#does not matter if he was burnt/unburnt

[talkfastwalkfaster]

if you were married to vader he would call you 'my beauty'

[kriz-fics]

The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Twelve: Blood and Knights

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 8.5K

CW: Graphic violence, YN being horny (not graphic, unfortunately. Not yet, at least ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) )

Tut-tut, it looks like rain.

The fact of which does not please the more uppity lords, Eren observes, eyes flickering from one delicate man to the next and trying not to let his disdain bleed into his features. That little mouse of a man, Anton Taran, looks as skittish as the pest he resembles; the Procurator’s small watery eyes dart to the sky above and back to the orating king, hands behind his back and bouncing ever so lightly on his heels, eager to scamper into his nice and dry hole before the sky breaks. Proctor Nick is little better standing next to him. The slight curl of his lip and the way those deep-set eyes sweep out across the grounds and into the gray above gives away his sentiments about the weather. Near the center of the line of councilmen Willy Tybur stands beside Lord Grisha, mouth set in a thin line as he looks upon the proceedings with his best approximation of the courtier’s hollow face stamped upon his highbred visage. Like his fellows, he is showing undue interest in the ether and their environs. It cannot have been any plainer that these men are in a tizzy to make an end of things quickly.

It is not as if they don’t have a bloody canopy above their feeble heads. Even the king and his son seem made of sterner stuff. The Prince of Crownglen Urklyn Reiss is standing upon the covered stage at the center of the newly rebuilt village, grave and regal, as his father Rod Reiss I holds forth at the front of the platform. The royal pair does not give two shits about the weather, which is more than can be said for their prickly underlings. 

What is a little rain upon their noble bodies? It is only water.

Eren shifts a little in his place within the squires’ row, the weight of plate and mail upon his person a familiar load, comforting even. He and his peers are standing below the stage to the right, close enough at hand to their masters should they have the unfortunate need to be squired for that day. The masters, barring the Lord Commander, are standing below the stage to the front, a forbidding barrier between the highborn and the low.

The royal pair, the Conclave, the lords Skaryn and Halkin, and the guards -  the Royal Guard among them - are the only ones of the court in attendance at the royal pardon. The rest of the nobility are at Merrydell, awaiting their coming so they may feast and celebrate the end of the Northern Matter beneath the Skaryns’ roof in the company of those who have been pardoned.

Mossreach is unrecognizable from the desolation it had been half a year ago. The burnt-out husks and the dead buried beneath snow and crows have been cleared away. Banners of a dozen colors flutter everywhere, green and red, maroon and white, purple, purple most of all from the royal standards flying the royal sigil: the head of the Founding Titan, with its purple eyes large and haunting and flaring, upon a purple field. The cottages that litter the sward are freshly-thatched and new-made, the land green and lush and unburnt. Even its people have been restored.

The king’s speech washes over Eren, something about the Mother’s mercy and the Father’s forgiveness and what other diplomatic tripe his Heralds have taught him to say to appease his malcontent masses.

Which is all well and good, for these ones. The cleared-away dead will beg to differ, their living kin more so. But as they have been banished to their true homes in the Midlands, they can hardly raise a hue and cry. Not that they truly can. Whatever hues and cries they may have raised have fallen on deaf ears, as the grievances of their northern foemen had fallen on deaf ears at the start of all of this.

And thus do the tables turn. So much for the Father’s justice. Rows of northmen face the platform, eyes trained on their king. Some are tall, some are short, some young, some old, some slight and some stout, yet somehow, they all look the same in Eren’s eyes. It is the hardness in their bearing, the hardness of the North, the same hardness he sees in Robert the Lawyer, who is standing beside the Crown Prince with that proud mien blazing like his red robes. Even their elderly, their women, and their children have traces of it, Eren can see as he watches them stand at the fringes of it all, every bit as stony as their men. Hard lands breed a hard folk. 

Admiration rises in him, despite all. They may have escaped justice for the lives they took so savagely yet there is something laudable about the way they fought for what is theirs by rights. Had the crown set out to crush them at the very onset of their offensive, Eren knows they would be hard-pressed to smash them down. They are the sort of foe he can enjoy pushing against, a foe strong of will and might.

Willy Tybur turns his head a fraction, to look towards the bordering woods for the hundredth time. Eren follows his gaze and looks upon the fount of his greatest shame. He feels his insides shrivel up at the memory but forces himself to hold and keep his eyes fixed on the green. 

Half a year gone and still it will not leave him no matter how much he thinks he has put it behind him. He wonders if he will ever truly be free of it and feels cold. The prospect of carrying that weight for the rest of his life is not an appealing one. I’ll rid myself of it for good and all no matter what it takes. He will know when to stop moving when needs must. Redemption is not beyond him yet.

A shadow stirs within the trees. Eren narrows his eyes, squinting at the treeline. Shades? But shades shine silver…

Ping!

The sky breaks at last, and Eren inwardly scowls as the fat droplets batter his helm, filling his ears to bursting with the endless clangor of ringing steel. He will be deaf by day’s end, like as not, with a splitting headache to boot. He would have removed the helm yet etiquette demands it stays on. This is not the first he’s worn steel in such weather yet he always removes the headpiece when not in active combat; he’d rather suffer the torrent full-on than go mad from that metallic racket.

Dusk seems to fall early today and the loud crashing of the rain upon them all only adds to the din inside his head. The world shrinks to his helm. Ping, ping, ping, ping, ping. So when the men come boiling out of the woods, their war cries one with the storm, Eren can only stare, uncomprehending.

Screams join the discordant symphony, and then madness besets them all.

Bodies are flying everywhere, men, women, and children all a-flutter like a flock of startled pigeons in some park, seeking to evade the oncoming attackers. They need not have bothered with that very convincing display; the raiders give them no more heed than Eren would an ant beneath his feet and flow right through them as water flows through rock.

Battle is joined moments later and there is no more thought, only the ancient animal wisdom of the flesh that tells him to move.

To be still is to die.

And he is moving, running, running toward his master with his sword in hand. A man looms out of the wet like a leviathan from the deep but Eren bulls forward with nary a pause. The outlaw bellows and swings down his hammer; Eren dodges aside, and his blade punches through leather, steel, and flesh. He pulls his sword free, feeling the steel scrape bone, and is moving once more before the corpse can hit the ground. He dispatches a second and a third man in like manner, and at last he is beside his master, guarding his back as a good squire should.

There is no end to them, these leviathans from the deep. Hardly has he cut down one than another will take his place, and the world tapers down to action and reaction, kill or be killed.

It is sometime later - a minute, an hour, a day - when Eren realizes his master is nowhere to be found. The tide of battle has parted them and there are only enemies. He hacks down across the face of a northman hard, and his head dissolves into bits of brain and bone and blood. Another falls beneath his steel, blood spurting from his open throat. And still they come, again and again and again, until somehow they are not.

The brief respite allows Eren time to take stock of his surroundings properly. He has been driven back to the canopied platform where the king had made his speech. He sweeps his gaze around, hardly sparing the scattered corpses around him a second thought, and watches the chaos of battling men amidst falling rain. He is utterly confounded by it all. They laid down their arms and swore never to take them up again. A faint whimper resounds from somewhere close by, and he turns, eyes widening in shock at the sight of the king huddling beneath the covered stage. Why is he still here? Where are the guards? Eren runs to him at once.

“Your Majesty, you have to get out of here!” he calls over the pouring rain and heaves at the royal arm to get him moving. The king looks up at him with terror in his wide blue eyes, but recognition soon follows and he is moving, meek and unresisting as the son of his Magister guides him away from the horror and the savagery.

They have hardly gone a couple of yards when something rams into them, knocking the king and squire off their feet and sending them sprawling in the mud. Eren rolls onto his back, stunned, the taste of rain and mud heavy on his tongue. The force of the charge had wrenched his sword from his hand and sent his helm flying off his head, though he is hardly given time to mourn the loss.

A man is atop him all of a sudden and silver steel gleams bright and deadly at him out of the murky gloom. There is no time for thought or fear. Eren grabs his foeman’s arm with both hands as it falls toward his face, and their lethal struggle commences. The man claws uselessly at one of his gloved hands, trying to pry his fingers open, but Eren holds on the tighter and pushes, straining with gritted teeth. The blade is all he can see, it is the only thing that exists in the world, the blade and its tip sharp as any needle, any razor… and it is coming ever closer no matter how much he pushes, closer and closer to the center of his forehead…

The northman pulls back an arm, his hand closing into a fist. Eren sees and catches the blow one-handed but near pays for it with an eye. The enemy’s blade slips and slices him clean just above his eyebrow, and the left half of his world goes black as blood drips down his eye. 

There is no pain yet the sensation of steel cutting his flesh sends a shock of clarity through him as though he has been doused with ice-cold water. He manages to get a leg beneath the man’s ribs and knees, hard. That shock of clarity lends strength to his limbs, and the outlaw is tossed aside, wheezing. 

Eren does not wait for him to recover. He scrabbles, half-blind, in the mud for his sword, feels relief - sweet, blessed relief - course through him as his fingers brush against something hard and metallic. Footsteps splash behind him and he does not pause to think. He strikes, his sword swinging out in a perfect arc, and his foeman falls back into the mud to rise no more. Eren leaves him there, with half his entrails spilling out onto the watery ground, to search for his king.

He finds him where he first saw him, beneath the wooden scaffolding of the stage. They had not gone very far before the dead man accosted them. “Your Majesty, it’s all right, I can keep you safe,” Eren avows, reaching for his liege. The smell of fear bears toward him and it smells of piss, faint and dampened by the rain yet wholly recognizable, as the king holds onto him with surprising strength. Eren pays it no heed. Piss, shit, blood, and sweat, the soldier learns to tolerate all, even the foulest of stenches. It is the stink of battle, and delicate men with delicate noses do not long survive in the field. The king is well within his rights to piss in terror. 

His Majesty and his acting guard once again make for safer ground, though where that is Eren does not know. Still the rain pours down in ceaseless buckets, and it welds his left eye close. There is as yet no pain but he knows that is not a good thing; he is not even sure the bleeding has stopped entirely. They have to get to safety and soon. For loathe though he is to admit it, something deep, deep down inside him recognizes that he is in no good state to be fighting much longer, with half his vision compromised such as it is. The king will not be harmed under his watch, gods help him.

Men dart around them, friend and foe both, their footsteps churning the red-brown mud into a frothing boil. Eren surveys the gray village as best he can with only one eye, looking for the royal congregation, or better yet a temple so they may claim the right of sanctuary…

The gods are with him, and he almost sinks to his knees in relief at the sight of a temple at the borders of the village - ruined, crumbled, blackened with fire but still a temple, and still well-placed to grant them safety by all the laws of the land.

Pain, red pain erupts up his right arm, and he drops his sword to the muddy ground. An arrow, he thinks with mild surprise as he stares down at the shaft protruding from his armored limb. It had punched through the plate as though it is nothing more than silk. Now where had he seen that before? And since when did they start using arrows? He does not have the chance to ruminate.

An outlaw is before him and his liege once more, axe raised to cleave one or the both of them in two. They are endless and everywhere, these outlaws, like fucking roaches. Distantly, Eren hears what sounds like the king bleat out, “Oh, gods be good,” as Eren shoves his royal person behind him to protect him, uselessly, with his body.

A foot of red-tipped steel bursts from the northman’s mouth like some grotesque tongue. His eyes widen and turn glassy in quick succession, and the axe tumbles from his hands. His pointed tongue retreats from his bloodied maw and his corpse falls to reveal Sir Levi Ackerman. The cycle of relief giving way to tension and back again is turning Eren’s head around, yet he is pleased to see his master all the same.

Sir Levi’s eyes flash from his face toward his injured arm and his mouth tightens. “Get the king to the temple, most of our men have taken sanctuary there. Me and the rest will throw the outlaws back. Go!”

For one mad moment, Eren wants to argue. He can still fight, still hold his own, yet the way his master’s eyes blaze up at him gives him pause. His arm is worse than useless now and better still he is half-blind, he will only get in the way. And he has the king to protect, a king who is in very real peril of being savaged if he insists on continuing the way he is now. His pigheadedness will spill royal blood in his hands, a much more dire consequence than a Lord Commander’s missing arm.

The king will not be harmed under his watch. 

Eren swallows, bites his tongue, and nods jerkily. He stirs the petrified king onward, favoring his right arm, and lets the others put the outlaws to flight.

“Any luck with Halkin and Skaryn?”

His sire sighs, unendingly weary. “I hardly think this is the right time and place to speak of politics.”

But, Father, the weather and my happy domestic affairs hardly make for scintillating conversation. Zeke turns away from the dark world outside the wrought iron window to glance at Lord Grisha in his seat beside the canopied bed. “Well, since we’ve thoroughly exhausted the topic of our dear youngest here, we had as well talk about matters of import.”

Their dear youngest is lying upon his chartered bed, soused in poppy and utterly dead to the world. Yet he lives to see another day, thank the gods, Zeke thinks, watching his little brother sleep and recover his strength. His fever has broken at last, a very promising sign, assures Healer Dmitriy. The youngest Jaeger is well past danger now, and his wounds are healing cleanly.

There had been a scare of festering and the possible loss of a limb yet the Healers worked their craft and they moved beyond that. Fresh poulticed bandages bind Eren’s arm and cover the left side of his brow, the fall of dark hair over his face stark against the white linen. He looks younger, as innocent as he is like to get at this age, more the boy of six of Zeke’s youth and less the young man of sixteen he has quickly grown to be.

In the end, only the scars should remain. And his knighthood. Scars and near-death for that honor, that is how you come into it. Eren will be well-compensated for his leal service.

He is luckier than some, to be sure. Good men were lost that day. “Any word yet on the new Guardsmen?” Zeke persists when his father keeps his peace. Most times silence comes easy between them; sometimes, Zeke even preferrs it so, yet silence of late is an uncomfortable thing. He has somehow tied it to Eren’s state. If they keep quiet, then surely Eren will weaken and pass away into the Fields. His brother must hear their voices, if only so he can have an anchor to the living. Zeke does not know why he insists when Eren is finally out of the weeds. But it is true what they say about habits.

The quiet snaps and pops of the fire are the only things to be heard as Grisha stares at him a moment through his lenses. The light of the flickering hearthflames reflects off the fine Rhoseine glass, only to give way to the green pools beneath. Eren has inherited those eyes, the Jaeger eyes. Zeke is a Fritz through and through, blue and gold and fair. And yet they insist he is his father in gold.

“Some candidates have been chosen,” Lord Grisha says at length. “The squires of two fallen, Bertolt Hoover and Conrad Springer. They are set to replace their former masters. No word yet for the other two replacements but some names have been put forward.”

“Our younger Eren would have jumped at the chance.” Zeke gazes down fondly at his sleeping brother once more. “I’ve always wondered what made him change his mind.”

His father chuckles, a rare sound these days. “I was surprised he reconsidered at all, not that it was such a terrible thing. There are other ways to win honor for himself and his House. Left him open to the marriage market, at least.”

Speak of the marriage market… His little lady will want to know she can visit him at last. Zeke had caught the poor thing hovering around thereabouts near every day since they brought Eren in. It will enliven the lad to see his betrothed. They seem to be sweeter on each other at present, Zeke is pleased to see.

“As to Skaryn and Halkin…” Lord Grisha sighs and rubs his eyes beneath his spectacles. “I’ll continue to lobby for their families. If execution is in the fates of Valko Skaryn and Yuri Halkin, then so be it, but to extend that punishment to their whole lines?” He rubs at his temples, his horror at the thought well and truly palpable. “To their wives and children and brothers and cousins… it is too much. Too much. I cannot let that stand.”

His Majesty had been sore wroth when he had recovered from the terror of his ordeal. The lords Skaryn and Halkin were arrested, accused of treason and attempted regicide. Both have been attainted, stripped of all lands, titles, and incomes, and sentenced to death by beheading. But that is not to be enough for the king. In his wrath, Rod Reiss has declared, in no uncertain terms, his desire to see both men’s lines ended. Every man, woman, and child who bear the name of Skaryn and Halkin shall be expunged. Even those merely married to the name found no mercy. Rod Reiss wants them gone, gone.

Zheletov, too, felt the flames of royal fury. Hundreds of Zhelevic were arrested, those outlaws who did not manage to flee further North. All have been sentenced to hang. Rumor has it that the king means to hang their families as well, to teach the North a sharp lesson in slaughter. Robert of Feyhill, the head of the northern faction and the mind behind all, is to be hanged, drawn, and quartered - a fate reserved for the vilest of traitors. A charge he still vehemently denies even at the rack.

What should have been a moment of festive reconciliation became naught but dross. The court is silent, reeling in the enormity of it all.

“Eren saved his life, he should grant me a boon, at least,” Lord Grisha murmurs, more to himself than to his eldest, who stares at him then at his brother, who lays oblivious to his burgeoning role as leverage and potential savior of the lines of Skaryn and Halkin.

Zeke supposes it is only fitting for his knightly brother. What are knights for but for the saving of innocent lives?

“His fever broke last night, my lady, you can see him at last.”

You have never heard anything sweeter.

“Oh, thank the gods.” You smooth down your crimson dress, making sure all is in order. He has not laid eyes on you for four days, you had best be presentable. And pretty, you must be pretty, a girlish voice whispers, which you hastily tamp down. As if he’ll care overmuch about such matters, not after his ordeal. A silver shield burnished to a mirror sheen is hanging from the wall opposite you. Surreptitiously, you brush back a stray lock that has escaped from your braids. All in order, you think, pleased, as you stare at your somewhat distorted reflection. Some effort will not be amiss, surely.

Healer Dmitriy knocks upon the wooden door to announce himself before opening it and entering. Aly the Cat slips inside at once; distantly, you hear your betrothed utter a pleased exclamation of the creature’s name. You feel your heart thrum faster. Your fingers twine themselves around each other against your fluttering tummy. He sounds well. That is good. 

“My lord, the Lady Rhyzkova is without and wishes to see you,” you hear the young priest say, his voice partly muffled by the half-closed door. The note of excitement in Eren’s voice as he bids the Healer to let you in makes you smile.

It is comfortably warm inside the chamber. A fire crackles merrily in the stone hearth before the canopied bed, inadvisable for a southron summer but perfectly acceptable for a northern one. Two bone-white velvet armchairs are arrayed before the fireplace. A table laden with what looks like the tools of the Healers’ trade - physic, rolls of bandages, and herbs of the medicinal sort - is sitting between the loungers. The brown linen curtains of the tall wrought iron windows are pulled back, illuminating the room with pale, watery sunshine and giving the place an airy countenance.

A green smell, the smell of herbs and plant life, pervades all. You find yourself breathing in deeply as you enter, your first few footsteps tapping lightly on the polished marble floor, yet all vanish as you lay eyes upon your wounded knight. The white hangings on his bed are tied back, revealing his form. He is sitting up, at least, with a wide grin on his bandaged face, his left eye swollen half-shut beneath the poultice. You would not have known he was ailing and lifeless for the better part of four days by his demeanor. Ginger Aly is curled up on his blanketed lap, eyes closed contently as Eren runs languid fingers over his short fur.

Your knight is awake, and smiling at you, and so wonderfully alive.

“How are you feeling?” you murmur as you sit on his bed by his legs. A flash of dark blue cloth sweeps by from the corner of your vision, but you do not pay it heed. Eren and his well-being come first.

He opens his mouth to answer but frowns almost at once. You mirror his expression and are about to ask what is wrong when he speaks. “Everything’s fine, Healer Dima, you may leave us.”

The straw-haired Healer in question freezes in the act of settling himself down upon one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Nerves and uncertainty play across his thin features for half a heartbeat before he reaches some sort of resolution and sits down determinedly. “Oh, no, please do not mind me. Someone must needs stay to keep an eye on… your health. Just because your fever has broken doesn’t mean you’re not susceptible to a relapse.”

“Oh, in that case, your presence is a much welcome one indeed, Healer,” you say rapidly, as Eren makes to say something, something undoubtedly rude to judge by the look on his face. He curls his lip at your interruption but subsides once you shake your head at him a little. Let him be.

Healer Dmitriy smiles, relieved. “Very good, my lady. See, you’ll hardly notice I’m here.” He reaches into one voluminous dark blue sleeve and pulls out a small book - a missal of The Light of the Creed, the new faith’s holiest text, you see, catching a glimpse of the twelve-rayed sun of the Creed on the book’s black leather cover. The priest opens the primer and promptly vanishes within its pages.

Of course a godly, dutiful man like him will insist on playing governess, you realize belatedly. It had not occurred to you until you saw him glance from you to Eren with an expression of abject worry. He can hardly leave a young maid alone with a half-naked young man in his chambers.

For the young man is very much half-naked. You feel your mouth go dry as the realization hits you hard. You cannot understand how that detail eluded you. “I see you’ve made a new friend,” you gesture at little Aly on Eren’s lap, a ditch effort to distract yourself, and fail miserably. That only brings further attention to his hard, incredibly ridged stomach. Oh, gods above.

Eren stares down fondly at the cat, oblivious to your ogling. “We only properly met this morning but we’re fast friends now,” he laughs as the ginger tom rises and stretches, then proceeds to rub up against his Healer’s charge, purring loudly. Never have you wanted to trade places with a cat so badly in your entire life.

Suddenly, looking your betrothed in the eye becomes an endeavor of utmost difficulty, not when you want to look elsewhere. You have seen your fair share of half-naked men. Comely men and homely ones, paragons as sculpted as statues and pigs shuffling along like sacks of suet, you have seen them all. You never lack for those in summery Vascalin, where the sight of them is so common as to be unremarkable. But a half-naked Eren is a veritable god to their mere mortal flesh.

You peer up at him from beneath your lashes as Aly occupies his attention for the nonce. He is beautifully well-made. You have always suspected it to be so; some of his tunics show off his shape well, and he oft wears his daily linens with the laces undone, allowing one to get a glimpse of an expansive, defined chest. To see all of that bared before you to prove the truth of your fancies is astounding.

His shoulders, broad and striking, lead down to strong, sinewy arms. The bandage wrapped around the right limb flaunts the roundness of the muscle and stands stark against his tanned skin. A tiny cluster of leech marks speckles the skin beneath his dressings yet they do nothing to diminish the smooth perfection of his limb. His chest is as wide and well-muscled; verily, his torso is a vision, each muscle as sharply etched as though he is cut from stone.

Some other girl is giggling madly deep down inside. You feel like a bitch in heat. The thought near makes the mad laughter bubble up your throat but you quell it quickly. And then you make the singular error of allowing your eyes to follow the sloping trail of chiseled muscle beneath the blankets and almost choke on air. The expected sight of the waist of his pants is nowhere in evidence.

Gods be good, is he naked under there?! 

You squirm and press your legs together on your seat. You cannot have asked for better fodder for your fantasies. Suddenly, you can hear him, hear the deep, sultry cadence of his voice asking you if you will let him sate his lusts with you, feel the hard, chiseled torso press close against you as he leaned down to kiss you… Poxy Duty had robbed you of that kiss. More’s the pity. You wonder what it will feel like, to be trapped beneath that god-like body as freed of clothing as he is now, feel his heat and his skin bound you as you lay below him helpless but to take his lust and his amorous attentions…

Gods help you, lass, the lad is injured and just escaped death by the skin of his teeth. It does not do to entertain such unbecoming ideas. You’re worse than a dockside slut, you admonish yourself as heat courses through your whole body at the turn of your thoughts. There are better things to occupy yourself with than his magnificent body. His health is what matters most.

“Hey.”

You start at the sound of his voice and do not immediately meet his gaze. You hope to all the gods, both old and new, that your face is not a mirror of your desire. That is a discussion that can keep; your priestly governess will be shocked to his soul should he have the slightest inkling of what had flounced through your head these past few moments.

“Hey,” Eren says again, reaching out to lay a hand on your forearm. The touch comes lightly, so very lightly, yet the way it burns is anything but. You meet his eyes at last. “Are you all right? You look strange.” His concerned frown gives way to a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, see, healthy as a horse.” He wrinkles his nose at the idiom, making you giggle. “I’m well past danger now. The wound’s not going to fester, there’s no poison in my blood, I’m fine and whole. You don’t need to worry so much.”

“Thank the gods,” you breathe, instantly snatching at that sentiment. It is not as if you aren’t worried about him, but best have him construe your conflicted expression as concern instead of lust. This is not the time for lust. “Speak of the gods,” you smile down at Aly, who has padded over to you, seeking affection, “you are blessed indeed. Lady Alyrya has been with you this whole time.” Cats are sacred to the Gardener, but none more so than the ginger tabby.

“It’s a nice thought, that-”

“Oh!”

There is a great tug, and your hand flies to your chest as the laces of your bodice come undone. It will seem that Aly is feeling a little too neglected. Or desirous of yarn. You hold the tom fast as you unhook his claws from the crimson cords, your face smarting a little in mortification.

“Oh, dear.” Healer Dmitriy flaps over to the bed, the tips of his prominent ears pink. “A thousand pardons, my lady, it seems he’s in his excitable mood again. I’ll see him out.” He scoops his ginger attendant into his arms and bustles away, threatening the cat with a salmon-less dinner as he does so.

You sigh and tighten your laces once more. Aly had not pulled down far enough for your breasts to spill out from your bodice, thankfully, but that was a near thing. You are more comfortable baring skin than most women north of the Greatshield are, being from the sweltering South, yet you draw the line at exposure in front of two men. Well, perhaps one of them can get a pass. You bite the inside of your lip as you fumble briefly and have to redo the knot all over again.

“You know what they say about certain animals being able to channel people’s wills?” Eren lifts his gaze from your chest to your face. His eyes have darkened a little. Your fingers tighten on your cords. “Nobody can say for sure if that still holds true but it’s an interesting thought.” His legs shift beneath the blankets.

The return of the Healer saves you from having to form a reply. He gives you an apologetic smile and another apology before returning to his seat and his book once more.

“Your hair’s grown longer,” you remark arbitrarily, not quite knowing what to say to your betrothed’s earlier statement. Besides… Your face tingles a little. With the way he looked at you then, you cannot guarantee that your conversation won’t lead to… bawdier pastures. You had never truly touched upon the subject before but something about his demeanor then gives you pause. Best to nip that in the bud. Your governess will not stand for anything remotely suggestive. He will throw you out and forbid you from seeing Eren again for the rest of his confinement, and you cannot have that.

Eren tugs at the ends of his hair, looking at it thoughtfully. “Do you think I should cut it? I haven’t been up to calling on the barber lately…”

“It’s your hair, you’re free to do as you like.” You give him a small smile. “I like it, though. It makes you look-” comelier, “-older, more mature.”

He settles back into his pillows, appearing gratified. “Well, then, I suppose I’ll keep it as it is for the time being.” He gazes at you for a good long while, before his concern reduces his smile into something softer. “You look tired.”

The chuckle that escapes you echoes the sentiment, as though his bringing attention to the fact has drawn four days’ worth of weariness out. You rub a finger at the skin beneath your eye. “Between you and Father and this whole affair, I have been getting no lick of sleep.” You cannot count the hours you had spent in Merrydell’s sanctum, praying and praying and praying for him and your lord father, beseeching the old gods to bless and keep them. You had even visited the nearest temple of the Gardener to offer incense, a candle, and yet more prayers for your betrothed. He belongs to the Creed, perhaps his Lady will be better inclined to protect him should the old gods dismiss your pleas.

Lady Alyrya heard them, at any rate, her and the old gods. Father’s fever was only the chills brought on by the rains and not from a corrupted wound; he had taken a glancing blow from an outlaw’s knife but managed to come out of that debacle otherwise unscathed. He was right as rain after a day or so.

Eren had given you more grief. What time you had outside of prayer was spent hovering anxiously outside these very chambers, hoping you could visit him or at least learn of his condition. Still, you will visit the sanctum and the temple tonight, to give thanks to the gods for granting him further life.

“Ask Healer Dima to give you essence of valerian, it helps a lot,” Eren urges, fretful. He can be a rather fretful character, you have come to find. It only makes him sweeter in your eyes.

“I will at that. Although I’ll be sleeping more soundly tonight regardless.” Because you’re awake and all right and alive. A bowl of apples is sitting upon his bedside dresser. His mother’s key lays beside it, nestled amidst the coils of its leather cord. “Are you hungry?” you ask, gesturing at the fruit.

“Will you feed me if I am? I can barely lift my arm for the pain.” Eren blinks at you all innocent-like. The teasing tilt to his lips ruins the effect, however. From the distance comes the tiniest of coughs.

Your own mouth twitches up in amusement. “If you wish it.”

“I do wish it,” he says firmly, sitting up straight again. “I’m hungry, so hungry, famished, starving-”

“All right, your hunger has been well and truly noted.” You reach for an apple and the paring knife and proceed to cut the fruit. Needlessly, you know. He is not so injured that he cannot feed himself (despite his claims to the contrary). In this, you indulge him. The patient must have his way until he recovers.

A cough resounds from the distance once more, louder this time, as you reach forward to put a slice of apple in your betrothed’s waiting mouth. You both freeze and glance over at the Healer, who is staring at you beadily from above his holy missal. A prick of annoyance simmers within you, but you flash him a placating smile as you move to put more distance between you and Eren. You slip the piece of fruit into your betrothed’s mouth, careful not to let your fingers brush against his lips, those luscious, alluring, enticing lips…

You bite back a giggle as he chews the morsel, looking distinctly bad-tempered. Your fingertips still tingle from the warmth of his breath. “I see you still haven’t put on your mother’s key,” you observe, eyeing the forenamed pendant on the bedside table. His betrothal necklace looks rather lonely without its staunch companion around his neck.

His bad-tempered expression deepens. “He’s a priest, he’s as superstitious as they come. His precious sensibilities won’t stand for blasphemy.” Scorn drips from his voice as he says the word, further amusing you. “You’ll make a better Healer,” he adds, his expression softening as he gleams at you. “You don’t nag as much.”

That is an interesting thought, that. The past few days certainly lent further fodder to your long-held fancies of being a Healer. It is a flimsy whim, a glib thought born from a night of girlish diversion when asked that absurdly preposterous question: what would you be had you not been born into nobility? Your fledgling pastime in the gardens led you to answer as you had.

But perhaps that fledgling can grow into something more. Seeing people you care for hurt and ailing woke something in you, the desire to ease their pain if only but a little. You hope Healer Darya is willing to take on a new apprentice this autumn.

“Does it hurt so much?”

Eren chews on his apple, looking artless and very much innocent in truth. He does not stay so for long, though (not that you expect him to, the cheeky sod). “I already told you, didn’t I? I wouldn’t ask you to feed me if it didn’t hurt like blazes.” Something in your expression sobers him, and the smile he flashes you is gentle, tender. “I’m a little sore, but nothing you need concern yourself about too much.” He reaches out to take your free hand in his, lightly caressing your skin with his thumb. “And you have been, haven’t you? So concerned that you lost sleep over me, of all people.” He seems to move farther away, going somewhere beyond this room and beyond you.

You pull away from his hold to cup his face in your hand, as though in doing so you can keep him bound to yourself. You touch him as softly as you can yet still he flinches as your palm presses against the injured side of his face. That spasm of pain makes you pull back but he reaches up quickly to keep your hand on him, smiling up at you reassuringly as he does so. The green sparkling at you beneath his poulticed eyebrow is as vibrant as its twin, swollen and puffy though the skin around it is. He is still so beautiful, your battered knight. So beautiful, and warm, and alive.

The loud clearing of a holy throat reminds you of decency and decorum, and you make to pull away from your betrothed once more. He is not having it, though. His grip on your hand tightens, and his face darkens like thunder. “Bloody prissy priests… As if a simple touch to the face equates to… what exactly? A hot little romp?” His laugh comes out exuding derision and mockery. “I didn’t throw you down on the bed and have my way with you, did I? With the way he’s looking at us, you’d think he caught us fucking,” he grouses, in a voice pitched low so only you would hear him.

A lump rises inside your throat that almost chokes you. You cough to rid yourself of it. How he can say such things so baldly confounds you. “That’s… probably what he's thinking. I suppose he’s here to try and preserve my honor. For all he knows, you could be some sort of perverted lech,” you say, in what you hope is an offhand way.

That puts a thoughtful look on Eren’s face. Suddenly, the darkness in his eyes holds a very different sort of sentiment. He glances at you from beneath his lashes before looking down at his lap. Your fingers twitch a little against his face as he continues to keep your hand captive. Heat once again simmers beneath your skin to match the heat you had caught in his gaze before he averted his eyes. In a quiet voice, he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like, “He’s not far off, then.”

Your heart almost stops at that. “Pardon?”

He lifts his eyes back to yours and blinks slowly. “Have I not been preserving your honor for the better part of a year already? He has nothing to worry about.” One corner of his mouth kinks up roguishly. “Unless my lady does not care for such things. I’d gladly play the perverted lech if you’d let me.”

Gods save me.

Eren’s smile widens as though he has heard you and he releases your hand, allowing you to pick up the paring knife from where it is sitting on your lap. You take a brief recess to settle yourself and cut another wedge off the rapidly browning apple in your grip. Your hand does not shake, to your credit.

“Good apple, that,” Eren notes conversationally, as though he had not been speaking of perversion and fornication mere moments ago.

“The Skaryns brought in a good harvest.” The discomposure leaves you at once as the name of that doomed family leaves your lips. You stare down at the halved fruit in your hand. A good harvest. And their last. Everything seems to dim then, as though a pall has settled upon the world. The Skaryn pall. It is a cruel edict. Your knight had saved the author of that cruel edict. And that is why you can now call him that. Your knight. “You will be a Sir in truth now.”

“I will be, huh…” Eren looks pleased, excited at the thought. As well he might. It is all he ever wanted and lived for, the culmination of years of training and service.

“What’s his name, your squire?” you query as you feed him another slice. The next slice you eat yourself. It is as good as he claims, browned though it is now; the juice is sweet, refreshing on your tongue.

His eyes widen as he munches his own mouthful, as though he has forgotten that knights need squires to squire for them. “Falco Grice.” He swallows. “I have a squire.” The wonder in his face and voice makes you smile. “How do I go about being a master, though?” He screws up his face in thought, then puffs out his chest. “Falco, muck out the stables. I want to be able to eat off the ground once you’re done,” he says in his best approximation of Sir Levi’s flat tone.

There is a pause as the both of you stare at each other silently before descending into fits of giggles. For a while, you cannot stop. He is strong and thriving, and he is to be a knight at long last. Everything seems good in the world again, and the fate of doomed families fades into the ether. But as the light of day gives way to the gloom of night, his cheer slowly gives way to something more staid, dour, even mournful. Eren looks down at his hands, pensive. “Do I even deserve that honor, though? After…”

Sir Erwin’s lost arm hangs heavy between you. Half a year gone and still it haunts him. His gloom seeps into you like some illness, only to feed your determination to see him rise above his guilt and shame. 

“You do,” you state firmly. You will not brook arguments on this matter. “You saved His Majesty, the king’s life, that’s not a small thing. And you learned, didn’t you? You didn’t get those injuries by running pell-mell into danger, did you?” As he shakes his head no, you go on, “Then let it go. Onward and upward and no looking back. It does you no good to dwell on such things. It’ll only eat you up inside.”

“Did I even learn, though? Because I thought about it. Running pell-mell into danger.” He picks at the skin on his forefinger, hunched over and reeking of shame.

Your heart goes out to him, your earnest betrothed. He is a young man, near grown, and yet in many ways he is a boy still. “The only thing that matters is that you didn’t act on it.” You brandish a slice of apple at him. “Sweet to banish the bitter.”

A weight seems to lift off his shoulders as he accepts your proffered piece into his mouth. “You always know what to say.” He gazes at you, soft, contemplative, considering. “And you have to know what to say. In that there is no choice, not for you, my Lady of Rhyzkov.”

You cut yourself a wedge and help yourself to your own sweet. There is nothing to add to the truth that you have always known.

“I grew up wanting to be a Royal Guardsman.”

As most boys do, noble or common.

“But then I served one of them.” Wryness taints Eren’s tone as he continues, “I saw him- them dog every step of this one man every day of their lives and realized that… wasn’t for me. Knights are for serving, yes, but I want the freedom to choose my own liege. If I am to spend a lifetime in thrall to one, I want it to be by my own will and not because tradition says I must.”

And to be a Royal Guardsman is to serve the blood royal for life. “But you didn’t choose me.” As either liege or bride.

Eren looks at you then and subjects you to a long and intense stare. “No, I didn’t.” This intensity is different, something you cannot quite place. 

He is such a forceful personality, you reflect as you hold his deep green gaze. Deep enough to drown in. And you are and will continue to do so, you know now, for the rest of your life. But there is joy in trying to keep up with him, something exhilarating about navigating his tides. He is quite unlike anyone you have ever met, and it intrigues you.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t serve you gladly, willingly, and with everything I have.”

Embers of green fire begin to flare up at you and you avert your eyes lest you be burned. His tides you can navigate. You cannot say the same for his flames. “I look forward to your investiture.” You cut the last bit of apple in half.

The reminder of his investiture banks his flames near instantly. “It seems… inappropriate to have it after the executions.”

So his father has told him all. A certain chill appears to cloak you in its folds. It is almost enough for you to wish for his fires back. “The court needs something to celebrate after such unpleasantness.”

“Unpleasantness…” Eren frowns down at the white linen sheets draped over his lap. “The northmen deserve their sentence for that treachery, but to eradicate whole bloodlines strikes me as being too much. Little Yakob Halkin could hardly conspire against the king. Six-year-olds care more for toys than treason.”

You have never thought to see the end of a line, much less two, in your lifetime. But that is the way of the lords. You yourself are descended from the Shrike, Queen Yelena Rhyzkova, the fourth to bear that name and title, who had rid the world of the Moldovans thousands and thousands of years ago. If your royal forebear had any compunctions about killing the children of her enemies in her bid for power, no one will know now. She had taken her sensibilities with her to the grave.

“The commons will go the way of their masters, if the talk is true.” You hand Eren his last morsel and bite into your own.

Eren eats his apple and reclines back on his pillows. “It’s only talk. He will get his blood price and be paid twice over with highborn blood. He’ll leave the innocent commons alone. They’re not worth that much, at the end of the day.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter  

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A/N:

Horny YN is horny. But, really, who can blame her? Have you seen the guy?

Knight!Eren is here at last, hurrah for him. But the Northern Matter has turned into... another matter entirely.

This’ll be the last update for this year, so it’s my Christmas posting for you, my readers, who I am very thankful to have! I’m glad to be able to share my brainchild to the world and I thank you so much for reading! Always, always <3

This may be my last TSL update but not my last post for the year... at least it depends on how fast I can get around to it. But I’m planning on dabbling in the modern AU and posting a smutty one-shot that will just not leave my brain and so I have no choice but to write it. Hopefully I can get it done before the year ends, if not... I can hail the New Year with good sexy smutty goodness.

Tagging: @princess-okkotsu​​ @lukepattersin​ @aki-and-saltfish​​

[the-phoenix-heart]

Sorting Hat Chats - Castlevania

Castlevania is amazing and I’m finally sorting it.

An explanation of the system I’m using right hyah by @wisteria-lodge​.

SPOILERS FOR EVERYTHING

TREVOR BELMONT is the most obvious Burnt Badger primary Lion secondary I have ever seen. He’s like Wolverine and Geralt of Rivia had a baby (fyi a child between Hugh Jackman and Henry Cavill would be SO HOT). Trevor Belmont can’t help himself from helping people no matter how hard he tries-AND GOD DOES HE TRY. He tries everything to stay detached from people, and yet he still helps them. His primary is also very clearly burnt. I like how Sypha’s grandpappy tells Trevor he is “defeated” and that’s just a fancy word for Burnt in my opinion.

And after season one Trevor does backtrack on that and decide yeah I’m gonna do things for people again. This doesn’t mean that he’s completely unburnt, but y’know, he’s getting better.

Trevor cares about his family history and stuff, we see that. And we also see Trevor dehumanizing the monsters he faces and especially the vampires. When they kill Dracula Trevor is very flippant about it like, we did what we had to and he basically was someone else entirely (Sypha is more healthy and allows Alucard to mourn the man Dracula was).

But my favorite part is when Trevor goes to face Death. Saying that they are just two old killers who need to rid them world of themselves so that people who can build things can thrive.

That is CLASSIC Badger Lion talk. Especially somewhat burnt Badger talk. “I am nothing more than a killer who needs to die.” It’s always good to see, especially since Trevor is SUCH a Lion secondary. His signature weapon is an exploding metal whip. He defeats death just by running and hitting and stabbing him a lot. He punches Dracula three times in the face to no avail. He’s a fighter, he thrives on the battlefield. I think he’d be happy to fight for all eternity.

SYPHA BELNADES is Badger Bird. She cares about helping people and that’s pretty much it. I’m really bad at explaining straight up Badger primaries, but I think we see it most on display in season 4 when she is trying her hardest to help out this community of people, and she’s the only one who’s kind of sane here (Trevor also showcases his Lion in this arc by just waltzing in to the throne room saying the king and queen have slept enough).

As for her secondary, she’s a bird. It’s also very obvious. She is party of a community that spreads knowledge through oral tradition and she goes feral when she sees the Belmont Library. She’s also very logical with her solutions often times. It’s a shame that she often doesn’t have a lot of time to plan her attacks and has to slide into a Lion model for fighting, but it totally works and it’s very sexy. I like to think she picked it up from Trevor (seeing as in this show eventually everyone ends up as Trevor Belmont).

I think ADRIAN “ALUCARD” TEPES is a Badger Snake-and yes it is significant that all three of the main trio is a Badger primary, and even more so significant that I think Adrian is a Burnt Badger just like Trevor (they also burnt in similar ways). Adrian likes having a community to help and play around with, but we don’t see a lot of it until season four.

My guess is Adrian burns after Lisa dies for obvious reasons, but unlike Trevor who just hates everything, Adrian lets his secondary kinda carry him along with the vestiges of that Badger primary. “I have to do this because my mom wouldn’t want it to happen and I can’t stop because if I do I might collapse from the weight of all the trauma I’m going through.” He takes one year to recover from his wounds and from there he just doesn’t really stop until the mission is over. He’s the restless one who just wants to go, especially because he’s dealing with a lot. His mom is dead, his dad wants to kill all of humanity, it’s a whole mess. Also note, Alucard is the one really pushing that they have to kill Dracula. Like they’re all okay with killing Dracula but Alucard seems to be the one who is really dehumanizing him as “already dead” because that’s easier to deal with then, “I have to kill my father the man who raised me.”

Except then he DOES kill his father, and then almost immediately after Trevor and Sypha leave to keep fighting the remnants of Dracula’s army and Alucard is left alone to tend to the castle-which he HATES. Alucard has pretty much just been going forward with Snake secondary except now there is nothing to do but work and he hates that because it is slow, and now without shit to do he’s left alone with his trauma which he ignores. Basically, he’s going stir crazy and is incredibly lonely now that Trevor and Sypha left him. He makes the dolls to try and cope, it does not work. Then the shitshow with Taka and Sumi happens and he has some life in him once more. People to talk to?? People to save?? Stuff to do?? Sign him up!!

Except then they try to kill him and also um...other thing him. So he has to kill them and he kinda just hates himself for like the next month. He says he’s becoming Belmont because now that burnt Badger primary he’s been trying to hide under the floorboards this whole time is showing up again in full, it doesn’t help that he feels like a monster because Taka and Sumi called him one when they tried to kill him and then he killed them which pretty much affirmed that.

(Both Trevor and Alucard have issues with seeing themselves as monsters and have similar backstories for how they burnt, which is why they argue so much. They’re so similar and yet SO different.)

And when he gets the message about the village in trouble he goes and helps them, even though he complains about it the whole time, because he’s still a Badger primary. And this is actually the best thing for him because nothing heals a burnt Badger like getting an entire village on your lawn and a woman who won’t have any of your shit.

I’ve been talking about him being a Badger Snake, but I didn’t go a lot into his secondary, so here we go. He’s definitely improvisational, although he does have some Bird tendencies he likely picked up from his mother and father. But I think he’s a Snake secondary mainly because of how he attacks. He can transform to have wings, be a wolf, and I think at one point he turned into a flock of bats? He teleports around, he uses a magic sword that can fight for him while he’s preoccupied, it’s all very evasive, transformative stuff. Plus, he loves to play, he acts for the Sypha and Trevor dolls and he plays with those kids at the end. It could be a Lion secondary, but he’s too different to housematch Trevor Belmont.

You may note this means the entire main trio is made up of Badger primaries. I really like this! They’re all brought together by both fate and a fundamental wish to help humanity, and they work so well in a fight because they’ve got three out of four of the primaries. Trevor tanks for the team, Sypha does her magic slightly off to the side and is a badass, and Alucard often lurks and then attacks, while also playing support for his squishier teammates.

Is there a more archetypal Snake Bird Mastermind than VLAD “What have you done to my wife” DRACULA “I used to relish the little details” TEPES? The man who declared war on the entire human race over the death of his wife and was petty enough to create an entire plan to destroy all of humanity so he could commit suicide?? There is one things that can snap Dracula out of his warpath and that is having to kill his son. To Dracula, the fact that he ever considered killing his son tears him apart and that’s when he’s finally ready to stop and just die so he can be with Lisa.

His secondary is a Bird, and it’s fairly straightforward. He’s old, he has knowledge from everywhere, he traveled the world, he has all these contacts, but there’s something interesting. In season 2, Dracula’s secondary-is burnt. Killing the world is so grand scale that he can’t really focus on it, and he’s just so tired of everything that he’s burnt and leaves most of the stuff to his lieutenants, with some rare occurrences of pure Dracula.

LISA TEPES is a perfect Badger Bird. She cares about people and wants to help them. It’s pretty simple. She wants to be a doctor and even as she is being burned on a pyre she yells at Dracula not to take vengeance on them.

As for her secondary, she wants to learn. She likes books and she’s a very logical person. When she goes to Dracula she says “I’ve exhausted all my other resources,” which means she had other plans and studies and what not. I love her, she’s a queen.

(You may note Sypha house matches Lisa)

CARMILLA said “You don’t deserve my blood.” Carmilla said, “I’m nothing but ambition, I’m a queen.” Carmilla said, “This is world is mine, because the likes of you never knew what to do with it.” Carmilla said, “None of you are big enough to kill me.” Carmilla said, “And when you die and go to hell I’ll be waiting for you, with a sharp bloody stick and the determination to see if you can die twice.” Carmilla said, “I am Carmilla of Styria and fuck you! I win.”

DOUBLE LION! IF IT WEREN’T OBVIOUS! And like of course I’ll go more into it.

Carmilla is an exploded Lion primary. She wants to take things from evil old men and kill all the evil old vampires because they’re stupid and old. She wants to gaslight gatekeep girlboss until she can’t anymore. When Lenore is asking about her ambitions Carmilla is like, we are going to take over the whole world because I want it and I want to kill a bunch of stupid old men. And Lenore (Double badger she is) is pretty freaked about this of course and is like, “Okay...and will you be happy after that?” And Carmilla is genuinely kinda thrown by that question and is like “I don’t think I care if I’ll be happy, but having the world, having everything, will be enough.” She says it so emptily, that’s an exploded Lion primary all right. BTW none of what was said in this paragraph was a direct quote. The other paragraph was though because I have that whole episode memorized by this point.

As for her secondary, she models Snake because it can get things done. She plays the manipulator but when it gets down to it she kicks a man down the stairs to get him to listen to her. She kills so many night creatures that it fills the entire room with blood to the point that it flows down the stairs and then she keeps fighting more. Dracula fought to but his was always more calculated with him using tricks he had up his sleeve, hers is just mindless bloodshed and I love her for it. She doesn’t say she’ll be on the throne of hell she says she’ll be chasing Issac around with a bloody stick, which again is her single mindedness like girl come on you aren’t even gonna try for hell?? Take the ultimate throne from the ultimate stupid evil old man?? Anyway yeah, that’s why she’s so fucking terrifying. Double Lion with an exploded primary modeling a Snake secondary.

Of all the character endings ISSAC’S was by a long shot my favorite. He also had the one good arc of season 3. My boy traveled the world and learned to live and hope for the future and love humanity. Oh lord. He’s a bird primary, so first of all he is religious, but second of all his journey is one about LEARNING. He meets people and takes in what they say and the kindness they give to him and learns. Even when he hates humanity he explains it in such an eloquent, level way, he’s thought it out, taken in what happened to him and come to his own conclusion. But later, he comes to the conclusion that he wants to HELP people. He describes it in season 3 as being the hand of god that picks damned souls up from hell so that they can live their penance on Earth. And then in season 4 he says that he stopped being the knife and became the hand when he killed the wizard, because he served justice.

And that leads me to his secondary. Issac HELPS people, TEACHES people. His first scene in season four is giving one of his night creatures berries so that he may have memories again. He creates armies, and when he describes his dream to Hector he describes it as creating a place to make FUTURES. He is, quite possibly, the greatest example of a Bird Badger I have ever scene. Certainly my favorite.

And, incidentally, he’s the closest thing we’ve ever gotten to a villain Bird Badger. Now while he ends off the series as a hero he starts as a villain/villain-adjacent. His goal was to kill all of humanity after all. It makes sense that Bird Badger would go on a journey around the world meeting people and learning not to hate humanity and come out a good guy. Prior to his journey, I think his Badger secondary was burnt. In season 2 we see a Issac who doesn’t really care how he does things, and in that respect he and Dracula REALLY get along. And we also see Issac kind of latching on to Dracula as the man who represents his system. At the time he’s in full humanity hatemode and sees Dracula, who wants to kill all of humanity, as the symbol of his system and that’s why he likes him so much in that detached way (Dracula just wants a friend).

(Idealists do this all the time where they see someone fundamentally right/good and make that their entire personality. Ron does it with Harry because he’s the standard, Bakugou does it with All Might because All Might represents all Badassery, and Deku does it with All Might because All Might represents all things good. I know those are all lions but I’m sure there are examples of Birds. Like Harley Quinn)

It’s also fitting that the two sole idealists in this series from opposite ends of the spectrum, duked it out.

HECTOR is a Snake primary. His ideal ending is being left alone with someone he likes, and writing a book. I don’t really want to go into him a lot because his scenes often upset me. Tl;dr, Hector really likes his people, and will do anything for them even if it may be the bad thing. He’s a planner by nature and had an insanely well crafted escape plan that he never got to use.

LENORE is a double Badger. She cares about people, she makes peace, and she’s the most softhearted of the sisters. That is it I am FINALLY done with this post.

So...

Trevor Belmont - Burnt “Defeated” Badger primary that unburns/Lion secondary

Sypha Belnades - Badger primary/Bird secondary, Lion model for fighting that she picked up from Trevor

Adrian “Alucard” Tepes - Burnt Badger primary that unburns/Neutral-ish Snake Secondary

Dracula - Snake primary/Bird secondary, secondary burns after season 1 (because he must already be dead)

Lisa Tepes - Badger primary/Bird secondary

Carmila - Exploded Lion primary/Lion secondary, Snake model

Issac - Bird primary/Badger secondary, formerly burnt

Hector - Snake primary/Bird secondary

Lenore - Badger primary/Courtier Badger secondary

[starry-sky-stuff]

Sorting Once Upon a Time

This is my sorting of the main characters of OUAT. I've only watched the first three seasons so my sortings will be based on that. If you have thoughts on the secondary characters or main characters introduced later feel free to add them.

For the sorting system check out @sortinghatchats and @wisteria-lodge

Thanks for the help sorting @missbrunettebarbie

Emma Swan’s primary motivation at all times is her son. She doesn’t get attached to the town of Storybrooke or her role as the Saviour, the way a Badger or Lion Primary would. All Emma really wants is for Henry and her family to be safe, a very clear Snake Primary. Prior to the start of the series, Emma’s a Burned Snake due to her experiences of being in the foster system and Neal seemingly abandoned her. But over the course of season one she starts to let Henry in and slowly unburn. She probably also has a Lion Primary model considering her constant references to her intuition and gut instincts. Her Lion Secondary is also very obvious. Her first reaction to pretty much every problem is to shoot or stab it. Although she falls into the leadership role she’s never the planner, she’s always the one telling the others to cut the bullshit and work together towards their shared goal.

Regina Mills shares the same primary and motivation as Emma. They’re both Snake Primaries whose main goal is to protect Henry. Also like Emma, her primary’s burned when she lost Daniel and she eventually became the Evil Queen as she lost any and everyone she cared about. Only in season three does she start to completely unburn through her relationship with Robin (she'd partially unburnt before as she opened herself up to Henry). On the surface, Regina looks like the cunning Double Snake who will do anything to get what she wants. But it’s all an act. She puts on a Snake Secondary Model to play into the Evil Queen persona, but the way she gets things done is through plans or magic, making her a Bird Secondary.

Rumplestilskin’s goals in the first three seasons are to get back first Belle and then his son. And when the two people he cares about are safe, he literally does not care. He cannot be moved by moral pleas or arguments. If he doesn’t care then he won’t help unless you give him something he wants. Rumplestilskin did choose power over his son but spent decades regretting that decision and doesn’t justify it in a way another primary might. And his journey culminating in his death in season three is learning to put others before himself. A very clear Snake Primary. On the face of it, he might look like a sneaky and cunning Snake Secondary, and I think he definitely has a model, but he’s actually a Bird Secondary. He’s the one who makes the plans, including having Regina adopt Emma’s son in order to get Emma to break the curse in the future. He literally owns a pawn/antiques shop full of tools he’s acquired.

Prince Charming is the character who puts the most focus on the idea of family and the community of Storybrooke/Enchanted Forest. He also engages in a fair amount of dehumanisation of ‘villains’, treating them like they’re lesser, a clear indication of a Badger Primary. As he said in season two, Snow did the talking and he did the fighting. Like his daughter, he’s a straightforward Lion Secondary who fights his way out of every problem. That would make him a Badger/Lion, the protagonist sorting which I guess is what the show was going for.

Snow White who became a bandit after her father’s death is not a Loyalist. She isn’t attached to the community of her kingdom or it being hers, and makes no immediate attempt to take it back after Regina seizes it. Instead, she’s a Lion Primary who believes wholeheartedly and fervently in the cause of opposing evil, who was probably a little burnt during her bandit period. In season two, her primary burns when she loses faith and her belief that things will work out and very quickly decides that killing Cora is totally justified. Snow’s a Badger Secondary focused on community building. She’s the one who makes speeches and forms teams, even if it’s usually her husband or daughter who actually leads them. She also tricked Regina into killing Cora by playing on her own reputation for being good and forgiving.

Henry Mills who’s known as the truest believer is a shining Lion Primary. In season one, he believes in magic in spite of no one else believing him and his mother actively gaslighting him on the matter. Considering his attempt to destroy magic by blowing up the well in season two and his deep dislike of being lied to, I’m going to go with a Lion Secondary.

[uncomposed-witing]

Reunion Dabi x F!Reader

So this is my first drabble. It definitely is longer than I was expecting but I really enjoyed writing this. Let me know if you have any requests!

~3k words

“No, it can’t be.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

“You’re alive,” you said as tears poured down your cheeks staining them.

***********

An explosion had gone off and luckily you were on patrol nearby. You ran straight to the building and started evacuating civilians. As you were motioning people away from the scene you notice a body lying among the rubble.

“Oh please don’t be dead,” you thought to yourself.

Getting closer you noticed his face was covered in scars and staples. That’s when you realized this was Dabi the notorious villain. Carefully, you stepped closer to see if he was even alive. After confirming he was breathing you noticed his body was trapped under some debris from the explosion. Grunting, you lifted the heavy block of concrete away from his body and quickly rolled it aside with the other rubble.

Dusting off your hands you looked back at Dabi. His breathing was less labored now that the weight was off him and he looked almost peaceful. Still having your guard up, you crawled closer to him over the rubble. Ever so slowly you reached behind you to grab your quirk suppressing rope. You were finally going to bring Dabi in for questioning on the League of Villains. He would no longer be able to terrorize the students at UA. As the thought crossed your mind your hands started shaking. This was too important, you couldn’t mess this up.

Taking a deep breath to ease your nerves, you looked at him again. Nothing could go wrong, he was passed out. Slowly you grabbed his right hand to bring it closer to his left so you could tie him up. As you were moving him his hand suddenly grasped your wrist. Heat flared up on your wrist burning you and you gave a cry at the sudden pain.

Looking up your eyes met cerulean blue eyes.

You could never forget those eyes.

“No, it can’t be” you breathed out as if saying it any louder would make it true.

You shook your head as though trying to clear it before your (e/c) eyes met blue again.

“You’re alive,” you said as tears started pouring down your cheeks.

“Don’t get emotional on me now sweetheart. It’s gonna take more than rubble to kill me,” he said

He didn’t recognize you. Suddenly you began to doubt yourself. This wasn’t him. He’d know you instantly, even if it had been a few years and he hadn’t seen you in your hero outfit...he just had to remember you. Right?

Looking at him, you slowly reached your unburnt hand forward to his scarred face. “What happened to you?” you asked

“You’ve already got one burned hand do you want to wind up as scarred as me?” he asked agitation clear on his face while his grip tightened on your already burned wrist.

“You really don’t know me?” you asked desperation starting to show in your voice.

“Look, sweetheart, I’m sure you’re some big-time hero or whatever. You’re pretty, alright, but I don’t exactly go for the hero type. Now if you just let me go, I won’t have to burn you anymore.”

“You always were so confident you would win” you huffed out a small laugh.

“I’ve missed you Touya.” You added

His face deadpanned before turning into a snarl. One second you were crouched down and hovering over him, the next you were laid on your back, rubble digging into your exposed flesh and Dabi hovering over you holding his blue flame close enough that you could feel the heat.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Your eyes flicked from his fire to his face. “You really forgot me then? Look at me Touya. Please?”

“Don’t call me that!” he seethed, but his eyes met yours and as he looked at you his blue eyes softened. The flame in his hand flickered out. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face.

“(y/--”

Before either of you could say anything, voices of other pro heroes could be heard snapping Dabi out of his trance.

“I saw (y/n) head over here, but no one’s seen her for a while.” the familiar voice of Miruka said.

Without warning, Dabi grabbed your quirk suppression rope and tied your hands together before holding his hand over your mouth.

“Don’t make a sound,” He threatened.

He quickly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder running through the debris.

Finally arriving at a rundown motel. He dropped you into a chair and re-tied your hands to the armrests.

“Talk” he demanded

You let out a low laugh. “About what?”

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am” you replied matter of factly.

Dabi suddenly started pacing around the room before stopping in front of you. His hand shot out grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

“(y/n)?” he asked hope laced into his voice as he began rubbing his thumb over your cheek.

You shuddered at the contact and he quickly pulled away.

“Touya--”

“Touya’s dead,” he stated

“No, you’re not. I thought you were. Everyone tried telling me you were never coming back but I--” you choked on a sob. “I never stopped looking for you.” You looked up at him tears brimming in your eyes

“Touya is dead. He died a long time ago in a fire,” He said while looking away from you.

“No.,” you said your voice unwavering.

Dabi looked at you, the determination clear in your voice.

“Its Dabi now,” he said as he leaned against the dresser.

“What happened to you?” You asked again.

“I’m going out. I don’t need to babysit you. I’ll be back later.” he said just before throwing the TV on. “Keep yourself enterta--” he was cut off by the news showing both of your pictures.

“Pro hero (y/n) has been taken hostage by the League of Villains member known as Dabi…” the sound of helicopters overhead caught both of your attention.

“Shit,” Dabi muttered as the news droned on in the background

“So I guess you’re not getting out of this anymore,” you said a smirk on your face.

“Damn it!” he yelled before slamming his hand down on the dresser and splintering the wood.

“Touya--” you were cut off by a glare from him. Rolling your eyes, you continued, “Dabi, what. Happened. Why did you leave? Who gave you your scars? Was it Endeavor? I swear I’ll--”

“You’ll what? You’ll take on the newly ranked #1 hero?” he let out a low chuckle. “He didn’t do this to me anyways. My body couldn’t handle my own quirk. This was all me,” he said while looking at his burnt arms.

“Why did you leave everyone? Why did you leave me?” your voice broke on the last word.

Dabi turned away from your crying form again.

“Look at me dammit!” You yelled.

Slowly, Dabi turned back around tears running down his own face. “I didn’t want to leave you. But I couldn’t take you with me. I couldn’t ask you to run away with me. Besides, you turned out just fine. Look at you becoming a pro-hero.” he sneered.

“You don’t get to make that decision for me, Touya.” as he scowled you glared at him “oh come off it Touya. I loved you. I st--I still love you” you said resigned. “I would’ve gone with you.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. You’re a pro hero, remember? He said flicking your head.

“You tried to slap his hands away but you couldn’t move due to the restraints. “Get me out of these,” you demanded.

“Why? So you can try and capture me again?” he asked coyly.

You sighed in exasperation. “I only became a pro-hero to continue my search for you.”

His lips were suddenly pressed against yours and pushing you back in the chair. You would’ve fallen over if he hadn’t caught you. He set the chair back on the ground before resting his forehead against yours.

“Touya” when you noticed his shudder you tried again “Dabi, please. Untie me.”

His hands were shaking as he slowly untied your wrists. Once they were free you rubbed the soreness away. Looking at him you ran your hand along his cheek tracing his staples before gently tugging on his black hair. “I preferred it red” you muttered. Dabi just laughed.

He lifted you out of the chair and carried you over to the bed where he gently put you down. Crawling beside you, his warmth quickly engulfed you as you cuddled up next to him.

Turning to face him, he pulled you close again burying his face in your neck and breathing you in. His breath tickling you, you teased “I guess this is your goth phase, huh?” he let out a husky chuckle as you began to run your fingers through his untamed hair. “Does this mean I have to go back to black eyeliner, chokers, and thigh high fishnets?” You added when suddenly his mouth was attacking your neck and his hand roughly grabbed your ass.

“Now it does” was all he responded. He hooked his finger under your hero costume and quickly snapped it against your skin bringing a soft yelp from your lips.

“I really missed all the fun with you, didn’t I? At least I’m the only one who’s had you. Right?” he asked with a hint of aggression entering his voice and his hand tightening on your hip again.

“You,”  you flicked his forehead, “don’t get to ask that.” you paused. “So are you going to tell me what happened?”

As Dabi started explaining all the events that led up to him running away and his life after, you listened intently, never interrupting him. You found out he checked up on you once but seeing you be heartbroken over him was too much so he never did again. By the time it was dark out, he finished his story and you had made your decision.

“Dabi, I’m coming with you,” you stated.

“(y/n), you--”

“Don’t you dare tell me that I can’t. You left me once, and it --it broke me, Dabi. I’m not losing you again. Not after I just found you.”

“So what you’ll just quit being a hero and join the League?” he mocked.

“If that’s what it takes.”  Dabi looked at you and noticed how serious you were.

Sighing he said, “we don’t have to figure it out now. Let’s just...go to bed and get some sleep.”

After showering, Dabi gave you one of his t-shirts so you wouldn’t have to sleep in your hero costume. You cuddled up to him in bed finally comfortable as he rubbed soothing circles into your hand. Looking at your burnt wrist he began to apologize. “I’m sorry” he murmured as he pressed his lips to the burn.

“We match now” you replied as you brought your lips up to his. You playfully bit his lower lip and he granted you access as you began to explore his mouth lazily with your tongue. Pulling away you whispered a soft “goodnight”.

His hands were lazily tracing your body before he asked, “so who were the others?”

“Hmm?” you asked confused, blinking your eyes open.

“Who else have you been with?” he said pinching your side.

“Ow. no, you don’t get to know that. They didn’t mean anything I was just lonely since you left me.” you poked him in the cheek. “Now, get some sleep”

You closed your eyes again before he asked “how many?” your eyes shot open. “To--Dabi!” Looking at him you realized he was still stubborn as ever and wouldn’t drop this.

“ Fine. I’ll tell you how many if you tell me yours.”

“Deal. None.”

“None. You’re lying.”

“Nope. Turns out having scars all over your body isn’t exactly the biggest turn on for most people. Shocking I know. Now, your turn.”

“But that’s not fair” you pouted.

“Your. Turn.”

“Ugh. Just...promise you won’t be mad?”

When he just glared at you, you sighed.

“Fine, five”. When his grip on you tightened you grabbed his hands. “They meant nothing. I was just...going through a lot”.

“Because I left”

“But you’re back now,” you said kissing his nose. “And I’m not letting you go so easily again.”

“Well at least now we’re even,” Dabi sighed. When you just looked at him confused he added, “I was your first, but you know I had been with other girls before you.”

“They don’t matter though. I have you and I’m never letting you go” you said pressing a kiss to his lips. 

Dabi grinned pulling you closer to him. “As if I’d ever let you go again.”

Bonus:

The next morning you were woken up by someone knocking on the door. Bolting upright you tried grabbing Dabi as he walked to answer it. “Dabi, they’re still looking for you” you hissed.

“It’s fine,” he said as he laughed.

Opening the door a blonde girl wearing a high school uniform was there. Pushing her way in, Dabi rolled his eyes at her. “Make yourself at home, Toga”.

“What were you thinking grabbing that her--” she stopped mid-sentence as she noticed you. As she took you in her eyes raked down you noticing where you were and what you were wearing

“Toga, this is (y/n), (y/n) this is Toga, we work together,” Dabi explained.

“Ya I know,” you responded warily.

“You slept with her?” Toga asked gesturing to the bed

As you blushed bright red Dabi just chuckled. “No, not like that anyways. Yet,” he added with a wink. You responded by throwing a pillow at him.

Damn him and his ego you thought to yourself.

Getting out of bed you felt completely exposed. Pressing your body into Dabi’s side, he quickly threw his arm around you.

“She’s on our side so play nice. Don’t worry, princess,” he reassured Toga. “I’m bringing her to meet everyone else later.”

“She’s cute… too cute for you anyways” she huffed.

At that you laughed and looked at Toga. “oh, we’re gonna get along great.”

Dabi just smacked your ass, earning a yelp of surprise from you.

“Oh, we’re going to be best friends” Toga smiled reaching towards you.

“Watch it princess” he threatened to Toga while pushing you behind him. She simply pulled out a knife and started cleaning her nails. “As for you, don’t start getting sassy with me.” he pinched your side.

“Getting sassy? It really has been too long. I’ve always been this way.”

[5lazarus]

old forms, new movement

finished binging avatar: the last airbender and decided that’s what thedas looked like before Solas raised the Veil Solas interacts with a romanced Lavellan’s daughter, in a world where Lavellan shames him into admitting he is Fen’Harel and his role in Corypheus’ plans. not all is well, but it’s getting better.

------

Solas is canvassing the forest outside of Skyhold’s walls, looking for the royal elfroot he planted when they first arrived, when he sees them: mother and daughter, slowly moving through an old martial magic form. He can feel the manipulation of the Veil as both pluck and twist at it, and pull the Fade between vibrato and out of their bodies as a thin flame. He pauses and watches. Before he raised the Veil, the fire they summoned would have been hot enough to melt the snow about them. But Lavellan carefully guides a thin whip, and slows to make sure her daughter can copy, and does not hurt herself. Internal burns are the most difficult to heal.

They move through the Dragon’s Dance. Now, the earth does not tremble, the trees do not shake, and the forest stays decidedly unburnt. At the end, mother and daughter face each other and in unison exhale, breath sparking. “See?” Inquisitor Lavellan, Imladris Ashallin, says. “This is what I meant by discipline. If you stay calm, if you remain in control over your breathing, you don’t need a staff. Even your breath can be a weapon. You can feel the energy move through your body, can’t you? The movement helps guide it, but it’s your breath that controls it. And it’s your mind that controls your breath.”

Mathalin holds out her hands and closes her eyes. Imladris smiles and clasps them. Solas understands suddenly that he is intruding as he feels them both casting their energy down into the earth and probing outward, and the two turn around to regard him, Mathalin unhappily, Imladris neutral. The two are tense. He almost steps back, but doesn’t. Pride goeth before the fall.

“I didn’t know the Dalish still preserved those forms,” he comments. It is the wrong thing to say. Imladris turns away from him and pulls her daughter closer.

She tells her, in a language she thinks he does not know, “Well done. I’m proud of you. You caught on faster than I did, at your age. Of course, you have a better teacher than I did.”

Mathalin looks away. “You don’t have to flatter me.” She slips out of her grasp, and Imladris says, “I wasn’t...” to her retreating back. Solas steps out of her way. Mathalin glares at him as she passes. He feels guilty, he always feels guilty. Though they generally get along, as much as any middle-aged deity and teenaged girl can, Mathalin has so little time with her mother, and Solas has been monopolizing enough of Imladris’ time as they prepare to confront Corypheus at the Arbor Wilds.

“You should go after her,” he says.

Imladris is watching her daughter make her way back to Skyhold. “Later. I’ve been drilling her since dawn.” Her eyes move to his face, and she says, “It’s not your fault. She’s been angry with me since Halamshiral.” He reaches for her hand and they watch to make sure Mathalin makes it safely through the gate. “She thought I should have brought her, presented her as my daughter. Or at the very least, snuck her in as a servant to spy.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Imladris looks up at him. “Sera already harvested the feladara you planted. She baked them into those ‘pride cookies’ she was throwing at people last week.”

Solas takes a moment to mourn the loss of the very potent high he had spent two months waiting for, and then says, “Don’t try to deflect.” He grasps both of her hands now, and Imladris smiles despite herself. “You are upset. What is the matter?”

“Mathalin’s forgetting her Orlesian Dalish,” Imladris says. “Which her father taught her. Mirwen barely knows any, not enough for her to practice. She thinks I’m keeping her away from her father’s heritage. As if I didn’t want to send her to her grandmother, rather than risk her safety in Skyhold.”

“Ah,” Solas says, to say something. One does not learn how to be a stepfather in the Fade, and it was not a position he ever found himself close to before entering uthenera. He had been a mentor before, distant and perhaps a little cruel. This was uncharted territory. “I could talk to her, if you like.” He can wax poetic about cultural alienation for hours, though perhaps a sixteen-year-old girl would not be the best audience.

He finds Mathalin moving through the same firebending form by the barn, too fast, too jerkily. The surgeon is watching, frowning. He sees the moment where the child unbalances herself; her breathing hitches, her left foot lands slightly off-angle, and both he is across the field and pulling the fire out of her before it explodes out of her skin.

“Da’len,” he snaps, “man’itha.” Child. Watch yourself.

She gasps--she’s burnt the inside of her mouth. The surgeon hurries over and clucks her tongue. “Dalish,” she shakes her head. “Needs more discipline.”

“She’s half-Orlesian too,” Solas responds. “And your people aren’t known for their...restraint, either.”The surgeon rolls her eyes and hands Mathalin a waterskin, who drinks eagerly.

“Tastes like chilies,” she croaks.

“You’re lucky you can still taste,” Solas says. He’s exasperated. Surely he was not this foolish and stubborn, at her age--and then he remembers he was much worse.

“I didn’t know you were from Orlais,” The surgeon says. She narrows her eyes at him, attempting to add Fen’Harel, Arlathan, Orlais, and his general lack of exuberance and coming up with contradictions. Solas pauses and glances at Mathalin, who looks away.

“The Inquisitor’s first husband, Mahanon, was from the Val Royeaux alienage,” he says carefully. “I am told that both Mathalin and Mirwen resemble him closely.” And pointedly, they do not resemble him. What was it that Felassan said? Mahanon was so lively, always had a blush in his cheek--quite unlike your corpselike pallor, lethallin, Imladris needs to leave you out in the sun a bit more, you look like you belong in the Mire. 

“He only died eight years ago,” Mathalin says. “You can’t strike him from the historical record yet.” Solas winces. The surgeon takes that moment to make a tactical retreat. He does not blame her.

“I’m sorry,” Solas says. He offers her a hand to help her up, but she ignores it, and springs unsteadily to her feet.

“It’s fine. Not your fault they think we all look the same.”

Solas snorts. “Yes.”

Mathalin crosses her arms. “Did my mother send you to talk to me?"

“No, she wouldn’t be so foolish. She thinks she should leave you alone.”

“She’s done enough of that, my whole life.” Mathalin starts walking toward the battlements. Solas follows her, to make sure she does not fall. Imladris should not have been pushing her so hard. He waves at Thom as they pass. The children of Clan Lavellan--Mathalin and Mirwen, Imladris’ daughters, and then her nephews and her niece--all like him, mostly because he takes them as they come and treats them as seriously as they deserve. Mathalin in particular is bright, and proud, hot-tempered as her mother must have been, like a blade before it is tempered. He has always been fond of her, since he found her hiding under his desk, avoiding lessons at the Chantry--even when she decided to test Skyhold’s wards by launching her younger sister from the rookery, he laughed, once his heart started beating again. They are taking the long way towards the Great Hall, along the ramparts. He waits for her to speak. “I know it’s not on purpose. My dad always said she was trying. That she was doing it all for us, when she’d go away on a caravan, or a hunting trip, or--I guess a lot of those were assassinations.”

Solas is silent. He remembers how hungry he had been for Mythal’s favor, when he had first risen in her service--as if those moments plotting her wars could erase the long years she had spent away from her people, raiding with Elgar’nan, as if that could soften his anger that she had made him and dropped him off and forgotten about him, and as soon as he had made himself interesting, she had whistled and he had come running like a trained hunting dog. Imladris is a better mother than Mythal, by far; she has never enslaved any of her children. But leadership and parenthood are difficult hats to juggle.

Before they get to Cullen’s office, Mathalin turns to him. “I’m not mad about that, though. She thinks I am, but I’m not. I’m mad that I get to spend all this time with her now, and it’s only because she’s been made Inquisitor. It doesn’t matter that my father was killed, as soon as she was able she went back to the field.” Solas winces and hopes Mathalin has the sense not to tell Imladris that. “Nothing short of a global catastrophe can get my mother to straighten out her priorities. And now, it’s just too much. She won’t let me go anymore. Most elves my age are starting their apprenticeships--Knight-Commander Helaine told me she’d teach me the Way of the Knight-Enchanter. Ambassador Briala asked me to join her guard. Keeper Hawen even said he could use a younger mage to help with banishing the demons from Var Bellanaris. And, well, my grandmother could always use help.”

Solas marvels briefly at how mother and daughter can utterly misunderstand each other. He and his father had understood each other very well, though Lahtaras had a calmer temperament and a more disciplined nature. He had always been clear about both his affection and expectations: “If you are going to contradict yourself, synthesize it. Discordance brings a greater harmony. Try not to die a slave. Don’t forget that you are one. They won’t.” He wonders what Lahtaras would say to this, what advice he would give.

“She wants to keep you close. Keep you safe,” he says. “She’s afraid you’ll be captured by Corypheus. She’s afraid Briala will hold you hostage. She’s afraid--”

“But I’m not.”

Solas chuckles slightly: youth. “She’s your mother, da’len. You should tell her you need to make your own way--she will be more understanding than you think. But perhaps you should master your forms first. She will breathe much easier, if she knows you will always have the dragon’s breath to protect yourself.”

Mathalin pauses. “I suppose you’re right. Please don’t tell her I burned my mouth.”

Solas fails to point out her face is sunburned. She needs to learn, after all, and leaving Imladris and Mathalin to yell and cry it all out, he absconds to the barn, where Thom and Iron Bull are drowning their sorrows and playing a terrible game of Diamondback. He cleans them all out, and, after his seventh drink, Arlathan brogue eating half his words, lectures them sententiously that children really do only learn if you shout at them, and it’s best if you can set it up so someone else does the shouting, he has a reputation to keep.

[paragonrobits]

What is the limitation in alchemy between transmuting one object to another in FMA, do you think? Is there a limitation to what one could break down in order to make another substance? Is it possible to transmute lead into gold so long as you have an equal amount of it? Or can you not change the base atomic elements of an object? Would it be possible to transmute nonliving matter into meat so long as the necessary amounts are there? Could you return burnt wood to its unburnt form?

my general guess is that its a mixture of having the chemical basis available, and the alchemist having the knowledge to actually perform these feats (thus, an alchemist who has little theoretical knowledge of chemistry would not be able to do some of the really interesting stuff we see lots of other alchemists perform, such as Kimblee’s explosive tricks).

I DO like the idea that alchemists could, theoretically, break down materia substance to make something that’s this universal substance that can be transmuted into whatever they need to build something else entirely, but the practical knowledge to do so may not be available to them at that point?

the lead to gold thing does have it’s basis: early on, Ed transmutes a huge amount of coal into golden ingots to buy off Yoki, which suggests that lead could ALSO be reconfigured. Apparently, the concern of counterfeiting with alchemy is the reason it’s illegal to make gold with alchemy, too! Inflation and all that.

My guess is that the base atomic elements COULD be reconfigured, though the knowledge that this is possible is not, as yet, common scientific knowledge within series.

And I think that you COULD make meat from non-living materials, provided you had the amounts in question, and return burned wood to its original state, but it’d be very tricky to do so. (It also seems like something more easily down with Xingese or Ishvalan techniques?)

Father’s power at the end of the series also tweaks it a little; we see that he can create a sun in the palm of his hand, and control it, but this is also explicitly because he’s absorbed God/the Truth/whatever the heck was going on there, and its unclear whether this is the result of having so many souls inside himself. Seems a bit of a waste to burn so much life just to show off, but it IS also in character for him.

One final point: when Father’s barrier is removed, allowing alchemists to fully draw upon tectonic power, Ed comments that he’s getting MORE out of his transmutations than he’s putting into it, which suggests its not quite as even exchange as was supposed??

[iknownothingihearnothing]

Game of Thrones 8.4 “The Last of the Starks”

I. Am. MAD.

This...this week’s offering right here is an example of an episode I loved and loathed in equal measure. There were lovely moments of--

And then...then there were even more ones of--

Y’all know what I’m talking about. From Brienne’s heartbroken face to that motherfucking Northern stubbornness, to Missandei’s capture and death, to Jon still not knowing enough (he’s so naive), to Euron shooting poor Rhaegal out of the sky, to JON BEING A HORRIBLE WOLF-DADDY!

He just ABANDONED Ghost! Without even a pat goodbye! Even if he had to leave him, he could’ve at least spared a frigging goodbye. Yeah yeah budget blah blah. You couldn’t get an actual big, white, fluffy dog for the few seconds needed for Jon Snow to bid his wolfy buddy who RISKED HIS LIFE for him a proper farewell?! 

I pet my dog and call him a good boy when he gets the ball and goes poop outside. You couldn’t spare more than a “laters, brah” nod to your poor puppy?!

LOOK HOW SAD HE IS!

I want to hug him and kiss him and snuggle him and tell him he’s the goodest boi in the North. Pawning him off to Tormund to live Beyond the Not Wall where he knows no one, what’s the matter with you, Jogon of House Snowaryen?! 

Dany may be leaning a biiiiiit too far into her House Targaryen roots but at least she is a dedicated pet owner. We know she loves her...scale...babies? They have spines, right? Spine babies? Fire babies. 

Ugh, let’s get into this week’s slice of sadness. 

The episode opens with a massive funeral for those that died in the Battle of Winterfell. Including Jorah, Lyanna, Theon, Mr. Edd, and Beric, who is now definitely out of lives.

Dany, crying, leans over Jorah’s prone body, kisses his forehead, and whispers something we’ll never know into his ear.

At least, we’ll never know unless either Emilia or Iain decide to spill the deets. Iain Glen said in a post-ep interview with Entertainment Weekly that it was “something definitely profound”. But who knows, he could be bullshitting us and she actually said “I like muffins” or something and he had to lay there pretending to be dead.

On second thought, she’s English. So perhaps she prefers crumpets. 

Sansa is sniffling over Theon’s body and places a House Stark pin in his shirt. Jon is looking out at this sea of corpses like--

There is no more Ol’ Nighty to bring them back.

Or so we’re led to believe. 

The camera pans across the mourners and we catch a glimpse of our favorite furry friend.

He’s such a good, loyal doggo. Wolfo? Direwolfo. 

Oh Jon I am so MAD AT YOU!

Saving my rage for a bit further down. Barely.

Jon gives a farewell speech about all their dead--they defended the realms of men, no one will ever see their like again, etc. etc.--and then some of the mourners who knew the dead best are given flaming branches in order to set the bodies alight. In the North, they burn their dead. I guess cus the ground is forever frozen and one day someone from House Whyrevr said fuck it and lit his dead grandma on fire. 

Afterwards, they have a joint funeral/”glad we’re alive” party because of course they do. Kinda reminiscent of our shiva except people are sitting on chairs. At the head table, Jon is looking awkwardly at Dany--apparently, that whole “we’re technically related and oh you have a better claim to the throne than me” stuff has lingered beyond fighting for their lives. Damn. Not even surviving Team Undead’s invasion could get them out of that business. 

Elsewhere, Gendry asks the Hound if he’s seen Arya. Does Robert’s bastard have a wee more on his mind than all the death? Like, say, his wee-wee?

Some things never change, no matter what century it is.

Gendry tries to stutter that it’s not about that but the Hound knows it is. Gendry’s alive and the dead are not. Might as well take ASS-vantage of it.

Eh? Eh?

Srsly, this is like the worst party in the history of Westeros. Uh, aside from the Red Wedding (but not the Purple one, #ByeJoflecia). They just buried burnt a heap of their dead, two of their hosts are keeping a huge secret from everyone (and being super weird around each other because of it), and Dany’s endlessly fighting against that frigging Northern hardheadedness. It’s not GREAT, Bob.

Speaking of that famous Northern jackassery, Dany sees an opportunity to crack that stubborn ice as Gendry crosses the party hall. Calling him over, she at first inquires about his parentage, asks him if he knows that Robert Baratheon kinda had her whole family killed and wanted to slaughter her as an infant. Gendry’s like “Whoa, did not know that he was my daddy until after he was dead” and Dany’s all “Yep he dead and so are Renly and Stannis so who’s Lord of Storm’s End?” and no one knows.

This is Dany’s chance to make good.

Not only did Gendry survive the battle, he got laid and made a lord!

You go, Glenn Coco, Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End!

Ser Davos, the onion knight (lol) leads the room in a toast to Gendry, the newest Lord on the block.

Don’t be fooled cus he’s now a Lord, he’s still he’s still Gendry from the Forge.

Tyrion remarks that now Gendry will forever be loyal to her and Dany says that he is not the only one that is clever.

Sansa, hearing this, looks at her like bats just sprouted from her head and flew out her ears while her eyes turned red as she chuckled evilly.��

Oh, come on! This is what people in powerful positions on the show do. That’s how they secure allies without, you know, marrying their allies. You want someone’s loyalty, do something for them. Dany’s not the first one to try that. And it’s not like she had Drogon Dracarys the hell out of one of Gendry’s enemies to secure that loyalty. She made him a damn Lord. 

The Starks are annoying me this season. Except when Arya laid the smacketh down on Ol’ Nighty. 

In another corner, Jaime and Brienne are celebrating by gettin’ crunk. She offers a halfassed excuse but Jaime’s all “Dude, we defeated a horde of zombies. Drink up!” and she does, giving him this look:

Bow chicka wowowwwwwwwwwwwwww chicka chicka boom.

Not that I can blame her. Aside from all that incestin’, Jaime’s a fine slice of Kingslayer pie.

Ser Davos of House Onion and Tyrion are talking about Melisandre, who last episode took off her necklace and aged into evaporation. Davos tells Tyrion that he swore to Melisandre he would kill her next time he saw her but he never got the chance, as she did it to herself. Or the Lord of Light took her. Or whatever. They don’t like him much. They fight his war and then he fucks off. 

Tyrion crosses the room to BranBot, who is reading in his wheelchair, which Tyrion calls a clever invention. I keep forgetting that wheelchairs aren’t really a thing in Westeros. 

BranBot, as animated as he’s programmed to be, delights in telling Tyrion that it is reminiscent of the one Daeron Targaryen made for his nephew over a hundred years ago. Just your regular episodic reminder that BranBot is...BranBot. 

Tyrion says BranBot’s BranVision will come in handy as the Lord of Winterfell, which he technically is as Ned Stark’s last surviving “trueborn” son. But BranBot doesn’t want it. BranBot doesn’t really want anything or anyone. He totally just doesn’t care, man.

Tyrion envies BranBot’s ability to not give a shit and and BranBot tells him not to because--

Yes, yes. You’re an “old soul”, BranBot. BranBot calls himself a grandpa in a teenager’s body. He forgets what generation he is and refers to people his own age as “you youngins”. He constantly crows that he is a “proud introvert” who’d rather be reading. We KNOW, BranBot!

Tormund leads a toast (with his awesome tusk cup) to the Dragon Queen and everyone cheers so maybe Dany’s making headway. She herself turns her own toast to Arya, the hero of the Battle of Winterfell. 

Jaime, Brienne, Tyrion, and Pod are playing a Westerosi version of Never Have I Ever with wine and Tormund, a bit drunk off his red ass, is going on and on about how awesome Jon is. Meanwhile, Dany is listening and though she toasts him she knows that she will always be an outsider to these people and they fucking love Jon.

Also, this happened:

“May I have your name?”

“Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons.”

“Okay, that’s Daniellris Shoehorn, the Sunburnt, Keen of Mean Girls, Bean of the Sandals and the Thirsty Hen, Call Sweetie of the Eight Assed Bee, Brother of Wagons. Is that correct?”

“Ugh. Just write Dany.”

“Okay, Fannie.”

The PTB at HBO have since digitally removed The Cup from the episode but wah bro I think they should have kept it in. That’s hilarious. I want to live in a world where Starbucks exists on Game of Thrones. And it survived the battle. Of course House Styrbycks is right around the corner from Winterfell, conveniently situated at the heart of the town square. 

And you better believe there’s a ride-thru for the horseman on the go.

I enjoy how HBO came out with a statement that Dany ordered herbal tea. I can see Dany ordering herbal tea.

In warmer climes, though, she’s definitely a dragon fruit smoothie girl.

Aside: Liam Cunningham recently went on Conan and gifted him The Cup:

He swore it was the actual cup. How is that even possible?! Wouldn’t someone have tossed it after all this time? And the fact that it was still around had to signal to someone on set that a) trolol a person in Consistency fucked up and at least one dude on GoT knew it before the ep aired and b) that Emilia’s discarded latte appearing in a scene would be gold. 

I want to believe it’s legit. I want to believe so hard that it’s the real Cup and that all these circumstances came together to land the Cup in Liam’s hand all this time later. I want to, and so I shall.

(Yes, I know it is not the real Cup but shh I want to BELIEVE!)

So, Dany is watching everyone have fun and be close with each other, especially how everyone seems to love Jon here, and she’s feeling even more like an outsider (and not a bit insecure about her claim to the throne) and she gets up and leaves. Varys starts to follow her with his watchful Varys eyes.

Jaime, Brienne, Podrick, and Tyrion are still playing their game and getting increasingly drunker doing so. Drunker and more giggly. Everything’s all well and good until Tyrion suddenly sits up, looks Brienne in the eye, and accuses her of being a--dun dun dun--virgin. Pod nonchalantly sips his wine.

Brienne clambers out of her seat and mutters that she has to piss. Tormund, also drunk as a skunk, stumbles to their table, celebrating, and asks--

Well? Who did shit in Tormund’s pants?!

It’s kinda awks because Tormund is into Brienne but Brienne has feelings for Jaime and when did GoT become a teen soap opera? It’s like The North 00000 up in here.

Tyrion pours more wine into Tormund’s tusk as Jaime follows Brienne out.

Dramz. Will they? Won’t they? Stay tuned next week!

No, they totally will right now. 

But first, Tormund is going to bitch.

I was cheering for Tormund to win his Big Woman, I really was. But then Jaime showed up and their chemistry just...reignited. 

Tormund expresses sadness until a Northern lady volunteers to take up his time. The Hound continues to drown his sorrows--tho idk what he’s sad about, he’s alive--ignoring even the prospect of sexytimes until Sansa, finally able to make eye contact with the Hound, shares his table. It was a long time ago when she couldn’t even look at him, back when she was just a little bird. But now she’s a dark phoenix (see what I did there? Because Sophie Turner is starring in Dark Phoenix!) risen from the ashes, having had her revenge against her latest torturer/husband, Ramsay Bolton via his own hounds.

None of if would’ve happened if Sansa had left K.L. with the Hound way back when. But Sansa gently squeezes his hand and says that without Ramsay, Littlefinger, and all those assholes, she’d still be that same naive little bird.

Anyone else get the vibe that David and D.B. are kinda...trying to justify what Ramsay did to Sansa here? Just an itty bit? All that’s missing is Sansa belting out Christina Aguilera’s “Fighter”. 

Outside, Arya is practicing her archery skillz when Gendry, the new Lord of Storm’s End, is imbued with way too much enthusiasm after being dubbed by Dany and legit blurts out a proposal to his one night stand right then and there.

Ugh. I can’t wait until my shitty copy of Phhotoshop arrives. Until then I have to use paint shop. Look at those corners! They are making me itch.

Anyway, Arya obvs rejects Gendry’s proposal and it’s d’awww. Gendry is like that guy you hook up with once because he’s hot and afterwards, he won’t stop calling you and texting you and trying to add you as a Facebook friend and messaging you on Twitter suggesting that you fly to Michigan to meet his parents for Thanksgiving. This is something I know nothing about.

Ah, now we’ve circled back to the Jaime and Brienne Show!

That’s if he’s not still obsessed with his siiiiiiiiissssterrrr (she’s a psycho!)

Brienne’s throwing more wood onto yet another hearth (there are a lot of hearths in Winterfell) when Jaime knocks on her door and unceremoniously proclaims that she did not drink when Tyrion accused her of being a V to the gin. He pours her some Dornish red and mutters about it being hot in here; Brienne has learned in the North to always keep a fire going. Jaime has learned in the North that he hates the fucking North. Brienne counters that it grew on her.

Jaime wonders if Tormund Giantsbane also grew on her. He seemed quite sad when she left.

He wants the V-card and the V.

Jaime chuckles awkwardly and begins to pull at the collar of his shirt because “it’s bloody hot in here”. Brienne watches him warily for a second until she gets annoyed and unties the garment herself.

You see where this is going.

First time for Jaime, too. He’s never slept with a knight before.

Has he ever slept with anyone who isn’t his sister before?

Shows how much he cares about Brienne. Letting someone in who isn’t Cersei. That’s a good, non-incestuous step forward, Jaime.

It’s a big moment for Brienne, too, aside from the obvious. She’s had a thing for Jaime for years. This is like that guy you’ve been secretly pining for suddenly realizing he’s totally into it.

In the next scene, Dany confronts a “slightly drunk” Jon, who did not know Ser Jorah very well, but he is pretty sure that if he would’ve chosen a way to die, it would have been protecting Dany. Dany knows Jorah loved her, but she couldn’t love him back--not the way he deserved, not the way she loves Jon.

They kiss and it’s like before Jon ever found out he’s also Aegon until--

“Does Westeros have any support groups for this? Maybe I should ask Ser Jaime.”

Jon wishes that Dany had never told them that they were related and I’m sitting here like--

He would’ve figured it out sooner or later, right? I mean, if he knew he was half Targaryen and all and Rhaegar was his daddy. I understand math is hard but...

Dany tries to forget and sometimes almost succeeds until tonight when she saw all those people gathered around him, looking at him like I’m The Hero! People have looked at her like that before, lots of people, but not here, not on this side of the Narrow Sea. She begs him not to tell anyone of his Targaryen lineage, to swear Samwell and BranBot to secrecy, so that things could go back to how they were before between them. 

But Jon must tell Sansa and Arya because family and nobility and Starkism and all that. And we all know Sansa no likey Dany, despite the fact that HER ARMIES SAVED YOUR NORTHERN ASS.

She begs him some more and he promises that she is his Queen and they can all live together. And they can, if Jon keeps his trap shut.

In Brienne’s quarters, if the animal pelts are a rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’!

Warm enough in there now, Brienne? 

In the War Room--damn, don’t we all aspire to have a War Room?--our favorites are gathered around the Great Table or whatever with a map of Westeros in the center and some old timey Checkers pieces standing in for the two sides’ respective armies. Obvs, the Battle of Winterfell has depleted Dany and Jon’s forces greatly, but they still have enough to wage hell on Cersei. Yara has taken back the Iron Islands in her name, and the Prince of Dorne pledges his support. Still, Cersei has the Golden Company led by Guyliner Greyjoy and the Lannister Army fresh and ready to fight. 

Dany is not appeased. No matter how many noble people declare their fealty to her, while Cersei still sits on the Iron Throne, she can still call herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Jon, Tyrion, and Varys reassure her with talk of dragons and the people of K.L. having rebelled against their King before. Sansa adds that she wants to give the armies time to recuperate, which is also--

--since they just fought Team Undead and all. But Dany wants to hit up K.L. NOW NOW NOW because the longer they wait, the stronger her enemies become. Or something.

Someone’s starting to lean a wee too far into her Targ roots. It’s just common sense, Dany. Take a chill pill.

But Jon sticks up for his GF. Very sternly, he swears the North will honor its commitments and allegiance to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and blah blah blah. 

Dany appears smug.

Silently, Arya and Sansa trade glances like--

Tyrion narrates that Jon will lead the remaining forces up the Kingsroad while a smaller group of them will take a fleet to Dragonstone while the Queen will follow on...dragonback.

Jaime will remain at Winterfell as a guest. 

The camera ticks to Brienne’s expression at the mention of her former crush and new lovah’s name:

She’s trying to outwardly remain passive, but inside--

She’s getting laid and she’s not dead. Those are good times in Westeros.

Dany completes the conference and Arya demands a word with Jon. Outside, Jon is like “We’d all be DEAD if not for her” which is again DUH and Sansa snides “Arya’s the one that killed the Night King”. Arya wouldn’t have had the chance to kill the Night King without Dany’s armies because they’d all be DEAD. Seven Hells, you people are ridiculous. “We don’t trust her, ShE’s nOt OnE oF Us.” That is an absurd reason not to trust someone. I’m from New Jersey. It’d be like me about to be murdered and refusing help from someone because they’re from Florida. Don’t trust her because of her personality not because of where she is from.

And then, like a naive idiot, Jon actually thinks because he swore them to secrecy, Sansa and Arya will for sure totally keep his true lineage behind zipped lips.

This here was one of the scenes that made me roll my eyes so hard, they almost got stuck.

From that, thankfully, GoT moves on to one of my favorite scenes of the episode. Jaime and Tyrion sitting there over drinks gossiping like yentas. Jaime’s giving his younger brother all the deets vis-a-vis his liaison with Brienne. When Tyrion doesn’t say anything snide, Jaime is visibly uncomfortable, and Tyrion claims he’s happy Jaime is happy. 

And--

Tyrion has been waiting for ages to make tall person jokes.

He also wants to know what she’s like “down there”. Jaime calls him a dog.

But then Bronn shows up, finally after Creepy Qyburn hired him to kill Cersei’s “traitorous brothers”, a bit drunk off his ass, brandishing that crossbow. After he smacks Tyrion in the nose, he tells them that Cersei offered him Riverrun, but he knows the Queen is fucked after seeing Dany’s dragons, even with their depleted forces. And Cersei can’t pay up if she’s dead, so...

So Tyrion counters the offer. Highgarden for Riverrun. Bronn would be made Lord of the Reach. It’s certainly open now that House Tyrell has been decimated (RIP Olenna, you ultimate badass). Jaime blanches. How could Tyrion just give him Highgarden? Well hell, it’s better than being dead. 

Jaime doesn’t think Bronn will seriously kill them. Jaime is wrong.

Jaime scoffs Highgarden will never belong to a cuttrhoat but Bronn laughs pish-posh. Isn’t that how all the great Houses started? Kill a few hundred, they make you a Lord. Kill a few thousand, they make you a King?

Tyrion gives Bronn-y his word he’l give him Highgarden as long as they take King’s Landing. Bronn opts out of leading the fight, but wishes the brothers luck with a casual “Don’t die”.

The Hound yells “FFS!” when he meets up with Arya on the Kingsroad. Yep, they’re both goin’ Kings Landing way. Nope, Arya doesn’t really care to hang around, even if she is the hero after knifing that horned fucker. Yes, she probably will abandon the Hound again if he gets hurt.

They both have “unfinished business”. Arya to scratch Cersei off her infamous Kill List. The Hound, presumably, to finally fulfill our fantasy of Clegane Bowl!

Elsewhere, Dany is getting ready to leave the fucking frozen North, petting her dragons. And on this show, that is not a euphemism. One of them, presumably Rhaegal, takes flight.

While Drogon remains with her, that mama’s boy.

On the bridge, Sansa is watching Drogon and Rhaegal lift off, trying to shoot them down with her eyes.

Before he leaves, Tyrion tries to convince her one more time that Daenerys is it, or at least a way better option than Cersei, and he believes in her, her people love her, Jon loves her, etc, and he’d totes appreciate it if they were at least allies, and he turns to leave as the camera pans close on Sansa’s face; she calls him back to spilleth the beans..eth.

Did I win?

As Jon is loading up his Horshon Wagon, Tormund jokes that he’s not riding the dragon down south. Jon laughs that Rhaegal needs a break; he doesn’t need Jon weighing him down.

Tormund says that he has had enough of “the south” and plans to take the Free Folk back Beyond the Not Wall through Castle Black. It’s not home, not where they belong. Or, suddenly, where Ghost belongs either after EIGHT YEARS.

Yeah, this is where I RAGE.

Jon insists the North is no place for a direwolf and asks Tormund to take Ghost with him back Beyond the Not Wall, where he knows no one, will be lonely, and have to contend with even colder weather than what he’s used to. Tormund tells Jon that he has the “real” North running through his veins and “maybe” they’ll meet again before he departs and Jon goes to HUG EVERYONE. 

ALMOST.

RAGE! RAGE AGAINST THE JONCHINE!

I know, I know working with the CGI wolves is ExPeNsIvE, blah blah. I DON’T CARE. There are dragons that spit actual fire on this show. Y’all couldn’t substitute a real big, white, fluffy doggie so Jon could bid his furry friend a real goodbye?! This was the saddest scene in GoT history. Forget Ned’s beheading or even the Red Wedding. This right here is inhuman.

The episode’s director, David Nutter, tried to defend himself, weakly, by insisting he thought this way was more powerful. He obviously does not own dogs. Or any pets of any kind. He did not anticipate how much we all love our furry friends. As soon as the episode aired, Twitter lit up with #GhostDeservedBetter. Poor Ghostie. He lost an ear for you! You’re leaving forever. I snuggle my dogs when I just leave to go to the bathroom. I shall honor Ghost here, First of His Name, Protector of the Realms of Men, the One Eared and the White Furred, Warden of the North. Or at least Warden of the Woof. 

I had to watch this portion a few times to get the right screenshots so now I must go snuggle my own doggies. And tell them they are my own little direwoofies and I will never ever leave them. Especially for King’s Landing.

Jon “I’m the worst Wolf Daddy in Westeros” Snow rides off and Sam, Gilly, Tormund, and Ghost watch him go, even after his owner slighted him, because he is the goodest boi on the continent.

On the way to Dragonstone, Tyrion has immediately spilled to Varys because let’s be honest: Jon’s true parentage was always going to stay a secret for about, meh, an hour? And now eight people know--Jon, Dany, Sansa, Arya, Tyrion, Varys, Sam, and BranBot. Which makes it less a secret and more info. If the internetz had existed back then, the whole of Twitter would’ve known within fifteen minutes. #JongonSnowgaryen would trend worldwide. Westeroswide? 

I need to start following The_Mastr. 

People like Jon. They follow Jon (even tho he’s a terrible pet owner). If this were to get out, Dany would lose the North--Winterfell and the Vale. Sansa would see to that. 

Tyrion suggests marrying them and they could rule together. They love each other, but Varys ain’t so sure Jon could ever see beyond that whole “she’s his aunt” thing. And Dany doesn’t like to have her authority questioned. Then Tyrion cheerfully suggests that Cersei could end up killing them all anyway and that would solve their problems.

And then Guyliner Greyjoy comes out of nowhere and motherfucking shoots down Rhaegal!

I literally gasped “NOOOOOOOOO!” out loud when this happened. My animal-loving heart can only take so much, Game of Thrones. There’s a fan theory that technically we didn’t see Rhaegal die and two somethings appeared in the sky in the trailer for the next episode so he could come back with a vengeance. Please come back with a vengeance, Rhaegal. 

Dany is furious that Captain Maybelline shot her baby and orders Drogon to make a beeline for him. But afraid for her other baby’s life, she turns at the last minute. Euron, annoyed that he only took down one dragon, instead aims for the boat carrying Team Daenerys, which explodes under the force of multiple scorpion arrows. 

All of them swim to shore--all of them, except one. Just before the arrows flew, Grey Worm ordered Missandei to seek refuge on the skiff, and, when we shift to the castle gates, we see Cersei presiding over thousands of innocents who will be caught in the crossfire of war between her and Dany, her child (which she tells Captain Maybellne is his), and a captured Missandei.

In the War Room at Dragonstone--every Great House has a War Room, it seems--our merry band is presiding over a map of King’s Landing where Varys looks Dany in the eye and begs her not to attack the castle. They have Missandei, they killed Rhaegal, yes, but thousands of innocents are held inside the Red Keep, which is Cersei’s modus operandi. Varys pleads with her not to destroy the city she came to save but Dany believes she has a destiny to rid the world of tyrants, and she will fulfill it, no matter the cost.

That sounds vaguely culty, Dany. It wasn’t that long ago you were doing all you could to avoid a battle inside King’s Landing, cus you didn’t wanna destroy the city and the people you were gonna rule over. What happened? Don’t go all Aerys on us.

Tyrion suggests offering Cersei her life in exchange for the throne to avoid carnage. Dany knows Cersei will never go for it, but it’s good for PR, anyway. The people will know that Daenerys Stormborn tried to avoid bloodshed, and Cersei Lannister refused.

Take it back a few, Dany. Just a few, mkay?

At the hearth--there is always a hearth chat going on, and Dragonstone is no exception--Tyrion and Varys are having A Talk. Varys has served many tyrants, and they all talk about destiny and stuff. But, Tyrion negates, Dany has walked through fire and made dragons and lived, maybe she really is destined to rule the Seven Kingdoms. 

Varys considers How To Solve A Problem Like Jon Snow. Who may not be a problem so much as a solution. Who would make a better ruler, Jon or Dany? Varys knows Jon doesn’t wanna rule, which is partly why he bent the knee, but maybe a good ruler would be someone who doesn’t want to rule at all.

And Jon’s a dude, which, in ye olden times, was important. Also why he’s got a tighter claim to the throne than Dany does. They’re talking treason right now. Tyrion accuses Varys of abandoning all of the kings he served under. Varys reaffirms that he will always serve what’s best for the realm and the people, thousands of whom will die if the wrong person sits on the throne. 

Tyrion asks what happens to Dany and Varys gives him a look like “What do you think?” 

At Winterfell, the Northerners are rebuilding while Sansa and Brienne are being all secret-like, talking in whispers and glancing at Jaime. He follows them, having the creeping sensation that they’re talking about something that pertains to him. When he asks what’s up, Brienne tells him that they just got word of Guyliner Greyjoy’s ambush on Dany’s ships, Rhaegal’s death, and Missandei’s capture. 

And another for Jaime Reacting to Bad News screenshots:

BUT what exactly is he reacting to? That Cersei is going to die or that he isn’t going to do it himself?

That night, Jaime is watching Brienne sleep, then creeps outside to pack up his mighty steed to head back to the capital. Too bad Brienne wakes up and catches him. The city is going to be destroyed, they all know this. And Jaime doesn’t have to die alongside Cersei.

Jaime doesn’t think he’s a good man. He pushed a boy out of a window and crippled him for life (which led to him becoming BranBot) for Cersei. He strangled his cousin to get back to Cersei. He would’ve killed every man, woman, and child in Riverrun to get back to Cersei. She’s a monster. And so is Jaime.

And then he leaves and Brienne is heartsick and her POOR FACE. 

THIS EPISODE IS KILLING ME.

But--and I know a lot of other people think this, too--after I wrung my hands a bit, I thought about this moment. I think Jaime’s going back to K.L. to off Cersei himself, leaving Brienne to believe he left because he thinks he doesn’t deserve her. It still SUCKS but it’s less sucky than thinking he’d rather have his twin sister’s V. 

In said capital, the remaining Unsullied and Dothraki forces, along with Dany and her merry men, are lined up outside the gates. Cersei, Pirate von D, and Cersei’s ever lurking zombie Mountain are on the battlements with a chained Missandei. The camera sweeps to show both sides and when did King’s Landing get so FLAT?

Isn’t King’s Landing supposed to be all lush and hilly? What has Cersei done to the place?! This is Dubrovnik, ffs!

Creepy Qyburn comes out of the gates and Tyrion goes to meet him, Hand to Hand. Queen Daenerys demands Cersei’s unconditional surrender and the return of Missandei, unharmed. Queen Cersei demands Daenerys’ unconditional surrender. It’s a stalemate and they’re not getting anywhere so Tyrion tries to appeal to Creepy Qyburn’s logic. They have a chance to prevent bloodshed. To not cause the screams of thousands of children as hellfire is rained down upon them. It’s not a pleasant sound, Qyburn agrees. Alas, he still goes on about Cersei being the one true Queen so Tyrion pushes past him to speak to his sister himself.

Meanwhile, the rest of us are all--

Dany also thinks this is not a good idea.

Some of the Lannister army up on the battlements with Cersei and Co get their bows and arrows ready but as Tyrion approaches, Cersei waves them off with a smug smile. Calling up to her, Tyrion says he knows Cersei doesn’t care about the people of the Seven Kingdoms; they hate her and the feeling’s mutual. 

He mentions her children, her unborn child. How she loved them more than life itself. And just because her reign is over doesn’t mean her life has to end, her her child has to die. 

Just for a moment, one moment, it appears as if his words are getting to her. Cersei takes a deep breath, lets it out shakily. Lena’s acting in this instance is superb. And then, she crosses to Missandei as Dany and Grey Worm race toward the gate in alarm, and murmurs “If you have any last words, now is the time”.

Missandei’s last word?

With her last word, Missandei is telling Dany to fuck it all and burn King’s Landing to the ground.

Cersei gives zombie Mountain the nod to take off Missandei’s head, and poor Grey Worm can’t watch as the undead monster kills his girlfriend.

Dany shakes, turns, and walks away as Cersei smiles triumphantly.

The Mother of Dragons is so done fucking around, y’all.

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh this episode was a ride. I wanted to wring SO many necks. Jon Snow, how does it feel to be the villain of the internet? Jaime, you best be headin’ back to K.L. to kill Cersei. Don’t you be breaking Brienne’s heart for nothing. Burn it all down, Dany! #Cleganebowl!

I am EXCITE for the penultimate ep. So EXCITE!

[the100imagine]

Imagine: Overworked.

Requested by Anon. Includes: Clarke Griffin x Reader. Request: * Can you do an imagine with My baby Clarke <3, Maybe something like you were helping Raven fix the ship, and you were basically doing all the job, you were working so much that Raven had to called Clarke to drag you away and make you rest, that means cuddling with you <3 I love your writting!

Note: I’m still trying to find motivation to write, which I hate having to do because it usually takes forever and I end up putting things off for months so I’m sorry about that. When I first started writing I thought it wouldn’t be that long, but I just kept going because I thought the relationship between the two was cute. Also, I didn’t make the reader gendered, so hopefully that’s okay.

    There was heavy clinking throughout the drop ship and not the good kind that Raven boasted about when she finally got something to work. No. In fact, it was the complete opposite. It shouldn't come as a surprise though. Things had been going to shit ever since you got to Earth. Raven gave up a few minutes ago, claiming to need some air or something along those lines. You couldn't blame her. Part of the drop ship had fried, so you were underneath, trying to fix it. 'Trying' being the keyword. It wouldn't have ended up that way if people had stopped trying to fix it themselves and just called for you or Raven. Soldering was the hardest part, considering you didn't have a soldering iron or anything that would heat the metal up to melt things together. Wires were sticking out everywhere as well—although that was Raven’s doing.

    Parts had come loose, some parts were even missing, which was odd considering they wouldn't have been useful on their own. But, then again, some of the delinquents were thieves, it wouldn't have mattered what it was as long as they could take it and discretely carry it away, they would take it. That pissed you off more than anything. You were just trying to help, which you voiced multiple times, on multiple various occasions, but they just didn't seem to allow that information to go through their thick skulls. They should have just been floated. Granted, you should have been as well, setting a fire on the Ark wasn't the smartest decision you've ever made, but it's one you now had to live with. You weren't one to judge. But you did anyway.

    "Hey," Raven spoke as she dropped back down to where you were.

    "I'm going to kill everyone," you murmured, hissing as a wire shocked you.

    "That bad, huh?"

    With a sigh, you turned your head back to look at her. "What the hell does someone need a broken circuit board for?"

    "They break it?" Raven moved closer, looking at what you were trying to fix.

    "Yeah, I mean, maybe." You shrugged. "I wasn't a designer for this thing, I definitely wasn't part of the assembly team, but if I'm betting on it, this didn't break on its own. More things would be broken if that was the case, but no, it's just this one goddamn circuit."

    "Any clue what was on it?"

    "Maybe something someone could use as a shiv, but it's a long shot at best."

    "Okay, well, do you want me to shake some answers out of people?" Raven suggested, holding her hand out in the air as if weighing possible options.

    Another sigh left your lips. "How about you beat the answers out of them."

    Raven grinned. "I like it when you're feisty."

    "Ha, ha." You rolled your eyes, picking up a spare screw driver.

    "I'll get on it."

    "Thanks," you mumbled, no longer listening as you unscrewed a panel loose, gritting your teeth at the burnt wires. "Perfect."

-

    What had felt like days, but was really a few hours, had long passed over. But, of course, you weren't really keeping track of time. Instead, you had managed to get a few unburnt panels back up and running, somewhat, smoothly, while others just seemed too far gone to even attempt to fix, or even look at. There wasn't much time to celebrate as the small torch you were using continued to flicker and dim, meaning you'd have to go back up at some point and scavenge for batteries or something to charge the other ones with.

    Raven had managed to find a few things, coming back down to see you with some bloodied circuit boards and knuckles, which she simply shrugged about when you asked how she got them. They helped, to some extent. The circuit boards, not her bloodied knuckles. A yawn managed to escape your lips, but you shook it off and opened your eyes wider, trying to get as much done as possible before the light completely failed you.

    Another shock entered your body, and another yelp exited your body. A few strings of curse words followed as you tried not to punch the wall you tried so hard to fix. Raven tried persuading you to try tomorrow when you weren't as fired up or as aggravated, but her words fell on deaf ears as you continued anyway. She even suggested taking over from you, but you knew she would take more breaks than she would actually be doing the job, considering it wasn't that vital, but it was still important enough to get it done relatively quickly.

    Raven dropped back down but stayed silent as you swore again, shaking your hand before rubbing your eyes. "Hey, Reyes, could you pass me the other screwdriver?"

    "I would," Clarke started, "if I was Raven. But I'm not."

    You turned your head to look at her. "Hey, C, what are you doing down here?"

    "The sun set almost three hours ago. The real question is what are you still doing down here?"

    "It did?"

    She hummed. "Yeah."

    "I didn't know."

    "I gathered that much." She chuckled quietly, having to bend down in the crawl space. "Everyone else who isn't on the wall has gone to sleep, maybe you should too."

    "Not until the light goes out." You shook your head. "I'm fine, Clarke, really."

    "So, you say, but Raven has told me otherwise." She tilted her head. "How many times have you shocked yourself."

    "Uh—"

    "See. If you have to think about it, then clearly it's time for you to get some rest."

    "C, I'm fine."

    "You can continue tomorrow morning when you don't need a torch to see, and when your body doesn't want to collapse and sleep down here where the air is full of dirt and drop ship petrol fumes."

    "Do you… ever take a break from being a doctor?"

    "I'm not saying this as your doctor, I'm saying this as your friend."

    You hummed this time, leaning over to pick up the screwdriver yourself, turning back around as you spoke, "Yeah, I'll leave as soon as I'm done here."

    Clarke groaned, shuffling her way over to you, taking the small screwdriver from your hand. "Oh, look, you're done."

    A chuckle left your lips. "C, I don't think that's how it works."

    "Staying up without fresh air, decent amount of sunlight exposure, food, water, or even a small break isn't how the human body works."

    Clarke took hold of your upper arm, dragging you outside of the crawl space, making you pull yourself up to the lower level of the drop ship before she followed you, closing the latch. "You left my torch on."

    "It already went out," she told you as she took hold of your arm again, this time with both of her hands, making her way over to her tent.

    "Uh, Clarke, my tent’s the other way." You pointed behind you, glancing back.

    "You'll just wake Miller up if you go there now, you know he's not much of a heavy sleeper."

    "Right," you mumbled for the umpteenth time that day, ducking under the tent flap before you stood in the middle of her tent.

    "Lay down."

    "I'm not tired, Clarke."

    "I don't believe you."

    "I don't need you to believe me," you laughed out. "I'm going back to work."

    "No!" Clarke stood in front of the tent flap.

    "C." You looked down at her smaller figure, raising an eyebrow.

    When you tried to move around her she simply moved back in front of you. "I said no."

    "C," you repeated, attempting to leave on the other side of the tent flap when she pushed you back. "Clarke." You could help but laugh when you breathed out your words.

    "Lay down."

    "Clarke—"

    "Don't make me repeat myself, please. Just… lay down with me."

    You cleared your throat, looking at her. You couldn't help but notice the dark bags underneath her own eyes, or the way her lips had been chewed at almost religiously due to the stress she had been put under. You raised your arms, surrendering. "Alright, alright," your voice lowered and almost turned into a whisper. "I'll lay down," you told her quietly as you moved to sit down on her bed, pulling your shoes off as Clarke smiled faintly, finally glad to have you all by herself for once—considering it seemed to be an event that happened once every blue moon with you working with Raven and her acting as the camp doctor and voice of reason.

    "Thank you," she called out to you and you laid down, watching as she crawled next to you, wrapping her arms around your waist, laying her head on your shoulder.

    "Yeah, well…" You cleared your throat again. "I-I probably needed this."

    You could feel the corners of Clarke's lips tug upwards into a shy smile as she squeezed you gently. You finally allowed yourself to close your eyes, settling in on the makeshift bed, breathing out heavily as you finally fell asleep.