#hate armor so much (will never draw d in his full set)

[pillowenvelopchair]

Magdalene from Still Waters Run Deep by hairebraind aka @un-local go read it if you guys have the chance! It’s an amazing fic

Bonus doodles I made last night (I made a bunch more but they’re all scattered)

[newbornwhumperfly]

however the hour may call…

CW: fantasy racism, self-hatred, self-harm, low self-worth

a small ficlet for @much-ado-about-whumping’s d&d character - lander krusk lackman, a self-hating half-orc with the worst self-worth (he needs therapy yestersay but will he get it? why would he when blatant abnegation works just as well!)

title insp. by “staying alive” by mary oliver

(“there are the stubborn stumps of shame, grief that remains unsolvable after all the years, a bag of stones that goes with one wherever one goes and however the hour may call for dancing and for light feet.”)

~

Lander doesn’t drink - never amongst company, anyway.

He swallows back his flicker of desire for some mulled beer or even a little ale to shave off the edge of his nerves, singing like a sharpened blade. He’d never compromise his control like that, especially not now: not when the needling eyes feel like flies crawling over his body, when whispers trail him like shadows.

He fights the urge to rub at his eyes lest he draw attention to his weariness, blinks rapidly against the wavering lines of bodies, narrowing his focus to a tapestry, some sprawling orchard sewn in crimson and gold thread. Lovely human figures gather fruit prettily, a delicate dance as he sees here in this grand ballroom.

Not an orc in sight, of course. No sooty stitches cast a figure like him in such a fairytale scene. He sips at the cold water in his goblet, washing back bitter taste in his mouth - his body runs warmer than most humans to the restrictive brocade itches against his skin.

The cut is too small for him but the tunic was a gift waiting in his room - he strains the material, hulking shoulders and arms pulling at the seams. It is made for a different body than his own but he knows better than to complain. It’s not anyone else’s fault that his bones are too bulky. That the delicate, embroidered periwinkle (when he favors dark palettes) is garish on him.

He steadfastly ignores the ridiculous sensation of being strangled when the collar shifts against his throat. He needs to focus on his duties. He must travel to some nearby country tomorrow, at dawn. A dispute amongst local merchants has halted cider production and his father’s business associate is...displeased. Solving this will fall to Lander.

His throat tightening - as does his hand around his goblet - has nothing to do with his neckline, stomach twisting when he thinks of how...delicately he’ll have to persuade here, with those who won’t take kindly to...someone like him showing up. Some are angered by his family crest and fine armor, others by his inhuman appearance, many by the marriage of the two he represents wherever he sets foot.

Hopefully, the graces of the local lord will reap him favor enough to smooth his visit over with the locals. The slender, haughty man had seemed amiable enough - had grasped Lander’s hand with more than merely the tips of his fingers, had bestowed him with a cordial smile that had loosened the knot in Lander’s chest a fraction. The man had even said - though he was likely to...“forget” the arrangement - he would pencil Lander in for a dance later that night.

It was a gesture that warmed Lander - most did not show such courtesy to him. Lander swallowed against the sting of memory where the host had deigned to practically shun his presence altogether.

Lander will need to set things back on schedule sooner rather than later (by which is meant, as soon as Lander can accomplish it). His pulse pounds in his temples when he recalls the missives he has left to pen, left piled neatly on his desk. In his preparations for the party, he’d forgotten- He squeezes the cup and the gemstones dig grooves into his palms, little aches which pin his mind back in place.

They’ll all have to be written and sent out by page tomorrow - Lander will perhaps be able to retire a little early so he can get an hour or two of sleep. Unless he skips his morning regimen of strict exercise, he might get more chance of rest.

He has been...tired, lately. If he finessed negotiations quicker, more efficiently, then he might have more time to sleep. His duties should always improve, of course...even for selfish reasons.

If he wants to sleep more, he should focus on getting sharper, working smarter (not harder, as his father once reprimanded, but to him smarter has always been harder), getting more results, before he lazes about.

But he doesn’t want to think tonight of papers, of orchards full of apples unplucked, of lips curling or fists gripping sword pommels firmly in his presence.

Lander’s bleary gaze is drawn, a lodestone to the gleaming gold silhouette of his host. Every tongue of flame in the room dapples Lord Ambrose - the elegant gestures of his slim, beringed fingers as they lift a palm to his rosebud mouth for a kiss or gesture with a glimmer of jewels in the telling of a tale. His slight, willowy frame carries the lace and ribbon and velvet of fine breeding on his form like he was swaddled in it. He tosses his head back elegantly at some joke, a soft tinkle,silverware on china, and his gilt waves of hair ripples around his delicate shoulders.

Lander thinks of his unwieldy palm, large and heavy, with the tapering nails bluntly trimmed to stave off claws. He thinks of Ambrose’s fingers within that palm - a flat gray stone pressing a blossom.

His gaze blurs.

He is seized suddenly by the brief, mad longing that he could be like these others, if only in looks. Beautiful. Light. Those with silky locks coiffed with fine oil that has never made his coarse black hair turn sleek, he will never have a head that shimmers like a raven’s wing under firelight.

Like bristles on a coal brush, a hairdresser sighed, her disappointment spiking through Lander’s teenaged heart. She couldn’t do anything with his hair, just shore it down flat against his scalp, as usual. Can’t do anything pretty with this mess, I’m afraid...

He knows he will never hang on anyone’s arm, too heavy, too…much. Certainly not with the whispers that chase him around the room, his tapered ears echoing every little murmur as clearly as if spoken aloud to his face.

Looks like a half-drowned corpse...

They should keep it on a leash, for heaven’s sake...

Keep your swords close, lads, don’t wanna see what happens when he’s on his liquor-

A sharp crunch snaps his attention away from the tension coiling through his veins and when he raises his eyes, he catches a shadowed glimpse of himself in the firelit panes. A few nearby guests are staring at his back, their warped expressions of wariness, haughty contempt, and bemusement reflected alongside his own visage.

His breath snags in his throat.

The glass breaks of his face between wrought-silver lattice, where he sees the separate pieces of himself shining back. The hoary skin, dull as ash, darkened like storm clouds with a flush around his neck and cheeks, the points of his devilish ears now going nearly cobalt. His jet-dark eyes are narrowed into a glare,black brows furrowed, mouth twisted. And- and the cup in his hand is dented, gone concave, little fissures splitting across the silver engraved flowers, torn up, ruined-

Lander’s stomach drops out. He’s frozen, gone sick, cold, tendrils of ice flooding through his chest, his legs and arms, heart a thudding frigid fist against his ribs. He wants to explain himself, to plead that he’s not angry, he truly isn’t, he knows how to behave properly-

But his tongue sticks to the roof of his bone-dry mouth, limbs stuck in place, and the guests turn demurely away from him, leaving him staring at himself.

His hands are shaking, he realizes, his breath threading thin and shallow from his lungs, fire in his flesh, ice in his blood, he- he needs to get control of himself. He can’t cause a scene.

In a daze, he sets the damaged cup on the table, slipping from the room, near the walls, like a rat, some pest sneaking away from where it’s not wanted, from light and cheer and polite, decent company. His feet lead him to a narrow corridor, private, tucked away behind columns.

Breathing heavily, Lander’s hands fumbled - graceless, foolish, meat-handed oaf - with the laces of his trousers, slipping them down to his knees.

In the dim torchlight, he gazed down at the strap, thick coarse leather studded with rows upon rows of spikes snugly cinched around his upper left thigh. The tight embrace had helped hold him in check - in his proper place - for years now. Nights like this one...rattled that restraint. Required fresh application. Discipline requires constant attention, after all. And he’s nearly slipped tonight - he cannot afford to slip.

He’s ashamed when his hands fumble once, twice when working the buckle open. He hurries with peeling the belt free, hissing, nearly a growl, at the throbbing ripple and the cool air of the corridor licking at the marks, it hurts, his small cry of pain was too near a growl, he needs to get the belt back on before he allows his hurt to be stoked to a fury-

Looping the device around his unmarked right thigh, he tightened the belt with a savage twist, buckling it shut before he could falter.

Agony stabbed through Lander’s leg and he bites his inner cheek to smother a cry. Copper floods his tongue as the jagged edges of his shaved tusk snags the flesh and the metal taste is bright, a spark against the dull, welcome throb when the dull spikes dig into the tender flesh.

He knows the grey skin will swell, color black and violet, rage restrained beneath the pinpoints of bruise, where his wrongness can bleed beneath the skin. Where it doesn’t make a mess of things.

He’d been too indulgent - allowed his emotions to swell too close to the surface. Shame simmered in his belly, a useful burn, cleaning away the other useless feelings that threatens to flood his body and drown him, smother anything worthwhile.

He fights the belt another notch, as close as he can make it without risking limb damage, and drags his pants up around his hips, laces them with brisk efficiency.

Lander sets his jaw rigid, his shoulders and spine as straight as a sword, and slips back into the gathering. He does not limp. He does not wince, despite the flares of fires spiking to his very bones. He is polite and diplomatic and lets the throb find a rythm with his heartbeat, the ache just as natural, just as innate.

Lord Ambrose does not dance with him after all, curtains his gaze with golden fringe but does not touch Lander throughout the night. That is fine - the belt would make him a poor dancer.

Just one more prevention on a thing he has not earned and shouldn’t have wanted in the first place - but when he slips, such steps keep him in line.

Just as well, Lander thinks, the burn in his legs dragging his mind away from the wrench of his heart. It is just as well.

~ wow, this was so much fun and i wrote it in a day so! be kind please xppp

[kentuckywrites]

Meeting Arkus

After stopping in a tavern during their travels, Nym and Mira encounter Arkus, a human wizard who's in need of a good conversation. oops it’s more OC stuff, sorry about that :’D

The tavern was busy, filled to the brim with travelers and residents alike who shared the same goal of getting wasted and having fun. Nym and Mira were lucky to snag an empty table to themselves just before the party hit its peak, and even luckier to wave down a barmaid to take their orders for dinner. They had to repeat their orders a few times so she could hear; poor thing was deafened by the noise, which gave Nym the impression that the chaos was normal. Once the barmaid walked back into the crowd, Mira propped his feet up on the table, leaning back in his chair. This was a dangerous position, especially when they were both surrounded by drunkards with no sense of personal space.

“You starting to regret this decision?” Mira said, a knowing smirk on his face.

Nym rolled her eyes, perching her elbows on the table and leaning her head into her hands. Her finger messed with a loose strand of hair that had made its way in front of her ear. “Better than dead silence. Besides, this party won’t last long.”

“How do you know?”

“Town curfew posted outside. Don’t tell me you missed it.”

“Shit, I must’ve. What time?”

“11 PM.”

Mira’s left ear twitched as someone walked past, their mug of ale coming dangerously close to spilling all over him. “Just over an hour left for these fuckers to get sober and walk home then.”

“Will you be okay?” Nym asked, “I know this isn’t really your scene -”

“I can take it,” Mira responded quickly, “I’m not happy about it, but it’s a nice fucking tavern, and I’d rather stay here and wait this out than go to some slum down the street. Plus, not everyone here looks to be drunk off their asses, so maybe we’ll get some good conversations going.”

“Maybe!” She said, starting to look around for those alleged sober townsfolk. Some of them were elves, some were halflings, some dwarves. The latter two races of people were likely causing the majority of the chaos in the tavern, but that didn’t mean the elves weren’t just as drunk. They had their own ways of drinking too much, it just involved old fancy wine and a couple of good conversations, maybe an elven greeting or two. She knew Mira hated it all, but Nym was more than willing to party with the dwarves and halflings, who were always much better company than elves in a party.

In her field of view was the bar counter, where a few people sat at the stools hunched over the counter, most with drinks in their hands and a few begging for more. One of the figures caught her eye, a man hiding underneath a wide brimmed and pointy hat, cradling a mug in his hands, either sober or depressed or both. That on its own wasn’t enough to draw her gaze, but the fact that there were several books strapped to his belts did. He was a magic user, and a studious one at that. What would someone like him be doing at a bar like this?

“Might’ve found one of your good conversations,” Nym pointed to the man, unafraid of being watched or called out considering no one was paying attention to them, and even if they were, they’d forget by the next morning. 

Mira put his feet back on the ground so he could twist around and see who Nym was pointing to. “The wizard?”

“That’s the one.”

Mira paused, taking in the man’s appearance. “Eh, could be better, could be worse. He looks like he’ll ramble your ear off about books.”

“And that’s a problem for you, Mr. Fantasy Book Collector?”

“Being a fan of fantasy books isn’t the same as being a fan of encyclopedias and dictionaries.”

Nym shrugged. “Fair enough. I take dibs, then, and I’ll let you know how interesting he makes those encyclopedias and dictionaries sound.”

Mira mumbled something about a death sentence as Nym got up, pushing her chair in and staying ahead of a small group making their way to the bar with her. The seats next to the wizard were taken, but there was enough space in between them that Nym was able to stand, folding her arms on the table as she peered over his shoulder. Surprisingly, the wizard didn’t take note of her, not at first. Up close, Nym saw that his hat was hiding normal rounded ears and a face covered in dark ginger stubble. A human, and a rugged one by the looks of things. A human, carrying books and wearing a wizard hat. The conclusions wrote themselves.

“You look bored out of your mind,” Nym said, prompting him to look her way. 

He adjusted his hat so it wasn’t covering his entire face, but kept one arm propped up on the counter next to his drink. She’d been right about him being sober, though she hadn’t expected him to look as depressed either. He had eyebags under his eyes like Mira, though they weren’t nearly as dark. His eyes told the story of someone who hadn’t ended up in this tavern by choice, but who was grateful for some company. 

“Drunkards can make for amusing company, but their antics quickly become boring,” The wizard said.

“Amen to that. I hope you don’t judge me too harshly for ordering a mug of whatever you’re having.”

“It’s cinnamon whiskey. And I couldn’t judge a stranger for wanting a mug or two, just not to the point of getting shitfaced.”

“Yeah, getting constantly shitfaced wasn’t fun while it lasted, but at least now I’ve got a reason to stay out of that.”

“Like what?”

“My friend over there hates alcohol. I couldn’t drink near him even if I wanted to, otherwise he’d hang me by my belts.”

The wizard’s interest piqued at the mention of a friend. “And yet you came over here for a drink? What would he think?”

“He won’t see it, so it doesn’t matter,” Nym waved down the bartender, an elven woman of an elegant air who was cleaning a glass in her hands as she approached. She’d lied through her teeth about Mira not seeing her with a drink, but she knew that he’d be too tired tonight to chew her out for it. “I’ll have a shot of cinnamon whiskey.”

“Coming right up. That’ll be two sentrens.”

Nym dug around in her bag for a second before placing a gilleon on the table, which the bartender took with a thankful smile. Turning her attention back to the wizard, she held out her hand to shake. “The name’s Nymphadere, but you can call me Nym.”

“Arkus,” The wizard shook her hand with a firm grasp, “What would happen if I called you by your full name instead?”

“You’ll get tired of it eventually,” She told him, “All elven names are too long and fancy for their own good.”

“What about your friend? What’s his name?” Arkus asked, turning his body fully towards her.

Nym looked over her shoulder towards Mira, who was watching the two of them behind half closed eyelids. She gave a quick wink his way before turning back to Arkus. “His name’s Miranorin, but he goes by Mira for short. Same deal with the long and fancy names.”

“Something tells me that you’re not a fan of anything fancy,” Arkus commented with a half grin, “I’ll admit, I’ve never met an elf like you before.”

“You’d be hard pressed to find any elves like us out there,” She said, “Sometimes it feels like we’re the only two elves in the world who curse on a regular basis and prank people just for shits and giggles.”

“And sometimes it feels like I’m the only human in the world who has a decent grasp and understanding of the arcane. Guess we have that in common.”

“You know magic?”

“That’s an understatement. I’ve been studying it since I was little, and I can proudly say I know it better than most.”

“Well shit, you’re a living miracle then,” Nym joked, trying to ease over how dark Arkus’s eyes became at that comment, “Must be nice. Mira and I might be elves, but neither of us are too keen on the magic scene.”

“Really?” Arkus said, “I thought magic came more naturally to elves.”

“I bet it could if either of us decided to use it,” She replied, “But in my opinion, there’s nothing magic can do better than having a good dagger and some street skills.”

The bartender came over with the mug of cinnamon whiskey for Nym, setting it down on the bar in front of her. Nym gave her a nod and a wink before she walked off to tend to other drunkards. 

“So then, Arkus, what brings you to a place like this?” She dared to ask as she took a swig of the drink, flinching slightly as the alcohol burned down her throat. It was a sensation she’d been used to before, but after so long, the taste felt foreign. 

Arkus leaned forward, adjusting his hat. “I’m passing through. There’s a college of magic a few cities over that I’ve been hoping to reach in the next week.”

“Ilimaris?” Nym asked, “That’s one of the most prestigious colleges on the eastern coast.”

“You said it yourself, I’m a living miracle. They asked me whether or not I’d like to take up an assistant teaching position there. How could I decline?”

“I’d decline if the pay was shit.”

“Luckily it isn’t, and even if it was, I’d still wish to take the job.” He took a sip from his mug, and when he set it down, he gave Nym a grin. “So what about yourself? Do you live here with your friend, Miranorin?”

“Gods above, no,” Nym chuckled, “We’re just passing through. We’re going up north towards Waveheist.”

“Waveheist, hm?” He hummed to himself, “I hear there are a great many clerics and priests there.”

“Yeah, but there’s more up there than that.”

“Like what?”

“Waveheist has the prettiest festivals. Those clerics and priests go apeshit for a good holiday.”

Arkus laughed at that. “Right, the Day of Red Stings is coming up at the end of the month, isn’t it? I imagine there will be a bigger celebration than normal.”

“Why’s that?” Nym knew the answer, and her heart beat harder under her armor just thinking about it.

“Fate’s Chosen, of course,” He said, “I’ve read all about it. There’s a great deal of talk about how the Fate’s Chosen now walks amongst us. I can only dream of how wonderful it is to be handpicked by a god to deliver their message to the mortal plane.”

Nym raised an eyebrow. “You’d actually like to have a god take away all control of your life just so they can use you as a vessel? That sounds awful to me.”

“The gods wouldn’t be so cruel as to erase you from your own body,” Arkus said with a firm knowledge, “It’s always sounded like becoming a cleric, simply with extra benefits. It’s no wonder that the clerics and priests are enamored with the tale, especially those associated with the Fates.”

“Agree to disagree, then,” Nym shrugged, “Either way, sounds like you know your stuff.”

“The gods have always fascinated me, especially their decisions to lend mortals their power,” He said, “The Fate’s Chosen is unlike any blessing I’ve researched. If I wasn’t so bent on my arcane studies, I’d likely ask to join you in your journey to Waveheist so I could learn more about the Fates.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How so?”

“You wouldn’t want to travel with a complete asshole, would you? The sentiment means I’ve been good company in this short time.” Nym finished her drink off, wiping her mouth with her wrist. She noticed that some of her lipstick smeared off onto her hand and was promptly surprised that she was still wearing any at all. Pushing the mug to the side, she leaned in, a spark of an idea igniting inside. “You know, we’d hit Ilimaris if we continued on our path up north. You wanna travel with us for a bit? Travelling in groups is always more fun.”

“I’d say it’s more safe than fun, but as long as you and Miranorin don’t mind terribly, I’d love to continue our conversations on the road,” Arkus grinned, finishing his own drink. His hat almost tipped over and fell off, but he caught it quickly, keeping it on his own head. “Of course, I’d only be ready to travel in the morning. I’m afraid I’m quite exhausted and would like to rest up a bit tonight.”

“Why would we mind that?” Nym said, “We elves need sleep too, and after the shit we went through today, I need it more than ever. If you’re planning on retiring for the night though, maybe I could introduce you to Mira first? Just so we don’t give him a shock in the morning.”

“I thought you liked to prank people for shits and giggles?”

“I’m in a good mood, and he’s been through enough today as it is. C’mon, he’s over here.”

Nym got up, taking Arkus’s hand and dragging him along. The crowd had thinned out considerably, which she’d noticed during their conversation. Likely a good few of the people who left were intent on getting inside before the curfew. Mira wasn’t exactly hard to spot, being an elf with unusually long ears and a short purple cape. He spotted them approaching out of the corner of his eye, but pretended he didn’t. She sighed to herself. The idiot was probably trying to act cooler than he actually was.

“Right, so Arkus, this is Mira.” Nym introduced the two to each other, prompting Mira to wave one of his ears with a loose smirk. Arkus blinked once before offering his hand to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet a friend of Nymphadere,” Arkus said.

“It’s a pleasure to be a friend of Nymphadere,” Mira put a strange emphasis on saying Nym’s full name, a mockery of how Arkus said it that immediately made him uncomfortable. “The name’s Mira.”

“Would you mind terribly if I called you by your full name?”

“Awful polite of you to ask, but if you do that means I’m gonna call you by your full name too.”

“My name is short and sweet. Arkus.”

Mira scoffed, standing up. Nym noticed that, if Arkus hadn’t been wearing the hat, they would’ve been nearly equal in height. “You’ve got a last name, don’t you?”

“Oh. Well, yes, my last name is Payne.”

“Wasn’t that hard, was it, Arkus Payne?” Mira said, “Anyways, thanks for keeping Nym company, I guess.”

“Actually, do you mind if he travels with us tomorrow?” Nym put in, “He’s heading for Ilimaris, and that’s on the way to Waveheist.”

Mira looked between Arkus and Nym once, twice, three times before sighing. “Yeah, sure, why not. Could be useful, having a magic-user on the road with us for a bit.”

“How did you know I was a magic-user?” Arkus asked.

“You’re wearing the derpiest wizard hat I’ve ever seen and have books attached to your belts. Forgive me for making assumptions, but if you weren’t a wizard, I’d be surprised.”

Arkus chuckled, amused at Mira’s response. “I can tell I’ll enjoy your company as much as I’ve enjoyed Nym’s. You’re clearly cut from the same cloth.”

“You’ll have all the time in the world to get to know us better once we’re on the road tomorrow,” Nym said, “For now, let’s get our rooms, Mira, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course. I assume we’ll meet in here for some breakfast before we depart?”

“Hell yeah,” Mira grinned widely, “See you tomorrow, Arkus Payne.”

Arkus turned to leave and bid them goodbye. Nym caught him winking at them both before he headed up the stairs to the tavern’s rooms. Nym sat down with Mira, the chair making more noise than she anticipated. The noise from her first time sitting down was probably drowned out by the partygoers, she realized.

“For the record, he didn’t talk about dictionaries and encyclopedias,” Nym smirked, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand. “He said you were cute at one point, though.”

Even though she had lied about Arkus’s comment, and even though she told Arkus that she wasn’t going to prank Mira tonight, it was still too much fun seeing his reaction to what she’d said. His ears twitched upwards in a moment of temporary surprise. He grumbled something to himself as he slid further down his chair, his face turning light pink. Nym giggled at the sight.

“You’ll have time to flirt with him tomorrow, Miranorin, now let’s go get our rooms.”

[janiedean]

Hi Lavinia! Can I ask for your opinion about Jaime and his relationship with his stump? I mean, everyone knows he hates it, but is there a possibility that Brienne can change his mind? I belive he hates it most of all because his sister hated it, but it can be changed even a little if he finds someone that does not care. Plus: do you think Brienne can "love" his stump and act tenderly towards it? Like kisses and caresses? I know it's weird but I'd love to care for it to make him feel better!

a) first: man it’s not weird I mean guys I’m gonna tag it so I’m not gonna get into the specific but let’s just say that there are reasons why frankenstein was one of my five formative books and let’s leave it there

b) second: well I put it in every damned fic I do where they have sex so the short reply is yes, but the long reply would be...

c) now, why is it yes and going into your specifics:

he hates it but more than cersei I think the issue is that to him it’s basically a perpetual reminder in his face that a) he lost his right hand (which was what made him the best swordsman around) which in turn means that b) he’s lost one of the things that (in his conception at least) defined him ie ‘if I don’t have that what am I worth’ (which he thinks more than once in that asos chapter when he wants to let himself die) and most of all:

"The lack of my hand is troubling me." The mornings were the hardest. In his dreams Jaime was a whole man, and each dawn he would lie half-awake and feel his fingers move. It was a nightmare, some part of him would whisper, refusing to believe even now, only a nightmare. But then he would open his eyes.

“The wench would have told him he had to eat before he slept, to keep his strength up, but he was more tired than hungry. He closed his eyes, and hoped to dream of Cersei. The fever dreams were all so vivid . . . Naked and alone he stood, surrounded by enemies, with stone walls all around him pressing close. The Rock, he knew. He could feel the immense weight of it above his head. He was home. He was home and whole. He held his right hand up and flexed his fingers to feel the strength in them. It felt as good as sex. As good as swordplay. Four fingers and a thumb. He had dreamed that he was maimed, but it wasn't so. Relief made him dizzy. My hand, my good hand. Nothing could hurt him so long as he was whole.”

now, counting that the whole spiel cersei (and him) have going is that they’re not whole without each other, the point is: he’s not feeling whole without the right hand because it’s what makes him good at sword fighting which in turn gives him worth. now, if you look at the whole procession of thoughts in the dream above, you have the following (which is necessary to get into your question): he feels alone and surrounded by enemies and he had dreamed he was maimed (which is what happened irl) which in turn equates his lack of a hand with inability to protect himself/the others around him/makes him feel vulnerable. BUT, he has the right hand in the dream, and right hand = swords = swordplay = sex, like the four things are all put on the same level (mind it: who is the last person he fought before losing it? right, brienne) and having it back puts him back in a supposedly favorable position because nothing can hurt him as long as he’s whole (ie: he has the hand and cersei) and he supposedly can do the job himself;

too bad that he doesn’t have it anymore;

so like to him the fact that he doesn’t have the hand is a reminder that, again, he can’t do his job, and if he can’t do his job he isn’t whole, and if he isn’t whole he can’t fight (which is basically half of what he loves, the other half being cersei + tyrion + what other relatives he has that he does but it’s not many) and he can’t have cersei either and he can be hurt;

now, I once ranted about the romantic connotations of jaime’s weirwood dream vs brienne’s dreams in affc and I’m linking to it so I don’t have to go again over that, but another thing that’s fundamental about the weirdwood dream is that after it tells us what he fears most ie a) being hurt, b) the people he loves leaving him behind, c) his guilt over his supposed responsibilities in elia’s death and her children’s (which technically is not on him but nvm, d) cersei leaving him behind and after all of that happens... ah, right, BRIENNE shows up, asks him for a sword to protect him after he frees her from her chains and she gets it and she does it until hers is the only bright light in the entire cave, and after that dream he goes back for her and saves her life in the bear pit doing one of the two 100% truly heroic deeds that have happened until now (the other being theon saving jeyne hahaha). which he does... without having the hand;

now, back to the beginning: cersei hates it because a) it’s not aesthetically pleasing, b) he sets jaime apart from her because NOT MIRRORS ANYMORE, c) it cuts down his *usefulness* by a lot since he can’t fight as well as before, d) she cares about the fact that if he’s her male counterpart then she can be with herself just male, she doesn’t care about him or his needs or anything else of the kind, which anyway ties with the fact that by losing the hand he also loses something that was intimately tied to his old life (in the bath he tells brienne he lost the hand he killed aerys with/pushed bran down the tower with/made love to cersei with), so.... by losing it he also has to narratively lose cersei and put himself on the track he wanted to be on when he was fifteen and believed in being arthur dayne if you catch my drift, and the thing is that he can do that without it as well - and we saw it when he saved brienne WITHOUT IT;

as far as brienne is concerned though, the entire thing with losing the hand is actually tied to her in a positive light. meaning: while cersei hasn’t wanted anything to do with it (the stump/his lack of hand) and has been disgusted openly/called him a useless cripple because of it when she’s supposed to love him no matter what, brienne has actually helped him live through that loss even when she was supposed to hate him. like, a lot of people brush over what brienne does for him just after he loses it (or think she could never love him because she did that, lmao as if) but guys let’s be real here, post-hand loss he was pretty much 100% helpless there and she spent the rest of the road trip a) giving him pep talks when he felt like giving up, b) materially cleaning him up, c) telling him that losing the hand didn’t mean his life was over, never mind that after that they have the harrenhaal bath where without going into the whole cleansing symbolism of having him unload why he killed aerys for the first time in his life to her while taking a bath during which they’re both naked and... when he about faints she catches him and she’s gentler than cersei (and later cersei is Really Not Gentle with him at any point ops) and again, she never gives two fucks about his lack of hand or not.

also I realized this meta is overall 3k+ and the next part is choke-full of quotes so I’m gonna cut, more under the cut. sorry I FEEL STRONGLY ABOUT THIS SPECIFIC TOPIC.

moreover, never mind that after he saves her backside and she comes to see him when he gives her oathkeeper she’s all like ‘OH THE WHITE CLOAK BECOMES YOU’ (one day I’ll break apart that scene line by line is2g), what happens in her first affc chapter?

Brienne remembered her fight with Jaime Lannister in the woods. It had been all that she could do to keep his blade at bay. He was weak from his imprisonment, and chained at the wrists. No knight in the Seven Kingdoms could have stood against him at his full strength, with no chains to hamper him. Jaime had done many wicked things, but the man could fight! His maiming had been monstrously cruel. It was one thing to slay a lion, another to hack his paw off and leave him broken and bewildered.Suddenly the common room was too loud to endure a moment longer. She muttered her good-nights and took herself up to bed.

now, compare that to these gems from cersei’s affc chapters:

Her own twin interrupted her musings. "Would Your Grace honor her white knight with a dance?"She gave him a withering look. "And have you fumbling at me with that stump? No. I will let you fill my wine cup for me, though. If you think you can manage it without spilling.""A cripple like me? Not likely." He moved away and made another circuit of the hall. She had to fill her own cup.

"And our valiant Lord Commander?""Ser Jaime is at his armorer's being fitted for a hand. I know we were all tired of that ugly stump. And I daresay he would find these proceedings as tiresome as Tommen." Aurane Waters chuckled at that. Good, Cersei thought, the more they laugh, the less he is a threat. Let them laugh. "Do we have wine?"

Jaime hugged her, his good hand pressing against the small of her back. He smelled of ash, but the morning sun was in his hair, giving it a golden glow. She wanted to draw his face to hers for a kiss. Later, she told herself, later he will come to me, for comfort. "We are his heirs, Jaime," she whispered. "It will be up to us to finish his work. You must take Father's place as Hand. You see that now, surely. Tommen will need you . . ."He pushed away from her and raised his arm, forcing his stump into her face. "A Hand without a hand? A bad jape, sister. Don't ask me to rule."

there was more tho I picked the first three, but if you compare them, cersei basically either mocks him or thinks the stump is ugly and doesn’t want it forced into her face (reminding her he’s-not-her-exact-mirror anymore), brienne’s only horrified that they did it to him in the first place and she considers it cruel, but she doesn’t give two fucks about his hand being ugly nor considers him lesser. actually:

"I will find the girl and keep her safe," Brienne had promised Ser Jaime, back at King's Landing. "For her lady mother's sake. And for yours." Noble words, but words were easy. Deeds were hard.

When she was small, her nurse had filled her ears with tales of valor, regaling her with the noble exploits of Ser Galladon of Morne, Florian the Fool, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and other champions. Each man bore a famous sword, and surely Oathkeeper belonged in their company, even if she herself did not. "You'll be defending Ned Stark's daughter with Ned Stark's own steel," Jaime had promised.

I know. It was on that very road that Ser Cleos Frey had died, and she and Ser Jaime had been taken by the Bloody Mummers. Jaime tried to kill me, she remembered, though he was gaunt and weak, and his wrists were chained. It had been a close thing, even so, but that was before Zollo hacked his hand off. Zollo and Rorge and Shagwell would have raped her half a hundred times if Ser Jaime had not told them she was worth her weight in sapphires.

She had learned the truth of that once she went into the world. Even Jaime Lannister had come at her that way, in the woods by Maidenpool. If the gods were good, the Mad Mouse would make the same mistake. He may be a seasoned knight, she thought, but he is no Jaime Lannister. She slid her sword out of its scabbard.

(that EVEN is already telling because it puts jaime above other men she ran into EXCEPT that even he underestimated her)

Perhaps she had made a mistake in abandoning Ser Creighton and Ser Illifer. They had seemed like honest men. Would that Jaime had come with me, she thought . . . but he was a knight of the Kingsguard, his rightful place was with his king. Besides, it was Renly that she wanted. I swore I would protect him, and I failed. Then I swore I would avenge him, and I failed at that as well. I ran off with Lady Catelyn instead, and failed her too. The wind had shifted, and the rain was running down her face.

I could slink back to King's Landing, confess my failure to Ser Jaime, give him back his sword, and find a ship to carry me home to Tarth, as the Elder Brother urged. The thought was a bitter one, yet there was part of her that yearned for Evenfall and her father, and another part that wondered if Jaime would comfort her should she weep upon his shoulder. That was what men wanted, wasn't it? Soft helpless women that they needed to protect?

now, I could rant at you for ten minutes about how in all of those quotes a) she looks up to him, b) never thinks of him as crippled or ugly or useless, c) at most has pity for him because he lost that hand, BUT a thing not many people bring up is that...

He was better than Pyg, but he had only a short throwing spear, and she had a Valyrian steel blade. Oathkeeper was alive in her hands. She had never been so quick. The blade became a grey blur. He wounded her in the shoulder as she came at him, but she slashed off his ear and half his cheek, hacked the head off his spear, and put a foot of rippled steel into his belly through the links of the chain mail byrnie he was wearing. Timeon was still trying to fight as she pulled her blade from him, its fullers running red with blood. He clawed at his belt and came up with a dagger, so Brienne cut his hand off. That one was for Jaime. "Mother have mercy," the Dornishman gasped, the blood bubbling from his mouth and spurting from his wrist. "Finish it. Send me back to Dorne, you bloody bitch."She did.

brienne literally kills one of the people in the brave companions after cutting his hand off saying *it’s for jaime* and after then she kills another (shagwell) after making him dig the graves for the others, AND:

"I have no spade.”"You have two hands." One more than you left Jaime."Why bother? Leave them for the crows."

that’s what she says before she stabs him to death and getting really worked up about it:

She knocked aside his arm and punched the steel into his bowels. "Laugh," she snarled at him. He moaned instead. "Laugh," she repeated, grabbing his throat with one hand and stabbing at his belly with the other. "Laugh!" She kept saying it, over and over, until her hand was red up to the wrist and the stink of the fool's dying was like to choke her. But Shagwell never laughed. The sobs that Brienne heard were all her own. When she realized that, she threw down her knife and shuddered.

like, tldr: we all focus (rightly) on jaime punching ronnet connington for disrespecting her (WITH THE FAKE HAND) but I don’t think as much on the fact that brienne killed two of the brave companions while thinking specifically of how they hurt him/maimed him and thinking that she’s doing it *for him*.

as in: to avenge the fact that he lost the hand because they took it from him.

now, this entire rant with probably too many quotes was to say that brienne cannot give a single fuck about whether jaime has the hand or not beyond thinking it was unfair and unjust to take it from him and leave him without rather than just kill him and she actually avenged it on what brave companions she ran into (which she couldn’t do when they were captured) and she’s into him to the point where (as stated above) she dreams about him all the time INCLUDING him putting a cloak on her and would rather die than bring stoneheart his head, and........ after all of this we really would assume that if they did the deed she wouldn’t not only not ignore that he has a maimed wrist but that she wouldn’t make sweet love to it? especially when according to her he’s omgamazinglybeautiful and she thinks she’s the ugly one that no one’s ever going to want? like, she doesn’t even think about the stump when she thinks about wanting to weep on the guy’s shoulder/when she wants him to come with her/when she thinks he looked like half a god/when she wants him to put a cloak on her or come back for her. she’ll take him exactly the way he is, stump or not, and since she’s seen worse than that - like fuck’s sake she spent time tied to him with the rotting hand in between them - I’m 100% sure that she would totally not shy away from loving all of him including the maimed wrist;

(mind that if you go back to what I was saying in the beginning ie that loss of the hand = loss of sense of security = loss of feeling safe but brienne is associated with a) keeping him safe, b) keeping him alive at both basic and not-so-basic-level, c) the rebirth imagery, d) literally caring for him regardless of her personal feelings......... if they actually become lovers the whole thing plays out because he doesn’t need the hand if he has her who is also framed as the knight to his damsel 98% of the time including in his head/when he dreams about her appearing and keeping him safe with oathkeeper just after he *frees* her ie lets her be the knight she’s meant to be, like literally the one time it doesn’t happen is the bear pit and she’s stuck with him through pretty much everything and has seen the best and worst of him and still didn’t leave [and he doesn’t know but she’s willing to get hanged for him], I mean can we get more obvious here?)

now, can she change his mind? well, if they have idk two years of uninterrupted marital bliss in which they have all the good kind of sex in the world and in which she does it first thing in the morning most likely yes, I mean, the moment he realizes he’s not his sword hand and that he has worth beyond it and that he doesn’t need it to be the person he always wanted to be (and he’s trying for that matter) then he’ll care a lot less about it/won’t hate it as much and if she shows him that she can’t care less it certainly will help, if one of them (or both) dies two months after they get together that might cause a problem X°D but in the best possible outcome (the first one ofc which is a prelude to THEY GROW OLD TOGETHER ON TARTH OR WHEREVER) sure thing he would get over it. tbh I think he should get over it within the end of the saga because that would be basically capping his arc if he lived while having become the person he always wanted to be without giving two fucks about the lack of hand or not but anyway that’s mvho;

tldr: yes he would change his mind. indeed. X°D

[novantinuum]

A Link Beyond Memory (ch 2/4)

AO3

Fandom: Trollhunters, 3Below

Rating: T (for minor language in future chapters)

Words: 600~

Pairings: Jim/Claire, but not focus

Summary: Shortly after the events of the Eternal Night, memories of a day that never happened somehow resurface in Jim’s mind in his sleep- and upon recalling the friendship he and Aja formed, he decides to pursue that connection again. Slice of life, and kinda a slow burn friendship reunion. A hybrid of prose and chat fic (to be seen in later chapters.)

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Note: Unfortunately, fic circulation online is getting harder and harder as the months pass. Please, if you read to the end and enjoy, consider helping me out by reblogging this post, or even commenting/giving kudos over on AO3. Thanks! :D

Chapter 2: Transit

Transit- The instant when a celestial object crosses the meridian, thus reaching the highest point in the sky.

~

T: hhhh miss ya already. tbh i dont know what im supposed to do this summer now ahah

T: i was all looking forward to hangin with you and claire and everyone else in trollmarket and now…

T: i mean i still have aaarrrgghh. and darci and eli too i guess but

T: really starting to wish i came along.

T: i know you said to watch over the town while youre gone and i know thats a good point but honestly i just wanna be with you

T: jim?

T: yoooo ? did u die

T: god i hope not after all the end of the world chaos thatd be really anticlimactic

J: Sorry no I lost signal for a bit!! Miss you too gahhh.

T: pls know if you so much as say the word ill crawl on the first airplane i can find and launch myself directly at your face

T: jim liSTEN jim im not even kidding

T: screw arcadia

T: if you need me im there

J: Omg I’ll defo keep that in mind

T: ..jk dont screw arcadia tho i love this place. also its already screwed enough at this point so

T: hey but you think merlin could make me another warhammer for my growing arsenal?

J: Yeah I think he could be easily convinced.

J: He’s kinda sucking up to me now hahah

J: He already made Claire a sorta necklace amulet to store her armor so a magic hammer should be no problem

T: awesomesauceee

J: Any particular reason lol?

T: i dunno i just think itd look wicked cool to double wield, like general orzan from gun robot three. also lets be real after all the crap he put us through we deserve S W A G

J: I’ll ask tomorrow. Hey quick Q for you though

J: Well okay not exactly quick  

J: It’s actually a long story but-

T: ye?

J: Do you happen to have Aja’s number or anything?

J: We took her and her bro down to the Janus Order, lightning in a bottle, remember her?

T: ye i know- lively! and uhhh don’t think i do? havent really talked to them since why

J: I get the strangest sense we’re supposed to know them more than we do. Had a really weird dream but it felt more like a lost memory. Think it’s an amulet thing, like that alternate timeline it made me live through once?

T: huh funky

J: Also supposedly according to the dream/memory both Aja and Krel are… not from Earth?

T: dude no offense but are you sure it wasnt just a normal dream

J: Seriously.?

J: Merlin turned me into a fucking TROLL and aliens are where you decide to draw the line

T: okay yknow thats fair

T: i take that back  

T: okay so,, aja and krel are MAYBE aliens. got that. go onnn

J: What I saw honestly felt so real, I swear. It was two weeks ago, at the science fair. We were fighting a troll in the planetarium with them, and the troll kept combining magic with some alien tech, which kept reversing everyone back to the beginning of the day, like a time loop or something. But I could remember everything bc of the amulet. Aja remembered bc of some energy shield she had. We lived through the same day almost a dozen times.

T: whoa…

J: And get this- in some of those loops we even went to their house and got to look around inside their spaceship! But none of us are supposed to recall any of it bc technically the entire day never happened? It’s how we defeated the troll, that bit’s a little fuzzy. A lot of technobabble sorry.

T: goddd out of all the days to forget huh

J: Right??

J: I guess… if she remembered all of this before I’m kinda curious if she still remembers now too. If it really happened. We were friends in that memory. It’d be nice to maybe get to know her again, y’know?

T: okay you’re prob gonna hate me for suggesting this but i THINK steve has her number

T: bc i was talking to darci and she said that mary told her that aja and steve are like, a thing now

T: a Thing thing

T: i believe her exact words were ‘staja’ ?

J: Oh my god how’d that happen is he even capable of proper flirting

T: well if shes an alien like you think then maybe she doesn’t know what human flirting looks like

J: Haha maybe indeed. I’ll go talk to him thanks

J: G’night Tobes love ya

T: night buddy <3

(my notes from ao3:)

Admission, I had far too much fun with the text format. I've never attempted anything like it, but I especially wanted to create unique "character voices" that extended into the way they each type- which was a cool challenge.

I imagined Toby as the sort of person who types out his thoughts far too quickly to care about punctuation, and IMO if Trollhunters was set just a year later (I generally just imagine it all set in 2016) he'd be keymashing. Jim is more of a full sentence type of guy who never turned off auto capitalization.

ALSO, a note on the contact photos- (Jim's which I directly took from a screenshot from Claire's phone, and Toby's which I edited from some 2D concept art)- That's the photo Jim uses for Toby's contact, and I imagine there's probably some inside joke where Jim took a really derpy photo of him at one point and they laughed so hard about it that he immortalized it as his contact. Jim's personal contact photo is... well, as this all takes place post s3 of course, a rather sad reminder of his loss of humanity. He can't bother himself to change it currently.

Future chapters will likely be a mix of text AND prose, instead of one or the other. Hope you enjoyed!

[royvdhelart]

So...as I've been sick for the last week, I kind of needed something to cheer me up a bit and something to get the Art-passion flowing again. So, I decided to finally redo Emil's reference sheet, as I never liked the old one, after designing him a new outfit <3

This was a bunch of work but boy, I can not recall having this much fun with a drawing and I'm actually hella proud of it for once :D I hope you like it as well!

--- Just to be clear btw: This Art is NOT for free use. ---

Callname: Emil/Baltazar Full-Name: Baltazar Emil A'zam Duman Jaren Qazir Languages: Common, Dwarfish (future: draconic)

Age: 26, born on the first day of June Sex/Gender: Male Height: 1,95m/6'4 Race: Human Class: (Lore) Bard (level 9) (future: Draconic sorcerer)

Background: Entertainer/Noble Sexuality: Bi-Romantic

Favorite Instrument: Violin. Alignment/Personality: Neutral Good, optimistic, Drama Queen, charismatic, polite, group-mom, party-guy, curious, creative. Flaws: Drama Queen, has a big mouth and turns into an awkward/clumsy dork when he has a crush on someone. More about his family: https://sta.sh/014wc8gu8y2p Background: Baltazar was born on the first day of June in the city Setus. He was the 7th and youngest son of a wealthy merchant family, having 4 brothers ( (35) Amin, (33)Kareem, (30)Jarah, (27)Gabriel, and ( and 2 sisters (Farah (31) and Iris (35) above him.  Baltazar had always been the "runt of the litter". Tall but lanky, Emil wasn't strong, and always out searching for trouble. This often caused him to clash with his parents, who really wished Emil would become more serious instead of going on about silly adventures and hanging around in inn's every night. Actually just fearing for his well-being.

As a proper noblemen's son Baltazar was learned etiquette from a young age, getting schooled by a wise old teacher (Nazim), who had years of experience teaching his older brothers and sisters. Emil wasn't the best student however and caused quite the frustration to his teacher. He skipped classes, pulled tricks on his teacher and rarely did the work he was expected to or find some kind of way to do his tasks with the least effort possible. Emil was much too busy learning plays out of his head, creating new songs or just dreaming about what it would be like to be actually free, to travel the lands, slay monsters, be a hero, to do such boring and repetitive tasks. It didn't matter anyway, he was the youngest, he would one day be married of to a rich woman/man and that would be it. He often worried about this future, a future, which in his opinion, could only become boring. The moments he spent on stage, telling people silly stories when he played his violin, were the moments he actually felt alive, at those moments he could feel a kind of power flowing through him, which could vaguely be described as a warmth but different. To him, it seemed that all that they wanted to do is take that from him, make him "more serious" as he would never honor his family's name as a simple entertainer. One day Emil had pushed his parents too far, he missed his teacher's lessons again and had a big fight with his father. All Emil's frustration and fear for the future came out at that point. Which ended with Emil, angerly saying that he was going to leave the city and that he would prove them that he would become worth something, he would become a great entertainer, a Hero even, his name would become known! With that, he packed his stuff and left the next morning. Quite quickly Emil found out that traveling was definitely not as easy or fun as he expected and regretted his decision quite quickly as he started to run out of gold, the city Setus was mostly surrounded by desert and small villages, where there was no way for him to make any profit. After traveling for days, he decided that he really wasn't ready to cross an entire dessert after having a nasty run-in with Goblins. He finally reached a cross point between three larger cities. He decided to travel between the cities, to try out work as an entertainer to earn some gold. For a few years, he played music at inns, took on small roles in plays and did some odd jobs to earn some extra gold. In these years he discovered the kind of power within himself again, a power which he studied and could control more and more each day as he got mentored by another bard called "Rafael". Who saw potential in him. Eventually, he learned how to control magic with his voice, movements, and music. Even though he enjoyed entertaining, with his new found powers and being able to do whatever he wanted, he realized he became somewhat stuck there, unable to grow, he was running out of ideas for songs or tales. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn't go back home and wasn't confident enough of his abilities yet to go on actual adventures alone, as he and Rafael split up after a year, his powers seemed mostly passive, supporting at most. Contemplating his options, he almost stumbled over a black panther which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He looked back at the table which the large black cat was laying against, sitting around it he saw what could only be described as a perfect example of a knight in shining armor drinking a large pint of... milk? and a younger somewhat odd hooded figure, bright red with a large bird emblem depicted on his back in gold. Emil was immediately intrigued by the curious figures, decided to buy them a round and started talking to them. The knight was apparently the Paladin called Adil Fahd, somewhat of a folk hero, who he actually recognized by name as he had heard it before. The hooded young man was called Yashan, a Phoenix sorcerer from far away, this apparently meant he knew a lot about setting things and himself... on fire, he was apparently on a holy mission to find a religious artifact called the Sun-Stone. He spends the rest of the evening talking with the adventurers and eventually convinced them to let them join their group. A few months later, they met their newest members to the party "Kakaah" a odd but smart Kenku Rogue and a sassy Fighter called Ustrom and with the party complete they would face many adventures, from fighting as gladiators in the area of a savage dwarf Island, to Dyeing Ogers hair to get out of trouble, surviving many of Adil's bad ideas, dangerous sea-trips, a trip to the Underdark, meeting the Evil beholder called Kazejux, retrieving priceless artifacts,  fighting a Demon called Kalahai who is wanting to take over the world... and many more and many more more to come. Extra/Random Facts about Emil: - Emil is a very charismatic and likes to flirt but is absolutely terrified of sex because of a mix of bad/silly experience and anxiety. He gets nervous about the subject and panics as soon as things become too hot and heavy. - Emil has a huge weakness for smart and dorky, guys/girls <3 - He learned the tips and tricks about being a Bard from a Bard called Rafael, with whom he has a somewhat competitive-love/hate friend-relationship as their friendship got a little complicated at the end of their showbusiness-partnership. Rafael is a stereotypical bard, very charismatic, party-animal and somewhat of a nymphomaniac. - Emil used to own a tiger when he was younger, who he shared with his brother Gabriel, which is supposed to be depicted on his bracers. Gabriel, after being reunited with Emil again 3 years after Emil left home, decided to also engrave his name into the bracers, in a way, so he'd be with him on his adventures. -Emil grew up with two mothers and a father, his biological mother is called Anjah, she is smart, smoll and scary, his second mother is called Dolunay, Cool, collected and wise, and his father's name is Azam who is intimidating but too sweet for his own good. His parents are in a Poly-romantic relationship and don't appreciate the "He is rich so he has more than one wife"-talk/ habit, the relationship is shared between all of them and they all love each other equally.

- Aside from the strings, his Violin is made out of Wood, Gold, and Ivory. It's called "Yarro" and is named after the Yarrow Plant. - He was thought to shoot his crossbow by his older brother Amin, who is good at handling most weapons known to that region, and an avid collector. Currently, Baltazar owns a magic Heavy Crossbow which is able to cast the spell "Tenser's transformation". - Emil is familiar with wearing drag or being scarcely clothed on stage as he used to be a part of a show in an "Entertainers-bar" for about a year. His drag is now one of his costumes next to his dessert robes... this job wasn't one of his favorites... but it was where Rafael discovered him, which would change his life forever. (He is dangerous with a pair of heels.) - Emil recently acquired a sentient cape, called Thanatos, a cured copper dragon with a ton of attitude. He allows Baltazar to Fly, be resistant to fire and look very extra. - His feather ear-ring is supposed to resemble a phoenix feather, however, he has no clue if it's real, as he bought it on a market from a somewhat sketchy guy. - Emil lost his finger for a while after using a magic artifact to save his ass... (Future: luckily he was able to get it back!) - Emil has a birthmark on his left hip. - (When compared to the real world) Emil would have a combination of Arabic/Indian/maybe a bit of Egyptic heritage. - Emil Knows gods exist but isn't necessarily a follower of any. More Baltazar: - https://romyvdhel-art.deviantart.com/art/OC-Spectrum-Meme-DnD-Characters-724820026 - https://romyvdhel-art.deviantart.com/art/DND-Reference-Baltazar-Emil-Qazir-707607613 - https://romyvdhel-art.deviantart.com/art/DnD-Sketchdump-VIII-717548901

[tearlessrain]

all right time for Scorpion King: Book of Souls Liveblog Part 2

we last left bootleg xena and zach mcgowan’s abs in ancient egyptian jello narnia with a mostly naked lady who is also a book and her wildly unnecessary comic relief rock golem friend and there might even have been hints of a plot. I have a feeling it’s only downhill from here.

we’re back to the people who gallop around menacingly on horses and their completely normal bird that keeps getting screentime for some reason. their specific objectives remain unclear, as they have been for the entire movie.

oh hey they found the mad max tribe, maybe there actually was a point to the interlude earlier

shut up mediocre henchman 5 I still hate you

hm, nope, still no point to this. they just rode away again. menacingly.

please someone make the cockney rock golem stop talking

she has been trying to seduce matthias since she first came on screen and despite the fact that they’ve known each other for five minutes I have a sinking feeling that it’s going to work before this movie is over

ookay the rock golem is afraid of fire, that makes sense.

WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT ABOUT THIS BIRD IT’S A NORMAL GODDAMN BIRD IT HASN’T DONE ANYTHING

oh thank god they’re leaving the rock golem behind in jello narnia

living the dream, book lady

yep here we go with the romantic subplot nobody asked for between two people who met like three hours ago at most

is he the only man she’s ever seen because like. talk about setting the bar high

here come the menacing riders, riding menacingly

NOBODY LIKES YOU, MEDIOCRE HENCHMAN 5

oh yes I think xena’s finally gonna kill this fucker

and now we can just watch zach mcgowan kill people which is really what 90% of the movie’s content should have been in the first place

HE KILLED MEDIOCRE HENCHMAN 5 WE ARE FREE.

oh fuck the rock golem is back and they’re bringing him to a market

this movie’s plot is so vague as to be on the verge of doing a full 180 into “dadaist masterpiece”

now I’m not saying I expected better from the direct to DVD fifth sequel of a spinoff of a reboot of The Mummy but it needs to be said just once: why is the scorpion king a white guy

okay there we go back to killing people don’t worry about things like plot and why they all have vaguely british accents

ah he has learned from the last time he beat up a bunch of ninjas, no getting shot this time

[Black Sails theme playing on a single kazoo in the distance]

at least the boat’s too small for them to get any time alone together and progress the unneeded romance

oh hey it’s glowy eye dude who we haven’t seen since the prologue despite his being the main antagonist. I like that dude. mostly for his rad aesthetic.

ooooh glowy eye dude killed bootleg xena’s brother who we’ve literally never seen or heard of before book lady explained it

and apparently she’s the last remaining heir so we’ve got the queen of nubia, the king of... scorpions, I guess, a human book, and a golem all on a boat. I feel like I’ve literally been in this D&D party.

there’s that bird again seriously why, there had better be payoff for this. maybe the bird is secretly anubis or something. which would be weird, since anubis is the one with the jackal head, but I can’t think of another reason to keep drawing this much attention to it.

there had also better be a damn good payoff to the golem being afraid of fire because it’s getting really annoying

OH MY GOD A GIANT ROCK

they very clearly didn’t give zach mcgowan any direction regarding what accent he’s supposed to have because he’s just trying them all out

imagine if he’d just smashed the head clean off that stone sphynx and it turned out there was nothing in there

book lady has taken over for prologue narrator I guess

what is with this anubis, this is like a deviantart anubis. this is just “abs for days: the movie”

okay evil xena, “men are simple” isn’t really a fair thing to say considering you shot him with a poison dart. falling over after someone shoots you with a poison dart isn’t really a gendered thing. and like she didn’t try to seduce him first or anything she just walked in, shot him, and said that as if it was somehow relevant.

oh it’s the mad max tribe yet again. maybe THIS time they’ll have a purpose.

nope they’re just here to comment as the plot coincidentally passes them on the way to somewhere else. okay.

okay so maybe the blacksmithing and hunting and badass fighting and full on nudity haven’t been enough to distract you from how bad the writing is. don’t worry fam we’ve got you.

it’s like they’ve got a checklist or something

at least the ugly and useless leather armor thing is gone though

okay know what as an aside, shoutout to this random ass bird that gets almost as much screentime as the actual protagonist yet has done nothing except completely normal bird things for the entire movie

“before I kill him let’s see how he fights” well you just signed your own death sentence. see even your wife who can see the fourth wall knows this is a mistake.

glow eye dude is entirely too good of an actor for the lines he was given, this is like watching jeremy irons in eragon

wow I mean you could just kill book lady, setting her on fire seems excessive.

uh I was joking before but he appparently actually is the literal king of scorpions. and getting stung by them is I guess what activates his powers. being the scorpion king SUCKS.

wow it didn’t half work though, he just samsoned right out of those chains. good thing it wasn’t a bamboo and string cage, or he would have been trapped for good.

hell yeah finally a showdown between glow eye dude and zach mcgowan. this is why I’m here.

wait, the mad max tribe is back. maybe THIS time they’ll do something relevant!

yeah there they go. finally. killed psychic wife

random bird approves.

and now it’s just everybody fighting everybody so in other words the movie is looking up

evil xena vs good xena FIGHT

I can’t believe the fucking golem was the one who finally destroyed the sword.

so now the mcguffan is just freaking gone and matthias and evil guy are just punching the shit out of each other for the hell of it and I’m not even mad

I mean I guess one of them still has to be defeated but still

he just fuckin Simba’d that guy right into the fire

like can we please take a moment to appreciate that this is the exact fight choreography and aesthetic from the lion king

to the point that there was a literal lion roar sound as the guy died??? I’m not even kidding what the hell

“and we helped!” - the mad max tribe

oh the sword wasn’t destroyed. but at least the rock golem is gone so that’s something.

“remember who you aaaaaare” - the mad max tribe

ooooh he must choose between destroying the evil sword and the life of book lady, his true love who he met yesterday

I mean don’t get me wrong I’m sad to see her go she was one of the least annoying characters, but still you could have cut out the mad max tribe and developed her more so this would have more impact

aaaand THERE’s the obligatory tragic kiss

honestly though know what I can’t begrudge her this, it’s not like I wouldn’t do the same thing if I were a human book living alone in a tomb and some absurdly attractive dude just showed up one day and was like “climb on my horse so we can gallop sexily across a beach.” that’s completely reasonable.

matthias... I don’t feel so good...

(I’m sorry I had to)

that looks like it should be the cover of a drug store romance novel. maybe after the cowboy fad dies the next one will be “white guys who are kings of ancient egypt for absolutely no discernable reason”

NARRATOR! I missed you my dude.

he never forgot his destiny again. still no mention of exactly what his destiny is or even what exactly he’s king of aside from about two dozen literal scorpions

but seriously “getting stung by scorpions” is the absolute worst superpower ever. no wonder he abandoned his destiny to be a blacksmith, I would too.

there he goes

well that was pretty much exactly what I expected it to be but somehow even more so. gratuitous fanservice and absolutely no substance or meaningful plot, 10/10 would not watch again but had a great time watching it once. roughly on par with Eragon but this time ancient egypt flavored.

that bird never ended up doing anything, by the way. 10/10 completely useless but extremely photogenic bird.

[overcaffeinated-creative]

⚰️⚰️ for Jai and Harti because I'm terrible :D

Send ⚰️ for a glimpse of my muse’s funeral

Summary: Jai Vetra’s Death and Funeral as told between himself and his granddaughter.

Rating: T

Warnings: Character Death

Characters: Jai Vetra, Solus Vetra, Harti Wren, Iviin Shysa, Kal Skirata, Vhonte Tervho, Fenn Rau, Ahsoka Tano

Notes: The changes are clearly marked between paragraphs with a back and fourth between Jai and then a snippet of Solus and a Conversation.

(I promise I’ll get to Harti’s soon but I’ve been writing this since like 7 AM and it went on so much longer than expected. It’s 1505 words in an experimental style.)

“Havea drink with me for you ba’buir,” Iviin Shysa suggested whileshoving the bottle into her hands. Old, almost bruised eyes glancedup at him from beneath a white buzz cut. The past week had beencruel. “We’ll celebrate his memory and his name.”

Solusdrank deep before handing the bottle back. “Thank you, ‘Alor.”

Hetook a seat on the bench next to her, knees bumping together. “Nothanks needed. We’re going to handle this as best we can.”

–

JaiVetra would not receive a traditional Mandalorian funeral. What wasleft of Clan Vetra, as well as his followers and friends, would nothave the chance to mourn him together. There would be no gathering inthe early dawn hours to prepare his body for cremation. Solus wouldnot receive his full set of armor to forge into her own nor even apiece of it. As the sunset they would not scatter his ashes thencelebrate his life. There would be no crowd to share food and drinkas music played and stories flowed. Not even a battlefield funeralwould happen in his honor.

–

“Hehated Kamino,” Kal Skirata told her over a comm call at Krownest’smorning. Her sluggish mind supplied it was closer to evening or nighton Mandalore. “Swore the entire planet conspired against him havinga break. They’d beat his door down at the crack of dawn for what heclassified as strill shit.” His tone took a humorous turn, “Whichseemed to be anything less than the end of the Galaxy before his twocups of caf. After those cups it became whatever should’ve beensent to Jango first.”

Theirphone call ran for over an hour much to Solus’ delight. Kal hadnumerous stories to tell about his time with Jai in Cuy’val Dar.Funny quips delivered in passing all the way to her ba’buir’sability to weaponize the chain of command like a true bureaucrat.However, the surreal feeling still nagged at her mind. She only foundout he had been alive all of that time after he died.

Kal’sface shifted when he caught something off in her expression. “Don’tlook so down, Ad’ika. He loved you more than anything in thisGalaxy and so was proud of you. Make sure you always remember that.He did everything for you.”

–

JaiVetra perished a month after the issuing of Order 66 during theUprising of Tipoca City. It went against all expected outcomes. Forhis entire life, he had been known as a survivor. No matter thetrauma inflicted or the impossibility of the odds he survived. It wasjoked he was part Corellian because of it. After Galidraan, everyoneaccepted Death would have to take him  of old age while passed outdrunk. There would be no other way to have a fighting chance. Yet, asKorda Six showed the mortality of Jaster Mereel and Geonosis that ofJango Fett; Kamino became his proof of only being human.

–

“Hewas the architect behind our escape,” Vhonte Tervho whispered inthe late hours of the evening. They sat back to back before the fireplace in the large dining room. Solus could not recall how they endedup that way. “The Empire had the longnecks lock everything down.I’ve never felt so cornered in my life. Neither had the others andit was making us all antsy. Except for Jai. He was just as unshakableas always. Told us to keep doing our jobs and trust him.”

“Ba’buirwas always good at that.” Solus felt tears start to drip down hercheeks. “He did the same thing during the Clan Wars. If someonestarted panicking he’d talk ‘em through it.”

“Then,a couple of nights ago he showed up with this plan. I was part of itand I don’t know how it worked.” Her voice wavered. “All of usthat got out, from the other Mandos to the child clones, owe himeverything.”

–

JaiVetra had never been taken with starfighters but he died in one. Athis absolute prime, he was still incapable of the preternaturalmaneuvers Harti executed. There was never any jealous there, onlylove and awe and respect. Secondhand stories (and in one instance themost terrifying holofootage of the past ten years) told him Soluspossessed the same skills; maybe more so. Yet, he still elected topilot a starfighter for their escape. Transports would need theirbest pilots to protect their precious cargo. For this flight he couldstand guard over their six or clear the way.

–

“TheOld Man was something else,” Fenn Rau told her looking almostsomber. Part of her was still reeling from his surprise visit to theVetra Stronghold. Concord Dawn, and by extension the JourneymenProtector’s, were iffy about the burgeoning True Mandalorians. “Hewas always full of surprise and one of the better ver’alor I’vemet.”

Hersmile came across weak while she muttered, “He hated being calledthat.”

“Ihated being called vaar’ika and that never stopped him.” For amoment, she saw the brazen, defiant man she came to know as Fenn Rauinstead of this somber ghost.

“Takeit as a compliment,” she tried to tease with a limp twitch todrooping ears. “It’s what he used to call Har’ba’buir andmyself. All of his favorite people are small, spitfire pilots.”

“Isee a lot of him you.” Lavender flooded Solus’ face. “Both ofyou are white haired, pains in my ass who could rally anyone foranything.”

–

JaiVetra had been assured he would never die alone but that was exactlyhow he went at age 66. A failed evasion resulted in engine damagethat sent him into an uncontrolled glide to a landing platform.Skittering across the metal he finally slowed to a halt flippedupside down. There was nothing to see past the transparisteel canopy.All he could hear was the muffled firefight outside over his ownrapid heartbeat. Something began to pool around his broken body. Atfirst, he thought it was rain but with cool sensation throughout itcould have been blood as well. Nothing would matter thought becauseit would all be over too soon.

–

“Ja’ikasaid he survived by looking for the light,” Harti mused more tohimself than his granddaughter walking beside him. “He said that nomatter how dark it seemed there would always be a light. He had tostumble for it a few times, maybe even missed the cue , but it wasthere in the end.”

“Itdoesn’t hurt less.” Her shoulders started shaking while sheworked hard to keep pace. “It doesn’t make anything hurt less.”

Hestopped in the center of the hallway to draw her into a warm hug.“Sol’ika,” her murmured into her hair, “now is the mostimportant time to look for the light. We’ve lost so many people,both Mandalorian and not, and we will lose more. But, look at thoseJai and the others saved with their sacrifices. Think of the livesyou and your friends saved. There’s a way out even if we have tolight it ourselves.”

–

JaiVetra died alone as an invader in a foreign land according to therecords. What was not included was the sort of funeral he stillreceived. The last of his strength was used to start his favoriteaudio clip; “I love you, Ba’buir!” singsonged from a tiny voicewith Harti’s warm laugh echoed in the background. Baptized in fuel,a stray spark turned the entire starfighter into a shining inferno.But, beyond that there was those who would carry his name forward.

–

“Wouldit be okay if I learned to say Remembrance with you?” Ahsoka asked,sounding almost unsure. They were curled around each other in bed.Solus’ head resting on her shoulder with a leg flung over her body.Ahsoka’s near arm curled beneath Solus while the other rested onher hip, thumb absentmindedly tracing the curve of the bone. “Iknow it’s something really important to you.”

Blinkingseveral times, Solus tried to study Ahsoka’s face in the dark. Atbest, she gathered bright eyes were staring at the ceiling. “Ofcourse. I’ll teach you when we wake up.” Squinting she tried tomake out if the blue chevrons of the closest lek had darkened any.“Any reason why?”

“Itsounds dumb…because I didn’t know your grandfather at all. But, Iwant to help you remember him.” Her voice grew higher in pitch.“Since we’ve known each other you’ve always said it. Becausepeople live on through their names being remembered right? Or, thatwas how you explained it two years ago.” Shifting their bodiesAhsoka settled only when she could look squarely into Solus’ eyes.“And I’ve heard you say Skyguy’s name too. It’s somethingyou’re doing for me and I just…I just wanted to do the same foryou. That way there’s two people remembering their names.”

Ba’buirwas right about finding the light.

[nazrigar]

Hey there everyone! WHOO! Finally got a reprieve, as I’m done with my drawings for my final project, now I have to continue typing the written parts.

Done largely in part because I love the lore, practice drawing human characters, and to pass the time whenever I need a breather from from college.

While researching for the lore of Dark Souls for my In-progress AU Comic, I noticed how LARGE the mythology of Dark Souls and the deities that reside, along with the fan speculation of which god corresponds with whom and etc. In spite of all this, from what I can tell, outside of Gwyn’s family, there has never been a, for lack of a better term, “compendium piece” of the gods and goddesses of dark souls, so I made my own :D

Because some gods are not represented in imagery, I decided to design how they might look if they ever showed up amongst mortals. I owe a lot to Tumblr, Reddit and the DS fandom as a whole, the amount of theory and lore discussions are always gold, and of course, the lore-lords like @vaatividya and @silver-mont, their vids are always interesting to watch :)

From the Top Row: The Bearers of the Lord Souls

Gravelord Nito: No need for an explanation here xD

Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight: Drawing him was easy, but here I wanted portray a very stern, no-nonsense god king who really, REALLY is someone you don’t want to piss off, and someone who is almost NEVER happy and/or satisfied.

The Witch of Izalith: I’m honestly surprised there’s not much fanart of how her face might look like, so I pitched in. She basically resembles her daughters, but with a more matriarchal vibe, with a stronger jawline and sharper eyes to reflect that. She’s also very tall, towering over Gwyn and just slightly edging out NK in height.

The Furtive Pygmies, featuring Manus and a Pygmy Lord: With the Ringed City revealing that there were SEVERAL pygmies, I had quite some fun with the speculation and possibilities of how the Pygmies as a whole looked like.

Personally? I simply interpret them as humans but more, with more power over the dark soul, but otherwise having different roles in society like regular folk, the Ringed Knights are Warriors, the Lords are the rulers, etc.

I put Manus amongst them, why? Because no way should ONE man be able to have THAT much abyss power just because he’s a human. Since the dark soul is divided amongst humans, I interpret him having a huge chunk of the Dark Soul (as per these two threads), and thus was simply a mighty sorceror who happened to be really, REALLY old, even by Pygmy standards. Plus I always wondered... How does one torture a dead man? The Mad King was described as undying, so according to my own logic, he wasn’t totally “dead” when he was buried. His grave could signify him wanting a modicum of peace, after all, his entire race was basically put in a glorified prison by Gwyn... Sensing the growing madness within him (probably due to sheer isolation), he probably decided to “die” on his own terms in Oolacile... then future idiots proceeded to listen to TOTALLY NOT SUSPICIOUS AT ALL SERPENT and dug up his grave.

The random Pygmy Lord is basically representing one of the first Pygmy Lords.

Second Row: The Children of the Gods

The Nameless King, Firstborn of Gwyn, God of War: In a short period of time, has become my favorite character amongst the gods... There’s so much of a story to tell from him, his relationship with his family, the reasons as to WHY he betrayed the dragons, and thanks to lore threads a-plenty, I interpret him as one of the most honorable and dedicated of the gods. He watches over his warriors of sunlight even if they ARE humans (whom Gwyn HATES) AND he protects Dragons. Despite meI head-canoning him bigger than Gwyn and is in general a wall of muscle and armor, he’s STILL shorter than his sisters.

Gwynevere, Goddess of Fertility: Gwynevere here I interpret as one of the nicer gods, so I made her expression to reflect such. Because Gwyndolin’s illusion of her may be simply him projecting what he remembers most of her and thus potentially exaggerating certain aspects, I toned down a lot the “Aphrodite-esque” glamor, in favor of a more personable look, though still decked out.

Filianore: The daughter we know even less of than Gwynevere, but thanks to a certain reddit thread that discussed how dedicated NK was to her via the floral carvings that is present in Archdragon peak... She must have been someone who NK was VERY close with, so I interpret her as the “Always trying to bring life to the family” kind of sister, though closest to her eldest brother.

Gwyndolin: The Dark Sun himself. Not much else to say here, I just wanted to draw him happy for once... Because WHY FROM? He really, really needs it.

The Daughters of Chaos

Quelana, Mother of Pyromancy: Due to her own title, I interpret her as the Studious Daughter, incredibly dedicated to her craft and always finding out ways to further her pyromancy... Until the Chaos Flame incident happened of course... Then she became wracked with survivor’s guilt...

I also interpret her as being the responsible one looking out to make sure her sisters don’t do anything too brash... Though in hindsight, that would make her suvivor’s guilt worse.

Quelaag: The most well known Chaos Daughter, and whom I interpret as The Aggressive Daughter, hence why she’s the only one of the sisters with a melee weapon. As the most in-your-face daughter I head-canon that she is the one who lowers down her hood the most, especially when she feels like challenging someone. Also VERY protective of her family.

Quelaan, The Fair Lady: Last but not least, I interpret Quelaan as always having been the shyest and nicest of the daughters. Her hood is more drooped down compared to Quelana, to highlight her shyness.

Fun fact, while trying to find her real name, turns out the name Quelaan was the name the community gave to her, and just became established fanon, so I just opted to name her just that.

Third Row: Other Members of the Larger Pantheon

All-Father Lloyd: Gwyn’s uncle, founder of the Way of White. Now there IS speculation that he’s not real, but here I interpret as the real deal, and thus looks like a wimpier, older version of Gwyn, yet still has an aura of authority. I used a bit of Paladin Leeroy for his crown, because I interpret that, when he REALLY needs to get his hands dirty, he too wields a mace, setting an example to all paladin-esque worshipers after him.

His clothes are tattered despite being the godly equivalent of a pontiff, to highlight two things:

One, despite him being a “lord”, his tattered look is to signify he is not “above” the rabble/his followers.

Two, I head-canon him becoming slowly more insane and full of hate toward the undead,as more and more of his family and friends either dies off or leaving home... He eventually disappears for unknown reasons and becomes forgotten.

Fina, Goddess of Love: The most popular candidate for Gwyn’s wife, or at least his first, I wanted to design her with the Embraced Set in mind, just modified to look more queenly rather than armor. Going by the general fanon, I interpret her as the mother of both NK and Gwynevere, but due to unknown circumstances, just up-and-left. Why? I dunno I haven’t thought that deep :(

Also wanted to try out and giving her a different look, skin-tone and facial wise compared to all the other gods and goddesses out there.

Velka, Goddess of Sin: My favorite goddess, her lore and weaponry associated with her is cool, but even with DS3 and all its DLC, I wish we got to know more of her and how she even became the one to hold the title of “goddess of sin” and how she absolves it. She is also, I noticed in fan-art and fanfic, the other most popular candidate for Gwyn’s wife.

Due to the fact that both Gwyndolin and Filianore are associated with illusions and magic, I interpret her as the mother of Filianore and Gwyndolin. She has sharp features and very pale skin, and share’s Filianore’s dark hair.

For her design, I compared aspects of the Statue of Velka from DS3, and both Oswald of Carim and Cromwell the pardoner. I didn’t want her to strictly dress like Oswald and Cromwell, so I incorporated more feathers to her outfit to give her a more “regal” look, as befitting a goddess, and not just pardoner. Funnily enough, with her book of sins and outfit, she also gives the aura of a medieval judge.

Caitha, Goddess of Tears: The third goddess associated with Carim, and one that I intentionally kept her eyes hidden. Mentioned in both 2 and 3, I want to reflect her constant “mourning” nature, and since ‘Gentle Prayer’ is associated with her chime in DS3, I thought her being in a position of prayer would be most appropriate.

Nahr Alma, God of Blood and Murder: Take Titchy Gren, make him more beast-like in proportion, now make him the size of Father Ariandel with the animalistic agility of the Orphan of Kos or Slave Knight Gael, and you have the God of Blood himself. I interpret him as a kind of god that is shunned by the rest, and is mostly treated as an attack dog, and nothing more. REALLY resents the other gods.

[captainbaneberry]

For distant-little-lights: Silas!Breakdown/Starscream. Silas giving that Seeker ass a good poundin’. Alternate ending to “The Human Factor”, where Silas escapes. This one went on a little too long, but hey, it happens.

Silas had escaped the Decepticons, left with nothing but what remained of his life. And if that wasn't embarrassing enough, after escaping into the bleak desert landscape of Jasper, he found out he wasn't actually really alone.

Granted, Starscream had been easy to dupe in the past--but with no weapons and no men to back him up, Silas was screwed. He was too weak to try and fight, migraines coming and going in powerful bursts.

When Starscream approached him, the Seeker looked menacing--standing tall, wings hiked, backlit by the light of a full moon, his red optics a storm of rage and--

"What the scrap!?" Starscream yelped, recoiling. He meant to shoot Silas, but in his panic and fear, blasted the ground beside him. "You--you're dead! D-Did Megatron send you? You don't look like you've been given dark energon--"

Silas quickly realized his advantage. He frowned, yellow optics dim as he raised his hands. Completed the look of submission and helplessness while on his knees. "No, Lord Starscream," he said, adding the title from past near-death experiences, "I'm not Breakdown. I'm..."

Starscream stared, wide-eyed. He registered Silas's voice, lowering his arm. "Well, well, well," he sneered, grinning like a madman. Part amused, part triumphant--this human had turned on him. Now he could have his revenge. "What an interesting development."

"I must apologize first," Silas mumbled, "for stealing your t-cog. For stabbing you in the back."

Starscream grumbled, twitching. He suddenly remembered Megatron, how he had apologized for the very same reasons. But he did it better, and Starscream wasn't nearly as merciful or senile as the old tin bucket. "Apology not accepted," he growled, pointing his nullray at the zombified Decepticon.

"Wait!" Silas gasped. "I came to you, specifically you... I've been looking. I realize now that the Decepticons are misguided, ignorant fools. You, Lord Starscream, you see the truth." He gestured to the Seeker, looking much like a young boy wooing a girl on his knees, trying to take her hand with the other pressed to his heart. And Starscream, so far, was eating it up. "I wish to work with you. Beside you, if you will permit me. If not, as your underling. I appreciate true strength and power when I see it--alas, but I was too late to see it before."

Starscream didn't know if it was due to lack of energon, his own recent damage, or the fact Silas had a very convincing tongue and way of talking, but something seemed to be working. It had been so long since anyone praised Starscream--even for the good things he'd legitimately done for the Decepticon cause. So long since anyone quivered in fear before him, made him remember what it was like to be an actual threat.

Starscream knew Silas was simply trying to save his own ass. He wasn't that stupid. But he could tell Silas was no threat in his condition. And he spoke such pretty words...

"Careful now," Starscream hummed, tapping claws to his cheeks and smiling, "you might actually live a little longer with the way you're talking."

Silas looked up at Starscream, alarmed but elated. "I'll do anything you ask," he said, trying to swallow down his glee. Sound more desperate, more pathetic; Starscream wanted to be lavished and adored, after all. Appeal to his massive ego. "Anything at all. I can help you get your t-cog back. I can polish your armor, clean you up. Return you to your former, glorious beauty..." He trailed off with a smug, scarred grin.

Starscream blinked rapidly five times straight, genuinely shocked. Then, he puffed out his chest, beaming with hands akimbo. "Oh, yes! Even now I shine in the dust and dirt, but I really do miss looking my best." His wings flexed and wiggled. "You find me attractive, do you? Strange for a human, I would think. But do tell me more..."

An opening. Silas was going to take it, even if he had to throw his giant body and fight through a tiny crack. Getting under Starscream's skin was much easier when Starscream had nothing left. Nothing but his damnable pride. Silas stood, cautiously; the Seeker kept his eyes trained on him, but did nothing, weapons pointed at the ground.

"Lord Starscream," Silas cooed, walking over to Starscream. The Seeker allowed this too. "If I could, I would show you the extent of my respect. I would risk using even my more... specialized equipment, if it meant pleasing you. Touching you. If you would let me, of course. The greatest of honors that I wish I had the chance to ask for before."

Starscream shuddered. "W-Well," he grunted, "perhaps I..." He walked closer with a sway of his slender hips. He took Silas by the chin, burying his claw ever so slightly into his bottom lip. "Might just let you. I do, after all, need some proof you're willing to obey and follow me. Bearing yourself, opening yourself as such, could do the trick." The last word trailed off in a low snarl, Starscream leering.

Surprisingly, that was all it took. But Silas knew it wouldn't be easy--just, right now, the two could set aside their differences. Starscream was hungry for touch and praise and loyalty. He was desperate enough to take it even from a human--it helped he wore Breakdown's skin. Breakdown had always been a bit smarmy to him in life; now it felt like Starscream was paying the meat-headed moron back for not believing and following him blindly.

Starscream wrapped his long fingers around Silas's unit, stroking it. "Never used this before, hmm?" he smirked. "It shows." He started working the unit in slow, taunting pumps. Silas groaned and tried not to fall over, bracing his hands on the rock behind Starscream. He wasn't sure it was safe to touch the Seeker quite yet.

"Look at you," Starscream sneered into his audiol, "how you come undone with only a few simple touches." He thrust thumb-claw into Silas's slit, earning a loud moan. "Pathetic." He probed the slit a little deeper before retracting, drawing out beads of transfluid. Starscream chuckled, pleased with himself; Silas's unit grew harder, pressurizing fast, and Silas could feel that pleasure, that lust, just as he could pain.

"Do try to last more than a few minutes, Silas."

Silas gulped. "My Lord... let me..." He raised a hand, showing it to Starscream. Like reassuring a feral animal they weren't going to hurt or touch them without permission. Starscream snorted, thinking nothing of it, but allowed Silas to lower his hand. He was surprised, however; it wasn't support Silas wanted, but rather he was moving that large hand between Starscream's thighs, finding his panel and cupping it. Starscream snarled--so warm, already wet and engorged. Now who was the pitiful one?

But let the poor, stupid little alien have its fun. It could be entertaining. Either way, Starscream would be getting a good fuck out of this tonight, even if there were a few fumbles in the process. He parted his panels; Silas stroked his folds, the mesh walls, finding his anterior node a bit too quickly. Silas was just surprised these complicated alien robots had similar crude sexual anatomy as humans. Not very different, in the end, with some exceptions--bit disappointing, actually. But that wasn't important right now.

Two fingers pinned Starscream's folds open, the middle working shallow strokes in his channel. Starscream growled, his own hands shaking and slowing around Silas's unit. Silas smiled inside his armor. His finger rubbed and rolled the node--basically a clit--along the pad of his steel finger. Starscream gasped, letting Silas go and leaning back against the boulder, hands grasping at the rock and tearing.

"Does this please you, Lord Starscream?" Silas crooned, keeping his human smile from translating on Breakdown's face. Don't get too cocky now.

"Nn," Starscream whined, teeth grit, "n-not... horrible, no..." He rolled his hips very slightly into the finger, lubricant trickling down his chipped thighs. Silas pressed the finger in deeper, and the Seeker quickly bit down on his fingers to stop himself from yelping aloud.

Silas had to admit, Starscream was, in his alien way, not that bad on the eyes. A little arrogance be damned--he inserted a second finger. Starscream clenched around the digits, for a moment surprised and thrown off balance; Silas gently guided him back against the rock with a hand on his wing. Aforementioned hand stroking the armor, over the torn red insignia.

Why was this human so... so good at this? Must have done his research. He seemed way too familiar with Cybertronian sexual anatomy, he just had to have downloaded the information. Practiced on himself--or Breakdown? Whatever. Yeah, yeah, that had to be it.

"Lord Starscream," Silas vented, mouthing a cord along Starscream's neck, "relax. I won't hurt you. Not unless you ask me to."

Starscream's optics widened, blazing red. "I--w-why would you--"

Taking Starscream by the hips, Silas nudged the head of his fat unit against his channel.

"Wait! Wait!" Starscream squawked. "I was suppose to--suppose to..."

"Would you like me to stop?" Silas asked, browplate cocked.

Starscream opened his mouth. Shut it, and frowned. "No," he growled, "this was my plan. Just--nn!"

Silas didn't want Starscream too frustrated. He pressed his unit in slowly, all the while the Seeker gasping and writhing beneath him. Wide optics watching as the appendage entered him, first a couple inches, then a little more. This pain, this pleasure--God, he missed it. He hated that he missed it. He hated that his damn body missed it, because his channel walls were instantly opening and spreading without any manual aide, happily swallowing more of the unit.

Silas nestled himself halfway inside Starscream before stopping. Gave the Seeker a moment to collect himself. And then--he started thrusting.

Silas had heard Starscream's cries and yips and yowls in the past, but none like this. It made him dizzy, and not just from the headaches. Starscream vented open-mouthed, optics flickering; he dug his claws into Silas's shoulders, holding tight. Bucking to meet each of those pumps, taking just a little of him more every time.

"S-Shit," Silas cursed, his body suddenly way too hot. He tried not to crush Starscream's waist in his bigger hands. Gasped when Starscream hooked one leg around his hip, the heel of his boot burying into his back. Silas picked up the pace, close to fucking the Seeker right into the boulder, if not into a hundred pieces.

Because Starscream was most definitely breaking.

"This is--this is--is--" Starscream croaked and rasped, optics lidded, drooling a little. "All--all part of m-my pla--ahhn!" He clung to Silas, in the process swallowing him to the hilt. Silas screamed too, both sets of vision blurring. "Don't s-stop now, d-dolt!" Starscream spat, slapping Silas’s back and wiggling on the unit.

Silas snarled, pulling back; unit sliding out a few inches, coated in lubricant, and slammed back in.

Starscream shrieked, head thrown back and wings standing on edge and quivering. "Y-Yes!" he cried, smiling sloppily. "Yes, y-yes!" Was he praising Silas or himself? Silas wasn't going too ask; couldn't think right now, the immense pleasure setting him closer on edge. He still wouldn't have the same amount of stamina as these aliens--not for a while. And if he survived more than a few more days in his condition.

"You f-feel so good, Lord Starscream," Silas groaned, voice shaky, "I-I've never felt s-so--"

Right, this wasn't Breakdown. This was a human wearing Breakdown like wolf's clothing. Starscream realized, in the haze of all the lust and pleasure and excitement, that technically this might have qualified as necrophilia. His spark skipped a pulse, but that was about it. It was only technically necrophilia, after all.

"I-I'm gonna com--er--over--overload!"

Starscream snapped his head forward, frowning. "No," he growled, gasping, "this was--no, I was suppose to--"

Too late. Starscream squealed, jerking as transfluid filled his channel, reaching his tanks. His optics bright and beautiful and hooded. He couldn't help it--he just had to smile. Oh, it felt so good, and the transfluid was so warm-- Starscream overloaded a second later, almost from all that wonderful nostalgia alone. Remembering how big Megatron was, how every time he climaxed inside him, he'd get a little bulge in his abdominal chamber. Starscream clenched down on the unit, whimpered--finished.

Silas vented, armor rattling. He slowly pulled his flaccid unit free, wincing at the sight of all that transfluid. Huh--not like the transmission fluid humans used, if they were the same. This was more purple-blue than the typical red or unhealthy black-scarlet. It came out in thick gobs, running down Starscream's quivering thighs, dripping into a puddle.

Starscream cleared his throat, still shivering. "Ah, y-yes," he swallowed, the timbre of his voice a little higher pitched, "I expected such, and it... was my... all... along..." He flopped back against the boulder, melting and groaning. "Scrap."