Bryn - Tumblr Posts
I Caught Fire excerpt pt.2
(Here’s the other part of this Awakening fic I did. I think I’m going to post my unfinished work here so as not to bother readers on ff.net and ao3 with drabbles)
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“Don’t Leave Me” pt. 2 – He detested the healing tent, for so many reasons. The simplest was that he just couldn’t stand being around other people, especially not the people of the Ylissean League, and a trip to the healing tent meant human interaction was a given. Perhaps on a more complex level (one that he would never admit to anyone willingly) was the fact that medical bays of any sort always reminded him of that tentative transition period after the great war. That time when he had barely been king for a fortnight, when the dead still littered the streets and the sand was red from fresh spilled blood.
While hatred had stewed in his mind and heart, there was no time for revenge. Every temple had been converted into a hospice, but it still wasn’t enough to contain the massive influx of wounded and dying. What could he do other than open the castle up to them, despite the protests of the lords and nobles. What was he supposed to do; let women and children that may as well have been him and his mother, die on the streets? The bourgeois would’ve preferred that, but he had never cared for the opinions of the rich and powerful. That was something Ylissean dogs would do.
The sight of the wounded, with their limbs missing and bones shattered and guts hanging out of them like streamers was never truly wiped from his mind. He’d seen enough of it over the course of two wars- he didn’t need any reason to further humanize these damnable Ylisseans.
Gangrel stood by the edge of the tent, far enough from the cots so as to not be in the way, but close enough that his presence could not go unnoticed. At a glance, it would’ve been easy to assume he was angry, enraged even, the way his jaw clenched as he practically seethed at the woman currently sitting on the only occupied cot. The young woman, her already pale skin an almost sickly gray from blood loss, sat with one arm slightly raised and shaking from the apparent effort of keeping it aloft while the other held her overly large shirt up over her stomach while still covering her breasts (Bryn, like most Plegian women, did not take kindly to wearing small clothes).
A younger, very petite blonde girl donning the attire of a War Cleric was wrapping a tourniquet around her midsection. It was obvious the girl (who’s name was Liz or something) wanted to say something to her patient, but every time she opened her mouth, she froze, before casting a furtive, almost frightened glance toward the man looming over them in the background. Gangrel met every timid glance in his direction with a death glare. He had been silent the whole time, but the look on his face spoke volumes. Eyes forward, girl, before I take them away from you. He didn’t need the silly little chit looking at him when she had a job to do. Finally (he was beginning to suspect the blonde princess wasn’t exactly good at her duties), Lissa tied the bandages in place, getting to her knees as she brushed off her hands.
“There. All patched up.” Her patient smiled up at her, obviously weary, but sincerely grateful. “Thank you, Lissa. You’re a lifesaver.” “Yeah, well, I can be a life taker too, so you’d better actually rest this time if you know what’s good for you.” Bryn rolled her visible eye. “Yes, mother.”
As the cleric left (finally), Gangrel walked over until he occupied the spot she had just vacated, saying nothing as he watched the other woman gingerly lower her shirt, wincing slightly. Heaving a deep sigh, she slumped forward a bit, clearly exhausted.
“Well?” She prompted, not bothering to look up at him. “Go ahead. I know you’re just dying to lay into me.” For a second, he thought of holding back, leaving her to rest in peace… of course, the former Plegian king had the impulse control of a child, and a second was as long as he could restrain himself.
“How could you do something so positively stupid?! You’re supposed to be a master tactician, someone who’s smarter than the rest of us idiots!” “What I did was tactically sound–” she tried to interrupt him, but he wasn’t having any of it. “Does it look like I’m finished? No! Now let me talk!”
“…I’m listening.” The way she looked up at him, guileless and enraptured despite the exhaustion and pallor of her face, took all the wind from his sails. He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He had allowed his anger to fade, and that was his mistake. Anger was easy. Anger was comfortable. The emotions swirling inside him now were new and confusing and they terrified him. Fear, misery, guilt, concern and, yes, a bit of anger, but for all the wrong reasons. Reasons he wasn’t used to. Everything within him now was born of love, love for the stupid, reckless woman sitting in front of him. It made everything he felt more intense, to the point of physical illness. He wasn’t used to caring about anyone, and to suddenly have someone thrust in his life he cared for so much… it was like drowning.
He reached out, brushing the backs of his fingers against the curve of her cheek. She was so soft, but so cold. Not as cold as she had been on the battlefield, but close. “Why did you put yourself in danger like that?” he asked in a tortured whisper. “Trying to beat me to the grave?” To anyone else, he’d have meant that as a joke, albeit a rather morbid one, but with Bryn, it was simply a grim reminder that every second he had with her was precious. That there was no guarantee they would have much more time together. The ever looming threat of Grima already gave him nightmares, he didn’t need the added horror of watching her fall on the field of some inconsequential skirmish.
For a long time, Bryn was silent, but it seemed to be more from the toll her wounds were taking on her than any kind of hesitance. Finally, she spoke up, her voice weak and tired, only emphasizing her words. “Just trying to keep you safe. You’re lucky I was there; if I hadn’t pushed you out of the way, that berserker would’ve cleaved you in twain.”
The truth of her words left a sour taste in his mouth….
He had been so caught up in picking off the undead archers and tricksters that surrounded them that he hadn’t even noticed the silvery glint of the ax that nearly bisected him until Bryn shoved him hard to the side. He’d hit the ground at an awkward angle, twisting his wrist painfully as he instinctively tried to catch himself, but he hadn’t noticed any of that until much later. At the moment, all he could focus on was the woman standing between him and the Fell servant that nearly killed him. That blow, meant for him, only grazed the young tactician, but the razor’s edge of the blade still sliced effortlessly through what flesh it met.
She wasn’t wearing her usual breastplate (it was only a skirmish! The Risen they faced weren’t even that strong!), and her thin clothes offered less than no protection. Everything seemed to slow down as Gangrel watched the bright red arc of blood that followed the path of the ax fall to the ground. It seemed to take Bryn a moment to even realize she’d been struck, but he needed less time than that to get back to his feet. As he held his ever present Levin sword aloft, he could feel his blind rage mixing with and strengthening his magic. The air around them burned and cracked loudly as a bolt of lightning emanated from the sword into the shambling bag of rotting bones and flesh that was the Risen. It could not even howl in agony as it exploded into a (unsatisfying) cloud of acrid purple smoke. Gangrel was sure he would’ve gone on a massacre, probably hunting down Risen and ally alike if only to quell the rage burning within him, had there not been a strained whimper behind him.
He turned, all the anger and hate within him doused by fear as he watched his betrothed clutch at the wound that gaped across her belly, trying to stem the flow of blood that had already dyed most of her shirt and trousers. He dropped his sword at once, not caring that they were still in the midst of a battle, rushing to her side before she fell and injured herself more. It was just a flesh wound, but it bled so much, and she was so pale and cold… How could he have let such a thing happen? He was supposed to protect her, and he had been doing such a good job of it too… Of course, things like this always happened, though usually with less disastrous results. No matter how hard he fought to keep her safe, Bryn always had to jump in and take blows meant for him. More often than not she just deflected them expertly, but the fact remained that this was getting to be a habit…
“I was doing just fine, thank you. Maybe if I didn’t always have to worry about you getting yourself hurt, I could pay more attention to what was going on around me.” The young tactician gaped at him in disbelief. “Oh my gods…. Are you actually trying to blame me for this? I save your life, and you’re trying to blame me for getting hurt?” “Damn it, Bryn, I don’t need you saving my life! I’m supposed to protect you! There’s only one person here who’s life matters, and it sure as hell isn’t me.” That look she fixed him with, that sad, disapproving look, made it feel as if there was a chunk of ice in his throat, choking him.
“…Don’t say that, Gangrel. Please don’t. You know I hate it when you talk like that…” How dare she guilt trip him when he was in the right? It was a disgrace… but it worked. It wasn’t fair- wasn’t he guilty of enough things, things much less noble than loving someone who mattered more than him? Gritting his teeth, he ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair.
“It’s the truth.” He seethed. “You know it’s the truth as well as I do. You are all I have to live for, Bryn. I am nothing without you. If anything were ever to happen to you, let alone because I couldn’t protect you or save you…” He simply trailed off. He knew what he wanted to say, and she undoubtedly did too, but he simply couldn’t put it into words. Not out of fear of making it real, but because there were just no words to describe how lost he would be without her. She had shown him a glimpse of what real life was like for the first time since he was a child. Death would not be enough to stop the pain of losing her.
Bryn remained quiet for a long moment, before reaching out and taking one of his hands into her much smaller ones. Those delicate looking hands were rough and calloused, the fingertips like sheets of ice against his skin. She cradled his hand against her chest, right over her heart.
“I know, Gangrel. You think I don’t know? I live with that dark cloud hanging over me constantly. That all consuming fear that the person you love won’t be there tomorrow…. That you’ll be all alone and miserable again, and what’s the point of even living like that?” He was more than a little surprised to hear her talk like that, given how much she believed in preserving life. She looked up at him, her face a mask of misery.
“I feel exactly the same as you. So how can you not understand why I have to keep you safe?” So many reasons bubbled to the surface of his mind that it took a moment to untangle them all. The main reason was because it was simply too difficult to wrap his mind around the fact that somebody cared about him. Not because of what he could do for them (or to them), but because of who he was as a person. A lifetime of evidence to the contrary made that hard to believe, but here was the proof, that this woman was willing to throw her life away for him. Of course, he couldn’t tell Bryn all of that- despite her best wishes, he tried to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden from her. Bad enough that Emmeryn had seen him at one of his lowest points, Gangrel would rather blast himself in the face with an Arcfire tome than let Bryn witness him having a breakdown. She was still waiting for an answer, though (the tactician did not appreciate rhetoric), so he had to tell her something.
“Because I’m the one who’s supposed to be protecting you! I don’t need to hide behind your skirt, I need to keep you safe.” “But why can’t we keep each other safe?” “Because I’m the man!” He raged, instantly regretting how loud his voice had gotten. The last thing they needed was Chrom running into the tent, Falchion drawn and looking for any excuse to cleave him in half. Gangrel lowered his voice, but still seethed with frustration. “I’m the man, and the man is supposed to keep his woman safe. …what else am I good for?” There was the crux of the problem, it seemed. It was impossible not to feel useless around Bryn- she was just good at so many things (well, not cooking, but she was even working on improving that). She wasn’t the one who needed him, he needed her- he’d told her as much when he proposed. Their relationship was entirely one-sided. And now, she even fought his battles for him… how long would it take for her to realize he was simply a drain on her and walk away?
She was looking up at him, with that same horrible, sympathetic look Emmeryn seemed to have reserved for him alone. Somehow, Bryn’s single eye seemed to concentrate the pity, making it even worse.
“Stop staring at me like that!” he hissed, resisting the urge to cover his eyes. It wouldn’t do any good- he could feel that stare, boring into his soul. “Oh, Gangrel…” she even shook her head sympathetically… which made her next words all the more bemusing. “If I sculpted a man out of Pegasus dung, he couldn’t be as full of Pegasus dung as you are.” “…what?!” She frowned up at him, her furrowed brow and pursed lips looking no less intimidating against her pallid complexion.
“What else are you good for? How about making me happy? How about keeping me sane? How about giving me a reason to keep moving forward when every fiber of my being is screaming at me to give up? Or is that not good enough for you? Would you be happy if I were some weak little noble lady who swooned at the first sign of danger?”
For some reason, a vivid image of Maribelle, with her shrill, grating voice and revolting little parasol popped into his mind. The look on his face was all the answer she needed. Sighing deeply, Bryn lifted her legs onto the cot and gingerly laid down, her face tight with pain. She was silent, but obviously fighting back whimpers, evident by her hands clenched tightly in the sheets. Scarcely thinking about it, the former king reached out and took her hand into his own, squeezing it gently to let her know she could squeeze back. She did as she finally stretched out and, were he a lesser man (like Chrom), he probably would’ve cried out in pain himself. She had a really strong grip.
She turned her head slightly to look at him once more. “I’ve been fighting on the front lines all this time, and I have no intention of stopping until there is no more fighting left to be done.” “What if I tell you to stop? I’m your husband, what if I tell you you can’t fight anymore.” Bryn smiled widely at this, a glint of humor in her dark eye.
“First of all, you’re not my husband, you’re my fiancée because someone doesn’t want to get married by a priest of Naga-” “It’s not because he’s a priest of Naga, it’s because the marriage will be null once we get back to Plegia, and also because fuck Ylisseans and their weird wedding traditions.” Gangrel had already made it quite clear time and again how he felt about getting married amongst the Shepherds. Brides wearing white? No feast? Fuck that noise. The paler woman chuckled softly.
“Well then, until we get to Plegia, you can’t order me to do anything, and even once we’re there, you still can’t order me to do anything because I outrank you- you’re just a foot soldier now, remember?” Dammit, why did he ever say that aloud? But Bryn still wasn’t finished. “And even once we’re married and you’re king again, you still can’t order me to do anything.” “Why the blazing hells not?!” It wasn’t as if he had any intention of ordering her around. He wasn’t one of those pathetic excuses for men who felt like a big shot because they treated women poorly- he could pick on someone his own size, thank you. But he would think that when he was a proper king again that she might hold a little more respect for him, at least… She simply smiled benignly at him.
“Because I’m stronger than you, Gangrel. I can beat you in combat without even breaking a sweat.” “That was a one-time occurrence!” he seethed, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. How could she bring that up now? “All three times? You shouldn’t feel bad, dear- I’m stronger than most of the men in this army. Hells, most of the girls are. We just have a more useful skill set.” “… if you’re still trying to make me feel better about being completely worthless, congratulations; you’ve failed miserably.”
“What I’m trying to do is tell you that I don’t need you putting yourself in harm’s way to keep me safe.” For the briefest moment, the wind was taken out of his sails, but he recovered quickly. Or tried to. “I’m not you, I don’t–” “What, do you think I don’t notice all the times you’ve taken blows meant for me? I have one eye, I’m not blind. Hells, you’ve been doing it longer than I have, I’m ashamed to say. I probably would’ve been killed a while back if not for you, and while I know I should be grateful- and I am, Gangrel, I truly am- it makes me sick to my stomach to see you get hurt in my place. Especially when I should be smart enough not to get caught unawares in the first place.”
She reached out, lightly brushing the backs of her fingers across his side, tracing the faint remains of one of the first scars he’d gotten since joining the Shepherds. It had been a skirmish, much like the one today, the only real difference being that back then, he could barely stomach the annoyingly cheerful tactician who always hounded him. He could’ve easily let that Risen spear her like a fish- he held no affection for her and it would’ve served her right for not paying attention. But he couldn’t. For some reason that eluded him to this day, he had thrown himself in front of her, taking the blow and loosing a decent amount of blood in the process. But honestly, he hadn’t regretted it, even back then. Now, he was thankful for that knee jerk reaction.
Pulling her hand away from his side, Gangrel laced his fingers with Bryn’s. He could just see the glint of her engagement ring (he’d buy her a much nicer one when they went back to Plegia). “If a few more scars is the price to keep you by my side, then I’m happy to pay it.” “I feel exactly the same way.” Bryn said stubbornly. His sentimental mood was crushed with a wave of annoyance and frustration.” “That is so fucking stupid!” “You’re stupid!” For a long time, they glared at one another, daring the other to back down first. Of course, stubbornness and a refusal to admit when they were wrong were two of the things they had in common.
“We are a terrible couple.” He said finally, sitting on the cot beside her.” “We’re probably going to kill each other one of these days.” Bryn agreed, curling around him. “I’d rather you kill me than some Risen’s stray arrow.” “I don’t want you to die in a random skirmish, either. Or ever, from anything.” She sighed deeply. Closing her eye. Her weariness seemed to finally be taking it’s toll on her. “Look, I promise to stay safe if you’ll do the same.” “What?” He was completely thrown for a loop by that seemingly random request.
“What I was saying before before I got derailed, thank you very much, was that I have no intention taking myself off the front lines. And I have a feeling that you won’t stop fighting either.” “Not until you stop or I get the grisly end I was promised.” Bryn opened her eye and glared daggers at him. “Neither of those things is happening. Which is my point. We spend more time fighting each other’s battle’s than paying attention to what’s in front of us. So let’s just try to keep our eyes on our respective part of the battlefield, at least a little more than we do now.” “…you only have one eye, Bryn. You can’t even see the whole battlefield.” “I compensate for that!” She snapped at him. “Stop trying to make excuses to die before me, dammit! I want to grow old together.” Gangrel laughed wryly.
“I never think about getting old.” It was mostly because he never expected to live as long as he had. “Well, you need to start. Didn’t you promise me you’d love me even when I was an old crone?” “Of course I will.” He said truthfully, leaning down to press his lips against her cheek. He’d love her till the day he died, however soon that might be. “I’ll love you no matter how old and gross you are. But I never said anything about me getting old.” A small, but surprisingly strong hand wrapped around his throat.
“Excuse me?” “What? I’m just saying, women get ravaged by age more than men.” “Says the man who already has crow’s feet and frown lines deeper than Wyvern Valley.” “You swore you’d stop making that comparison!” “Then stop making weird faces like that- it creeps me out.” As they continued arguing, any promise of staying safe was long forgotten. It didn’t matter though; it was unspoken, but very clear neither had any intention of letting the other die before them.
So, I did my Fates baby in swim wear, but not my Awakening baby? This injustice will not stand! As soon as I saw that design of trunks/speedo, I knew Gangrel had to have it. I drew him with my Awakening avatar Bryn, who he's married to in all my playthroughs, because I don't really care for Robin, and the fandom seems to want her to be with Chom anyway. Which is just as well, because Robin is a teenager, whereas Bryn is a 32 year old woman who's already making plans to get shitfaced, son.
He totally uses that inner tube like a ring blade.
"Time to... tip the... meh." Behold, Bryn! Or Brynja as she's known in Plegia, to avoid being confused with the heirophant, who is said to be Brynign. She's in her thirties and finds the children in charge of Ylisse to be wholly unqualified for the job (but it's a monarchy, so what can you do?). Unlike Robin, who's hard for Chrom regardless of their gender, Bryn really only stands by him because that's usually in her best interest. The moment the war with Plegia was over, she moved to Ferox, and after the whole Grima business, returned home to Plegia (as it's queen, alongside Gangrel). Despite not remembering it, she's proud of her Plegian hertitage. She herself is nihilistic, but she appreciates that others have more hope than she does. She values material items more than experiences, because experiences are easily forgotten, and carries a thrift store's worth of seemingly useless trinkets and dodads on her person. I changed the default outfit a bit because, aside from the coat, the tactician outfit is very bland and ugly. I wanted her to look like a wandering mage (which she essentially is). The right side of her face is badly burnt, so she wears her emo bangs on that side. She does not have access to every class- her secondary class is mercenary, and her tertiary class is pegasus knight. She's married to Gangrel, and strangely, his own cynicism seems to have made her a bit more optimistic. Lucina is her daughter-in-law, and she absolutely hates that fact.
voidtouched-blue--[Prior]
"Good, good...Keep it still...I'm almost done." The medicus was swift to comment on the rather cruel method of the soldier to keep her obedient. Despite all her wiggling and writhing, the man was able to work well enough to repair the torn sutures. Though, his job hadn't been quite finished. There was still the damage wrought by a careless hand that left a slow but steady bloom of red from the gash on her neck spilling onto the white fabric of the bed. It wasn't enough to leave her dying, but enough cause for repair. "Good as it can be," he glanced at the other two. "I need to examine the one on her neck. Turn it towards me, and do keep it still. I'm sure I don't need to warn you twice what could happen if you don't."
︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
He could see the anger in her eyes, in the way she whipped her head around, trying to get her muzzled teeth into his hand, and unable to as he held her firm, kept her from moving too much, letting the doctor finish the necessary work on her back.
It wasn't easy, without hurting her, the pressure he had to apply to her jaw to keep her head steady enough to make his muscles flex and the Hyur to grunt with exertion as he pressed her head down into the pillow. Normally, he would not have grabbed her by the chin, or anyone really, too easy to get bit, to lose his grip, but with her muzzled, he had better control, especially with a hand on her shoulder and arm to keep her from jerking around as stitches were inserted into her shoulders and back.
What concerned him the most though was the lack of recognition in her gaze. There was no pause, no understanding, just pure, feral anger and hate, and his silver eyes hardened with...sadness. That was what he felt. The tightening in his chest and the crinkle of his eyes, it was painful sadness that he was still viewed as a threat, that he had not yet convinced her to trust him. If only he didn't have a role he had to play, if only he could actually show her...
His gaze flicked to the soldier who he had nearly laid out earlier as he approached, his eyes flickering back to a neutral, uninterested gaze as he let out a huff of air at the advice, almost involuntarily flinching as the soldier just grabbed Cyra's ear and yanked it back, pressing her to the pillow. And her little cry almost had his hand jerking to help her, to give her the chance to swipe at the offending arm and elbow, even as the claws came dangerously close to his arm too. Still, the best he could do, was to shift his hand, palming her cheek and neck, pressing her down into the pillow now that she was better situated to be held down, nodding to the soldier and saying, "I've got her now, she won't move her head like this. Thanks."
And then winced, immediately following it, claws sinking into the arm holding her shoulders still, cutting straight through the cloth of the jacket, into his arms, wet, red blood running down his arm as he gritted his teeth and refused to move his hand, letting her take her pound of flesh as he held her tighter, feeling his fingers press into skin harder, tighter, indenting the blue fur as he grunted with mild pain.
It. Not her, not them, just it. Keep it still. And all Bryn could do was do exactly that, with claws in his arm, his hands holding her down, and his mind running a million malms a minute. He wanted to put the medicus on the short list of people he wanted dead, but he was just doing his job. The soldier beside him though...the way he treated her was enough to make his blood boil, enough to warrant a spot on the list, especially because he knew that if those claws had found the soldier and not his arm, the punishment would have been swift and brutal. There would have been no gritting and bearing with it like Bryn was.
He glanced at the medicus as he finished his work, nodding in agreement as the man ordered them to turn her, and he used his arm on her shoulder to turn her carefully, over, onto her other side so the doctor could get a look at her wound, grunting as her claws shifted in his arm until he had her positioned for the medicus to continue his work, muttering, "Hurry up."
And you muzzle yourself
Forcing your fur to lie flat, forcing yourself to be docile
Yet you are a creature of carnage and ruin
Of bloody jaws and wild eyes and murder, hatred, rage
I see your sacrifices, my dear, how you bow when you want to bite
You restrain yourself for the good of others, and that is a kindness that will not go unrewarded
What sky are you?
Bryn:
Sunrise
no matter how many times you get knocked down, you always get back up. you defy expectations and stay true to yourself. you are a leader - maybe not in a traditional sense in that others follow you, but you've carved out your own path in life. you are kind but unyielding. you have strong opinions and values. there's a part of you that just wants to make everyone else around you happy, but you know your limits - that you can only share what you have to give. you may seem unassuming to others at first but in time they will watch as you grow into something incredible
Kaleh'a:
Overcast Sky
you've built up some walls around you. you're careful with whom you give your heart and your trust. you feel like you're waiting for something, but you're not sure what it is. there's something telling you that there's more to life for you than what you have now. but until then, you're content to let the days pass. you're not in any rush, but some days you can't ignore the sense of restlessness that comes with waiting. you are a calm but intimidating presence
Tagged By: @altosk
Tagging: @13th-dragon-prince @voidtouched-blue @the-crimson-rose @the-sycophant and anyone else who sees!
voidtouched-blue--[Prior]
Of course, the man had no idea he was operating on a limited window. Despite the heavy dose they had used to calm her, she was already feeling control over her body returning. She felt how the stitches tugged on her skin as she tried to move. They itched as she weakly shifted and pulled against the cuffs on her wrists. She growled--well, she tried to growl. What came out of her instead was a whispered grunt as her slitted gaze searched blindly for something. "I'll be back in a few minutes," the man sighed as he left the room.
︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Bryn hadn't denied the anesthetics to be tough, or show off. It was simply because the pain numbing medication would not work in the dosage offered. He held out his arm so the medicus could work on the gash, barely flinching at the prick of the needle, no words needed as the man worked his skilled hands up his arm, until the wound was sealed up, threaded together, and the soldier tested his motion by flexing his arm. It worked, barely pulled on the stitches, and left him with a full range of motion. He had to admit, it was nice and clean, and well stitched, a soft grunt at the words the thanks the medicus got, especially with the more or less order to watch Cyra following right after. "I can watch her..." he rumbled out, approaching the guard he had shoved his gun to, and taking it back, moving back towards the table with a soft sigh as he took a seat near it, but far enough away that he wouldn't have to worry about her claws.
As the medicus left, leaving just Bryn and the other few guards there to watch the wild charge, he couldn't help but look at her laying there on the table and wonder what she was feeling right then and there. Was she hurting? Did she even feel the stitches? Had she meant to nearly kill herself? All questions he couldn't ask an injured and unconscious subject. So he was just left with his thoughts, staring at her as she stirred slightly, and he silently mused over everything that had happened.
Perhaps he did not understand the Garlean way of thinking, their obsession with results over safety. Or maybe he had a soul deep down that did not want to see someone so weak and innocent forced to become something they weren't. It didn't matter. All that did was that he was trapped her just as much as she was, regardless if he could wander the Castrum without chains or collars.
He'd find a way out for them both.
For all of them. Every prisoner subjected to this horror.
Tumblr Tuesday: Julycanthropy
Yes, it's that time of year again. We're celebrating July the only way we know how—by sharing some excellent lycanthropic art from across Tumblr. We hope all (were)wolf-enthusiasts enjoyed the Buck Moon on Sunday, and that you delight in these powerful beasties, brought to you by your very own #artists on tumblr.
(Please proceed with caution if blood, gore, or animal parts squick you out, as there is mild body horror ahead—you know, the kind you might expect on a post about humans morphing into creatures and vice versa.)
@ink-the-artist:
@amphivena:
@cursedbeasts:
@rainsdetritus:
@btlbltz:
@werewolfaday:
@knifecalledlust:
@regular-dog:
@iwasarob0t:
@gritpyre:
@indiigocats:
@woelfin-sheeps-clothing:
@dingoat:
@lavenderspectra:
@celticwolf55:
@the-shy-wolf:
Brynhorn Fiske, refugee, marauder, scout.
Art by the amazing @the-leyline-directory !!
Meet Brynhorn (Bryn) Fiske, an Ala Mhigo refugee who fled his home at 15 to avoid conscription into the Garlean army. He joined and trained as a Marauder in Limsa Lominsa, eventually joining the Maelstrom to help fight back against the encroaching empire and hopefully, one day, free his homeland.
He was on the battlefield the day Dalamud fell from the sky, and witnessed the horror Bahamut wrought on both armies. He barely survived himself, and was arguably a changed man after that horror. He also found himself burdened with a secret, a secret that left him no choice but to leave those he considered friends and lovers, resigning from the Maelstrom, leaving the newly forming Scions, and striking out on his own, to find himself, and how to control the beast inside.
Still, he had close ties with both the Maelstrom and other grand companies, often serving as an off and on scout for them, particularly in the snowy regions between Garlemald and Eorzea. That time is what made him hate the snow, despite his effectiveness in it. At the start of ARR, he is 30 years old, has served in the Maelstrom, and was personally given his rifle and now chosen weapon by Cid Garlond.
Fun facts:
Bryn's rifle is old Allagan tech, designed to draw aether from the user to form a condensed, aether bullet to fire. It was never mass produced since it took too long to form the bullet in a fire fight, but it is more accurate that the Garlean's gunpowder and metal based projectiles, making it the perfect choice for a scout.
When Dalamud fell, Bryn found out he had a bit of a hidden...power within him. Or at least he likes to try and frame it that way in his mind. It makes it rather hard on nights with full moons for him.
Show me your Blorbos!
Hey guys. I'm sick as a dog and don't have the energy to do much rn. Please make my day brighter by sharing pics of your blorbos, whether they're ocs or from a game/show/whatever! And maybe a little bit about them & why you love them? 🥺