#everything includes those Maw is closest to and then himself

[bosspigeon]

what was the relationship between gortash and your durges pre-lobotomy? how do they feel when they meet him again?

:3 soooo originally i thought it would be REALLY funny if Gortash was shooting his shot so hard but Maw (pre-lobo Moss~) was just So Autistic he just didn't get it

but then i realized i could go deeper and much more painful :3c

i stand by Moss being a Big Ol' Virgin before Astarion, bc i, personally, think that makes for a very fun(ny) dynamic and also fits in with the character i've already established for Maw, and that was that he was so single-mindedly focused on his duty to Bhaal and his destiny that he didn't really bother with seeking out any sort of bond with anyone, much less enough for him to start feeling sexual attraction towards them. his duty was Murder and he was very, very, very good at it, and that came from a lifetime of dedication

but i think, meeting Gortash, someone he saw as more of an equal than even Orin (who he saw as his lesser by virtue of him being made by Bhaal from his own flesh and her being a second-generation spawn from a first-generation spawn that he still considered imperfect as well as misguided wrt his ideas about Blood Purity) and eventually befriending him over their shared passions and dedication to their respective patron gods, opening him up to actually making his own adult bond with someone else for the first time in his entire life

his relationship with Gortash started as a business deal and eventually turned into companionship and his first genuine friendship. and from there, feelings began to emerge on both sides, but seeing as Maw had a lot of practice shoving down any Softer Feelings he may have had (and an adolescence of Firm Guidance into perfection overseen by Sceleritas, who served Bhaal first and foremost) so before Orin betrayed him, they never got further than a very heavy, very dangerous Almost.

[lonelywretchjervistetch]

My DCCU: Character Essay - Mr. Mxyzptlk

So...did you see the last episode of MAWS?

I just wrote an essay discussing this series, and without making you read that (although here it is if you wanna), let's just say I love almost everything about it, but the villains have me...nervous. Which, yeah, not exactly a unique take on the series, critically speaking. It is, in fact, the most common refrain about the series amongst Superman fans.

Now, since then, to be fair, we've gotten some very promising characters make their debut, or becoming more prominent. Task Force X - which includes Amanda Waller, the General (who's gotta be Sam Lane, but may also take some inspiration from Wade Eiling; time'll tell on that one, though), and a very cool super-armored version of Deathstroke - are our main antagonists, and I'm excited to see what comes out of them. Their former associates, power couple Brain and Monseiur Mallah (who are also gay in the comics, if you didn't know) are a more sympathetic turn on the characters, but quite satisfying in this form.

But no, there's only one real reason I'm making this post. And that is of course, the villain featured in the most recent episode, as of me writing this post. He's already up above, so let's just get into it.

Fun fact about me: I love a lot of Superman villains, but of all of them, my absolute favorite is Mr. Mxyzptlk. He's a mischief-making, chaos-loving, harmless and harmful menace from the 5th dimension, who obeys no laws of the dimensions below. The origin of legends, past and present, of genies, leprechauns, fey, and imps that tease men with ill-fated wishes. An all-powerful being disguised as a man dressed in a funny little hat.

Mr. Mxyzptlk is the Robin Goodfellow of Superman's world. He appears to amuse himself, no matter the cost to the Man of Steel's day. Usually, you can send him back via making him say his own name backwards, but that's just one of the rules to Mxy's games. And make no mistake, that's what they are: games. Mr. Mxyzptlk has played on the side of angels and devils, and he really only cares about his own amusement. And his relationship with Superman, varied as it can be, helps to fuel his morality.

I could bring up the character's live-action appearances (which are notable in their own right), but those are mostly afraid to really go for it. The closest to the original character would be Michael J. Pollard's version in Superboy, a mostly forgotten series from the late'80s, and a version that actually wears the comic book outfit. There's also the Supergirl version, which was notable, and played by Peter Gadiot and Thomas Lemmon; and there's the version played by Howie Mandel (yes, really) in Lois and Clark: The Adventures of Superman in the '90s, which is a more evil but passable version of the character. Oh, and the Smallville version? Yeah, absolutely doesn't count. If you want a true adaptation for Mxy, you gotta go animated.

The most iconic adaptation of this character was portrayed by the late, great Gilbert Gottfried in Superman: The Animated Series. Now, I say the most iconic, but that's probably a bit biased on my part. In my opinion, this is the most fun and accurate version we've seen of the character, taking from his original design for inspiration. An annoying imp that appears every three months, his debut episode in the series, Mxyzpixillated, is one of my favorite episodes of the series, and goes balls-to-the-wall wacky, as you should with Mxyzptlk.

The character had only a few more appearances in the series after his first, but Gottfried's performance was so memorable, he was brought back for multiple incarnations, including the video game DC Universe Online, and the more recent animated series Justice League Action, which would be one of Gottfried's last performances, and therefore his last appearance as the character. He'll be sorely missed for a number of reasons, but the voice he gave to the imp is never going to leave me.

Which brings me to the version of the character we see in MAWS. And yeah, this is obviously a VERY different version of the character, appearance-wise. Outside of the orange and purple color scheme and one other exception, this version has no design similarities with any version of Mxyzptlk, and is obviously very anime-inspired, as is the entire series. I mean, for Chrissakes, the title of the episode is a reference to Ouran High School Host Club. They knew what they were doing.

We meet Mxyzptlk in the middle of a heist, and he already shows his power and prowess by tricking Clark immediately. Amongst a bunch of fantastic DCU references, and a lot of multiverse talk, we eventually stumble upon his actual goal: the reclamation of an ancient artifact stolen from him by the League of Lois Lanes. And that artifact is...his hat. THE hat. And lemme tell ya, I was overjoyed to see that stupid little bowler.

Once he gets it, we get a glimpse of true Mxyzptlk power, as he goes full chaos lord on us. He's eventually defeated through trickery with portals, and NOT through the backwards name gambit. And even then, he's not actually defeated, and returns in the end to annoy his new target: Lois Lane. Yeah. He's haunting LOIS, not Clark. And honestly, I'm...very intrigued.

This Mxyzptlk is, honestly, a faithful version of the character, straight-up. Sure, there are elements missing, and the outfit is completely different, but he also sort of looks like you'd expect an imp or genie to look. Like Alan Moore said in Whatever Happened to the Man of Steel?, why should an extradimensional imp look like a little man in a suit and funny little bowler? I think this works, honestly.

I'm also excited to see him in the future of the series, and see what they do with the character as a result. Mxyzptlk is, as I said earlier, one of my favorites, whether he helps or hurts the Man of Tomorrow. And if I had one complaint, it's that I want him to go wackier. Like, CRAZY. Watch his appearances in Superman: The Animated Series if you haven't, and you'll see what I mean. The potential is quite literally unlimited when it comes to the fifth dimension imp.

But if that's the case...what would I do with Mxyzptlk in my DCCU?

Mr. Mxyzptlk in My DCCU

I would do...not much more than Easter eggs at first. Look, I love Mxyzptlk, but having him as a character in a film or film series is extremely tricky. But instead, Mxyzptlk is both a seen and unseen force in my DCCU, hovering around Superman's world without actually interfering in it directly. Not exactly his bag, I know, but it's a good way to get him to work in a film series. Essentially, I'm turning him into a background character in the first and second films, to be noticed by only the most observant. Disguised as other characters, maybe making odd gestures every now and then as if to manipulate things around him. The ultimate Easter egg character, basically. Until, possibly the very end of the second, or even the third film in the franchise.

Fast forward to the second film's post-credit scene.

A poker game is being played, but we're table level. All we see are the hands and the cards, which get increasingly stranger as the game goes on. Three voices are speaking, and we get the immediate idea that these people are watching our heroes. Eventually, a fourth voice juts in, and we also find out that a fifth one of them has been invited, but chose not to attend. Finally, we pan up, and we see...some dude.

This guy, whoever they are, should've been a face we've seen in the first and second films, usually hanging around the Daily Planet, but also around Metropolis. In fact, they should be visible in every conflict or battle seen in the films thus far. As we look at the others, we should see similar figures that've appeared in Batman, Wonder Woman, and Flash films that've come put by this point. All extras, and all watching our heroes. In fact, it'd be great if the Flash-focused person hasn't appeared yet, because the Flash's film releases after this one.

Finally, as we pan back around to the Superman-focused character, who is smoking a cigar, the conversation turns to what's coming. Mxyzptlk is aware of what's coming for Superman, but the rest refer to "the first Crisis". Mxyzptlk sort of brushes it off, even as they're saying things that hint at the first big even film to come in the DCCU. And these should be vague yet intriguing clues to this event. But Mxyzptlk insists that his guy'll be prepared, and that he has a lot of money riding on that outcome. With that, the mysterious figure looks directly at the camera.

Yeah, realizing that we're peering in on the game, he probably berates the nerds in the audience for knowing who he is without it being said (possibly by turning into a more comic-accurate version of himself) , then confirms that he'll be back in the next one, but not as the big threat. Maybe he'll be there to help, maybe not; depends on his mood that day. After a few more snarky remarks, he gives us a look and tells us to buzz off. We may even get a glimpse at the other imps in the room, those being Bat-Mite, Wondermite, and Mopee. And with that, he snaps his fingers, and the film ends officially.

Yeah, I basically pulled an Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania to bring in Mxyzptlk. And, since that scene is one of the best of the film, I don't think that's a problem! In the next film, we know what Mxyzptlk's identity looks like, and he may even give us a wave from the background in his first appearance in the next film. He won't interfere directly, but in the last post-credits scene of this trilogy, he'll finally get caught by Superman. Over time, Superman's had some experience with magic users, probably via Wonder Woman. And magic, in my universe, has a distinctive smell of some kind.

Knowing that Mxyzptlk's been watching him throughout the films, Clark finally confronts him on it, and asks what he wants. And Mxyzptlk actually replies and shows himself, explaining that the battles to come are pretty intense. He won't help or harm, but he just wanted to give a heads-up, mostly because it's fun. With that and a bit more conversation, Mxyzptlk leaves having given this ominous warning.

Does he return? Maybe during a Crisis on Infinite Earths movie, maybe in the Darkseid-based Justice League film to come, who knows? This version of the character is basically a Watcher, maybe throwing in some fun chaos here and there. It's sort of hard to add Mxyzptlk into a film series, because he's not a plotter. He's an all-powerful one-off character who, were he to be introduced as a genuine threat to the films, could just kill Superman immediately. It wouldn't make sense. So, make him neutrally bent, and keep him as a fun Easter egg character.

That take may be disappointing to some, but...like, c'mon, guys, he's a pretty big gun. Having him as the ultimate threat of a film also wouldn't make it very fun, because we don't want to see him get killed, but he also can't really win. It'd just be unsatisfying. I like the idea of making him this greater, scarier presence, while also making all of the imps these all-powerful observant beings that watch over our plane with fascination and/or reverence. And maybe, just maybe, we can squeeze some mischief in there somewhere.

Any other ideas on how you would introduce Mr. Mxyzptlk to a cinematic universe (if you should at all)? Reblog! Comment! I'm extremely curious, frankly. This was one of, like, three ideas I had, but the one I thought worked best.

And if you liked this, check out my other Superman essays here!

[too-kinky-to-live]

taste

happy vo.re day everyone!!! here’s my cringe fic to commemorate :-) 

(no ao3 link this time im too self conscious) 

this idea came about while talking to the lovely @chili-kinks and they made this in conjunction with my fic so please check them out!!

anyway this fic features pre.game oum.asai and soft, same size vo.re, you have been warned. also bad words

“IIIIT’S PUNISHMENT TIME!!!”

The screen cut to a large Monokuma towering over the latest blackened, a small blonde girl with a long pigtail. The demonic bear picked up the girl and began to lick all over as she struggled in his grasp. Slowly lifting her above his head, Monokuma bent his head back and opened the gates of hell: his half-fanged mouth, with drool beginning to form around it. The girl was screaming and flailing about as she was lowered further down to her demise. Monokuma’s fist released her without effort, the blackened dropping right into his gaping maw. It slammed shut with a metal clang, and the bear gave a loud, deafening gulp. 

Saihara’s eyes were glued to the T.V., in a more intense manner than usual. What a cruel way to go, even for Danganronpa standards. He had many ideas about his own execution someday, but this… this was definitely one to consider. He could only imagine how she felt wriggling around in his large belly, put to an eternal sleep with a comforting blanket of warmth. His shaky hands moved to text his boyfriend Ouma, who sadly couldn’t make it to their weekly Danganronpa viewing because of heaps of school projects. He knew Ouma was more into the mystery aspect of the show than the gruesome killings, but he simply couldn’t resist. 

Saihara: omgomgomg did you see the latest episode???

Ouma: I did. I had it on in the background so I could work. 

Saihara: what did you think of the execution? :D

Ouma: It was… something. Unexpected, definitely. 

It was difficult for the taller boy to contain his fantasizing, to say the least. 

Saihara: i love the way she was screaming for dear life,,, it was soooo satisfying in the end! god i wish i were monokuma… tasting a victim would be so worth ittt

Ouma: Uh, Saihara?

Saihara: yea?

Ouma: I think you should go to bed. You have school tomorrow. And… you’re scaring me a little. 

Saihara: sorry kichi… but fiiiine ill see you tomorrow.

The last thing he wanted was to make Ouma uncomfortable. And he was a man of his word, he’d take his advice and get to bed. However, there was one thing he wanted to try first. Rummaging around in his snack drawer, he found a small bag of Monokuma-themed gummy bears. He couldn’t stop thinking about having something whole run down his throat… and what better way to do it than try on a small candy? He frantically opened the bag and plucked out a red gummy. Dangling it above his drooling maw, he licked his lips. 

“My first victim… down the hatch!” 

He shoved the gummy in his mouth and had to stop himself from chewing. Positioning it for swallowing, he let it slide down his throat with a hard gulp. Saihara traced a hand over his chest to feel it going down to his stomach, shivering slightly. What an amazing feeling… he couldn’t chew these ever again! He happily shoved more in his mouth and gulped them down, pretending they were meek little prey against his predatory might. 

Saihara tossed the bag aside and rubbed his belly blissfully. One day, maybe he could have a person inside him. Despite his affinity for Danganronpa, he could never bring himself to kill someone. He was going to rely on Team Danganronpa’s directors to change that for him. No, he merely wanted someone in his belly for a while, just to feel what it’s like. 

Surely a normal human like him couldn’t achieve that, right? 

Only one way to find out. 

Ouma looked on nervously as Saihara effortlessly swallowed half a sandwich whole. His previous victims included sushi, apple slices, candy, cookies, and brownies. It was almost inhuman how the taller boy could open his mouth to fit a seemingly endless array of food. 

"Saihara, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Saihara simply chuckled. "I'll be fine, 'Kichi." 

The smaller boy knew Saihara had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with Danganronpa, but he never would have imagined it would affect him this much. Despite how unnatural it was, Ouma couldn't help his morbid curiosity. He couldn't deny how interesting the latest execution was (no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise), and a small part of him absolutely loved watching Saihara scarf down food and seeing it travel down his throat. 

Nope, he definitely didn't enjoy this. 

Every so often, the taller boy would lift his food above him and slowly ease it into his mouth, as if to simulate eating a person. Ouma was immensely thankful the other patrons of the cafe were ignoring them. Maybe this sudden fascination would fade once the next Danganronpa episode came out; but with Saihara, anything was possible. 

Saihara: hey could you come over today? i wanna try something. 

Two weeks later, Ouma received a rather unceremonious text from Saihara one night. 

Ouma: Sure. What is it you want to try? 

Saihara: i don't think i can say over text

Ouma furrowed his brow, his mind racing to the absolute worst possible scenarios. Did something happen between him and his uncle again? 

Ouma: ...why not? 

Saihara: i just can't i'm sorry 

Saihara: pls come over asap 

Ouma: Alright.

It was unsettling how vague his friend was being, and that made him all the more worried. He hurriedly packed his things and ran to Saihara's house. 

The two sat across from each other on the floor in Saihara’s room, neither saying a word. The taller boy had his eyes cast down, deep in thought with Ouma left to wonder just what the hell happened to him. The air was unnerving, and Ouma couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you okay, Saihara?”

The boy in question took a second to look up at him, meeting his eyes with an emotionless face Ouma had not seen in him before. 

“Do you remember the episode where the girl got eaten alive?”

Oh.

“I… I want to try it out. I’ve been practicing so I could make it happen.”

Oh.

Saihara couldn’t possibly think this would work, right? Humans aren’t capable of eating each other without… killing the other. Ouma shuddered. 

“Saihara,” he spoke slowly. “Do you really think you can do this? I mean, Danganronpa is just fiction after all… and one of us wouldn’t s-survive,” his voice began to quiver. 

The taller boy sat up slightly and looked at Ouma with soft eyes. “I won’t let that happen. I’ve been looking stuff up. I’ve been training myself. And… you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

Part of Ouma didn’t want to. That part was constantly pushing the fact that this could end up very bad. However, another part slowly began to rise up - the feeling of being the closest he can to the one he has a crush on. And of course, there was that naughty side of him thrilled at the idea. 

“...I’ll do it.”

Saihara’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“I trust you. And, well, I’m kinda curious too.” 

Hearing Ouma have mutual feelings to this weird activity made Saihara’s heart race. The smaller boy began to remove his clothing, too embarrassed to make eye contact with his crush. Saihara finally noticed how bony Ouma was. He’d make sure to get him a proper meal later. Ouma removed everything but his boxers, feeling somewhat self-conscious and looking away with a blush. 

“Could you uh, close your eyes while I do this? I don’t think I could make eye contact with you.”

“S-Sure.”

Ouma complied and Saihara inched his way towards him, shaking slightly. Ouma trusted him. He wasn’t about to let that be for nothing. Raising himself above Ouma’s head, Saihara opened his maw until it became unhinged. He gently bit down on the smaller boy’s head of hair. The flavor was a sweet grape with a bit of lavender, which made Saihara drool slightly. He couldn’t help but smile in bliss as he took more of the boy in. He felt Ouma flinch a bit, so he brought his hands to Ouma’s arms and rubbed for reassurance. The smaller boy calmed down and Saihara reached his shoulders. 

Perhaps it was Ouma’s smaller stature, but this was going a lot easier than Saihara had anticipated. He wanted to lick at him to get more of his sweet flavor, but he didn’t want to gross him out. He also wished he could ask how Ouma was holding up, but, well… he was a bit preoccupied. As Saihara reached the smaller boy’s torso, he realized the boy had entered his stomach. He was already feeling full, but there was no going back now. He took a hand off of Ouma to rub his belly, his hand gliding over the dent created in it. Reaching Ouma’s boxers wasn’t nearly as thrilling of a milestone, since his taste was interrupted by bland fabric. 

He picked up the pace and shoved the covered part of Ouma’s body down his gullet. He mentally apologized for being so rough. Resuming the wonderful taste of Ouma, he slid down his spindly legs. All that remained was below the knees, and those were consumed just as quickly. Saihara could feel Ouma squirming a bit to get comfortable, and that’s when the true euphoria started. 

It felt fucking amazing. 

It was everything he hoped it would be. He leaned back and let an arm support him from behind, using the other to support the massive weight added to him. His stomach stretched past his knees with many bumps protruding from it. Red-faced, Saihara panted heavily with his tongue lavishly hanging out. God, this was so worth it. He rubbed around to feel for Ouma, who was surprisingly calm during the whole ordeal. 

He opened his mouth to ask Ouma how he was doing, but a massive belch burst from his lips instead. The smaller boy, meanwhile, was fumbling around trying to make out his surroundings in the dark. His body was drenched in saliva; but strangely, no stomach acid was present. The world quaked around him as Saihara let out a loud burp, and Ouma found it hard to be grossed out given his current circumstances. 

“Are you *urp* okay, ‘Kichi?” 

Saihara’s hand found Ouma’s head between the fleshy wall separating them, and Ouma couldn’t help but lean into the touch. He never saw himself in the stomach of his crush, yet here he was. 

“I’m okay. It feels… really nice,” he blushed, accentuated with a small rub to the stomach walls. He was amazed at how elastic Saihara’s stomach was, he hoped he wasn’t putting too much strain on it. 

“Haah… I’m great, ‘Kichi! The best I’ve ever felt, actually! You tasted incredible,” he grinned, licking his lips. 

Suddenly, the buttons on his dress shirt holding on for dear life relented and popped right off, exposing his large belly. That was… pretty hot, Saihara realized. Ouma started to rub more of the walls surrounding him, causing Saihara to moan rather loudly. He was a complete mess around his crush, but it was just too difficult to contain his bliss. 

“Saihara, why aren’t there any stomach acids yet?” 

The taller boy gave his belly a gentle pat. “I found recipes online for drinks that *hic* could subdue stomach acids for a bit. It looks *hic* like they worked pretty *hic* well, huh?” 

Ouma smiled and let himself lean back into the warm stomach walls. 

“You’ll let me out when I’m ready, right?” he asked tiredly. 

“Of course,” Saihara whispered, rubbing Ouma’s head.

“Thank you, Saihara.”

[mysdrymmumbles]

Saving Souls (Truce) - The Accuser - October Writing Prompt

While the Accuser couldnot say whether the assault on the Maw did any lasting damage to the Jailer’s forces—there were so many souls pouring into it—she was pleased with what they were able to accomplish.

She and half a dozen of her inquisitors had brought all the chains they could carry.

It wasn’t originally part of Prince Renathal’s or General Draven’s plans, but it seemed like such an obvious tactic. The Jailer’s army was fueled with souls, so why not take some? Take the ones that weren’t meant for there and bring them home to where they belonged, to where they could be saved.

It had made so much sense to her that she had been more than a little annoyed at the surprise on Renathal’s face when she told him what she intended to do. Of course he’d approved. She just wished he had thought of it himself.

The Accuser hadn’t known what to expect when their forces descended into the Maw, but it hadn’t been what they had found. She had looked out at the Maw from the edges of Revendreth an impossible amount of times.

The first had been when the venthyr seeking to save her had brought her there. It had been a moment of desperation, where her tormentor and savior had marched her to the edge and pointed out, held her over that drop and asked her if she really didn’t deserve it for him to simply let go.

Even then, unable to see into the Maw, only able to see its dark vortex, with tendrils of animosity that felt like they were reaching for her, like they would easily grip her and yank her out of her tormentor’s grasp, she had been terrified of it.

There was a darkness there, something so much more wicked than anything else she had ever encountered.

Even herself.

It was the second that thought had struck her that her tormentor—her savior, really—had pulled her back over the ledge, saying that if she could recognize the wickedness in her, perhaps she could overcome it after all.

So many times after she had been gifted her venthyr form, she found her way to the ledge, shuddering to find that those tendrils gripped her still, that the Maw was still hungry for her.

At first, despite the conviction she had in their cause to save souls, there had been a little whisper in the back of her mind that the Maw wanted her because that was where she should have gone. That now that she could recognize all the wrongs she had done, she had to know that there was no true penance that could be done for them.

It had been so tempting to just accept it, to step off that ledge and let the Maw claim what rightfully belonged to it.

The one time she had gotten closest to it, had felt her foot start to step forward, a hand had come down on her hand, and she was pulled back. The Harvester of Pride had been there, frown in place.

“You can’t believe it’s lies,” he’d said simply, already ushering her back toward the Halls of Atonement—they hadn’t been nearly as grand as they were by the time she assumed that title. When she had looked at him, confused, he’d nodded his head back toward the Maw, without ever taking his eyes off her. “It pulls at everyone.” Even as she wondered how he could read her so well, he’d leaned his head down to add in a whisper, “Myself and the Curator included.”

That had been what the Accuser had needed to hear, more than anything.

They two were venthyr made by Denathrius and not of souls. They had never committed atrocities.

By the Master, the Curator was one of the most just and true creatures the Accuser had ever known. If she felt that miserable tug from the Maw, then it really did want anything.

Everything.

The Accuser’s intent during the assault had been to claim the souls of those who needed redeeming.

But when they got there, there were so many. One soul, mostly hidden behind some torture contraption the Accuser didn’t want to put words to name, was so frightened upon being found that it simply gave up. One moment it was a shivering, weeping mess. Then next, with a word from her, it let out a wail and was nothing.

Some of the souls that huddled together in cages shown with an innocence that reminded the Accuser of Camille. That was when it truly struck her just who was going to the Maw.

Everyone.

She knew that. She had known since the Maw Walker had told her, and yet… Somehow it had not sunk in that the ascended, adhering to their most sacred duty, would allow even souls like this make that wretched plummet.

How many Camilles had been sent here? How many had been tormented and fallen apart the way that one soul had?

It made her sick.

She and her inquisitors filled their chains with all the souls they could. She made sure of it. Every one they could manage to pull out of here was one less soul that would suffer such cruelty.

They could parse out where the souls were meant to go later.

When Renathal finally called the retreat—there could be no true victory here in this place with its unending army—the Accuser had been tempted to stay behind. To establish some sort of relay, with her inquisitors. They could take turns here, venturing out from their fortifications, gathering all the souls they could, and taking them to Revendreth. They could have members from a few other realms come to discuss which souls would be best sent where.

A small part of her wanted to deny the Ascended a right to any of them. After all, if they wanted the souls in Bastion so badly, they could have spared them the free fall.

She had started to argue with Renathal about falling back to Sinfall.

To her surprise, he had caught her by the arm and pulled her close, whispering in her ear, “This place leeches everyone, every soul that comes here. That includes you and every one of our people. What will happen to the souls we’ve saved, to our charges, if we perish here?” And then, as though to make sure that she would not argue further, he added, “The Curator will not leave without you.”

The words had been worse than any punch to the gut.

Even now, free of the Maw and back in Sinfall, she felt like Renathal had stooped too low.

Though, as she glanced over the room of souls they had saved—how were there only this many freed from that place—she saw the Curator and knew that she had made the right call.

The Curator looked worn, like she might fall over, though the Accuser knew not to draw attention to it in front of anyone else. The Curator would be beside herself if she realized how obvious it was that the Maw had worn her down.

And now that she was back in Revendreth, that drive to save the souls in the Maw—while still there—had a more calculated edge to it. She could see better how it would make no sense to take up a permanent place in the Maw, how there would need to be rotations and how they would likely need to change which areas they attacked, to keep the Mawsworn from simply amassing forces where they knew to expect them.

“The Maw plays on emotions, on fears.”

The Accuser didn’t look to her side to see Renathal. “I assume you learned that during your previous visit?”

“Denathrius told me, eons ago,” Renathal replied, voice flat. “It saw how desperately you wanted to save them and knew exactly how to keep you there.”

“You think it has a consciousness?”

“More so than Revendreth does.” She could see him adjust his cuff from the corner of her eye. “I do apologize for upsetting you, but my next step was going to be to knock you unconscious, and we both know that’d be a nightmare to do. The Curator would have been cross with me for decades.”

The Accuser allowed herself a derisive snort, affording Renathal a sideways glance. “She’d have knocked you unconscious.”

“No doubt,” Renathal replied, offering her a lopsided grin. “Well then? Do we have a truce? Or do I need to watch my back?”

“You always need to watch your back, dark prince,” the Accuser replied dryly. “But you’ve no need to fear anything from me.”

“That is something I’m glad to hear,” Renathal said, his usual pomp accompanying it.

Looking back at the Curator, the Accuser caught her eye and gave her a gentle smile before resuming her usual expression. “Now either help with these souls, or find somewhere else to be.”

[ramblinganthropologist]

alistair shepard!

Here we go... for the boy! Under the cut because long and a mention of dysphoria towards the end.

01. Full name: Alistair Michael Shepard. Most people don’t even know his full name is Alistair because those closest to him only call him Al. Hell, his own sister didn’t even know it because he changed it after she left the planet. 

02. Best friend: His adopted sister Bo Peep Shepard (reallyfuckinggay created her). They’ve been through everything together, including a thresher maw. That means something to a friendship.

03. Sexuality: Gay. He might also be either demi or grey A, haven’t decided there yet but most of my characters wind up some flavor of aspec.

04. Favorite color: Sky blue. 

05. Relationship status: Single in 1 and most of 2. Dating Garrus in 3. 

06. Ideal mate: Someone who he can relax around and not feel anxious. He has GAD, the anxiety in his brain never shuts off. Finding someone who can make that be quiet is a godsend. Also, someone he can talk to - especially if it’s tech. 

07. Turn-ons: Intelligence, a sense of humor. His is terrible. 

08. Favorite food: Fish and chips and pixie sticks. The green ones. Just the green ones.

09. Crushes: Oh ho ho... He had a brief crush on a fellow marine in the unit that got eaten by a thresher maw. Definitely crushed on Nihlus before Eden Prime went down. Clearly it didn’t work.

10. Favorite music: He is a fucking music hipster who likes 21st century idol music. His favorite group is the indomitable Sunburst Idol Unit, the badasses of the Aikatsu realm. (Yes he’s fans of my own OCs eat me.) He also enjoys older music in general - it doesn’t make his amp vibrate.

11. Biggest fear: Losing the people he cares about, or those under him. He tries so hard to save everyone... and he just can’t sometimes. 

12. Biggest fantasy: A hamster so large he could ride on it. Imagine the cuddles... imagine the fucking nightmare testicles.

13. Bad habits: Letting his blood sugar get too low. He has a CGM, but sometimes he doesn’t pay attention to it and mutes the alarm because it’s annoying. It’s annoying for a reason, Al. Also he tries to take too much on himself - you have a unit, use it. 

14. Biggest regret: That he couldn’t save more of his unit with the thresher maw attacked. Also that he couldn’t do anything when the batarian pirates attacked Mindoir. He even regrets not being able to save his father, and he hated that man. 

15. Best kept secrets: Dude’s a total dom. Nobody knows it, but he’s well aware of his tendencies and keeps it under very tight wraps. It’s not work appropriate. 

16. Last thought: Wishing he hadn’t died in front of Bo. That look on her face as he floated into the abyss is something seared into his memory.

17. Worst romantic experience: When he was in high school, he had a crush on a boy in his chem class. This was before he came out, but while he was questioning. Boy he fucked that one up. 

18. Biggest insecurity: Probably his body. He has dysphoria more than he likes to let on. The worst offender is his voice. He hates how he sounds more than anything. That sucks when you’re the first human Spectre and anything you say becomes a sound byte - he 100% shuts off anything he’s watching if he sees himself. 

19. Weapon of choice: A stinger pistol. It’s small, it’s red, and it’s modified to work for a left handed shooter. Also his biotics - he’s possibly one of humanity’s strongest defense oriented biotics. His barriers are solid. 

20. Role Model: His mother, Rowan Shepard. She was dedicated to her job, her team, to the point she got them out before everything went to hell when she died when he was three. That taught him to see things through, even if it hurts - especially if it hurts. If not her, David Anderson. He admires the man’s honor and dedication. Anderson’s probably something like a  father figure to him which makes the end of ME3 sooo much fun. 

[sabraeal]

Family, Duty, Honor

He’s been to a thousand places -- the shadows of Asshai, the great Dothraki Sea, the pits of Astapor, between the legs of the Titan, and even, once, skirted the edge of the corpse-city Stygai. He’s seen all of what this world has to offer; its highest luxuries and its darkest despairs, but still, still --

There is no greater fucking misery than the Riverlands in autumn.

They’ve trudged across every bloody inch of it to get here; it’d been Summer when they’d left Oldtown, the heat oppressive and sultry, the way he’d been used to in Braavos. Miss had wilted; he’d laughed and asked if she had caught some of the North from Miss Kiki.

By the seven, how long ago that feels.

Water pours from the heavens in great gouts, irregular and unpredictable as a drunk’s belly; one moment the skies are merely gray, clouds growing thick and dark, and the next he can hardly see an inch in front of him for the rain. It’s as if the damned Drowned God of the isles has stormed his way into the heavens to harangue the Seven, only to have a bit too much on the way. Maybe that’s why for as sodden as his priests are, every one of them is as dry as a bone once a bottle’s brought out.

Stranger’s prick, what he wouldn’t give to be dry. No matter how long the skies hold, the ground never dries. Every river ford is swollen, soaked like a whore’s cunt, and by the time they lead the horses over the last bridge, Obi’s ready to turn right back around, war be damned. He’d fly into the arms of Izana Targaryen himself if it meant dry clothes and a meal not cooked over a campfire’s flame.

A knee brushes his, the other mount dancing too close, and his breath catches in his chest. No he wouldn’t. He might play mumblepeg with his own life, but his mistress’s --

Never.

Her hands tighten on her reigns, breath stilled, and without even looking he knows -- she’s seen them. The towers of Riverrun.

“That’s it,” she breathes, at last. “The home of my father.”

His hand clenches, the squealing of his gloves lost in the downpour. He hadn’t been privy to most of that conversation in the twilight of Dorne, not of enough consequence to merit a seat with the lost heir of Tully and a Targaryen prince, but --

But the way Mukaze had spoken of it, he’d say it was more his prison. Just looking at those walls, at the way the Red Fork traps them on their isle – he could see it. See how a man would chafe, even in his silks.

“My family,” she breathes, so light a normal man would have missed it, would have thought it a sigh of the wind.

“Careful, Miss.” Dread knots itself in his chest as he stares at the gates. “These aren’t your grandparents.” These aren’t your people.

“I know that,” she minces crossly, “but blood means something to these people. High houses go to war over family.”

They also go to war with family, but he knows that thought won’t be welcome. Not now, not when she knows all too well what may happen between brothers.

Instead he tugs on his reigns, nudging his knee into hers. “When you’re ready, Miss.”

She takes a deep, gasping breath, like a man about to be submerged, and says, “Ready.”

All it takes is a flash of that Tully red to get them in the doors. Obi would disparage the security, save that it only seems to increase the wariness of the fish swimming next to them; the goofy, gaping maws of their helms swivel their way far too often to express ease. Spears and swords are held with white knuckles, their pale fish-faces held tense.

It’s been a long time since there’s been a Tully besides Lord Harmund behind these walls. Obi can’t help but think that’s by design.

The doors to the audience chamber swing open before them, and the great Lord Tully, lord of the Riverlands, sits hunched upon his throne. His hair might have been Tully red once, but winter and war had worn it gray. His eyes as well, though sharp, have washed from river-blue to the icy hue of its rapids. Everything about him is withered, worn, weary.

“Come closer,” he calls, his voice still strong, though reedy, as all these riverfolk. “I’d see the girl who claims to be my heir. The hair alone won’t do,” he tells them with a weak laugh.

Miss hesitates only for a step, and then she strides across the hall as if she owns it, as if she were born to it. He can only follow along in her wake, dragged as ever by her undertow.

“Ah,” Harmund sighs when she comes closer, his eyes fixed to her face. “I see it. You’re so like Joyeuse.”

Miss stares up at him, eyes watery, the ghost of her mother between them. The mother this man would have married, had Mukaze not spirited her away, and married her in some sept in Dorne.

“Bread and salt,” he blurts out, earning a glare from his Miss. “You haven’t yet offered us bread and salt.”

Harmund stares at him steadily, mouth pulled thin. “Of course,” he says, “bread and salt and all of Riverrun’s hospitality. My niece has returned home!”

Tully’s heir his mistress may be, but Obi is still just some skulk from Braavos, wearing a face from Asshai. When the lord invites her into his study for private conference, he’s not included in the invitation. The fish at the door make it clear enough, flopping their hands at him and telling him to wave his steel elsewhere. They don’t want a rough like him near their lord, or his lady heir either.

He can’t help the first, but they’ll gasp their last if they think they can take his miss from him.

They aren’t done until late; he tries waiting in her rooms, then his, but they don’t think to bring mercenaries up dinner, not even when they serve the heir. It’s dark when he sneaks to the larder, pouring himself a bowl of stew and taking a thick hunk of bread. He leaves the cheese; it’s made from cow, he knows, and the last thing he needs is to be spending a night in the garderobe. Not here, where despite Miss’s insistence, they’re surrounded by strangers and maybe even enemies.

She finds him, of course, tucked neatly into the hay loft, stolen prizes across his lap and half in his belly.

“There you are,” she laughs. It strikes him that it’s the first time he’s heard it since the war broke out.

He lifts his hands, bread still clutched in his palm. “Here I am.”

“I’ve been trying to find you,” she says, tucking herself into his corner, shoulders resting against his. The moon filters in softly, and for a moment, it’s just like late nights in Oldtown, summer burning hot even so far north. “I talked to my uncle.”

He grunts, dipping his bread into his trencher.

“It went well,” she tells him, almost reproachful. “I told him what had happened, what – what I found. I know Tully hasn’t picked sides, but I think he’ll do it. I think he’ll fight for Zen.”

If only he was as convinced as his miss that was the right choice.

“What’s wrong?” Her shoulder nudges into him. “You’ve been tense the whole time we’re here. Nothing has happened.”

“I don’t like this place,” he admits, grudgingly. “I don’t like the guards, and I don’t like being separated from you, and I don’t like this lord uncle of yours or the way he looks at you.”

“The way he looks at me?” She recoils. “Obi --?”

“He looks at you like you are your mother,” he presses. Her mouth hangs open. “I don’t think it’s occurred to him that you aren’t Joyeuse Arryn. That he can’t just do to you what –“

Voices shout from outside, followed by laughter and they both hush. It wouldn’t do for the heir to Tully to be found in the hayloft with her bodyguard.

“It’s misery out there,” Harmund croaks, shaking himself out as he walks in. He’s much haler than that day in the throne room had made him think, and it only makes Obi trust him less. It doesn’t help that the lords that he keeps with him, his closest confidants, are a hand full of Freys and a Blackwood.

“Fuck autumn,” crows a Frey, and all of them laugh. “At least it’s brought you a sweet bounty, my lord.”

“Aye, it has,” Harmund says, subdued.

“What will you do with her?” the Blackwood asks. “She’s a sweet thing. I hear the Tyrells have a boy, though he’s got himself some sort of reputation with the women…”

Miss stiffens beside him. She hadn’t thought of this, he knows. They could send her to Raj, try to cement alliances. He doesn’t have to tell her it would be good for Master.

“We’ve got plenty of boys at the Twins!” another Frey laughs. “She could have her pick.”

“Aye,” the Blackwood coughs, “as long as she likes a stoat for a husband.”

“I’m not marrying her off.”

Miss eases against him, her head dropping to his shoulder in relief.

“Not to any other house,” he uncle continues. “She’s heir to Tully. I won’t have her hand it off to some husband. I’ll marry her myself. Get a boy on her. Can’t afford to be weak with a woman heir in times like these.”

“Ah, so the sweet bounty is for his lordship,” a Frey laughs. “Not one to share?”

Miss is so stiff next to him, rigid, not even daring to breathe.

“It’ll be done when I return,” Harmund says, swinging himself up on his mount. “The septon’s already preparing. With my king’s permission, I’ll be a married man.”

She doesn’t dare to breathe until they’ve left, but still she sits, unmoving, staring out into the air.

“Miss --?”

With a sob she bolts for the ladder, scrambling down it so fast that he’s hardly stood before she’s out of the barn.

Damn. Damn. He sits back down, dipping bread into his stew. He knows better to give chase when she’d rather not be found.

He lingers over his meal, in no rush to lock himself away in Harmund’s keep, where the man is here or not. There’s no use searching it for Shirayuki; he might have, what seems ages ago, back when they were both in Wistal and the vipers seemed particularly deadly, but --

But he knows her better now. She’ll find him when she’s ready.

It’s sooner than he thinks; he’s only just slipped into his own rooms when he sees her small form perched on his bed, back hunched in misery. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for fate to be kinder, if only for her.

“You were right,” she sighs, voice still thick with sobs. She’s sounds wrung-out, ill-used. Obi can’t say he doesn’t feel the same.

“I wish I wasn’t,” he tells her, coming to sit on the bed, legs stretched up behind her. “If it helps any.”

“No,” she admits, “but I have a plan.”

His heart seizes. He’s known too many of her plans.

“He can’t marry me if I’m already married.”

It takes all he has not to leap off this bed. “Miss –“

“We’ll tell him it happened in Oldtown,” she decides, “a secret visit. Hid from his brother, since he knew he wouldn’t approve.”

“Oh.” His heart eases, even as it aches. “You mean Master.”

“Yes.” She stares at him with a question in her eyes, but doesn’t ask. “We’ll say he got a child on me. Another secret tryst. That way he’ll be sure to throw in with Zen’s armies.”

“Miss --” he shakes his head – “you can’t – it will be obvious in a few months that there’s no babe. And then –“

His words still with one soft hand laid on his chest.

“That’s why,” she says, suddenly too close, “there will have to be a babe.”

[sketch-the-scavenger]

Fall of the King part 2

When Palisade finally arrived, Tamatoa was already in the meeting chamber with Primrose. She wore ivory beads and earrings that stood out against her rich brownish-red scales, and she was perhaps slightly taller than the adviser. Guards from both tribes escorted her in, but only hers stayed. Despite knowing the young skywing was disturbingly eccentric, he had no reason to believe she would start trouble without cause.

They exchanged pleasantries as usual then settled in their respective places at the table to begin discussions. The king sat straight with his wings neatly folded during the whole of the conversation, his face void of any prior exhaustion as he exerted a confidant, intimidating air as always. And it pleased him to see the guards surprised by this. If Palisade was, she didn’t show it. He expected nothing less from a future queen. “I heard your kingdom has been in distress. Are you certain I can count on your support?” she asked.

He responded with a nod. “Of course, Princess. The matter will be dealt with very soon and everything will return to proper order, I assure you.”

“And Princess Arid?”

Tamatoa refrained from glowering apprehensively at the question. “Arid no longer has a say,” he said evenly. He thought her absence from the meeting made that obvious.

She raised a brow. “Oh?” Was it just him, or did she sound just as thrilled to hear that as he was? “That’s a shame…” she said sarcastically as she adjusted her posture, drawing her head up while curling her tail neatly at her side and signaling her two guards to stand straighter. Which they immediately did so.

I knew they weren’t on the best of terms, but this is just gold, the sandwing thought in amusement. Though he did his best to keep a straight face as he changed the subject. “Again I express my sincerest condolences about Queen Goshawk. If I had known, I’d have left Windwaker to you.”

Palisade waved her talons dismissively. “Ah, no matter. That traitorous old turkey got exactly what he deserved, minus the slow and painful death I planned. At the very least I won’t have to kill my own mother for the throne anymore. My sister Beryl on the other hand is no great loss.”

Examining her claws in thought, she added, “I don’t know… Perhaps after I become queen I’ll declare all animus dragons in my kingdom to be killed upon discovery.” Everything about her tone indicated she was entirely serious yet hadn’t come to a decision.

“Isn’t that a little extreme?”

Tamatoa shot a warning gaze to Primrose, but not in threat. The last thing he wanted was for the skywing princess to feel offended.

But thankfully she didn’t seem to mind. Instead she gave a light shrug. “If an animus is only going to grow up to become dangerous enough to kill a queen, I have to protect myself and my kingdom for the future, won’t I?”

A tik tik tik could be heard from the king’s direction. He had his head propped up in his right foretalon while claws from both of his left talons tapped on the arm of his chair. “It was only one animus…” he said slowly, avoiding the princess’ wide-eyed stare.

“Your majesty, I’m surprised!” Palisade exclaimed. “After what happened to Opaline, and seeing our kingdoms will be allies, I would have thought you’d be thrilled to hear such a proposal.”

I’m really not, he thought to himself to avoid an argument. The princess did have something of a valid concern, but was it really necessary to judge every animus, even the ones that hadn’t been born yet, by the actions of one?

Of course he knew the horror stories of animus dragons losing their souls if they used their magic too much, but he didn’t really believe them to be true. No sandwing animus ever turned evil, and there was always Queen Te Fiti of the Rainwing Kingdom to consider. He didn’t like to admit it but she was even more powerful than him as a ruler as well as the most powerful animus in existence. Yet she was also the kindest and fairest dragon in all of Pyrrhia, leading her tribe and having alliances with the others since The Scorching over 1,200 years ago thanks to her self-enchanted immortality.

She wasn’t the only one either. “What of the honorary skywing prince?” Tamatoa finally asked.

With a scoff Palisade stuck her nose in the air much like Primrose did earlier. There was only indignation, however, until she realized the gesture was an inappropriate loss of composure. “Mother may have adopted him, but he’s still just a mudwing,” she grumbled.

“He’s also the savior of Pyrrhia with animus powers. Killing him would be nearly impossible, and it would strengthen Princess Beryl’s reputation as much as it would damage yours,” Primrose pointed out, earning her another ‘shut up’ glance from the king which she smoothly ignored. Wasn’t she the one who was going on about not making bad impressions earlier?

The skywing narrowed her eyes at Primrose in what appeared to be an offended scowl. However, by the time she spoke it seemed she had taken the smaller sandwing’s words into consideration. “That’s….actually a good point…”

Primrose apparently took that as a sign to continue. “Besides, the shapeshifter could very well be an asset to your cause, your highness. At the very least he could sway the skywing kingdom in your favor as long as you convince him that you are the only best choice.”

Tamatoa was impressed to see the princess’ aloof expression actually change into a flattered smile that was equally bright with ambition. “Why didn’t you tell me your adviser was so smart?” she asked him. “She could have joined the discussions much sooner~”

In response he gave a proud smirk of his own, for more reasons than one. He knew Primrose had chosen her words carefully. It was a manipulation in and of itself to convince Palisade the animus was better off alive to serve her benefit. Perhaps not the most desirable option, but it was a good cover.

After all, Tamatoa didn’t want his closest friend to be hunted down for a crime he didn’t commit. It was all Windwaker’s fault, not his. If that moons-blasted skywing hadn’t turned evil then—

His thought process stopped right there. No. He was already evil and just pretended to be Queen Goshawk’s most loyal dragon all those years, the king thought with a concealed frown.

Maui would never do what Windwaker did. He was sure of it.

At least, that’s what he believed, until the animus himself suddenly barged into the meeting chamber, slamming the doors so abruptly against the walls that Tamatoa could feel the reverberating BANG shaking the entire palace.

He had shape-shifted into his skywing form, sporting scales ranging from dark red to yellow-gold under the usual black markings, including the brilliant shades of red and orange in between. And thin clouds of smoke coiled from his nostrils.

Palisade shrieked in alarm and her guards immediately leapt to her defense with their spears aimed at the intruding shapeshifter, as he was closest to their side of the room. But Maui didn’t pay them or Primrose any mind. They might as well have been utterly invisible.

His furiously sharp yellow eyes were locked on Tamatoa.

The king’s guards came scrambling in behind the animus, catching themselves at the door and panting for breath. “S-sir, we tried to stop him!” The sandwing who spoke could barely hold himself up without clinging to the doorframe and the others had their armor severely dented in various places.

Did Maui just run them over?

“King Tamatoa, what’s the meaning of this?!” Palisade screeched as she flailed backwards to get as far away from the animus as possible, her guards serving as a shield as they retreated with her.

“Funny,” Maui snarled as he lowered his head in threat and bared his fangs. “I was about to ask the same thing.”

The whole scene took a moment for Tamatoa to process, having not moved an inch yet save for unconsciously coiling his tail and digging his claws into the wood of the chair’s arms, leaving three sets of deep gouges behind. It was all he could do to not show the pang of alarm that passed through his own scales.

What in three moons was going on..?

He was finally jarred from his bewildered state when Primrose tugged at his second right arm. For the first time that day she looked worried. “Tamatoa… I know it’s been a while, but I’ve never seen him this angry. What’s wrong with him?” she whispered in a hushed tone.

A very good question indeed… He didn’t know anything except something was seriously off.

And that meant danger.

So without taking his eyes off the seething dragon, Tamatoa lowered his head to Primrose and replied in the same manner. “Escort the princess and her guards out of the palace.”

“But-”

“Now,” he ordered. Hearing the intensity of his tone, the adviser nodded and hurried over to Palisade and her guards, staying as low as possible to avoid drawing attention. Then after a brief exchange she led them out the back door of the room while Tamatoa cautiously slid off his chair, taking a moment to order his guards to leave them be.

The second the doors closed behind them Maui slammed one of his talons into the floor. “EXPLAIN YOURSELF!”

Tamatoa faced the animus with a glare. “You first,” he growled. “I haven’t seen you for moons, and the first thing you do is barge into my palace and trample my guards DURING a meeting with YOUR princess! What is the matter with you?” he demanded.

Maui stalked forward, the smoke continuing to rise from his maw. It was as if he hadn’t even heard the king’s reprimand. “I was in the Night Kingdom, addressing a problem with the scavengers a few days ago,” he hissed. His voice grew louder with each word. “A messenger from the Mudwing Tribe told me that YOU SLAUGHTERED an entire patrol visiting your kingdom!”

Tamatoa’s eyes widened in pure disbelief. By now they were face to face. And despite Maui being a full head shorter, the sandwing king had never seen this level of rage from him in his life. It was becoming more and more unsettling by the second. “Wh- I didn’t slaughter anyone! I was defending myself- THEY attacked ME!”

“Prove it then- where’s your living witness?” he sneered.

To avoid being backed against the wall, Tamatoa stepped around Maui. “There wasn’t one,” he snarled as he lashed his tail. “It was a trap in the middle of the desert at night- there WAS no one else.”

 “Oh, well isn’t that convenient,” he scoffed. “Six dragons die in one night and no one sees a thing except the only survivor who thinks he can do whatever he wants. His Majesty the King!” The burly skywing’s words dripped with venom as he followed Tamatoa’s movements.

Tamatoa’s mind reeled at the implied insult. He didn’t want to fight. This was wrong. All of it was. But why wouldn’t Maui believe him? Why wasn’t he listening???

Palisade’s words echoed in his ears, and he easily recalled those horrible stories of animus dragons becoming murderously insane from using magic too much. It wasn’t actually possible….

Was it?

The sandwing’s scales grew cold as a thought crossed his mind. Windwaker was the one who enchanted Maui to have animus powers… He remembered the mudwing sharing that information when they were dragonets.

He didn’t believe in dragons losing their souls. Not really. But what about corruption? Is that what Windwaker’s magic was doing even after all this time?

Or was this really of Maui’s own accord? There was so much hatred in his blistering gaze it was impossible to tell.

The scraping of claws on the stone floor stirred Tamatoa out of his thoughts, and his voice dropped. “For the last time, I did not murder those rogues. Arid hired them to kill me off so she could take the throne. They said so themselves because they thought I would die in the attack!”

“LIAR!” the shapeshifter snapped with a roar, causing Tamatoa to flinch. But he was determined to hold his ground. “Branch was part of that patrol with the other mudwings! He told me what they were going to do before they left!”

Realization finally struck him. Branch…. That’s who I recognized! Tamatoa had only met the disreputable mudwing in passing years ago, but as far as he knew there was no relation between him and Maui other than being from the same tribe. They weren’t hardly acquaintances. But it still didn’t explain why the dragon who was supposed to be his friend was suddenly treating him like the enemy! “Maui, you know me; I would never kill another dragon without cause!” he tried to reason. “If he said they were only coming to meet with me then HE was the one who lied to you!”

Maui went abruptly rigid and arched his wings in threat. This whole time the two dragons were slowly circling each other, but now they came to a dead stop. “You shut your mouth,” he growled darkly.

“No! I’ve had enough of this!” he roared angrily. “I don’t know what makes the word of all those wretched strangers- all those ROGUES- have so much more credibility than mine! YOU weren’t there either! Even the queens of their own tribes didn’t know what they were planning!”

Stalking a few paces forward, Tamatoa continued. “Along with my sister they betrayed me, they betrayed Pyrrhia, AND THEY BETRAYED YOU!”

On the last word Maui’s eyes shot wide open, and before the king had time to react there was a blinding flash of light.

He recovered in time to see the animus had transformed into a pitch black nightwing as massive as he was, roaring with fury as he charged at the king with his claws outstretched and fire blazing from his jaws.

[meggannn]

4 , 6/7, and 19 (!!) for lyd shepard

YOU DID NOT ASK FOR AN ESSAY FOR EACH QUESTION BUT YOU GOT ONE

4 - Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

I am still debating on whether Lyd was there to witness her sister die, or whether she came back to their apartment after the turf war and saw everything destroyed and Rou’s mangled body in the rubble and realized what happened and that it was her fault, and sat quietly for several hours in the ruined house before packing up what little remained and leaving for good. even if she didn’t “see” it, the death of the only person she ever cared about, this girl who she grew up with and who trusted her with her care, was the moment she realized that if she continued down the path she was on by remaining with the Reds, she was going to end up dead or in jail before she hit 25, and it’s what drives her to make a change. She doesn’t talk about how much it changed her, but a few people know she had a sister who died. Anderson was the closest thing she had to a father figure and as a fresh recruit so soon after the trauma, I think she was still caught in that “I need someone to know but I don’t want to TALK about it” stage, and he happened to be there and squeeze it out of her. I think Garrus parses together later that she’s lost someone close, but doesn’t realize it was family/a sibling until she discusses it herself, and even that conversation is like pulling teeth. I do think Lyd might have mentioned it freely to Samara during one of her talks, though; Samara has a calming maternal presence Lyd hasn’t ever known before and she knows she won’t be judged.

Akuze was also an Experience, tho it wasn’t something she can really put to words on how it affected her behavior or mentality. That brush with death and traipsing through the desert for two days suffering heat exhaustion and dehydration was the worst part of it, obviously, but during the attack, she saw her CO order several teams into strategic positions to bomb the maws, which she realized was a diversion as he attempted to escape on a shuttle as the maws killed the platoon. (One of the maws shot up from the ground and broke the shuttle in two, killing everyone onboard, and obviously she was the only one who witnessed that and survived.) later when she thinks about it, it infuriates her. I don’t think she includes it in the official report because so young and new to the Navy, she’d feel bad betraying a senior officer KIA, but she carries that into ICT training and it kind of hardens her resolve to become a good PERSON, not just become a good leader. when she realizes people are going to start looking to her with the same trust one day, she puts an immense amount of pressure on herself not to be the person who’d leave behind a cremate because it was tactically reasonable. As for if anybody knows that, no. She doesn’t talk about Akuze much, for obvious reasons.

6/7 - Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams/nightmares?

She doesn’t dream much. (She definitely doesn’t dream about that little shit running through the woods in ME3! If she ever did, though, I think she’d dream it was her sister.)

When she does have nightmares I think they are of those two days she spent wandering the desert on Akuze, trying to make it back to the LZ but knowing she’s far more likely to die there, and no one will ever know or care about her again, wondering if anyone would ever find her body, talking to hallucinations that visit in the heat. By ME3, she’s got a repressed fear of asphyxiation (coming from suffocating in space/drowning when talking to the Leviathan) so that might also feature as a theme, but not the main core of dreams themselves. I have this idea that a particular nightmare she has in 3 that haunts her might be one in which the Leviathan refused to let her go and she was trapped in Despoina’s ocean for the rest of time, watching the Reapers destroy everything and the rest of the universe carry on, until eventually someone forgets that she’s down there at all.

19 - What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

so I think some of my characterizations reflect what’s usually there in canon, just exaggerated tenfold lol. Shepard’s got this huge urge to fix every problem and be everybody’s therapist and 2AM call, but the instant someone turns that lens around to try to help her with her own problems, she shuts down, because why aren’t they minding their damn business? So there’s a bit of a hypocrisy thing (and I feel like I really didn’t portray this at all in my fic, where Shepard lays everything at Garrus’s feet because She’s Sad, so I’m doing my best to make this emotional repression integral to the emotional plot of my next fic). but I also feel like it’s because she sees herself as a caretaker to almost everyone she considers a friend - she’s the caretaker, she’s the top of the pyramid of responsibility, if someone sees she needs looking after, she subconsciously takes it as a question of her capability/status. The only exceptions are people like Anderson (and to a lesser extent, Hackett), because she knew them as superiors first and is more likely to rationalize comfort from them as her officers comforting their subordinate.

When I say caretaker btw I don’t mean that like, she’s gonna make sure everyone on the ship eats and brushes their teeth and packs them lunch every morning. But she lowkey sees their emotional trauma as her duty too, and she tells herself it’s because (in ME2) she’s trying to recruit them to her side in case TIM decides to betray her, because she needs them ready for the upcoming war, because she needs them at their peak performance to do their jobs, etc (all of those things are true, Shepard, but also you’re just lonely). So also I think the nature of her urge to fix-it, while it comes from a good place, is also a bit presumptuous: she’s not gonna be your mom and if you’re on her ship, she’s gonna treat you like an adult, but she does consider everyone her responsibility beyond the line of formality. she doesn’t want a repeat of her sister and Akuze and Alchera, and she expects her team to bring up personal issues to her if they’ll be problems. It only occasionally crosses her mind that some people might not be entirely comfortable with telling a stranger their life story, and she NEVER thinks about how if she were faced with a similar situation, she’d rather die than let a CO knew that SHE has an emotional weakness lol.

SO ANYWAY. Has this ever damaged her relationship? The argument with Joker in ME3 is a prime example, though I think Shepard calmed down and apologized before it did any real damage. Since developing this tick the people she’s been closest to have been Anderson and the crews of the Normandy. Of those people, I think Anderson, Garrus, Liara, and Chakwas would go out of their way to specifically check in on her wellbeing. I went into this above, but concern from Anderson and Chakwas she rationalizes as genuine but also professional care; Anderson is her mentor and Chakwas is her physician. Liara she knows means well, but chafes when she pries too far in ME1. (She’s not offended, she knows Liara is just curious, but her past is a locked door that she will not be opening unless she can help it.) Garrus is a former cop, and before he was a detective I think he might’ve been a first responder to hostage situations or been on calls on domestic violence, etc. I think he recognizes trauma when he sees it, and years of knowing Shepard (and following her example) have taught him to recognize when someone wouldn’t be receptive to traditional consoling. Soooo I think he would know not to try the usual approach he would with victims, what he does is be himself and give her company and remind her to sleep and make sure none of his friendly suggestions come off too cloyingly, and if she wants to talk about it, then she’ll talk about it. (NGL this is also wrapped up in my complicated ideas of how Garrus treats Shepard: despite what he says he’s still got a turian urge to defer to her authority and not overstep his boundaries, but he’s struggling to reconcile that with his new status as a partner, and also HE’S got a bit of a fix-it complex himself that he turns right back on her, so.)

(Kaidan is also a person who subtly offers Shepard a shoulder to lean on in ME1, and she doesn’t really pick up on the hints. It’s possible he may have succeeded in getting her to open up in ME3, tho he died on Virmire in my playthrough. I’m sorry, Kaidan.)

character development meme