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aemondsbabe · 1 day

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From Ashes, Fire | Claimant Pt 3

summary: dragons take what they want, you and your brother are no different. but what will be left to burn in the name of happiness?

pairing: dark!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, angst, angst but happy ending, very cersei/jaime coded moment that's all i'll say, major character death, noncanonical death, very brief descriptions of injury, blood, i promise it's nothing graphic, reader turns to the dark side lol, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), minor breeding kink, possessive aemond, possessive reader, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.3k oops

a/n: this is it, the grand finale! i had so much fun with this series and i hope y'all enjoy the last bit!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 and part 2 here!

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"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

“Jaehaera, please,” Helaena’s voice is gentle and melodic even as she scolds her daughter, pointing at one of the straw-stuffed dolls in her tiny hands, “You must share with your brother; how about you let him play with the knight, hm?”

One of Maelor’s little fists wraps tightly around your pointer finger as you chuckle at the displeased frown on the toddler’s face when she shoves the doll in Jaehaerys’s direction, though her lips quickly lift into a smile at her mother’s praise.

“Good, that’s very sweet of you,” your sister smiles, watching her eldest two children play, sitting cross-legged beside them on the plush blanket she’d had spread out on the grass.

A cool breeze blows through the grassy field while you idly look around at the many red tents and campfires, observing the groups of people gathered around – knights sat at one of the many wooden tables, a few servants peel vegetables brought from the Keep, and various nobles, lady’s maids, and other court patrons shuffle about.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your face toward the sun, cooler now as day turns to evening, and savor the first moment of peace you’ve had in nearly a week. The days since your marriage to Jace have been… eventful, to say the least, with each new duty feeling like another stab to your already fragile heart. Respite hadn’t even found you in the night, each one spent fending off your new husband’s advances with excuses of your menstrual flux having come early, headaches, and various other ailments. He was getting anxious, you could tell – each night he pushed back a little more, arguing the importance of consummating the marriage, reminding you of the vows you had both uttered in the Sept.

But how can a vow mean much if the Gods know it was only ever a lie?

You had felt your mother’s eyes on you at every turn, watching you and your brother like a hawk. Though as the days progressed her fiery stare cooled to one of guilt – a penance for subjecting you to the same fate that had befallen her. You suspected that was why she and Rhaenyra had organized this little trip; a celebratory hunt they’d called it, to commemorate the rift between your two families finally being healed.

“Dear, dear wife,” your oldest brother slurs, goblet clutched in one hand as he staggers toward you and Helaena, groaning when he flops down on the bench next to you. “Oh, you look… ravishing,” your lips quirk up into a smirk as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, giggling and making faces at Maelor.

“What did I tell you,” your sister says through a huff of laughter, violet eyes finding yours, “They ignore you until they’re drunk.”

If only that were the case, you think as you force yourself to laugh in time with her.

“That is quite rude,” Aegon chastises, brows furrowed in offense while he takes a messy swig of wine, a few red drops run down his chin. “Do you see how she treats me?” He pouts, leaning closer to you with a wry grin, “The deed is done though, yes? Bastard knew where to put it?”

“Aegon!” Helaena hisses, swatting at his knee.

The two fall into a playful round of bickering, thankfully leaving you out of it. With a sigh, you let your gaze wander again, tumbling thoughts muffling your siblings voices.

“It’s not as hard as it looks, here,” Daemon’s voice catches your attention and you watch as he points a knife at the belly of a deer he and Lucerys had hunted earlier in the day, showing the boy where to cut, “Get your knife in there – good, like that, and now just cut downwards, one clean movement…” You glance away as blood spills from the beast’s abdomen, staining the grass below it.

Looking over the treeline, you try to ignore the sick feeling building in the pit of your stomach, though you know it won’t be settled until Aemond’s back at camp. Biting at your lip, you let out an irritated huff when you can’t make out any movement in the distance, no sign of your brother or Ser Criston, even your husband.

You’d only spoken to Aemond once since your marriage – a hushed conversation hidden away in an alcove when the two of you had a spare moment alone after supper. He’d held you while you’d cried against the crook of his neck, shushing you and running a soothing hand up and down your back. You remember the way his jaw felt, teeth clenched as he rested it atop your head, letting you tuck yourself into him while he vibrated with barely contained rage.

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” you lamented, peering up at him with a mournful sob as your fingers clung to the dark jacket he wore, “They’re planning on going back to Dragonstone! Dragonstone, Aem!”

“Shh, little one,” his hands had cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears with calloused thumbs, “I’m not letting them take you.”

His words had held such conviction, you’d wanted nothing more than to believe him, yet you’d shaken your head anyway. “I don’t think there’s any stopping them, this time,” your breath had hitched with each word, “You heard Rhaenyra, they’re leaving as soon as we’re back from the hunt and she would never agree to leave Jacaerys here, never.”

You had known you were spiraling, head spinning as you’d looked up at him, and yet the words tumbled out anyway. “I hate him, I wish he’d just… just disappear!” It was a childish little jab and yet, your heart had leapt into your throat the moment you’d said it. You were expecting to feel the clawing ache of guilt gnaw at your stomach, however, a weightlessness followed. You’d never felt lighter than in that moment – tucked away in the shadows, a secret you’d harbored since childhood finally set free.

Aemond had stayed quiet, but you saw the way his violet eye sparkled, the gears turning in his head.

Your words had echoed in his head, calling out to him like a siren’s song – the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

Finally convinced that the three men are truly not just going to materialize at the edge of camp, your gaze shifts to where your mother and Rhaenyra sit, huddled together beside one of the many firepits. Bouncing little Maelor on your lap, you’re vaguely aware of Aegon and Helaena idly chatting beside you, something to do with how your brother believes some such thing about the Small Council is a waste of time – a frequent complaint of his since taking the throne.

You’re hardly listening though, head cocked to the side while you watch the two women laughing and animatedly conversing; they remind you of the young girls at court – youthful and carefree, too wrapped up in one another to notice much around them.

That’s why she let them go together, that shadowy voice in the back of your head hisses, Too distracted to know better. You clench your jaw, only halfway aware of the stinging pain at your cuticle as you dig a nail into it.

“What say you to accompanying me on a hunt, nephew?” Aemond had asked earlier in the afternoon, voice low as he slunk over to where you, Jace, and your mothers had been sitting at one of the wooden tables, picking through a light lunch the cooks at the Keep had prepared.

“Aemond,” Alicent had sighed wearily, leaning heavily on her elbows while Rhaenyra regarded your brother with a cool indifference – evidently unaware of your family’s tensions.

“What? I merely wish to bond with my dearest sister’s new husband.”

“Uncle,” Jace had finally spoken up, pointedly grasping one of your hands that had sat on the table, “As much as I would love to accompany you, don’t you think it a bit unwise for only the two of us to go? If I remember correctly from my youth, your father used to take a whole host of men into the woods with him…”

“Do you not think yourself man enough to take on a measly buck, nephew?”

“Aemond!”

“Don’t fret, mother. ‘Twas only a joke, a tasteless one, I admit,” your hackles had raised at that, at how quickly he had stood down, so wholly unlike your brother, “Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Ser Criston to accompany us as well.”

It was then, at the mention of the knight, that Rhaenyra had leaned closer to Alicent, the two of them laughing softly and sharing knowing glances while your half-sister whispered into her ear.

“Surely the three of us are more than capable of subduing a deer or two, don’t you think?”

Jace had balked at that, sighing heavily as his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” you had coached your lips into a tight smile when you interjected, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea, mother?”

“Hm?” She had blinked, finally parting from Rhaenyra, the ghost of a smile still on her lips.

“For Ser Criston to accompany Jace and Aemond, to go hunting with them.”

“Well, I –”

“Surely that would be safest, yes?” You pushed, glancing at Jace before locking eyes with Aemond, “A knight with them, a Kingsguard no less.”

“I think it sounds like a fine idea,” Rhaenyra had smiled, squeezing one of your mother’s hands, “They should take the time to bond, no? Savor it while we’re together these last few days.”

“Yes… yes, a fine idea,” she had immediately agreed, always swaying to your half-sister.

“Wonderful,” your brother murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he clasped his arms behind his back, “I’ll have Ser Criston ready the horses.” With that, he had stalked away, giving you one final glance.

“You truly think this a good idea?” Your husband had questioned, turning to you while your mothers got lost in yet another hushed conversation.

“Of course!” You had nodded, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, “Aemond is… odd with his affections. This is just his way of attempting to rectify things, I’m sure of it.”

“I suppose…,” he had sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” you had urged, going so far as to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek, one of the scant few times you had initiated any affections.

Those words had echoed in your head while you watched the three men sheath their swords and load various bows and arrows onto their horses, the midday sun suddenly feeling much too warm against your skin.

It’ll be fine, you had reminded yourself for the millionth time when they set off, horses galloping along a narrow path that led into the Kingswood, He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

“Oh, shit,” Aegon whispers beside you, nearly dropping his goblet.

You quickly follow his eyeline, looking to where he stares at one of the small paths that lead into the camp – the sight wrenching a hitched gasp from your throat.

A hush seems to fall over the entirety of the camp, only for the quickest of seconds, before chaos erupts. Aemond stands before one of the horses, a grey one you recognize as Jace’s, steadying it while Criston pulls your husband from the saddle, smearing the side of the animal with thick streaks of red.

Daemon quickly runs over to assist while you hastily hand Maelor back to Helaena, hardly looking in her direction as you do.

“Jace? Jacaerys?!” Rhaenyra calls, picking up her skirts as she sprints over, violet eyes wide with terror, “What is it? What’s happened?”

Every noise sounds muffled when you make your way over to the huddle of commotion, Alicent following closely behind. A strange detached sensation fills you while you watch Criston and Daemon lay Jace down on a nearby bench, blood immediately soaking into the silk fabric of the pillows.

It feels as if everything is happening both too quickly and too slowly all at once – a few of the other knights rush forward, hastily pulling his tunic out of the way before pressing stark white medical linens to the gaping cut on his side. They bark orders over his body, yelling for the servants to bring water and more linens.

You feel your mother and Helaena grabbing at your arms and it’s only then you realize you’re shaking, swaying in place like a leaf on a branch; you know they’re talking to you but their words are dulled by the rushing of blood in your ears.

Somewhere in your periphery, you register the sound of Daemon’s voice, thick with desperation as he shouts question after question at Criston, “What happened? When? How? How long ago? How could you, you were supposed to protect him?!” They blend together, echoing through the haze in a roaring hum.

Distantly, you register the feel of another warm body pressing into the small pack you find yourself a part of. Helaena shushes someone next to you and your gaze tears itself away from the pools of crimson gathering on the grass just long enough to realize that it’s Luke. Your heart breaks at that, a sharp pang in your chest at the fact that the poor boy is distressed enough to seek comfort from your family, of all places.

“No! No, no, no!” Rhaenyra’s wails slice through the fog clouding your mind in such an exacting manner that your knees buckle, “Jace, Jace, look at me, please? Sweetling, please look at me!” She sobs, leaning over her son, one hand cradling his cheek.

Unseeing brown eyes stare, unblinking, up at the hazy orange sky while yours focus solely on a single, paralyzing flash of violet.

He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

The Sept is eerily quiet, normal for this time of night but unsettling all the same; the occasional fizzling noises of the dozens of flickering candles is the only way you’re able to discern that time hasn’t simply halted. Pale moonlight shines in through the windows, bathing the floor in a star-shaped pool of light and making the whites of the painted eyes resting atop Jace’s face glow like beacons.

You had picked out the stones and painted the eyes on them yourself, taking them from a spot in the gardens you knew he had favored when you were children and spent hours sourcing the pigments to make just the right shade of brown – one that reminded you of the rich chocolates that had been imported from Essos for your betrothal feast.

“A wife’s duty,” your mother had said.

Rhaenyra had glared at you the whole time; silently, you wondered if she somehow knew it wasn’t duty that drove you – only atonement.

Atonement, your mind echoes as you sit upon the cool stone steps beneath the Seven-Pointed Star, leaning your head against the bannister as you force yourself to look at his body, still atop black silks.

Must one feel guilt to atone? Must I atone for not feeling it? When will it end?

Those questions had plagued you in the days since Jace died, bled out like a hunter’s boon in the field by the Kingswood. They’d settled over you like a fever, an ever-present haunting ache, made only worse by the soft, sinful voice in the back of your head that whispered the truth – that you didn’t care, that you don’t even now.

You hadn’t cared, even as blood seeped from the gash at his side, even as you forced yourself to kneel by his still warm body and press gentle kisses to his forehead – the performance of a good wife.

You hadn’t cared in the carriage ride back to the Keep, letting your mother and your sister hold you while you cried – I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I should be sad.

And you hadn’t cared when Aemond had come to you in the dead of night, had slipped into your chambers – your chambers – through one of the many hidden passageways in the old castle.

“How?” You had asked, tracing patterns onto the pale skin of his bare chest while the two of you laid tangled in your silk sheets.

“A boar,” he answered plainly, speaking through a sigh while running his fingers over the thigh you had draped across his hips, “Just as I’ve told you the last four times you’ve asked.”

“Aemond,” you sighed in that same tired tone your mother so often used; your eyes had narrowed when you saw the corner of his lips just barely twitch up into a smile; were it any other time, he would’ve made a cheeky comment about the similarity.

“I’ve told you,” his grip tightened ever so slightly on your thigh and his other hand had grasped at your chin, guiding your eyes to his, “We had been tracking a buck, had gotten close and dismounted our horses, and had, I assume, stumbled into the beast’s territory and it charged at us.”

“Brother,” you had whispered, shaking your head and cupping his cheek, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie?”

He had stayed silent for a long while at that, jaw clenched while he stared at some point off in the distance, lips drawn into a tight line. Eventually, you had laid your head down, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you tried to accept that you wouldn’t be getting the truth that night, if ever.

It was only then that he had spoken.

“Please, let me protect you.”

“Protect me?” You had looked up, brows furrowed as you studied his face, “From what?”

“From the law –”

“Our brother is king, if he says it was not murder, if he says it was an accident, which he already has done, then no one will question his –”

“Fine, then,” he had snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “From the damn Gods! I…” He trailed off, sighing heavily while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“... the Gods?”

He’d finally looked at you again and your heart had pinched meanly in your chest when you saw tears gathering in his violet eye, “They will judge me harshly for what I’ve done, whenever the time comes, but… I will not subject you to the same fate.”

You had scoffed at that, had rolled your eyes when he looked away shamefully and had climbed atop him then, straddled his hips and turned his face toward yours, “I don’t give a shit about the Gods.”

“What?”

“I don’t,” you repeated, leaning down until your forehead touched his, “If they were good Gods, if they cared, they would not have subjected me to that sham of a marriage in the first place. They would’ve guided our mother rightly, but they didn’t.”

“Sister, I –”

“And I hate that our nephew paid for that, Aemond, I truly do, but I am the one who told you to do it.”

He had shaken his head while a mournful peal of laughter clawed its way out of his throat, “You didn’t tell me to do any–”

“Perhaps not directly,” you interjected, smiling sadly while you cupped both of his cheeks in your hands, running a thumb over the scar beneath his eye, “But I did. I could’ve told you not to, could’ve said I didn’t mean it, could’ve cautioned our mother against letting him go with you, but… I didn’t.”

“No… no, I suppose you didn’t,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried in vain to blink away tears.

“I didn’t,” you echoed, your words hushed and cooed, like a mother soothing an infant, “I know what you’re capable of, I knew it then, and I didn’t.”

He nodded, his breath stuttered in his throat as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Because I knew you’d protect me… and you did.”

“I did,” he mumbled, nodding up at you as his face twisted and a small sob bubbled from his lips, “I did, I did it. I did it, I did. For you, for us.”

“I know,” you murmured sweetly, stroking a hand over his long hair while you pressed sweet kisses against his forehead. You held him as he cried, huddled together in the dark of your chambers

And you hadn’t cared when you realized you were smiling.

“The hour is quite late, little one,” the suddenness of his voice makes you jump, though you settle quickly.

“So it is,” you smile and look over your shoulder, tilting your head up while he walks down the steps to join you, “The hour of ghosts, yes? Fitting.”

He huffs as he sits beside you before regarding you with a slight smirk, “I suppose it is,” he murmurs, only sparing the red and black draped body on the altar a passing glance.

“Why are you here?”

“I was looking for you… Hel said you would probably be here.”

“Mm,” you nod, idly running a finger over the pattern on your skirts, finding a morbid sort of beauty in the way the rich black silks glimmered in the candlelight.

“Why are you here?” Aemond asks, eye following the line of your profile.

“Praying.”

Without looking, you can practically feel him rolling his eye beside you, huffing a little breathy laugh again, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie, sweet sister?”

Hearing your own words from the night before parroted back to you pulls a laugh from you as well, though you wince as your giggle echoes throughout the Sept. “It’s funny,” you sigh, glancing about the cavernous space before finally looking at him, “This is the only place where no one wants to be.”

He hums next to you and nods his head, lets the two of you sit in silence for a moment before you continue.

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m here.”

“Pretend?”

Biting at your bottom lip, you nod and lean into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That I’m sad… that I feel anything, really,” you sigh, breathing the words more so than saying them, “All Rhaenyra does is cry, Daemon is ready to strangle anything that moves, Lucerys is despondent to the point of being mute. Even our own mother cries for him and I cannot muster a single tear that isn’t a farce.”

Your eyes trail back over to Jace and you regard him with a mournful stare, staying silent for a long moment as you try to will yourself to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel guilty… yet nothing comes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Aemond mumbles beside you, though his words only serve to make you more bitter, “Perhaps, in time –”

“In time nothing will happen,” you snap, grimacing at the harshness in your voice, “I’m not sad and I am… I’m tired of pretending I am.” You murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Aemond is quiet for a long while, though you can feel the energy radiating off of him in waves – you’ve always been able to tell when he has a lot on his mind. You’re content to simply let him think, taking his silence as a cue that it’s your turn to let him sort through things.

“You… are happy, though? Yes?” He finally asks after several long minutes, going strangely rigid next to you as if he’s afraid of your answer, “I know you say you aren’t sad but…”

“Aemond,” you sigh, sitting up and staring at him as a slow, creeping smile spreads across your face, “I have never been happier.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” You quickly shift yourself on the stairs, turning yourself more toward him and placing a gentle hand on top of his thigh, “Big brother, you saved me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him get a word in edgewise before the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the last few days finally spill over and you practically throw yourself into his lap, straddling his hips.

“Brother, I've been tethered to him since I was eight and you have freed me from that,” you say softly, voice hardly carrying in the air. Slowly, carefully you pull his eyepatch off, the only one ever allowed to do so; there is a sadness in your smile when you gently trail your fingers over the crease of his scar, “We both lost something that night and have suffered for it ever since.”

Without another word, you press your lips to his and savor the groan your kiss pulls from him. His hands grab at your hips in the same instance yours card through his hair while your lips move together in a practiced rhythm.

Impatient, one of your hands travels down his chest and stomach, though you hardly have time to pull at the hem of his dark tunic before he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“Aemond,” you huff, fighting against his grip.

“Surely you don’t mean to defile this place in such a way,” he murmurs, violet eye sparkling as if he were challenging you, even as he glances over your shoulder, “What would your dear husband think?

You grin at the lecherous smirk on his lips, heart pounding in your chest as a familiar ache settles at the apex of your thighs. You give one final glance over your shoulder before turning back to him with a dismissive shrug. “Husband in name only,” you remind him, yanking your hand out of his grasp and trailing your fingers over the growing bulge beneath his trousers, “I have only ever been devoted to you.”

A rough growl leaves his lips and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eye. “We will burn for this, sweet sister,” he huffs, pale cheeks flushing while he stares up at you, one hand still settled on your hip as the other comes up to cup your jaw.

“The Seven can have their say,” your cunt clenches at the way he looks at you – surprise, lust, even reverence giving such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly knocks the wind from your lungs, “The Old Valyrian Gods can as well, I don’t care. Aemond, I don’t.”

Your hand finally, blessedly, pulls free the ties at the top of his trousers and you quickly find his length. The sharp grunt that’s wrenched from his throat when your hand wraps around it echoes through the Sept, each iteration of it making the fire in your belly burn brighter and brighter.

He doesn’t attempt to stop you when you plunge a hand beneath the fabric of your black skirts and hastily tug your smallclothes out of the way, he merely studies you in awe, as if watching a newly hatched dragon spread its wings for the first time. His gaze makes you shiver, though you dare not look away.

“What do you care about, little one?” He murmurs suddenly, unable to help himself from glancing between your bodies, licking his lips while he watches you use your fingers to prepare yourself as you rub your own slick through your folds.

“You,” you whisper, shuddering at the way you both gasp at the same time when you rut against his already throbbing length, “You are the only god I’ve ever worshiped, big brother.”

A loud groan bursts free of his lips at that and the hunger in his eye nearly catches you alight, and yet he still grabs at your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking onto his length – so out of his element, wholly unused to being taken in such a way. “Come, let us go to my chambers,” he tries, breathing your name against your neck as he leans up, “Where I can take you properly, hm? No risk of anyone interrupting…”

Undeterred, you simply shake your head and lean forward, pressing your lips against his in an eager, near feral kiss. It’s mostly teeth and tongues and thankfully, it’s enough to shock him into loosening his grip, just enough for you to take what you want. You bite at his bottom lip when you sink down onto his length, hard enough to taste iron, making him growl into the kiss, the sound of it deepening to a low groan at the feel of your tight cunt around him.

The feel of his cock stretching you open somehow only gets better each time and leaves you gasping in his lap, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage while you begin grinding yourself against him, impatient and ravenous. “Ohh, f-fuck,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut while your walls flutter around him.

Aemond’s chest heaves under your hands while he stares up at you, lips parted ever so slightly as breathy groans spill, unbidden, from them. Opening your eyes, your gaze is immediately drawn to a little smear of red beside his mouth and you lean forward – licking his pale skin clean without a second thought.

“Little minx,” he smirks, meanly grabbing at your hips again and bucking up into you. He huffs a soft laugh at the sharp moan that bursts from you, sounding louder still in the large open space of the Sept; there’s a dangerous, challenging gleam in his eye that makes you shiver. “Go on, then,” he rasps, trailing a hand up from your hip to cup the underside of your breast, his touch warm even through the bodice of your gown, “Worship your god.”

A soft, stuttered moan wrenches itself from your lips at that and you quickly obey, staking your claim over him. As you find your rhythm, rutting wildly in his lap, the only sounds echoing off the walls are that of panted breaths and the slick, wet noises from where the two of you connect. “You’re mine,” you breathe, leaning forward to bite at his throat, determined to mark him in as many ways as possible, “Y-You’ve always been mine, Aemond.”

He nods his head, hands scrambling at the ties on your bodice, determined to free your breasts. “I’m yours?” He taunts, sighing victoriously when he finally manages to practically rip the top of your gown open; his tongue darts out, wetting his lips at the sight of them and he allows himself a few seconds to appreciate the way they bounce so enticingly with each of your determined movements, “Show me, then… show me who I belong to, sweet sister.”

Something snaps inside you then, breaking and clicking perfectly into place all in the same breath; the feeble thing that was holding the dam inside of you shut disappears. Whatever greedy darkness Aemond has always harbored within himself has been slowly seeping into you since the night of your betrothal feast and now, it seems, it has finally settled into your bones as well. It’s as if he can sense it in the same instance you do and gives a subtle nod of his head, commanding you to give in.

With renewed vigor, you grind against him harshly, pressing your hips as far down onto him as you can manage until you can feel his cock pressing against the entrance to your womb. The thought of him there, of the possibility of his seed catching, of the possibility that it may already have, spurs you on further.

“I would kill for you, too,” you say lowly through clenched teeth, licking up the side of his neck until you can whisper into his ear, “I’ll do anything to have you, my love, I don’t care what it is.”

A low groan reverberates from within his chest, both of you all but snarling as you move together; his hips rut up against yours, unable to hold still any longer, and he bites a path down your neck until he reaches the softness of your breasts. You gasp as he teases at one nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers toy with the other one, only to cut yourself off with a loud moan when his lips seal around it.

“I would burn this city to the fucking ground if that’s what… what it took, brother,” the words tumble from your lips when you card your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head and holding him against your chest. Your head tilts down, heart pounding in your chest while you watch him savor the feel of your warm flesh in his mouth; his violet eye snaps up and his gaze bores into yours, making your cunt clutch greedily at his length.

Feeling the knot building quickly in your belly, aided by the way your sensitive pearl brushes against the small patch of hair at the base of Aemond’s cock, you only grow more needy – craving confirmation that he is yours, that no one will be able to take him from you again. Your breath catches in your throat when you recall a conversation the two of you had had a few nights ago, the night of Jace’s death.

The two of you had been cuddled in your bed together, panting in sweat-damp sheets, when he had cupped your cheek and turned your face to his.

“What is it?” You asked, familiar with the faraway look in his eye – God’s knew where he could’ve been in that moment.

“Marry me.”

His whispered demand had knocked the air from your lungs then, the whole world may as well have come to a grinding halt on its axis. “Aemond, we must wait, you know this. I hate it as much as you do but –”

“We need to wait for a Westerosi wedding, yes,” he murmured, leaning over you and shushing you with a soft kiss, “Too soon and it looks suspicious.”

“But –”

“But… a wedding in the tradition of our house need not wait, little one,” the determination in his eye had shocked you then, had warmed you from the inside out, “Our sister and her cunt of a husband hardly waited until Laena and Laenor were cold before they married… we could do the same.”

You had stayed quiet after that, too much death and change and uncertainty clouding your mind to give him an answer, and yet you knew he was right. Rhaenyra and Daemon had married in secret, so soon after Laenor’s sudden passing that it had always seemed a bit odd to you. Yet, no one ever questioned it; your own father had accepted it without so much as a blink, writing the marriage into law with no fuss. Aegon would do the same for you, you felt certain.

Nothing was stopping you, nothing that mattered, anyway.

That thought fuels you now as you rock on Aemond’s lap, both of you barreling toward your eventual ends. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him away from your breast despite his growl of displeasure. Just as he had with you, you cup his cheeks, focusing his attention on you.

“Marry me.”

The rhythm of his hips hitches at your words and he fucks up into you harshly, moving you more desperately against him as another loud, guttural moan echoes through the chamber.

“Tonight,” you continue, brows furrowing as you stare at him, greedily drinking him in, “I cannot wait any longer, brother, tonight, please…”

A vicious, conquering smirk grows on his lips, white teeth gleaming in the low candlelight like a snarling dog. “You wish to be mine, is that it?” He teases, reaching between your two writhing bodies to rub hungrily at your pearl, savoring the pretty breathy moans he earns.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish speaking as an unrelenting, all consuming possessive ache starts spreading out from your heart, flowing through your blood vessels like fire. “I don’t wish it,” you pant, forehead resting against his while the wildfire burning in your belly threatens to burn you whole, “I told you, I would kill for you and… and, fuck, I swear it. A-Aemond, no one will have you ever again, never, none except me…”

Your words descend into a barely intelligible murmur as you finally let go, pushed suddenly over the edge at the thought of being so tightly bound together that no one would be able to tear the two of you apart again. Your brother growls again at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the movements spurring him toward his own end.

He grabs at you when he follows you into oblivion, holding you against him as if you’d disappear otherwise. The feel of his spend spilling into you, filling you, nearly sends you over the edge again and you cling to him just as harshly, holding him while he trembles beneath you.

“You are a vicious little thing,” he says softly after some minutes, holding you against his chest while the two of you catch your breaths.

“I learned from the best.”

He only sighs at that but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I would do it again for you,” he mumbles, eye fixed on Jace, “I would do it a thousand times over.”

He speaks in a reverent whisper, promises of death and destruction as sweet as a prayer on his lips.

Aemond’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors below the Red Keep, the flickering light from the torches lining the walls making the various statues and reliefs dance in your periphery.

“I’ve always hated that he’s down here, stowed away,” he murmurs, yet his voice still carries some among the stone hallways.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, glancing into each shadowy alcove you come across while you try to ignore the wild beating in your chest – the way your heart clenches at the thought of finally being so close to what you’ve always wanted. “Yes, he should be out in the sun, somewhere he can be celebrated.”

The old cellars under the Keep have always seemed so haunting to you, so cold and empty. The thought of the walls down here being lined with the ashen remains of generations upon generations of your ancestors had never failed to send a shiver down your spine. Yet, they unfold before you now like paradise; even the still, musty air begins to smell as sweet as honeyed wine.

For the briefest of seconds, guilt joins you – walks alongside you, invisible like the Stranger. A stuttered heartbeat, that’s all and then it’s gone, at the thought that Jace would join them tomorrow, still warm from Vermax’s fire.

How ironic, you think, glancing up at your brother and admiring the way the light gleams on his sapphire eye, That a place that holds so much death would be where our lives finally begin.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” you’d said again, retying your bodice while Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers and searched for his eyepatch.

“Nor do I,” he agreed, stuffing the small scrap of fabric into a pocket – the streets of King’s Landing would be deserted enough at this time of night that he could get away without wearing it. “Tensions are bound to rise after tomorrow, after everything is said and done; I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You had nodded and followed him out of the Sept, through one of the many old, forgotten tunnels that only a scant few knew existed, the list of which definitely didn’t include the guards stationed at the front of the building who had escorted your carriage earlier that evening.

While he had helped you onto the back of his horse, the two of you shared a knowing look, each of you already thinking the same thing.

Turning down one final corridor, your heart thuds in your chest as you’re finally met with Balerion’s petrifying gaze and, just like every other time you’d been in his presence, a little huff of reverence leaves you. Your eyes dance over the rows of his razor sharp teeth, gleaming in the glow of dozens of candles, and you can’t help but imagine the horrors those jaws have inflicted, the pain they wrought while subduing the continent – all in your family’s name.

“Targaryens have always taken what we’ve wanted,” Aemond murmurs beside you, staring up at the gargantuan skull with just as much respect as you are, “Tamed our desires in fields of fire.”

“And rivers of blood,” you turn your heads at the same time, soft smiles on your lips when your eyes meet, like you’re sharing sweet words of love rather than painting pictures of horrors.

Perhaps that is what wrath is for us, you wonder, your eyes flicking between violet and sapphire when you turn toward your brother, What is death if not the sweetest of devotions?

He takes your hands in his, glancing down when your fingers intertwine before looking back up at you; you can feel yourself blushing under his intense gaze, heart squeezing in your chest as he looks at you like that in and of itself is an honor. There’s such softness in his eye, you would think him incapable of violence if you didn’t know better.

“You truly wish for this?” He questions one last time, needing to be sure.

“I’ve told you, I do not wish,” your hands squeeze his, “I need this, Aemond… I would kill for you, for this – for us. Anything, just as you did.”

Your voice trembles when you speak, the intensity of your hushed promises making your head spin because you would. The want you feel, that you have always felt, is not some soft yearning thing. It’s not so simple as some mere whisper uttered in the dead of night at a holy altar while your skin is awash with the glow of candlelight, no.

No, your want is something far more insidious – something deep-seated. An oppressive, clinging thing that has always coaxed you further and further down into that shadowy part of yourself; the part that has always reminded you too much of him.

The demon, lurking in your periphery, that has always begged you to look, has tempted you since childhood with the sweetest of promises, finally rejoices.

Aemond nods, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and you watch as he lets go of one of your hands to unsheath his dagger. The sight of the worn leather handle makes you smile bashfully, though your core clenches all the same, and you gasp when you feel another drop of his seed soak into your smallclothes.

“You know the words?”

Again, he nods and your head cocks to the side curiously when a wash of pink grows on his pale cheeks; he smiles again and fixes you with that same intense stare. “I used to spend hours reading them, over and over, when we were children,” he whispers, leaning closer to you like he’s revealing some deep, dark secret, “I always wanted to get them perfect for you.”

A little peal of laughter echoes through the cellars before you swallow thickly, trying to tamper the tightness at the back of your throat as the backs of your eyes sting, tears pooling in your waterline. He cups your cheek and you smile when he brushes one away, a pleased hum leaves his lips when you nod.

Aemond raises the dagger, glancing between its shining blade and your lips while you ready yourself, one hand clenching at the black silk of your skirts. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

You hold stock-still, gasping when he presses the cool edge of it against your lower lip, yet your eyes don’t leave his when he finally cuts – nicking your delicate flesh just enough to draw blood before offering you the dagger. Grasping it, you mirror his steps exactly, just as careful with him.

Setting the dagger to the side, you both reach up at the same time, swiping a thumb over your own lip before reaching out. Your arms intertwine when you brush each other’s foreheads, leaving behind two crimson lines.

His gaze never breaks from yours as he takes the blade again and carefully cuts his palm, holding it out to you again and waiting while you do the same, gasping at the sharp sting. Finally, the two of you join hands, blood mingling together as a few drops of it splatter on the stone floor as Balerion bears witness to your union.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va syndroti vāedroma, mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr,” he recites, murmuring the words with care, making sure to enunciate each syllable, to make the vows unmistakeable to whichever ghosts may be listening, “Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jeny māzīlarion,” (Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass.)

Aemond pauses, taking a breath as he squeezes your hand with his, echoing your smile.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi, syndroro ōñō jēdo, ry kīvia mazvestraksi,” he finishes, all but breathing the last few words as his eye grows misty. (The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.)

The two of you stand still for a moment like you’re waiting for the world to crash down around you and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours as your palms press together, both of you seemingly in shock at finally, finally having everything you’ve ever wanted.

You can’t tell who moves first but suddenly you’re crashing against him, dagger clanging as it hits the floor, while the two of you clutch at one another desperately, uncaring of the blood smearing on your clothes.

Your lips press against his like they’re a lifeline and you moan at the touch, swiping your tongue over his while you grab at the lapels of his jacket. His hands cup your cheeks, staining one with red, before carding through your hair.

“Gods,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you pant, breathing out soft laughs. “My little wife…” He says the word slowly, lets it drag over his tongue.

“Husband,” you reply between soft kisses to his cheek, head spinning at how a word that once had to be dragged from you, that had scraped against your skin like thorns, now felt like silk slipping cooly over you.

Your brother growls deep in his chest and his eye flutters shut for a second before his hands are at your waist again and he’s walking you backwards, only a few paces, until you’re pressed against one of the stone columns surrounding the great dragon’s skull. Though your landing is soft, it wrenches a gasp from you all the same but you don’t have time to question his intent before his lips are on yours again.

You moan into the kiss, matching each of his deep groans with one of your own as your tongues tangle together. “Aemond,” you pant when he begins trailing kisses down across your jaw and neck, “What –”

He nips at your cleavage then and you can feel him smirking at the loud whine he pulls from you, soothing the skin after with a sweet kiss before sinking to his knees before you. The sight is enough to make you weak – the man that loves you more than eternity itself, who loves you enough to do terrible, monstrous things, kneeling at your feet and staring up at you like you are his salvation.

Your hands tangle in his soft hair while he pulls at your skirts, pushing them up and out of the way, kissing your thighs as he goes. “You had the chance to worship at your altar, sweetest little wife,” he pants, groaning when he pushes your smallclothes to the side and licking his lips at the sight of your cunt, still wet with your combined spend, “Now let me worship at mine.”

That’s the only warning you get before he dives in, lapping at your center with a loud, satiated growl. Your head thuds back against the column while your eyes are fixed, half-lidded, on Balerion, on the fire that surrounds him.

You understand, then – the curtains of fire that blanketed the continent were necessary to conquer it, just as blood was necessary to bind the two of you. Perhaps one day you’ll be called to answer for that, but even then you would do it a thousand times over; even if the dark, shadowy parts of yourself, of him, lead to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. You would do it, again and again, for him.

You were always meant to burn together.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

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amorisastrum · 2 days

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What if the Knox and Chris sub-plot had meaning?

WAIT NO GUYS IM SORRY PLEASE HEAR ME OUT I BEG PLE-

Okay I'm starting this post off by restating my downright hatred for Knox. I do not like his character, what he did was wrong, it's creepy and fucking disgusting. I will however like to talk about how his relationship with Chris could have potentially added to the story.

We all know (at least I hope) that practically everything in this film has meaning. I had spent ages wondering why they thought it was a good idea to include this frankly ridiculous sub plot to the story. And then I thought about it. Like really thought about it. I don't exactly remember what I was doing when I thought about it, but I do know that I had DPS playing in the background. (I initially thought about this on April 7th. It is May 29th when I am typing this up.)

So, here are all my reasons as to why I think they added the Knox and Chris sub-plot!

My first point is about this scene:

I believe that this line could be a form of foreshadowing. Yes, it is Knox being a dramatic and insufferable prick but it also feels like it could be more. Obviously it isn't Knox who dies in the end, but the idea of not being able to have something leading to suicide feels very important to the story.

Neil is unable to achieve a career in acting because of his father. As well as this, he is being taken away from his family. His real family. By not being able to have this thing that he so desperately wants, he feels like there is no other solution than death.

Knox says that if he can't have Chris he will kill himself, Neil has practically everything he loves stripped away from him- he cannot have it. So... He kills himself. There is a lot of foreshadowing in this film that hints to Neil's death at the end of the film and I do truly believe that this is a part of that foreshadowing.

My next point is that it is used as a form of contrast.

We see that Knox is extremely open about his attraction to Chris... In a multitude of ways, repeatedly throughout the film. Whether his actions that show his attraction are good or not is a different matter (Knox... God how I hate you.)

Arguably this is used as a juxtaposition. Knox (and Chris?) are relatively open about their attraction to one another- while Neil and Todd are very closed off about it. It is never explicitly stated that Neil and Todd like each other in that way, but through subtext it is heavily implied.

Why might this be? Well, considering the film is set in 1959, it could be because homosexuality simply wasn't legal at this point in time. Neil and Todd weren't allowed to be open about liking each other. Being open about it could put them in danger, they had no choice but to stay quiet.

However, as well as a contrast, it poses similarities between Knox and Chris and Neil and Todd. By setting up this contrast, it only brings to the surface some quite significant similarities.

Because let's be real.

How can THIS be a look of true love...

And THIS not be?

Or falling in love or admiring one's beauty or WHATEVER you want to call it. That's not the point. The point is, they're not that different.

You can see similarities between Knox's behaviour towards Chris and Todd's behaviour towards Neil (and vice versa). One of the main similarities is, well, how they look at one another. I personally don't see how the way Knox and Chris look at each other is true love but the way Todd and Neil look at one another is just... Them being roommates.

The juxtaposition between the two sets of people (I didn't know how else to say this) just doesn't seem accidental. The constant mention of Knox's feelings and love towards Chris just makes the way Neil and Todd interact more obviously... Romantic? Loving?

Their love is stated to allow the audience to see how similar they are to Todd and Neil, while still sticking to one of the key concepts of the film - conformity. Neil and Todd having to conform to societal standards, not being able to share their love for one another.

Knox's feelings for Chris are explicitly stated, repeatedly, because Todd's and Neil's can't. It makes it more noticeable. Neil and Todd's feelings can't really be stated due to the law. So they do it with Knox instead. The similarities can be seen throughout the film in how Knox treats Chris and how Neil and Todd treat one another.

Because again, how can Knox look at Chris like that and that show that he is in love, but Neil look at Todd like that and that just be... Them being friends?

The answer is, it can't. Not really.

Although Knox is a lot more explicit with his feelings towards Chris than the other two are with one another, the feelings they have are the same. Whether it is portrayed in the same way or not, it's love.

#dead poets society #dps #neil perry #todd anderson #knox overstreet #chris noel #anderperry #percy rambles #long post #its been a while since ive posted dps content... how we feeling fellas?#i go through phases of using tumblr regularly and then barely using it at all #hopefully i have some more dps posts for you guys soon #for now i hope you like this post #still a knox hater though 🫶#dead poets fandom #dps fandom #analysis post #sorry for yapping

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scalpho · 3 days

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your fusion au is SO COOL AND COMPELLING i’m obsessed. all the different character analysis angles to take,, incredible. if you’ve done any other art or doodles for any of them i would LOVE to see!! or literally any other thoughts you have on characterization or changes in canon plot or anything, i love it

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! i'm glad you like it :D i've been meaning to draw some more of the fusions, so here's a few for you!!

i wanted fig and fabian's fusion to have a fun stage name type vibe for his name, and it's easy to play on the fact both their names start with F but. if anyone has any name suggestions that don't sound like K2 please feel free to let me know. tbh name suggestions on the whole are always welcome - combos (ie. rizaine, goragh) are fine and all but i like giving them unique names where i can think of them

#tysm for the sweet ask!!#anyone else waiting for their ask to be answered i promise i will get to it o7 everything in this au is just so Broad that it takes a sec #on the fence about putting my au stuff in main tags but this has drawings so #fantasy high #fig faeth #fabian aramais seacaster #adaine abernant #riz gukgak #gorgug thistlespring #ragh barkrock #scal art #fh fusion au

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bengiyo · 18 hours

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At 25:00 in Akasaka Ep 7 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Shirasaki struggled with whether Hayama liked him or not. He reconciled that even if Hayama once liked someone else, he probably likes him now. Unfortunately, he completely misunderstood Hayama's conversation with another and doesn't realize that he's the one Hayama is into. He spiraled, and called off the fake dating.

Oh boy Hayama has mom trauma. She is projecting her issues onto him and he's going to be a mess! Look at him! He's destroying the box with all of his positive feelings about her!

Now he has a complex about people only valuing him for his appearance. Amazing that he's gonna be a model and actor. Excited to see how Shirasaki changed him.

Wow, I love that this started because Shirasaki praised what Hayama was doing and not just how he looked.

This is some excellent extended flashback work to give us needed insight into Hayama. He really has been such an internal character.

Interesting. I was wondering how Hayama knew about the club. Way to use that flashback character.

I'm really enjoying seeing so many of these scenes with different perspectives.

Crushed by seeing Hayama smile with teeth at Shirasaki after the mom stuff.

Oof, dropping us back at the breakup hurts again!

Now they have to film a bed scene with this awkward tension between them.

Now that was an excellent flashback episode, unlike LWH 6. We got insight into Hayama and it dropped us right back where we left off. We saw Shirasaki be pushed to the brink, and now we've seen how all of this played out for Hayama before heading to the finale of their show, but will only be the antepenultimate of ours. This was yet another really strong episode from this show. I'm so impressed. I've enjoyed the Hayama character this whole time, and this was so enjoyable to see how his fondness grew. It underlines every act of kindness he's shown up to this point.

#Ben watches #at 25:00 in akasaka #25 ji akasaka de #japanese bl #bl series

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blindbeta · 1 day

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I have a mostly blind main character/narrator in my ancient-Greece inspired fantasy setting. She is an epic poet. Though she experienced most of the story she tells, the story isn't about her and there are scenes that she didn't see herself. I want to show these scenes in the tradition of epic, in which the poet is omniscient.

Should the scenes my narrator didn't experience herself be described as if she had experienced them--blindness and all--or should she describe them as they've been told to her from the perspectives of others? Does doing the latter erase her blindness? Do you have a different idea? Am I overthinking this entirely?

I love your blog and appreciate any advice or critiques you have. Thanks!

I don’t think this would count as erasing blindness. It reminds me of a blind person writing or narrating a story or play, which would be similar to a sighted person doing the same. Omniscient point of view is fine for blind people, just as sharing a story told by another would be.

You can show your main character’s blindness in other ways, if she has any scenes herself inside or outside of the story she tells. Does she have a cane? How does her blindness influence or enrich her life outside of her poetry and storytelling?

You may also consider including her vision more in the epic. For example, if your character has central vision loss, the epic may not include descriptions of faces, while instead focusing on voice, tone, degree of warmth, color, or texture. Even if the story is told in omniscient point of view, the narrator’s influence could still be felt.

Lastly, while ‘mostly blind’ is a bit of a misconception of blindness, it sounds like your character has some vision, as most blind people do. Even totally blind people can describe events and people visually. With this in mind, she could use her residual vision without issue.

I think having a sensitivity reader would be helpful. Such as through me, @sensitivityreaders

If you feel worried about your main character’s blindness, perhaps portraying blindness in other characters would help. Given the setting, characters might be more susceptible to common causes of blindness due to having less access to healthcare, particularly modern treatment. Common causes of visual impairment and blindness, according to this page by the World Health Organization, include cataracts, glaucoma, uncorrected refractive errors, age-related macular degeneration, or diabetic retinopathy. Lack of access to healthcare could lead to higher rates of vision loss due. You may be able to use some of those, if that helps.

#blind #blind characters #writing blind characters #avoiding ableism #avoiding erasing blindness

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the-masked-astro · 1 day

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Can you tell us more about your au version of Mr. Puzzles?

Of course! Hope you don't mind me over explaining his story.

So in pt 1 the au starts right after the Puzzlevision movie. He ends up not only getting blasted off into oblivion, but somehow ends up in Astro's world [which yes, the smg4 world and astros world are two different worlds]

Astro finds him [still in his TV form] in the dump and takes him home, thinking he's just a normal tv.

During the night, when he woke up and exited his head, he was badly injured. However, his left leg was the worst. It was incredibly mangled, and there was no way of saving it, so he amputated it. Don't ask me what he did with the leg after the fact.

Astro then Wakes up the next morning to find Puzzles going through their pantry, hobbling along on one leg mind you, to which Astro, rightly freaked out, starts hucking whatever they can grab at him.

Eventually, things calm down, and Astro let's Puzzles stay with them, also helping him build his new leg and a new outfit. Both of them bond over their creative nature, Puzzles loves to hear about all the fictional stories Astro comes up with and Astro loves telling Puzzles about their stories

Unfortunately, Puzzles realizes that Astro is having a hard time financially supporting both of them, and since Astros world is much like our own, he can't just go out and get a job without people freaking out over the 7-8ft tall tv man.

He comes up with a plan to bring Astro back to his world. That way, they have a better chance of achieving their dreams of turning their stories into shows to broadcast to the whole world. It's also when Puzzles start going back to his old ways when he thinks of a plan for revenge on the smg4 crew.

Puzzles starts to isolate himself more and more, working in his room alone on a machine that can bring him and Astro back to his world. [Astro cannot enter the smg4 world, the whole point of this machine was to make it so they could]

Eventually, when he tried to drag Astro into the smg4 world shit hits the fan. The machine doesn't work, Astro is still in their world while Puzzles is sent back to his world, and both worlds are altered because of it

I won't talk about Puzzles in pt 2 since he doesn't play a big role, but Basically Saiko finds him and beats him up, putting him in a coma, to which Sag5 uses his him as a power enhancer of sorts while he's in said coma. He does wake up and eventually does go back to Astros world, where he then destroys the machine to prevent Sag5 from coming through.

In pt 3.5, Puzzles finds out that the machine had altered Astros world, turning a lot of the humans into characters like you would see in a fictional world. They still act the same and think things have always been like this, so it's not that huge of a deal.

Unfortunately this causes Astro to freak out, because everyone is just different, and everyone thinks Astro is crazy for trying to explain to them that they used to be human, so they end up loosing their job and apartment while Puzzles is gone.

When Puzzles comes back, he and Astro move In with their parents on their farm, to which their family Accepts Puzzles as their own. Eventually Puzzles, with Astros encouragement, re builds the machine, this time not as powerful, so he can go back to the smg4 world to get closer and apologize for what he did during the Puzzlevision movie.

However, Puzzles is an absolute ASSHOLE to Sag5, I won't say exactly what he said but let's just say it was bad enough to have sag5 relapse into their bad coping habits. Oc the crew is mad, because in the time between the end of pt 2 and now, while he's been gone, Sag5 has changed, and they crew has forgiven them.

They then tell puzzles they will only forgive him on the condition they apologize to sag5 and give them a chance to prove they aren't as bad as they once were. [Also smg1 beats the shit out of puzzles for being a dick to sag5]

So eventually he does, things aren't great between them but they at least forgive eachother for what the other had done to them.

After that, puzzles primarily lives In Astros world, but visits the Smg4 world on occasion.

Really his character arc is, "oh boy he's getting better!" To "oh God he's getting MUCH worse" back to "oh he's actually improving again"

He still dreams of creating his own program with Astro to broadcast one day, but right now he's focused on his new family and Astro, growing as a person and making peace with those he's hurt in the past.

#smg4 #smg4 au #astro vision au #ask #mr. puzzles #astro

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scratchtovoid · 2 days

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Ok let me talk about this section of the Variety interview for a minute because this sounds like the direction I suspected they were going and I want to talk about why I like it.

[BOOK SPOILERS AHEAD]

So Daemon and Rhaenyra’s story ends in tragedy. It’s entirely build on this idea of distrust that festers under the surface and what distrust can mean to a person.

There’s always so much discussion on what family means to Daemon and it usually revolves around love and the idea of him loving or not loving his family. But what that discussion tends to miss is how Daemon sees himself within his family.

He’s not the outsider he paints himself as. He desperately wants to be accepted and valued by his family. It was the push/pull he had with Viserys and he’s continuing that dynamic with Rhaenyra.

And that takes on different forms, withdrawing when he feels rebuffed, lashing out when he feels misunderstood or underestimated, and pretending he doesn’t even care.

Except he does care. He cares a lot.

And then he loses his brother and immediately after that he fails to protect the boy he raised. A boy he clearly sees as a son.

“Oh but he wanted the ~Strong~ boys dead!!”

No. That’s your headcanon.

Look at the text! He said “A son for a son”

And I was hoping the show would start there because to Daemon he has just failed. All that bravado, preparation, violence, none of it actually protected his family. Luke was still murdered.

And Daemon is who he is. That feeling of loss and failure is going to come out as violence.

(I’m not justifying. This is character analysis. We’re her to examine not judge.)

So what happened when Rhaenyra’s distrust of him is added to that emotional fire?

The show needed to plant the seeds of distrust in Rhaenyra so that the eventual ending of this relationship made sense. Having her be paranoid out of nowhere would just give us that sharp turn into the lazy “Targaryen madness” narrative.

Rhaenyra is a mother who has just lost a baby and a son and is facing a husband who is likely not communicating with her, undermining her, lashing out at her for his own feelings.

And she’s a woman raised in a society where men are under no obligation to listen to their wives.

Of course she doubts.

But I don’t think this only results in anger and paranoia. I think the show is pivoting to something more introspective. To both clarify how these characters really feel about their relationship and their own ambitions and to set them up to be truly broken by one another.

Because the end of this is that Rhaenyra’s distrust of Daemon brings him to the point of giving up. To the point of sacrificing his own life to try and prove himself to his family and his queen.

The story needs to keep moving in that direction and these are the first signs of it.

#daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #daemyra #hotd spoilers

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coolingrosa · 3 days

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ooooooo i love rs!ink he's so cute......could you, perhaps, speak about him a little more?? (I've heard he's very similar to Lilo too, would love to hear about his childhood a lil' bit more👀)

Sure! This gives me a chance to also say publicly that RoseVerse!Ink is CANONICALLY AUTISTIC. I stated this in the QNA livestream I did a while back, but I know not everyone watched that as it was mostly chaos. Most characters in Roseverse are not giving canon mental illnesses or mental disorders because anyone can project themselves onto these characters and find traits they can relate to. For example, Killer has no canon mental disorder and is only based on my experience as a 15 year old. Whatever you see fit to fit his mental health is uo to viewer interpretation. But Ink is one of the few exceptions to this as he is canonically autistic.

Now with that out of the way, what was Ink’s childhood like? This will be long!! Prepare!

Ink was created at three years old and was nonverbal up until he was seven. He hardly used sign language besides signing to show he was hungry, he wanted more of something, or to say yes or no. Error and Nightmare were always worried about this, and they did not have the resources to see a doctor to have help in figuring out why Ink wasn’t talking. They had to do with what they could, and learned to work with Ink’s lack of speech. He is capable of more sign language, and does use it when he wants to have a conversation, but that is not until he gets closer to six, where he gets more interested in joining in on talks.

Ink from the ages of 3-5 was very all over the place. He was blunt, and had many outbursts and meltdowns due to Error and Nightmare simply not knowing how to handle an autistic child. While he could not verbally communicate, he would get very frustrated if he wasn’t understood, and often resorted to tantrums and throwing his toys or food when he would want something and Error and Nightmare had no idea what to supply. He also was touch repulsed between the ages of 4-6, and preferred to do his own thing. He’d ignore when people would try to talk to him if he wasn’t in the mood for it, and Error and Nightmare learned to leave it at that. What he tended to do was draw, finger paint, solo play with toys, and sort things. Error once stole him many markers, and rather than jump to draw, he spent hours reorganizing them over and over into different shades and colors. (Based on a experience of my own childhood lol)

Error and Nightmare worked with Ink’s needs and unintentionally created a household perfect for neurodivergent children. The lights were dim, safe food was always in stock, loud noises were kept to a minimum, and Ink was given headphones and comfortable clothes to help his meltdowns.

When he hit seven, he finally started to speak verbally, and then never shut up LMAO. He also became hungry for touch, and was often jumping at Nightmare at random (since he knew Error couldn’t handle it) and climbing all over him. While with Error, he always made his presence known before latching on and not letting go for hours. However, he tended to like Nightmare’s hugs the most, since he’d place his tentacles over him and make a little cocoon of safety. This is also when he got the burst of curiosity for the outside and would run through the woods and grab random animals from trees and bring them home (much to Error’s horror). Think Ame from Wolf Children. That was very much how he was. A wild child who was always getting cuts and bruises but smiling big. Once, he even snapped his arm falling from a tree while in the care of Reaper, and Nightmare and Error couldn’t heal him enough. He forever sports a scar on his arm but continues to climb trees anyways.

When he got a bit older, ages 9-10, he mellowed out a bit with the understanding of his powers. Nightmare helped him a lot with the control of his abilities and magic, and with that came maturity and peace. He preferred to keep the house tidy and fetch dinner still, but in a much calmer way. He’d go out and catch fish or use his magic to catch squirrels. He’d always come home at a good time and would help Errror around the house. He wasn’t as loud and excitable, especially since he became aware of who he was supposed to be at ten, and had to come to terms with the fact that Error was meant to be his competitor, and they were breaking those rules.

Overall, he grows a lot and becomes a child Error and Nightmare are proud of.

Then, on his eleventh birthday, he disappears.

Tragic, truly. It’s a mystery of what happened to the poor kid.

#undertale #undertaleau #undertale multiverse #roseverse #cooling rosa answers silly stuff #nightmare sans #error sans #ink sans #autistic ink sans

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thefallennightmare · 3 days

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https://www.tumblr.com/thefallennightmare/751366815398182912/my-god-i-always-tell-myself-that-im-not-going-to

Aw you're the best, but you don't need to write it I don't wanna add weight to your shoulders!! But I was just thinking about reader and their baby traveling with the band on tour, idk if as a baby or toddler or any other age, that's up to you😘❤️ and thank you!!

@thescarlettvvitch @mitchhbitch @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @loeytuan98 @artificialbreezy @marvelousmal @bngurngheart @lma1986 @dsireland86 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @exitwoundsx @shayzillaaaa @lookwhatitcost @badomensls @princesspeach-00 @burning-outx @shadowseve @collective-heartbreak @klutzy-kay24 @sorrowsofsilence @sweetlittlekitsune @shilohrosechicken @itsafullmoon @toospooktocute @niicoleleigh @thatchickwiththecamera @hoe-for-daddywise @whenthesummerdies @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @thisbicc @sammyjoeee @pathion @flowery-mess @tashka

OK I'm going to use the Miracle Universe for this headcannon request because I love Kenji so it works.

"Kenji, please be careful!" You called after your two-year-old as he ran down the length of the tour bus.

His giggles mixed with Folio's as he chased the older man.

Noah laid a hand on your shoulder, keeping you from running after him. "It's fine, angel. Kenji can't hurt himself when there are six of us on here watching him."

You hadn't joined Bad Omens on the road since Kenji was six months old because life had been extremely busy for everyone.

Noah took time off, almost a year, because of you having Kenji and the guys thought it was a great idea for them to rest up as well.

Now that Kenji was old enough and everyone was ready to get back on the road, you decided to join them.

Although, you couldn't stop worrying about if Kenji was alright.

"I know," you sighed while sitting next to Noah on the couch. "I can't help but worry. Given everything."

You both knew how hard it was to conceive and how rough the pregnancy was, so you couldn't help but feel protective.

"Look how much fun he's having," Noah said while motioning to Folio who was flying Kenji in the air. "And look at this video from soundcheck yesterday."

When Noah clicked on his phone, you smiled at Noah's lock screen. It was a picture of Kenji as a baby dressed up as Noah in his stage gear.

But when you saw Noah's wallpaper on his phone after he unlocked it, your heart stopped.

It was still one of your pictures from your Only Fans days.

"Noah!" You seethed. "I thought you changed that!"

He shrugged with a sly wink. "I did. But I liked it so much, I changed it back."

It was the one of your face covered wearing a Bad Omens shirt that barely covered your nipples and your pussy was on display.

"If anyone sees that," you warned.

He kissed your forehead. "They won't. Now, onto the video."

Now Noah showed you two different videos.

One of Kenji sitting on Folio's lap as they played the drums together.

The other was of Matt holding Kenji in the sound deck, showing him all the different ways to work the production.

"See?" Noah reassured you after locking his phone. "Kenji is having the time of his life. He was made for being on the road."

You bit your lip, eventually agreeing, and snuggled in closer to Noah as you watched Nicholas and Jolly take turns reading a book to Kenji, both of them giving different voices to the characters.

Kenji could not stop giggling.

"You still need to change that picture," you playfully smacked his chest.

Noah laughed while kissing your forehead. "We'll see, angel."

You linked hands with his, tracing over the angel wings tattoo on his thumb; the memory of him getting it all those years ago in that hotel room made you smile.

#tina talks #noah sebastian #miracle noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens headcannons #noah sebastian headcannons #thefallennightmare

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angelfirstclass · 2 days

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Magneto: A Villain playing Dressup or Reformed Tortured Soul?

This is going to be hard one for me because I don't want to be too negative about Magneto because I think in X-men 97 he isn't the villain, but upon rewatching the show I think this question is viable. I may be accused of being a Romy shipper and Charles apologist, but I'm not really. I like Magneto in the show and he says some of the best lines in the show. But sometimes he says and does things that are kind of assholey am I right?

To start off with, the way that he introduces himself and announces that he's the heir to Xavier's mansion and the X-men. Did he really have to barge into Xavier's office and confront the team as they were bonding together playing basketball? He is so smug in that scene which is something I like about Magneto, his Alpha male strength and directness. It's hot and works when I'm writing Magneto fan fiction, but it is a tad presumptuous. His first reactions from everyone on the team is anger and suspicion and then he wonders why he's not getting a warm reception. He could have been normal and called or rang the doorbell or something, but it wouldn't have been as dramatic or as Magneto to come barging in.

The way that he says My X-men at the end of episode 1 is kind of smug and sinister is not? Maybe it's just the writers wanting tension out of that moment and having the readers shocked by Magneto, a known X-enemy inheriting everything, because at that moment we don't know if Magneto is going to be a good leader or not.

Then we see Magneto in action and he's playing the good guy. He saves a child from a busted ride and the Morlocks from the Friends of Humanity. It is shocking to the X-men but also shocking to humankind because of Magneto's past crimes. He enters leading the X-men tamping down his evil past and his more destructive methods of getting back at anti-mutant groups, but he is still Magneto with all his arrogance and his confidence and his strength of belief in himself.

Something that I actually love is the line that he toes the line between trying to be a good X-man and his feelings about humanity. He has seen so much that he is formed by those traumas and pain which cannot be so easily let go of. When he talks of not harming the Friends of Humanity members, the sneer when he says "sapiens" is pure gold. This Magneto is a tempered Magneto and we have to appreciate how far he's come. If it wasn't for his love of Charles Xavier he would be 1000 times worse.

It could be argued that other people might have made better leaders of the X-men, but for this season's storyline having Magneto play the leader was brilliant. He was just enough of an asshole to make the whole thing interesting and made the twist at the end more believable because he never really lost himself completely. You saw moments of him being potentially selfish, arrogant, cruel throughout the season which made him an interesting, complex character.

"My intentions here was not to cause drama or discord." Lol! Says the man in the cape and big M on his costume and the one who barged into the mansion without notice. Yeah, sure, Jan. He yielded to the UN, but not until after he proves how powerful he could be. A note to point out his that Wolverine talks about people being upset over all the things Magneto has done and "can't say I blame them" for being upset and I take this seriously. So currently he's trying to reform, but in this universe and timeline, Magneto has done some awful things.

The trial scene is really amazing. There are some great lines in it. The speech is probably the most compelling reason to want to trust Magneto. He is a great public speaker and he speaks of his past, how the oppressed become oppressors and that loving or being different will cause you to be punished. He is speaking Xavier's words and attempting to walk his past, but he must also acknowledge his past and the consequences of them. This is where I get confused or conflicted as I don't know if Magneto went too far or just enough or is justified or crazy. I don't know and I don't think it's something that the writers even know- like that is the crux of the show itself.

His sardonic wit is the best! "Oh to play by the rules and still they come for you." Yes. It's all going sideways and Magneto is not panicked in the least. He may be a lot of things, but dumb is not one of them. He saw this all coming and knew it was a matter of time that the extremists broke through and the judges would be deemed traitors of the race. It's like a part of him wanted things to get extreme, so the X-men would get to be on his side and see that humanity is not to be trusted and making nice doesn't work.

When asks if this is the high roads destination and essentially kidnaps all the judges, viewers are justified in thinking he might have snapped and gone back to his evil ways. We are surprised to see that he is walking Xavier's path and applaud him for that. He eventually lets the people go and asks them to not let him let them down and that's so poignant because we see just in episode 2 what Magneto is capable of and what he could do if he wasn't walking Xavier's path.

Magneto did a pretty good job of leading the team from episode 3 to 5, he is concerned about Jean, Scott, and Nathan and coordinates the team. He fights clone Jean or Madelyn and she taunts him with the line about a villain playing dress up as a hero. I think that line is so apt with Magneto because I think that his character arc is at the heart of the storyline. I wrote once saying that his relationship with Xavier was the thesis of the story and I also believe that Magneto's belief of Xavier's ideals and his own is also a pivotal part of the story. Madelyn had the power to delve into the psyche of each mutant and find their weak spots, so it proves here that Erik is self conscious of seeming to play the hero and most likely doubts his own commitment to Xavier's cause.

Then we go to Genosha in episode 5, where Magneto is king, literally. There are posters and statues of him everywhere and this all was his dream. Magneto is a savvy politician and understands making grand speeches or doing publicity stunts. Even other mutants at Genosha understand that he is the handsome face of Mutant kind and especially after joining the X-men and following moderation is liked by moderate mutants as well as humans. Even when he speaks to the group, he acknowledges that this was all Charles' dream and he didn't believe that it would happen. He is asked to be king and then he asks Rogue to be his queen. Episode 5, I think is tragically the peak of when Erik is believing Xavier's dream and thinking that peace is possible and happiness is possible for him as well. He is letting down his guard, accepting the King position, declaring his love for Rogue, trying to walk Xavier's path, be a good X-man, and etc. We know what happens next tragically however.

Everything he believed gets snatched and beaten out of him in Genosha. He tried to walk Xavier's path and it did not work out for him. He was already scarred, but this time was too much. He was kidnapped, tortured, and saw many deaths. He was already toeing the line before and felt justified in a way for committing crimes and atrocities and Genosha set him back to that way of thinking.

When we see him later, trying to persuade X-men to join him, EMPing the planet, attacking members of the X-men trying to stop him, he is traumatized and reacting poorly to Genosha. I don't justify his behavior, but I understand it. This is an Omega level mutant that has a track history of hurting humans for hurting mutants, so when a massacre hits it is not surprising that the mutant in question flexes his powers and gets angry.

What I don't know and am still on the fence about is how dedicated he truly was to Xavier's cause. Was he really a believer and dedicated to being a X-man or did it just take one incident for him to return to his ways? Also, how far is too far? Who is allowed to seek revenge or retribution? And to what extent? It is these questions that I think are so fascinating and I'm glad I don't know. These questions about Magneto are what made the show so interesting and complex and wants to make me see Season 2.

#x men #x-men #magneto #erik lensherr #x-men97 #x men 97

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grandline-fics · 3 days

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Dance With The Devil

DESCRIPTION: You first meet through a dance

WARNINGS: mention of a death but nothing graphic

CHARACTERS: Rob Lucci

WORDS: 1,204

A/N: Don’t know where this idea came from or how I feel about the result but I decided to go with it and give one of the villains some love while I was at it. First time writing for Lucci so hopefully they turned out okay. If there’s interest for this I might do a couple more with this idea for different characters.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

By all accounts if he were to carry out yet another assassination this setting was one of the more preferable for him. Civilians of high stature mingling; all of them enjoying fine food, richer tasting wine, sharing the recent buzz of salacious gossip, and some of them sure to be part of tomorrow’s rumour mill from their current behaviour Lucci was silently observing. So many of them thought they were being discreet and it was laughable in his keen gaze. Truly those with no training like he had were so clumsy and obvious, it was laughable. Still he supposed for many in this room, this was their only real thrill and excitement they’d get in their lives. As he lifted his champagne glass to his lips, his sharp eyes zeroed in on his target across the room. A man with more money than sense and had clearly led a lavish life thanks to those riches. While Lucci had orders to kill the man he also had orders to steal the very thing that made him so rich; a ledger filled with critical information so valuable it could buy a kingdom ten times over. He needed to wait for his target to retire to his suite and kill him there and steal the ledger at the same time.

“Sir?” He barely flickered his gaze down to register who’d decided to stand beside him. The movement of his eyes was enough to signal that he heard you speak to him but he offered no other response. Knowing he was listening was enough and you continued. “I hate to bother you but is there anyway I could trouble you for a dance? It’d help me shake some…undesirable attention.” Lucci glanced at you a little more and then followed where you were discreetly pointing behind you as you pretended to fix your hair. Slowly he caught sight of two individuals eyeing you. Lucci considered your request for a moment. He was to remain undercover and blend in. Dancing wouldn’t be out of the question, if anything it could help him.

Wordlessly he set his drink down on a table he’d been standing near and took your hand, leading you to the filled dance floor. Together you fell into perfect sync with the waltz playing. Slowly you followed Lucci’s stare to catch the man who had his silent attention. “Interesting…” you mused, only looking at the man with disinterest. “Didn’t think he’d be your type. You love a man with a large bank account? Or does the bald head and lecherous smile just really do it for you?” You asked with a smirk to see his lips twitch slightly. “I won't be jealous if you want me to swap places with him.” You offered.

“Not necessary.” Lucci finally uttered and you playfully gasped in surprise as he broke his gaze from the target to stare at you with empty eyes.

“So he does speak.” You teased, “And here I thought a cat had your tongue this whole time. Not that I mind. The strong, silent type of persona can be quite attractive when used right."

“I’ve never heard any complaints so far.”

“Humour too.” You smirked before looking behind you to see your annoyances had thankfully moved on and then glanced once more at the object of your dance partner’s attention. “Thief or assassin?”

Your question came lower than a whisper but to Lucci he heard it perfectly. Both his eyes and grip on you hardened slightly and yet you gave no reaction. There was no fear in your eyes, just a familiar coldness.

“For all you know I could be his bodyguard.” He stated, leading you smoothly into the second song. At his implication your smile returned with ease, continuing to dance with him as carefree as you had entered the dance floor with him. You were making no attempt to pull out of his hold.

“Oh honey, I’m not treating you like a fool so offer me the same courtesy.” You answered. “I know every face here and I also know which bodyguards belong to each guest. So you’re here for something else.” Lucci glared down at you and your smirk grew. “There’s that strong, silent type again. Well regardless of what you’re here to do you’ll get your chance soon enough.”

Sure enough a shriek sounded and in moments the music stopped abruptly when the host’s own security entered, instructing all guests to return to their suites immediately.

“Thanks for the dance, off you go.” You told Lucci, slipping your hand from his hold only to be roughly pulled back into his grasp. “Really? I’m suddenly a more important catch than what you were sent here to do because I worked out what you are?” You asked, surprising Lucci with your exasperation over the whole thing. Still you let him lead you with the crowd of panicked guests towards the suites. “If you’re as good as I think you are, I’m certain I’ll see you again. Quickly now, he’s getting away.”

Lucci looked to see his target being ushered suddenly in a different direction than he was meant to be by his guards who looked familiar to him. How was that possible? He’d done his reconnaissance to the letter. Where were they going? He glared at you one final time before he let out a growl and released you, slipping through the crowd like a shadow. With a satisfied hum you turned, against the tide of bodies and effortless slipped passed them and made your own planned escape undetected.

“You have the ledger?” Lucci’s superior asked the next morning over the den-den mushi. Lucci sat in his chair, relaxed as he looked at the hefty book in his grasp.

“It's in my hand as we speak. In the end there were no complications.” He reported. While the end location had been different, he’d successfully dealt with his target efficiently. After following them, they had gone to the original suite just by a longer and more complicated route. His target was killed in his bed while his so-called protection were none the wiser until he was long gone with the ledger in hand. “It seemed there was another death on the premises.”

“That hadn't been your doing?” Lucci frowned at the question.

“No, it was natural causes I’d heard. Heart attack.”

“That was the original thought. Our sources confirmed the cause was actually poison.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you thought to ask my involvement?”

“Because the victim was the target’s wife.” The revelation of this piece of information made Lucci freeze.

Quickly he finished the call and when he hung up he continued to think. The wife? Why would she-? Lucci looked down at the ledger in his hand and flicked through the pages, finally stopping when he noticed the tiniest remnant of paper in the seams. The only tiny trace that another page had once been there. Leaning forward he caught a scent. Yours. So that’s what you’d been up to. As infuriated as he was, he couldn’t deny your skill and now that he had your scent he would make it his ambition to track you down. He owed you another dance.

-----------------------------------------------

TAG LIST (If I've missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece fic #one piece x reader #lucci x reader #one piece x you #lucci x you #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #rob lucci #rob lucci x reader #rob lucci x you #lucci one piece #one piece lucci #rob lucci op #one piece rob lucci

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the-nosy-neighbor · 5 hours

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Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight

As always, I have edits:

This will make more sense at the end.

I came across some theories about this song, and wanted to look at it in depth.

We are reading with the understanding that he may be referring to Eddie.

[A gentle piano and bassoon track begins playing.]

The sun is low, it’s cold and dark,— end of season, but could also be a reference to night and danger after dark

Just wind and snow, I must remark,

The bugs all head to slumberland,—interesting given the use of toyland, also the commercial about remderem/insomnia (some must sleep but Wally is in the opposite state. Too aware?), but could be a reference to death, like “the big sleep”

Some might find it sad, but I understand,—on face value, he will miss his friends, but knows that it is inevitable.

Even if I might not be able to see you,—can’t see Eddie because he is gone/buried

I know it’s for the best, I can’t keep you,—Eddie staying would lead to serious consequences for Eddie

It’s time for all of you to get some rest,—after what we saw Eddie go through, I bet he would be better in a different state

To tuck you all into your arthropod nests,—bug stuff; also Julie's hibernation?

At this point, those last few lines could refer to a sort of death for Eddie. Almost like frank can preserve him in some way by giving him a death in this universe. If we are talking puppet world, which we did see in commercials, most of Eddie’s anxiety happened in that state. So, can Frank give Eddie a suspended or death like state in one of the layers of reality and he is preserved in storybook world or our real world?

With one last check, that nothing is amiss,

I can see you safe into your chrysalis,—this reads that he will put Eddie into a different state of being that he can come back from. The coming back is my interpretation only at this point because I assume frank wouldn’t choose death for him or would for sure be hurt by Eddie’s death. Things would have to be very bad if true death is a better option for Eddie.

Also, it hearkens back to the horror butterfly image. Another also, caterpillar to butterfly, an insinuation of emedging into a new form. I don’t see allusions to Howdy in here, but I suppose it is possible that this could refer to more than one neighbor and Frank is taking them all out.

As you snuggle down into your dirt,—reference to being buried?

I want to assure you that I won’t be hurt.

This clarifies that it is a sleeping type state, not death. Ok, here is we’re Eddie’s Halloween costume comes in. Frankenstein, changed from the Scarecrow in earlier art (presumably from wizard of oz). Interesting thing about scarecrow vs. Frankenstein is that we see scarecrow taken apart during that film and Frankenstein is famously assembled from parts of different people. Interestinger is the fact that they are both afraid of fire. (I love that Young Frankenstein shows up more than the original in a search.)

Frankenstein (and scarecrow) are both put back together, but for Frankenstein it seems more of a new being, not just a reassembling. Frankenstein (aka frankenstein’s monster) is a thinking, speaking individual that was horrified at the situation he was in. Frankenstein in the book murders to punish his creator for the immorality of creating him and the resulting loneliness that the monster feels. As such, the choice is very interesting. If the puppets of welcome home come to be aware or sentient, I wonder how they would feel about Ronald Dorelaine or their situation?

If the movie version is the focus of Eddie’s costume choice, then he would be a potentially thinking and feeling being (he is afraid of fire), but without further evidence we don’t know his thoughts.

Scarecrow is a guy without a brain, with the power of speech, so a kind of opposite. I think they all end up just needing to be confident, which is why some shyster from the Midwest is able to help. This almost seems to be more in tune with Eddie's character--Eddie has a tendency to appear kind of ditsy, is constantly being dismissed by others. In the end, we find out he is actually smart but lacks confidence. I can see that being true for Eddie as well.

If I had to pick out a character for Frank, it would be the Tin Man. Poppy is the Cowardly Lion, Wally is Dorothy. Home is Home. There are more parallels here than I was expecting. Howdy is the Wizard, Julie can be Glenda, and the Wicked Witch...is kind of no one? Sally can be a flying monkey. She works my nerve. Also, the whole spying thing was done by the monkeys in the movie.

But now that I am thinking about it, this comparison makes a lot of sense, in terms of the complex relationships, as well as the levels of reality that you find in Wizard of Oz. A big event leads to a shift in the understanding of reality, and the lead finds themselves in a very colorful world that doesn't much resemble their own, but is very flashy, has songs, beloved characters, and a sense of danger. There are some things when thought about in the context of real life, or the black and white portion of Wizard of Oz, would be truly frightening.

Of course, Wizard of Oz shares a lot of parallels with Alice in Wonderland, which also seems somewhat related. In terms of source material, the Wizard of Oz is considered to be a parable that expresses the thoughts about US economic policy in the 1890's. This is a theory that you can read more about here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_interpretations_of_The_Wonderful_Wizard_of_Oz

It isn't super related, and not everyone believes that this is the case. However, it seems to be a very American type story, no matter what you believe, that touches on the experience of normal people while much larger forces lie and fuck around with everything.

As the holidays begin to approach,

I gently kiss, each and every roach,—kisses for Eddie. We have seen a realistic roach on the secret page with the mishmash of one script where Wally is deciding what to draw

I made sure to keep, my garden cozy,

So you can safely sleep, in fallen posies,—this whole stanza shows a desire to and promise of a quiet death and maybe even a maintained grave. I looked up posies to see where Eddie could potentially be buried. Posies refer to a nosegay, or small bouquet of flowers. It was a Victorian secret code thing, a way to declare love or even reject people based on flower and color. One that sticks with us in the form of red roses signifying love. On the map, there is a cluster of yellow flowers to the side of Frank’s house. Not sure this counts as his garden, since it is on the other side of the house. Julie has a group of flowers behind her house, but once again, not his garden. No fallen flowers that I can ID.

When googling posey, this is what comes up. I felt that there was a flower called a posey, and these do look like the big yellow flowers by Frank’s house. If any flowers fall in updates, I am going to assume someone is buried there.

There is also the ring around the roses rhyme, which could relate, but I don’t really see a correlation.

It’s time to get comfortable in your honeycomb,

take your winter intermission in your garden loam,—dirt, burying again

neatly nestled from the cold in roots and rhi-ya-zomes, — cozy dead

sleeping side by side under stately stones,—2 dead? Headstones is the link I make there--OK, now look at the pic! (I know, it's a reach.)

…And I’ll be inside of my home,—frank is staying to oversee something. It reads like calming the person who will die. This seems to bolster that arguments that I addressed in the post about bugs on the previous website, that Frank is working against, or at least parallel to Wally. With the bugs, the whispering to Eddie, and using his first name, I think it is reasonable to suggest that Frank is working against Wally and/or Home.

Another potential clue is the hidden video with the clothespins where 1 is upside down. I have theorized that it is a reference to Barnaby dying, but it could be Barnaby and Eddie. Only one clothespin is shown upside down though, so Barnaby or Eddie?

Regardless of how I feel you need to go away,

I’ll be the one to tell you, you just can’t stay,—he likes bugs but this is extreme of Frank, if he is talking about actual bugs

Thankfully I lack a sentimental sensibility,—true that, he generally seems calm.

I enjoy my Methodical Mundanity,—why is this capitalized? I looked and looked but I can’t find the origin of this phrase, though it came up a few times in random posts and articles. Clown does have a tendency to capitalize things that seem random. Me below is also capitalized. I listened as well, and I have to wonder why the singing is so bad? I don’t think the voice actors are bad at singing, seems like a deliberate choice to have reedy and unsteady vocals, pitch issues and pacing problems.

Where all that’s left is… Me.

So, this is a bit extreme for a song about hibernating bugs. I think that given our many references to bisecting or otherwise putting people into pieces (Eddie butterfly horror, frank in a pile of body parts, look I made a dog, and slinky Barnaby, now Frankenstein and Scarecrow) that we could be looking at death in a sense that works in one layer of reality. You disassemble a puppet, it is no longer a puppet. So what if Frank = Frankenstein and Eddie is Frankenstein’s monster? Frank can take him apart and put him back together in puppet reality?

If I had to guess, I am sticking with my working theory. Frank, as the smartest guy in the neighborhood, is the resistant force in the neighborhood. Wally/Home is/are the catalyst for the scary stuff. They are central to everything, physically and otherwise.

I have mentioned that in the last update, Sally and Poppy have the appearance of spies or managing Eddie. Given that Poppy doesn’t attend to party, I am anticipating that Eddie was isolated and watched by Sally during this planning period, where Wally and Barnaby walk the neighborhood to find out what Homewarming is. Given that it is said that Wally and Home instigated Homewarming, it is strange that everyone knows what it is except for Wally. It reads more as an attempt to achieve a goal, despite everyone knowing about the holiday. Even Julie is at the party, and she is supposed to be hibernating. Well, they don't say exactly when Julie hibernates (maybe there was something about her doing it after the holiday?) Anyway, Poppy isn't at Homewarming. She could be at home, but the book stating that they are all here seems like an attempt to cover up her absence. What is she doing? Snooping in the Post Office while Sally watches Eddie? Does Eddie want to go home for not feeling well or he has an idea of what is happening while he is gone?

Maybe Frank sees his boyfriend and comrade at arms about to get hit with something bad, so to preserve him and the opposition, he is going to disassemble him (cue Johnny 5) for protection.

In the past, Sonny (the Brazilian bird) was cast as the opposition to Wally, and included in a relationship with Frank. This work in particular comes to mind:

Clown has stated that they removed Sonny from the project due to the story changing from one with a hero, to one without, as that wasn't the story that they wanted to tell. What if, though, instead of Sonny being written out for the hero reason, there was another reason? What if we are seeing Frank taking on being the neighborhood's savior? He is just snarky enough to make it seem less like a hero situation and more because it was impacting his garden.

#welcome home #welcome home theories #welcome home arg #eddie dear #frank frankley

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perseabeth · 9 hours

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Milo’s Lyre

this is a one shot written about @anotheroceanid amazing fic titled When the Horizon Bloom, read it on AO3 you will enjoy it very much and get your heart broken in the most beautiful way possible. I published another one shot about this fic titled “What If” you can read it too- I got this idea last night during my angst hour with @anotheroceanid, and after few tears, and of course her inspiration, I decided that you should cry with us too! - i do not own the idea of the fic and i certainly do not own any character, all belong to the great author of the fic that made me cry more than my college curriculum enjoy ✨

Apollo no longer remembers how the dream began. He isn't even certain how he can dream at all. He once believed that gods were immune to such mortal experiences, but ever since his love vanished, dreams and nightmares have haunted him in every stolen moment he tries to delve into slumber. This dream, however, was different.

It was serene. Apollo sat upon a rock, a glittering sea stretching before him. His heart ached with a profound sorrow. The sea... How could he ever gaze upon the ocean again without seeing her eyes? How could he ever look at the waves and not remember the way they mirrored her gaze?

Sometimes, he would embark on frantic quests, searching for the sea that truly captured the color of her eyes, just to glimpse those sea-green eyes once more.

How long had it been? Seven years? For gods, time was an irrelevant concept, a fleeting notion in the face of immortality. Normally, seven years would pass as quickly as seven minutes. But these seven years... These years had stretched into millennia. He never knew time could crawl so slowly, could torture so mercilessly.

Apollo cradled his golden lyre, the instrument that once brought her such joy. He remembered the first time she heard him play, the radiant sparkle in her eyes, the breathtaking smile that stole his soul forever. His fingers, delicate and reverent, brushed against the strings, coaxing a serene melody from the lyre. Each note floated through the air like a whisper, and even the restless sea stilled its waves, entranced by the music.

Minutes passed in this harmonious reverie until Apollo felt a presence behind him—a presence so calm, so peaceful, carrying the unmistakable scent of the sea. Hope surged through him. Could it be his love? Could he finally see her in his dreams?

He turned his head slowly, afraid to wake from this fragile hope. As he did, his eyes met sea-green ones, and his heart melted, his soul awakening. Percy’s eyes… But something wasn’t right. The figure before him was a young boy, no older than six or seven, with golden curls that framed his face in a halo of sunlight. The boy was breathtakingly beautiful. Apollo's heart clenched as he took in the boy’s features. They reminded him of himself in one moment, and then of his love in the next, as if he were a perfect blend of them both.

Apollo's heart clenched. This boy… he looked like the son he might have had if Percy were still here. Shock rendered him speechless as he gazed into those familiar eyes. It was as if the child embodied the essence of their love, a living testament to a future that had been cruelly taken from them.

The boy stood cautiously, studying Apollo with a curious intensity. His golden locks tumbled over his forehead, and he wore a simple chiton that only enhanced his cherubic innocence.

“Can I see this, sir?” The boy’s voice was soft and melodic, yet firm and confident—far beyond his six years. His eyes darted to the lyre in Apollo’s hands, and Apollo finally realized what the boy wanted.

But Apollo was too shocked to speak. The boy stood silently, waiting for Apollo's response. When he finally understood, he nodded. “Of course.”

The boy took careful steps toward Apollo. As he stood before him, the sun god wondered who had raised this child. Most children snatched what they desired without hesitation; they didn’t wait politely for anything. Yet, this boy's sea-green eyes looked up at him with pure innocence and curiosity. He bent slightly to study the lyre, his hands kept respectfully to himself as if he were afraid to touch it.

Apollo realized the boy wouldn't touch the lyre unless he gave it to him.

“Here,” he extended the lyre to the boy. “You can hold it.

The boy hesitated, shaking his head. “No, no, it must be precious.” His voice was filled with a respectful reverence that belied his age, making Apollo's heart beats with admiration.

Apollo gave the young boy a gentle smile. “No, it will be fine here,” he said, pushing the lyre into the boy’s hands. The boy took it with utmost care, his eyes filling with wonder as he studied it. He looked at the lyre as if it were the eighth wonder of the world, his interest and amazement clear.

“Can I ask how you made it, sir? It is amazingly beautiful,” the boy asked, his curiosity shining with pure beauty and innocence.

Apollo smiled fondly, remembering how the lyre came into his possession. “My brother stole my cattle and gave this to me,” he chuckled.

The boy chuckled too, hiding his mouth with his small hands. “This reminds me of a story Mama tells me, about the sun god and the messenger of the gods.”

Apollo froze. The boy’s interest shifted back to the lyre, while Apollo tried to process the millions of questions racing through his mind. His mother told him stories? Apollo was about to ask more when the boy looked up and spoke in his soft, melodic voice. “If you don’t mind… can you,” the boy paused, choosing his words carefully, “can you teach me how to play it? The melody you played was beautiful.”

Apollo, still dumbfounded, watched the boy. “I think I figured out how to make it, but I want to play it for Mama. She seems sad lately, and she loves melodies so much. She sings me lullabies, but I don’t know any to sing for her. So maybe, maybe I can play her something nice that makes her smile.”

Questions swirled around Apollo’s mind. How could a child so young speak with such confidence and wisdom? But the most pressing question came to his lips. “Where is your mother?”

The boy, still focused on the lyre, answered, “On an island.”

“Where is the island?” Apollo asked.

The boy smiled as if Apollo had asked something silly, his smile bright and peaceful. “In the sea,” he said, then paused. “But Mama says the sea is dangerous.”

Apollo looked at the boy, confused. The boy’s answers seemed to reveal everything and nothing at the same time. Dangerous sea? He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Apollo's shoulders slumped. He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Perhaps his mind was creating illusions, offering a glimpse of a future he could never have, mixing him and Percy together to create the child Apollo had always dreamed Percy would carry.

Apollo looked into the boy’s eyes—Percy’s eyes—deciding that maybe, just maybe, he could live this dream for as long as it lasted. For as long as this dream allows him, he wants to imagine that this, indeed, is the child he created with his love. He held the boy’s hand, guiding him on where to place his fingers on the lyre. “Here, let me teach you” he said softly, positioning the small fingers with gentle precision on the lyre’s strings.

The boy was, in fact, the eighth wonder of the world, Apollo thought, as he looked at the young boy whose golden locks glowed in the sunlight.

Once—that was all the instruction the boy needed to create the most beautiful symphony Apollo had ever heard. The boy’s fingers danced over the strings with an innate skill, plucking and strumming as if he had been born for this. The melody flowed seamlessly, each note a shimmering thread weaving through the air, enchanting everything around them.

Apollo smiled fondly at the boy, who was also in amazement, his radiant smile outshining even the sun. The sea sparkled with the boy’s joy, and the sun, feeling almost humbled, began to set beyond the horizon, casting a golden portrait over the world.

Suddenly, the boy stopped and carefully extended the lyre back to Apollo. “I have to wake up now. Mama will wake up soon, and I can’t let her do things alone.”

Apollo’s brows knotted in confusion. “Where are we now?”

The boy smiled brightly. “We are dreaming, of course.”

Apollo took the lyre, looking at it before turning back to the boy. “You can have it.”

The young boy shook his head, making his golden locks jiggle. “It is a gift from your brother. It is precious.” He smiled, a smile that warmed Apollo’s soul, his beautiful sea-green eyes glowing with kindness. Apollo didn't want to wake up. He just wanted to see Percy’s eyes a little longer. Even if it was a hallucination, he wanted to remember those eyes longer.

The boy smiled at Apollo as he began to turn his head. “Thank you for helping me make Mama happy. Next time, when we meet, I’ll try to teach you something too.” And with that, the boy started walking away, slowly dissolving into the dream's fabric.

It didn't take long for Apollo to lose consciousness of the dream. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his bed on Olympus, the morning light casting a gentle glow through his window.

Apollo sat on his bed, his chamber unchanged, Olympus glowing just as it always had. But his heart was heavy with a sorrow that even the gods would struggle to bear.

A sad smile graced Apollo’s lips—a smile that held an ocean of pain, a pain too deep for mortals to fathom. The Fates had always been cruel to him, but now even his own mind seemed to conspire in their cruelty, conjuring hallucinations to torment him.

A young boy, the eighth wonder of the world—a boy he could have had if Percy were still with him. If only she were here, somewhere beside him. He was certain she would have adored this boy, cherished him with all her heart. But he was not real.. And his Percy was not here.

Apollo rubbed his eyes, longing to wake up, to return to his duties, to mourn a girl whose disappearance remained a haunting mystery. And to mourn an imaginary son, whom he was certain he would never see again.

—————————

Gaea’s Island

Percy was puzzled by her son’s urgency that morning. After helping her with his brothers, he dashed outside, claiming to have something important to attend to.

She didn’t pry too much into Milo’s affairs, trusting that whatever he was up to, he knew how to avoid trouble, unlike her eldest, Hector. As long as it was Milo, she assured herself, he would be fine.

But Milo had been unusually preoccupied for days now. Whenever Percy found him, he would hastily hide something behind his back, claiming it was important. Percy didn’t dwell on it, assuming it was a surprise he didn’t want her to see. She smiled at the thought.

Then, she heard it—a beautiful melody that froze her in place. For a moment, she thought it was a dream, a hallucination conjured by her own longing. an image of a man with the most beautiful sky-blue eyes, creating serene melodies for her suddenly occupied her mind.. But the sound of footsteps snapped her back to reality. She followed the sound, Hector and Luke trailing behind her, until she suddenly stopped.

On the grass sat a young boy with golden locks, his sea-green eyes shining with joy as he looked up at her. Her Milo. In his hands, a wooden instrument created the most enchanting melody she had ever heard since she arrived to this island

It didn’t take long for Percy to realize what her son had made. Her heart swelled with oceans of emotions, pain, sorrow, pride and love as she beheld her precious Milo, crafting a lyre with his own small hands.

Percy approached Milo, her heart overflowing with a mixture of confusion and love. A single tear traced its way down her cheek as Hector and Luke stood nearby, mesmerized by the beautiful sound emanating from Milo's creation.

Milo looked up at her with a bright smile, but confusion clouded his features as he furrowed his brows. “You don’t like it, Mama? I made it for you.”

Without hesitation, Percy rushed forward, enveloping Milo in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I love it… I love it so much.”

“Then why are you crying?” Milo asked, puzzled.

“They're tears of happiness, my love,” Percy whispered, her voice choked with emotion. Tears of happiness—tears of memories, pain, and pride. Tears of many things.

Milo pulled away, showing Percy the delicate wooden instrument he had crafted. “Here, let me show you more,” he said eagerly, his fingers deftly plucking at the strings.

As Milo played, Percy couldn’t help but notice how he resembled his father in that moment. Not a mere version, like Luke, but a reflection—a radiant embodiment of his father's spirit.

Then it struck her—how did Milo know about the lyre? It was Hermes who created it, nd given it to Apollo, later becoming Apollo's symbol. How could Milo know exactly what a lyre looked like? She had always believed that their father lived on in their souls, but she never imagined it would manifest in such a tangible way.

Puzzled, Percy looked at her son. “How did you learn to make this?”

Milo beamed at her, his eyes sparkling with the wisdom of the universe. “In my dream, of course, Mama.”

The answer did little to quell Percy’s bewilderment. She watched as her son proudly displayed his creation, insisting that she should smile because he had made it for her happiness. He even taught his brothers how to hold it so they could all bring joy to their mother.

She watched them take turns playing, each displaying a pure talent they hadn’t known they possessed

Her Milo, her precious children, and her precious lost love…

A few days later, the lyre disappeared from the island, as if it had never existed before.

#wthb fic #wthb Apollo #wthb percy #wthb Milo #perpollo #Bahia writing

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