#rook is not my strongest characterization

[sixhundredthousandbees]

I would like to give my two cents as well since I love to yap. y'all don't have to read, I'm just a guy with opinions.

First of all. All of this, yes, thank you.

People treat Jacob and John so much differently than Joseph I think, at least depending on what I've seen. based off of their looks. People omit Jacob's trauma from his story entirely sometimes and dumb him down to basically what I can only describe as a kinky cannibalistic hermit that only feeds off of human meat. Jacob is, in my opinion, the most nuanced and deeply flawed individual in the entire game. Could either of the Seeds qualify? Oh, absolutely. But Jacob, especially with the context the Collapse DLC puts him in, is the one out of the four that I empathize with the most.

People joking about him eating Miller is fine, but like you said, it's gotten to the point where that's All he is. The FC5 fandom needs to understand that he does not eat people. He, allegedly (because it was never officially stated in game) ate ONE man out of complete necessity. He literally tells you it was his only option, by the third day they were lost. They had no water, they lost hope. They had no food. They had no help coming for them. Jacob only had what he could get, and that was Miller. He didn't ENJOY it. He doesn't find comfort in it, he is SCARED of what he did. He hated himself for what he did. He (assuming, based off of the visions in the FC6 Collapse DLC) wanted to end his life because of Everything he'd been through stacking, stacking, stacking until he could not handle it anymore. It's obviously taken a much larger toll on him than we initially thought because he quite literally doesn't care if he lives or dies. He encourages us to kill him, if anything.

The entire reason Only You is used in the game is because that is the only thing that brings him comfort. The music box, the song, the melody, it conditions HIM just as much as it conditions us. The only difference being that he's using it to condition himself to stay in a sane state of mind. (IMO.)

Now, this is about John. John Seed is as flawed a man as his brothers. People mischaracterize him all the time.

Hot take, John is not a sexual deviant. Although I do agree and believe his sin is Lust, i'll get to that.

"Well that's contradictory, given his past. Drug and sex addicted, using that to escape the world." I'm talking main game, not backstory. He is not sexually attracted to Rook. He sounds it, he looks it. I even thought so, my first few playthroughs. I was sure the way he looked down and up, the way he ripped Rook's shirt open and stared, you could really hear the lust in the way he spoke. I've since had my eyes opened. John should not be characterized as a man that acts and reacts solely for [sexual] lust. [He acts in such a way because he's trying to scare us into submission, basically.]

John just wants approval. John wants to be loved. John wants to be heard, and seen, and appreciated. He wants what he did not have at home, from Joseph. He mocks the cleansing for Rook, and Rook only, because we are his brother's greatest adversary. We are The Father's reckoning, the Hell that follows the Whitehorse. If John gets Rook to atone, he gets the greatest victory. He gets Joseph's approval, and love. For once, he won't be the weakest link, he will be the strongest. He won't be overshadowed by Jacob or by Faith. He will be the one who brought Eden's Gate to justice. That is what he wants. He BEGS us to confess because as Joseph said, Rook MUST reach atonement or the gates of Eden will shut to him.

The only Lust John experiences is his Lust for power, for approval, and for recognition. His Lust to be someone, to be something bigger than he is.

[[He holds the biggest stake in the cult, being the one who: oversees all the farms, Falls End, I believe the radio stations, not to mention Nick Rye. He needs this, he was given this as his purpose. He needs to command and command well. He is also the sole overseer of the peggies, ..John is the one who decides your fate, basically. He does not know who he is without power over people.]]

And just What is John constantly doing? Yapping. Boasting. Preaching Joseph's Word. He loves the sound of his own voice. He's the loudest of the Seeds because he is the one begging to be heard. By us, so we can get out of his brother's way. By Joseph, so his brother can recognize the passion and dedication he's putting into the cult and gain his respect. So what is all this for? What does he ultimately strive for? Joseph's respect. I know it, you know it, we all know it.

TLDR; John is not some pathetic emo fuckboy the same way Jacob is not a kinky cannibalistic hermit. The biggest problem any fandom faces is the fact that characters get shoved into boxes they do not belong in.

Okay so I have some complaints against the Far Cry 5 fandom. Can we stop dumbing down Jacob Seed's backstory to just "haha he ate a guy" like he was also a victim of abuse, and was arrested for trying to save his brothers from the horrible conditions they were living in, he later joined the army and was diagnosed with PTSD, so obviously he is traumatized by not only the abuse, but having to cannibalize his friend for survival. He was later made homeless after he was deported, and his vulnerability and need to take care of his brothers was exploited by Joseph. Is Jacob a bad person? Yes. Is he still a traumatized individual? Also yes.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

How do you think Rook would respond to MC!Reader going/went through a similar childhood? At least pertaining to the extreme mess, neglect and homebody parents.

I'd imagine MC would be absolutely relieved to be in a new different world rather than being trapped. Like Ramshackles not the best but it's a step up from what MC had; and they have Ghost friends (and Grim too I guess) to help clean it up. Not unlike a Disney princess and their familiars!

MC invites him to stay at Ramshackle during the breaks and summer. There they'd regale him with what it's like being the eldest child. Nevertheless MC feels deeply sympathetic towards him and wants to establish a place where he can be free. Together making a better home.

(Bonus points for him being romantically involved with MC)

SORRY THIS IS REALLY KINDA RAMBLY LMAO I hope it kinda. like tangentially answers your question if nothing else, I'm sorry I struggle to respond to asks about hyperspecific situations, but I'll try!!This is a really good question! I think we have slightly different interpretations of Rook, so this is my take on him in this scenario-

Rook is a very closed-off person when it comes to his personal life. He doesn't take kindly to being asked about his past, and the likelihood of him being open enough about his past to get MC to be sympathetic towards him, I feel, would be very low.

That being said. I do think there are hints MC could pick up on.

Let's say MC and Rook have been friends right from the very beginning, MC capturing Rook's attention as a being from a different universe, and Rook capturing MC's attention because of his Particular charm.

Let's say winter break rolls around, so about four months of being friends. Rook never goes 'home' for breaks, he just says he does to avoid any sort of confrontation on what he's doing over the break or if he has any family plans. He lets the mirror teleport him, and he spends his time in the woods rather than in the house. 'Home' looks more cluttered than ever, there are boxes starting to pile up outside, he can see through small gaps in the window the black mold continuing to fester on the walls, he can smell food decomposing in the midst of everything. He can see portions of the ceiling falling apart, he can see how splintered the kitchen cupboards are, he knows the integrity of his home is not dependable. He can see his dad struggling to bring food to his mother because of all the mess. He knows, his parents would be happy to see him for the first time in two years, but he would want to clean, and they would not let him. It's too much for him, he goes back to NRC.

He knows, that there is at least one person still at NRC, but likely more as he is aware many merfolk cannot return home due to the ice floes. The last thing he expects to find when he returns is an empty Ramshackle.

Two parts of his mind are immediately at war, one, trying to reason why you wouldn't be present, and if he should go find you. The other is the overwhelming compulsion to fix Ramshackle to the best of his ability. He remembers that the headmage asked you to tend to the fireplaces on campus, and despite his instinct to track you down, he starts fixing.

He isn't thinking very rationally in the moment, he just can't stand the thought of another person that he cares about, living in a dangerous, dirty home. You shouldn't have to walk around with shoes on all the time just to avoid splinters. You shouldn't have to use duct tape to patch over holes in the wall. You shouldn't have to be worried while you walk around your home because of rusty metal ware that threatens to cut you.

He travels to the woodworking classroom (bear with me for this one) to grab a sander, hacksaw, axe and a few other tools. Even though it's freezing outside, he cuts down wood, and brings it inside to dry out. Every splinter he sees, he sands it down, every wayward nail and screw, removed or sawed and filed down to no longer pose a threat to you.

Somehow he's worked through the entire night. You're not home yet, and he's exhausted and paranoid, which only makes his compulsion to clean worse.

When you finally come home, Rook is furiously scrubbing away at dirt you can't see, and Ramshackle is in the best shape it's ever been. His hands are raw, and the bags under his eyes are the darkest you've ever seen them.

You're home, and Rook could not be more relieved, even as you take his hands and fuss over them, all he can do is plop his forehead on your shoulder before pulling his hands away from you enough to hug you.

Both of you are exhausted - you've dealt with an overblot and he's had a major mental breakdown and also worked himself way too hard. You don't want to be alone, he doesn't want to be alone, he ends up sleeping in the corner chair of your room, and Grim ends up curling up in his lap. Grim can faintly hear Rook mumble something about having had a pet once and missing her.

Rook doesn't want you to speak about that night, not the state you found him in, at all. But it was more than enough for you to be concerned.

He still can't handle Ramshackle, it's still reminiscent of the home he left behind, and there isn't much he can do to change that...however, he does notice you inviting him to 'hang out' whenever there is a break coming up, and he takes you up on it, usually also planning activities for you two to do either outside or in the pristine environment of Pomefiore. It's not until post chapter 5, once renovations are done, that he really feels he can go to Ramshackle and be comfortable there. By then, it's in a state that is structurally sound and does not resemble home, and also easier to maintain the cleanliness of the entire dorm.

It's the one place where he finds he can sit down and be still for a while, without being on the hunt.

It's the one place where he knows he made a physical, meaningful difference to someone.

It's the one place that feels like home.

But that's nothing he did. That was you. :D

[covertleathers]

Rating: 18+, Explicit, Gradually intensifying sexual tension, nudity, wet dreams (that was unexpected), etc etc

Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/m!Rook (They/Them pronouns)

Chapter summary: Post Weisshaupt, after their disagreement, Lucanis has effectively been benched by Rook (they've insisted he needs to rest). He doesn't do well sitting idly. So, he decides to start a cooking project that's unceremoniously crashed by Rook, Davrin, and Neve.

Author's Note: This feels like my strongest (and longest) chapter yet. I really thought nothing was going to top the first (that I wrote in a fever dream at 2am). But this feels like I've got the characterizations I want down. I feel like I've also finally reached a point where I can start teasing out more and more tension.

Chapter 7: Wine Stained Cards

Lucanis knew how to stay busy. Mornings were spent maintaining his weaponry. Laid out across his bed were ten blades of varying size and shape. The boot knife, a steely blue damascus eight inch blade with a garnet-adorned pommel, was the first he usually started with. As he brought the blade across the whetstone, the muscle memory of the ritual would take over. The slender dagger next, simple but deadly. He appreciated its simplicity and function. From there, Rialto, Crowkeeper, the poignard, and his favorite: God’s Foil. He smirked to himself at the last one.

While Rook was traveling with Davrin and Emmrich, he and Harding would meet and discuss the Inquisition. Of course there were aspects of the religious movement that he was well aware of, particularly their move to make a spymaster the Divine, but it was interesting to learn more of the experience from a personal point of view. Harding was too humble, clearly she had known the Inquisitor more than she initially let on. Especially if she had gotten close enough to Varric Tethras to work with him. Lucanis resisted several times to ask more about the famous author. That subject clearly brought his colleague a great deal of pain.

In the weeks after Weisshaupt, his restless mind resisted what felt like an unspoken forced respite from Rook. They had told him to “do whatever” he needed to refocus, but denied him what would have put the stabby urges to ease: killing targets. No Antaam or Venatori were going to show up here in the Fade for him to put down.

At the same time, the young mage had made their appearance in the kitchen every night they were sleeping at the Lighthouse. They did eventually return to the tale of the Verdant Wyvern. Rook read the story in its entirety as Lucanis prepped salted and brined fish for their next dinner. It was pleasant.

As he stayed at the Lighthouse, his ideas and desires for more elaborate and difficult meals to cook increased. First it had started with difficult pastries requiring elaborate and precise temperature control. Then, pickling became more interesting as he learned about pickled cabbage from Bellara. She said she had picked it up in her travels and wasn’t sure of the origin, but it was delicious enough to keep making it again and again.

On this particular night however, he was taking on another challenge. Those from outside of Antiva did not appreciate the difference between fresh or home made pasta. A bronze die at this particular moment was hard to come by at the Treviso markets. Lucanis suspected the Butcher had to have been collecting as much workable metals from the city as he could. Clearly this had changed the quality of the pasta that he had been able to acquire without tapping into some contacts. The previous night had been the last straw when the dried pasta had been the blandest he ever had the displeasure of tasting. Of course Neve, Harding, and Bellara didn’t notice. He had his own remedy of using a particularly good red wine with enough body to enhance the flavor.

He had time. He had hands itching to work. Determined, he visited a bakery and kindly asked for ten pounds of wild red and gold wheat. Not an odd request, he thought, but apparently a rare one. In a prosperous merchant city scarcely did anyone mill their own flour. A hand grinder and sifter he expertly haggled for from a local chef who frequently cooked for the revelers at the Cantori Diamond.

As soon as his companions had left him to his devices at the end of the night, he began the process. Lucanis opened the canvas bag of wheat, letting the earthy smell fill the air. The faint scent of petrichor emanating from it led him to believe it recently rained in the city. There was always a lingering scent of stone and earth in Treviso after a storm rolled through.

Faint memories floated at the bottom of the well of his mind. It was not the city he used to know. It had been transformed as he was. He ran his fingers through the grain and relished the sensation. Five pounds should do.

It seemed like getting it started was the hardest. A mixing bowl beneath to catch the flour as it fell away. Once the momentum carried his wrist, the grains melted away easily. Milling away endlessly. The handle of the grinder tested his forearm. It was as soothing as running a whetstone against a blade.

Lucanis took moments to pause and sift to refine the flour before he continued the labor. It fell cleanly into a soft, yellow-white mountain at the center of the mixing bowl. He wasn’t sure how much time passed as he did this. If he paid too close attention, the pain in his forearm would become too loud.

Approaching footsteps snapped him out of his trance. Heavy. Self assured. Direct. Davrin. Back from the Necropolis, it seemed. And late at that. But, that also meant—ROOK.

“Not today, Spite,” He muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. It took a lot of mental fortitude to keep the demon quiet.

Sure enough, Davrin pushed open the kitchen doors, bare of his armor with a ragged look on his face. Lucanis smirked. The Necropolis had that effect on people. In tow, in great contrast was a grinning Rook, who seemed to be teeming with renewed vitality. His brow furrowed slightly, Rook’s steps were always so soft they were barely perceptible. 

“Ah, see, I told you he’d be here,” Rook chirped excitedly as they floated to the dining table where Lucanis had set up shop. They leaned on the table across from him, peering into the bowl full of flour. “Always doing late night treat making.”

Davrin joined Rook at their side, elbow resting on their shoulder as he also looked over Lucanis’ handiwork. They were so comfortable with each other. “That just looks like flour. Rook promised you’d be cooking something, Lucanis,” he sighed. “I was hoping for a late night meal.”

Lucanis averted his eyes and drew his attention to the giant bag of wheat next to him. “I was milling flour for our next batch of pasta, you’re in luck,” he replied. “It could take some time, but if Rook is staying, I can make it fresh.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Rook hummed eagerly. That sharp smile ate at him.

His throat nearly shut. Lucanis rolled his neck, tied the canvas bag neatly before picking it up.He swallowed invisibly before he spoke, “I’ll be right back.”

When he returned from the pantry, he began the process. Rook had poured a glass of red wine for all three as he cracked eggs into a delicately made well of fresh flour at the counter. Clearly they knew where Lucanis was keeping the good bottles. They and Davrin had found a purple wax Sangioveze that he had just picked up the week before. He rolled his first sip along his tongue, relishing the taste. He knew exactly what to make that would pair well with this.

“You wouldn’t believe how many hauntings we got through today,” Rook said before taking a long drink. “Poor Davrin, how do you feel after that?”

The Warden chuckled, “Like I never have to step foot into that place ever again. I’ve seen enough weird shit for a lifetime. Would rather be trapped in a room full of darkspawn. At least I know what I’m up against.”

An egg for each person, seasoned with salt and olive oil. He whisked them while incorporating the flour. Slowly. This was a process he enjoyed. His hands, properly coated so it wouldn’t stick, kneaded the yellowish dough.

“So, apparently, it was dead Mourn Watch mage?”

“Eh, that happens. He’s actually a regular. Every few years he makes some noise. I think he likes the attention,” the young mage replied, swirling their glass. “The first time, I actually tried to talk him down. Ha, that went about as well as you’d think.”

Davrin laughed, “You’re soft, Rook.”

“Not anymore,” they shot back with a toothy grin. “I’m a pretty skillful mage. Killed plenty of Venatori by now.”

As the dough became a loose lump, Lucanis leaned his weight in on it. The heel of his palm pushed and his other hand pulled it back. His knuckles bore down on it, then the palm once more. Again, back and forth. A wonderful, familiar motion.

“One pleading look from Assan and you’re giving him whatever he wants,” Davrin countered, “Between you and Neve, I’m losing my authority. He’s going to start demanding gingerwort truffles every day.”

Rook smiled wide.“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re making him darkspawn dinner,” he scolded. The two threw their heads back and bellowed with laughter. Davrin knew how to make Rook do that.

Lucanis rolled the dough flat with a rolling pin. One of many items he brought to the Lighthouse with excited fervor. He adjusted his shoulders as he worked, shaking off whatever feeling was coming up.

“Next thing you know, they’re showing up with forks and bibs,” Ziya wheezed in between breaths.

Davrin threw back the rest of his wine with a satisfied sigh, “Not if I have any to do with it!”

The Warden poured his next glass. As if tracked on a string, Rook’s gaze turned in curiosity at Lucanis. He really wasn’t used to this kind of attention.

“Our Master Assassin,” they exclaimed as they moved to lean on the wall next to the counter where he was working. Their bright eyes flashed impishly at him. An easy smile spread across their visage. That wine worked quickly. “What’s prompted you to do all this?”

“You know why. It helps me focus,” Lucanis countered, looking at them sideways. “Recently, I haven’t been able to kill as many Venatori as I would like to.”

Now the dough was flat and smooth like skin. Lucanis laid flour over it before running a knife through it to create long, thin strips. It split apart cleanly.

The young mage sighed, clearly feeling a sting. Lucanis knew what words were about to leave their lips. “I was hoping you would re—”

More steps approaching the kitchen door. This time, accompanied with a metallic thunk with every other footfall. Neve, stack of papers tucked under her arm and a mug of coffee in hand. “Room for one more?”

Mierda.

“Welcome back, you two,” she said as she placed her things on the table on Davrin’s other side. “Are we bothering Lucanis tonight? Miffed I didn’t get an invitation.”

As soon as she sat down Davrin was already pouring a glass for her. His wrist was a little loose with the portion, Lucanis noticed. However, Neve didn’t seem to mind. She was watching this scene with a glint of curiosity and amusement in her eyes.

“I could hear you all from my room,” she explained as she looked at them all teasingly. “Was curious about what was so funny.”

“Our Master of Knives has been kind enough to feed two beggars who can’t boil water,” Davrin explained as he clapped Rook on the back and steered them back to the kitchen table.

“The water boils itself,” Lucanis sighed. The two elves laughed again.

“We’re unworthy!” Ziya cried blithely as they bowed in Lucanis’ direction, Davrin’s heavy hand nearly tilted them backwards. The Warden planted them firmly at their usual seat. “Kindly taking pity on unfortunates as ourselves.”

Neve chuckled as she leaned back in her chair totally entertained by their buffoonery. “Count me in. What’s on the midnight menu?”

Lucanis smiled despite himself. “Cacio e pepe. Usually pairs well with a light red,” he said as he turned to check the boiling pot on the wrought iron stove. Somehow, the Lighthouse always knew when he needed to get the job done.

Davrin and Rook looked at their glasses, then each other, then at the bottle they had eagerly popped open without a care to its taste. They were inconsolable, those two, fits of snickering between them. Chasing hauntings for two days could do that to someone, he considered silently as he watched them from his peripheral.

“Nice catch,” Rook laughed gingerly as they wiped tears from their eyes. “Emmrich would kill me for not knowing the differences between wines.”

“I could teach you,” Lucanis shrugged, “It’s important to taste their distinctions. So you know when your cup is poisoned.”

 They hummed as their elbows propped themself up on the table. Wine glass caught dangling over the edge between their middle finger and thumb. “I'd love a private lesson.”

Those words snaked up Lucanis’ spine so quickly, he was barely able to brace himself from cutting a finger and bleeding all over the pasta. Mierda, he walked right into that one. 

“I am…" Rook suddenly snapped to attention, apparently they surprised themself. Face tinging with red, turning nearly maroon. They cleared their throat, "...well, that would be agreeable.”

Rumbling chuckles from Davrin. Neve smirked crookedly into her own glass. The young mage seemed mildly panicked, but quickly recovered by pulling a deck of cards from their back pocket.

“Who’s up for a game of Wicked Grace?”

The other three collectively groaned. Lucanis knew better than to do that again. When he had first arrived at the Lighthouse, Rook had casually invited him, Neve, and Bellara to cards. Harding had excused herself with an incredulous look and that was his first hint. They had all had their fair share of wine by that point. When they finally got to playing, Lucanis knew the flick of a cheater’s hand when he saw one. Playing cards with Illario most of his life did that. He had grabbed Rook’s wrist without thinking, feeling the card cleverly hidden underneath. They beamed at him, unafraid of an assassin’s touch and grinning like a fool.

“C’mon, we’ve got enough people. Four’s a party.”

“No one wants to play with a cheat, Rook” Davrin said. “You’d have to prove you aren’t hiding any cards in your sleeve.” While they didn’t get a chance to rope Davrin into a game when he first arrived (due to the dragon attacks), Rook hadn’t forgotten their bizarre ritual.

 They had their own personal deck, a hodgepodge of Tevinter and Nevarran cards. Imperium and mortalitasi iconography decorated different cards of different suits. It was hard to know what your hand was at first glance. Clearly, the deck was very old and torn from use. When the team found the downtime, however, Rook tried again. It seemed like that was the straw that broke the horse’s back. Harding took the deck, went up the kitchen stairs, and chucked the cards out into the fade. That got a great laugh out of Rook. The team thought that was the end of it.

Then somehow, days later, the deck mysteriously returned to Rook’s possession. They said it reappeared at their bedside table. Neve blamed the wisps. Bellara and Emmrich hypothesized that the Lighthouse created another, identical deck. Bellara was furiously writing down notes as soon as she learned what had happened. Lucanis would never forget that errant, sharp smile on their face as they strode into the kitchen that morning. The Lighthouse wanted them to suffer, he had mused at the time.

“And I will know if you do,” Lucanis added. He checked the pasta, steaming now in the roiling water. Grating the hard cheese was next. It had to be fine enough to incorporate in the skillet with the rest of the pasta water.

Neve finished her glass and was reaching for the wine bottle when she scoffed, "If only you were better at it."

"We're running out of drink. What I would kill to have some ale," Davrin said. "Rook, why don't you grab us another bottle?"

Lucanis silently laughed to himself; any excuse to get them not to play cards. Clever Warden.

"Fine, but don't  complain if I pick a bad one, I just said I know nothing about wine," they called as they stood and made their way to the pantry.

"There aren't any bad ones," the assassin retorted, somewhat defensively.

“Lucanis, you better help them or they’ll pick a dessert wine,” Neve said, swirling her glass. She seemed to have given up on whatever reports she had been reading.

That got his attention. Not the port. Quickly, he took the boiling pasta off the iron stove and onto the counter. He didn’t want them to overcook. Wiping his hand on a dish towel and throwing it over his shoulder, Lucanis bee-lined to follow Rook into the pantry.

There they were, peering at the wine shelf where he had accumulated about two dozen bottles of wine, all different origins and organized according to their proper pairing. Enough for a couple weeks of meals. Neve was right. Rook was staring intently at a fat green bottle of port wine Lucanis was saving for his next dessert project. Delicate, gold-ringed fingers wrapped around the glass bottleneck with eagerness.

“Rook,” he said, grasping their hand with his. “Not that one.” 

The drink had made their skin warm. Lucanis stilled, realizing his grip on them. The shape of their rings became almost unbearably apparent against his skin. A painfully long pause drifted between them.

“Oh?” They purred, “Time for my first lesson already?”

Rook made a sideways glance at him and grinned. Lavender eyes alight. Mierda. They released their fingers and he did the same. His palm felt like it was burning.

It was Lucanis’ turn to feel heat rising to his face. He groaned. His mouth was fighting a losing battle to a smirk, “No.”

Cackles echoed in his mind. The image of Spite’s grin flashed behind his eyes. At least someone was enjoying this.

 He reached for another Sangioveze, just behind Rook. Lucanis became all too aware of the small of the tall elf’s back. Now everything felt too hot. Too close.

They returned to the dining room, Neve and Davrin thoughtfully pretended they weren’t trying to eavesdrop. Rook’s shamelessness made them seem unaware of the attention entirely. However, Lucanis caught that self satisfied smirk of theirs. As they sat next to Davrin again, the Warden patted their shoulder gently. Lucanis’ heart twinged, but his face remained placid.

Dinner went on without much happening after that. The cacio e pepe came out just delicious, maybe a tad too little black pepper. Lucanis’ colleagues seemed to enjoy it well enough. Davrin asked for seconds twice.

The two elves ended up sharing more stories from their harrowing adventures in the Necropolis. Rook was a little more enthusiastic about the howling, anguished spirits than their Warden friend. While Davrin paled at recounting a gutted, floating corpse with eight arms and the head of a bird, Rook brightened with fascination, detailing all the possibilities of its name and origins. Their comfort with spirits highlighted again.

They finished after the third bottle, at which point Rook and Davrin were very drunk. Lucanis did his best to ignore Spite doing his best to be an awful distraction, appearing at the corner of his vision with a taunting face or biting remark. For a good while he stood uncomfortably next to Rook’s chair. There were moments Lucanis suspected the mage felt the demon’s presence: a cocked-eyebrow between jokes. If they truly did, they paid him very little mind.

From time to time, Rook would get that soft look in their eyes as they spoke to him. Gentle gaze above that cutting smile. At this point he knew it well. It searched him. At times, he felt near naked under that look. When he met them in equal measure, he felt his core seize. Habit of training kept his face tranquil, but something deep stirred. He remembered; he had touched them. Again.

Neve, knowing when it was her time to bow out after two glasses, had left long before the rest called it a night. Lucanis, warmed from the wine, but still quite alert, had taken care of all the dishes as his companions milled about. He was already brewing a new pot of coffee, a supple dark roast. Surely is was nearing four in the morning.

Rook flopped onto the red couch at the far side of the kitchen, kicking off their boots with a sigh, “Don’t fall into the fade."

“Lucanis letting you sleep here?” the Warden asked as he sat on the arm. There was a slight slurring to his voice.

“I just don’t want the possibility of a...” Rook hiccuped, “...visit from the Dread Wolf while I’m sloshed. Hope that’s agreeable, Sir Crow?”

Lucanis sighed from his place at the counter, coffee cup in hand, “It’s fine.”

Davrin cast Lucanis a look that he had a difficult time understanding. That could have also been the wine making his face behave strangely. But something in it was a combination of suspicion and sympathy. Then, the Warden stumbled through the kitchen doors with a short nod, his steps echoing through the Lighthouse courtyard until they didn’t.

Rook was sleeping. Here. For a moment, he was rooted at the spot, staring at their curled form on the couch, turned away from him. Angular shoulders, long arms. The glint of gold adorned almost every limb. Cascading plum hair obscuring their face. The soft hum of their breath filled the room now that it was silent. His eyes memorized the rise and fall of their side. Silently, the assassin crossed to sit in one of the armchairs. He turned his cup in his hands, remarkably unsure of what to do next. So, he listened.

[thesummerstorms]

very brief thoughts about playing all the romances with the mrm so far because I don't want to go to bed

all personal opinion/reaction; no objective facts present

surprise surprise Lucanis and Neve are still my favorites

they should have a canon poly romance option so I can play an unmodded version of the game and still have both Lucanis's quiet devotion and the utter softness/hesitance that slips into Neve's voice when she's being vulnerable instead of teasing 💜💜

Davrin so far is still my third favorite. I feel like it strikes a nice balance between openly flirting and like... jumping in there really fast. At least for me. And in general, it feels like a steady, supportive earned relationship that can definitely be flirting while going through the friends to lovers arc.

so far I think Harding is probably the romance I like best of the ones that are completely new to me? I had to put the controller down from secondhand embarrassment like twice, but that's just me. and it's very sweet/cute so far.

I'm generally like... positively neutral? Appreciative but not overly interested? towards Harding, so I'm surprised that she's coming in the strongest so far, but the dynamic of the relationship hits fairly well and also I have admittedly done the most new content with her

I am really enjoying seeing a softer side of Taash. This isn't really the right dynamic for Arsinoë in particular, and the pinning on the mirror triggered "uh oh" for me rather than "hot" but I am enjoying it for characterization reasons.

I have done the absolute least romance specific content so far with Bellara because I did a lot of her missions early before I started using the MRM and thereby I missed a lot of the flirt options

I didn't enjoy her one romance scene I have gotten so far, but it's not because the writing is bad or anything. if anything, it's the opposite.

I related a little bit too much to the higher intel than char, awkward, ADHD rambling with uncertainty about what to do without a social script or whether you're being liked or tolerated and so that scene felt uncomfortable to me because it was too close to home

Emmrich's scene where he shows you the fade was neat, but I feel like he's a bit too much for me personally? again, irl I'm aro/ace, and I play aro/ace spectrum characters too.

and yes, you have to flirt pretty deliberately as Rook to trigger his romance first (which Arsinoë couldn't really be that direct if she wanted to) but then... idk

. I guess I just generally prefer the relationships that have some awkwardness at the beginning but the relationship reach outs are more casual or more supportive and feel like they are kind of developing over time rather than actually jumping relatively quickly to romantic dates? I feel like most people would feel the opposite. but again, aro/ace.

[angelhairpastawithherbs]

Poll Fight Masterlist Because I'm Keeping These Forever/Funnies/Part Two

Vs Elon

Vs Zuck

Vs Lovelace

little drawing guy

what ingredients ruggie

little guy lilia

Idia Stationary

Ask Game

schoolkid lilia

honk shoo learning

Doll Collection 1 | Doll Collection 2

Doll Restoration 1

Vintage Barbies 1 |

Calculation Guide

Vil coded shoes | Vil coded shoes 2 | Vil coded jewelry

Cater dorm leader

Strongest Poison

Moodboard

Heel Cat

Getting dormed

Vil Characterization

Vil Expressions

Hallucination Club

Psychosis? No honey, we got-

Klepto Jamil

Idia being mean

Used Book Notes | Used Book Notes 1.5 | Used Book Notes 2

What Character I'm Most Like Part One

What Character I'm Most Like Part Two

What Character I'm Most Like Part Three

What Character Semi-Finals First Bracket

What Character Semi-Finals Second Bracket

What Character Finals

Business mcjim man

The phantom of the flopera

The Year I'm A Girl

My good take

Candy Poll

Ryo's Claw

Carl Wheezer Azul

The Shampoo Quote

Lesbin Swagger

Vil Vil Vil Vil Vil Miley Cyrus

Thoughts on Idia

Funny Story

Cheezy Rizz + Angel Rizz Purposefully = Accidental Angel Rizz

Raid Shadow Lessons

No mealworms?

devilangelfight

Hehhehehe sebek mancrush

my artistic rendition of ryo

my artistic rendition of moony

lesbian trending tag

this period

"Rook's good with his hands!"

Rizz test

crush

Hobgoblin Lilia

Potato Meme

fic writer game

lung lighter

english 196

Physco

Girlypop

Lesquad Brothers

Red begging

Hmmmmmmm

Peepee Piss Drinker

poll tier

Rant/Full Explanation of a thing

Court Jester

all you Moots

William

No maidens

explode a terf

Pronghorn

Moot Cute e

e

classic white

may be british

with the furry

Wild lesbian

Rejoice

cowboys

citrus the fuck

Geneva Suggestions

Platonic Wedding

Moodboard Suits

Art

[tatticstudio55]

A dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing

I thought it would be interesting to write about the dragons who fought and/or died and/or were featured in the Dance of Dragons. Covering them all would take forever, so I’ll go with the main (“main” in my opinion, that is), those who fought the most “peculiar” battles and those with the strongest symbolism attached to it: Vhagar, Sunfyre, Caraxes; Dragonstone’s three wild dragons, Sheepstealer, Grey Ghost and the Cannibal; and the dragons from the battle at Tumbleton, the “Blue Queen” Tessarion, Seasmoke, Vermithor and Silverwing.

 VHAGAR

During the Dance, Vhagar became the closest thing to what I’d call an all out “monster”, shredding havoc indiscriminately all across the riverlands. Fire and Blood doesn’t usually present dragons as a constant source of terror for lords and peasants alike, or, you know, the Smaug kind who’d gorge on maidens at the full moon, but Vhagar made the exception.

When her corpse was dragged from the water years after her final battle with Caraxes, Aemond’s “armored bones” were “still chained to the saddle” and Visenya’s sword, Dark Sister, still “thrust hilt-deep through his [blind] eye socket” (F&B, 502). Prince, sword and dragon all re emerged in a tightly bound, single package. We know that dragons bond with their riders, but what about swords? Wasn’t Visenya Vhagar’s first rider? How curious is it that Dark Sister remained with Vhagar’s bones at the bottom of the lake – even after having “fought” against her?

Speaking of curiosities, Aemond’s demise atop Vhagar is reminiscent of “one of the more curious incidents of the Dance of the Dragons”:

Legend has it that during the Age of Heroes, Serwyn of the Mirror Shield slew the dragon Urrax by crouching behind a shield so polished that the beast saw only his own reflection. By this ruse, the hero crept close enough to drive a spear through the dragon’s eye, earning the name by which we know him still. (F&B, 476)

Compare this with the onslaught of Caraxes and Daemon on Vhagar and Aemond:

The hour was late, the sun was close to setting, and the lake was calm, its surface glimmering like a sheet of beaten copper. Up and up she soared, searching for Caraxes as Alys Rivers watched from atop Kingspyre Tower in Harrenhal below.

The attack came sudden as a thunderbolt. Caraxes dove down upon Vhagar with a piercing shriek that was heard a dozen miles away, cloaked by the glare of the setting sun on Prince Aemond’s blind side. (F&B, 500)

Here as callback to the mirror shield, we have the “sheet of beaten copper” and the sun shielding Daemon from Aemond’s sight. The lake is the mirror, the sun the shield, and Vhagar is faced with her own deadly “reflection” Dark Sister.  When they all crash in the lake, Vhagar sink to the bottom of the metaphorical “mirror” and reunite with her reflection at last.

 SUNFYRE

As far as I recall, Sunfyre fought three dragons during the dance: Meleys, Grey Ghost and Moondancer. All three died, but each battle left Sunfyre with severe injuries he’d never recover from. Sunfyre was described as the most beautiful dragon the seven kingdoms had ever seen, a bright gold color with pale pink wings. That changed after the battle with Meleys, where he “had one wing half-torn from his body” (F&B, 435). His third and last fight left him so battered, broken and bloodied that queen Rhaenyra, when she saw him, supposedly said “Whose work is this? We must thank him” (F&B, 545). He was mounted by Aegon II Targaryen.

Sunfyre is often given “solar” attributes. His flames were so bright that they blinded Moondancer; “a blast of golden flames so bright it lit the yard below like a second sun” (F&B, 544). The fight against Baela and Moondancer broke Aegon’s legs and Sunfyre’s wings for good, for he was never able to fly after that (strong association with Icarus here). Sunfyre’s early splendor represent what’s ultimately the uselessness of a beautiful outer shell. The fact that Aegon was separated from him during most of the Dance (severely burned after the battle at Rook’s Rest, Aegon would remain at King’s Landing, drugged on milk of the poppy, until Rhaenyra took the city, while Sunfyre remained at Rook’s Rest to recover) pinpoint as well the idea of an “empty dragon”.

His fight with Meleys, just like Vhagar’s fight against Caraxes, is a fight against blood: Meleys was a bright scarlet dragon and Caraxes was nicknamed the “blood wyrm”. Both fights were drowned in the sun. At Rook’s Rest, the armor of Rhaenys Targaryen (Meleys’s rider) “flashed in the sun” (F&B, 434) and “the dragons met violently a thousand feet above the field of battle, as balls of fire burst and blossomed, so bright that men swore later that the sky was full of suns” (F&B, 434). Compare this to Sunfyre’s fight against Grey Ghost, which was spotted by sailors at sunset and described as “grey and gold they was, flashing in the sun” (F&B, 489), and the following fight against Moondancer, which happened at night. Both had “moon vs sun” undertones, and all three battles happened on a very specific sky background:

Rook’s Rest happened in the daylight, sun against sun.

The battle above the Dragonmont happened at sunset, the setting sun against the rising moon.

The battle above Dragonstone happened “amidst the darkness that comes before the dawn” (F&B, 544), the rising sun against the setting moon.

(By that logic, the one battle Sunfyre shouldn’t have won was the one at sunset, against Grey Ghost. Thus, it might explain why the two Toms randomly decided to go on a hunt for Grey Ghost’s killer (F&B, p. 489), symbolically, at least… for the “sun” would’ve transgressed a fundamental law by killing the “moon” at sunset.)

 CARAXES

Of all the dragons of the Dance, Caraxes is the one with the strongest association to blood. He’s called the “Blood Wyrm” for his bloodish colors, partakes in many battles on the Stepstones even before the beginning of the Dance, fights against Vhagar beneath a “blood-red sky” (F&B, 502) and, before dying, crawls out of an – almost literal – lake of blood:

Caraxes lived long enough to crawl back onto the land. Gutted, with one wing torn from his body and the waters of the lake smoking about him, the Blood Wyrm found the strength to drag himself onto the lakeshore, expiring beneath the walls of Harrenhal. Vhagar’s carcass plunged to the lake floor, the hot blood from the gaping wound in her neck bringing the water to a boil over her last resting place. – F&B, 502.

It might also be noted that upon her parting with Caraxes’ rider Daemon Targaryen, Nettles’ clothes are “stained with blood” (F&B, 499). Thereafter, Daemon rides to Harrenhal and there waits, alone with Caraxes, for his nephew Aemond, marking each passing day with a slash on the heart tree in Harrenhal’s godswood.

Thirteen marks can be seen upon that weirwood still; old wounds, deep and dark, yet the lords who have ruled Harrenhal since Daemon’s day say they bleed afresh every spring. – F&B, 499

Which is very Robinson Crusoe, btw, a tale about a man slowly loosing touch with his humanity. Robinson marks the trees to keep count of the passing of time and anchor himself to the last bits of his human self – the self that’s self-aware and time-aware. The weirwood’s wounds “bleeding afresh every spring”, might not be as negative as it seems, then, for it’s a reminder of enduring humanity, even in a place as cursed as Harrenhal. The man vs beast conflict is furthermore underlined by the duality between the Blood Wyrm (the “beast”) and the “blood tree” (the “man”), with Daemon Targaryen in the middle. Sure enough, Caraxes’ characterization paints him as very beasty: “Blood Wyrm” essentially refers to “bloodworm”, if you ask me, something that crawls and suck blood. But then… one of Daemon’s mistress was nicknamed the “White Worm” (Lady Misery), which creates an interesting paradox, for a bloodworm is still a symbol of life when compared to a bloodless worm. And, here and there, Caraxes has his ambiguous moments: he “gave a scream that shattered every window in Jonquil’ Tower” (F&B, 499) when Nettles and Sheepstealer fled from Maidenpool. Even his crawling from a pool of blood in the end had the undertones of a newborn crawling out of the womb. Caraxes was a beast, that is certain, but also, in an odd way, a symbol of life.

 The wild dragons: Sheepstealer, Grey Ghost, the Cannibal

Sheepstealer won the Dance of Dragons. Fight me.

Thematically, he’s Sunfyre’s complete opposite. The later was dubbed the most beautiful dragon who ever existed. Sheepstealer was probably the ugliest. Sunfyre also had the worst ending possible for a dragon, if you ask me. No dying in battle for him, no sir. He spent the last months of his life unable to fly, surely unable to even fend for himself, and dying in the stink of infected wounds. Completely undignified for a dragon. Sheepstealer? He returned to the wild with its wild rider Nettles, uninjured and as sane as a dragon can be. For all we know, he might even still be alive in asoiaf, hiding in the mountains around the Vale. Wouldn’t that be cool? The last scene with Nettles and Sheepstealer actually reminded me a bit of Dany and Drogon in the Great Grass Sea (and we know Sheepstealer wasn’t the only one who was fond of sheep…), with both women in rags and clinging to their dragons’ necks. No whips: dragons fare best when left wilds. Sheepstealer’s brown scales marks him as a creature of mud, earth and mountain, rather than one of air, sun or moon. On that he’s similar to Grey Ghost, another wild dragon who mingled with smoother elements such as fog, water, mist, smoke and dusk:

Grey Ghost dwelt in a smoking vent high on the eastern side of the Dragonmont, preferred fish, and was most oft glimpsed flying low over the narrow sea, snatching prey from the waters. A pale grey-white beast, the color of morning mist, he was a notably shy dragon who avoided men and their works for years at a time. – F&B, 443.

I like this. It’s poetic. It’s elusive like magic itself. Strangely, Sunfyre, an injured dragon, manages the unprecedented by catching and killing him, whereas this had proved impossible for men and the Cannibal. You could probably write a very long meta on all the possible significations behind Grey Ghost’s death. I know I already proposed one in a previous post, and now I’m about to propose another: Grey Ghost is a (symbolic) dragon “soul”. Sunfyre, on the other hand, is an empty dragon “shell”. He hunts and eats Grey Ghost because… a shell wants to fill itself of a soul? Among other interpretations?

And speaking of dragons eating other dragons, there’s the last of the wilds, the Cannibal:

The largest and oldest of the wild dragons was the Cannibal, so named because he had been known to feed on the carcasses of dead dragons, and descend upon the hatcheries of Dragonstone to gorge himself on newborn hatchlings and eggs. Coal black, with baleful green eyes, the Cannibal had made his lair on Dragonstone even before the coming of the Targaryens, some smallfolk claimed. – F&B, 443-444

The Cannibal’s old age reflects the very primal nature of his behavior. If he was there before the Targaryens, what did he eat? Were there other dragons around? (Probably not. One dragon or two may slip under the radar but if they were more it would’ve been known.) I’ll speculate that the Cannibal’s diet was once in parts composed of his own eggs, drawing a callback to the myth of Kronos, the titan who ate his own children to prevent that they’d overthrow him one day. The myth of Kronos doesn’t apply only to the Cannibal, but to the bulk of subtext and symbolism behind the Dance of Dragons as well: both greens and blacks aimed for the sole supremacy over dragons, and both ended up killing them all in the process. The Cannibal himself is “coal black, with baleful green eyes”, both green and black, both dragon and dragon slayer. Moreover, he doesn’t really have a name. The book doesn’t say “Sheepstealer, Grey Ghost and Cannibal”, but “Sheepstealer, Grey Ghost and the Cannibal”, meaning, on a deeper level, that any dragon could become “the Cannibal”. (As Sunfyre did.)

 The dragons from the battle at Tumbleton: Tessarion, Seasmoke, Vermithor and Silverwing

History calls the struggle between King Aegon II and his half-sister Rhaenyra the Dance of the Dragons, but only at Tumbleton did the dragons ever truly dance. Tessarion and Seasmoke were young dragons, nimbler in the air than their older kin. Time and time again they rushed one another, only to have one or the other veer away at the last instant. Soaring like eagles, stooping like hawks, they circled, snapping and roaring, spitting fire, but never closing. Once, the Blue Queen vanished into a bank of cloud, only to reappear an instant later, diving on Seasmoke from behind to scorch his tail with a burst of cobalt flame. Meanwhile, Seasmoke rolled and banked and looped. One instant he would be below his foe, and suddenly he would twist in the sky and come around behind her. Higher and higher the two dragons flew, as hundreds watched from the roofs of Tumbleton. One such said afterward that the flight of Tessarion and Seasmoke seemed more mating dance than battle. Perhaps it was. (F&B, 532.)

I’m calling it right now. If ever there’s a “Dance of Dragons” between Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen, it will be a dance of this kind. No joke. Seasmoke fights on the Black side and Tessarion on the Green, but Tessarion is on Vermithor at once when the latter attack Seasmoke. She’s referred to as the “Blue Queen” (Daenerys’s eponymous color from season two till season four) and Seasmoke is mounted by Addam Velaryon, born Hull, who was “determined to prove that not all bastards need be turncloaks” (F&B, 529). Need I say more? And Vermithor and Silverwing… that was just plain heart wrenching:

Silverwing, Good Queen Alysanne’s mount in days of old, had taken to the sky as the carnage began, circling the battlefield for hours, soaring on the hot winds rising from the fires below. Only after dark did she descend, to land beside her slain cousins. Later, singers would tell of how she thrice lifted Vermithor’s wing with her nose, as if to make him fly again, but this is most like a fable. (F&B, 536)

I don’t think it was a fable. What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart. But we’ll finish this with a few words on Vermithor the “bronze fury” and Silverwing, the two most gendered dragons in my opinion. Bronze, I assume (though I’m not an expert on this), can be used to make armors. Silver is used in clothing and jewelry. Vermithor died in battle and Silverwing remained behind like a wailing widow. They came in a pair and always fought on the same side: when Hard Hugh Hammer (on Vermithor) turned his cloak and joined the Green side, his sidekick Ulf White (on Silverwing) did the same. After Vermithor’s death, Silverwing retreated “on a small, stony isle in the middle of Red Lake” (F&B, 557) and rejected every man who’d try to claim her. 

At Tumbleton, Seasmoke and Vermithor were the only ones to die directly in battle. Tessarion was put down mercifully a few hours later (Silverwing was the only one to survive at all):

Tessarion, the Blue Queen, lasted until sunset. Thrice she tried to regain the sky, and thrice failed. By late afternoon, she seemed to be in pain, so Lord Blackwood summoned his best archer, a longbowman known as Billy Burley, who took up a position a hundred yards away (beyond the range of the dying dragon’s fires) and sent three shafts into her eye as she lay helpless on the ground. – F&B, 534

@oadara I’m tagging you here because of the Tessarion/Daenerys parallels, and because you’re the expert when it comes to Daenerys and the number three.

The females lasted longer that their male (mate?) counterparts. Vermithor and Seasmoke were the main “aggressors” in the fight and it seemed like Tessarion intended to protect or help one of them out, presumably Seasmoke:

Vermithor’s size and weight were too much for Seasmoke to contend with, Lord Blackwood told Grand Maester Munkun many years later, and he would surely have torn the silver-grey dragon to pieces… if Tessarion had not fallen from the sky at that very moment to join the fight. – F&B, 533

As for Silverwing, she didn’t partake in the fight at all, so that’s a lot of gender-related tropes behaviours. Now, I don’t think it was Martin’s (or Archmaester Gyldayn) intent to turn Tumbleton into a dragon style Romeo and Juliet. Tumbleton was the last major battle of the Dance and I think he wanted to humanize the dragons, while also underlying the absurdity of the battle itself: Hard Hugh Hammer had already died when Vermithor was attacked with bolts and spears (which mean that he was attacked for nothing, being now riderless). If Vermithor hadn’t been attacked, he wouldn’t have turned on Seasmoke. Vermithor, Seasmoke and Tessarion might’ve survived the battle. And remember, the Blacks won that battle. They could’ve finished Tessarion anytime after (she really wasn’t in good shape). Instead, apparently, they left her alone as she was trying to fly again, and only killed her when she started showing signs of pain. 

I saw what you did there Martin.