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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 month ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 3: Mist and Bricks]

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, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, dragons being weapons of mass destruction, King's Landing gets some visitors, Larys gets alarming news, Alicent gets an idea, Red gets a shock.

Word count: 7.2k

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There is a chilly steel-grey mist on Blackwater Bay, and another in your skull, your thoughts slow and muddled, the past bleeding into the present. It’s weeks later, the longest you’ve ever been away from Aemond, and the pebbles on the shore needle your shins through your velvet gown the color of cinnabar as you kneel to claw seashells from the muck. Helaena is here with you, and while you haven’t told her your plans for your next mosaic, she somehow knows what color shells to drop into your basket: dark green like Vhagar’s scales, shimmering white like Aemond’s hair. Sometimes there are still creatures hunkered inside, and Helaena can never bring herself to pry them out. She passes the doomed crabs and snails to you for a swift exhumation that you deliver with your bare hands, and then you wash the vacated shells in the surf. Mother and a flock of maids are playing with Jaehaera and Maelor farther down the beach. You can’t go near them, or Maelor will start screaming.

Grandsire comes plodding down the stone steps carved into the cliffside, carrying a plate laden with lemon cakes and slices of fresh bread slathered with butter and blackberry jam. “Helaena, you must eat,” he says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Helaena, please.” And his voice is gentle in a way it has never been with you. “My gods, why are you wrist-deep in wet sand?”

“We’re collecting shells.”

Grandsire gives you a familiar look: disapproval, frustration. The he turns back to Helaena. “I can’t watch you disappear. You must eat something, I’m not leaving until you do.”

“You like blackberry jam,” you encourage her. But she flinches away when Grandsire offers her the plate, and suddenly you understand, you feel the thought as if it is your own. “It’s the color,” you tell him. “The jam, it’s like…” Like blood, like gore. Like the night Jaehaerys died.

“Oh.” Grandsire is quiet for a moment, remembering. “The lemon cakes, then.”

Helaena reluctantly rinses her hands in the seawater, takes a single lemon cake from the plate, and sits on a nearby rock to nibble on it, gazing blankly out over the inlet. You attended Jaehaerys’ funeral procession in her stead—an act of mercy, of penance, while Helaena spent that day sobbing in the Dragonpit, clinging to Dreamfyre, a pale blue century-old monster with infinite patience. The people of King’s Landing saw the dead prince, his head crudely stitched back onto his tiny body, and howled for vengeance. They burned white-haired effigies of Rhaenyra and Daemon. They gave rare autumn flowers to you and Mother. It’s always strange when you leave the Red Keep to interact with the smallfolk. They call you by your real name, something your family seldom does; they seem to believe you are righteous and wise. Perhaps they even pity you: no husband, no children, no dragon.

Mother has left Jaehaera and Maelor with the maids and is venturing closer. “Are there any new letters?” From Criston or Aemond, or even Daeron in the Reach. The Hightower army has been delayed there, cutting through the treasonous soldiers of House Rowan and House Caswell, Tessarion burning them alive in their armor.

“Ravens,” Helaena says thoughtfully from her rock, and no one knows why.

Grandsire shakes his head. No letters today. Butterwell, Stokeworth, and Rosby have bent the knee; the defiant lords of the Crownlands are being put to death. By now the Green forces will be marching on House Staunton at Rook’s Rest. When Aemond does write, you are not mentioned. With each passing day you find yourself thinking: Has he forgotten me? Does he truly love me? Perhaps this is not so irrational a question. Aemond has never used the word love to describe what you are to each other.

Grandsire frowns at you. You gaze mournfully back. He snaps: “And what’s wrong with you?”

Mother’s reply is hushed and sympathetic. “She’s lonely, Father.”

“Lonely?! She still has us here. Don’t we matter? No, I suppose not, she prefers arrogant fools who imperil the realm with their self-obsession. Perhaps she’d like us more if we wore silver wigs and eyepatches.”

Mother is distressed. “Father, please.”

He waves an irritated hand at you. “I better not find out you’ve been keeping the cats away from your chambers again.” Grandsire had a hundred cats brought to the Red Keep to do the tasks the dead ratcatchers left unattended.

“They scare my babies,” you say.

“Your vermin, you mean. Revolting creatures. Flying pestilence.”

You rise from the sand and pick up your basket, now full of shells. Your head is beginning to ache. Maester Orwyle removed your stitches this morning, but the wound in your chest still pains you more or less constantly, a gnawing sensation like an animal chewing on your ribcage.

“Where are you going?” Grandsire demands. You don’t answer him as you ascend the stone staircase, the waves growling behind you and gulls squawking in the foggy air.

In your chambers, you leave the basket of seashells on the floor and call for wine. The maids fetch it and you drink straight from the pitcher, staring at the little wooden figurines on your dresser until they turn blurry. Among them is Vermithor. You recall what Aegon said when he gave it to you years ago, when you were so stung by the dragon’s rejection: You might not have the real Bronze Fury, but you can keep this one.

Your bats are beginning to scrabble out of their roost and vanish through the window. As the sun sets and the room spins, you crawl into bed and lie there in the darkness clutching pillows, your pulse thudding just above your left eye. You doze in and out of consciousness. Aemond told you to think of him when you are here, and you do whether you want to or not: Aemond spilling red wine down your bare chest and then licking you clean; you straddling his lap and stroking him as he reads myths aloud to you in gloomy alcoves of the library, dust motes wheeling in the air, grinning victoriously when you make him lose his focus; the five game pieces racing around the wooden board, Aegon’s green snake, Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Aemond’s blue wolf, your red bat, Daeron’s purple shadowcat before he was sent away to Oldtown and the rest of you never played again.

Then something hits you, not like a vision but like knuckles that could crack teeth, and you are besieged by what Aemond is seeing in the Crownlands. There is flesh, horribly and ruinously burned, sheets of it sloughing off as Aemond peels away scraps of charred fabric, and the smell of it—like blackened pork, oily and stomach-turning—is in your nostrils, and you can feel the calamitous heat rising off the man who must be dying. You can feel Aemond’s terror, disbelief, desperation; you can feel his tears on the right side of your face.

Dragonfire??

The dreamscape abruptly disappears like a candle blown out. Your head throbs, your eyes are squeezed shut as you whimper into your pillows. Your fingertips go instinctively to the scar on your chest.

Who was burned? Criston? Gwayne?

But now the dire portents are here in your room, and they are real: the ringing of bells, smoke, shrieking, scorched flesh.

You open your eyes, and your bats are soaring back inside through the open window; but they have been turned to comets. They are on fire, squealing as their fur is singed off and the fragile membranes of their wings melted from their bones, herding around their roost as they try in vain to seek shelter inside. The dark blue velvet cover has been engulfed in flames.

“No!” you scream, bolting off the bed.

Your door is thrown open and Mother rushes in, dragging Jaehaera behind her. Helaena waits in the doorway holding little Maelor in her arms. He hasn’t seen you yet, but he is already wailing. The horror is back. When will it end?

“We have to go!” Mother shouts, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from your bats. You know you can’t save them, and yet you are compelled to. They are pieces of you, pieces of Aemond. They are burning to death in the house you built for them.

“What’s happening—?!” And then you hear the screeches of dragons, not Vhagar or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre or Tessarion. Through the window, you see an inferno bloom in the night sky. You get a firelit glimpse of a beast you do not recognize: dark, angular, very large and covered with jagged spines. People are screaming. Rooftops are ablaze.

A wild dragon? Claimed by who?

“We’ll go to the beach,” Mother says frantically. She’s thinking of the escape hatch in Aemond’s bedchamber, the only secret passageway in Maegor’s Holdfast. The king known as “the Cruel” wanted no spies or assassins in his walls. But one door was enough for Daemon’s executioners to kill Jaehaerys. “Helaena will try to get to Dreamfyre.”

But you won’t be able to fly away with the rest of them. Dreamfyre would sooner reduce you to ashes than let you touch her.

Mother knows this. She tells you, low and fierce, her coppery hair like glowing embers: “I won’t leave you. You and I will find another way out of King’s Landing.”

“You should escape on Dreamfyre if you have the chance.”

“Never,” she says. And then again: “Never.”

In the hallway, Grandsire has arrived, panicked and urging everyone towards Aemond’s bedchamber. He wheezes, breathless from his sprint through the castle: “I saw Syrax and Caraxes, and Vermax too I think, or maybe Moondancer, a small dragon…but who is the other one? It’s not Meleys. It’s a hideous creature, it looks deformed.”

“I don’t know,” Mother says. Hordes of yowling cats careen past your bare feet.

“Could Rhaenyra be finding new riders?” And Grandsire, a man who is afraid of very little, is petrified down to his bones by this.

I should have a dragon, you think, forlorn. I should be able to help fight this war. And instead I am worthless.

“I don’t know, Father,” Mother says again, and you follow her through the threshold and into Aemond’s abandoned bedchamber, illuminated only by the moonlight that streams in through the windows. You have not been in here since Jaehaerys died; the stone floor is still stained with his blood. Helaena begins sobbing, clutching Maelor closer to her chest. Downstairs, you can hear swords clanging and men groaning as they die.

You hurry to the hidden door and ram it with your shoulder, but as the passageway opens, you see red-orange torchlight approaching through the blackness like fire boiling up in the throat of a dragon. Rhaenyra’s soldiers are already here. You try to close the door, but now knights in armor are forcing their way inside the room. And Grandsire, who has never liked you, pulls you away from the breach and puts himself between you and the intruders.

“The hallway, back to the hallway!” he booms, giving you a shove, and that is the only place left to go. You, Mother, Jaehaera, Helaena, Maelor, and Grandsire flee from Aemond’s bloodstained bedchamber. But your captors have climbed the Grand Staircase—the place where you once waited for Aemond to return from Storm’s End, so convinced that he would not fail you—and now they are here.

Under the torches carried by her guards, Rhaenyra alternates between firelight and shadows. Daemon marches beside her, his face severe, his sword Dark Sister drawn. Mother pushes you, Jaehaera, and Helaena, still carrying Maelor, against the cold stone wall. Grandsire stands in front of Mother. Jace is walking behind Rhaenyra and Daemon, you notice, dressed in red and black, his cloak billowing behind him. The last time you saw Jace, you were smirking when Aemond shoved him off his feet at the last dinner King Viserys ever attended. Now you are trembling with thunderstruck terror.

Rhaenyra is supposed to be bedbound on Dragonstone. Daemon is supposed to be in the Riverlands.

Daemon points at you with the tip of his blade. “You should have that one executed,” he says to Rhaenyra. “Isn’t she Aemond’s whore?”

“They were never married,” Mother tells him, her dark eyes huge and reflecting the torchlight, her arm thrown in front of you.

“I didn’t say wife, I said whore.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra warns, and she studies you, Helaena, Grandsire, Mother. Her blue eyes are sharp like fractured glass, edges that glide effortlessly through arteries and veins; there is a queenlike composure in her face, but beneath that wrath, wrath, wrath. After a moment, she says to her guards: “Take the adults to the dungeons.”

Mother and Helaena are shouting and protesting, trying to stop the guards that rip Jaehaera and Maelor out of their grasps. Grandsire is attempting to negotiate. Rhaenyra and Daemon ignore them, continuing on down the hallway, taking possession of the rage-red castle where they first fell into their peculiar, destructive breed of love.

As he passes by, Jace glowers at you and you glare back, and when he reaches for the hilt of his sword you bare your teeth at him; but before Jace can draw his blade—to threaten you, to frighten you, to spill your blood the way Aemond spilled Luke’s—the guards have dragged you away.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your head is very bad now. The pain is almost impossible to think through; you are sick with it, retching into a wooden bucket until there is nothing left to expel. If Aemond was here, he would be holding you, murmuring to you in High Valyrian, pressing a cloth soaked with cold water to your forehead. But Mother is here instead, and she is doing the best she can.

It’s the next day, cold grey light tumbling in through cracks in the walls. You are imprisoned on the second level of the dungeons, reserved for highborn captives; you and Mother are in one cell, Helaena and Grandsire in another on the other side of the aisle. Helaena has been weeping constantly, worrying for her children. Grandsire and Mother try to console her as you lie pitifully on the floor, wishing the pain would knock you unconscious. You need Orwyle and his milk of the poppy. The guards have brought bread and water, but nothing else.

There is a creaking sound from several cells away, and then a slow shuffling accompanied by the tapping of a cane. Mother keeps one hand on your shoulder as she cranes her neck to see her visitor. Grandsire and Helaena move to the front of their cell, their fingers gripping the rusted iron bars.

Larys Strong appears, his hands resting on the handle his cane. Unlike Maegor’s Holdfast—the residence of the royal family—the other buildings of the Red Keep are rife with secret passageways, a latticework of corridors that one unfamiliar with their paths could get lost in forever. Surely Daemon and his confederates are in the process of searching them, but it is a task that could take a week.

“Lord Larys,” Mother says, relieved. “They have not found you.”

“Not yet, Your Grace,” he replies docilely. “Though I’m sure it will not take much longer.”

“Can you retrieve some milk of the poppy?” For you, she means.

“I will try.” Then he stalls, as if he does not wish to share what he has heard through his clandestine chain of whispers. “Something has happened at Rook’s Rest.”

Mother’s brow furrows. “Where?”

“The seat of House Staunton,” you tell her from where you lie on the floor, remembering it from the maps in Aemond’s bedchamber. He would tell you things, show you things, sometimes kindly, sometimes tauntingly, sometimes as he undressed you. He would quiz you and if you got an answer wrong, he would put your clothes back on.

“In the Crownlands?” Mother says to Larys, alarmed. “Is Aegon alright?”

Larys takes a moment to decide how to proceed. “The castle was captured without much difficulty, but a maester there must have gotten a raven out, because Dragonstone received word of the attack and was summoned to defend Rook’s Rest and retake it from the Greens. It is located very close to Dragonstone, and thus cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy.”

Larys pauses and looks at his audience. Grandsire asks: “So who answered the message?”

“It seems that Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jacaerys were already preparing for an invasion of King’s Landing and were elsewhere,” Larys says. “The other dragon, the large brown one, is called Sheepstealer and is ridden by a peasant girl that Daemon found. There are rumors that he has grown somewhat…attached to her.”

Mother grimaces, tugging on the seven-pointed star necklace she never takes off. “He’s a beast.”

“The girl is a Targaryen bastard?” Grandsire says, confounded. “Whose? She’s not a child of Viserys, surely. Where the hell did she come from?”

Larys is apologetic. “I could not tell you, my lord. If I discover anything else concerning her origins, I shall share what I learn. She is known as Nettles.”

“Nettles?” Grandsire snorts.

Larys continues: “When the raven reached Dragonstone, Baela received the letter. It appears she was told that Sunfyre was the only dragon guarding Rook’s Rest at the time, and that Vhagar was away feeding. She must have thought she could best the king, or at least chase him away from the castle.”

“An understandable error,” Grandsire says, and you scowl at him between fruitless retches into your bucket. The thrumming in your skull is like blows from a hammer, rhythmic and disorienting. Your face is hot with fever; it radiates off of you in waves. Mother rubs your back—although somewhat cautiously, as if she is afraid that barbs might split through your skin to prick her—and offers you sips of water.

“Baela left Dragonstone, likely without permission. Rhaenys followed her on Meleys, but Moondancer was faster.”

“Meleys?” Mother says, startled. “Meleys was there too?”

Larys nods solemnly. “Aegon and Sunfyre attacked Moondancer and broke her neck high in the air. Baela perished when her dragon fell to the earth.”

“Daemon’s daughter,” Mother exhales, wondering what the retribution will be. “Jace’s betrothed.”

“And one of Rhaenys’ only two trueborn grandchildren,” Larys says. “When she arrived at Rook’s Rest and saw Moondancer’s carcass smoldering just outside the castle walls, she pursued the king before he could retreat. And Sunfyre…he was no match for a dragon as large as Meleys.”

“Aegon, he’s…?” Mother cannot bring herself to speak the words aloud. Tears gleam in her eyes. “Is he…is there no hope…?”

The ruined flesh, charred and raw, you remember from your horrifying glimpse into Aemond’s mind. It wasn’t Criston or Gwayne. It was Aegon.

“He was burned,” you whisper, and Mother stares at you.

“Aemond returned on Vhagar, and they slayed Rhaenys and her mount. But not before the king and his dragon were engulfed in Meleys’ flames.”

“He’s dead?” Grandsire says, emotion you’ve never heard before in his voice.

No, you think. Not yet.

“Aegon and Sunfyre are both gravely wounded,” Larys replies. “It is uncertain whether either will survive. The Blacks received the news just before their assault on King’s Landing.”

“Where is Aegon now?” Mother says.

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. He was still at Rook’s Rest last I heard, but they might move the king elsewhere to keep him hidden. I would imagine Aemond and Sir Criston Cole are requisitioning maesters from nearby houses to treat him.”

“Burns,” Mother sobs. “He must be suffering terribly, the pain…the disfigurement…”

Grandsire drums his fingers on the bars of his cell, his rings clinking against the rusted steel. His expression is remote, somber, resigned. “So we have two dragons capable of combat, one of which is young and small and pinned down by battles in the Reach, the other is on the far side of the Crownlands and trapped there while Aemond tries to keep our king alive. And Rhaenyra is here in the capital with Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and this new dragon Sheepstealer, larger than any of her others, and her faction seeks vengeance for not one but three royal deaths.”

In reply, Larys Strong only bows his head. Mother swipes tears from her cheeks and tucks your hair behind your ears as strands escape your braid.

“Well,” Grandsire sighs. “I believe we might be losing this war.”

There is the distant noise of a door’s hinges creaking, and Larys hobbles out of sight, retreating to the secret passageway he previously emerged from. A minute passes, and then footsteps echo down the corridor. Daemon strides into view, swinging Dark Sister in his right hand, and you are suddenly reminded so much of Aemond’s mannerisms that the absence of him guts you all over again, vital parts of you excavated like the organs of a slaughtered animal. Daemon is accompanied by several guards and a group of noblemen who you assume are members of Rhaenyra’s council. You recognize among them a tall man with short grey hair, Lord Bartimos Celtigar.

Daemon says: “Princess Helaena, the queen has taken your tiny, traitorous children to ward. Perhaps one day you will see them again. Perhaps not.” She gazes out from her cell vacantly, her face bloodless with shock and fear. Then Daemon turns to Grandsire. “Otto Hightower, you orchestrated an unlawful rebellion and therefore you will be put to death.”

Grandsire gapes at him. “What? When?”

“Oh, immediately.” Daemon steps back and the guards unlock the cell, seize Grandsire, knock him over and drag him wriggling on his belly into the corridor. Mother pleads for his life. Helaena shrieks and claws for him, trying to keep him with her. The guards fling her roughly away and slam the door of her cell shut before she can escape.

“No, no, do not mourn me!” Grandsire is bellowing as he is hauled away. “I am an old man, I have lived a good life, do not think of me, think of the living and what you can still do for them!”

“Father!” Mother wails, reaching through the bars of her cell though she knows she will never touch him again.

“I am ready to see your mother, Alicent,” Grandsire says; and then he is gone. The men of Rhaenyra’s council begin to file out of the dungeon.

“You followed us across the Narrow Sea, Lord Celtigar!” you shout after him, crawling across the floor and pressing your face against the bars of your cell. “House Targaryen saved you from the Doom, and now you rip it down from within by aiding a usurper. We will not forget your treason when the war is won. We will visit you on Claw Isle and bring with us fire and blood. And you will have no defenses. You are no dragonrider.”

“Neither are you, princess,” he says cooly, and leaves you in your prison.

Daemon is the only man still standing in the aisle. He peers down at you with shadowy deep-set eyes and twirls his Valyrian steel sword again. He grins, humorless, hungry, burning up inside with fury. “Perhaps I’ll be back soon.”

Mother yanks you away from the bars, and you can see what she’s thinking etched into the desperate lines of her face: How can I save her?

“I’m going to behead your father now,” Daemon tells Mother, then sweeps down the corridor. There is the sound of a heavy door closing when he reaches the end of the hall.

“Do not speak to them,” Mother hisses to you, and you are in too much pain to respond. Now you can hear men jeering out in the courtyard of the Red Keep. Daemon is listing Grandsire’s crimes. Crows are cawing.

He’s going to die too? you think dizzily. When does this end, how do we stop it?

The door at the end of the hallway opens again, and Mother stands and places herself in front of you; but it is not Daemon this time, relishing his chance to drag another Green to their death. It is Rhaenyra and Jace. The Blacks’ queen stops at your cell, her son a few paces behind her. He looks at you with heartbreak, with hatred, and of course he does; one of your brothers murdered Luke, the other killed Baela. And he does not believe you to be blameless like Helaena. You are a very different sort of woman.

“Alicent, your degenerate son’s insurrection is over,” Rhaenyra says. “I have taken the city and—”

“Jace needs to strengthen his claim,” Mother interrupts. Outside, men are cheering; Grandsire’s head has been struck from his shoulders. In her cell across the aisle, Helaena sinks to the floor and sobs quietly into her palms.

Rhaenyra studies Mother, incredulous. “What did you say?”

“There have always been people who doubted his parentage, as you well know,” Mother says, and you can see her hands are trembling; but her voice is steady. “And there are many who favor my line. They fear Daemon’s recklessness, and perhaps yours as well.”

“You speak so boldly for a woman who stands behind bars.”

Mother is unflinching. “Perhaps you imagine that you will kill every last Green, and all of our loyalists throughout the Seven Kingdoms, millions of people, and therefore you will have no use for bricks upon which to build a lasting peace. But I think that would be a mistake.”

“And you wish to help me?” Rhaenyra mocks.

“I wish to safeguard what is left of my family.”

The woman who calls herself queen considers this. Surely the same hope lives in her ribcage as well, the same catastrophic fear that it will prove impossible.

“One way or another, the war will be won,” Mother says. “And whichever side triumphs will have the other at their mercy.”

“I will have you at my mercy, yes.”

“Aemond and Vhagar are still out there. Underestimate them at your peril.”

“And what is your suggestion?” Rhaenyra demands. “To bolster Jace’s claim, to save your own skins?”

“Baela is gone and he is unspoken for. You once offered to unite our bloodlines by marrying Helaena to Jace. Perhaps if I had accepted that, I could have spared us this torment. I was wrong to dismiss your proposal so swiftly, Rhaenyra. I did not give you the respect you deserved. And I have reconsidered.”

Rhaenyra is puzzled. “Helaena is already married. Unless you have proof that Aegon is dead, which would be welcome.”

“No. I have another daughter.”

Both you and Jace begin to object at once; your mothers silence you with fearsome glares.

Rhaenyra is aghast; her sharp blue eyes dart to where you are slumped on the floor of your cell and then back to Mother. “This is a sickening insult.”

Mother seems calm, measured. It cannot be easy for her. “Willingly marrying my daughter to Jace is accepting his legitimacy. She is a Green, and very close in age to your son, and from what I have heard of Jace’s temperament I believe them to be well-matched.”

“I don’t,” Jace says.

Rhaenyra shakes her head in disbelief; but is there a ripple of uncertainty across her regal face? Yes, you think there is. “Aemond has already bedded her.”

“And who has said this?” Mother asks. “Daemon, who hates my family and has no mind for strategy or alliances? Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, who hungered for the Iron Throne all their lives and saw a chance for their descendants to possess it through Baela?”

Rhaenyra is looking at you again. “I’ve seen the way they watch each other. The way they move.” The dinner, she means. The night that Viserys died.

“She is a maiden,” Mother insists, but she gives you a transient sideways glance. Are you? “They had a flirtation, yes, as is so common for siblings of your foreign house, but nothing more. I would never have allowed fornication or the use of moon tea to disguise its consequences under my roof. They are grievous sins. You know me. You know my devotion to my faith.”

“She will submit to a maester’s examination to make sure?”

“Did you, Rhaenyra? Before you and Laenor Velaryon were wed?”

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow. And you have the sense—vague and dreadful—that perhaps it is dawning upon her that taking something Aemond holds dear might have its advantages. “What do you want in return?”

“We have both lost innocent people,” Mother says. “There has been enough bloodshed. It must stop somewhere, or all the Targaryens will be dead and their dragons too, and this dynasty will vanish from the earth, and our ambitions will be for nothing. If you do indeed win the war, I want my surviving children and grandchildren spared. And my brother Gwayne, and Sir Criston Cole.”

“I cannot give you Aemond.”

“If you swear that you’ll pardon him, we shall do the same for Daemon if it is our armies that triumph.”

Now the hope is unmistakable on Rhaenyra’s face. “And my remaining sons will be allowed to live? All of them?” Even Daemon’s?

“Yes.”

She muses on this. “You make tempting promises, Alicent. But I don’t have any conviction that Aemond will heed you if Aegon dies and he is made regent until Maelor is grown. I don’t believe you can control him.”

“He’ll listen to his sister,” Mother swears. “He will not do anything that would bring her despair. And if she is married to Jace, she will come to love his family as her own. All the more so if they have children together.”

“She might not be trustworthy,” Rhaenyra says.

“She is of no threat to you. She is untrained with the sword, she rides no dragon. And you have her mother, sister, niece, and nephew held captive. She would not endanger us.”

“You have great confidence in her. Your hopes for survival are in her hands.”

“She is spirited, but she is clever, and she loves deeply and enduringly. She will do whatever is required to protect her own.” Now Mother’s voice breaks. “I want her sent away.”

“Mother, no—”

“Far from the war, far from Daemon,” she says, ignoring you.

Rhaenyra is nodding. “Somewhere secluded and peaceful…all the better for her to quickly give Jace an heir. The Riverlands, yes? Perhaps House Footly of Tumbleton.”

“No, not far enough. The Westerlands.”

“The North,” Rhaenyra counters.

“The Stormlands.”

“The Vale,” Rhaenyra says. “There will be no battles there, winter has already begun in the mountains and the roads are treacherous. She will be tucked away in obscurity until the war is won.”

“The Vale,” Mother agrees. She looks down at you and smiles, soft and sad and merciful. At last, after eighteen years, she has saved you.

Jace is whispering furiously to Rhaenyra, but she holds up a hand to stop him. He is exasperated. The supposed queen tells Alicent: “I shall think on this tonight.”

“She needs Maester Orwyle,” Mother says, kneeling beside you. “She is ill, she gets headaches. This place is bad for her. It’s the cold and the dampness. And the fear.”

“I’ll consider that,” Rhaenyra quips, and then she leaves, the hem of her black gown displacing dust on the floor of the aisle. Jace gives you one final glance—seething, appalled—and stalks after her. At the end of the hallway, he slams the heavy wooden door.

“I won’t do it,” you snarl, sick in body and soul. “I won’t, I won’t. I don’t care what you say.”

“We are in a fucking dungeon,” Mother says, grabbing and shaking you, and you’ve never heard her curse before. “Do you want to try to save your brothers’ lives? Or do you want to surrender to the destruction of our house? If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.”

You look at her, weak, stunned, at war with yourself. Jace can’t touch me. Only Aemond.

She asks you something; it takes great effort. “You are still…you haven’t…you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

You hesitate. “In the literal sense.”

“In the…? Never mind, stop, I don’t want to hear any more.” Mother takes a deep breath. “Good. Then we haven’t lied to them. Jace might be able to tell. Sometimes there are…signs. Pain, blood.”

“He’s a bastard,” you hiss.

“He’s Rhaenyra’s son, and so he is a Targaryen and a dragonrider. And if Jace’s side wins, he will one day sit the Iron Throne. He can be proud, but no one says he is cruel. I don’t believe he would harm you. Your brothers are warriors, but you’ve never killed anyone.” Then she goes soft and hushed, and she cups your face with her gentle hands. “I know you’ve always thought you would marry Aemond.”

“Mother, I love him.”

“My darling, my brave girl, what you and Aemond have is…” She shakes her head, her large dark eyes grim and glistening. “It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.”

You are defiant. “If we had grown up in a true Targaryen court, we would have been expected to be this way. We would have married years ago, and no one would have condemned us for acting exactly like what we are. We aren’t First Men or Andals. We are the blood of the dragon.”

“It’s an affliction that brings nothing but sin and suffering.”

“You wed Aegon to Helaena!”

“And it has been a source of tremendous sorrow for them both,” Mother says, and now she is weeping again. “I should have stopped their marriage. But I was young, and I had already refused Rhaenyra’s offer of a match with Jace, and Viserys was so adamant, and I thought…maybe…maybe it’s not an offense to the gods. Maybe it’s just something I don’t understand. It was my husband’s custom, and so I deferred to him, as I had been taught to. But I was wrong. It’s too late for me to undo the pain I’ve caused Aegon and Helaena. It’s too late for me to mend Aemond’s eye or his soul. I can’t spare Daeron from the horrors of war. But I can still save you.”

“I belong with Aemond.” I belong to him.

“You don’t know better. You never had a choice.”

“I’m not you, Mother,” you say. “I’m not a Hightower or a Lannister or a Baratheon. I’m not like them, and I don’t want to be. I want to be Visenya.”

“You’re not going to be anyone if Daemon convinces Rhaenyra to have your head hacked off your shoulders.” Her vast eyes, dark like the mouth of a well, plead for you to understand. This is not a punishment; it is tenderness, it is compassion. “I would do anything to save you and Helaena and your brothers. Anything. You marrying Jace unites the realm. It provides a cornerstone around which to build a peaceful resolution. He will protect your kin. When the battles are past, we can negotiate a divided Westeros, or a line of succession, or exile to Essos or banishment to the Wall, or anything else that will preserve the lives of the people we love. And if Aemond can still win somehow…” She shrugs, and you know whatever affection she once had for Rhaenyra is dead now. “Then he can do whatever he wants with the Blacks who are left.”

I don’t want them to die. Aemond, Aegon, Criston, Daeron, Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor.

Mother asks: “Will you do it?”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Again, desperately: “Will you do it?”

And you cannot look at her when you answer. “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Maester Orwyle appears an hour later to dose you with enough milk of the poppy to kill the pain in your skull, and when you sleep it is deep and dark and dreamless. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jace arrive at first light, dreary grey dawn trickling into the dungeon. You know what she has decided. Both Daemon and Jace are scowling, and you think, somehow knowing that it is true: The more they try to dissuade her, the more convinced she is. She feels the need to remind them that she alone was Viserys’ heir, that she is a queen in her own right.

“Just marry him to Rhaena!” Daemon is ranting.

“Rhaena brings nothing to our cause that we do not have already. And she will always feel second to Baela. She knows Jace loved her sister. It is perverse.” Then Rhaenyra collects herself and asks Mother: “She consents?”

“She does.”

Rhaenyra turns to Jace. His reply is toneless. “I will do as you bid me to, Your Grace.”

“She will be in the keeping of House Corbray until the war is over,” Rhaenyra says, nodding to you. “They are an honorable but old and modest house, and of little strategic importance. No one beyond who is absolutely necessary will know where she is, for her own safety and that of the children she bears. Jace will fly her to Heart’s Home.”

House Corbray. You remember their banner, Aemond once taught it to you: three black ravens, three red hearts. You have a memory of being in the library with his lips on your throat, his fingers skating up the inside of your thigh, whispering for you to keep quiet as maesters stock books on the other side of the shelf.

“She cannot ride a dragon,” Mother says.

“Sure she can, if he puts her on Vermax.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Mother insists. “Dragons hate her. She cannot go near them. They will attack her, they will kill her. She and Jace will have to travel by ship.”

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. Daemon scoffs: “What the fuck kind of Targaryen repels dragons?”

“The kind that will never be able to fly to battle against us,” Rhaenyra mutters, and you think: She is angry with him. He has done something, he has displeased her somehow. And you wonder about the girl who rides Sheepstealer.

Your eyes drift to Jace, you cannot stop them. He stares back from beneath dark curls, his gaze hard like the cold stony earth of the Vale, his fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the very first time.

You are at your vanity, and you are supposed to be getting ready for dinner: choosing your earrings and bracelets, combing out your hair before you braid it, a silver river that shimmers like moonlight in the mirror’s reflection. You have bathed, and steam still clings warm and dewy on your skin. You wear a silk robe the color of ripe cherries and nothing underneath it. Candles flicker, cool evening air breathes in through the windows…and your mind is wandering.

For years, you have felt episodic pangs of longing, an indistinct need, a deep untouchable hunger, and you have never found a way to satisfy it. It waxes like a moon growing full and then wanes into nothingness, but it always reappears again, and tonight you are feeling restless, occasionally shifting on the cushion of your chair, seeking the pressure that gives you a taste—and only a morsel, a nibble, a drag of the tongue—of what fulfillment might feel like. Lately, when you are like this, you find yourself thinking of Aemond. He has never spoken of it directly, but you have noticed the way his eye catches on your chest and your hips, how his hands linger when he grabs or shoves or embraces you. You can’t stop wondering what it would taste like to kiss him. You can’t stop imagining which positions he would fuck you in, remembering the lustful figures on the tapestries that hang from the walls of Aegon’s bedchamber.

Your hand settles in your lap, and there—over the glossy blood-colored silk of your robe—presses down tentatively. You sigh, you writhe, you picture Aemond forcing your thighs apart and gazing transfixed at the rare pieces of you he’s never seen.

How do I satiate this craving, how do I make it go away?

Your bedchamber door opens and Aemond stands in the threshold, black leather and silver hair. “Are you ready yet—?” Then his eye drops to where you snatch your hand out of your lap, not quickly enough to escape him noticing. There is a stretch of silence that seems very long. Then Aemond’s scarred forehead furrows and he asks: “What were you doing?”

You consider lies; they dangle in front of you by the dozen, so many ways to deflect or deny or even to disparage him, those prickly games of wordplay. But when you speak, it is not just the truth. It is an invitation. “Thinking of you.”

And Aemond steps into your bedchamber and shuts the door behind him. He crosses the room, kneels in front of you, reaches beneath your robe to hook his arms under your thighs and yanks you halfway out of the chair. You yelp in exhilarated shock as he buries his face between your legs, and then your fingers knot in his hair, and then you are pushing him closer, shaking, awestruck.

Is he really here? Is this finally happening?

You cannot stay quiet when the pinpoint ecstasy opens, blooms, drags you to places you never knew existed. It is something too powerful to be found in the world of mortals. It is bloodmagic, it is shade of the evening, a poison so sweet you’d let it ruin you.

Afterwards—collapsed and gasping on the stone floor, your robe open and your body laid bare for him, flesh that he has claimed irrevocably, bones he owns like a dragon or a blade—you say: “What was that?”

“You had a climax,” Aemond murmurs. “It’s easier for a man, but they are possible for women too.” He smooths your hair back from your face; it is unbound and wild, spilling all around you. You think vaguely: He wants me even when I don’t look like Visenya? He ghosts his thumb across your lips and then kisses you, and it is nothing but warmth, desire, the shared minerals your blood is built of, undying affinity like the celestial kinship of stars in the same constellation. “You can always ask me to take care of you, and I’ll do it. I’m the only one who is allowed to. No one else, not ever.”

This is no sacrifice. You have never wanted another man, and now you know you never will. “Teach me how to satisfy you,” you say, smiling. “I want to see you helpless too.”

Before you dress and leave your bedchamber, you erase as much of the evidence as you can, washing your skin clean and taming your hair into a tidy braid; but still, Mother frowns worriedly at you and Aemond all through dinner.

#jace x you #jace x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen

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ruthlessness69 · 2 months ago

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The Man and the Sea (Epic the musical fanfic)

main ship: Poseidon x Odysseus

(English is not my first language, please keep it in mind)

notes:

• It's the first part of the beginning. I don't have an AO3 account yet, once I get it I'll post it there and share a link 🩵 (upd. the link is ready!!)

• I know that gods' blood is called "ichor", I just wanted to stated out that it's blood. And it was red in Epic, so I'm kinda sticking to that source.

• I want to say a big THANK YOU to those who helped me with corrections!! You rock, guys 😍

• I guess I should note that the fic is R-18?? Idk how to rate it correctly yet, please feel free to correct me in the comments. Okay, let's go :>

part 1.

🌊🌊🌊

- After everything you've done, how will you sleep at night?

- Next to my wife.

***

He said it and left, finally he's reached his shore. The shore which was consuming god's blood at the moment. Poseidon was lying still, spread out, his feet couldn't move and the blood was running free from all his wounds. He couldn't die, that's true, he could feel pain though. It was burning through him, pulsating, unstoppable. He was defeated by his own weapon and by his own philosophy, which was even more painful.

A hoarse laugh bursted out of his throat.

- You've become the one you were destined to, just as I thought. You never came home the same. It's no longer you.

***

Late at night Odysseus had a long neverending nightmare. Styx. His dead comrade's cries. Water. The water was everywhere, it was surrounding him, pulling him in. Poseidon. He was dragging him down, to the bottom, there was no escape. Trying to reach the surface, Odysseus was ripping off his shoes, his clothes, he was ready to rip off his legs and arms, and his very skin, anything to be set free from this torture.

- Enough... stop!!

King of Ithaca was suddenly wide awake in his bed. The sound of the tidel waters filled the silence of the night. A peaceful, unhurried whisper coming from Penelope took him back to reality.

- Honey, sleep a bit, sleep a bit more. It's okay, you're home.

Penelope wasn't fully awake, she was talking in her sleep, she was already used to her husband's nightmares after two years and didn't have to be fully conscious to calm him down and carress him back to sleep.

Odysseus slipped out of the bed and went to the balcony.

The sea is always near. It surrounds you everywhere.

The surf was licking the sand of the shore, waves were coming down still and quite, over and over again. But Odysseus knew the quite was deceiving.

Did he really stab Poseidon with his own trident? Or was it all just a bad dream? Was he really at home? Or did he drown after god's final attack? Could this all be just his agony before he finally dies?

- When will you stop torturing me, - Odysseus hid his face in his arms, covering it, whispering curses and prayers.

The surf seemed to talk to him. But Odysseus didn't know the language it was talking in. He had no intention to talk to the sea god. He didn't care about what he has to say.

He came back to his wife's arms, coming back to have some more anxious sleep before the dawn.

The surf was slowly turning into a storm, but it couldn't wake Odysseus up anymore.

***

He didn't go sailing anymore. Their son was inviting him once or twice or more, but Odysseus wouldn't even go near the beach, let alone go to the ship. Penelope could sense that there was something more than just a phobia. He made it home, but something was broken deep inside of him. He mentioned his last encounter with Poseidon once, briefly, one night he told her that he won a battle wth the sea god before finally coming back home. Penelope was a really smart and delicate woman, she didn't have to interrogate her husband to feel the depth of his pain. She guessed that that very moment was something that changed Odysseus, something he perceived as horrible. She could constantly feel his fear. And yet she couldn't help him, she didn't know how to. She couldn't even tell what was it that he was so afraid of. At first glance, it seemed to be the fear of water. The ocean. But... no, it might be different. Penelope didn't want to push any more pressure on him, so she just decided to be near him without taking any action. Some wounds should just heal, right? By themselves.

***

Poseidon's wounds were healing slowly and reluctantly. The trident was a formidable weapon, but yet it couldn't hurt Odysseus. What a bullshit. Might be someone's divine intervention, no doubt. The god of the seas didn't ask for Apollo's help, so that he wouldn't have to listen to other Olympus inhabitants laugh. And when Hermes brought some medicine from the god of healing, all those flasks were thrown aiming him right in the head.

- My dearest uncle, you simply can't hold grudges for that long, they'd all gone sore, - the impudent god teased him, dodging with ease. Dexterous, as always.

- How dare you show up here?!

- Oh thank you, I'm glad you've noticed my audacity, - the messenger of gods gave out a little laugh. - And still. You can't be THAT mad at my great grandson. I suppose you aren't that mad for a couple of years already. I can't even imagine how you could stand being mad and furious for so long!

- Who would've thought, you're too flippant, just like Aeolus, - Poseidon spitted, wrinkling up from a sudden pain in his chest.

- Still water turns into a swamp, dear uncle. But you're never still, right? Always raging. Why didn't you kill Odysseus?

The question was so sudden and plain, it knocked the ground out of Poseidon's feet, although he never really needed it in the first place.

- You were threatening him, but never really went too far and never actually did anything to him, - Hermes was smiling cunningly, moving everything around in Poseidon's chamber.

- The fate was on your impertinent great grandson's side, - the sea god growled.

- Yeah, that's right, your son knew it long before, - Hermes chuckled, turning around on his toes. - But!

- But what?

- You were competent to find him and kill him anytime you wanted. But you were always hesitating. You wasted so much time and affort in declaring your philosophy and expressing your rage, you even killed lots of his flee, but not him. And also, - Hermes squinted his eyes and smiled really slyly. - You were the one to throw him at Calypso's. You placed him in paradise. What were you up to, master of the seas?

Poseidon wasn't famous for his temperance, so he immediately reached for his trident.

- Oopsie, gotta go! - Hermes giggled, flying out of the chambers. - You just think about all that, Uncle Poseidon~

The trident was thrown into the wall. Poseidon had no intention on thinking about anything. He didn't want to see anyone. He didn't want to know anything, to Tartarus with it all.

***

The sea is different everyday, but it always remains to be the sea. At times the water is sparkly and shiny, going from light turquoise to deep ocean blue, sometimes nearly black, and at times it's muddy and brown because of the dirt and mud being raised up from the bottom. The sea never hides it's secrets, they are just lurking down below. They are always ready to come up to the surface and be a shocking surprise to anybody. The sea was hiding lots of skeletons of the past and also lots of treasures. And it was completely ruthless.

Telemachus really loved being in the open sea and feeling the unity with this force, playing with it, making it obey or obeying himself to it, surrending to the waves. Finally, he was no longer a boy who couldn't even protect his mom. Finally, he was living his own story! And the sea was way more easy on him in this story than it's been in his father's one, although it was unexpected. Even storms seemed to just frighten him a little bit, but never really touched him or his crew. He once told his dad about it, which made dad froze up for a moment, like a statue, then his face expression's changed as if some kind of shadow layed between his eyes. Telemachus could not help but notice it although it lasted just for seconds. And then his father just chucked, returning to his usual expression - sly, but a bit tired. He said nothing regarding the situation, just told Telemachus to keep his guard up nevertheless. The son always looked up to his father, and also he was really fond of the stories about his journeys. Although dad wasn't really fond of telling them. Usually it was someone else retelling of retelling, going from one teller to another. It wasn't easy for Odysseus to tell stories about a journey where all his people and friends died.

A salty splash of water covered Telemachus face. He just laughed.

- He doesn't like sailing anymore, but I think he just needs time, - Odysseus' son smiled, looking at the waves dancing.

He was heading for places from father's stories. He was intending to make a path through the land of the Cyclops, and Odysseus knew nothing about his intentions. Telemachus didn't want his dad to have a heart attack, so he simply didn't tell him a thing.

***

His hot tongue was sliding down the wet salty skin. Sharp teeth stuck into the neck, pressing the flesh, digging in, but not biting it to blood. After a long trembling sigh the pressure on the neck went down and the tongue licked the place of the bite as if in apology.

Odysseus' body was melting in these arms like a malleable metal in Hephaestus' forge. The king of Ithaca was only able to make some fuzzy moans while hands and arms and other body parts of the sea god touched him. Everywhere. He was everywhere, just like the water. He was enshrouding and pulling him deep down. Poseidon was teasing Odysseus with his touch, claws, mouth, teeth, almost like a hungry animal. As if he wanted to devour him but couldn't. Almost suffocating, finally Odysseus found the strength to raise his arms and took the god's face into his palms, making him distance himself from his neck for once.

- Posei...don, - the mortal breathed out hoarsely.

His neck and collarbones were glowing red after all the bites, the blood could be seen in some places. It was oddly oozing up and to the sides - after all, they were underwater.

- You know this will never ever happen, right? - asked Odysseus with a light and exhausted smile, caressing Poseidon's face softly.

The god stumbled in for a second and just kissed his mortal as tough and deep as he could, leaving the question unanswered. He was drowning Odysseus in this kiss without realising that he's drowning too, with him.

Poseidon suddenly woke up right at the moment when Odysseus' hand touched his tunic between his legs. He burst his eyes wide and gave out a heavy groan, realising it was only just a dream. A damn dream. He slept a lot recently, he was still recovering. And this damn dreams... they were haunting him every time he went to sleep for quite some time already. Sometimes he was dreaming about Odysseus' life on the land, and sometimes... sometimes this. Passion, neverending mind-numbing passion. And the obedient pliable mortal who was happily giving up his body to him. Poseidon covered his face with his hand, trying to catch his breath and clear his mind.

If only Hermes didn't come here with his stupid questions. "Why didn't you kill him, why-why".

He was not interested in these dreams. It all was some kind of delusion, a bullshit. He'd forget about it once he recovered. Maybe he's been alone for too long. Maybe there's a point to seek some pleasures outside the sea? No, the only thought of it made him sick.

He had to get rid of these dreams and thoughts. One of the supreme deities surely had much more important stuff to do.

Feeling dizzy, Poseidon layed back down in his bed. He rolled around and closed his eyes. He would never in his life admit it, but he was trying to recreate the sensations he had in that dream. Odysseus' skin, Odysseus' scent. Why wasn't he stabbing him again in these dreams? Why was this mortal making him feel the indelible shame again and again?

- Odysseus, - the god mumbled, hiding his face in sea satin and nacreous sheets.

Nobody could see him in his private chamber, nobody could even visit him cause he himself strictly forbade it. He didn't want to see anyone. And no one would see him as he was right now.

Pathetic, wounded, vulnerable, just like a mortal.

Slowly falling back to sleep the sea god was hoping in the very depth of his heart that he'd dream of the king of Ithaca again.

to be continued

#my art #my fic #epic the musical #epic poseidon #epic odysseus #poseidon x odysseus #odysseus x poseidon #poseidon #odysseus #penelope #epic penelope #i'm so nervous #ahah #hope you'll like it #🤞#my first translation #epic hermes #hermes

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haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll · 1 year ago

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Tracklist:

Kill The Poor • Forward To Death • When Ya Get Drafted • Let's Lynch The Landlord • Drug Me • Your Emotions • Chemical Warfare • California Über Alles • I Kill Children • Stealing Peoples' Mail • Funland At The Beach • Ill In The Head • Holiday In Cambodia • Viva Las Vegas

Spotify ♪ YouTube

#hyltta-polls #polls #artist: dead kennedys #language: english #decade: 1980s #Hardcore Punk #Punk Rock #Surf Punk #Anarcho-Punk

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ryemackerel · 7 months ago

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goofy doodle dump featuring!! matt as a bat and tom, cool as hell tord doodle, tordmatt as a treat, and tord when he was a little creature. and tom + matt being dumbasses on the bottom img of course 🫶

worked on WAYY too many pieces while i was away, and since it would take too long to post these separately, i thought putting them together would’ve been awesome. full course meal for all of you guys ENJOYY ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

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three--rings · 1 year ago

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Most people don't have any understanding of what has been lost in Lahaina Town. Not just lives and property, but an entire town.

Most people hear "a city/town in Hawaii" and they picture probably resorts. And there are plenty of resorts nearby. But those are all fine.

Lahaina was an old whaling town dating back to the original colonization by white settlers. Before white people arrived, it was the capital of the island, where the high chief ruled, including Kamehameha the Great. The buildings are old, wooden, and crowded together. Obviously that was a problem in the face of the insanely fast wildfire.

But these weren't mansions, Mc or otherwise. It was a tourist town, a destination for cute, spendy shopping and dining, full of art galleries. (OMG THE GALLERIES. There was so much ART lost. There was original Dr. Seuss art in one gallery when I was there in January. That's gone now. Etc.)

But the people who lived and worked in Lahaina were mostly working class, working retail and restaurant jobs, living in old apartments and small houses. Lots of elderly, lots of non-white in a wide range of ethnicities, old hippies who have been there since the 60s and 70s. Yeah they were probably a little better off than people who drive in from other places to work in West Maui, at least because their property was high value, if they owned. But they lived without A/C, hung their laundry on lines, biked to work, called in sick to go surfing when the waves were up. There was a Chinese cultural center and a Buddhist temple, two different structures, if that tells you anything. Multiple museums housing historic items and cultural centers.

And the town will be rebuilt, in some form, I imagine. Or re-developed, more likely. People who are now homeless, who can't afford to rebuild or pay for two residences while the recovery happens will be bought out by deep pocketed developers. If they rebuild Lahaina Town I'm afraid it will be Lahaina Town tm by Disney.

Another fake paradise for tourists with lava rock from the Big Island. Another bit of Hawaii swallowed by capitalism and climate change.

I'm not painting everything about Lahaina as it was as perfect. Front Street was an often gaudy display of brand names and hucksters out to shovel in the tourist dollars. And of course the politics of Hawaii are incredibly complex and fraught in so many ways. I'm just a mainlander haole. I will never live on the islands, despite my family there constantly asking me to move. But I've spent more time there than anywhere I haven't lived, almost all of that time in West Maui.

My mom works in a building that is not there anymore. She just described that job to me as "the last job she'll ever have" as she's 79 and very happy with working two days a week selling t-shirts to cruise ship people. My brother has worked in a gallery on front street for the last ten years.

I don't know. A city of almost 15,000 permanent residents is just gone. 50 or so are confirmed dead, in some horrific circumstances from what I hear.

My mom says people are just walking around with thousand-yard-stares, aimless, clutching cell phones trying to get signal (there isn't any, but you can get lucky and get a call through. Some texts are going in but not out.)

So I don't know folks. Keep those people in your thoughts. If you can donate, I think this may be a good place because it's going to lots of local orgs on the ground: https://www.hawaiicommunityfoundation.org/maui-strong

I keep thinking of new sad things.

Anyway I'm going to leave you with a picture I took while strolling down Front Street one evening.

#maui fires #lahaina fire

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melefim · 7 months ago

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Dead Boy Detectives full soundtrack!

(Or at least all the ones I could find)

I’ve seen several soundtrack playlists floating around, but unfortunately a lot have other songs added or are missing some that were used in the show, so I went ahead and made my own!

Below the cut is a full listing of when each song was used during the show, timestamped as accurately as I could manage.

Please let me know if there are any songs I missed, and I’ll add them ASAP! Score will be added if/when it’s released. If anyone would be interested in separate posts for each episode, let me know and I’ll get right on it!

Enjoy!

🎥Promotional🎥:

“Psychobilly Bandits” by Alibi Music: Teaser trailer

“Welcome to the Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance: Full trailer

“Young and in Love” by Fast Forward Romance: Meet the Characters teaser

🔮The Case of Crystal Palace🔮:

“Doorman” by slowthai, Mura Masa: Hotel hallway chase scene. (2:33-2:47)

“Hang on to Yourself” by David Bowie: Prep for Crystal’s case. (11:59-12:30)

“Bad Feeling” by Cobra Man: What Crystal is listening to on her headphones in the subway before the David the Demon fight. (12:36-13:04)

“I’m Telling Your Mum” by Danny Farrant, Paul Rawson: Jenny’s introduction. (21:46-22:44)

“It’s Not Unusual” by Tom Jones: In the Malt shop after they find Esther’s house and after Crystal sees David the Demon. (26:42-27:38, 29:24-29:47)

“Bones of Rock” by The Boneless Ones: In the background during Crystal and Jenny’s talk in the alley. (34:03-35:07)

“Take the Rest of Me” by Brocklesby Crooke: Dandelion sprites- Crystal meeting Niko. (36:39-36:51)

“Deal Wiv It” by Mura Masa, slowthai (instrumental): Meeting David the Demon flashback. (38:36-39:10)

“So What?” by NOISY (instrumental): Planning Becky’s rescue in the butcher shop. (41:34-42:19)

“White Teeth” by The Screaming Gypsy Bandits: Record playing inside Esther’s house. (43:33-44:30)

“Surfing in the Sky” by The Vaccines: Fight in Esther’s front yard. (49:08-49:50)

“Missing” by slowthai (instrumental): Sending Becky home, heading back to the butcher shop. (51:23-52:34)

🌼The Case of the Dandelion Shrine🌼:

“Take the Rest of Me” by Brocklesby Crooke: Dandelion sprites- Niko faints outside the bathroom and attracts attention in the butcher shop. (12:48-12:52, 28:29-28:57)

“Natural Successor” by Pictish Trail: Turning Monty human. (47:22-49:16)

🪓The Case of the Devlin House🪓:

“Free Tonight” by Skymachine: Charles & Crystal walk into butcher shop, just a few bars on radio before anchor talks about the storm. (8:13-8:15)

“Oceans” by The Yada Yada Yadas: on radio after anchor talks about the storm while Charles and Crystal are asking Jenny about the Devlin murders. (8:21-8:50)

“Owner of a Lonely Heart” by Yes: Devlin house time loop, repeated multiple times. (First full loop 19:06-21:09. Loop repeats: 21:31-23:05, 23:36-24:38, 25:02-25:35, 26:52-27:17, 29:04-29:55, 30:22-31:24, 33:17-34:30, 34:34-35:35, 35:48-37:01, 37:18-38:55, 39:28-40:50. Final loop: 42:23-42:36)

🌊The Case of the Lighthouse Leapers🌊:

“RoMaNcE” by ShitKid: Jenny reading letter from her secret admirer, gets rent from the girls. (1:16-2:40)

“Fire Escape” by Nine One One: Jenny reading letter before finding the Night Nurse upstairs. (29:06-29:32)

“The Wellerman” (original music box version): Charles winds up music box, hits Night Nurse with it, kicks her into Angie. (43:07-43:49)

“Young Blood- White Sea Remix” by The Naked and Famous, White Sea: End of episode- Niko starts to read letters from mother, Charles and Crystal kiss, end credits. (48:22-50:59)

🐉The Case of the Two Dead Dragons 🐉:

“Thunder” by ZEE MACHINE: Interviewing students about Brad & Hunter. (14:24-15:11)

“Apocalypse” by Cigarettes After Sex: Jenny and Maxine mid-date. (26:54-28:04)

“Melting” by Kali Uchis: Jenny and Maxine late date until stalker reveal. (36:25-38:10)

“Disorder” by Joy Division: End credits. (49:49-50:41)

🍄The Case of the Creeping Forest🍄:

“Who’s Ur Girl?” By The Mysterines: Niko redecorates her room. (1:15-1:29)

“The Wellerman” (original Music box version): Sea calming music box, playing inside Angie. (13:45-14:07, 15:35-15:49)

“A.T.T.A.C.K” by Arre! Arre!: Niko tries to get Jenny to forgive her in the butcher shop. (20:49-21:57)

“Shakedown” by Infamous Stiffs: End credits. (51:17-52:11)

🕷️The Case of the Very Long Stairway🕷️:

“Under the Milky Way” by The Church: Charles’ memories of his death. (11:06-13:15)

“Dinner Jazz” by Tony Kinsey: Limbo/Hotel lobby in Hell. (17:27-18:27, 44:13-44:30)

“Revolution Action” by Atari Teenage Riot: David turns on lights and music in abandoned bowling alley. (30:20-30:48)

“Window Shopping” by Robert Foster: Gluttony/Café when exiting Hell. (43:13-43:35)

“Circle In The Sand” by Belinda Carlisle: Jenny singing in Crystal’s head while possessed. (31:43-33:50)

“Burning” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Monty flies away from rooftop, Esther works on her machine, Jenny sleeps while Niko looks at Cursed Magic 8 ball, Night Nurse knocks on supervisor’ door, Crystal eats first memory marble, end credits. (52:37-55:16)

🐍The Case of the Hungry Snake🐍 :

“Standing In The Way of Control” by Gossip: Crystal’s first memory marble. (1:18-2:04)

“I’m What You Want” by Walt Disco: Crystal Club fight memory. (8:35-8:48)

“When I’m Gone” by Ging: Crystal says goodbye and leaves the butcher shop. (16:18-18:13)

“Sleeping On Grassy Ground” by The Heavy Heavy: Charles and Edwin wake up in Esther’s house. (25:55-27:43)

“Who’s Sorry Now” by Connie Francis: Niko and Crystal break into Esther’s house. (30:35-31:17)

“Loss & Relax” by Black Belt Eagle Scout: Talking in Niko’s room. (40:44-42:59)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And if you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detective ones here!

When Charles’ shirt color changes

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Moves, Incidents, and Cases masterlist

Swearing Stats Masterlist

First pass at finding where the songs in the score are used- full post with timestamps in progress.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #dead boy detective agency #dead boy detectives Netflix #dead boy detectives soundtrack #edwin payne #charles rowland #crystal palace #niko sasaki #music #soundtrack #Spotify #netflix #renew dead boy detectives #dbda playlist #compiled by me #Dbdshow

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spoonsand · 7 months ago

Text

PART 2

RIP RED DEAD CHARACTERS YOU WOULD HAVE LOVED

Dutch- podcasts (making his own) + AITA Reddit stories, Coca Cola, monocles

Hosea- bingo, 70s disco music, swing dancing

Arthur- little toy dinosaur dig kits with the teeny tiny shovels, trampolines, Nanaimo bars

John- remote control toy cars, divorced dad music, Mountain Dew

Lenny- antiques, Epic Rap Battles of History (he would duel Sean and sometimes Karen),

Sean- roblox trolling, bell bottoms, GTA

Strauss- flootie pajamas, ebeneezer Scrooge outfits, cold calling

Trelawney- earl gray tea, crashing weddings, throwing pies into people’s faces

Charles- flower crowns, rock tumblers, surfing

Pearson- papas’s games (pizzeria, freezeria, ect), embroidery, floral scents

Micah- court ordered anger management, Andrew Tate, FailArmy videos

Javier- zyns, woodworking, eyebrow slits

Kieran- Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron, model trains (him, Sean, Lenny, Arthur, Tilly and Sadie would be absolutely mystified by the set Susan bought him)

Bill- short shorts, petting zoos, animal shelters

Uncle- Leslie Neilson films, heating pads, aligator meat

Reverend- online gambling, Pink Whitney, dap pens

Susan- wine, gold hoops, edibles on a late Friday night (shares with Dutch)

Mary-Beth- choose your own adventure books, Our Souls at Night/The Book Club/And so It Goes, lip lining

Molly- olives, grey’s anatomy, Butterscotch ice cream

Karen- scary movies, WWE, flip flops

Abigail- sparkling water, tiny hand bag sized dogs, face masks

Sadie - butterfly knife, industrial piercing, The Hells Angles,

Tilly- baseball, Star Wars, Volkswagen beetles

Jack- Roblox, Scooby doo movies, tootsie rolls

Bessie- Fleetwood Mac, block parties (she’d host her own), Subway

Annabel- Madonna, waist beads, jelly shoes

Issac- lava lamps, Lego video games, Trelawny

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passionateseadruid · 1 month ago

Text

Dusk 2 of 5

Notes:

Admittedly, I started writing this a while before mastermind came out, and I’m surprised at how many details of leviathan I got right, (especially of the serpent head)

Her strength abound in flames of might,

Of this I am sure.

Her sword and sword and shield lay by my side.

They lay here forevermore…

Her words of wit and words of kind,

Rock me to my core.

Her boundless love is true and steep

And is forevermore…

Her loving eyes are soft and clear

That look I do adore.

When she looks at me, I’m her one and only

And I am forevermore…

Her loyal acts hold me safe and loved

Apart, we’ll never be tore.

She’s mine to keep and mine to hold

And she will be forevermore…

She just laid there on the ground reciting the poem he wrote for her in her head and continuously watching the other angels falling.

“Royal blue: there goes Ozzie; Vermillion: Sat; Lime green: And there’s Mam; Burgundy? Paimon? I didn’t think you would have it in you…; Silver: Beleth, unsurprising; Woah…” She looked up to the heavens to see a great purple comet soaring across the sky; falling not from heaven but just adjacent to it… from earth.

“Levi…?” She pulled herself up onto her feet (despite the fact that every second she put pressure on them it felt like she was walking across broken glass, rusty nails, and legos), and she stalked towards the poor creature who’d fallen from the sky.

Levi was an ill tempered creature but one she loved dearly. Levi was once able to roam the ocean and there were many times Luci would take her surfing on Levi’s back. She had grown an appreciation for him. She feared what might have happened to him now.

“LEVI!!” She called out. “HANG ON FOR ME! I'M COMING FOR YOU LEVI!!” Every cry pierced through the air. Since the fall she had regained some magic that had left her, but it was strange… it was different. It wasn’t nearly enough to heal her to her old self but maybe… maybe it could heal Levi. She saw him wounded, bleeding out from his right side. Something in her snapped and she ran to him despite the pain that she knew she would feel. It didn’t matter in that moment. She just needed to get to him. His mate, Peony, was curled around him trying to stop the bleeding.

The poor beast whimpered as she placed her hands on his wound and pushed him onto his back. She bit her lip to stop her screams of pain as she planted herself on the ground to fully push Levi onto his back. She feared that she might never walk again, and without her wings to get around what would she do? She would be better off dead at that point.

“Shh… I’m here Levi.” She knelt at his side. She started to pour everything she had into Levi. Her hands turned as black as ink, something that frightened her to her core. Her magic… it’s like it was being corrupted or something!

Instead of healing him his form started to shift. He shrunk from a giant water serpent to a more humaniod figure. His mate fused herself into him causing them to become more of a feminine hermaphrodite. They still had fish-like features. Namely a long fin that flopped to one side of Levi’s serpent head like hair. His skin was a dark purple and… admittedly rather slimy. His mate on the other hand had White skin and the same fin hair. They were undressed (Obviously, fish doesn’t normally wear clothes), so the Gester ripped her skirt and tied it around their waist like a loin cloth. As they covered their new bosom.

“What… What are you doing?” The serpent head’s new voice was raspy. The words felt foreign to all of them but she quickly recovered.

“I’m saving you.” She responded frantically. I had to look for something to save him… I… have… to…

She fell next to them with a thud. She barely heard what he said against the ringing of her ears. Was this how she’d go out? Living her life as a servant for others? No. No one could take this moment from her. It was her moment, her choice. This was her first act of free will.

She barely remembers what happened next. All she could seem to recall was a cold metallic taste passing her lips and flowing down her throat. The next thing she knew she was at some place under a great big body of water.

“Where am I?” She tried to sit up but Levi- (no um, Levi and Peony… Levy?) emerged from the shadows to hold her down on the bed.

“Shh… you’re safe now. Just get some rest.” Levi calmed her down and placed her back on a stone slab covered in seaweed. Out of the two of them it seemed like Levi was the only one who wanted to talk to her.

“Levi? How long have I been out?” She asked raspily. Her head was killing her.

“About 2… years.” He responded sheepishly.

“WHAT?!” She started to panic.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you’re still alive. I’m surprised I’m still alive.”

“What… happened?” She rubbed her head trying to remember anything.

“It’s a long and complicated story…”

…

Lucifer smiled and gathered all of his general around the slab of debris they were using as a makeshift table. “Okay everyone!” He started in his usual chipper tone, though they all knew it was fake. “I know that things are a bit hectic, and our situation isn’t ideal… but I appreciate all of your support… so to show my gratitude I am willing to give each of you a ring.”

“Aren’t you already married?” Mammon asked. Everyone stared at him like, “wtf are you dumb?”

“…of hell mam. Okay so I’ll take the top ring because it’s red and right under heaven. I want them to look at me and be reminded of their mistakes.” Lucifer glanced up at the glowing, ringed orb hanging above them.

Satan slammed his hands on the table. “YOU BITCH I WANTED RED!! Fine, I call dibs on Orange then cause it’s the closest thing.” He crossed his arms and huffed.

Mammon waved his arm around like a small child raising their hand. “I get green! I’m all about those fat stacks of green.”

Asmodeus interject before Leviathan could. “Could I get Blue? Is that okay with you Levi?”

Leviathan clenched his fists. “…oh yeah fine. I’m… fine… with purple. But I get a beach and I’m not sharing with anyone.” Levi crossed his arms and turned away.

Mammon objected. “Wait, no! Fuck you! I want a beach!”

“No! Fuck you beaches are my thing!!” Leviathan protested.

Mammon scoffed. “You can’t gate-keep beaches!”

“I’m literally a fish and the sin of Envy! I’ll gate-keep whatever I want.” Leviathan retorted.

Beelzebub tried to diffuse the situation. “Guys let’s stop fighting! Levi, how about we give Mammon a small beach and you get a whole ocean.”

Leviathan begrudgingly accepted “…fine. But step off my shit Mammon!” Mammon blew a raspberry in retaliation.

Beelzebub sighed in relief now that that was over. “Okay so I’ll take Yellow! It’s just giving me such good energy!” She twirled.

“Is that it?” Mammon asked, in a bored tone.

Satan shrugged. “I think so.”

“Wait! What about Belphegor?” Asmodeus protested.

Beelzebub concurred. “Yeah! We can’t just leave Belphy here!”

Everyone looked around for Belphegor. Lucifer finally had the idea to ask, “Uh, where is-”

Belphegor’s snores from under the debris table caught everyone off guard.

Lucifer moved the rubble and shook her. “Bel. Belphy! BELPHEGOR!!”

Belphegor, startled by the noise, flailed her limbs as she awoke. “Ah! What…” her voice was sleepy.

Lucifer sighed as pinched the bridge of his nose. “You get the bottom ring of hell.”

Belphegor smiled sleepily. “…yay…” she then curled up like a cat again.

Lucifer smiled. “Alright everyone! I think we’re done here! Meeting adjourned!”

…

“So… he doesn’t care about me?” Her eyes filled with tears and the horrifying realization. “He didn’t even mention me? …A-and him and Lilith are already married?”

Levi looks away. “...I’m sorry.”

“...It’s fine!” She wiped her tears away and forced a smile on his face. “They won’t be together for too long. She’s little more than another mistake I’ll have to fix.”

Levi looked at her skeptically. He knew that even she didn’t fully believe her words. “Are you sure? They looked pretty in love at the meeting.”

She scoffs. “Oh I’m sure he loves her now. But that’s it. She’s just a phase. Him and I have history. He’ll see that I’ve been loyal and trustworthy and devoted! But her? She gave up her duty at the first sign something didn’t go her way!”

“Uh huh.”

“Trust me Levi. If she was willing to leave her first husband there’s no reason to worry that she’ll be sticking around Lucifer all that long.” She smiles smuggly. “Actually… could I ask you a question? How did I survive? I remember a metallic taste but then it’s blank.”

“I had to give you some of my blood from my right side.” He told you sheepishly. Long story short… You spent the rest of the day sick in the bathroom.

…

The days turned into weeks; the weeks turned into months; the months turned into years; and the years turned into several decades. Nevertheless he still held hope in her heart that someday Luci would see the error of his ways, kick Lilith to the curb, and come find her. She knew that it was selfish but she just couldn’t bear the thought of him being with her. Why should she get to kiss his sweet lips, or hold his soft hands or feel his small and tender body wrapped around hers at night?

Lilith would never appreciate him the way I would. She thought to herself as she finally took flight again for the first time in 50 years. Why isn’t he here? He should be the one helping me fly again. Not them… Not Levy.

She loved Levy, don't get her wrong, but their pressence, she feared, was rubbing off on her. Thoughts of Lilith have always hurt, but she’s never been so outwardly mean. She needed to get away from them. At least for a little while. She could also sense that they wanted to be alone to adjust to being in their new body. They had been so kind to her for the fast five decades as to help rehabilitate her to get her back to standing and eventually now flying. The three of them were like a family… but she needed to repay them by letting them be alone. It hurt them to see her go but they understood. She wandered through the other 6 rings for what seemed like eons.

Belphy’s ring, sloth, left her alone due to all the people there being so far gone that they could hardly recognize her much less form coherent memories of her. It also didn’t quite help that she couldn’t exactly talk to Belphegor as her schedule was always hectic as she had no idea when she would be awake or asleep. This caused Belphy to unintentionally bail on all of their hangouts. However, the ring itself was beautiful (she wouldn’t have spent 8 centuries there if it wasn’t) and she definitely wouldn’t mind moving there if she found someone to accompany her.

Next she headed up to Ozzie’s ring, where she spent about 2 centuries. It was disgusting! The sky was so dark that there had to be artificial lights everywhere! It was either too dark or too blindingly bright. Not to mention the people… they were all constantly on top of and or inside of each other… As for the big man of the hour Ozzie himself, he was constantly surrounded by a harem of men, Women, and even some inbetween. He had someone new constantly hanging off his arm or fiddling with his clothes every time Ozzie and her would hang out! She neer got a moment alone with him.

There was one notable thing that sticks out to her about that ring though. It’s what she told Ozzie as she left. “You cannot find happiness through physical intimacy. Only through genuine emotional connection will you find inner peace.”

With that bridge burnt she moved on to Beelzebub’s ring. She definitely hated this one the most. Whereas the other rings like Mammon’s, and Satan’s rings did little to hide the suffering their sins brought to them, Bee’s was like a mix of the rest. Loud and vile like Ozzie’s, empty and without meaningful connection like Belphy’s, and Bee’s desires overshadowed the needs and suffering of her people. Even though she spent the most time there (1 millennium) than any other ring, (not counting Envy because her wonderful Levy was there) she was only there so long as to drown out her sorrows in the honey and refuge Bee gave her.

Levy eventually got a hold of her and brought her back to their home in the deep darkness of the ocean they called a home. She spent a little over 3 millenniums just getting her back to where she used to be. She would have loved to stay in Levy’s ring but it was a dark pit at the bottom of an ocean. She needed to breath air, unfortunately.

She then moved on to the Wrath ring. She spent less than a decade in that monstrosity. People were constantly fighting. Everyone was horrible to each other. And things were constantly catching on fire! Not to mention that she couldn’t stand Satan talking shit about Lucifer. And finally she spent 9 decades laying low in greed. It was a wasteland, a pile of sewage and filth and death but Mammon didn’t know she was there. People were constantly lying to her and trying to scam her but at least they were (semi)good sports about it when they were called out for it. She finally Left when Mammon found out she was there and wouldn’t stop hitting on her despite the fact that he was not actually into her. Finally she spent the next 9 centuries bouncing from one circle of the Pride ring to the next. She became something akin to a cryptid. She was known as The Shadow. It was a nice. People would leave food out to appease her. She got to hear funny legends and bedtime stories being passed around about “The Shadow eating children who didn’t listen to their parents.” And even some Good Samaritans would let her stay under their roof for a few days. It was a good, humble life. One she quite enjoyed. Until one day she was given a letter with the royal seal. She had no idea how they found her but she quickly found out why. Lucifer had sent her a letter. She quickly raced to the palace. All her doubts washing away. Thousands of years being apart crumbling at the hands of the saccharin words on that scroll.

After all those years he called her back into his life. He wanted to see her.

He does love me!

But what she saw would forever rock her world. A small angelic little baby sleeping sweetly in a bassinet. She looked exactly like him. Except for her eyes. Her eyes… were Lilith's…

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