#as the charred corpse she actually is

[multi-attack]

25% of the wips on my desktop are refsheets

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.

[lavender-0-menace]

it’s always “oh we need more complex female characters!” okay?? y’all couldn’t handle any of the atla women without immediately reducing them to a one note stereotype

[wonderjanga]

Revival

(I posted this on accident when I meant to put it in drafts, anyone who saw that, you didn’t)

Anyways , so Billy casually revives Mary and Freddy whenever they die in their marvel forms. (For this AU, let’s say they’re still super durable, but they’re less durable than Marvel) Like for example:

*Mary and Marvel are fighting a super strong monster. It swings one of its claws at the two, hitting the both of them. It gives Billy a scratch but Mary just dies.*

Marvel: *forgets about the monster immediately* “Oh my gods…” *looks down at her looking properly disturbed and uses tip of boot to move Mary onto her back to see if she’s really, really dead.* “That’s… a nasty one.” *Bends down and fixes her face and wounds up with magic.* He’s revived them before but seeing them die never ceases to scare him. What if he can’t save them the next time?

Mary: *alive but unconscious*

Marvel: *picks her up and zips off to the Rock of Eternity* “Okay, Mary… I’m just gonna…” *Puts her down on the floor and runs around the rock finding blankets upon blankets and a singular pillow. Puts them all on her and puts the pillow under her head.*

Mary: *wakes up slightly and tries to sit up* “Billy, what happened?”

Marvel: “You uh… got knocked out.” *Pushes her back down so she can lay back down* He hasn’t told either of them that nine times out of ten, whenever they get knocked out, they die. It causes a major argument when they find out. “Just go back to sleep, Mary. I’ll take care of the monster.” If anyone saw this, they would truly think he’s her dad.

Mary: “The monster’s still out there?” *already on the verge of going back to sleep*

Marvel: “Not for long.” *tucks her in extra tight and pats her head before flying back to Fawcett*

or

*JL are fighting some aliens. These aliens are actually a little harder than normal. Some of their weapons burned Billy such as the ray-guns. (Which looked awesome) After closer inspection, the ray-guns had some type of magic signature. (Is it bad he finds that even cooler?) Freddy’s also there. The ray-guns affect him more than Billy. He dies when the aliens use a particularly big gun when Billy’s too distracted to help him. He doesn’t even realize Freddy died (again) until all the fighting is over and he’s looking for him.*

Marvel: *Flying around, looking around for Freddy* “Junior! Junior, where’d you go?” *Sees Freddy just laying there and flies down, touching down on the ground* “Junio…” *trails off when he sees Freddy’s dead and walks over to the corpse*

Superman: *flies down and lands next to Marvel* “Cap, Hal’s asking if you want to go for drinks. Do I tell him you’re not going—” *covers mouth when he sees Freddy.*

Marvel: *kneels down in front of Freddy.* How long had he been like this? Could Billy even save him now? He’s so charred… *feels impending dread and nausea creeping up*

Superman: “I- Marvel- I’m so sorry…”

Marvel: *spiraling as he stares at Junior*

Batman: *appears from the shadows* “I know what it’s like to lose a child, Marvel.” *puts hand on Billy’s shoulder* “If you ever need to talk to someone…”

Marvel: *shrugs hand off and starts to try and heal Freddy* “I’m fine.” *keeps muttering that he’s fine and the whole situation is fine as he continues to heal Freddy.*

Batman and Superman: *staring at Marvel in pity*

Superman: “…Marvel?” *Walks up behind Billy* “Marvel. He’s not fine.”

Freddy: *healed, alive but unconscious*

Marvel: “Yes, he is.” *Picks Freddy up* “He’s perfectly fine. I uh- I gotta go.”

Superman: “Cap, wait!”

Marvel: *Zooms off the rock. Ended up doing the same thing he did with the blankets before with Mary to Freddy.*

The league are gobsmacked when they see Freddy talking to Billy as if they hadn’t heard from Supes and Bats that he died. Billy also found a few grey hairs when he detransformed.

[late-draft]

Southern Raiders

Well, after rewatching the Southern Raiders with my mom, it's easy to see why it could be interpreted as Zuko wanting violence and revenge, with scenes such as him lingering too long with his angry stare at Yon Rha after Katara already decided to leave, or him attacking and pressing on to get information from the captain of the Southern Raiders on the whereabouts of the man they were actually looking for, even though he could have called it quits as a "dead end" when Katara already started walking away.

But that's a misread. This is nothing personal to him and it wouldn't align with any of Zuko's previous behaviour - not in the Boiling Rock where he did everything to help Sokka, not in Day of the Black Sun when he didn't attack his father. Not in the North, where he offered a hand to try to save Zhao, a man who attempted to get him killed.

If the viewer invests two seconds into investigating the situation, it instantly becomes clear that when Katara was walking away when they hit the information "dead end", she was grim, tense, frustrated, bitter and still deeply hurt. Calling it quits there would mean her emotional wound would not heal. This is the reason why Zuko pressed on, and the reason he looked at Yon Rha with disgust. Not because he wanted murder, but because he was significantly affected by how deeply Katara was hurt.

"You should get some rest." "Are you ready Katara?" It's disingenuous to read Zuko's quotes as him doing this just to manipulate her into committing murder. He's never been portrayed as a manipulator in the show, and it makes perfect sense he's truly saying and doing these things to help her, just like how he was helping Sokka an episode earlier.

Yes, if I were directing the episode, I would have added scenes of more closeups, Katara despairing when they ran into a dead end; Zuko seeing her pain and it reflecting in his expression of sadness. That is where the focus actually is, and it would be conveyed visually this way. But:

Considering this episode was rewritten a thousand times, it's clear how the actual meaning was placed underneath the top layer of misdirection. And it becomes clear there was no chance for directing to put these visual explanations.

My mom commented, "maybe the Southern Raiders took Katara's mother as a prisoner, why is she overreacting?" and I had to facepalm. No, it's heavily implied Katara saw her mother's charred corpse. Her reactions throughout the show in regards to her memories of her mother are extremely intense, causing her to shake and cry. Third episode of the series, she outright says the Fire Nation killed her mother. And Yon Rha confirms in the end that he "didn't take any prisoners". It doesn't matter that Yon Rha was a pathetic person who was able to kill Kya due to Southern Raiders overwhelming their village and her being a nonbender. The trauma it caused to Katara became an integral part of her. Her "nasty" comment towards Sokka is logical. It's not nice or kind, but it's logical. Zuko was able to understand the depth of her pain and that simply "forgiving and moving on" was not an option for her.

And in the end, facing Yon Rha did help Katara get closure. It helped her. It alleviated the pain she was intensely bottling up for years. It gave her back control and power over the murderer she could do nothing about as an 8 year old girl.

[grinnames]

Godbox AU Lore 0: The Entity and the 0rigin

It was such a strange feeling. One moment ago, it was so chaotic, so loud. There was a blinding flash that had engulfed him, followed by a split second of white hot pain that swallowed his body before everything became nothing. Now, it was so quiet, so dark, and he felt nothing. What had just happened to him…?

SMG4’s thoughts collected. Before his eyes, darkness spread in every direction. Floating aimlessly around him a random assortment of destroyed objects, all ranging from broken earth, cake, stardust, and bone. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet, and he couldn’t tell up from down.

“Those must be the broken pieces of destroyed universes,” he mused to himself. “Wait a second, DESTROYED UNIVERSES!?”

The revelation came back into his mind. He remembered now. He remembered the overwhelming grief and rage overtaking his soul as SMG0 swallowed Melonie whole. He had grabbed SMG3’s hand, and used anti-memes to create a penetrating blast that went cleanly through the eldritch demon’s head. The sadness within him was so strong that he had forgotten to go mad with power. He was completely in control.

He remembered pulling Melonie out from the bowels of SMG0’s corpse, and making a break for the exit to escape the Godbox.

He frowned. Usually, that meant that they had beaten the bad guy, and that he should be returning home in triumph by now. 

“Oh hey idiot. You’re finally up.”

“AAAAAAAAH WAIT WHAT?!”

SMG4 whirled around, finally noticing SMG3. “Dude! You’re okay!”

SMG3 scoffed. What a tsundere. “As much as I’m disgusted by your concern for me, we have more serious things to worry about right now.”

“Well duh!” said SMG4. “We have to find a way to get back home! We’re still floating in the vacuum of the Great Beyond!”

SMG3’s face froze as he took a second to process what SMG4 just said. “SMG4… DO YOU SERIOUSLY NOT REALIZE WHAT JUST HAPPENED TO US?!” he asked incredulously.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…no?”

SMG3 gave him the biggest “are-you-kidding-me” expression ever, and then his face suddenly fell. He looked… sad? “SMG4… we’re dead.”

“...Eh?” SMG4 couldn’t quite process what he had said. Surely this was just SMG3 pulling a cruel prank?

But SMG3 wasn’t smiling. He actually looked like he might cry. “Look down, man.”

He looked down. He immediately wished he hadn’t looked. There, floating beneath his feet, were two mangled and charred corpses. The one wearing a torn blue shirt and ragged white overalls was missing a chunk of its right side, and most of its limbs were gone, leaving bloody and messy stumps. It had his face, mouth open in an endless silent scream, and one eye missing, leaking bloody tears. 

The other corpse was wearing a dark blue shirt and ruined black overalls. It was missing a lot of the flesh that used to cover its torso, neck and mouth. Its damaged organs were exposed, and the jaw was completely gone. It was also missing most of its limbs.

Finally, he looked at his own hand. It was glistening, almost glowing, and he could see through it. He waved his trembling other hand to it, and it passed right through with no resistance.

“...What went wrong…?” his question breathed out.

“We didn’t escape the Godbox before it was blown up. The lid closed on us suddenly, trapping us all inside.” SMG3 said in a monotone voice. “But if it’s any consolation, before you uh… gained consciousness? I floated around to look for Mario and Melonie. I can’t find their bodies, so I can only hope that they survived.”

“... Welp. Guess I won’t be buried in that giant grave that I bought some time ago, ehehe…”

“You commissioned a fancy grave for yourself?”

SMG4 laughed embarrassedly. “Some strange girl gave me a coupon for it, I think she was the head of the… Sheng Wang Funeral Parlor…? I couldn’t pass up on the deal!”

“Ugggghhhhhhhh, I can’t believe I have to share my afterlife with you!” SMG3 groaned. 

“O h, y o u  w o n ‘ t  h a v e  t o.” whispered a new voice. Despite it only being whispered, the words echoed through the void, and chilled the two SMGs to their very cores.

Multiple red eyes lit up in the darkness, surrounding the two with their stares. A terrifying, looming presence filled the very atmosphere. 

“H-hello?” SMG4 called out into the darkness. “Who’s there?! What do you want with us?”

“Huh… let me guess, are we in hell? Are you the devil?” asked SMG3. Then he smirked, albeit nervously. “Are you here to give me a seat of honor?”

“Oh god I don’t wanna go to helllllllllllll….” moaned SMG4.

“I am the entity that calls itself the END.” 

Silence. 

SMG4 piped up. “Uh-”

“Your friends have destroyed my vessel. Gone, blasted to smithereens. I will miss my old box.”

Their souls ran cold. The thing they were speaking to, the thing that had them at their mercy, was the Godbox. Well, what used to be the Godbox.

“Be not afraid. I will not take my wrath out on you.”

“However, in order to continue my purpose, I need new vessels. Your bodies, despite being made to combat my power, were also perfect conduits of channeling it.”

SMG4 felt his stomach plummet. He and SMG3 really had wielded the power of the anti-memes. It felt so seamless, so natural channeling that wild, untamed force with a clear mind. And now they had caught the attention of the origin of that power.

“You are worthy replacements to that box I once resided in.”

SMG3 suddenly shouted, “Waitwaitwaitwait hold up! You just can’t take our bodies like that! What’s going to happen to us?! What are you going to do with our bodies!? If you’re taking our bodies, we deserve… uhhh… compensation! Y-yeah! You… four-million eyed eldritch freak!”

“What are you doing?!” SMG4 whisper-shouted.

“I’m trying to stall!” SMG3 whispered back. 

“I suppose you have the right to know.”

“Oh it actually worked-”

“Ever since I came into existence, I had one purpose. I corrupt and consume. Soon you will also corrupt and consume. It will be the new purpose of your bodies. Your minds. Your souls.”

In a flash, the two souls were impaled upon jagged crystals of black and red anti-meme energy. SMG4 cried out in shock, and SMG3 hissed in pain.

“Not only will your bodies fuse with my essence, but your souls will be devoured as well. It will be my first meal, to mark my rebirth.”

The jagged, pulsating darkness began to crawl across the very culminations of their beings, gnawing and eating away at their essences. They tried to scream, but what came out instead of their own voices were primal, unnatural howls. 

“I must have perfect vessels. I intend to become you, in body, mind, and soul. And you will become me, in body, mind, and soul.” 

Red strings dragged their writhing, corrupted souls back into their ruined bodies. The entity funneled the rest of itself into every nook and cranny, entering its new home. Black, glitchy flesh began to seal their wounds, and replace what was lost.

“As for your compensation, I will return you two home, safe and sound.” 

Man I really hope I don't think of something cooler than this later, this origin story took so long to decide on!

Seriously I have five other origins written out and I was spiraling trying to think of the best one-

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

charlie stealing the wings off adam's corpse for herself and vaggie thinks that's hot AU, blame @a-cold-day-in-pentagram-city for this not me

the cannibals eat the rest of the first dude but dont wanna deal with plucking out feathers so charlie and vaggie scoop up all the wings left over from the dead angels in their front yard, shoving them in a side room of the new hotel

after a bit charlie's like "Should we.... send his wings BACK up there? For burial or something???" and vaggie's like "We could I guess." and charlie's already stroking the wings "Kinda pretty aren't they? When he's not wearing them anyway." which makes vaggie actually look at the wings charlie's petting and go "You know. They ARE kinda the same gold color as your hair...." and they both stare at the wings, and at each other,

and then charlie's in front of a full length mirror checking herself out as Vaggie holds the wings up behind her and they're giggling a little bc really this is so SO morbidly disrespectfully silly but DAMN does charlie look gooooooood with her mom's ex's fancy wings- in fact she looks so good and feels so smug about it that her and vaggie get a little distracted and

charlie drags her dad aside the next morning "Dad I need wings it's important don't ask why but can you please help please" and shapeshifer luicfer's delighted like "OH YOU ENJOY CHANGING YOUR LIVING FLESH VESSEL TOO?? GOSH GOLLY THIS IS ANOTHER PERFECT FATHER DAUGHTER BONDING MOMENT!!!" charlie stops him right there "Dad no I don't want to grow the wings myself there's already a specific pair I want" which has lucifer doing the supportive but confused "??? Okay char-char? What... what wings did you had in m-" charlie holds up the limp wings of her mom's ex / her girlfriend's shitty ex employer "These ones. Don't ask." - "Wh.. why those ones-" - "DAD PLEASE I SAID DON'T ASK."

he doesn't ask. he tries not to think about it either. after all it's a fun chaotic creation request from his daughter and tbh the idea of her having rubber ducky colored wings is very cuuuute to him so it's pretty easy not to think any further past it than that

until he sees a thrilled charlie on her way, leaping and almost crashing out the nearest window before her angel gf swoops in to catch her. seeing chaggie together reminds lucifer of him and lilith, like always, and he sighs in wistful happiness, like always- until he freezes in a cold terror, shaken to the core by the sudden knowledge that he might someday have to explain to his estrange wife why their daughter is flying around on the wings of the dead guy his wife rejected once and who sent murder angels down to kill their people every year for funsies

... on second thought, lilith might be the MOST excited about that of anyone. Or, almost anyone, if the emotionally scaring sounds of chaggie fliting mid air are anything to go by

[mactiir]

ranking baldur's gate characters by how i think they smell

#9) Minthara. Because she’s a corpse, next question.

#8) Lae'zel. You know this woman has never bathed. Washing is for the weak, is'tik. She says this is because needs her musk to attract mates but mostly it's cuz Gith education doesn't exactly make time for personal hygiene. Once it got so bad that Tav dragged the whole party through a chest-deep stream and stood there for 20 minutes to take a "breather" while Laezel stared daggers at them the whole time.

#7) Karlach. I want Karlach to smell nice so badly, and Karlach probably wants Karlach to smell nice too, but you know this woman smells like brimstone and engine exhaust and sweat. On good days she smells like the fine char you get on burgers on a summer day. On bad days she smells like a truck stop at peak hours, and the truck stop is also on fire. She's not happy about this either.

#6) Gale. Gale tries to keep himself groomed, he really does. But he looks like he is perpetually just a tiny bit smelly. Like he hyperfocused on a book slightly too hard for slightly too long and as a result he forgot to shower for a week. He acts like he bedded Mystra because of his towering intellect but really it's cuz gods don't have human senses of smell. His nightshirt looks velvet, too, and you KNOW it can't be easy to get smells out of that shit without a washer. He is one of those poor guys who is cursed to always stink a little bit no matter how much he showers. When Tav confronts him about this he decides, on the spot, that deodorant is for anti-intellectuals, actually, which he wouldn't have expected Tav to know but it's okay, we can't all be enlightened.

#5) Minsc. He doesn't reek exactly, but you know he's 100% man musk, hamster bedding, and butt-kicking

Tied for #5) Jaheira. You know 100 years of living in forests and adventuring with Minsc has endowed her with exactly the same level of manly perfume as Minsc (except with notes of cedarwood).

#4) Wyll. He used to be the best-smelling until Mizora pulled him through every level of hell in rapid succession, and now he smells a little bit like brimstone all the time. He sometimes rubs fragrant herbs on his horns to counteract it, which doesn't get rid of the smell, really, but it gives his smell an interesting dimension. Otherwise, he has enough experience with adventuring, and is well-bred enough, that him and his things are usually well-groomed (and also because his dad was a freak about it).

#3) Shadowheart. This woman puts on tragic makeup every morning and changes her hair to reflect her religion. Appearances are EVERYTHING (especially when it comes to keeping secrets). Shadowheart smells exactly like she thinks she needs to smell to be religiously pleasing to her goddess and/or coMplEtE thE mIsSioN. She does get anxious sweats though, which are very distinctive if it's been a long day of adventuring. She never admits this, though. Ever.

#2) Astarion. Okay, so, sometimes, he smells just the teensiest, tiniest bit like dried blood. But mostly, he smells like baby powder and potpourri. It is a waste of good fashion sense and his pretty face to go about stinking like a beggar. (He does go through a brief 'Cazador can't tell ME what to do' phase where he stops bathing for a day, but he grosses himself out so much that he resumes his normal routime before anyone notices.)

#1) Halsin. You'd expect him to stink, with his whole smelly-hippy free-love vibe, but nah. The man smells heavenly. He spends all his time frolicking through fragrant herbs and lounging in scented hot springs with whomever strikes his fancy. He probably has a whole ass medicine cabinet full of stuff he uses to freshen up. His breath probably smells like mint and his hair like cedar. He probably puts coconut oil or smth in his hair. He knows how to smell good as literally any animal in the realms. Wanna know why? Dogs have a sense of smell several thousand times better than people. I bet bears do, too. You do Not Fuck As A Bear without understanding not only how to WASH your ass, but also perfume it. Halsin also knows: thou shalt not give yeast infections. And if you got bear dick, that means HYGIENE. It's a point of pride for him, actually.

BONUS: WITHERS. Withers smells like nothing. Like, freakishly, unsettlingly like nothing. Like, you expect him to smell like dust or pitch or smth. Nope. He's a black hole of smell. You come near him and if you ask, he resets your entire hygiene routine for 100 gold and leaves you smelling like roses.

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

My Mother Plays Baldur's Gate: Part 5

Summary: My retired mom is having me play Baldur's Gate 3 on her behalf because she has trouble using controllers/keyboards but still wants to "smooch the wizard boy." She is playing a neutral chaotic good wood elf druid; this is a detailed account of her crimes. Part 1 & 2 Part 3 Part 4

Sorry for the long break! Life got super busy for a second there. We're about 30-40% of the way through Act 3, and we finished up some companion quest lines and started making some plans to kill Gortash and Orin.

Here's what happened during yesterday's game session:

Scratch gave us an iron bowl at camp. My mom assumed this was somehow plot relevant, so she had me carry it around everywhere because "we might need it." I am not allowed to sell the bowl. She is a druid and her carrying capacity is still garbage. I suffer.

She LOVES Gale’s new kiss animations. I  tasked with smooching him before we leave camp every single time. Even if I just stop by to switch out a party member, I still have to kiss him goodbye. (And pet the animals, obviously.)

We accidentally blew up Volo outside the Steel Watch foundry with a poorly-placed Ice Storm that nicked the edge of the explosive barrels. His corpse was charred and unrecognizable, and my mom was distraught. She demanded to know why I blew him up, so I reminded her that casting Ice Storm was HER idea. We saved him the second time.

Cazador accidentally won his fight several times because we kept rolling dogshit initiative and got zapped by status effects before we could move an inch. The first time Astarion got turned to paste in the ritual, my mom nearly leapt out of her seat. (“RELOAD RIGHT NOW, HONEY.”) We killed Cazador on the fifth attempt, the rotten bastard.

My mom was locked in for the Iron Throne mission. The turn limit really freaked her out, and she kept second-guessing my choices every time I made a move because she was so nervous I was wasting time. I had to gently remind her that I’ve done this mission literally dozens of times. (We got everyone out with a whole turn to spare. Pfffft.)

Got the wavemother robe. I put it on Gale because I thought my mom would love it, but she was actually horrified because he “might catch a cold.” She robe is now somewhere in the camp stash next to all the spoons, iron tongs, and rags. It will probably never be found again. 

Saved the Gondians, and Mom now rides the “fuck Wulbren Bongle” hate train. Shout-out to my boy Barcus!

After watching the conclusion of The Pale Elf quest line (Astarion did NOT ascend, thank you), my mom quietly said, “I hope that actor knows how perfect he is as Astarion. What a wonderful man.” I had the pleasure of informing her that Neil Newbon won Best Performance at the Game Awards for his role. Congrats Neil Newbon, my mom is super proud of you!

Hoping to get together with my mom again soon and make some more progress through Act III. She told me to thank you for all your kind words of support!

[sokkastyles]

​That the Katara detractors keep up this insistence on being seemingly hard of hearing regarding The Southern Raiders is a continual annoyance, sweet Christ in heaven. What she said was that Sokka didn't love Kya the way she did... that that was in response to *Sokka* saying that, “Aang might be right”... that she need *forgive* the man who M U R D E R E R E D T H E I R M O T H E R, who burned her to death, whose actions had it so an 8 year old Katara walked in on the sight of her mother’s charred corpse and so smelt her burnt flesh. 😑 That Sokka seemingly has no real desire on his part to go and confront their mother's murderer, to Katara I'm sure might take to be an insult to Kya's memory, it's not just that but for Sokka to suggest that Katara's wanting to do so might very well be w r o n g. T_T So yeah, she lashed out, I should damn well hope she did, like, you expect anything else?!

Do you know what also gets me about it? All the memes that act like Katara brings up her trauma unprompted at every opportunity (she doesn't) and then when someone says something insensitive to her about her trauma and how she should deal with it, she should just keep silent.

And even if you don't think Sokka was being insensitive, Aang was, and Sokka acting like Aang was being rational when he was actually being very dismissive and flippant is something Katara should rightfully be angry about.

Also, the way Sokka frames it isn't helpful and is entirely about himself, not about what Katara is feeling. Even the "she was my mother, too..." comes across as an attempt to invalidate how Katara feels the same way Aang says "how do you think I felt when I lost Appa/my people." They make it about themselves and their loss rather than empathizing and then act like their feelings give them authority over how Katara should feel. And she's right to be upset about that.

[wwaheoh]

"Euphoria", Sparkle x gnReader, SFW, Angst

c/w: contains description of a corpse, explosions, and injury

a/n: didnt know what to write but taking a quick break from drawing and want to do something

Sparkle, unlike what most people thought, didn’t truly enjoy having fun at people’s expense. Maybe a little bit of injury here and there, hurt feelings before revealing the prank. Some threats of planting world-exploding bombs when in actuality they were just cute little dolls that she spent way too long making.

She just wanted someone to notice her. And you did, you, who indulged her whenever she wanted to have fun. Played with her and spent time with her. She even began to feel all mushy any time she spoke to you. So, one day she decided to tell you all about how she felt. It had to be grand! Colorful! Something you both could look back with vivid color!

So… why were you laying on the ground, eyes full of tears, skin an angry red, peeling off as muscles and bones became exposed to the air. In her delusions, she decided to really make it colorful, adding fireworks and sparklers into it without thinking of how it’d come out. She forced the box into your hands and raved about how she wanted to hear what you thought of the surprise she made for you.

Did she really make it? She worked like a woman possessed. Usually she put more thought into what she was doing, not so brazenly adding in what she thought of without thinking it through.

It felt as if her body wasn’t her own.

She stared at your body, the fire alarms screeching. Something so loud, yet muted as she watched, hoping you’d somehow get back up. Why weren’t you getting back up. You’d stayed with her for so long before, why now was when you weren’t staying with her. Get up, get up, getup, getup getup getupgetuphetup. GET UP.

“Aha… ahahahahahaAHAHAAHAHAHA!”

Water spilled down her face, she didn’t know whether they were tears or water from the sprinklers above. Laughing escaped her as this seek feeling of euphoria took over. But she wasn’t happy, it was as if her body wasn’t her own anymore. Her throat hurt, her eyes stung, yet she continued to laugh, until her voice was hoarse and scratchy.

Law enforcement barbed into the room, weapons at the ready. Reports of a raving madwoman in the room where the explosion occurred. All they found was a charred corpse and a box, professing their love for the receiver.

The Masked Fools aren’t meant for the serious life, Aha didn’t want THEIR entertainment to be bogged down by such downer things like relationships.

[wormlette]

I do think a LOT about why Chilchuck would join the "save Falin" dungeon dive at all tbh and it makes me feel like eating drywall. Namari is the one who brings up the "I figured you'd be the first one to leave, you never take a job without getting paid" and he's like yeah. I do insist on payment up front. But do you think he was ever going to bring up his motivations on his own? If Namari hadn't? I don't think he would talk about it because I don't think it's really that simple. We find out in the ep that just aired a few things--

1) Chil is paid in advance, and however that works, he's apparently already been contracted for future dungeon dives too ? 2) The adventurer's community is tight-knit and full of gossip, so the things you do will have impact on what kind of work you can do going forward.

There are other things we know about Chil:

1) he's worked for Laios' party for three years. Namari was a member before him (she joined at the same time the husband hunter and some tall man guy joined, iirc) and Shuro was a member after him, but after those two leave, he's the person who's worked with the Toudens for the longest. 2) He's had some really shitty jobs in his past, especially pre-union. He understands very well what kinds of things people will use half-foots for. 3) He is thinking about retiring. He was going to retire before joining Laios' party.

And one thing we learned in the very first episode -- Laios told Marcille and Chilchuck that they should sell their equipment so he could go down on his own to rescue Falin. Chilchuck asks him if he's suicidal and then invites himself along for absolutely everything that goes down after. He's more ride-or-die about eating monsters than anyone other than Senshi. Him breaking his contract is obviously not something Laios would have held against him. Maybe it would have "Changed his clientele" as he says to Marcille about Namari in the latest ep, but also: HE COULD JUST RETIRE.

IDK PERSONALLY I JUST THINK this all adds up to an implication that he is really very fond of the Touden siblings. As Marcille notes when she's making a fanfic of his wife leaving him he's not the type to ever say his feelings out loud so it's not ever really gonna be said in the text of the story and THAT'S WHY I'M HERE. They seem to be a well-renowned party during the events of the story, but when he joined up with them they were just a year out from being bodyguards in a gold-peeling party with a few other no-name adventurers (as far as I know from the extras that have come out so far, the order of main chars joining the party went Laios&Falin->Namari->Chil->Shuro->Marcille.)

Three years AFTER HE WAS ALREADY CONSIDERING RETIRING he is willing to go on a journey that every other character thinks is fucking insane for the chance to rescue Falin, even though he is not an optimistic guy and he probably has a more realistic understanding of how dangerous dungeons are than anybody else in the group. If he started doing dungeon work when he left his home at 14 then he has about 15 years of dungeoneering experience by the time of the story. He would know what he's doing is actually EXTREMELY dangerous in a way resurrection magic doesn't actually eliminate. They are going down into a floor that's so far down the story has expressed "it's really dangerous to go there and most people don't because it will be hard for corpse retrievers and necessary supplies to get to you if you die. if you are eaten you might just be gone beause no one will ever find you."

I think he's harsh on Laios because he really cares about him and Falin. We know he ranks Laios' ability as a party leader as like a 61 or something lmfao but IMHO he is like that stern teacher who is forced by admin to put a 20pt curve on every exam because everybody is fuckin failing. Nobody is doing a good enough job. But he must have faith in the idea that Laios is able to do better if he has the right coaching (kicking and yelling at him). I JUST THINK the Touden party has been the best one he's worked in, or if not the best then his favorite, for him to keep doing it for THIS LONG when he SHOULD absolutely have his pick of contracts, given that "no other half-foots had the expertise necessary to accompany Laios to such a deep floor of the dungeon".

[nat-space-obsessed]

For @kinglazrus !! Super excited abt this one! I love corpse aus so I just had to do this one.

AO3 Link

"There's a shallow grave in the woods. The only marker is a stone with the name "Danny" scratched into it. Judging by the fresh-turned soil, it hasn't been empty for long."

The call came in from a hiker early in the morning.

She'd been going on her daily hike when she decided to go on a route that was different from her normal route.

When she tripped over the rock, she should have known that there was something wrong. At first, she started to walk past, and continue on her hike.

It was on her way back that she really noticed the issue.

The rock she had tripped over had writing that she didn't notice the first time.

It was a simple engraving, probably done with another rock or a different sharp tool, definitely not professionally done.

There was one word.

A name.

'DANNY'

It was at that point that she realized that the dirt path seemed to be disturbed near the edges, as if someone had gone digging.

Oh god, someone had been digging .

As she looked at the disturbed dirt, she saw something odd. It was an odd color, looking as if it had been burned or melted, blackened.

It was a bone.

A charred, dirty, old bone, covered in a material that had melted and fused to it.

It was like one of those horror stories, of certain toys made from plastic materials melting onto skin if exposed to too much heat.

She called the police station the second she was in range of a cell tower.

All the operator at the call center heard was, "God, the bones , they're black, they're burned. There's bones in the woods ."

The CSI left the station immediately.

.

..

...

"She wasn't kidding, these bones were definitely burned, but they're weird. It's more reminiscent of electrical burns. What could output enough power to burn a body so thoroughly by electrocution?" The lead CSI said. She was wearing gloves and slowly unburying the body.

The more they uncovered, the more horrified they were.

"This is a kid," A member of the team said, "Either a kid or a small person. The size of the bones indicate that the owner of this body was under 5 ft. Maybe a small kid? What name did the stone say?"

"Danny, I think, it's a little hard to read, but that looks like the right name."

"Wait, wasn't there a kid that went missing a year ago from Amity named Danny?"

"Yeah, but I thought the parents were under suspicion, with that weird lab in their basement."

"Didn't the sister call it in?" The one handling the bones said.

The case they were talking about was the case of Daniel Fenton. He had gone missing four weeks before his freshman year, except he was only reported missing when his sister came back from a college summer camp. Two weeks after he supposedly went missing.

Because of this, nobody actually figured out when he went missing. The police had searched the entire Fenton home, which had uncovered the lab in the basement of the home.

The Fentons had a portal. An interdimensional portal to some place they called the Ghost Zone, and it had corresponded with sightings of weird, translucent, flying people that had been sighted in the city.

They had been taken into custody, but then later released due to a lack of evidence. His sister was still advocating for missing children, especially kids who weren't reported until long after they vanished.

"But this body is too decomposed for only a few months. Maybe the burns accelerated it?"

"I mean, if this is the Fenton kid-"

"Don't start being a conspiracy theorist now, Sean." The lead investigator said, shaking her head.

"You never know!"

.

..

...

The coroner's office was cold. The autopsy room was colder.

The body on the table was small, a kid, wearing a plastic material that had seemed to fuse with the bones it was covering.

The bones, God the bones. They were blackened, covered in a dark material, flesh that had been burnt to a blackened crisp.

The coroner looked at the body in front of him and sighed.

The only thing he could easily use for identification that wasn't fingerprints or DNA were dental records. Luckily, while the corpse was completely desecrated, the bones were somehow intact.

He was able to take a scan of the teeth and send them off to be compared with all local dentist offices within a 50 mile radius.

It was a few minutes later when he got the ping.

There's a match.

"Shit."

.

..

...

The Fentons were in their lab when they got a phone call.

"Hello, this is Jack Fenton of Fentonworks, how can I help you?" The burly man said into the receiver.

"Hello, Mr. Fenton. This is the Briggersdale Police Department, calling you to inform you that a few days ago, we found a body in the woods. This body has been identified as the body of your son, Daniel." The voice on the other end said to him.

"What?" Jack stood with the phone in hand in shock. Maddie chose that moment to walk into the room.

"Are you okay, Jack?"

Jack thanked the officer and hung up. "They... found a body."

"A body? Why did they contact you? Where was this?"

"The next town over. The body was identified. It was Danny's."

A sharp intake of breath could be heard from Maddie. "We need to call Jazz."

"She isn't speaking to us, she'd just ignore anything we have to say to her."

"She'll listen, it's about Danny."

.

..

...

Jazz Fenton had been having a good day. She had only one class that morning, her favorite introduction to developmental psychology course, and she had just finished speaking with her roommate about their date next weekend with their longtime girlfriend. She was happy for them. She was having a good time, reading one of her favorite books at her desk.

It was a good day, until she got the phone call.

It was from her parents.

She refused the call at first. This was the third time that week her parents had tried to contact her, and the third time she refused their call.

Usually they stopped trying to call her, and just left her a few texts after she refused their call, but this time was different.

She should have known something was wrong.

"What is it? I thought I told you guys to never contact me again." Jazz spoke before either of her parents could even get one word out.

"Jazz... They found it."

"What, what did they find?" Jazz stood up. She was really getting annoyed now, with them being all cryptic towards her.

"His body. Jazz, they found Danny's body."

Jazz's phone slipped out of her hands.

What?

They found his body. They found his body.

Oh god, he was actually dead.

Jazz knew after the first few days she realized her brother was missing that the chances of finding him again were slim to none, and after the first two weeks, she knew that she would probably sooner see a body bag than see her brother alive again.

But this? This made it real.

He was dead.

He was gone .

She was never going to see him again.

Oh god, this was real .

She stared in front of her. She stared at the wall.

Her knees gave out and she slumped to the ground.

She could feel her eyes well up with tears.

She could hear her roommate shouting her name and kneeling in front of her as she sobbed, crying and trying to say anything, but no words would come out of her mouth.

Oh god, she had to tell Sam and Tucker.

No way would her parents even know that he had them as his friends, and they were always the first people that she gave updates to, even before her parents. They deserved to know he was... dead. That they had found his body.

.

..

...

Sam and Tucker were hanging out at Tucker's house when Sam's phone rang.

She picked it up, recognizing the number as Jazz's.

Tucker watched as emotions crossed her face, beginning with worry, and ending in dread.

"Oh my god. Tucker. They found it."

“Shit.” He said.

“Shit.” She nodded in agreement.

[thetormentita]

the bastard queen - chapter 1

the things we do for love.

Pairing: Original female! Targaryen/Arthur Dayne

A/n: au for Robert’s Rebellion. Enjoy!

Rating: Mature (+16)

The strangling tension can suffocate even the most strong-willed courtier. With the hint of charred corpses still lingering in the air, Arthur Dayne wonders if the king has changed his clothes since the last night, where he delighted himself with the pleading yells of two prisoners as wildfire devoured them and the rest of the people gathered in the Great Hall drowned in horror.

With the reliable Barristan Selmy guarding the meeting with him, his lilac eyes observe the men as they take their seats around the wooden table, only the naïve Qarlton Chelsted and the newly appointed Hand Owen Merryweather to not show grim faces. The tension is palpable, a heavy cloak of discomfort wrapping around each lord present. The king's recent actions have instigated fear and uncertainty, even among the most loyal men.

As matters follow one to another, almost the whole group of men trying to decide what is best for the realm, Arthur’s mind is partly elsewhere, honed by years of duty and vigilance. His gaze, under the guise of passive surveillance, catches every subtle shift and twitch among those gathered. All of them or too cautious or too coward to dare and defy the monster with the crown upon his brow.

“With your permission, Your Grace” lord Merryweather’s voice almost trembles with hesitation, fearful of the reaction of the king. “There is a pressing matter this council has to discuss” Aerys raises a pointy eyebrow towards him, and Arthur can spot the slight curl of the king's lip, an ominous prelude to his temper which could ignite over the most trivial of provocations. “Princess Valaena’s marriage.”

This mention of the Princess Valaena, the beloved jewel of the kingdom, causes a distinct shift in the atmosphere of the room. The council members exchange wary glances as the name of the only daughter of the monarches is put over the table. They all have witnessed during the years the mood swifts and the affronts of Aerys towards his own daughter, branding her as ‘bastard’, ‘dragonspawn’ or worse only because the colour of her hair is darker than the rest of her family, and they have developed various degrees of sympathy towards her. Arthur Dayne himself stiffens when Merryweather dares to speak her name, thinking of him as unfit to even think about his princess.

“We should wait” Rhaegar Targaryen, the Crowned Prince, also shows himself most uncomfortable in his chair with the idea of being separated from his beloved sister. “My lady wife is still recovering and she gladly keeps her company. It would not be wise to rush matters.”

The tension around the table is palpable. A quick glance from Rhaegar to both kingsguards looks more like a plea than he actually wants to.

“Nonsense!” the king screeches, the council apparently having passed over the menacing looks of the loon, with his nails more like claws pointing at his own son and heir and to his master of ships, who dares to agree with the prince. “That girl will be useful to the crown for once in her life.”

“Your majesty” lord Velaryon counterattacks, having properly made his work towards the eyes of the Mad King for quite a time, “with your permission, I would suggest the lady Valaena to get married to me. Houses Velaryon and Targaryen have had a shared history towards the centuries, and Driftmark would prove a safe refuge to our much beloved princess.”

Aerys, his gaze sharp as the blades his ancestors wielded, seems to consider consider Velaryon's proposal with a mixture of intrigue and suspicion. Leaving hopes for a response hanging in the air like a thick fog, he seems to find amusement in the pause, rejoicing himself as he crashes Lucerys Velaryon’s hopes with an acrid cackle.

“Do you think that I would allow my only daughter to be pushed to the margins of my realm, hidden away on Driftmark, while I sit the Iron Throne?” Aerys’s voice rises, filled with annoyance and madness, and it seems that the balls of every member of the council shake on their pedestals over the table “How dare you to even think of putting a hand on her!?”

It seems this time the protective father has taken the place of the abusive parent, and if it weren’t for the space between them both, with Aerys sat at the head of the table and the Lord of the Tides almost at the other side of it, the king would have easily thrown his wine cup to his face, or even worse.

“Your Grace” it is this time Lord Varys’ modulled voice to speak, and the whole bunch of men put their attention upon him, the Master of Whispers. The Spider. “I can think of a much more adequate suitor for the princess’ hand” his eyes dart towards Lucerys Velaryon, who just answers with a half lidded gaze behind his own cup. “Storm’s End.”

He was just a lad when the tragedy of Shipbreaker’s Bay took place, only a mere squire to prince Lewyn before he joined the Kingsguard himself. The death of the beloved Steffon Baratheon and his lady Cassana stroke the Red Keep, with queen Rhaella helplessly weeping for them in the Great Sept of Baelor and the Mad King descending upon madness more quickly even.

“Lord Steffon and lady Cassana died in a mission for the Crown, and the young stags would surely feel again protected by the Crown if their house would join house Targaryen again, like two generations ago with the arrival of princess Rhaelle.”

Both kingsguards exchange glances, almost like searching an explanation or even a support. If the only unsullied member of that wretched family was to be taken away, what could be awaiting around the corner?

“Storm’s End seems the most appropriate place, father” Rhaegar’s measured words leave Arthur and Barristan nonplussed. “Robert Baratheon is a force to be considered, and Valaena can be the most ideal way to make him bend the knee to the Crown’s wishes.” Both knights look at the prince, their expressions a mix of concern and understanding. They knew the politics of the realm as well as any, and the value of strategic marriages could not be underestimated, but Rhaegar giving up his sister, his only confident, the receiver of his hopes and praises, is something none of them can explain. “Besides, it is close to Kingslanding, with a safe passage through the Kingswood now that ser Arthur led the royal offensive and cleaned the road of thieves.”

As soon as the meeting meets its end, quickly Arthur and Barristan make their way towards Rhaegar, whose paces drive him to the Master of Whispers. Both knights carefully take their places behind them as the prince and the Spider talk about trivialities before the conversation takes a sharp turn into more pressing matters. The air around them thickens with tension as Rhaegar's tone becomes earnest, almost urgent.

“Do tell me there is a good reason for having placed that wretched idea on the table.” he grits, trying to look as calm and regal as always, the type of king Westeros deserves instead of Aerys.

“I seem to recall that you and I pursue the same interests, Your Highness. Our primary aim is to ensure the stability and prosperity of the realm,” the Spider responds, his voice smooth and measured, a stark contrast to the prince’s fight to keep his composure.

Barristan Selmy swiftly opens a door, half hidden at mere sight and the three of them end up pushing Varys inside, quickly closing it behind, making sure nobody listens to their clandestine meeting. The room, lit by a single flickering candle, casts long shadows across the faces of the men, adding an air of mystery.

“You have to be kidding, Spider” the Stormlander spits, arms crossed over his chest, clearly disgusted.

“We share a common goal, despite our interests being different” the bald man observes each and every one of them and Arthur finds it hard to not gut that man in that room and let his heart drive his actions. “With the temperamental Robert Baratheon linked to the crown, maybe one day he witnesses one of the King’s fits and surprises us. I find it surprising that none of you have reached that thought…”

“How sure you are that he will risk everything for the princess?”

It is not a question, but almost a growl that escapes his lips. With his wrist resting carelessly over Dawn’s pommel, Arthur’s lilac eyes observe the eunuch’s face with attention, ready to defend Valaena’s honour if he musts.

“She is a complete delight” a cunning smile upon Varys’ thin lips repulses him. “There are lots of young lords who would gladly risk their titles, their lands, even their lives for a chance to stand beside her. All she has to do is charm him, and he will do whatever she wishes, no matter the cost. Power, in its most intoxicating form, wouldn’t you agree, my lord?”

Arthur’s grip on Dawn tightens with the mere thought of his princess used as a mere tool in the dangerous games of court. The idea of Valaena, with her vibrant laugh and kind heart, being manipulated by those who see her as nothing more than a pawn in their quests for power fills him with a cold, seething anger. Yet, amidst this storm of emotions, a steadfast resolve takes root within him. He knows the challenges that lay ahead are daunting, but the thought of Valaena facing these alone is something he cannot, and will not, entertain. The fire in his heart, fueled by his love and unwavering determination, ignites a clear path forward. He vows to himself to keep her away from any harm, to guard her as long as he breathes, to stand by her side against the shadows that seek to engulf her.

Only when Rhaegar dismisses the Master of Whispers he allows himself to show the true depth of his concern.

“What happened to the vision, Rhaegar?” his voice, bitter, reflects the turmoil swirling within him. “We were supposed to protect her, to ensure her safety above all else. Have we lost ourselves that badly in the webs of the spider that we are unable to see the light with our own eyes?”

The vision. How hard it had been to handle the burden of such a prophecy, one who sealed the fate of the young princess to a loveless marriage, to the hopes of bearing a saviour, the future of house Targaryen depending on her fragile shoulders… At least she has Elia by her side. For a short while.

[0m3g45n1p3r4lph4]

Inspired by this post of Krahka on Mata Nui, I do love thinking about Metru Nui stuff appearing on Mata Nui. Be it Kikanalo heading through the Po-Metru canyons being respected and honoured as natural carvers, Turaga's right hands being trusted to wield a Kanoka (imagine Jaller having a Ta-Toa Kanoka while everyone else uses Bamboo), or a little more emphasis on some really advanced machines using recycled Airship parts.

However one of my favourites is the Ash Bear from Maze of Shadows. Since the GBA game shows it using the Makuta Nui combiner, I like to imagine the specific mutated Ash Bear Nokama talked to looked like this. Thankful for peaceful passage from the Toa, and respecting that they too come to the island paradise seeking safety from great danger, she agrees to coexist with the Matoran from a distance.

Legends tell of a beast roaming the jungles of Le-Wahi and southern forests of Ta-Wahi. Red eyes glowing in the dark overhangs, massive teeth glinting, and terrain marked by twin slashes, massive and deep. A roar, rivaling a Muaka easily but not traceable to any known Rahi. It had rarely come north, but it's closest sighting ever was in the Battle of the Charred Forest.

As the flames spread, the roar was heard deafeningly close, nearly paralyzing half of the Guard in fear. From the flames emerges a beast so unusual - so grotesque to the Matoran - with a burning Matoran in one hand, and massive blades on the other (blades so long they spawned rumour that the Makuta had 3 arms). Believed by many to be the Makuta himself on the front lines of his most fierce attack yet, it was actually trying to scare away the rest of the Rahi to protect the Matoran, and carrying the corpse out of the fire.

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An Eye for an Eye Ch.11

MASTERLIST / ao3 / wattpad

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

"A dog that kills is no different whether it weeps after or not. Your guilt will not purify you."

Summary: Lady Cassandra Baratheon, the new sovereign of Storm's End prepares for her new duties while Daenys Velaryon returns to Dragonstone where her impulsive actions are disapproved of, but no amount of guilt can absolve her now.

Word Count: 4.3k

Cassandra Baratheon, now the lady of Storm's End, stood in the courtyard of her home, surveying the horizon. The knight in front of her whom she had spared the wrath of her friend's beast dropped to one knee before her with a graceful flourish, bowing his head in a gesture of reverence.

"Lady Cassandra," he began, his voice steady and unwavering, "I pledge my sword and my life to you. From this day forth, I swear to honour and protect you with all that I am."

A soft laugh escaped Cassandra's lips, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she regarded the knight before her. "Ser Reynard," she replied with a playful smile, "you always did have a flair for the dramatic."

"I...do my best, my lady."

"Of course you do. And I suppose I could do worse than having you as my sworn protector."

"You will not regret it."

"I know I won't. You know I don't make wagers when the odds aren't in my favour," she nodded, a smirk lifting the edges of her lips. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Ser Reynard's expression softened at her words, a hint of pride shining in his eyes as he rose to his feet. "I am at your service, my lady," he said earnestly, "whatever you may need, I shall endeavour to provide."

"You better."

As they turned to make their way back into the castle, Cassandra's satisfaction was short-lived as she was met with her sister's fiery gaze and even sharper tongue. Maris Baratheon stood at the entrance, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression one of undisguised anger.

"Are you fucking insane?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific, dear sister."

"You...you killed him. You killed Father!" Maris's voice dropped into a furious whisper, eyes darting around as her hand closed around her sister's bicep in a vicelike grip. 

Cassandra scoffed, sending a cursory glance toward the charred corpses that still littered their grounds, "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. I had nothing to do with that."

"Liar! You really expect me to believe-"

"I do actually. You are now in the presence of the head of our house. I do hope I do not have to remind you of your manners again, Maris. What happened was surely a great tragedy, but this is what happens."

"What happens when one murders their father!"

"No, what happens when one breaks an oath," Cassandra corrected with a magnanimous smile. "Father broke an oath, and he paid the price with his life. I do not intend to make the same mistake."

"Have you no sense of honour?" Maris snapped, her grip growing tighter. "No filial piety at all?"

The lady of House Baratheon wrenched her arm away from her sister, meeting her gaze with cool defiance, her chin held high as she squared her shoulders.

"Respect for our family's honour?" she echoed, her tone laced with sarcasm. "What filial piety do I owe a father who would never have handed over my inheritance?"

"So you allied yourself with a psychopath?" Maris laughed, a short derisive sound. "She fucking set him on fire! She set him on fire and you watched her do it. 

No, I practically begged her to do it. 

"Is that truly the kind of person you wish to ally yourself with? She could turn on you any day, and then it will be you on the receiving end of her destruction. She'll set her god-forsaken dragon on you one day!"

"Is that what you're afraid of, Maris...being the target of the princess's rage?" Cassandra's eyes flashed as she took a step forward, her voice taking on a sickeningly saccharine tone. "Afraid she'll find out what you said to her husband?"

Maris blanched and her sister's serpentine smile grew wider at the confirmation. 

"I hear what you said to him. I heard how you toyed with him, how your words sent him practically sprinting into the storm after the little prince. I heard it all, and you're right to be afraid. She would practically skin you for it."

Cassandra wasn't entirely sure how much of what she had just said was true. She had never known Daenys to be a particularly violent person, but her earlier display had silenced any doubts she may have had. She hadn't even known if Daenys would take her bait, but it seemed that her rage overshadowed any sensibility she may have possessed. 

"You wouldn't dare tell her," Maris snarled. "Even you have to have some sense of loyalty to your family. And besides, it would not endear you to her, which I know you so desperately want."

Cassandra hummed in agreement, "You're right. I will not tell her. The princess has other matters to concern herself with, and I would be a fool to make an enemy of her, especially after what I have seen her to be capable of."

"Mother will not be pleased to hear of this."

"Well, then aren't we lucky she is not here to show her displeasure? She is away in Nightsong and we have work to do, so do excuse me, dear sister."

"You're making a mistake. What happens when the other side comes knocking on our doors, asking about the promises Father made."

"And they say you're supposed to be the clever one," Cassandra rolled her eyes. "We will have protection of course. The princess murdered our lord in cold blood. Surely she owes us that much. We shall summon her should the need arise."

Maris scoffed incredulously, her hands curling into fists at her sides. 

"The princess is not some bloodhound you can whistle at and she'll come running."

"No? I have a feeling she just might."

Cassandra had gotten to know Daenys quite well over the years, and she was familiar with her tendency to allow guilt to weigh heavy on her mind. She was almost certain that the Targaryen girl would prove herself useful should Cassandra ever need her. She had always come running in the past when Cassandra would invite her as a friend, and now in her mind, she owed the Lady of Storm's End a debt. She would hasten twice as fast. 

With that, she turned on her heel and strode purposefully into the castle, leaving Maris fuming in the courtyard behind her. There was much to be done to clean up the macabre sight outside, as well as to look over her father's affairs and put them in order. There would be time later for Cassandra to examine the slight thrill that she felt at the pure venom in Daenys's voice at the mention of her one-eyed husband. Aemond Targaryen had lost his place in her heart, so perhaps there would be space for another.  

Rhaenyra stood at the head of the grand hall of Dragonstone, her regal stance not betraying the turmoil of her thoughts. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows upon the walls, and at her side stood Rhaena, whose presence brought both comfort and distraction. She insisted on Rhaena's attendance at every meeting, a decision born of a desire to involve her in matters of state, but today, it was also a means of filling the void left by her other absent children.

Lord Celtigar, one of her most trusted allies, spoke with urgency, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His words were of great import, no doubt, but Rhaenyra found it difficult to focus. Her mind wandered, pulled by the invisible strings of worry and uncertainty.

Daemon was away at Harrenhal, while Jace and Baela remained in Winterfell, esteemed guests of House Stark. It was a strategic move, one she had orchestrated with the hopes of strengthening alliances, but it left her feeling vulnerable, bereft of the familiar faces that had always stood by her side.

Her thoughts drifted, inexorably drawn to the daughter she had sent off that morning, to the place where her son had met his tragic end. Would she lose Daenys too, as she had lost Luke? The thought clawed at her heart, filling her with a deep, gnawing fear. Then came another, far more worrying, for her daughter's intentions had been difficult to predict, her emotions hidden behind a mask of forced stoicism. 

She was brought out of her reverie by the gentle touch on her shoulder. She looked up to meet her daughter's concerned eyes, raising an eyebrow in response. Rhaena tipped her head toward the entrance where a knight stood waiting for her attention.

"Yes?" she inquired.

The knight bowed respectfully before delivering his message, "The Princess Daenys has returned from Storm's End with urgent news, Your Grace."

Lord Celtigar, sensing the gravity of the moment, paused in his address, his gaze shifting towards the entrance with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. When Daenys finally stood before her, Rhaenyra could see the weight of her daughter's burden etched in the lines of her face, and yet she looked the same, making the Queen almost sigh in relief. 

She inclined her head in acknowledgment, silently urging Daenys to speak, and the girl did so, bowing her head respectfully before handing a sealed letter to her mother. 

"Your Majesty, Queen Rhaenyra of the Seven Kingdoms, Storm's End is now yours," she announced solemnly.

Oh. 

She wasn't quite sure how to react. Rhaenyra had become so accustomed to receiving bad news that when finally, she was met with something promising, she did not know how to accept it. She did not know what she was expecting but it was certainly not this. Her daughter stood before her whole, not a single new scar upon her where it was visible —because of course a mother charted the course of marks across her child's skin like constellations. It was only her hair that was in disarray, and fresh blood seeped from the bandage wrapped around her eye. 

With trembling hands, she broke the seal of the letter, her eyes scanning the words penned within with building confusion. The contents confirmed Daenys' proclamation, detailing the surrender of Storm's End and the unconditional pledge of fealty to the new queen of Westeros, although the most baffling part was the name signed at the bottom. 

Lady Cassandra Baratheon. 

Lord Celtigar and Rhaena scrutinized her for a reaction, and Rhaenyra felt almost suffocated. She wanted to send them away but instead, she had to stand here and endure their eyes. Her life had made her accustomed to people staring at her, watching her every move, but sometimes their gaze still pricked. 

"I'm not sure I understand," she began, "Why has Lord Borros not signed the letter?"

Daenys avoided her gaze guiltily and immediately her mother's blood ran cold. 

"May I suggest that you send your condolences to House Baratheon on the passing of Lord Borros, my Queen."

"What have you done?" Rhaenyra whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of her blood rushing through her ears. Horror crept into her words, chilling her to the core.

Daenys met her mother's gaze with unwavering resolve, her expression impassive and her single eye empty. "Only what was required," she replied calmly, her tone devoid of remorse.

Rhaenyra recoiled inwardly, her mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. The realization dawned upon her with a sickening clarity – her child had played a hand in the death of the Lord of Storm's End. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her – disbelief, anger, and a profound sense of betrayal. How could her own daughter commit such an act, knowing the consequences it would bring? She wanted to scream at her, to drag her into a standing position and shake her until she had pried lose the information from between her clenched teeth, but she found herself unable to confront Daenys, to demand answers that she feared she already knew.

The new Lady of Storm's End, content with the arrangement, sent her regards in a letter that seemed penned much too eagerly – a hollow gesture that carried the weight of bloodshed and treachery.

The Queen's mind raced with the implications of her daughter's actions. The lords would surely cause an uproar, their outrage fueled by fear. The fragile alliances she had painstakingly forged threatened to unravel, their foundation shaken by the spectre of bloodshed and the promise of violence. However, there was potential too. 

If a King isn't feared, he is powerless. If you are to be a strong queen, you must cultivate love and respect, yes, but your subjects must fear you. 

Daemon's words echoed in her head once more, reinforced by the weight of Daenys's actions, and Lord Celtigar's incredulous expression as he watched on. 

Well, they certainly would have some cause for fear now. They would fear what else she might be capable of. They would wonder who she would set her hunting hound upon next, for that was the only way she could describe the desperation with which Daenys looked up at her now, still on her knees. It was the expression of a dog so wretchedly yearning for its master's approval after presenting its latest kill. 

The image of her son flashed in her mind too, her brown-haired babe who would never again ask her to hold her hand. Very well then, Rhaenyra Targaryen was done being forgiving. She would remove her hand from the cage and allow her daughter to carry out her revenge in her name. 

A daughter and a dog. They were not so different. She felt guilty for placing such a burden on Daenys, but there was nothing else to be done. There was no one else who could bear it like her, and in time she would forgive her for it. Daughters and dogs were like that, so loyal, so forgiving. 

How did one deny a weapon that was so eager to be used, that practically begged you to set it upon your enemies? 

You didn't. 

With a heavy heart, Rhaenyra turned away from Daenys, unable to meet her gaze. "You are dismissed," she said curtly, her voice equal parts displeasure and regret.

It pained her to be this way, but she could not appear too eager at the news. She could not express enthusiasm or approval at her daughter's misdeeds, not while Lord Celtigar waited to relay the news of their victory to the rest of her council. 

As Daenys made her way to her chambers, a heavy sense of unease settled over her like a suffocating shroud. She couldn't help but feel a pang of hurt at her mother's coldness, though she knew deep down that it was to be expected. After all, she had orchestrated the downfall of a noble lord, a deed that would not go unpunished or unnoticed. But even so, the biting chill of her queen's demeanour cut deeper than she had anticipated, confirming her worst fears of who she was becoming. 

In her chambers, Daenys noticed that someone had already drawn her a bath, anticipating her return, although its water was now cold and forgotten. Despite the chill in the air, she refused to call for her handmaidens, choosing to instead undress herself with shaking hands. The tremours had returned and she knew she would have to raid Maester Gerardys's storage chambers once more if she was to quell them. 

The bandages that wrapped tightly around her arms felt constricting, like shackles binding her to the consequences of her actions. As she carelessly peeled them away, the fabric clung stubbornly to her wounded skin, sending tendrils of pain shooting through her body.

It was a welcome relief. 

As she scrubbed at her wounds raw, the tears she had been holding back welled in her eye, blurring her vision with a veil of sorrow, and with each sob that wracked her body, Daenys felt the weight of her guilt pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket. What else was there to do with so much remorse, so much regret? How could she ever hope to atone for the sins she had committed, and those she had not?

She did not touch the bandage around her eye, even though she could feel its uncomfortable dampness pressed warm against her skin. Every twinge of discomfort served as a cruel echo of the torment her husband must have suffered, and it was a cruel twist of fate to be haunted by the memory of a man she despised, his mark etched into her very being. To wish to forget someone, only to have a permanent reminder of them carved into you, by your own hand at that. Her hatred for him was only slightly tempered by her pity. Perhaps, she mused darkly, she should have blinded herself long ago, before his scars had hardened into permanent reminders of his past. Perhaps then, she might have understood him better, seen the world through his tortured eyes.

Later, Daenys sat in solitude, the silence broken only by the sound of her own ragged breaths. Still in just her shift, she wrapped fresh gauze around her arms, the texture chafing against her wounded skin as she tightened the bindings roughly with a grim determination.

With each turn, memories of that fateful night flooded her mind – the night Aemond had tended to her wounds with a gentleness she had not known him capable of after all that he had done. It had been the last shred of kindness she had received from him, the final flicker of warmth in a marriage fraught with bitterness and betrayal.

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't hear the soft knock on her door, nor did she notice the presence of her mother as she entered the room. It was only when Rhaenyra cleared her throat that Daenys turned around abruptly, her eyes widening in surprise.

She scrambled to her feet, the instinct to show deference to her queen kicking in, but Rhaenyra shook her head, a troubled expression clouding her features. 

"Oh, none of that in here, my darling."

Daenys faltered, unsure of what to say or how to react. Her mother's presence was both a comfort and a source of unease, a reminder of the terrible deeds she would go on to commit in her name. 

Rhaenyra approached her daughter with a measured step, her gaze searching her face for signs of distress, "I came to check on you."

"I'm fine, Mother."

"You don't have to bear this burden alone, Daenys," the Queen out to brush her daughter's wet hair away from her neck. Her gaze drifted across her arms and her lips twisted into a grimace. "I never did ask you how you got these. What did they do to you? What happened there?"

Daenys did not know what to say. How did one talk about such things, and to their own mother? Above all, she did not want to be the cause of more worry or pain, for the one woman who had suffered the most. She gently shrugged off her mother's hands and hurriedly dressed herself to cover her arms and all the painful reminders they bore.

"It is nothing, Mother. It is the least of my problems, to be truthful. They are already beginning to heal."

"Then perhaps we should talk about Storm's End. What happened there?" 

"There is nothing to talk about Mother. We have the alliance we need. And House Baratheon is no longer headed by a disrespectful man. I see no problem," Daenys's voice came out slow and measured.

"You blame Lord Borros for Luke's death? Is that why you are so angry? Why you feel like you had to do this?"

Daenys tried not to acknowledge the bitter feeling at the mention of Luke. Every time someone mentioned him, she felt a hot stab of self-loathing. It opened up a well of resentment inside her so deep that she thought it would consume her.

"I blame many people for it Mother. And all of them will suffer for it!"

"Do you blame me then? Speak the truth. Do you blame me for sending him, for if anyone is at fault, it should be me for making that sweet boy go when I could see so clearly that he desperately didn't want to!"

"I don't blame you. How could I ever blame you? I just..." Daenys was at a loss for words once more.

Rhaenyra's sigh echoed in the quiet chamber, and with a resigned expression, she settled down beside Daenys, drawing her daughter gently into her lap. With careful hands, she began to undo the bandages around her injured eye, revealing the raw, tender skin beneath.

As she pressed the poultice against the wound, Daenys shifted uncomfortably, a protest forming on her lips. "Mother, you'll get your dress wet," she murmured, attempting to rise from her lap.

But the queen only scoffed, her expression one of unwavering determination. "I don't care about the dress," she replied firmly, her voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. "All that matters is that you're taken care of. I do not know how much longer I will be granted the privilege of caring for my children, but I will ensure that I make the most of our time."

It was cruel to be constantly waiting for the shadow of death. 

After several moments of silence, in a voice tinged with sullen defiance, Daenys spoke, "I will not apologize."

"I do not expect you to."

"It was necessary. You know that it was necessary. We cannot allow these foolish men to keep spurning you simply because they do not think you are worthy enough. They think Aegon will make a better king just because of that thing between his legs. And well yes, I will admit I had a personal grudge to settle against Lord Borros. My brother died on his lands. He could have saved him, protected him, but instead, he let that monster go after a little boy!" 

She felt her mother flinch under her, and she felt guilty again. The whole ordeal brought out something ugly and vicious within her, something that did not care who got hurt as long as someone did. The tendency of the wounded to inflict wounds upon others. She waited for her queen to bring up Luke's true killer. For her to voice the thoughts that plagued Daenys every single day. For her to finally say that all this anger was simply displaced and that her brother's true murderer was someone who used to live in her heart. But perhaps Rhaenyra had seen the fragile thread of composure near its breaking point and she remained blessedly silent. Thank the gods for small mercies. Daenys didn't think she could talk about him.

Rhaenyra watched her daughter cautiously. Others might have thought that her daughter's reckless viciousness was akin to Daemon's but surely that is who the lords would liken her to once they heard of her misdeeds. However, there was another to whom she bore an even closer resemblance. The queen was familiar with what the people whispered about —once upon a time she had shared those thoughts herself. 

Foolish Harwin's foolish daughter. So much like him in every way except for her appearance. She had named Daenys her heir, and the silly child had begged so desperately to give up what had been her divine right. Content to watch from the shadows in the name of love and loyalty, satisfied with pecking crumbs when she could devour. Still, everyone forgot that Harwin Breakbones Strong once beat a man to a bloody pulp for insulting her honour, the honour of the woman he loved, and he would have ended Ser Criston for it too. When it really came down to it, love was violence, devotion was violence, and he knew it well. 

Harwin Strong had more in common with his daughter than most imagined.

Rhaenyra sent him a silent prayer to spare Daenys. 

You have our son. Do not take our daughter from me too. 

"Ah, there she is. The girl I have always known. You were most like your father. So fiercely loyal and stubborn to a fault. And so protective of those you love. As Queen, I should be most thankful for your loyalty but as your mother, it gladdens me more that he passed on his love for family to you. If anything were to happen to me, I know you would protect this family with everything."

It was difficult for Daenys to muster within her some sort of positive emotion but she tried. It was some reassurance that her mother saw fragments of Ser Laenor within her; that she wasn't a complete and utter disappointment to his memory. 

What she did not know was that Laenor was not who Rhaenyra spoke of at all. There was only one person Rhaenyra could refer to with that kind of grief in her eyes. The kind of grief that spoke of not enough time and a love that went unexpressed. 

"Nothing will happen to you Mother. I swear it. I swear by all the gods that I will not let anything happen to you. I will not fail to protect another person that I love."

Rhaenyra swatted at her arm gently, "Enough with your oaths. You have given too many in too few days. I wish you would give me truths instead. I cannot stand not knowing."

"One day you will have all my truths. I promise."

"I suppose that day will not be today, will it?"

No. 

Some truths were meant to be carried to the grave. 

A/N: likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, would love to hear your thoughts <3