#// and if its as accurate as its usually been then

[utilitycaster]

I've been a pretty harsh critic of Dr. Friedman and Polygon's general Critical Role coverage in the past, and while I think her latest article for them critiquing Campaign 3 is a fairly good one, it does in many ways cast an even harsher light on her kid-gloves handling of D20 and WBN. However, I want to talk about these two excerpts, because I think she hits on something I've increasingly noticed in Actual Play:

"This is where Critical Role’s strength — that Exandria often feels like a real, complex world — collided with the needs of a D&D campaign (a clear adversary, clear plans of action, forward momentum)."

and

"But the confused way D&D handles religion and divinity — polytheism as imagined by midwestern American Protestants — turned the question of how to handle this particular cosmic horror into a glue trap, paralyzing the players for dozens of hours of circular existential debates. Gods once mechanized (or digestible) become just another power bloc, and for players used to a system where in the end you are “basically gods,” the line gets blurrier still. And as D&D’s messy cosmology added friction to much of the campaign, D&D’s mechanics also don’t have the necessary friction for the interpersonal beats that make Critical Role compelling."

I agree with both these statements, as someone who, to be clear, enjoys D&D 5e. D&D supports a range of narratives, but all are ultimately a story of gaining power and fighting off or through a series of adversaries; if your characters are not doing that, it raises the question of why you picked a system that gives you few other options. (This is also, I should note, an increasingly loud question when it comes to Worlds Beyond Number; I fell behind for personal reasons after the Coven arc, but Brennan's initial statements about D&D as scaffolding were perhaps too true; almost every interesting mechanic, in a game with minimal combat that has thus far felt primarily focused on how the three protagonists have fundamentally different adversaries, has been homebrewed, to the point where the cosmology and baggage of D&D has felt like a liability rather than an asset).

D&D also has, in part due to such programs as D20, developed a reputation for being world-agnostic, and that ultimately isn't true. D&D does struggle to make the lines between "real divinity", an archfey or similarly powerful entity, and a L20 character feel sharply defined on a mechanical level; once you give a god a stat block, it can be killed (and on a metanarrative level, revealing the gods' statblocks in Downfall serves to make them both immense, yet also more fragile. The hit points are many, but still finite.) There are a number of questions most D&D worlds simply fail to address - and to be clear, this is not a flaw provided you have buy in. A level 2 warlock in D&D is, in most societies, an one-person lethal force unless the entire town swarms them at once, knowing that many of them will lose their lives in the effort; a level 2 warlock PC, however, is almost never, in-world, treated this way, and indeed is framed as an underdog in a harsh world despite usually having the ability to destroy the entire tavern.

D&D has also developed a (not undeserved) reputation as being The Dominant TTRPG put out by a massive corporation, and has developed a (not deserved) reputation as being itself uniquely problematic as a power fantasy, particularly by people who conveniently forget where Pathfinder came from. I've previously covered that, for all people demand non-D&D actual play, the viewership drops precipitously whenever a big AP show that made its name with D&D dares to branch out, and, related to that, I've seen an uptick in people who are excited for D&D to subvert itself. They wanted Campaign 3 to subvert these norms of divinity and heroic fantasy, cheered for it...and ultimately it was unable to do so. I don't think it's accurate to say that D&D's lack of interpersonal mechanics was the problem here, given that Campaigns 1 and 2 (and again, D20) have no such issue; but rather that since D&D's lack of interpersonal/RP mechanics require more effort from the players to initiate, the debates on the nature of divinity in a world and system that could not sustain them sapped any energy for the late-night watch conversations D&D can support when you're not fighting against it.

I think one of the many lessons we can learn from Critical Role Campaign 3 is that if you go up against D&D with an attempt to destroy it from within, your story will instead find itself conforming to the shape of its container, often to its detriment.

[lastfairdealgonedown]

everything under the sun is in tune

summary – in which the quiet moments greatly overpower the present dismay that drives its roots into amphoreus -> aglaea x afab!reader

includes – descriptions of aglaea & reader both being bare (not in the suggestive sense!), aglaea tugged a few strings [get it] to get the reader into the chrysos heirs baths, might not be too lore accurate, rare footage of me writing fluff (expect 10 angst fics after this). reader uses terms of affection commonly used in greek

a/n – got aglaea and failed a uni math exam, merely hours apart. 10/10 use of luck if i may humbly say so myself

In times of great turmoil, it is of outmost importance that all remains under control, and that the citizens remain peaceful. A nation is not defined by its land, as much as it is defined by its people, after all; As such, undoing knots from threads — in this case, Amphoreus — requires as much careful hands, as it requires stable ones.

Needless to say, it is the hands of the Chrysos Heirs that keep said thread stable. They are base and lever, the driving force behind Amphoreus and its saving grace. Their position requires them to be ready to take on anything, anytime, and as self-explanatory as that is, it is also taxing.

So, to remain on point, the Chrysos Heirs, too, must rest, which is a concept that your lover seems to forget more often than not.

Which is why you do your own part in saving Amphoreus: ..by forcing her to rest, of course. After all, who can resist the warm water of the baths? As above as she is from shallow temptations of the flesh, she is not totally immune to them. If not for you tempting her, she would probably work herself to the bo—

Ouch. “My apologies. I did not mean to harm you; Your hair tangles.. very easily.”

Lightly shaking your head, enough to not disturb Aglaea's work in your hair, you dismiss her apology. It's not her fault, after all; You are certain that she did a great job untangling any small knots prior to attempting to braid it. Flawless, per usual. “No, don't worry- It was never one to behave for anyone, not even for me.”

Humming behind you in concentration, your lover shifts to change her position behind you to something that further closes the distance, and allows her to move her arms more efficiently, “Whatever do you mean? It is ‘behaving’ perfectly- Matter of fact, I am already half-way through the braid.”

Huh?

Turning to peer over your shoulder as slowly as you can, Aglaea pauses her movements to allow you to look, gently raising her hands with strands of your hair in-between her slim fingers in order to show you the length of the braid so far. Impressive. You knew her hands were very lightweight and swift, but experiencing it first hand was.. a whole another thing. “Ah, you really are almost done.”

She hears you muttering something to yourself, most likely in shock, as you turn around to face forward again and let her continue her work. “Say, my soul.. When we have enough of the water, shall we bask under the sun, for a few minutes? You can head back to work, after that.”

There is silence on her end for a few seconds, seemingly thinking it over- It's obvious, in how the twirling movements of her hands slow down in your hair, now merely following muscle memory. “Bask under the sun..” she mutters to herself. “I am not opposed to it; I was thinking I could stay a bit more after, as well. There aren't any pending emergencies for the time being-”

“-so we can spend more time together?”

“..Yes.”

With a smile of triumph, you finally turn around to face her when she finishes your braid and ties the end with something that looks almost like a much shorter golden thread, hair whipping forward from the abruptness of the movement. “Glad to hear you're finally taking my offer to rest- It's been.. a while, since we've been like this.”

“That, it has been.” Eyes fluttering closed, a subtle sigh escapes from her nose when you lean forward and kiss her cheek, wet skin coming into contact with hers as you lean forward, hands resting on her legs to stabilize yourself.

In response, the faintest of smiles sneaks into her expression, leaning in and kissing your temple. Aglaea is pleased only by that which is beautiful, and needless to say she is very pleased by what she is seeing. You are beautiful like this; and she will never cease to remind you.

Her hands gently run down your arms, then move to your torso and drift down to your waist, simply admiring. There was nothing suggestive about the way she felt you — after all, she is one for truth, and bareness is a way of truth, accompanied by vulnerability. She is currently true to you, and you are true to her; No threads required.

“You are the epitome of beauty,” she mutters under her breath, leaning in to drift her lips over your cheek, whilst her hands travel up to your face — to cradle you gently, lovingly — as if she is holding the most seamless of fabrics. The corners of your lips twitch up upon hearing her, leaning just a bit closer and resting your hands on her waist to support yourself, legs outstretched behind you underneath the water, “Look who's talking.” you respond, quiet chuckle bubbling up in your throat as your eyes flutter shut peacefully, under her meticulous touch.

The two of you remain there for the time being; She hovers the pads of her fingers over your skin, just about everywhere she can reach, eyelashes occasionally fluttering, and you lean forward to press against her, resting your head against her collarbones. “Comfortable?” You can almost hear the source of her voice, when you're this close. “Very, my heart.”

Her hands drift up your spine, then down, and up again; Dragging her fingers slowly. She does not need vision to know the perfection of your skin. She knows you by presence alone, the way the air shifts when you're around, how the threads tied around her careful fingers tug a little more, almost eagerly. She may not know you by vision, but you overwhelm every other sense she has, to the point it is all yours.

To think that peace is eternal, frankly, is daft. In a world where our fate is what we are allotted and nothing more, it is not exactly easy to shake the balance and certainty of the threads, for such is our lot; If peace is to end and be replaced with turmoil, we are powerless against it. Nevertheless, many take it as a welcome challenge to try and shake the threads out of spite for fate's ruthlessness, seize them into our hands vehemently and alter them, cut them if we must and ultimately tie them elsewhere. That, is exactly why your hands tighten on her waist slightly when she moves to get up.

“Where are you going?” Her hands drag a bit against your skin as they withdraw, before resting on your shoulders and guiding you to sit up in the warm water. She is loath to make you get up when you are so comfortable, but you are too easy to predict, "You are falling asleep; I was merely about to fetch the towels and dry ourselves up, before heading back to our chamber."

With your head lulling from side to side and desperately trying to remain awake (and failing), you deny her claims and wave your hand dismissively, "Falling asleep? Me?" you pause, biting back a yawn and covering your mouth, "Don't know what you're talking abo- Did you just tighten the threads?"

"Attempting to lie to me is futile, you know this."

Chuckling, you force yourself to stand and cover yourself with the towel she hands you, tying it around your torso and humming, movements slow, prolonged and relaxed, "Oh, I know very well." You watch as your lover takes her sweet time getting dressed, adjusting her chiton on her shoulders and fitting her golden accessories around her arms, "Say, my heart.. have I told you you're beautiful today?"

The corners of Aglaea's lips twitch into a smile, "You did, just this morning." Adjusting her hair accessories, she makes her way to where your clothes are, neatly folded close to hers; She still remembers the love and care she put into this specific piece, when making it for you. She truly wishes she could see how beautiful you must look donning it, but for the time being, touch will have to do.

Making her way to you with your clothes in hand, she hums and stops right in front of you, "Now, let us get you dressed, and be on our way."

"Yes, love."

[ladylokianna]

You will be me.

Characters: Targtowers brothers, but mostly Aemond (quite OOC). Warnings: 18+, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, mention of child death and child trauma, mention of death, sleep paralysis and panic attack, Aegon being a good brother and a good husband. Aemond a bit softer than usual, but I'm a softie for his soft side even if this is buried deep within him. Notes: I had outlined this little fic a month or so ago but it had been lying silent in my work in progress folder for a lack of inspiration and because I'm currently absorbed by another Hotd project. Except that a message from @lyssaelisa [this is for you, btw 💙] about Aemond's supposed (and perhaps nonexistent) uncle-like inclinations led me to pick up the draft again and torture this poor wretch some more just because I can.

PLEASE DON'T REPOST and please be gentle, english is not my first language and I'm quite rusty.

Words:3515 (also on AO3) Dividers: as always, the dragon divider belongs to @zaldritzosrose the thin green dividers belongs to @targaryen-dynasty

The shield creaks under the pressure of the spiked mace before shattering into several pieces with a sharp clang: he raised it at the last moment, just a second before the blow vibrated by Ser Criston landed on his skull instead of on the wooden shield.

He gets up quickly, furiously throwing what remains of the shield to the side, noticing the chattering and astonished exclamations of the courtiers observing his daily training only when the ringing in his ears finally subsides. In addition to the astonished gaze of the spectators, however, he notices that the attentive gaze of his mentor is also upon him.

"You are not focused." 

Criston's voice, stern but veiled with concern, comes to him muffled, distant, as if he were speaking to him through a wall.

"...what?"

"That blow could have killed you. Whatever the distress is, you must keep it at a distance when you have a weapon in your hand! Need I remind you that we are no longer playing with wooden swords?"

No, there was no need: for him the time for childish games has been over for years, though perhaps it would be more accurate to say there was never a time for him to play. "I don't know about you, Ser Criston, but I have a very different idea about play." he replies coldly. He politely declines with a nod of his head the shield a young page is handing him and grabs the sheath of his sword leaning against the wall, placing the weapon back in it as the chattering stops abruptly. "We are not done." "You are not, I am."

He walks through the courtyard with wide strides, returning into the castle and ignoring anyone who stands on his path, to lock himself in his rooms, locking every access.

He does not want to see anyone.

He does not want to hear anyone.

He ignores Ser Criston who has reached him, he ignores his mother, he even ignores Aegon who is trying to figure out what has gotten into him.

They are all outside his door, but he answers to no one.

He has been staring at the ceiling and its elaborate patterns for a while now: physically he's in that room, but with his mind he is wandering elsewhere. To the beach at Driftmark where it all began, to Vhagar's reaction above the skies of Storm's End and Daemon's retaliation, to Helaena's tears and Aegon's shattering rage. Perhaps they don't say it openly, no one dares, but somehow he knows that he is the one everyone blames for the massacre.

An unpleasant taste of acid rises up in his throat, and the burning sensation that follows brings him abruptly back to reality: he suddenly recovers, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand and only then remembering that he is not in his quarters, but in Sylvi's personal room at the brothel. There are no secret passages left open, no stolen coins, no more stench of piss and garlic of whoever tried to kill him.

"...Aemond?"

He averts his gaze from the ceiling and lays it on Sylvi, then observes, somewhat angered, how his body has decided to betray him despite the fact that usually the mere thought of her soft, welcoming forms is enough to ignite his senses.

"Sorry." he mumbles as if to apologise, resisting the urge to reach for the sheets to cover himself.

He feels Sylvi's warm hand moving up his thigh and stopping just above his groin, her lips brushing his stomach: she smiles at him understandingly and brings her hand back between his legs, trying once more. In vain.

"That's enough." he stops her gently, and Sylvi lies down by his side, waiting.

"What troubles you? If you wish to talk, I am willing to listen." she tells him, stroking his cheek affectionately. That touch reminds him of the first time he was in that room, of the thirteen-year-old boy he was and how understanding she was with him, to the point of lying to Aegon. If he got close enough, he would immediately remember the scent of her skin: a mixture of refined oils and something he can't describe but has always found soothing. "You're safe here."

It would be good to believe it, and the thought is so tempting. But if it was that easy for two henchmen to make it undisturbed all the way to the royal quarters of the Red Keep despite the guards, they would find no obstacle there.

"You can stay, you know."

He would do it again if he could. To remain all night, to abandon himself to her attentions and not think about anything, to let her take care of him. He shake his head and got out of bed, quickly dressing himself and handing her a bag of coins.

"... I think you are mistaken, my prince." says Sylvi. "I have done nothing of what you expect of me."

"Take it." he tells her, waiting for the woman to take the pouch from his hand: he has never treated her like a whore, never liked the idea of treating a woman as he has seen many other clients do, who humiliate brothel girls by throwing their fees on the bed, or worse on the floor.

Every woman is an image of the Mother...to be spoken of with reverence.

Sylvi gives him a smile and a nod, grateful, and looks at him as he adjusts the patch over his missing eye and the sapphire that fills his socket; somewhere in him still lives the tender, awkward little boy she met years before.

"Hmm?"

Sylvi's clear, intense eyes conceal something he can't recognise, and he doesn't know either what he hoped to find from her that evening, whether closeness and understanding or the temporary oblivion that pleasure offers.

"Thank you." was Sylvi's reply, in a whisper.

"That's fine, no need to thank me." he simply responds, before pulling the hood over his head.

Jaehaerys' bed has already been removed, as if that child had never existed.

But he has seen the blood-stained sheets, he has seen the mattress soaked in his nephew's blood, he has seen the horror of that night in Helaena's eyes, and in the fury with which Aegon tortured the slaughterer. He still has in his nostrils the sulphurous smell of Sunfyre's flames and the acrid, unnatural smell of a burning human body.

He stops at the threshold of the room, uncertain whether to enter or not: two grieving parents, one in the other's arms, Aegon's eyes red and veiled with grief.

Helaena's, dull. She merely remains motionless in Aegon's embrace, not reacting as he strokes her head, her hands entwined on her lap.

"...I wanted to spare you that procession but they didn't listen to me. Say something Hel, please. Come back to us, we need you."

He moves a step backwards determined to leave them alone not knowing quite what to do or say, and it is then that he felt two small hands grasp his: he lowers his gaze to meet Jaehaera's bright eyes, and in those eyes he reads too many questions he does not know how to answer because he knows there is no answer.

She gestures for him to take her up in his arms and he does so without hesitation, holding his niece close to him.

"What's wrong?" he asks her, without however receiving an answer, but only a glance and a caress on his cheek. A second later, Jaehaera takes his face in her small hands, resting her forehead against his. "Are you unwell?"

He does not dare to ask her if she is afraid, for he feels it: there is a tremor in Jaehaera's slender little body that is impossible to ignore.

"She no longer speaks, Aemond." Aegon begins. "My little girl doesn't speak anymore."

She hasn't spoken since that night, he explains to him shortly afterwards, ever since she saw the two men in the room and heard her brother die. Orwyle did all he could to help her, but certain mental pains are not as curable as physical ones.

Suddenly Jaehaera spreads her arms as if to imitate a pair of wings, and touches her chest.

"Morghul is still a little puppy, sweetheart, he's not yet ready to fly." Aegon interjects. But Jaehaera shakes her head, pointing a finger at Aemond's chest and redoing the same gesture with her arms. "You want to fly with your uncle?"

He looked at Aegon, then nodded approvingly, but waited for Helaena to give her permission with the child still in his arms.

All the way outside the royal chambers, Jaehaera does not take her eyes off him: she does not know it yet, but there is so much of her mother in her. The affection he reads in their eyes, the trust they put in him, their innate gentleness.

"You never flew with Vhagar before, didn't you? No, of course you didn't. She's huge, but she's good, you'll see."

When they arrive at Vhagar's, Jaehaera stretched out both arms towards the dragoness, giggling the same moment his majestic beast turns her head to look at them and let out a snort.

"Rytsas (hello), old friend." he smile, putting Jaehaera down. "Careful sweetling, let her sniff at you, there's no need to be afraid."

Soon, however, he notices that there is not an ounce of fear in her eyes: she lets Vhagar sniff her and then reaches out for her again, wanting to touch her.

"Give me your hand." he tells her, laying her little hand on Vhagar's muzzle and covering her with his own. "Can you feel her warmth? Yeah? You will feel Morghul's too. Look, she's watching you."

That ill-fated night had left a deep mark within her. Yes, the Red Keep was no longer a safe place -if it ever had been- and lately all it took for Jaehaera was a louder-than-normal noise to make her tremble with terror, but not with dragons. Never, with them. She must felt safe because unlike men, dragons were never purposefully evil.

"You are still too young to understand what I'm saying, but you're going to have a very strong bond with your dragon, Jaehaera. No other beast will understand you as thoroughly as Morghul will do with you: not a dog, not a cat. Nothing but your dragon." he say. "It will be beautiful, you'll see, beyond any imagination."

When he gets up again, he notices that Vhagar's eyes are now on him, and that she is looking as if she wants him to understand something.

"What? Come on, old girl, I'll take you to stretch your wings."

When he lifts Jaehaera onto the rope ladder, he assures her to stay calm because if she ever slips, he will be ready to catch her.

"Remember to fasten yourself to the saddle when one day you'll fly with Morghul, hm?"

She nods at his words, then leans forward, holding on to the saddle straps as her father had already shown her when she rode Sunfyre with him, leaving the handles free.

"Do you remember the command? Yes? Do you want to say it for me?" he asks her. Jaehaera looks at him, but remains silent. "That's okay, hun. You'll say it next time."

It took him a couple of moments to notice the figure next to his bed: he quickly grabs the dagger he keeps under his pillows and draws it, ready to strike a slash without a second thought.

"Jaehaerys!" he exclaims relieved, lowering the blade. "What are you doing here? You should be abed."

The nephew stares at him for a long time, without uttering a word.

"Are you alone?!" he asks him, stupidly. It is not that difficult to get lost around the Red Keep, especially for a child of his age, unaccompanied by anyone. "Did you get lost?"

He made a mental note to himself to point out to the nanny that she should pay more attention and prevent children and especially the heir to the throne from wandering around the castle without proper supervision.

Jaehaerys stretches out a small hand towards him, continuing to look at him insistently, letting him know that he is not there by mistake, he has reached his rooms on purpose.

"Let me accompany you back to your room." Aemond sighs, pulling the blankets aside and slipping on his boots. Jaehaerys takes his hand and guides him out of his rooms, through corridors plunged in darkness. Although he knows every corridor, every passageway, every inch of the Keep like the back of his hand, at some point -and he couldn't even say when-, Aemond loses his orientation, allowing himself to be led into an unfamiliar room illuminated by the faint light of candles and filled with the smell of beeswax and essential oils.

"Why have you led me here?"

The child points the table at the other end of the room, on which the veiled figures of the Silent Sisters, that he only seems to notice at that moment, have prepared a body awaiting its final journey. Inside a basket, beside the table, a sack stained with blood. And then, apart the smell of wax and oils, he could smell the metallic stench of blood and the darker one of death.

He still remembers when Daemon beheaded Vaemond Velaryon in the throne room, during that pathetic hearing, he remembers the strange and disturbing sound of Dark Sister making her way easily into Vaemond's flesh, he remembers the pool of blood on the floor and Helaena's horror-filled gaze: those moments, she confessed to him one day, often haunts her.

He took the hem of the cloth and lifts it slowly, discovering that the body lying there is too small to be the one of a man of the same size as Ser Velaryon, and Jaehaerys nods, as if to induce him to discover who is hiding under those bandages.

Seized by a strange sensation he obeys, drawing his dagger and unhesitatingly cutting through the bandages enveloping his head until the face of the body is revealed.

No, it was not Vaemond Velaryon, summarily executed for speaking a truth known to all and feared by his half-sister, but Jaehaerys.

He lets his gaze wander only a moment over Jaehaerys' pale little face before turning his head away, lest he should look at his coarsely stitched head, his bloodless lips and his features contracted into a perpetual grimace.

"No." he murmurs. "No, Jaehaerys, no. It... it can't be."

He was standing there beside him, they had just walked together. A couple of days before, they had spent an entire afternoon in the gardens, keeping Helaena ad Jaehaera some company.

"Don't pretend to be sorry, Uncle. Now look. Look at me." his nephew tells him, in a commanding tone and with words that for obvious reasons still don't suit him: something prevents him from looking away, and all he can do is standing there, looking at the corpse of an innocently dead child. "Look at what your actions have led to."

Admittedly, he had never been good at expressing his feelings, but the Gods knew that deep inside him he still loved those children.

He looked away as soon as Jaehaerys allowed him to, feeling his head heavy and his heart about to burst in his chest.

"Are you not satisfied, Aemond?" and it is his voice that is speaking to him. On the table, instead of Jaehaerys, is now him. The bloodless lips are his, the milky eye his, the pallor of death is on his skin. "One less obstacle in our path. One less."

"One less?" he repeats.

The corpse rises from the table and slowly gets closer, until he smells the revolting stench of its rotting flesh and looks into that vitreous eye. Its clothes are ripped and dripping with water, as is its hair, which seem entwined with what looks like... seaweed? In the left orbit, instead of sapphire, blood encrusts.

"Stay away from me!" exclaims, drawing his sword, and he receives in response a guttural laugh that vibrates deep into his gut.

"Your sword won't do you any good. I cannot stay away from you, Aemond, and you cannot stay away from me. I was you, and you will be me."

He swings the sword without a second thought, plunging it through the corpse or whatever that thing is with such vigour to sinking the blade to the hilt.

"Apparently you keep acting without thinking first..."

"I want the crown, but I never wished Jaehaerys to die!" he hisses, twisting the blade over and over as if to emphasise the point.

The other leans towards him.

"Keep telling yourself that. But we both know your heart is blacker than death." he whispers in his ear, laying a hand on his chest.

Aemond feels himself being pushed backwards,unable to put up any resistance. One step after another until the other pushes him sitting down.

He is in the throne room now, sitting on the seat that belongs to Aegon.

"This is what we crave, Aemond. This is what we long for. We are the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, we, who trains with the sword, we, who rides the largest dragon in the world. We should sit here. We earned it."

His reflection places the Conqueror's crown on his head and takes his face in its hands.

"King Aemond Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. This is what you long for. The throne, the crown, the power. Take it, Aemond. It's ours. It's yours."

Panic takes very few moments to take hold of him: he is awake, his eyes are open, but not a single muscle in his body responds to his commands. He feels his limbs heavy and wants to move and scream, but he cannot. He is trapped in his own body.

One less, Aemond.

Those words are echoing in his head in a kind of horrendous lullaby, and his body, already drenched in sweat, begins to shake violently. His breath is short, his heart is pumping like that first time he flew over Vhagar.

This is what you long for. The throne, the crown, the power.

Take it, Aemond. It's ours. It's yours.

He is no longer in the throne room, he is no longer in the Silent Sisters' chamber, but everything is whirling madly and the ringing in his ears intensifies as the seconds pass.

Is he about to go mad or is he about to die?

When he manages to move his legs again he gets out of bed, but his head throbs so loudly that he can no longer keep his balance and is forced to his knees, his hands pressing on his ears.

He catches his breath realising that he has been holding it involuntarily for several seconds, then he screams with all he had left in lungs: all the pain he has had to swallow and hide since he saw Jaehaerys' head in the sack and, afterwards, his funeral pyre.

He knows there is no time to call for help, and even if there were, who would ever come to his rescue?

Not his mother, that he has disappointed.

Not Aegon, that he should have supported.

Especially not Helaena, that he should have protected.

He will die there, on the floor of his rooms, crushed by the weight of a guilt that no one will ever be able to quieten.

I couldn't have... I couldn't have...

He keeps repeating it, his voice so faint that it disperses among the frantic pounding of his own heart.

He doesn't hear the door to the secret passage opening, nor the rustle of robes, but he still trembles uncontrollably even when he feels the warmth of two arms holding him and bringing him back to reality: it is Helaena, he recognises her by the affection she usually shows him, by the way she holds his head against her shoulder and brushes his damp hair away from his sweaty forehead.

"I'm sorry." he moans, without strength.

"It's not your fault."

"Let the Stranger take me." he adds clasping his dagger to his chest, when Helaena pulls him away to dive her worried gaze into his. "Let me… let me go..."

Helaena just hold him, but Aegon is everything that gentle. He tore the dagger out of his hand and slaps him twice on the cheek, grabbing his chin with rage and forcing him to look at him. In his eyes he has a burning look.

"Look at me, you twat. What the fuck were you thinking? Try it and I'll kick your arse all the way from hell, you hear me? Don't mess with me, Aemond. Whatever it is, don't you dare give up. Get your shit together, that Dragonstone cunt has to pay and I fucking need you. Because it's not your fault."

It's not your fault.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Ellipsus is great! It's a writing app, similar to Google Docs but without the AI. You can organise your writing into folders, it's free, and you can access your writing from any device via an app or web browser. To login, they send a code to the email you use to create an account, and whilst the content is stored online on their servers, they do not use your writing for training AI and are VERY anti AI in general. It's still in beta, and all features are free, but I believe a paid version is slowly in the works (but that everything currently available will remain free)

Here it is on my phone!

I have a LOT of writing on here, it's helping me keep track of my fanfic, work stuff, and upcoming uni stuff. Everything is easily organised into labelled folders!

It has lots of formatting options eg text formatting etc, just like google docs, different modes (dark, light, and a few others), the ability to create drafts, gives you an accurate wordcount, and you can upload direct to Ao3 which is frikking awesome. New features are also being added over time too.

The icon in the corner tells you if the work has synced, which usually happens within seconds, meaning you can access work from multiple devices- or share and make edits with multiple people (I haven't tried the latter yet, but its a great feature for beta editors!)

All in all, a brilliant alternative to Google Docs!

They have a page on here; @ellipsus-writes

And no, I'm not remotely being endorsed to say any of this, I just genuinely use Ellipsus every day and it's been absolutely perfect for what I needed.

Probably worth noting I'm migrating from Obsidian, which whilst it's very useful and does have a lot of things Ellipsus doesn't (eg. Linking documents, making flowcharts, the visual graph of all files, plugins etc), the ability to edit from any device was lacking on the free version of Obsidian, and after an unfortunate bug with the links wiped an entire finished but unposted chapter, I stopped using the few Obsidian specific features I was actually using in favour of something simpler but more reliable. Now Obsidian is great for many and it's no slight on them that I'm moving from it, just wasn't suitable for me personally, but I do still use it for other things.

Hope this answered your question!

[serpentface]

Do psychotropic drugs and/or ritual play a role in any of the blightseed cultures? A pretty broad question, lol

Yeah that’s a very broad question, the answer is about as much as it tends to play roles in real history. Alcohol is pretty ubiquitous (outside of cultures that abstain from intoxicants) and used for a variety of purposes, opioids are commonly used in some parts for pain relief or recreational purposes, stimulants (usually in mild, natural forms) are used to provide extra energy, and hallucinogens are most commonly used as part of a larger religious framework (rather than for recreational purposes). Any more elaborate answer kinda has to be case by case in a certain culture or part of the setting.

I'll just take this as an opportunity to talk about the one established sect that pretty much REVOLVES around psychoactive use. This is the Scholarly Order of the Root, which is a sort of mystery religion + elite community of scholars who currently occupy the Ur-Tree and its forest in the far southern Lowlands (southeast of Imperial Wardin, on the same land mass).

The Ur-Tree is the obligatory Huge Fucking Fantasy Tree (and its surrounding forest). It’s a mass of vegetation about a mile tall and almost as old as Plant Life Itself, its upper branches are primeval plants, which become more modern the nearer they get to the ground (and each 'level' holds tiny ecosystems, some containing descendants of LONG-extinct arthropods/other small animals). Its lowest branches and the surrounding forest are contemporary plant life, and all is connected and protected by an incomparably MASSIVE fungal mycelium network (which is itself a living god).

A lot of the Scholars' more secretive practices revolve around experimentation with substance use with the goal of expanding the Mind and transcending the body to fully connect to the Dreamlands, and they have a supply chain of traders and mercenaries called Rootrunners who traffic substances into the Lowlands. Most of their psychoactive use is in a very intentional capacity and not just like, for fun, but a LOT of them are just straight up addicted to cocaine (in the form of alchemically refined bruljenum, which is used for practical purposes of its stimulant effect during long hours of work).

All known psychoactives are desirable for experimentation (particularly hallucinogens), with each having properties that either allow expansion of the Mind, transcendence of the body, or outright divine communion. Their effects are logged in great detail and interpreted to form the basis of the Scholars' understanding of the natural world and reality itself.

The most important substance is Ur-Root, which is root matter from subterranean levels of the Ur-Tree that have both their own intrinsic psychoactive substances and a very, very high concentration of living god mycelium. The tree root contains DMT and the mycelium has its own wholly unique effects (being an actual living god). They alchemically refine it into a purer, more potent form, and use it to expand beyond the body and directly commune with the Giants, a group of entities they have identified as the only true gods.

An Ur-Root trip starts off with minor visual distortion, which turns into shifting fractals that slowly obscure the vision. Eventually the senses are entirely taken over by a 'tunnel' of rapidly shifting fractals and geometries. In a complete trip, the experiencer gets a sense that they have been pushed through a membrane and entered another realm, finding themselves in a distinct experiential Space.

At this point they may encounter entities which communicate to them in a language impossible to describe but wholly understood. These beings are understood to be the Giants, or at least aspects of the Giants that mortals are capable of comprehending (they often take familiar tutelary forms of the Mantis or the Snake, or appear resembling the same type of sophont that the experiencer is, all composed of ever-shifting geometries). The experiencer often feels a sense of unconditional and endless love from these beings, though the Giants may be more hostile and may appear in the form of the Trickster (usually a cultural figure regarded as malicious, be it an animal or otherwise) in a bad trip.

(^Up until this point, this has mostly just been a DMT 'breakthrough' experience ft. 'machine elves' and the like).

They are then removed from this space and returned to something that feels like the real world, but is nearly unrecognizable. They have a sense of rapidly moving through time, and will usually see 'the spires' towards the beginning, which just so happen to look like this:

(source + some context via Implication- the spires are exactly what this art is depicting)

The experiencer continues to move across an unfathomable amount of time, occasionally 'seeing' other such flashes of unfamiliar landscapes and creatures, and yet also being devoid of all their senses, the 'seeing' is pure, unfiltered experience. There is a sense of interconnectedness with all life, and that one has become the forest (or even Life) itself. The sense of time is wildly distorted, the trip lasts only about 5 minutes but feels like an eternity and is understood as literal hundreds of millions of years.

The experiencer has usually lost any remaining sense of Self and individual consciousness during this phase (in which case this time distortion is usually a neutral or even peaceful experience), but some retain a fraction of their identity, and find themselves trapped and conscious while experiencing what feels like eternity (which can be LIFE-CHANGINGLY distressing, even after the fact).

(^This latter part of the trip is the effects of the Ur-Tree fungus).

The trip ends with a sense of rushing through the ground and back up into one's body, at which point they will abruptly return to their senses and consciousness. The details are then immediately retrieved via interview and recorded in immense detail. The whole experience is understood as having been full comprehension of the Dreamlands, communion with the Giants, and then a tour through the act of creation.

This is done as part of the initiatory practice into the inner mystery-religion of the scholars, and as needed for study by high scholar-priests. It is not taken lightly, both as it is absolute communion with the gods and reality, and in that it can be a very, very difficult experience. People who have gone through this often walk away with a permanently shifted perspective, often in a positive and/or comforting way- a sense of interconnectedness with all life, a peace with the concept of death, seeing less of a point in individual ego and the concept of Self, and comfort in the sense of divine love they (may have) experienced. This heavily influences the philosophy of the Scholars and has had effects by proxy in the religious worldviews of the region.

Details of this experience are closely guarded, and initiates are given absolutely no prior knowledge and expectations for their trip. This is seen as a necessity- their naivety will allow for a true, unfiltered experience, and can be used to gauge whether they should or should not be accepted. Those that have a distinctly bad trip upon initiation may be assumed to have been 'rejected' by the giants and thus denied full priesthood, though this largely depends on How they interpret their distressing trip- those who identify this as a test and harsh lesson in a journey to enlightenment may be accepted (as this is how fully initiated scholar-priests interpret and handle their bad trips).

This inner priesthood is only a small fraction of the Scholarly Order, and its greater function is as a hub of education and repository of knowledge, and Scholar-trained doctors can provide some of the best medical care available in the setting ('best medical care in this setting' only means so much but it's pretty solid, relatively speaking). Only a chosen few Scholars ever get to commune with the Ur-Root, and most of the divine secrets revealed in the process are kept hidden (though they indirectly influence the politics and worldview of the entire order).

[hydraposeidon]

I've been rethinking about Scooby Doo Mystery Incorporated because that show is amazing. And I've realized that Ricky's character arc isn't talked about nearly enough.

Ricky has the biggest change. He starts as someone giving hints to help them out, and then it slowly becomes evident hes using them and then trying to steal their pieces and destroy them...

Which he was doing to protect them from Pericles, who will smooth talk them and crush them far worse than Mr. E ever could.

And then he works with Pericles to find the treasure before hating how Pericles is destroying everything where he is tortured into being a puppet and his closest/only/girl friend Cassidy is killed. And then he's just arguing against the villains and refusing to commit murder, but still being a complacent pushover until the final episode. He even comments on this when Marcie dies, how She expected more from him, and he did too.

Once it all goes down, he runs away and hides while the gang try to save themselves. Once they get captured, he finally stands up for who he wants to be for what he wants to protect, for what he wishes he had done before. He picks up a sword and decides to fight. He cuts down a robot and charges Pericles, telling the gang to run because it's too late for him, but they can still fix things.

He knew it was too late, not because he was grabbed, but because he regretted every choice he had made until this point, and I absolutely love his growth. The scene of him running forward with the sword is probably my favorite in the entire show.

I wonder if, in the end, he was remembering what Cassidy said to him, although I don't remember the exact quote. "They are good kids, better than we ever were. And I dont want them to turn out like we did."

[waterfallofspace]

don't know how to format this post so welcome to waterfall is craving things and she doesn't know if it's more h-rny or lonely so enjoy a little snippet of what is playing on loop in my mind~

Person A: tshhieew!

Person B: Bless you, poor little thing~

Person A: I'm- eshh'iew! tschh- kngt'shhew! I'm not little!

Person B: Even if you aren't, your sneezes sure are~

Person A, blushing: No they're- eh'tnshiew! aeshh'iee!

Person B, with a smirk: What a poor, sneezy little thing~

[sallymew4]

i dont think i made his hair big enough honestly

[infernal-ism]

WHEN DO YOU GAZE AT YOUR SOUL MATE?

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗗𝗢𝗡❜𝗧 𝗦𝗘𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨.

you love them and you're not sure they know. but that's okay. you're used to loving more than you are loved. you give more than is given. and maybe others don't understand but you don't expect more. you tell yourself the love in your heart is not meant to be savored by anyone other than you. it's more than enough to get to exist at the same time as them. you stand in their shadow and you thank the sun for casting it. they touch your arm but they do not feel the same warmth which lingers on your skin for days. you gaze at them and they might even be looking right back but they are not seeing into your soul the same way you have memorized theirs. it's enough you tell yourself. it's enough. it's enough. but what if it's not? and what if you're wrong. what if they see you and all this time you have been too scared to ask what they're looking at.

[nyxi-pixie]

truly i do think people can write and read ooc stuff i do i dooo but it is hilarious to me when its like 'we can do what we want!!' and yet every rec list where someone is SPECIFICALLY asking for non ooc stuff is filled w the fandom favourite fanon stuff. like interpretive differences are one thing but when u have zero basis in canon you gottaaaa recognise ur dealing in fanon. its OKAY if you like fanon!!! but like. please be aware of urself bc i dont think you recognise youve failed to understand the text😭😭

[puppppppppy]

who up seeing their disorder in a fictional character but feel like its not their place to put a name on it

[xxplastic-cubexx]

sorry if you've already mentioned but what (re?)ignited your love of comics/x-men/cherik? curious because there are so many different adaptations of them

i think im gonna speak for a few (or a lot of) people when i say that TL;DR the wolverine x deadpool movie that came out this summer is what pulled me back into comics and i COULD leave it there but i will go into excruciating and unnecessary detail instead because i love an origin story and i love oversharing.

under the cut tho because im nice sometimes (there's also wxdp doodles in here. if you want to see that)

ironically (and probably commonly), growing up i was more of an avengers kid. Kinda. Loosely <- binge watched the cartoons and movies and read copious amounts of comics and fics and i am hoarding fanart in my old dresser as we speak ok 'loosely' is a modest lie.

embarrassingly i remember getting into discus cause of captain america LMAO so yeah needless to say i was a Humble Fan- me joining my school's comic class/club didnt help either (shoutout to my teach from that she was the realest one out there for. A Multitude of reasons). she definitely is was inspires me to even draw still and make comics and i often think bout the tips i learned from her class tbh she was great

back to the movies t and comics tho, i got into em because my brother would offer to take me and that's how we'd hang out (i rarely saw movies in theaters and i even more rarely went anywhere as a teenager. still kinda like that today tbh ooops) and yk. it just snowballed after that.

my brother and i have always liked comics- he just more than me for a while (though he still very much loves comics and As We Know From My Posts we still talk about them whenever i see him To An Exhausting Degree)

durin then i was really into stony and i have a few surviving doodles i made but those are between me and god. and anyone who asks tbh LOL

'snap can you make this related to x-men again this is long' ok so fast forward to This Summer again I Still Don't Really See Movies but my brother offered to take me and this was the first time i'd actually seen an x-men movie in full

as a kid i only remember seeing the 'perfection' scene between erik and raven in first class while i was channel surfing. pretty sure i changed the channel after seeing mystique naked cause i was scared my parents would get mad at me if they caught me watching it LOL

BUT MOVING ON As A Kid i think it's also natural you'll sometimes watch 92 if it's on And I Did though evidently it didn't stick too hard (i do remember really liking beast and gambit though.... still do really): my knowledge of x-men was. INCREDIBLY sparse. like diabolically so so i didnt have too much expectations (aside from the fact i vaguely liked deadpool beforehand).

tbh i dont know why my bro never took me to see any of the x-men movies. it's not like he doesn't Also like x-men (90% sure nightcrawler's his favorite but my brother will be caught dead saying he has absolute favorites like that)- he owns a bitch load of deadpool comics/omnibus sets too (of which ive read over the years and reread this year) but Shrug moving on

Much Like Most Of The Internet i fell down the rabbit hole that way. i have some doodles i made a couple days after seeing WxDP that i now have an excuse to throw at all of you Look And Perceive

and so. As I Do. i got curious and told myself i'd binge watch all the x-men movies the week before i went back to school And Then I Did ft. My Brother Sometimes and then i said i'd binge watch all of '92 and And I Did That ft. My Brother Sometimes But Less So and now we're here. currently watching Evolution...

once i got to school i realized i lived near a comic shop and started getting into the comics that way (the first ones i got since going down this rabbit hole was Magneto Was Right!, The Resurrection of Magneto, and The Trial of Magneto. if you were curious !!!!! clearly i didnt care too much about context i just needed to see My Guy jelvejlkvj i have no regrets and Evidently ive read more since)

i'm pretty sure what dragged me into cherik specifically was the fact i saw a clip of The Famous ending to 92 where erik's aghast at the notion jean even has to question his love for charles. i think that was what officially had me refocus my lens on them: not a single poolverine thought after that LOL (all the cherik posting i saw on twitter definitely helped too but that was the nail in the coffin for any other interests i had: i was locked into cherik and x-men in general now)

that clip specifically, i was surprised at the fact they- frequently even- have the x-men franchise say erik loves charles and vice versa so bluntly. even if it's not meant to be romantic, i fear im just a fan of how casually the word's thrown around with them two and i got tender bout it all. Then Yk. i just live for the drama. the hilarity even. the sincerity .... they make me sick if i think of them too long so im gonna end it here

before i go tho ironically enough, the first x-men issue i owned was This one (story a this is that while stuck in some wacko dimension charles accidentally gets himself trapped in logan's mind while utilizing his astral projection. if you were curious). pretty sure i got it for free with another comic set i got years ago since our old comic shop loved to do that, but it's poetic aint it. maybe ill doodle something referencing it..

i should probably look into finishing this arc someday im Dummy curious to even know how it started and how it ends.....

[obeymeow]

being neurodivergent is all fun and games until you remember those hourly quote bots on twitter and think well maybe I can't make a bot anymore but I could schedule a few quotes a day, that shouldn't be hard. it sounds fun to have a bunch of quotes of my favorite character Thirteen from hit mobile game Obey Me! and its sequel Obey Me! Nightbringer. and then you think about how arduous collecting the quotes is going to be but she's only been in the games for maybe a year and a half with little screentime and you love collecting things so you start but then you remember that you love collecting things so naturally you have ALL of her screentime in the game and suddenly you have 45k characters of quotes and are several lessons into season 4 (which is truly a trial in and of itself) but not nearly close enough to the end but you refuse to just stop collecting the quotes and make the account with the EXCESS of what you have already because you literally only have season 4 to get through and if you don't do it just seeing the bot (because now you've been informed you can make tumblr bots instead) will haunt you with that knowledge even if nobody else would ever know. this is a general anecdote of a situation that could easily happen to anyone though and not in any way related to my life

[boxofthings]

I have pages and pages of notes plotting out the shadow!Roach fic and I still haven't even reached the half way point of the plot how do big fic writers DO this???

[labyrinthwalker]

my music taste makes me sound incredibly pretentious but actually i'm just completely out of touch and stumble across obscure but great albums out of sheer dumb luck

[skyburger]

occasionally see people say scout tf2 has more of a brooklyn accent than a boston one and sorry dude im not buying it. my proof is this video

He does not say coffee like a new yorker ok!!!!!!