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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 day ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 1: Bruises and Bloodlines]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else's protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm's End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), Aemond stressing everybody out, Aegon hating his life even more than usual, RIP lil Luke Strong, don't touch bats in real life or you will get rabies.

Word count: 6.3k

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Cannibal, a noun: one that devours its own.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s back, you can feel it: a sensation like falling, the impact of Vhagar’s claws against the earth. You get glimpses like this, unpredictable flashes of intuition, a window into the contents of his mind or the scenery he is draped in like how branches hang from a willow tree. You set Blueberry down on the windowsill, where he skitters to the edge and swoops out into the night, chasing white specks of moths and lacewings. Then you leave your bedchamber to meet Aemond in the hallway.

One of the maids is there, trying to be patient as she paces with Maelor in her arms. He’s just like you were at that age: a demon who never sleeps. His white-blonde hair is disheveled, his eyes rheumy and pink from crying in protest. But then they brighten.

“Red Red!” Maelor swipes at you with tiny, grasping hands.

“What are you doing awake?” you coo at him, beaming. “It’s nighttime. You aren’t a bat. Are you a bat, huh? Are you hiding a pair of wings somewhere?”

He giggles as you pretend to inspect him. The maid smiles.

“If you don’t have any wings, I’m afraid you’ll have to go right to sleep. That’s the rule for humans.”

Maelor trills in his toddler lisp: “Then I want to be a bat.”

“Okay! I’ll find some bugs for you to eat.”

“No!” he squeals, dismayed. “No bugs!”

“In that case, I guess you’re a human after all. If you go to bed now, you can help me collect seashells tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Maelor agrees grudgingly, and the maid ferries him away. From the Godswood, great horned owls hoot. One of the knights of Aegon’s Kingsguard, Sir Willis Fell from the Stormlands, passes by on his patrol and gives you a quick nod, polite but a bit avoidant, awkward truths he pretends he can ignore. He doesn’t ask if you need assistance or why you’re awake at this hour. He already knows. He vanishes again, his white cloak swishing behind him like the tail of a wolf or a jackal.

You lurk at the top of the Grand Staircase shrouded in shadows and shifting firelight, feeling night wind skate over your cheek like children playing on a frozen lake, and that breeze is not here but outside where Aemond must be trudging across the courtyard towards the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast. You drum your fingertips impatiently on the stone banister. When at last he appears—first only a silhouette in the darkness, then rippling into color under the torches, black leather and silver hair—Aemond is drenched with rain and ascending swiftly, two stairs at a time.

You grin as you take a step down to him, slinking, conspiratorial. He told you all his plans before he left; he tells you everything. “How was Storm’s End?”

But Aemond doesn’t answer. He blows past you and stalks towards Criston’s chambers, rainwater dripping from his hair and littering the floor with tiny, transluscent pools.

You turn to watch him leave, mystified. “Aemond?”

He says without stopping: “Go wake Aegon and Mother. Tell them to meet me in the small council chamber. I’ll get Criston and Grandsire.”

“Why?” Again, Aemond ignores you. This is unusual. You bolt after him, closing the space between you until your fingers catch his wrist. “Aemond, what—?”

He grabs you and pins you to the wall, the stones cold against your belly through the crimson velvet of your robe, Aemond’s hips braced against yours, domineering, demanding, promising what he will do for you after. You close your eyes and sigh shakily—a savoring, a surrender—and then he is tender, turning your face so he can kiss the apple of your cheek. He murmurs, warm and low: “Do as I ask.”

You nod. “Okay,” you agree in a whisper. Aemond releases you and vanishes to rouse Criston. You break for Aegon’s chambers.

There is a woman in his bed, snoring softly and with long auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulders. He has endeavored to spend less time drinking and philandering since becoming king, and yet…it is so rare for a creature to change its spots or stripes or scales. Aegon has always been this way. Without his vices, you would not recognize him.

You kneel beside the bed and rest a palm lightly on Aegon’s damp forehead. You have to be careful when you wake him; he flinches, he startles, he has too many memories of being ripped from sleep by bruises and crescent-moon indentations of fingernails. “Aegon? I’m really sorry, I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s you. “Fuck off,” he groans into his pillow.

“Aemond’s back from Storm’s End, but something’s wrong. He wants you to meet him in the council chamber.”

Aegon looks up and blinks drowsily. Moonlight spills into the room through gaps in the curtains. He smells strange, like lavender; that must be from his companion. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

You shake your head.

Now Aegon is alarmed. The dark, cloudy blue of his irises is rapidly clearing. “Alright. Give me five minutes.”

“Wash the girl’s perfume off you so Mother isn’t quite so disappointed.”

Aegon chuckles, rubbing his eyes; something about the way he does this reminds you of Maelor. They are both just boys; they are both so incendiary and yet so vulnerable. “Get out, whore.”

You tousle his hair roughly, smack a kiss onto his sweat-salted temple as he tries to shove you away, snicker as he hurls pillows at you. You are slipping through the doorway when you hear the woman in bed mumble: “Huh? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “Thank you very much for your company, your skills were more than adequate, now kindly find your way home…”

You hurry down the hall to Mother’s chambers. There are seven-pointed stars on the walls and the furniture, green tapestries everywhere. She will always be a Hightower, averse to Valyrian oddities and suspicious of that sinister, ancient magic. She does not understand it; she tries to overlook it in her children. It’s the only way she knows how to love them. You sit beside the indistinct shape beneath the blankets, sinking into the goose feather mattress, and nudge what you guess is her shoulder. “Mother?”

She stirs, and then her face fills with concern when she sees you in the dim light from her candles. “What’s happened, darling? Are you ill?” You are prone to headaches and chills and nausea, you always have been, maladies of the flesh that are either a blood inheritance or a curse from bad stars. Once when you were very young, Aemond pushed you into a cold stream during a royal progress to the Vale, and you had been laughing when Criston leapt in and dragged you from the water; but two days later, you began burning up with a fever so hot they thought you might die. Aemond had slept on the floor beside your bed, and when you shivered so violently your bones ached he climbed in beside you and held you until you could sleep again; and later when his eye was cut out on Driftmark and he was half-mad with pain, you did the same for him.

“No, Mother, I’m fine. It’s Aemond.”

She sits up and studies you. “Aemond?”

“He’s back from Storm’s End, and he wants to talk to you.”

“To me?”

“And Criston and Aegon, and Grandsire too.”

She doesn’t understand. “Now? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did he say?”

Everyone expects you to already know, but you don’t. “I think he wants to tell all of us at the same time. In the small council chamber.”

“Now?” she says again, puzzled, still half-asleep. “What is so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“Mother, there are only so many ways for me to express that I don’t know. If I had any indications at all, I’d share them.”

“Alright.” She’s smiling; you have amused her. She throws off the covers and touches her bare feet to the floor. “Pass me my robe. It’s on that chair over there.” And of course, the swath of velvet you hand her to wear over her nightgown is a deep emerald green: the color of fertile fields, not blood or beasts.

By the time you and Mother arrive together, everyone else is already taking their places in the council chamber. Aegon is at the head of the table, spinning his stone—a black sphere of volcanic glass—and peering around boredly. Grandsire and Criston are greeting Mother and yawning into the backs of their hands. No one has woken Helaena, and yet she is here, settling nimbly into the chair beside Aegon. He gives her a brief, fond glance, noting that she is fidgeting with a small oak dragonfly he once made for her. Aegon carves wood, Helaena embroiders, you shatter seashells with tiny hammers and use the shards to make mosaics, miniscule yet unladylike violence. Aemond has books and swords in place of crafts. And Daeron…you assume he must have cultivated some artistic talents while away in Oldtown—he was always so imaginative as a boy—but you would not know them. You see him so rarely now. You sit across the table from Aemond. He is the only attendee not dressed in nightclothes. His black leather tunic is still layered with a sheen of rain.

Grandsire lowers himself gingerly into his seat, grinding arthritic bones that pain him. The nights have grown chilly, even here in the south. Winter is coming, the maesters warn. His gaze passes over you and Helaena—the two of you aren’t really supposed to be here, but you’ll be permitted to stay if you cause no trouble—then he smirks humorlessly at Aemond. “So you failed.”

“No,” Aemond says, and you think as you look around the table: No Orwyle, no Lannister, no Wylde, not even Larys Strong. What does Aemond not want them to know? “Lord Baratheon has agreed to marry his youngest daughter to Daeron in one year’s time. He was very enthusiastic about the match.”

“Great!” Aegon declares. “Although, personally, I am of the inexpert opinion that this could have been discussed over bacon and honeycakes at breakfast…”

Grandsire snorts, derisive; he disapproves, though perhaps he is not surprised. He says to Aemond: “You were sent to negotiate your own marriage, not Daeron’s.”

Aemond shrugs, as if it happened by coincidence. “That was Borros Baratheon’s preference.”

“It was your preference, you mean.”

Aemond is careful not to reveal any emotion. “Daeron is young, but he already has a reputation. He is known to be handsome and chivalrous and…” A wave of the hand as he searches for the right word. “Unmutilated. It is not so difficult to imagine why a father would believe him to be a more worthy son-in-law.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, one Targaryen is as good as the next,” Aegon says, and of course nobody pays much attention.

“Perhaps Borros Baratheon’s judgment has been contaminated by certain disturbing and disgraceful rumors,” Grandsire counters and glares at you. You don’t reply; there’s nothing you can say that would help. Everyone knows, but it rarely spoken of aloud, as if it is a ghost nobody wants to inadvertently conjure. All your life there has been this perpetual rebalancing of scales: someone mentions a diplomatic match for you, you stall and Aemond makes excuses, Grandsire and Mother try to convince him, Aemond is immoveable and they aren’t willing to invoke his wrath. Vhagar is the subtext of every dispute. They need her, they are terrified of her.

Criston attempts to deescalate. “Aemond’s task was to ensure the Baratheons’ loyalty to the crown, and he has accomplished that. Perhaps it would be wise to move on.”

“Fine, what else?” Grandsire snaps. “You assembled us here for some reason, I presume. It must be urgent to merit a meeting now. It better be urgent, or I’ll be paying people to shake you awake during the hour of the wolf for the next month.”

“It is urgent,” Aemond says softly, then pauses, gazing down at the ball in front of him, white quartz dappled with blue. Everyone watches him. You share a glance with Aegon; he is curious, but you have nothing to offer him. You turn back to Aemond with bewilderment in your face, furrows in your brow.

“Aemond?” Mother prompts.

He looks at you, only for a second, but you’re thunderstruck by what you see in his remaining eye. You have never known Aemond to be afraid, but he is right now. What happened? you think, horror making the blood in your veins cold and slow and heavy. What did he do?

Aemond begins: “Luke Strong was at Storm’s End too.”

“What?” Grandsire says, more baffled than worried. “That runt? Why?”

“He’s a weasel,” Aegon mutters, spinning his ball again.

“Rhaenyra’s son?” Mother asks. “She sent him there all alone? How peculiar. The way she was always hovering over him while they were here, I’m amazed she let him out of her sight for that long. How old is he now? With that plain, ever-anxious, pug-nosed face, he looks like a little boy—”

Aemond says: “He was sent to remind Borros of his old pledge to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim. But Luke had no incentives to offer.”

“And so Lord Baratheon rejected him,” Grandsire surmises.

Aemond nods, though perhaps halfheartedly.

“Well, good,” Grandsire says, surveying the table for agreement. “That’s good, right? With every house that refuses to aid her, Rhaenyra will be more likely to accept our terms, and we can resolve this question of succession without any bloodshed.”

“Meleys and the Dragonpit,” Aegon reminds him.

“Without further bloodshed,” Grandsire amends.

Mother and Criston concur, but you’re watching Aemond. He hasn’t responded yet. Mother’s gaze flits between the two of you. She is somewhat sympathetic to the affinity you share, but she doesn’t understand it. More than anything, you get the sense she believes it is something you must be saved from. The Hightowers could stomach Aegon and Helaena’s match—Viserys was still healthy enough to insist upon it, and the couple so seemingly platonic it was easy to forget they were married at all—but they have no appetite for a desire that defies political expediency, that burns scorching and wild.

“Aemond, did you quarrel with Luke?” Mother says, her tone patient in an I-won’t-be-mad-if-you-just-tell-me-the-truth sort of way. “I know…your eye…” She touches her own face, wincing at the memory of how he suffered. “Did you seek restitution of some sort from him? Did you make accusations?”

“We…exchanged some words,” Aemond admits. “And then…when Luke left on Arrax…” There is a lull, and everyone stares at him. “Vhagar and I followed.”

“What?!” Grandsire exclaims. “You threatened Rhaenyra’s son?!”

“I…” Aemond closes his eye, then after a moment opens it again and continues. “It was my intention to frighten him, that was all.”

“Idiot,” Grandsire hisses. “You know better. You’re too well-educated to act like you don’t. Now, that one…” He jabs an accusatory finger at Aegon, who is caught off-guard, what the fuck do I have to do with this?

Criston says, more gently: “That was very dangerous, Aemond.” Mother covers her mouth with one hand and shakes her head. Her long coppery hair hangs in uncombed waves, still tangled from sleep.

“So what happened?” Aegon asks. “Where’d you chase him to? All the way back to Dragonstone? You must have scared him to death.”

Aemond chooses his words with great care and agonizing slowness. “Everything was under control. Then Arrax…he unleashed his flames on Vhagar, and she…she attacked.”

Everyone is silent. After a moment, Grandsire says: “What do you mean she attacked?”

“She…” Aemond gestures vaguely with open hands, hands that have held you, caged you, dragged you, pleased you until you were forged to him like a blade to a hilt. Again, he looks at you, and what is he asking for? Help, empathy, compassion, forgiveness? “She bit Arrax.”

“She wounded him?” Aegon says.

“She devoured him.”

Criston blinks. “So…Arrax is dead, and where is Luke now?”

Aemond laces his fingers together on the table like he’s praying. “He’s…he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Mother echoes.

“Did you look for him?” Grandsire demands. “I mean, did you even bother to search for Luke, or did you just leave him in the Stormlands somewhere? Did he fall into the sea, could he be wandering around in a forest? If Luke is injured, we should send out people to find him. We could hold him as a hostage.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Aemond’s voice is frayed. And now for the first time tonight, you finally know what he’s going to say. Your eyes snag on Aegon’s, and he reads the terror there, and then it hits him too. “There is nothing to search for.”

Mother is gaping at him, the unwanted knowledge seeping in like rain through earth. “Nothing?”

“There is no body. Pieces, perhaps.”

Unspeakable, suffocating dread fills the room, and then Grandsire leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the table. “Useless!” he roars at Aemond. “Worse than useless, a saboteur, a curse, a plague, you have ruined everything your Mother and I worked for, Rhaenyra was considering our terms and now you’ve condemned us all!”

“You killed Lucerys Velaryon?” Mother says, stunned. Her large dark eyes glisten with unpardonable betrayal. She’ll never look at him the same way again. “You murdered Rhaenyra’s son? A prince, the heir to Driftmark?”

“It wasn’t murder,” Aemond pleads. “It was…it was combat, it was a battle—”

“A battle with that child?!” Grandsire thunders. Helaena begins to cry, and Aegon places a hand on her wrist as his wide eyes dart around the table. “Everyone’s seen him, it’s no secret, and not a single person in the realm would be delusional enough to believe a clash between Vhagar and Arrax was anything but a slaughter!”

“Aemond,” Criston says quietly, appalled, astonished.

Aemond can’t meet his eyes. He peers down at the table, and despite everything—what will happen to us, what will happen to me?—there is an ache in your chest like cracked ribs trying to heal, a profound lightless distress, a ricochet of the pain he’s feeling. “It wasn’t my intention to harm Luke.”

Grandsire shouts: “Did you give Vhagar the order or not?!”

It feels like a long time before Aemond answers. “No.”

“Oh gods,” Criston says as he sinks down in his chair, turning to Alicent. She has hidden her face with both hands and seems to be weeping.

“So you can’t control Vhagar,” Grandsire seethes. “You ride the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world and you can’t stop her from eating people.”

“I never would have purposefully—”

“But you created the situation! You pursued Luke, you tormented him, and surely somewhere in your sick brain you considered that you were endangering his life! And now… now…now Rhaenyra will be merciless, she will never submit, she will endeavor to destroy us all!”

“It will bring more allies to her side,” Criston says. “They will believe she was wronged, and she will wield that weapon to great advantage. She is cunning.”

“What about your family, Aemond?!” Mother sobs, her face a hectic, bloody pink. “You and your brothers will have to go to war, you might be maimed or butchered, and your sisters and I…we could be taken as prisoners, we could be executed for treason!”

“That will never happen,” he swears; but his pale blue eye is misty, and he bites his lips together so they won’t tremble.

Mother is desperate, tears streaming down her cheeks “What can we do, Father? How can we salvage this?”

Grandsire points to you. “She must be wed immediately. We’ve already waited too long.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says, but no one is listening.

“Mother,” you beg. “Please don’t let them—”

“She will be married to whoever can help us in this,” Grandsire says. “The Lannisters or the Redwynes or the Swanns, perhaps the Butterwells or the Mootons if that will coax them to our side—”

“Then the realm will burn,” Aemond replies darkly, leaning over the table. “But I’ll come knocking on your door first, Grandsire.”

Grandsire looks at him, startled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Shall we find out?”

“Otto, please,” Criston says, holding up a palm. Then he considers how to dissuade him. “All things considered—the military strength that Aemond has brought to our side, the devotion that he has shown this family, present circumstances notwithstanding—he has never asked for much.”

“He asks for the one thing we cannot give him,” Grandsire replies, then turns to you. “What do you think about what Aemond has done? This recklessness, this monstrous error?”

He rarely asks for your opinion about anything. This is not a question but a summons: you are supposed to disavow Aemond. You are the one who can hurt him best. Instead you say, though it’s not what you truly feel: “Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat.”

Grandsire, Mother, and Criston all begin yelling at once. Helaena shrinks into herself, her dragonfly made of oak wood clutched to her chest. Aegon whispers something to her—you can leave, you believe he says—but she shakes her head no. You are stoic as the adults berate and implore you, and perhaps it’s strange that you still think of them that way since you’re an adult now too, and yet…their gravity seems so much heavier than yours, their tethers to the earth overgrown with weeds and moss.

“I’ll gut you myself!” Grandsire screams at Aemond, empty threats woven from helpless terror. “I’ll lock you in the Black Cells, I’ll have you banished to Dorne—!”

“I’ll throw a feast!” Aegon says suddenly, and the others go quiet.

“You’ll what?” Grandsire snarls.

“Little Luke Strong is dead and that’s a victory for our side. There’s no other way to look at it.”

“You intend to celebrate this calamity?”

“What else should we do?” Aegon asks. “Apologize? Go crawling on our bellies to Rhaenyra for forgiveness? No, she’d burn us alive. If it’s done, we must embrace it and use it to bolster our cause as much as possible. It was a battle and a victory. Aemond is a war hero. Onto the next objective.”

“What a disaster,” Criston mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, that might be the only option we have.”

Mother clasps the small seven-pointed star that hangs from the gold chain at her throat. “I must go to the sept. I must pray for our survival.”

Grandsire glowers at Aegon. “You are a humiliation.”

“I am the king. I want a feast.”

Grandsire sighs deeply, pushing his chair away from the table. “I suppose I have letters to write.” And then, to Aemond: “When your sisters are captured and enslaved and married off to whichever Black loyalists will pay Rhaenyra and Daemon the most for them, I trust you’ll remember who’s responsible.”

Aemond gets up and storms out of the small council chamber. Mother mops the tears off her face with the sleeves of her green robe. Criston takes one of her hands and is murmuring promises, assurances, perhaps lies. You, Aegon, and Helaena say nothing. None of you can defend what Aemond has done, but you won’t denounce him either.

Then Grandsire grins at you, a cruel bestial flash of his teeth, an old grizzled animal tough from too many winters, icy wind shrieking through the chambers of its heart. “Oh, are you pretending that you’re not about to run after him?”

You don’t reply. But you rise from the table and flee as Mother watches you, her vast eyes swimming with misery.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a game with five pieces: the green snake, the yellow butterfly, the blue wolf, the red bat, and the purple shadowcat. They chase each other around the board, and if one of the other pieces lands on the same spot as yours then you have to go all the way back to the start.

Daeron is the youngest, but he almost always seems to win; some people are like that, luck flows like a river in their veins. Helaena enjoys playing even if she finished last. Aegon feigns disinterest but never declines an invitation, sliding his snake across the spaces with his index finger between slurps of wine. And sometimes Aemond is ruthless, taking every single opportunity to land on your spot and send your bat hurtling back to the beginning, sawing your legs out from under you, shattering your hopes like glass again and again until you are so frustrated you can feel embers glowing dry and searing in your throat.

But other times, Aemond pretends to misread the dots on the dice so he lands either too close or too far away and you are spared, and if you win he lies and says you deserve it.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is waiting at your bedroom door; when you are close enough to breathe him in, you taste rain and soot. Perhaps—if it isn’t your imagination—you can even detect the coppery tinge of blood, splatters of little Luke Strong soaked into the black leather of his tunic or his coat. You remember that boy you barely knew, more a phantom than flesh, a wraith who stole Aemond’s eye and then was spirited away to Dragonstone to escape retribution, a tiny god who Viserys worshipped from afar the same way he never stopped loving Rhaenyra. All you knew of your father was absence, and this was a sadness but a relief as well, because you could not escape the sense that if he was there you would only disappoint him.

“What is wrong with you?!” you whisper savagely. Aemond smiles and reaches for your face, but you swat his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re insane, you’re going to get us all killed—”

He drags you into your bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s lean but wiry, all muscle, and when you fight him—although you both know you want him to win—it is in vain. He tugs your hair out of its braid and hauls you across the room, pushes you down on the bed, rips off his coat and tunic and then follows you onto the mattress. You clamber away until you hit the headboard, your spine flat against the wood. As he closes in on you, your palm cracks across the blind side of Aemond’s face, and he grins. You have often thought that it should have been reversed, you wed to Aegon and Aemond to Helaena. You would not be so scandalized by Aegon’s vices; Aemond would be chivalrous with a meek, compliant wife. But alas, Helaena was born first, and the arrangement was set in stone long before any of your natures became apparent.

Aemond unfastens your robe and reaches under your nightgown of white cotton. “Open your legs.”

“No.” It is always this way with him; it always has been. You fight and he vanquishes, and both of you enjoy it.

He forces your thighs apart and you moan, the resistance bleeding out of you, you muscles going soft and yielding, Aemond radiant with this clandestine conquest on a night when nothing else is under his control. He can only love you when you’re tamed and tractable. Sometimes you think he likes that you don’t have a dragon, that your egg never hatched, that all of the unclaimed beasts denied you. You will always be vulnerable, powerless, at his mercy.

You cling to Aemond, your arms around his neck. He knows exactly what you need because you’ve already done this, more times than either of you could count: everything besides what could get you pregnant, and not just because Aemond would rather slit his own throat than have bastards like Rhaenyra’s. It’s something you’re both saving until at last you are married, and no one except The Stranger can separate you.

You gasp and Aemond growls through your hair: “Shh. Hurry up.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t have to say it back; if he hadn’t missed you, he wouldn’t be here right now, two fingers buried to the knuckles and the heel of his hand grinding against you, almost, almost, almost…

The bedchamber door bangs opens, and Aegon saunters in with a goblet of wine, emeralds gleaming on the rim.

“Stop,” you tell Aemond, but he knows you don’t mean it, not really; beneath your nightgown his hand works faster, more roughly. You sigh and kiss him, deep and messy, surrendering, very close.

Aegon takes a swig of wine, licks the stray drops from his lips, and frowns down at you both, slightly intrigued but mostly nauseated. He cannot fathom a hunger for his own.

Aemond looks to him and says casually: “Do you want something?”

“I do, actually,” Aegon replies. “Were you planning to thank me?”

“Thank you for what?”

“For what I did for you in the council chamber, obviously. For the feast.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you, Aegon,” you say, and you are sincere.

Aegon raises his goblet in a mock toast. “That’s very kind, Red, but I wasn’t asking you.”

You whimper against Aemond’s throat, embarrassed but in ecstasy, not able to hold off much longer. “Aemond, just thank him.”

“Well I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“That’s okay,” Aegon says. “I can wait.” He sits at the end of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. “Oh, this is a great mattress! Very soft, like sleeping on a cloud! Why isn’t mine this nice?”

“Probably because you’ve ejaculated all over it five thousand times,” Aemond says.

“Oh, right,” Aegon jests. “Not quite that frequently, I think.”

“Aemond,” you plead breathlessly. “Just say thank you. Get rid of him.”

Aemond sighs and, with his hand still beneath your nightgown, turns to Aegon. “Thank you.”

Aegon smirks, mischievous. “And how will you repay me?”

“By overcompensating for your shortcomings in order to ensure the enduring success of our family, as I have done since birth.”

“Of course,” Aegon says, though a bit distantly.

Aemond glances down at you and then asks his brother: “Were you hoping to join us?” It’s not a serious question; if Aegon ever tried to touch you with genuine desire, Aemond would break both his arms. Fortunately, Aegon is the closest thing you’ll ever have to a real brother, and thus his limbs are safe.

Aegon chuckles and stands. “No, this is a bit unsavory, even for my taste.” He gulps the last of his wine and says as he leaves: “Enjoy, freaks.”

“Bye, Aegon,” you call, laughing. He waves and then closes the door behind him.

Seconds later—twenty, thirty, time evaporates like mist burned away at dawn—Aemond is making you come, and then you are yanking off his trousers and taking him in your mouth, and when you do this he always has to be touching you, smoothing back your hair, telling you how well you’re doing, and even though he warns you so you can pull away if you choose to, tonight you swallow every last drop of him and think of the sea that Lucerys Velaryon’s scraps tumbled into, the mineral bite of salt and metal and blood.

But when he finishes, Aemond doesn’t collapse like a dead man as he usually does. He throws you onto your back, licks and nuzzles his way down your breasts and belly, parts your legs and murmurs against the inside of your thigh before he begins again: “I want you, I want you, I want you, I can’t wait much longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s one of your earliest memories. You are in the garden, and it’s a blazing hot day, and a million varieties of blooms cut through the greenery: goldenrods, orchids, lilies, irises, daisies, bellflowers, red roses, blue forget-me-nots. Butterflies whirl in the air and land on Helaena’s outstretched fingertips. Grandsire is slapping Aegon and calling him an imbecile for trying to pet a bumblebee, and Aegon is wailing: But it’s fuzzy! Why can’t I hold it?!

You must not be very steady on your feet yet, because Aemond is pulling you up by both of your hands and asking: If I ran, do you think you could catch me?

Yes, you had said, and then you’d staggered after him as he darted into the foliage. Under the shade of blossoms and shrubs that towered so much taller than you, you tripped and fell and scraped your palms, one of them bleeding from striking a pebble. You cried out, but no one was there to pick you up: no Mother, no Criston, no Helaena or Aegon. You wept pitifully, thinking—as children do—that you would be lost forever, that you would never see your family again.

But Aemond came back for you, and he studied your bloodied palm, carefully plucking out every grain of brown soil; and then he kissed it, held it against his cheek, painted himself with the scarlet ink of your arteries and veins.

See? he had said, smiling so you knew everything would be okay. Now we’re both red.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How are the babies?” Aemond asks when he arrives, dressed for the feast in a green tunic embroidered with shimmering gold threads in the shapes of dragons, flying, shrieking, breathing fire. Helaena made it for him, of course. Each of you have wardrobes full of garments she’s sewn, a collection of Aegon’s woodcarvings scattered around your rooms, seashell mosaics hanging from walls: insects for Helaena, Sunfyre for Aegon, heroes from myths for Aemond.

You grin over your shoulder. “Come see them.”

It’s dusk now, so they are leaving the roost you keep in one corner of your bedchamber, covered with dark velvet to blot out light and sound as they slumber. Aemond kneels beside you and holds out his hand so River can scurry from your palm into his, clawing with his hooklike appendages. All of your bats are named after blue things—Blueberry, Sailfish, Clear Sky, Bluejay, Misty, Dragonfly, Lagoon, Lightning, Kingfisher—just as Aemond’s hawks and war horses are given names like Fox and Rusty and Cherry and Pomegranate. He is the only one who defends your pets when Mother threatens to banish them back to the Godswood or the seaside cliffs. You have no dragon; you must find solace with some other creature that inspires dread and revulsion. But you think they’re beautiful, and strange, and fearless, and wrongly unloved.

“Let’s move things along,” Aegon says as he appears in the doorway, wearing all green except for the Conqueror’s crown. “No one can dig into the roast boar until the guest of honor enters the Great Hall. So I need Aemond to show up immediately.”

“Almost ready,” Aemond replies without looking away from River, who is now scrambling up his forearm. Lighting takes flight and attempts to land on Aegon’s shoulder; Aegon yelps and flings him away.

“No, you can’t!” you say, rushing across the room to scoop up Lightning and cradle him in your arms. Fortunately, he is unharmed. “I told you, Aegon. They have tiny bones, you have to be gentle or you’ll hurt them.”

Aegon shudders. “They’re fucking disgusting. Rats with wings.”

Aemond sets River on the windowsill, goes to his brother, shoves him hard; Aegon’s back hits the wall. His crown is knocked from his head and clatters against the floor.

“I’m not apologizing,” Aegon insists. “I’m a victim of grave injustice. I was attacked. That thing could have bitten me.”

You say to Aemond in High Valyrian: “Should we do this for a while to annoy him?”

Aemond smiles. “Yes. We should talk a lot. A great amount, we should talk. Very much talking.”

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Aegon says.

“Aemond, what else will they serve besides boar?”

“I heard something about pies.”

“What kinds of pies?”

“Who knows. Maybe apple, or cherry, or plum…”

“Oh, I adore apple pies. Perfect for autumn. I could eat them all day.”

“I could eat you all day.”

“Don’t tease me, or we’ll never make it to the feast.”

Aegon is distressed. “I mean it! Stop!”

“They aren’t saying anything important,” Helaena assures him as she swishes into your bedchamber wearing a butter yellow gown. In her hair are gold pins shaped like ladybugs.

“Okay, but what are they talking about?”

Helaena says matter-of-factly: “Sex and pastries.”

Aegon groans and rolls his eyes. “Why did I ask. Okay, time to go.”

You walk together to the Great Hall, where Helaena and Jaehaera and Grandsire will dance in the center of the floor, and you and Aemond will whisper in shadowy corners, and Mother will peer around worriedly with her large watery eyes as Criston yearns to console her, and Aegon will smile patiently and never scold Jaehaerys when he gets underfoot or spills his pomegranate juice.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s another game, or maybe it’s a ritual; you are a little girl again, and every once in a while, without any warning, Aemond will shove you into a closet or a heavy wooden trunk and lock you inside. You will scream and pound on the door, but no one will hear, and you will spend what feels like hours alone in the darkness, wondering if this will be the time when you are not discovered until you have died of thirst and hunger, until there is nothing left but bones.

Then you hear approaching footsteps and Aemond lets you out, and when you strike and scratch at him he embraces you fiercely, like he’s a soldier who’s been away for a year or more; and he holds you until you stop fighting it and your heartbeat goes quiet in your chest.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n

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cellophaine · 1 day ago

Text

Chapter IX: GAME

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader

Warnings: The big three – fluff, angst, and smut.

Author's Note: have fun with this chapter :)

GIF Source (I couldn't find the gif when they're at the Cincinnati Masters so let's just pretend that this gif is that gif)

2019. New Rochelle.

You drove the rental through the city, your eyes roaming over the unfamiliar scenery with a languorous curiosity. The sun was hung high, its view unobstructed by the cloudless sky, casting harsh blocks of shadow onto the street. Despite the storm warning, the only indication was the strong gusts of wind that fluttered the tree branches, wrapping the leaves in their grasp and blowing past your car window.

The Authors' Exchange conference was the reason you came to New Rochelle, which would begin tomorrow and expand over three days. Afterwards, you'd drive to Manhattan and stay with Sophie for a week before heading back to San Francisco. The event organizer, Jennifer Roux, had sent you a message earlier in the day detailing the tour of the conference area that would take place after you'd settled in your room.

The GPS's alert chimed for a right turn. You took it and found yourself heading towards a big advertisement that scaled along the side of a building, featuring Art and Tashi prominently. You sucked in a deep breath as old emotions threatened to bubble. You hadn't seen Art in almost ten years, and during all that time, the brief sight of his face, the casual mention of his name were enough to make your heart clench. Affliction, indifference, frustration, and guilt. They all fought one another to claim their place when you tried to place exactly how you felt. But you could never get it right. It was a mess, and it was different every time. But you had moved on. The old feelings were here a moment and gone the next. It dissipated just as you drove past the wallscape advertisement, heading straight for the hotel.

Jennifer was much more bubbly in person than in formal emails, which was something you didn't expect. After gushing over your books, she insisted on taking you to your room herself despite your polite refusal. With the keycard in one hand and your suitcase in another, you followed her into the elevator. A voice called out.

"Hold it, please!"

You stepped back as much as you could to make room for the strangers, drawing your suitcase and bag closer to yourself. Hurried footsteps followed by two blurry forms. Jennifer asked for their floor, and the door closed. Your breath caught at the sight of the taller silhouette.

Art.

His name was a noiseless whisper on your lips. His mouth parted slightly, and his eyes widened as they drilled into you. The shock seemed to mask the hurt and guilt behind his features, but you used to know him so intimately, just like how he knew you. Your eyes latched onto his face, tracing the familiar traits that had changed slightly over time. He looked good, even though you didn't want to admit it. His hair was shorter than when you saw him last. His face was sharper and more angular, as if time was an infatuated sculptor obsessed with their subject, barely taking away his youthfulness and leaving his beauty whole. Your eyes locked, its pull intense and undeniable. A movement drew your attention away from him to the little girl he was with. Her hand was clasped in Art's, and the other tugged on yours.

"Hi."

Her timid voice broke the spell. You forced your eyes away and looked down to address her. Her sweet, innocent face beamed as you crouched down to her level. She looked so much like her mother, but you could see traits of Art in her as well. You responded with a smile of your own.

"Hi."

"I like your cherries."

She pointed to the charm on your bag.

"Thank you. Do you want to feel how soft they are?"

She nodded eagerly. You held out your bag, and she carefully petted the synthetic fabric. She squeezed the cherries in her hand, and you took that moment to ask.

"What's your name?"

She looked up at her dad, and only after getting a nod of approval from him did she turn to you.

"Lily."

You smiled warmly at her, even though your insides were punctured with a thousand little cuts.

"What a pretty name."

Her toothy smile deepened as she shyly thanked you. You introduced yourself.

"I like your name."

"Aww, thank you. You're so sweet."

"This is my dad."

Lily let go of the cherries, using both of her hands to tug on Art's attention, which was temporarily reserved for you. She craned her neck to look up when her dad failed to respond.

"Daddy, say hi."

"I–"

You stared at him, wondering if he was going to say anything at all. But you'd never know. The elevator dinged, announcing your floor. You stood up, extending a sweet smile to Lily.

"This is my floor. It was nice to meet you, Lily."

You rushed out with your luggage, and thankfully, Jennifer was right behind you. The elevator doors closed, and you looked away, refusing to make eye contact with Art despite him seeking you out.

Jennifer left quickly after walking you to your room and reminding you of the tour. In the quiet room with only the hums of the air conditioner presented, you sat on the pristine full bed, your luggage forgotten on the side. Pressing a hand to your chest, you could feel your heart's frantic beat as the memories of what happened years ago came rushing back all at once.

2009. Stanford.

After the fight, nothing was the same. There was a passiveness in your relationship that you were forced to come to terms with. You could keep yourself suspended in denial or cut yourself free of the entanglement and the exertion to keep up the illusion. And you chose the latter. Art rarely called and texted, and even when he did, your conversations were brief and awkward. You took his lack of contact as a sign for you to step back. You ceased all communication with him, even though you still kept his number on your phone. You even went as far as avoiding places you often went to with him. Art seemed to know not to visit the coffee shop. Eventually, by the end of that summer, you fell out. There was no final explosive fight, no goodbyes. Things just ended.

But your mind always strayed back to him. How you'd been a bother, you'd been too much, and this distance was his way of telling you that. The way you completely depended on him for comfort after Christmas made you wince in embarrassment whenever you thought of it. Perhaps he felt like you were a burden. You took that as the truth, and no matter what Art might tell you then, it could never change your mind.

In the two years that followed, unexpected yet welcoming changes were made. Your story was featured in the Stanford paper as the first-place winner's prize, along with a cheque for $500. The exposure caught the eye of your current literary agent, Avery Clarke, who then showed interest in the possibility of representing you. She was from a small agency that focused on finding new writers. After reading through your collections of short stories and much anticipation, she decided to take you on her team. You spread yourself even thinner across school, work and writing. Your book took form in the dimness of late nights, many of which you were accompanied by your roommates. And the hard work paid off. Three publishers expressed their interests, and after a long conversation and lots of consideration, you decided to go with The Paper House. Now, you were waiting in a nervous yet content state while Avery worked on negotiating the finer details of your first book deal. Life and new purposes took over the place Art used to be. But, eventually, he found his way back into your life, as if there was an invisible thread that connected you, and Art was pulling on it.

It was early October. You remembered it so clearly. The air was brisk, and the sun was warm, making the perfect weather that you were looking forward to enjoying. Your shift at the cafe ended in the early afternoon. When you came out from the back, Art was there, standing by an empty table near the entrance. He looked good, as he always did. The soft smile that was one of your many weaknesses played with your heartstrings, making your breath catch in your throat. In a polo shirt and jeans, he looked like he came here just for you, and this wasn't a standard smoothie run. His lips parted, and his throat worked to form what he had planned to say into audible words. But you got to it before he did.

"What are you doing here?"

"I … I just wanted to talk to you."

You responded to that with a discontented hum. Art picked up on it.

"I saw that you got a book deal on the newspaper. Congratulations."

You nodded warily.

"Thank you."

"How do you feel about it?"

You shrugged.

"Just fine. It's just a book deal. It's not like it will define my career or anything."

Art laughed softly at your sarcastic response. The low vibrato reminded you of how much you'd missed it.

"Do you want to talk about it over a coffee?"

His tone was casual, yet there was a deliberate calculation as if he was laying down a chess piece and waiting for your next move. You arched an eyebrow at your surroundings.

"Here?"

"No. Somewhere else."

His smile was endearing, and you found yourself persuaded by its charm. You reluctantly agreed. On the stroll to the all-day breakfast bar nearby, the two of you walked side by side but left a distance in between. Your conversation remained formal, but after you'd sat down for some crepes and waffles, it returned to a liveliness that it hadn't been for two years.

"You'll do great. I read your story in the newspaper."

Your eyes on him were nothing if not skeptical.

"You have?"

Not that your win was kept a secret. You just didn't think Art was keeping up with you after your fallout.

"Of course I have. I read the whole thing in one sitting. You have such a brilliant way with words."

You rolled your eyes playfully, and your cheeks warmed at his compliment.

"Thank you. That's just one story, though. How are you so sure of it?"

"I just know."

His smug smirk drew a chuckle from you. Your talk, just like your food, was piquant and smooth. You missed the conversations you had, the casual flirtiness, the way being yourselves felt so easy, like how it was meant to be. You took a sip of your water, watching Art staring back at you from the other side of the table. You tilted your head, enticing him to speak his mind.

"What happened to us?"

"You know damn well what happened."

He chuckled, but when he talked, there was no trace of humour.

"I know. It was my fault. I'm sorry for acting like a dick to you. For what it's worth, I liked you a lot …"

You stayed quiet at the past tense use.

" … and I would be lying if I said my feelings for you had completely gone."

You placed your fork down and levelled him with a guarded stare.

"What are you saying?"

Art took a moment as if he was giving his words great consideration. And after what felt like an agonizing wait, his voice carried the significant weight of his confession.

"I still like you."

You let it settle in. This moment had passed through your head many times before, but you never thought it would come true.

"What about Tashi?"

"There's nothing going on between me and her."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm being honest. The last time we talked was two years ago. During the summer break, actually."

"Why me? Why now?"

"I was a fool messing up what we had."

And there it was. All that you wanted to hear. Art admitted that there was something akin to love between you, before everything that happened. Your hope was a small ember, and all it needed was the tiniest spark to burst into flame. Your eyes locked with an intensity that nestled deep in your bones. Neither of you could look away.

"Are you asking me for a second chance?"

"No. I'm asking you if I deserve one."

"We'll see."

You continued to see Art after that. It was a second chance at being casual friends, and things almost went back to how it was before. But something was different this time.

You remembered not leaving Art's single room until the morning the night you slept with him for the first time. It had to be his room because, by that point, Ashley and Grace were unaware of your involvement with Art. If they did, they would strongly oppose your reunion, as they knew all too well about the aftermath in 2007.

His skin was soft and warm, and the way he draped over your body made you arch against him for more. Art kissed his way down to your body, worshipping every inch of your skin with fervour kisses, drawing whimpers from your clenched lips. As eager as he was to taste you, the man knew how to tease you until you begged for it. And when he did, your body shuddered in response. He worked you up with his tongue, swirling it over and over on your dripping lips and sensitive clit before dipping it into your entrance. Your hips bucked into his mouth, seeking for release, but he had none of that. With one hand over your belly, holding you down, the other was two fingers deep into your cunt; he was relentless. You came quickly after that, and all you could think of was how much you wanted him. You pulled him up to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss. Your hand skimmed down the length of his torso, and when you almost reached what you wanted most at that moment, he stopped you with a hand on your wrist. His flushed face tinged with a little embarrassment, and the stickiness under your calf told you what you needed to know. You shared an awkward laugh, and you pulled his face down so you could kiss his forehead. Pushing him back onto the bed, you took over by crawling down the length of his body until you reached his leaking cock. You touched him with tenderness, and it didn't take much coaxing and sucking until his cock became hard again. Art was gentle and took his time with you, slowly working you up to your climax with his thickness pushing all the way in and out. In the final moments, your bodies worked in tandem; your hips were pressed flush against each other. The fervorous thrusts, the barely contained moans and the creaky sound of his twin bed helped create an obscene sound in the small room. You came just moments before he did. Afterwards, as you basked in the afterglow and the sweat of your bodies, you chuckled to yourself.

"If we did this two years ago, we wouldn't have broken up at all."

That drew a laugh out of him. You found yourself falling for Art again. He felt the same. Your lives were better with the other in it, and that was enough. You didn't put a label on your relationship, but you mutually agreed that you were exclusively seeing each other. The ever-evading title wasn't a cause for concern, especially now that Art hadn't talked to either Tashi or Patrick in a while. You were surprised when you found out about the latter but didn't inquire further. All you cared about was Art, and how good it felt to have him back.

2010. Mason, Ohio.

Art had been on a good streak during the Cincinnati Masters tour. He was heading to the next rounds with ease. And you were there to cheer him on for every match. You graduated with honours back in May, and now that your first book was on its way to the production stage, your life finally felt like it was under your control. The water was still and peaceful, but you should have known better than to blindly believe that nothing could disturb it. The ripple came in with shoulder-length hair and a slim body, the object of your deeply rooted self-contempt, of the haunting idea that you weren't good enough for Art despite telling yourself that you weren't the same person anymore. You had changed.

But some things were harder to forget and forgive.

You were watching Art and his coach practicing from the outside of the fence when Tashi came in. When you noticed her, she waved, her languid pace undisturbed, as if she was in control of everything and everyone around her. Helplessness surged as you thought about how Tashi was too close to Art for your own comfort. You put on a smile, hoping that it didn't look strained.

"Hey Tashi."

"Hey. It's nice to see you again."

"You, too. How have you been?"

"Oh, uh, I've taken some time off tennis to recover."

You thought it was strange how Tashi seemed to think of herself as a tennis player first and a normal person second. But since she mentioned that, you asked.

"When can I see you back in court?"

Tashi went quiet at that. She briefly looked down at her shoes before answering.

"I'm not sure yet."

There was a kind of pensive sadness in her eyes, and you found the Tashi in front of you now were miles away from the Tashi you often watched on the tennis court a few years ago. Your heart broke for her. Tennis seemed to be her whole life, and from the sound of her answer, it was now something that would always be out of reach.

"I'm sorry. I thought you were here to compete as well."

"No, I'm not. I'm just Katerina's hitting partner. She's the one who's competing."

Tashi looked over to Art and waved at him. You craned your neck to see that Art had seen her as well, his hand lowered from reciprocating her. She then turned to you.

"Anyway, I'm here because they told me that Art was here. And I wanted to talk to him."

You nodded and looked at your watch.

"I think he'll be done soon."

His practice ended five minutes later. You walked to him, and your innate need to stake your claim compelled you to put on a show. You pulled Art into a hug despite the playful protest he put on because of his sweaty shirt, and when you pulled away, you kissed his cheek and whispered.

"Looks like you guys need to catch up. I'll leave for the restaurant and get us a table. I'll see you there?"

"See you there."

You left the court, but not before looking back to see them talking. You turned away as old insecurities threatened to resurface.

After that day, Tashi sat in the audience for Art's matches. You knew because she often opted for the bottom row while you went for the higher view. During Art's semi-final, you couldn't be there as you had a meeting with Avery and The Paper House in Norwood. You made it to the court as the match had ended; some people were waiting around for Art's signature and photos. You weaved your way into the court and stopped dead at the entrance. Even though they were only talking, your jealousy and insecurities coloured it into something else. They looked good together. Her height almost matched his. The way Art listened to Tashi, his attention was fully wrapped in every syllable she uttered and hand gestures she made. You stayed quiet for most of the ride back to the hotel, even though you should've put on a smile, a show, anything because Art made it to the final. Later that night, during dinner, the weight of your thoughts had become so unbearable that you surrendered yourself to its whim. You didn't even look away from your plate when you spoke.

"It's nice to see Tashi doing so well."

"Yeah, it is. She had a tough time after her injury."

"Oh yeah? How do you know?"

"She told me."

"Oh, right."

You fell into silence again. What Art had to say next drew your attention away from the dinner that you had no appetite for.

"I'm thinking of asking her to be my assistant coach."

You angled your head to look at him fully. Apprehension filled your tone.

"Why?"

"I think … she can make me a better player."

"But you're already great. You're in the final. You've beaten so many guys to get here."

"I want to be better than great."

You leaned back on your chair.

"And you think Tashi can help you with that?"

"Yes, she gave me some helpful tips after the match. She really watched the way I play and gave me corrections and they were things I didn't even notice."

You looked away from Art, your voice verged on bitterness with sarcasm as its coat.

"Right. To me it sounds like you want to spend more time with her."

"We were friends."

"Just like how you and I are friends?"

"That's unfair. It's different with us. We're seeing each other."

"But we're not exactly dating, are we? You're not my boyfriend, and I'm not your girlfriend."

"Isn't that what we both agreed on? That we would take it slow?"

You didn't like it, but he was right. Your answer was only a whisper.

"Yes."

"I guess we can both agree on that, then."

Dinner ended in an uncomfortable silence. It stretched on as you ignored Art on your walk back to the room. Tension brewed and bubbled, and it was only a matter of time before it exploded. You dropped your bag on the desk with a heavy thud, and Art couldn't stand your deliberate shun anymore.

"Could you please tell me what I did wrong?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong."

You shrugged, pretending to be busy with unloading your bag.

"Can we not do this, please? Can we just celebrate my win tonight?"

"You can celebrate with Tashi."

Art was taken aback by your words if his brief silence was an indication.

"Why would you say that?"

"Go ahead, and call her. You have my permission."

He touched your arm, which was still moving as if you suddenly needed to empty everything.

"Please, stop. Can you please look at me?"

You jerked your arm away from his touch and whirled around to face him.

"Be honest with yourself. Don't you want to spend more time with Tashi? Don't you wish that she was here right now, in my place?"

"Is this because I talked to her? You can't possibly condemn me for that."

"Yes, I can! You basically ignored me when she came around three years ago after her break up with Patrick, who was your best friend, by the way. Sorry if I'm still sensitive about it."

Art stepped back as you leaned onto the table. It felt nice and awful at the same time, being able to say what you'd thought about.

"Tashi's just looking out for me. She sees who I can become, and I can become so much better."

"What about me? What about what I think? I think you're great already."

Art's face was flushed with a simmering anger.

"If I'm so great, why have I never won a game against a nobody?"

It took you a moment for it to click in. He was talking about Patrick. It renewed the anger inside of you.

"For fuck's sake! Is that all you guys talk about? Fucking tennis?"

"It's what I do."

"You know she's just using you to get back to tennis, right? It's all she's ever talked about."

"It's what we're both passionate about."

Art's willful ignorance irked you, and you exploded.

"Can't you see it? She wants to get back out there as a player and she can't and it's making her miserable. One day, you'll realize she has never seen you more than a mean to live through."

He pointed an accusing finger at you, and you felt like you were pinned down under his gaze.

"That's cruel, and you know it."

"It's the truth."

Despite the nonchalance in your tone, your voice said otherwise. You didn't even realize the tears that had run down your cheeks. Art's red-rimmed eyes stared back at you. His jaw ticked, working to put the thoughts in his head into words. And they cut deeper than a knife.

"This relationship will never work if you can't trust me."

"I'm sorry that I have trust issues. It's not like you've never given me any reasons to doubt you, right?"

"Are you talking about Tashi again?"

"Of course I am. She's always been a problem to us."

"No, she's not."

"Yes, she is."

Your name formed on his lips, a beautiful sound in the gravel of his voice.

"I love you."

The argument that poised on your lips held itself in place. You felt like the air in your lungs was sucked out of you in the three syllables that Art uttered. The world slowed, and you could hear the thunderous beat of your heart. If this was a perfect world, you would be over the moon. You would kiss him until neither of you could breathe and whisper those words back to him, and everything would be fine. But this was the real world, and you were a creature of pragmatism and self-destruction. Your voice shook, knowing that this would be the end of you and Art.

"Do you really love me for me, or do you love me because Tashi wasn't there?"

"How could you say that?"

"Let's be honest with ourselves. You know it, and I know it. You've always loved Tashi more. For as long as she is around, I will always be second. And I really, really, don't want to feel that way again."

Art shook his head. You closed the distance in between and held Art's face in your hand. You caressed his jaw, smudging the wetness on his cheek and whispered.

"You can love more than one person, Art. I just don't want to be put second to someone else. I don't want to wait around for love and, approval and affection. I'm tired of having to beg for it, like I did with my parents."

Art held onto your wrist, squeezing it softly.

"Please don't leave me."

With an equally shaky voice, you forced yourself to say it.

"I need you to make up your mind. Or else, I will do it for you."

"I can't."

"I know."

The finality of your situation settled in, and deep down, you knew that it was for the best. You wouldn't be able to support Art like Tashi would. Tennis was everything to Tashi, and you, on the contrary, were only an outsider looking in. She would be able to help Art achieve his professional goals. What would a writer like you have anything to offer to an athlete like him?

"Can you hold me until I fall asleep, please?"

You nodded, kissing his forehead. You settled in the softness of the bed, with his head on your chest. He slept soundly next to you while you were wide awake. Morning came, and you quietly packed your stuff and left. No note, no goodbye. There was nothing else you could say that could change the situation. Even though you blocked his number, you still looked out for news of him. You convinced yourself that you were okay with your decision. You were selfish; you couldn't share. You'd rather have none than half of him. In the end, you were unable to come to a compromise. You left Art, knowing that he loved you, too, and that somewhat soothed the ache that seemed to be a permanent attachment to your heart.

The news of his engagement to Tashi was everywhere in 2011. Your heart shattered all over again. Even though it caused you so much pain, you still tried to be happy for him. You truly loved him with every fibre of your being. But from then on, you avoided news from Art, hoping the physical and virtual distance could heal you.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x f!reader #art donaldson x y/n #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson smut #art donaldson fanfiction #challengers fluff #challengers x reader #challengers x you #challengers x y/n #challengers #challengers 2024 #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x art donaldson #art donaldson x tashi duncan

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riosgreenwitch · 3 days ago

Text

the sweetest witch you know — reader x r.v

summary: your girlfriend surprises you a lot, but this one in particular meant so much.

word count: 470 words

content included: fluff/dating!

— — —

You chuckled when you felt the leaves falling down onto your head. Looking up, you smile, as you see Rio up in the branches, sprinkling down the little greens. She smirks when you meet her eyes.

"I like the view from up here!" she says as she keeps her gaze on you.

You shake your head, "I would like the view much better if it were sitting level with me."

She winks, and disappears. The place her body was sat now was a mirage of green smoke. You weren't sure you'd ever get used to the whole 'dating a witch' thing.

You look back ahead of yourself, suddenly aware someone was there. It was Rio, and you decided to throw the nearest stick at her.

She caught it, but, you knew she would.

The green witch pouted her lips at you, extending her hand.

You roll your eyes and give her your hand, letting her pull you up from your place under the oak tree.

Rio pulls you close, not hesitating to catch your lips in a gentle kiss. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around her neck. Her hands cup your face.

"Rio," you mutter between two insatiable lips, "what's gotten into you?"

She laughs and pushes you back softly, biting your lip as the kiss is broken.

"I want to show you something, my love."

You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms. She was quite the mystery at times, but you loved her, so you decide to embrace it.

She winks again, and puts herself behind your body. Her hands cover your eyes, and she kisses your neck.

You feel the temperature shift, and the smell of the air changes. It smells like fall; like an orchard. You loved apple orchards, they were one of your favorite places to go. Just to pick apples and explore, it was so exciting to you.

You immediately gasp, opening your eyes, which were uncovered by her hands. Now, Rio's hands were wrapped around your waist.

Your smile is bright as you see the sun shining down on the fruitful apple trees. You feel tears forming on your waterline, and Rio pulls you closer to her.

She whispers to you with her finger grazing your upper thigh, "I made it all just for you, mi amor."

You can't help but smile as a tear falls down your cheek. This was where you were meant to be, and you could feel it.

Your hands reach back and bury themselves in her hair as she kisses your cheek, and you laugh at the absurdity of it all. "You're the sweetest witch I've ever met."

"But my love, you've only ever met one.."

"Exactly" you say, taking in the sight of her love, all too well was it to be hers.

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manyofnine · 15 hours ago

Photo

copying is a technique where you take a picture and try to replicate it one to one.

like *this tree has two branches each with 23 leaves and one is falling*

so that's what appears on you page. You use the same techniques as the original artist to learn them and often (with high enough skill level) there will be virtually no difference between your work and the original artist.

referencing means taking the picture as a guideline for your own *the tree has two branches, I will add a third in another direction because I want a bird to sit on it* *the picture of the bird has a beak I dislike so I find another better bird picture whose beak would fit better but the angle isn't the same as in my work so I change the angle while taking the rough guideline of that beak*

referencing is *I forgot what a bike looks like so I put up 30 pics of bikes and then mix and match elements until I got my own bike* *how do fox paws look? oh that's cool, I will use that paw picture as a reference to put paw prints all over the kitchen in my work*

that's the difference between reference and copying.

it’s time to trace~!

heads up. the charts in the middle are very rough guides. everything about copying is super grey, you need to use your own judgement…also I have more notes

Keep reading

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nekohime19 · 2 days ago

Text

Macaque study # S5

At last let's talk about the LMK S5 and Macaque portrayal in it! Took me so much time to edit this one but it's here!

So, to summarize what I said in the previous study of Macaque, after season 4 Macaque showcases a lot of redeeming qualities :

He stepped up to help even though he wasn't asked to, thus showcasing his care.

He admitted that the image of Wukong he was fueling, the one of an uncaring person only thriving for power, wasn't real. And showcased traces of yearning towards Wukong.

Both monkeys reached an understanding at the end of the season. Wukong even extended an olive branch in the form of a peach popsicle.

So if after season 3 Macaque's place within the group was still tentative, this time after season 4 he showed that he was willing to help even when nobody asked him to, thus cementing the tentative trust he forged at the end of season 3. Now, saying that he's buddy-buddy with the rest of the group isn't quite true. There is a distance between them that hasn't been addressed yet.

S5 ep 1

Macaque appears in the first half of the episode, narratively his appearance is here to highlight the season's main plot : MK's origins. He's here to introduce troubles. Essentially, he's doing groundwork for the rest of the season, encouraging the viewers to already question MK's origins.

Now story-wise I think his appearance is very interesting because it highlights the current state of his relationship with Wukong. While season 4 ended in a tentative offer of allyship, season 5 begins with an argument between the two monkeys, an argument they tried to avoid.

So, right after MK left, And Wukong fail to broach the subject of his monkey form, Macaque appears through Wukong's shadow :

Macaque : Well, that went well bud.

Wukong : Hugh, are you actually lurking here?

Macaque : Hey, this mountain has been my home just as long as yours.

This first section of the dialogue is relatively tame. Macaque is falling back on his habits which are : teasing/ taunting. Macaque is shown as smiling, relatively laid-back, while he nips at Wukong's unsuccessful attempt at talking (of course, the “that went well bud” is sarcastic, but it's not as bitter as we are used to concerning Macaque taunting). And the moment Wukong questions Macaque's presence on the mountain, Macaque answers with another quip.

It's also interesting to see that Macaque still considers the mountain as his home and lurks here despite having the freedom to go and explore the world. Of course, I do believe the writers are keeping him around for plot purposes BUT I also find it sweet that he cannot bring himself to leave the mountain. Perhaps, in some way he's scared to let go of the familiarity that the mountain offers. Macaque says that the mountain was his home just as long as Wukong's, considering that Wukong was born on the mountain, it's not far-fetched to think Macaque was born here too. If we follow this line of thinking, it means Macaque never truly left the mountain. So, in a way, Macaque's only experiences with the outside world have been : the brotherhood's wars, his death at Wukong's hand, and his time as a slave under LBD….So I can understand if he doesn't want to leave the mountain yet.

Now, after this first relatively tame section, things turn more serious.

Wukong : You found anything?

Macaque : no but with the Jade Emperor gone the celestial realms… Things aren't good. Wukong… the kid.

Wukong : I know.

Macaque : You need to talk to him.

Wukong : I know. But… He’s not ready.

Macaque : You mean you're not ready. You really are the worst mentor.

First, we learn that Macaque has been lurking around the celestial realms and probably shared his findings with Wukong more than once if Wukong is aware of his lurking. That in itself told us that they take their roles seriously, they're preparing themselves for future troubles, as they said they would at the end of season 4. At the same time, I find it interesting how Macaque is trying to push Wukong around.

He begins by highlighting the importance of talking to MK, especially since he just witnessed Wukong's unsuccessful attempt. But Wukong is dismissive. He answers with a succinct “I know” and turns away from Macaque, as if fleeing the conversation. Macaque notices his unwillingness and frowns, he insists again, and he fully turns towards Wukong. Once again, Wukong repeats himself, while still averting Macaque's gaze, giving the impression he's still fleeing, BUT then he meets Macaque gaze heads on at the end of his sentence : “He's not ready.” This shows that Wukong is sure of himself, he's not just fleeing, he has seen how MK avoids the conversation, the kid is truly not ready. Yet Macaque answers with a quip meant to push Wukong out of his comfort zone.

Yes, maybe the kid isn't ready. But maybe you're also not ready either.

Macaque knows how to make Wukong's react, he's trying to push him around. Yet when Macaque sees that Wukong is getting angry (cue Wukong growling) he drops his smile and attitude, because he doesn't want to fight Wukong, they have more important things to worry about.

Macaque : He needs–We need to know everything we can.

Wukong : He's just a kid. Can we just-

Macaque : He's not just a kid! Why him Wukong? Did you know about-when you chose him…

Wukong : No, I didn't know. It just felt…right.

Macaque : And that doesn't bother you!? This kid just happens to have all your powers, that is at the center of all these battles. And you never questioned why? None of us even knew he existed? How?

They're both obviously frustrated by the other, yet contrary to other seasons they try to not let this turn into a fight. When one of them feels like they're on the verge of snapping, they turn away and put some distance between themself and the other. Everytime they feel like exploding, they try to reign it in. In itself this is a huge improvement from their previous fights. They're really trying to not let this develop into a heated argument.

As we can see in those various shots, they always try to keep a distance between themselves, they're really trying to not let this turns into a fight :

At the same time, Macaque is trying to make Wukong realize that they cannot wait anymore. The question of MK's origins was always looming over their heads, but Wukong never looked into it. Macaque believes they cannot brush the matter aside anymore. That MK needs to know, that they need to know to be prepared. Macaque is a highly cautious individual, so character-wise it makes sense for him to have this need of preparation. He cannot let MK's origins remain a mystery, not when so many coincidences lead him to believe someone is pulling the strings.

But on the other hand, on what grounds can Macaque criticize Wukong's mentoring when he hasn’t been around for long? Macaque is right in his worry, but his way of broaching the subject with Wukong is not right, especially since he's very citisizing of the way Wukong handled the situation. Perhaps because his feelings for Wukong are still very much tainted by his previous hatred, he's very harsh with him. At the same time, if he's not harsh with Wukong, who will be?

In the end, despite their best efforts, the conversation turns into a fight.

Before leaving Macaque says :

Macaque : Look, that kid idolizes you, you're his literal hero and you just…

Wukong : I just what?

Macaque : He needs to know it's not all on him. You need to do better.

Macaque is very harsh and critical, and he's NOT the right person to say this, especially since he has no right to criticize Wukong on mentoring. But he's the only one that can currently push Wukong out of his comfort zone.

At the end of the episode, we see Macaque laying on the same tree that symbolized his friendship with Wukong in season 4 surrounded by monkeys.

First, how obsessed do you have to be to be laying on this particular tree? Macaque… really I have no words, how much of a simp are you? Seconds, the monkeys truly missed him 🥹. It's good that he's home, finally.

S5 ep 2

I found this episode particularly interesting for its duality, at the same time it shows Macaque closeness with Wukong yet it also highlights the distance between them (while also highlighting the distance between Macaque and the rest of the team).

Closness :

Macaque recognizes Li Jing’s spell before anyone else, showcasing how he was already familiar with it. Macaque is also the first to rush to Wukong.

In prison, one look is enough for Wukong to convey his plan to Macaque.

Still in prison, Wukong laughs at Macaque's joke concerning “MK lawyer bit".

During the fight against the celestial soldiers, both monkeys fight in harmony, defeating them together.

After leaving the celestial realm, Wukong explicitly says “I trust no one that isn't standing there right now.” Even Macaque is surprised by this affirmation, as he is standing here, meaning he is part of the people Wukong implicitly trusts.

Distance :

In prison, Macaque is standing in one corner while both MK and Wukong are sitting in the middle, thus creating a physical distance between them representative of the symbolical distance that is still present in their relationship. Moreover, as we can see in the shot, a chain is separating the three, furthermore highlighting the divide between the three characters.

Wukong and Macaque argue a lot. Even MK acknowledges the tension between the two. Wukong even says “Classic, I get all the punishment, you get to mop” which can be a reference to how he was constantly the one being punished (the mountain, the journey, the circlet) yet Macaque always acted like the one suffering. In response, Macaque says “Maybe going to jail wasn't on my agenda for tonight.”, which can be a reference to how Macaque is always getting dragged into Wukong's mess.

After landing, Macaque picks a fight with Wukong and both end up arguing once more. More precisely, Macaque calls out Wukong on his lack of substantial plan, doubting how whimsical, possibly not real rocks, could be seen as a great plan. Once again, Macaque is highly cautious.

This episode does a great job at showing us the chemistry/ the potential dynamic of Macaque and Wukong (their closeness) but still acknowledges the distance between them that cannot be totally breached yet.

At the same time, perhaps because Wukong acknowledges that he trusts Macaque, Macaque in turns decides to trust Wukong and MK. He sacrifices himself to Li Jin, thus buying time for the team to escape and go search for those (possibly not real) rocks, a plan he clearly didn't agree with minutes before.

It could also be a call back to Wukong sarcastic comments “Oh sure, cause normally you just rush to my rescue.” in season 4. Here, Macaque IS rushing to Wukong's rescue, both when he rushed to him when Li Jin threw the circlet at him, and now when he's sacrificing himself to buy time.

We can argue that Macaque never truly apologized to MK and the others, and I do think a verbal apology is still needed, but I don't think it's fair to brush aside his actions as “idiotic suicidal tendencies.” He helped save the world twice, and here he's yet again sacrificing himself. You cannot forget those actions, or brush them aside as bad writing, because you don't like their implications. Yes, Macaque never formally apologized, he still needs to, but saying he did nothing to gain the others’ trust is a bit much and quite uncalled for. For all it's worth, the others do trust him, Wukong trusts him, but that doesn't mean he's their best friend either. He's someone the others can depend on, now is he someone they like is still to be debated on (I do think MK likes him, Wukong too even if it's more complicated, but I don't think Pigsy likes him very much).

S5 ep 7

This episode is great because it does show us multiple things concerning Macaque. It further emphasizes this distance we have observed between Macaque and the others but also showcases how differently Macaque and Wukong process what happened between them.

After saving him from the memory eye, Macaque argues with Wukong (“Geez Wukong, kinda wasting my sacrifice here”). Furthermore, we can clearly see a physical distance, even more so a barrier, between them.

There is a pillar between them, a fracture of some sort that further highlights the divide they cannot mend yet. At the same time, we can notice how differently Macaque and Wukong react in this scene. Macaque is turned towards Wukong, his tail high, he's more annoyed than anything, he acts normally by picking a fight. Whereas Wukong is turning away, tail low, we could even spot tears in his eyes minutes before. He's withdrawn.

Clearly, those two processed Macaque's death differently. Macaque had time to come to terms with what happened to him. He lived through his vengeance arc, he processed the fight in more ways than one. But Wukong isn't the same. It's very likely that he repressed those memories, that he erased them from his mind (cue the numerous times he avoided the word death, instead referring to Macaque as “leaving” or “coming back”).

But this episode also showcases Macaque distance with the rest of the team.

When Macaque saves Pigsy, he does so in the background, by that I mean that he doesn't show himself in front of Pigsy. He stays in the back. Not willing to be on the same level. Moreover, when Sandy brings everyone into a hug, Macaque is at first not part of it, Sandy has to bring him into it, and even then Macaque looks greatly surprised and even confused by the gesture.

Clearly, Macaque is shown as withdrawn when it comes to the team. On numerous occasions throughout the season, he put himself in the back. Because he knows that even though they might trust him, it doesn't mean that they like him. Macaque might have redeemed himself, but it doesn't mean that his development is over, he gained the other's trust, but he'll have to go further to gain their affection. He's not suddenly everyone's best friend. As we can see, and we will keep seeing it, there is physical distance between him and others in each of his appearances.

S5 ep 8

There isn't too much to say about this episode, mainly because Macaque doesn't appear much. It does groundwork for the next episodes, with Macaque being able to free his hand of Xianglu power for a bit, informing us that Macaque powers are effective against him.

Also, Mei make one of the greatest joke :

MK : I'm very used to all our used to our enemies being just your recycled old enemies.

Mei : or like your ex best friends.

Also, not Xianglu acting like he was friend with Wukong when in JTTW he only appear on one chapter and Wukong kicks his butt cause he was scaring a village.

S5 ep 9/10

Ah, so much to say about those two episodes, 😌. The season ties up nicely everything we already observed about Macaque, mainly the physical distance we often noticed between him and the team throughout his numerous appearances.

I will adopt a more thematic approach to analyze those two episodes, instead of my usual chronological order, because I believe it is more relevant in this case.

Confrontation with MK

Macaque confrontation with MK is a great callback to the end of season 4, when Macaque encourages MK to walk his own path. Here, Macaque is trying to let MK know that he doesn't have to bear everything alone.

Macaque : this isn't the kind of things I meant when I told you to chose your own destiny!

MK : you don't understand if I don't do this everyone loses, everything get destroyed!

Macaque : You don't always have to be the hero! It doesn't alway need to be you!

MK : this is the only way

Macaque : You don't know that, you can't know that.

Macaque first sentence is a callback to season 4. Clearly, Macaque is trying to dissuade MK. Trying to let him see that he doesn't have to save everyone alone. It is something Macaque already mentionned at the beginning of the season, when he told Wukong to do better, he also told him that MK needed to know “that everything wasn't on him”. Maybe because he saw what happened with Wukong, what happened when someone decides to bear everything alone, he doesn't want the same things to happen to MK.

The “You don't always have to be the hero” is quite powerful in itself. Macaque always had some problems with heroes, but he did acknowledged how wrong his definition of heroes was in season 4. Here, Macaque tries to take MK's burden away, to let him see that he doesn't need to always sacrifice himself, but also he's trying to let MK see that he's not alone. I think it's very clever to let Macaque have this particular line. Especially since in season 3 MK was the one to show Macaque that heroes never abandon their friends, and thus that heroes aren't alone. Here, Macaque is trying to reenact in some ways what MK did in season 3 by trying to convince MK that he doesn't have to do everything alone, that he has people to depend on.

But of course, Macaque get interrupted before he can truly get through MK, 😭.

Closing the distance

Macaque distance with the other characters (and especially Wukong) was an underlying theme throughout the whole season, especially within the shots’ composition. As we already saw, Macaque was always withdrawn, he never truly fit in the frame, always cut off by either an external object (chains, pillars) or pushed to the background. And of course, the end of season 5 offer a tentative resolution of this story-line.

First, we have this very short scene, after Macaque is interrupted by Xianglu, he decides to give his all and free the other and himself at the cost of his strengh. Before doing this, he clearly say while glancing at Wukong :

Macaque : here goes nothing, make it count.

So Macaque is putting everything in Wukong's hands. He explicitly decides to put his trust on Wukong. This is a great improvement, especially when we consider how cautious Macaque usually is. Moreover, once Macaque free everyone he falls to the ground in a way that is very remiscinent of season 3, after the fight with the possessed Wukong. However, contrary to season 3 where Wukong walked over Macaque while not even glancing at him, this time Wukong reaches towards Macaque and asks if he's okay.

Macaque is the one who has to push him to leave. This is a great callback to make us realizes how much those two evolved compared to season 3 and how much things changed between them.

Morever, after MK leaps in the pillar and everything fades to white, each member of the team calls for MK but Macaque is the only one calling for Wukong. Probably because he knows that if MK was able to jump, it meant Wukong failed, and thus meant Wukong is probably crushed by guilt right now.

But truly, the gesture that ciment Macaque place is Wukong reaching towards him.

Once the pillar is on the verge of being destroyed, and everyone stands together to face what is probably their end, once again we can see that Macaque is in the background.

There is still a distance between him and the team. But this time the distance isn't ignored, instead someone reach towards Macaque, inviting him to stand together with the team, on the same level, and that someone is Wukong.

The fact that Wukong is the one who pulls Macaque at the forefront, who close off the distance between them, is a very powerful gesture. It is a sign of their healing, but also, symbolically, can represent how truly Wukong is the one that connect Macaque to the others. It is through Wukong that Macaque met the team, and thus Wukong has to be the one that close this distance we have observed throughout the season.

Unfortunately, as we all know, Xianglu (damn guy) will intefer before Macaque can take Wukong's hand. Symbolically, it can represents how difficult mending a relationship can be, and even if both parties reach out to each other, it doesn't mean that everything will be healed. Yet the attempt was made all the same. Wukong reached out to him, and Macaque reached back, this alone is proof that their relationship, even if rocky, is slowly healing.

It is proof that this distance, while not fully breached yet, is slowly being closed.

Macaque's powers

Those two episodes also gave us something really interesting to think about and that is Macaque's powers. Macaque's powers are admittedly the most mysterious of LMK and that is because his powers don’t come from JTTW. Indeed, it is never mentioned, in JTTW, that the Six-eared Macaque possess shadow powers. As such, Macaque's powers are an unknown factor to us that had never been truly explained.

Here, we finally have some lead on his powers, especially when they directly confront Xianglu's powers. Indeed, Macaque is the only one able to free himself from Xianglu's hold. Moreover, his shadows are very similar to what Xianglu's uses, the only exception being their colors.

Xianglu : Oh that was quite a trick. That power, who gave that to you? Who did you make a deal with?

Macaque : a deal?

Xianglu : ah, it doens't matter.

So that's very interesting. First if Xianglu is to be believed, his powers are not something he's born with but rather something he borrowed. However, Macaque doesn't seem to be aware of any deals whatsover, so either Macaque unknowingly made a deal or he doesn't need to make a deal. I'm more inclined to believe the second option.

First, Xianglu powers are linked to the chaos. And the end of the season confirm that Macaque's powers also stem from the same source with this particular shot :

What lead me to believe that Macaque didn't need to make any deal is because he has been tightly linked to Yin symbolism throughout the whole show.

Indeed, the Yin is linked with darkness, passivity (which was one of Macaque trait in the past, as in he prefered to avoid confrontations), the moon… But the Yin can also be tied to chaos. As such, perhaps Macaque doesn't need to make a deal because chaos is a part of who he is, it is in his nature, and thus he's born with it.

The idea of Macaque being linked to chaos could also explain a personal theory of mine. During the brief flashbacks of Wukong and Macaque fight, that we saw previously in this season, we could clearly hear Macaque laughing manically while Wukong was pleading for him to stop. Macaque sounded unhinged, precisely chaotic, perhaps because his powers, naturally linked to chaos, took over him in that moment.

So this ends Macaque study in season 5. As we saw, this season follows through what have been established in season 4 : Macaque gained the team’s trust but it doesn't mean there is no distance between them. In fact, it is only at the end of season 5 that an attempt at breaching this distance was made.

Macaque and Wukong relationship also greatly evolved from the first seasons. They still fight, but now they try to make a conscious effort of not letting it get messy. Moreover, Wukong actively reach towards Macaque at the end of the season.

As always, this is my interpretation of Macaque character and you are free to disagree, no hate. I do love Macaque so even if I try to be unbiased, I know my appreciation of the show will shine through no matter what I do.

Maybe if season 6 comes out and I am still into LMK, I will do another study of Macaque.

S1 / Previous

#lmk #lego monkie kid #Lmk theory #Character analysis #Macaque study #Six eared macaque #Liu er Mihou #lmk liu er mihou #lmk macaque #Macaque #Legomonkiekid #Macaque and Wukong

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aliteralchicken · 15 hours ago

Note

aliteralchicken I must know when the military tried to recruit Tim

Robin 138-147, it’s bad, the only reason I’ve reread a few of them is because Laura’s in a few issues, the context is that penguin has been hiring assassin after assassin against Tim and Cass, for the soul reason of its easier to hire assassins for a job they won’t be able to complete than to hire new muscle

one of Tim’s would be assassin’s, the rising sun archer (my personal fav, the arrowfam should steal her from this terrible comic) is found tied up with no explanation, Tim’s been dealing with a lot of would be killers lately so upon seeing a guy waiting for him in military uniform immediately after trying to deal with the penguin he immediately does the reasonable thing and attempts to beat the shit out of him

the two fight for a little while before the guy admits that he’s the one who tied up the rising sun archer and since Robin has been fighting new assassins every night he needs an ally, this distracts Tim enough to be knocked out and then they bring him back to his robins nest

He and Bruce talk and Bruce tells him that the veteran is actually some kind of supernatural being, born fully grown on the battlefield and has been fighting in every war for the last two hundred years at least, this may or may not be completely true, but there’s definitely some truth in it

Tim leaves the veteran a note that he wants to talk and then gets a new would be assassin, this time a part dog part man named junkyard dog who’s got an army of rabid canines, Tim knocks them out with gas and and the military squad snipers the rest, after the battles over the veteran says he wants to recruit tim

Tim has a very chilly first meeting the lieutenant before meeting the others, one of whom is actually a robot who Tim collected the comics of as a kid because that’s a way they keep undercover, by making comics

eventually they get to the actual offer, leave batman and join a special branch of the military, that way he’ll be able to fight legally, he asks why not just recruit batman and they say because no because he likes giving orders

Whereas Robin is used to taking them, they did try to recruit nightwing back when he was robin as well

They ask to spar with Tim, they tell him there’s actually been five worlds wars (ones happening right at that moment apparently) this is a terrible distraction because Tim wins the soar against both of them anyway

Tim talks to Bruce about the offer, says he’s going to think about it, then the veteran joins asks if he wants to join them on a mission, this ends up being to Afghanistan where there are…demon eggs

…and they fight demons

Tim saves the lieutenant who kisses him (grown woman, pedo, I told you it was bad)

there’s the omac event, they team up again alongside ragman, blue devil and nightshade and the molars find out the people they’re shooting are civilians, then they team up to fight a bunch of metahumans

Bruce is like you promised you’d never recruit my agents again, the veterans like nuh uh you told me not to I never said I wouldn’t and anyway robin is absolutely 100% gonna join me

and then he doesn’t

#tim drake

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rocksibblingsau · 3 days ago

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(Funk Branch scenario that's way too fucking long but it was way too fun to write so I couldn't stop. Prince D is a little demon on this one, but I think he deserves to be the annoying baby brother once in a while :p, hope you enjoy it even though it's basically the size of an entire minific lol)

Prince D: Yo, B! Ur boyfriend~ is at the window again!!!

16 yr. Branch: For the last time, D, he is NOT my boyfriend! Urgh, just go eat your dinner, it's gonna get cold and I ain't reheating it.

Prince D, sticking out his toungue and leaving: Bleh, whatever!

Branch, opening his bedroom window and looking down: Hey, LJ!

17 yr. old Lownote Jones, leaning seductively (as much as a 17 yrs old can) against a wall holding a giant boombox playing Trollryn Hill: Heeeeey, babygirl~

Lownote Jones: So... You, me, our special remix, the RIGHT amount of snacks, the Onyxgroove's meteor shower. What do you say, prince of funk?

Branch: Dude, I caaan't! I told you I was gonna babysit my bro tonight.

Lownote Jones: He's 12, he's grown! He can be on his own!

Branch: Oh, please! The last time I played this argument, D snuck out of the city and got lost on the funking Rock florest of all places.

Lownote Jones, putting the boombox down: Oh... Yeah, your folks probably didn't take that too well...

Branch: Not one bit! Forbid him from being on his own until he's 14 or older, sucks for him, but can't blame them tho.

Lownote Jones: But duuude, it's THE Onyxgroove's meteor shower, we can't miss that! Come on, baby!

Branch: I'm sorry, but ain't happening, loverboy.

Lownote Jones: Ain't you guys the royals? Can't your folks, you know... just get a any babysitter in the city?

Branch: LJ, name ONE troll who either ain't at the Royal Conference or going to the meteor shower. Literally nobody's available, I checked.

Lownote Jones: The twins said they was watching from their place...

Branch: Oh, so you WANT them to turn my brother into their labrat?! I already told you what happened the last time I trusted them with D. Not happening.

Lownote Jones, doing his best attempt at puppy eyes: But then, what do we do...?

Branch, giggling: You coooould always go with Groovetavius....

Lownote Jones, glaring up at him: NEVER say that to me again.

Prince D, standing in the hallway eating a plate of swaghetti: Can't you two just watch it from the TV? They're gonna stream it, you know that right?

Branch, turning around: Oh...

Lownote Jones, shuffling his feet: That's... a little embarressing, actually.

Branch: So, I guess, change of plans...?

Lownote Jones: If your bro don't mind!

Prince D, walking up to the window and shouting down at LJ: If you guys don't make out on the couch, I got nooo complains!

Lownote Jones, smilling awkwardly: ... Can we renegotiate?

Prince D, looking down at LJ and back up at Branch: Repeat that again about him not being your boyfriend...

Branch, blushing and throwing a pillow at Darnell: SHUT UP, GET OUT OF MY ROOM! AND I TOLD YOU NOT EAT STANDING!!!

Prince D: *Running away laughing like madman*

Branch, mumbling: How did JD survive four of this...-

Lownote Jones: Sooo, that's an yes on us watching on your TV?

Branch: Oh! Yeah, pretty much... And besides, if he complains too much, I can always threaten to tell ma about the time he used her bonnet to wipe out her bathroom sink after he spilled her glam trying to dress up his Prince doll.

Lownote Jones, laughing: Damn, baby, you're evil!

Branch, blushing harder: Just a little, hehe~

Not friends, not dating but some secret third thing

#sibblings qna #funk branch au #trolls branch #lownote jones #prince darnell #prince d trolls #lowbranch

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stargodau · 2 days ago

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Chapter 1 Proposition

Bill stared at the ceiling feeling utterly empty. His afterlife now consisted of nothing but pain and misery, tests, needles, medications, and physical abuse. The Theraprism a place of ‘healing’ and ‘redemption’ did nothing but break him apart, slowly. The crack across his body had expanded to both sides now, breaking him into five pieces. He lay on his cell floor staring at the incandescent light overhead. It burned his eye but he didn’t mind much, pain was the only real thing he had felt in a while.

A click. The door opened to show one of those nasty therapists standing there. This particular therapist reminded him of someone who had far too many eyes. They took on a sort of sky blue color with darker blue frills.

“Patient #323322 the great Axolotl has requested your presence. Do not make it wait any longer than necessary.” The therapist’s shrill voice and calm tone, made him wish they had given him medication to deafen him along instead of just subduing him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He groaned getting up off the floor. Cuffs were of course immediately fastened around his wrists and two guards accompanied them as they walked through the halls to Axy’s office.

“Do not disappoint the Axolotl.” Was all that was said to Bill before he was shoved inside the office to face the lizard on his own. The Ax’s office was cluttered, papers stranded on its desk and around the floor. Books were stacked against the walls stretching up to the ceiling. Each book, Cipher knew, contained the knowledge of countless dimensions, crammed in using magic.

“Have a seat Bill.” Rumbled the Axolotl in its low, cheerful voice. Bill obliged. The Axolotl itself looked quite haggard for it being an all knowing benevolent god. There were slight creases under its star filled eyes, though those too had lost some sparkle to them.

Bill considered before starting conversation. “What’s the word frills? Finally taking me outta this dump or do I need an extended stay?” He really hoped he was being released, he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

The Axolotl cocked its head at him, the responded, “ We are here to discuss your inability to accept the Theraprism’s help. You know your therapists only wants best for you, though no matter how much they try you seem to stay the same.” Bill stared ahead at the amphibian, confused. What help? The therapists had never even extended an olive branch.

It continued, “You seem to in fact, gotten worse as we can see from these cracks here.” A hand was extended towards Bill’s left side where the cracks had grown onto.

Instead of groveling or apologizing like the Ax probably hoped he would Bill became glowing red with anger. “Getting worse? GETTING WORSE? All I have been trying to do is get better while here but those ‘therapists’ insist I’m not doing enough, and do you know what happens? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS? I get shoved into a void for ‘wellness’ and to think about how I can ‘change’ and ‘be better’. I’m a lost cause already but the only person who can’t seem to figure that out is you! Perhaps using these dimensions worth of knowledge you can get a brain!” He didn’t have any powers but oh boy did yelling without immediately getting beaten feel good.

Once again the Axolotl didn’t react harshly, just sighing before it spoke. “Bill I know you are suffering that’s why I came here. The Theraprism won’t teach you anything, it’s not what’s right for you. I just came here to tell you that I’m coming up with a solution. Please be good for a few days and I will contact you to let you know the new arrangement.” It smiled at him, prompting him to answer.

“Well, how could I say no to that Axy? I accept your deal with open arms! What’s the catch though, I know you aren’t stupid enough to give this to me for free.” Bill narrowed his eye at the amphibian, something was up and he was going to find out what it was. The Axolotl was staring at him with a strange look he couldn’t quite decipher.

“I will contact you once I figure out the exact details of this new deal Bill. Be good and may you have star filled days.” And with that the Axolotl disappeared from sight. The guards grabbed him before leading him back to his cell to wait in agony until the Ax contacted him. Waiting, with no hope at all.

#bill #bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls bill #billford #the book of bill #Stargod au #alternate universe #Au #gravity falls fan art #fan art

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soosoosoup · 4 months ago

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treasure planet au, last of the batch (Poppy & Floyd)

#dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls au #trolls poppy #trolls floyd #trolls viva #trolls branch #treasure planet au #these two gave me a bit of a struggle lol #both drawing and deciding their places in this au #so... yeah!! here they are!!#Poppy as first mate!!#well sorta she's still in training #ik she'd make a great Ben haha but i really really wanted them to still be sisters!! and teen poppy would be the cutest!!#She's the biggest divergence this au takes from the og movie #edit: forgot to add that poppy does NOt fall into the black hole #lolol sorry for the scare #oh and also floyds here but also isn't #floyd's not present in this entire voyage rather his absence haunts #he's busy being bottled anyway #he lowkey takes Jim's dad's place #sorry floyd fans (gen)#but floyd was also very sweet big bro before he left so it also made sense for him to take sarah's intro scene.#as you guys can tell being pretty loosey gossey on which troll goes to which tp scene #again thank you guys for your input and ideas!! they're a great help!#so much empty space...#trolls fanart #my art <3 #excuse the messiness

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bumblingbabooshka · 9 months ago

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Polycule Moments Guess who got access to recording software

#chakotay/janeway/tuvok #st voyager #Chakotay how could you!!! Tuvok wanted to show off!!!#I love how Chakotay looks so much like '????' after - as he SHOULD.#Chakotay #Kathryn Janeway #Tuvok #A little slice of how Janeway & Tuvok normally operate...delicious <3 #they are so.....suave??#I can't believe Tuvok actually STOOD up...SIR. Sit DOWN!!! Heheh this ain't drama class <3 #Janeway's expression when she finds something funny but can't laugh...'oop!'#I love early seasons Tuvok he takes every opportunity to be like 'Hello Captain who I know better than everyone else. I assume you want #xyz?' (Yes Tuvok you're brilliant as always old friend) and then if he were human he'd turn to Chakotay with the smuggest grin ever on his #face #I wish they'd used this trait of his to tell us more about their friendship pre-voyager #or had it originally be just the two of them as more insulated from the rest of the crew before Janeway starts branching out #(and maybe they can make it a plot point that Tuvok doesn't in a 'we've gotta befriend him!' episode)

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el-buzz · 10 months ago

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📚 Cg! Clay HCS!!! 💚🎶

Aggagaggaggag first hc list I do EVERRR (so please be kind (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) /💗💗)

Cg! Clay x Agere! Reader!!

pretty much gender neutral!!

Cw: caps lock (just me having happy outbursts), um lotsa author notes and commentary I just wanna talk about him and about how he would be as a cg :ccc, also this is incredibly self indulgent

Also there was no proof reading ☠️

(Crossposted on ao3 @Soft_Buzz!! oh and I’ll update this if I get a new hc idea)

Anyways here you go 💚:

•nicknames for you: kiddo, baby, bubba, bubba wubba (he’s squeezing your cheeks and baby talking you 😭😭), prince/princess/ lil highness/royal, and a number of other sweet nicknames or any that you prefer!

•he would be suuuuuch a sweet and doting caregiver waaaaaaah but he would definitely ensue rules for you! Calm and Strict(ish) cg! Clay would pull up to make sure you are safe and healthy even if you are feeling big!!

•he’d hate to see you hurt or sick, but he’d do everything thing in his power to nurse you back to health :]!

•Clay would definitely provide his kiddo with healthy snack or with fruit or veggie cups!

•Although Clay’s sorta strict he can be soooo soft he always want to hold you, whether it’s your hand/pinkie or cuddle up with you.

•You are his battery and he wants to recharge.

* HE WOULD SOOOO READ TO YOUUUU AHHH he loooooves reading so ofc he’d love to share that interest with his little one

• (please it’s the cutest thing ever)

• imagine him beside you with a book open (he has his reading glasses on :3) and as he reads, he gives all the different characters different voices and will always put emotion into his reading voice, which always leads to you giggling or you gasping in surprise.

• One time you insisted that you were big enough for his sad book club and that you wouldn’t become a big puddle of tears so he gave you Charlotte’s Web to read.

• You were a mess. You didn’t stop being sad for the next couple of HOURS (yes this is a reference to that JD fan art ifykyk☠️)

• Clay had to give you so many hugs, cuddles, and kisses to make up for it. He thought it’d be funny, but he sorta forgot how emotional of a little one you can be.

• “I’m so so sorry baby.” *kiss* “How can I make it up to you?? I’ll do anything”

• oh you’d grin a that. You choose to either do dress up WITH make up or draw on his face and mess around with his hair. AND ice cream.

• You took soooo many pictures (and you may or may have not shared them with Viva, Poppy, and his brothers) Clay says he hates you for it, but secretly believes it was so worth it to see that sparkle in your eyes

• he bought you a piggy and a spider (with little bb spiders) stuffie. Even if you have arachnophobia, you hugged those stuffies while crying happy tears. You gave him a tight hug which he softly returned and gave you a forehead kiss.

• (This whole event was also the birth of your happy scrapbook club!! (even though it just you :} ) )

• You and Clay will just sit together while reading different things. Him with some well recognized and praised novel or book and you with a happy lil scrapbook in your hands!

• I’d also like to think he has a puppet character like Bandit does with unicorse! (Maybe a dragon but that just me :])

• (Clay and Branch be matching with their ventriloquism skills lol)

• If you seem to be clumsy or fall often he starts to develop a sort of spider sense for it and will catch you before disaster happens

• OKOK I know this is gonna sound random buuuut I believe Clay is the type to carry lollipops, and sometimes other candy, around. Idk like I can just picture him a with a lollipop in his mouth trying to look all serious/mysterious and nonchalant LOL

• ANYWAYS back to the Agere stuff

• I think that after completing a task or being good, Clay would def give his kiddo a lollipop as a treat!! that orrrrr if his kiddo seems to be regressing in public and they really want/need a paci or just something to fixate on then boom!!! Lollipop! :D

• Talking about rewards

• This man would sooooo spoil you!! you’re his treasure and he wants you to know it!!

• He’ll either get you food you’ve been craving or a stuffed animal/little gear orrrr both!!

• (Because of the two of you, you now have a chest fuuuull of stuffies Woops💧)

• You always try to show your appreciation by giving him small handmade gifts!! A lil pop up card, bead bracelets (you definitely have matching bracelets), even something crocheted/knitted, and pretty much any arts n crafts you can make!

• Now onto funny business ( •̀ - • )!

• so ofc when it first came to having fun and being playful with you he was bit scared

• can you blame him???

• He’d spent A LOT of time trying to get rid/away from the tittle of being the fun boy

• Ofc through lot of reassurance you let him know that he can have fun and play with you and still be a very serious caregiver!

• you help him understand that being funny and silly every once in a while doesn’t hurt and that he should try to find a balance that work for him! Which he eventually does :D!!

• I like to believe that he’d be great at playing pretend and hide and seek!

• “Worry not your highness!! You will protect you from the dragon!” (It’s one of your plushies)

• “Wherever could my kiddo be?? They must have turned invisible!!” (he can hear your giggles which just makes his smile wider)

• Although he really tries to be there for you, he’s a reaaaally busy man :((( but he still tries to spend time with you through parallel play! While he’s doing his grown up paperwork, you get to colooor!! (or draw or scrapbook or anything really) as long you promise to be good and not distract him

• (plus the sooner he’s done the sooner he can give you all his attention! so it’s a win-win situation :D)

• Actually if you were feeling extra lil you’d just get a paper and scribble on it with crayon trying to copy Clay’s mannerisms (when he sees this he’s physically holding himself back from just picking you up, cradling you, and just babying you waaaah you’re gonna be the end of him)

• oh and he would sooo keep your little artworks in his working area (they bring a sweet smile to his face and warm his soul you’re the best kiddo he could have ever asked for)

• You also get to have cuddles while he works! Sometimes he’ll just sit you on his lap with a stuffie or two while he wraps an arm around you and litters your head or face with kisses!

• Now onto not so funny business ૮๑ˊᯅˋ๑ა

• sometimes Clay’ll have a rough or tiring day :((

* and that’s okk caregivers have their moments too!

• He’ll usually want to cuddle with you and hold you close. (You are his stuffie :D)

• He might even tickle you or blow raspberries on your tummy (if you give him permission ofc!!) which often leaves you with a giggling and squirming fit.

• He just loves seeing you laugh and smile (especially if it’s him who made you happy :] you just brighten his day so much sometimes)

• One time he was just so tired and just laying down on the couch and then you brought one stuffie to him and then two till you pretty much had him buried under almost all of your stuffies!!

* You then proceeded to lay on top of him, and Clay just sticks both arms out from under the pile while smiling softly with his eyes closed.

• Let’s just say you guys woke up with stuffed animals scattered eeeeeverywhere

• If you’re a kiddo/baby who tends to get overwhelmed easily, he’ll get you some noise canceling/dampening headphones and just wraps you in a soft blanket like a little burrito.

• He’ll also either get you an eye mask or will lower the lights if he can. (And if you’re feeling lil enough then a paci too!!)

• After doing any of this, he’ll just bring you onto his lap and whisper sweet lil nothings to you till you feel better or seem to fall asleep :D!

• would enforce a bed time >:( (he is a very very veeeery serious guy after all)

• but luckily bedtime means a bottle or sippy of sweet sleepy tea and a storyyyy :D!!

• Forehead kisses!! (CALL ME BIASED CAUSE I LOOOOOVE FOREHEAD KISSES but I stand by what I say.

• Oh and if he’s ever gonna to be very busy for the day and he won’t be able to take care of his kiddo, he’d ask Viva to help him take care of you!!

• Plus who doesn’t love babysitter Viva??? She’s so energetic and fun with you, but she’ll definitely tone it down for you 💛

• she’s also super strong so she’ll definitely carry you or give you a piggy back ride if you ask :>!

• She also give you lots of candies and sugary foods but shhhhh don’t tell Clay itsa secret (but I think the sugar rush/crash you have when he picks you up from Viva’s tells him more than enough

• (I feel like he would trust all his brothers with you (especially Bruce) except JD 😭😭)

• He would sooooo grab your cheeks and squeeze them like he did to Branch when first seeing him again

• Expect him to do that whenever he just wants to dote on you and baby you even if you’re feeling bigger than usual he just loves youuuu! 💚💚💚

In summary: I need this man bc he is the bestest boyfriend and caregiver ever!!

Final notes!:

I love likes but comments and reposts are greatly appreciate (I love to talk if you can’t tell) type something out and let me know what you think 💗💗

If anybody would like to use any of the hcs/scenarios for a fanfic tots fine with me just don’t forget to tag me for credit and so I can see it :DD!!

#I’m saying this even though there’s like NO ONE under the agere tag for this fandom.#Which is surprising like where are you all???? Huh?!?! Huh?!?!#Like c’mon it’s agere galore! Colors! Music! AND Family reunion and Love!!#Plus two great and amazing and lovable villains #Branch was literally abandoned as a baby! (Plus other brothers also have problems/struggles)#Just take the bait and write/do Agere stuff for them!! 😭😭(help I sound mean but I meant that in a nice way)#but I get it the fandom feels like it’s dying on here. I just got here y’all don’t die on me already 😭😭)#(Genuinely don’t think anyone wanted this but oh well I’m sending it out to the world with a mission to complete #which is bring happiness!!)#(mostly for myself tho lol)#I can’t believe I did all of this instead of a college essay #trolls agere #clay #sfw agere #trolls 3 #age regression #being brave out here and using clay x reader in the post just to see what happens #if i get any hatred i’ll immediately remove it :/

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