself—so in Kipnis’ own words, “Heroes can’t ask for help when they need it.” Someone who aspires to save the world surely has no need to save themselves.
And so we come to Shirou, a boy who Wants To Be A Hero and who has intense survivor’s guilt, trauma, and can’t stand to be a burden on anybody. I said the Most Shirou Line was that part where he says “I’m fine” and then faints, and I wasn’t kidding (there’s a part almost exactly like it in UBW, where he assures Saber he’s okay, and the next shot we see is him groaning and gritting his teeth in pain, hidden in his room)—this is a boy who bites down and buries everything for fear of being a nuisance, and defines his worth in the world by what he can do for other people. It’s a potent combination, and not a healthy one either—thus, the perfect aspect of his character to explore in a story, the most important thing to help him work through for writer and reader catharsis.
And so we come to The Ghost. Now, it is literally his ghost, but it’s also a neat bundle of metaphors for the emotional issues he refuses to acknowledge—like all problems, the ghost gets bigger when you push it away. The only way to “defeat” it is to face it head on, even if it’s scary, and accept that it’s part of you and try to find a way to move forward. He needs some help doing this, and that’s okay. I love that final scene in Part 6 a lot—after five long chapters refusing to cry, he finally lets it all out, lets himself feel those pesky and frightening negative feelings, lets himself say “it’s not okay”. And the people he love just hold and support him and accept him as he is.
Mental health is used as a horror device pretty often, and pretty often it gets exploitative—think every ghost story set in an “insane asylum” ever. I guess I wanted to look at that a little bit (though I’m no expert on the genre beyond what analysis I’ve read of these tropes and what bits and bobs I’ve picked up from pop culture osmosis). The horror element of this ghost story is the physical manifestation of Shirou’s trauma, which is intended to be acknowledgment that it’s natural to be scared of such things. Trauma is scary! Dealing with your issues is scary! The prospect of other people seeing how messy your head is is scary (Shirou is, after all, especially horrified that the ghost would try to hurt Sakura—i.e. he’s afraid that his own issues will hurt Sakura if she learns about them)! But in the end, I hope, the message is yes, these fears are justified, but you can’t keep avoiding these problems. Self-care is not hitting the physical manifestation of your PTSD repeatedly with a baseball bat in a Denny’s parking lot. Self-care is opening up to people you trust, gathering their support, and facing your problems so you can try to start to heal.
Just to show that you don’t have to get entangled in the supernatural to achieve this, we also have the parallel story of problem-facing and recovery with Sakura. The most blessed beautiful irony about these two is that they care so much for each other but routinely dismiss their own needs. I’m very fond of that “Even if you’ll never understand why, I love you” line because I feel like it sums up the way they look at each other: they see the imperfections, the broken bits, the self-esteem issues, and they accept them and try to help each other become better. Along the way, they learn to care for themselves little by little too (as we see in Sakura’s “can I say something selfish?” dialogue). It’s a relationship with mutual support and healing at its core, which is why it’s the emotional centre of this story.
It is, of course, a big ol’ canon parallel that Sakura sees Shirou’s ghost and says “well, that sure is a shadow monster messing up the town. But I still love you. Now let’s go fix this so we can go home and have a hot meal and try to get better.” Shirou needs a superhero of his own sometimes, too.
In the end, The Hero and The Monster are proved to be one and the same… but also, Shirou doesn’t have to be A Hero or A Monster and is allowed to just be Shirou, a sad and anxious young guy who wants to do good. The epilogue is still yet to come and wrap up these last emotional threads, but as of that climactic scene, he’s made the first scary and brave steps to trying to get better. He’s standing in ruins, after all, but they’re ruins overgrown with new greenery and new life.
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The Princess, the Hero, and the Tower
Fantasy Archetypes in The 100 Season 3
Okay so earlier in the hiatus I was part of a long thread discussion about season 3, specifically episodes 303 and 315, where we basically screamed for several pages about the parallels and the similarities of those episodes. In that @raincityruckus pointed out that Bellamy was basically like a hero going to rescue the princess, and someone else talked about Clarke as a princess kept in a metaphorical tower maybe all through 3a, and that of course devolved into more squee over the screen-literal symbolism of episodes 3 and 15. I don’t remember all of that episode discussion, but this week I decided to just take that idea and run with it into a huge scale break down of episodes 303 and 315 as a fractured fairy tale. So… here we are, 2000 words about symbolic storytelling, as well as a tribute to the mythic storytelling that has made this one of my favorite shows of the last three years.
If the tone is a little formal, it’s because I originally was going to submit this to a media site, but I decided it would be more fun on tumblr. This is, as always, just one way among many of looking at the show. Credit to @mego42, @verbam, @thelovelylights, @raincityruckus, @storyskein, @ship-picky, @nataliecrown, @velvet-tread, @alienor-woods, @bellsqueen, @easnadh1, @pythiaspeaks, @awesomenell65, @bellamyslady, and others.
Intro
In looking at executive producer Jason Rothenberg’s whirlwind story, it helps to love classic tropes as much as the show does. Archetypes from speculative fiction, religion, mythology, and fantasy are borrowed liberally. Alongside the well known science fiction stories of evil computers, outer space, and mad scientists, seasons 2 and 3 made liberal use of mythic characters and tropes. The second season told the overarching story of the villagers versus the dragon–or in terms of The 100, the Sky People & the Grounders versus the Mountain Men. It’s a siege and infiltration story right out of The Hobbit, only this time the beast in the mountain is a society of science-vampires, the antihero burglar is a resourceful man instead of a nervous hobbit, and the armies outside are commanded by fierce warrior women. You could even parallel the Sky People to city-dwelling humans and the Grounders to forest-dwelling elves. From within the mountain, it’s a trip down mythology lane with in-world terms like “The Cerberus Project”. The show wants us to be clear that yes, entering Mount Weather equals a descent into the underworld. Beyond plot specifics, major characters and groups have the most genre-specific names that a primetime television series can get away with: Griffin, Kane/Cain, The Commander, Octavia, Cage, Dante, The Outsiders. The 100 loves mythic stories and larger-than-life characters.
If season 2 was a story of alliances against old and terrible villains, season 3 lowers the stakes to a human level. Now our protagonists are facing personal political conflict and the creeping threat of a corrupt false religion. I’ll leave the religious allegory of ALIE’s cult to one side for this discussion, and focus on the story of the Clarke, Bellamy, Lexa, and the classic fairy tale storytelling at work in season 3.
The principal episodes that introduce and close this fairy tale arc are episode 3, “Ye Who Enter Here” and episode 15, “Perverse Instantiation, Part One.” The third and the second to last episodes of the third season mirror each other with three main elements: the trapped princess, the well-intentioned hero, and the tower that separates them. The first version of this rescue fails, the second succeeds. Put another way, it’s twice that Clarke Griffin, leader hero and princess of the Sky People by nickname and by practice, is held in the tower of Polis against her will. Twice this season Bellamy Blake, the warrior hero of the Sky People, leads a team in ascending the tower to get to her. In episode 3 this ends in bargaining, deceit, miscommunication, and unwarranted violence. In episode 15 it ends in fortitude, teamwork, freedom, and trust.
The Archetypes
There’s three parts to the mythic archetypes at work in the arc these two episodes form: the princess, the hero and the tower. Call her Wanheda, call her the Chancellor’s daughter, or call her an ambassador–in the scope of this political drama Clarke fulfills the role of the princess. She spends most of episodes 3 and 15 in literal captivity, at the top of a tower, being convinced that her people are better off if she capitulates to her captor. In the first instance of her captivity Clarke does willingly capitulate, and in the second she doesn’t. If your first instinct in reading this is to point out that by the time Bellamy arrives in “Ye Who Enter Here” Clarke is no longer a captive but a willing participant, that will be addressed soon. In broad terms, Clarke was a prisoner for a week by episode 3, and she remains a prisoner on screen until Lexa’s political bargaining is successful.
Bellamy is the second archetypal character at play. Call Bellamy a prince, a knight, a suitor, or a hero of the realm: he’s the warrior who ascends to free the princess, for ill or for good. In these dual episodes and in the politics around Polis, this is his function in the story. Not for the series as a whole, and not in Arkadia itself during season 3, but for this trope and these events, this is his archetype. I want to note here that I’m not in any way implying that Clarke is not herself a hero–she is, and I’m first in line to scream it from the rooftops–but just that in this narrow analogy, Bellamy fullfills the role. I don���t think it’s an accident that the show itself plays with the “knight” label in episode 311. Aside from showing that they’re aware of the opinions of their fanbase, it’s part of how The 100 likes to flirt with tropes and then take them into new directions. Given how loaded that term has become, and also given that Bellamy can’t really be said to have been raised in any kind of noble class, I like the term “hero” instead, for fairy tale analogies. And you can fight me over the “suitor” label too, but c’mon guys… he raced up a tower to save her twice. TWICE. Boy is probably in love.
The third aspect of this triangle is the tower of Polis. The producers could have given the Commander any type of futuristic structure, mansion, or castle as the hub of the Grounders. Could be a hotel or stadium. They chose a single tower, like the one that imprisoned the princess Rapunzel in numerous paintings and films. Although this tower primarily holds Clarke captive in season 3, it doubles as a sort of political cage for Lexa as well, evoking the similarities between the young women. In fact, it seems to be the prison/grave of a great many powerful young women. When Lexa is gone, the tower holds Ontari next, but she buckles under pressure and throne is swiftly taken by ALIE. As Nightbloods and as an A.I. respectively, Lexa, Ontari, and ALIE are the spiritual progeny of Becca Pramheda, and the imposing tower in Polis is a tribute to her awesome but eogmaniacal legacy.
Episode 303
So there are three ingredients to make up this fairy tale: the princess, the hero, and the tower. Episode 3 of season 3, “Ye Who Enter Here”, gives viewers the first ascent to rescue the princess. Bellamy is manipulated into believing that Clarke and the Sky People’s other leaders will be killed in an assassination conspiracy. He leads a team to sneak into the city, murder the guards, and fight up the tower. They burst into the throne room with the intent to rescue Clarke, Kane, and Abby, but instead discover they’ve been lured here under false circumstances. Abby and Kane are not in danger, and Clarke has already conceded to the Commander’s political bargaining, even taking a willing role to stay as an ambassador.
So why write the rescue in episode 3 to fail? The metatextual explanation is that the conspiracy and near shoot out in the throne room serves to escalate the conflict between the two cities, to drive a wedge between Clarke and Bellamy, to frame Lexa’s coalition as weak without Clarke’s aid, and to show Bellamy’s willingness to commit violence in the set up for his dark tragedy arc for the next third of the season. Bellamy loses two women he loves in this episode; Gina is lost to war crimes and Clarke is lost to politics. Already seen by his friends as someone reacting too emotionally where a threat to his loved ones is concerned, this tragedy creates an opening for Pike to recruit him.
The character reasoning for Clarke in episode 3 is simpler, yet in many ways more difficult for the audience to accept: the princess doesn’t want to be saved yet. At this point of her journey, Clarke is not ready to go home. She has a new plan for her political goals, and the beautiful warlord who held her captive is now offering her an escape from the direct duties of her people. As an ambassador, Clarke can serve Arkadia’s interests from an emotional and physical distance. She is keeping them safe, on the terms Lexa set. It’s a respite from responsibility, packaged in the allure of comfort. If she stays, Lexa will benevolently rule the Sky People as the thirteenth clan, and Lexa will personally give Clarke a place of protection and relief. For someone as soul-shattered as Clarke has become, what a relief that must be.
The positioning of Commander Lexa and Polis is also written in a specifically mythic manner in this episode. First of all, she is presented in all her splendor, so as to portray both her nobility and power (and her great hair care regimen.) After Bellamy’s aborted assault on the throne room, Lexa privately bows to Clarke and vows to protect te Sky People. However, this only happens after Clarke has publicly bowed to Lexa and given the Wanheda’s “power” over to the Commander. Clarke, with the help of Kane and Abby, has effectively conceded her kingdom to Lexa as an overlord. Putting it that way perhaps unfairly takes some of the romance out of it–Lexa and Clarke are romantically entranced by each other, and the intent behind the political union is genuine. Lexa’s personal commitment to Clarke is real. However, that commitment was only given after Clarke submits to her will and hands Lexa the symbolic power of the Sky Peopl. If this episode felt like a political wedding between a princess and a king for the rights to her realm, that’s because it ticked all the familiar boxes of such a story. It was a concession before it was a commitment.
To summarize so far: Clark isn’t ready to go home in “Ye who Enter Here”, and Bellamy’s motives are driven by fear and the manipulation of outsiders. This rescue fails, and the episode ends in a massacre that none of the main characters are able to prevent. It establishes the major players in their respective roles for the conflict between Polis and Arkadia over the next five episodes.
Episode 315
A lot of story happens after this: Clarke and Lexa play out their star-crossed romance, Bellamy, Pike, Kane and Octavia play out their own bloody drama, and ALIE slowly absorbs the people of both cities into her cyber cult. When the heroes of the Sky People revisit Polis in episode 15, completing the circle they began in episode 3, they once again face captivity, traitors, and a dire race against time. “Perverse Instantiation, Part One” becomes the heroic mirror of episode 3. The setup is the same: the princess is imprisoned in the top of the tower and is asked submit to a greater power. Once again that power is personified as a beautiful woman sitting on the throne of the city, heir to Becca Pramheda. While Lexa was assisted by an A.I., ALIE is an A.I. And like Lexa, ALIE believes she is serving humanity best with her choices. Clarke is also in a familiar position: give in, accept the fate that the ruler on the throne wants for her, accede her personal sovereignty. Instead of the symbolic power of bowing, Clarke can give the literal power of the Flame’s password. Instead of the distant threat of war on her people, Clarke now faces the immediate threat of torture and coercion. New words, but the song remains the same.
Yet Clarke is a different woman now: she will not give in to this. She will not consign humanity to ALIE’s rule. Instead of speaking for Arkadia she speaks for all thirteen clans, and she stands her ground. ALIE has nothing to offer Clarke, so instead ALIE attempts to take away what Clarke loves–friends, family, hope. ALIE fails, because Clarke has finally found her inner strength after a season of self-doubt.
It’s all so familiar from here. Once again, Bellamy ascends the tower to save the princess of his people. Once again his group captures the elevator and fights their way to the top. But he’s a different man as well: he tries not to kill his opponents and his success is dependent on the cooperation of his fellows. The warriors who follow him trust him where before they doubted his methods. His mission is in service of all the peoples of the realm—not just his personal fears or the defense of his single community. He is there because Clarke asked him to be, because the threat is real this time, and because they built a plan with their friends and allies to defeat this enemy together.
As before, Bellamy believes Clarke is in danger when the elevator carries him up. But this time he’s right–the princess is trapped, tormented, and they arrive just in time to save her and Abby. Bellamy personally cuts Clarke’s bonds from where she is tied to a post like some kind of village virgin being sacrificed to appease the local monster. Subtle with imagery, this show is not! They stall Jaha and free Abby; they fail to save the puppet Ontari, but the password remains safe from ALIE. Finally, the mirror version of the ascent in episode 3 is complete, this time toward a hopeful end. The hero has reached the top of the tower, the princess is free, and the protagonists have survived against great odds.
“Perverse Instantiation, Part One” ends immediately after the completion of the trope, but in true 100 fashion, just because they defeated the minions and saved the princess, the story isn’t over. Actually, everything is terrible, and we’re all going to die. No sooner does the show wrap up one genre homage than it skips right on to the next: the mythic fantasy arc had ended, and science fiction rules take over for “Perverse Instantiation, Part Two”.
#the 100 meta#the 100#clarke griffin#bellamy blake#bellarke#polis#commander lexa#btw i'm rewatching 315 right now and i still love the roan/clarke/bellamy scene#at the start#epic television
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