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#what is like the ship name for all three of them

canonicallyobserving911 · 2 days

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Buddie: 4x13 Recap in preparation for 7x9 (other ships included too)

Ok... I'm intrigued for the last two episodes now after reading the journalists' commentary who've previewed the episode. MG said 7x9 and 7x10 should have been billed as a two part finale and the GIF he used to describe it in one word was "Pain". Also, KP said it seems like they're picking up "old threads" that weren't properly explored. Well... I REMEMBER THERE'S A LOT THAT WASN'T EXPLORED BETWEEN BUCK AND EDDIE 👀 (more on them below).

I've been thinking about 4x13 and the whereabouts of all the 'ships during that episode to parallel them with 7x9 and here goes. (Buddie is last just like they were at the end of 4x13).

Bathena

4x13 - Bobby and Athena were on the outs because in 4x12, Athena mentioned after she was attacked by Jeffrey in 3x17, she was offered early retirement but she turned it down. She never told Bobby about it. They ARGUED for the first time in 4x13 and they were still arguing when Hen called Bobby in 4x14 to tell him Eddie had been shot.

7x9 - Bobby's struggling with his past and Athena's worried about him just like she was worried in 4x13 that he was hiding something from her. It's possible from the 7x9 sneak peek that Bobby might be having delusions of someone being after him.

Henren

4x13 - Toni (Hen's mother) got sick and she fainted. Hen's medical school classmates helped her figure out what was wrong with her. After she was admitted to the hospital, Toni told Hen, the medical field needed more African American doctors.

7x9 - Hen and Karen have a foster child named Mara. Reminder, they had just given Nia back to her mother earlier in season 4 and Hen struggled with it because she didn't want her to go back to Evangeline.

Madney

4x13 - Maddie was struggling with PPD and she was going through it. She was still going to work but Chimney wasn't aware of how much she was struggling until she told him. Maddie quit her job in 4x14 and in 7x7 she told Amir she used to be a nurse.

After 7x6, Madney is in a happy place so it's unclear what, if anything, they could be struggling with in 7x9.

Buddie

4x13 - Buck and Eddie’s storylines were the most intense, the most intertwined and the biggest. Reminder, Eddie didn't breakup with AF after Carla told him to follow his heart and not Chris'.

AF found out Charlie's mother was swindling people out of their money which led to Eddie figuring out she was poisoning him.

He told Buck and Chimney about it and Buck didn't even put on his uniform, he just left with Eddie.

Captain Jeshan Mehta and the 133 were dispatched to the call and Buck drove the Batallion SUV to the scene with Eddie in the passenger's seat.

Then the 3 minutes and 17 seconds that changed everything. It showed the audience that Buck and Eddie are in love with each other and if they missed it, they should rewatch the episode.

Eddie reached for Buck and in 4x14, he asked him if he was hurt.

7x9 - Eddie didn't breakup with Maris*l in 7x5 like he should have the same way he didn't breakup with AF in 4x13 like he should have.

The 133 will be on a scene in 7x9 or 7x10 and it'll be interesting to see if Captain Mehta will be there too.

Also, Eddie’s either having delusions that the woman he met either looks like Shannon or he thinks she does. This parallel with Bobby appears to be mental instead of physical this time, so if history is about to repeat itself, then it's likely Bobby and Eddie could both be suffering from delusions. Reminder, Bathena and Buddie ALWAYS PARALLEL EACH OTHER.

If TM is really about to redo a scene for Buck and Eddie that will rival the shooting and explore EVERYTHING THE F*X NETWORK WOULDN'T LET HIM DO WITH BUCK AND EDDIE THREE YEARS AGO THEN... THIS IS ABOUT TO BE EPIC!

IYKYK Buck and Eddie are in love with each other and if Eddie gets hurt again, EVERYBODY IS GOING TO SEE IT THIS TIME INCLUDING T*MMY, HELENA, RAMON AND THE 118.

The will was revealed in 4x14 and maybe it's meaning will be explored in 7x10 along with the reason why Eddie waited a whole year to tell Buck about it. It's possible it will come into play again before the end of the season, especially if Eddie's badly injured this time and the Diaz parents show up. If Helena thinks she's taking Chris to El Paso with them, she'll be WRONG because Buck’s his legal guardian.

Reminder, the 133 was there the last time but this time they'll be with their found family and Buck can't hide his feelings for Eddie, like EVER especially when he's injured or hurt.

In 7x6, the foreshadowing was there when he thought Eddie was dead while he was lying in the bathtub.

These are pictures of Buck’s face whenever Eddie’s hurt.

T*mmy doesn't have a chance with Buck because Buck and Eddie gave each other their hearts a long time ago and I can't wait until T*mmy sees it with his own eyes so he'll be gone. He won't be able to pretend Buck was trying to get his attention anymore because Buck’s going to go nuts if Eddie's hurt again. His heart will be on full display and there won't be any denying who he loves.

Buck loves Eddie Diaz and Eddie loves Evan Buckley!

I ONLY SHIP BUDDIE!

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #madney #maddie buckley #chimney han #bathena #bobby nash #athena grant #henren #hen wilson #911 abc #911 on abc #911 meta #911 spoilers #911 season 7 #911 season 7 speculation #911 speculation

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emilykaldwen · 2 days

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Seventeen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: We've got Rhaenyra POV! We've got Aemond POV! We've got a surprise in the end! Thank you for all the support and patience. You're all getting this chapter early since I'm out of town for the weekend! Enjoy!

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my love to @vampire-exgirlfriend for her love and support and holding my hand through this chapter that just kept kicking my fucking ass. If you need more Aemond content, you must read, They Say I killed You (Haunt Me Then)! Now complete! (epilogue going up soon!)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Parrying the Daggers Thrown At Us

Rhaenyra receives a letter. Aemond cannot find peace until he gets a taste of it.

Grandfather is still ill, much like we saw him last but he prefers his wheel chaired more oft than not…

Things have been tense, understandably so, but Queen Alicent has been cordial and has made sure we are comfortable and have what we need…

Aegon and Aemond keep their distance, perhaps so they can glare all the better…

I do not know how to make amends for what happened…

…and they say Aemond is taken by his pains at times, darkening his room as his head aches from his wound…

I should make amends, it is right…

What do you think I should do?...

Heleana has been the warmest…

…we danced together at the feast and she was quite happy to do so. It is nice spending time with her…

Aegon is happy around Lady Abrogail and she laughs freely with him. He is not like how he used to be as much with her…

I think Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin would be pleased to see how well she is treated…

Many houses were represented at Aegon’s nameday…

Most seemed to wonder if Aegon would have been named heir and displace you but none came to pass…

…they will inherit Harrenhal. I can see the wisdom in it as Luke will have Driftmark one day, but I think of Joffrey and Aegitsos and my uncles who do not have lands and holds to occupy them…

I love you much, Muñus, I hope you are well and that I will see you soon…

Rhaenyra ran her fingers over her son’s careful script, her mouth twitching in fondness amidst her worry of her zēapos. His letter was long, too much for a raven’s wings and she started from the beginning once she had read it through once. Twice. Her ribs ached as if Jace had been carved out of her to go on this journey and she shook her head, trying to let the feeling flit away on the breeze. Her eldest had a temper, much as she did in her youth, much as his father had, in the ways that drew her in. Time stole away much, and her own bouts of temper had cooled with each broken toy, each yelling fight, each ‘he pulled my hair!’ and ‘He pushed me and won’t share!’

The sounds of swords clanged in the yard and her gaze flitted from her son’s letter - pages crinkled in her grasp - to the courtyard below where Daemon was testing the new recruits to the Dragonstone guard. His silver hair was twisted back from his face in braids as he preferred, something about war and mindset and always be prepared.

He called something towards Joff and Aegitsos as the knight before him panted, having been bested against her husband.

Baela had not written, that much she knew, though Jace had said that she had found a friend in Helaena after a tense standoff. Rhaenyra had found the mention of it surprising, for her little sister, in the times she’d been around her, had been a quiet thing, eyes large in her face, gaze flitting to everyone and no one.

Helaena has been the warmest…

Helaena was not yet married. The match with Aegon had never come to pass.

The invitation lay on the table before her next to the plate of lemon cake she liked for her morning meal on days such as this.

The wedding of Prince Aegon of House Targaryen and Lady Abrogail Strong of Harrenhal…

In five moons, the spectacle would be held in the Riverlands. In five moons, the realm would look upon her brother once more, peacocked and pulled out, as Daemon sneered, by Otto Hightower to show him off as a contender, to put pressure on her father to change his mind. Her father had nearly twenty years to change his mind and still, he had not. Not even in her absence, cowardly as it sometimes felt to retreat and lick her wounds, had her father’s support of the claim and her family seemed to waver. Try as the Hightowers might to scream and spread slanders that would call for bloodshed, her father still would not be swayed. It was the sense of satisfaction that she had felt when he came to her defense in that shadowed hall those years ago, the heated of curl in it that no matter what, there could be no question as to his choice.

He had chosen her.

Even as the feeling waned over time to give over to those moments where she doubted, all the times he had failed to reign his wife in with her abuses and vitriol, the words her son had sent her bolstered her.

I think Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin would be pleased…

Harwin’s little sister, big blue eyes and red curls bound in braids, peeking curiously over the edge of Lucerys’ cradle next to Jace because ‘She asked if she could see the baby and give him this,’ Harwin had said, as the little girl presented her attempts at embroidering a little dragon on a pillow. Little Abrogail, half Harwin’s, half Alicent’s. She had tried to bring the girl to Dragonstone with them. Would she not be happier away from the court politics with her brother and the quiet? Lord Lyonel had given her a surprised, then hard look, and Rhaenyra had felt chastened in a way her own father had never been able to evoke within her.

“I will keep my daughter with me, and should I send her away, it will be back to her home, at Harrenhal, with her brother.”

Grief washed through her like the crashing of the waves on the rocky shore below and she felt her own jagged edges inside of her. Lyonel Strong had been the best of them, putting the realm first, always by her side at every council meeting she attended, encouraging her, even as his face grew graver with each brunette curled boy she bore.

Violet eyes swept across the parchment again. A servant in the camp had tried to attack the girl, Jace said. Crept into her tent, assuming she would have been alone. Inquiries were being made, but as far as anyone could see, the man had just been a baseborn servant - blending in like no other. Rhaenyra pursed her lips and looked down at the training yard once more, fingers drumming along the stone ledge of the terrace.

She wondered how wrapped around Lady Abrogail’s finger her half-brother might be… and how opportune this moment was.

Alicent’s eldest was marrying and taking a seat in the Riverlands. It was not the bold choice that Rhaenyra had thought would happen. Surely one of the many Lannister girls, or one of the Baratheons - a great house who would be invested in their own daughter becoming queen would have made more sense.

Harrenhal, for the wealth and lands that it had, did not command armies the way the Stormlands did. It did not have endless coffers the way Casterly Rock boasted of. It was a moody fortress on the edge of the God’s Eye, surrounded by lush farmland and woods that were dark and deep and felt that you were somewhere fanciful, somewhere that didn’t hold dragons nor thrones, nothing except for a warm hand wrapped around her own.

The clashing and screaming of steel in the yard below pulled Rhaenyra from her thoughts, and away from the path of her sorrows and regrets. Turning her back to the sight below, she reached for her own parchment and quill, pushing aside the letter from Lord Celtigar.

Lady Abrogail… Good tidings on news of your approaching nuptials…

Aemond pursed his lips, his gaze rising from the book before him, a study on the Conqueror’s approach to the first Dornish war,to squint across the barrel room near the top of the tower that held the library in the Holdfast. He drummed his fingers upon the scarred wooden table, a fingertip running along the crescent burn from the time Abby had accidentally knocked over a candle while they were reading about Harren the Black.

He exhaled slowly, the way the Braavosi manuals advised and looked back at his book.

It had been weeks since his brother’s festivities, and the chill of the end of the growing season had crept in. It was not cold by northern standards, but the air cooled, the rains rolled in for the next several months, and angry storms fell over them from the Narrow Sea, their winds piercing and frightening, as if they were dragons themselves in the winds that the Storm God rode, threatening to tear apart the Red Keep brick by brick.

Helaena’s nameday had passed with quiet fanfare, the lingering lords of the realm who had not left parading their sons in front of his maiden sister. As if any of them were worthy of a dragonrider, someone as clever and kind as Helaena.

It had been complicated over the past weeks since the talk in the garden, and Aemond still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt. What had been most surprising had been the strange sense of release when his sister let him go, leaving him to sit in the rain before Visenya’s statue, her words ringing in his ears.

‘I would burn Dorne for you… but I do not want to leave behind a world of ash and bone.’

How desperate Helaena had looked, angry and frightened and full of hope as she begged not to have a husband, but a brother back. ‘How else am I supposed to protect her?' he had wondered. How else could he offer his sister protection and security if it wasn’t to marry her, to tie her to him so that she would never have to fear, never have to doubt her acceptance and those who loved her?

Aegon had not wanted to marry her. She was weird, he’d sneered. How miserable Helaena would be, how miserable they both would have been. Aemond had done the right thing. He’d stepped up, he had gotten Mother and The Tower to break the betrothal. Even if they had not promised him and Helaena to one another, that was alright, it would simply be a matter of time.

He had Vhagar. There could be no further doubt that he was truly a Valyrian. There could be no more doubt as to his place in the world. All that was left was his sister.

Guilt gnawed deep in his stomach, shame twisting around his throat when the thought filtered through. Helaena was not a bauble he needed to collect to prove something. Collecting her was not protecting her. Collecting her was not about her, but for him, and it was this knowledge that he had thought about constantly.

His sister deserved more than being a broodmare, to be a pawn in the games. The forced distance the last few weeks had given him, after Helaena pushed him from the proverbial nest, had left him unsettled and snappish.

The loud thud of a book hitting the stone floor reverberated through the room. A heavy tome, judging from the heft of the sound, followed by a soft giggling, a deeper snickering sound chasing after it before they muffled and fell quiet.

He knew, with the utmost certainty, why it had fallen quiet.

Ever since the betrothal, the grip on his best friend had been slipping. Oh, him and Abrogail were an unlikely pair, but few appreciated books and history as his cousin did. While digging in the dirt and helping Helaena catalog her collection had been fulfilling, there was something joyous in being able to have someone who understood the quiet and sanctity of the library, and who loved books and reading and learning as he did. Lyonel Strong had always indulged his questions when was young - far more enthralling than Mellos and Orwyle were, and he had fostered that curiosity in his daughter.

‘All she’s going to care about is making babies with Aegon!’ Helaena had cried, frustrated and angry when they’d been alone after the fight in the brothel.

There was a soft cry, and Aemond scowled at his book before his chair scraped across the stone floor and he strode purposefully towards the source of the sound. The histories of the Riverlands were there - not just observational books, but the census, the trade information, things used by the small council’s not-quite-so-small army of clerks and counters and lawmakers. The section of the library that Abby had frequented since the announcement and that he had helped her with.

“Not here,” came the whispered whine, laced with laughter. Aemond rolled his eye as he turned the corner of the aisle. It was shadowed somewhat this far down, The strategically polished silver angled to bounce the light around so as not to pose a fire risk among the precious books, although the day was gray and cloudy and the light reflected was that of a lamp. Abby was pressed against the bookshelves, the blue and silver brocade of her skirts rucked up with her stockings on display, her legs at present, wrapped around his stupid brother’s waist. One arm was stretched out to grab onto the bookshelf behind her, and the fallen book that had been in its place was still on the ground. Aegon’s face was buried into her chest, or maybe her throat?

He was half-blind, after all, sometimes details could be mercifully missed. Or ignored.

“This,” Aemond said, his voice even and dripping with every ounce of annoyance and betrayal he felt, “is the library, not a brothel.”

Aemond’s fists clenched at the disrespect both of them displayed to a place they knew was important to him. At the announcement of his presence, Abby squeaked, Aegon’s arms tightening around her as she scrambled to lower herself without sending them both toppling. He held his arms folded behind his back, his hand scraping along his elbow as the pair of them got themselves in order and he shook his head when Aegon looked at him, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. Abby had turned to straighten her gown.

“Are you really going to act like this?” Aegon said, for it was barely a question. “We weren’t in front of you and your book. You were the one seeking us out.”

“Because you both weren’t as quiet as you thought you were,” Aemond snapped. “It was distracting.”

A lazy smirk crossed across his brother’s flushed face and he wanted to punch him square in his stupid nose. Let him kiss his future wife with his face bashed in. “Well, my lady is distracting-.” There was a soft sound as Abby smacked Aegon’s shoulder, cutting him off with an exaggerated ow, the flinch was nowhere near the violent response that inhabited his brother when it was their mother doing the hitting. She peered around Aegon’s shoulder, her mouth just as swollen, her cheeks just as flushed and her features apologetic.

“We’re sorry, Aemond. Things just got out of hand. I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t you apologize,” Aegon interrupted her this time, a fierce look on his face.

“No, actually,” Aemond cut in, taking a step forward, using the few inches he now had on his brother to straighten his shoulders. “She’s right. Thank you, Abby, for apologizing. Are you upset that she has to apologize for you, since your self-awareness is worse than a billy goat ramming his head into things?”

Aegon’s mouth gaped in offense, his flush deepening. There was a bruise along his neck that was going to be difficult to hide. The glib nature of his eldest brother was a trial at the best of times, but this? “You know this isn’t your place to run about as you please. Shall I just unlock my doors, let you roll around in my sheets and over my personal things while you’re at it?”

“It’s the fucking library, Aemond. It doesn’t belong to you-”

Abby let out a startled cry as Aemond’s fist shot out, but as much as he would love to punch his brother, he shoved him instead, feeling the crackling of frustration, the rumble of Vhagar in his chest. “Because it’s all yours, is that it? You mewling fucking kitten. This isn’t just my library, it’s hers too, but you don’t fucking care about anything that means something to anyone else if it gets in the way of what your limp cock wants.”

“Aemond, truly, we’re sorry - Aegon, no!” Abby’s voice was lost in Aegon’s growl as his brother came back with another shove, sending him back a few steps. Aemond laughed, a hint of a sound like the thin scrape of wind whistling through a crack. Yes, yes let the idiot push him around. Let him continue to pull his friend away from him, from him and Helaena both. His gaze darted briefly to the redhead, blue eyes wide as she pressed herself back against the shelves, before meeting his brother’s lighter gaze.

“You are a glib fucking fool, Aegon,” Aemond said lowly, his mouth curling as he readied for a fight, needing to expend the burn of flame inside of him. “I don’t care what the pair of you do, I’ll say nothing should Mother hear of it, but-” he stepped forward and shoved Aegon hard into the bookstack. The ancient wood creaked and groaned, but the stacks were bolted to the floor to prevent them from topping. A few books fell from the force of Aegon’s frame smacking into it. “Stay the hell out of my library.”

He did not look over his shoulder, even as Abby called his name, apology rife in her tone. He strode through the halls, calling for his horse to be saddled while he went to angrily pull on his riding leathers. The left side of his temple ached as it was wont to do when his face was full of tension. Helaena would make him tea, protect him in the quiet, but that was not meant to be today. The last he saw, his sister was in the gardens with Jacaerys.

How he ached to wring the stupid bastard’s neck.

How bright he seemed to make Helaena laugh.

How betrayed Aemond felt by it all.

Why hadn’t Helaena said anything? Why hadn’t she told him that she didn’t want to be married? Why had she just let him wander around like a puppy and now left the fool?

‘But hadn’t she told you?’ a little voice drifted through Aemond’s mind and he paused in the lacing of his leathers. Had she not told him by pursuing that fool Warren Fossoway, and the time that he had spied her kissing him - for he had seen Helaena push the squire behind the carved dragon pillar by the gardens.

‘But she would let me kiss her, she would kiss me, and she’d touch me and I her and-’ The flurry of thoughts ached as he pulled on his boots.

It would not hurt as much if it was anyone but Jacaerys.

The ride to the beach beneath the shadow of the Red Keep was a blur. The rock outcropping of Aegon’s High Hill was a craggy, sheer thing, but the beach below was one that Vhagar enjoyed sunning herself, a guard dog laying at the foot of the bed in a way. Her head lifted as Aemond approached, lowing in greeting and shaking sand from her scales. The tension in Aemond’s chest began to ease at the sight of her, and he approached, patting a gloved hand along her scarred neck, scratching along a vicious scar she must have received in Dorne. There were no words exchanged, not the way Aegon chattered with Sunfyre. Aemond’s bond with Vhagar was one of feeling, of such deep understanding that no words needed to spill from him. In no time, he scaled her great bulk and yelled out the command to fly, which his dragon responded with her own, what he assumed was excited, call in return.

Vhagar landed on the cliffs on the western side of Massey’s Hook, the bay below dotted with smaller fishing boats this far out from King’s Landing and away from the bustle of the capital. Rage and grief, anger and fear were a tempest in his gut and he rankled at the call of Moondancer as his cousin circled above them.

If Baela wanted this fight, then he would meet her, unflinching. Let her see what dragons were made of. They did not all reside on Dragonstone.

“Laodijes peldios!” Baela howled at him, her voice a sharp shout on the breeze, her face twisted and ugly with fury, fists at her side as she readied herself to hit him should he get within reach.

Aemond glared at her, the distance between them shrunk now to an arm length. Vhagar was a great shadow behind him and he could feel the sulfuric heat of her breath as she exhaled buffeting at his back. Moondancer was a little ways away, shrieking fearfully and Aemond could not tell if the dragon reflected her rider’s mood, or her fear of Vhagar.

“You’re a fucking fool. Daemon Targaryen is your father, your mother a Velaryon, and you still don’t realize that a dragon cannot be stolen.”

“You had no fucking right!” Baela snarled. “Vhagar was for Rhaena to claim-”

“If Vhagar had not wanted me, she would have eaten me and you damn well know it.” Aemond cut her off, watching her jaw click shut with a curl of satisfaction. “Vhagar chose me, not your sister. What? You want to kill me to give her another chance at claiming her? Is that what you’re here? To finish the job that you all started?”

“Why would my mother’s dragon choose you?” Balea cried, and this time, there was a choked quality to her rage. Aemond’s eye widened slightly and he leaned back from her, a curl of uncertainty that he despised. His words had been harsh, full of the anger that he had felt simmering these past years. Aemond shrugged it off. He had earned his harshness in this. He’d been the one attacked, the band of them setting upon him simply because he chose to claim his right as a Valyrian prince.

‘Why would my mother’s dragon choose you?’

Aemond ran his tongue over his teeth and leaned back on his foot, watching Baela gasp for air amidst her choking sobs, and turn from him to look out to the bay, towards Driftmark and High Tide.

He remembered his mother’s cries, her rage, her such careful and elegant control snapping as her voice cracked in the silence of the Hall of Nine.

“He’s your son, Viserys.”

“Why did Moondancer choose you?” Aemond asked. “Why did Moondancer choose you, and my egg never hatched?” Baela did not look at him but he could see the way her shoulders tensed. “Why didn’t you go find the guards? Why did you come, thinking a thief had stolen a dragon and Jacaerys brought his blade? Why did they give me a pig, pretending they had found me a dragon as they both had their own? Why did they do nothing but terrorize me with that fact for our childhoods?”

Aegon had done it too, gone in on the fun, drunk on being the eldest. It had lessened considerably in the wake of Rhaenyra leaving the capital, even if his brother sought other ways to tease him - he’d never again mentioned his lack of dragon.

Aegon had come to him in his sick bed, his curls shorn, red eyed and puffy faced, tears on his cheeks, had knelt at his bedside and vowed to him.

“We protect our own and I did not protect you. I do not care if you’ve claimed Vhagar, for I was not there for you when you needed me. It will never happen again. I will protect you. I will be by your side.”

Aemond had sometimes wondered how much of the words were his brother’s own, but he had known, with certainty, that the feelings were genuine. His brother was an idiot, and they butted heads, but his brother loved him in his own way, and for as angry as Aegon could make him, he loved him too. In his own way.

He might admit that on his deathbed, unlike Aegon, who would only need to be in the depths of his cups and into the sad and tearful mourning edge.

“What do you know, Baela?” Aemond said, his voice even, coldness creeping along the edges. “Of fighting and scraping for everything that is owed to you?” He forcefully bit his tongue, copper exploding in his mouth as he broke skin, to keep from pressing further at the loss of her birth right to Driftmark for Rhaenyra’s folly.

“A prince has to scrape for all that is owed to him.” It was rhetorical, biting, and Aemond snorted, taking a step forward, his own gaze looking out at the water.

“You may have been an idiot child, but don’t play me for a fool.” It was impossible not to see how little Viserys thought of his second family, and he had seen it plainly on Jacaerys’ face, the surprise in witnessing it. “I’m sure your father relishes every word you send to him. His little spy.”

Baela’s lip curled in a snarl and she stalked closer. Aemond stayed where he was, watching her with a narrowed eye as Vhagar let out a low growl behind him. She did not move, did not lift her head, but her nostrils flared and Aemond felt the heat of her breath swirl around him. Baela’s eyes widened, and she paused, the indigo of them shining with tears.

He turned his head slightly to look at Vhagar. “Ȳgha iksi,” he reassured her, feeling Vhagar’s displeasure seeping through him, her warning and the remembered rage from those years ago when she could not protect him or take away his pain. He reached for her snout, pressing his hand to the scar above her left nostril, rubbing against it. He turned his back to his cousin and brought his other hand up, feeling the anger hot as coals, hot as dragonfire in his chest. Vhagar was full of tension. He could feel it. Would she feel that way if it wasn’t him? If she was not so worried for him, would she recognize the girl behind him as the child that Laena Velaryon surely brought to her, as Aemond would have brought his own child? Had his grandfather, Baelon, brought his sons to this dragon before them?

The silence filled the air around them, the wind thick with tension. Aemond pressed his forehead to Vhagar, took strength from her, squeezed his eye shut and ignored the pain that lanced through his head and pulsed behind his scar.

The sob behind him was soft, and Moondancer’s cry was mournful.

“He’s your son, Viserys.”

“I did not mean to tarnish your mother’s memory,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice carrying as he looked, blind side towards Baela. “It was not done to hurt you, or to take something from you. It was… It was my only chance. And it’s something I don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand. I am… I am sorry about the loss of your mother. I did not have the opportunity to give you my condolences then, but I can give them to you now.”

The sound Baela made was strangled. Aemond turned to look at her. Baela was stiff beneath her red and black riding leathers, the metal rings in her hair tinkling as the wind tugged at her braids. He recalled the mourning child she had been sitting by her twin and Jace, the vicious yell she’d let out when she punched him in the nose that night, the howls and scream of pain. He felt Vhagar twitch and groan beneath his touch, another warning and he hushed her again, stroking her snout. He watched her gaze go towards Moondancer, who was crying fitfully, grounded still, her aquamarine wings more green against the lush grass of the clifftop.

“Do you want to pet her?”

Baela stared at him, the hostile lines to her face instantly slacking in surprise. “Skoro syt?” Her voice was small and wary, even as her eyes were wide with grief.

“My condolences,” Aemond repeated, and he found the words genuine. It was not Baela, nor her sister, or even his bastard nephews that rankled him. Oh, he wanted his revenge, He wanted what was due, but more of the blame lay with his eldest sister and their father. Of that, Aemond was secure in. He would gladly feed them both to Vhagar, to take an eye as payment for his mother.

His cousin shifted on her booted feet before whatever compelled her brought her forward. Aemond shifted, beckoning her to take her place by his side as he murmured words to Vhagar. Baela had taken her glove off, her slim, tanned hand reaching tentatively up before resting along the scar on Vhagar’s nostril.

They stood there for how long, Aemond was not sure, quietly beside one another as Baela grieved for the mother at the bottom of the Narrow Sea, and his own grief at what was taken from him.

“Do not mourn me, mother…”

‘But mourn the boy dead on Driftmark.’

It was not lightness or peace that settled over Aemond when he and his cousin parted later. He was not certain how much time had passed, only that after she had sobbed, they sat there in a strange, companionable silence eating hunks of bread and cheese and apple that Baela cut with a wicked blade. She did not give him thanks, she did not say anything, but Aemond took the offering of shared food as her own gesture of whatever truce was settled between them. The exchanged curt nods before parting, Baela northeast and away from the city to what Aemond assumed was High Tide and her grandmother and twin, while he circled back towards the city.

Aemond was not certain of the feeling he held except that it felt like he had scratched something out on a list, or deposited a burden that he was trying to carry with all his other, more cumbersome burdens. It was a closed door. That was enough for Aemond, and there was a part of him that wanted to march to his sisters and tell them that he had made nice, to have Abby’s warm smile proud with him, and Helaena’s little clap and promptly being the receiver of her latest mountain spider that Uncle Rodrik had brought her.

Instead, after entering the inner courtyard of the Red Keep and handing off his horse to one of the stablehands, he made his way to the gardens and to his own preferred solitude when the library - so recently desecrated - was not an option. No, Aemond needed air, he needed the statue of Visenya to look down upon him. There, where Helaena had snipped the strings and released him from the vow he had made, the goal that held him that was more about him than it truly was about her.

Where his sister had set him free, and he loved her all the more for it.

The problem, he found, upon striding down the paved path and through the dripping ivy, was that his garden was not, in fact, as empty as he hoped. Wylla Karstark was kneeled in front of a bush of hyacinths, carefully cutting the purple blooms and placing them in a basket beside her. She was clad in a dove gray dress, the black fabric of her kirtle beneath poking out through slashes along her shoulders and puffed at her elbows. Her fox features were pinched in concentration and Aemond watched her for a moment, silent as she had clearly not heard his approach.

Wylla Karstark was an unknown. She was pretty enough, with a long nose and sharp jaw, gray eyes that flashed when she was annoyed, which was the majority of the time. She had a rather frustrating talent of being able to look down at him even as she had to arch her neck, for she was as petite as Abby was. Their joint misfortune, just like Aegon’s. She was also well read, their conversation at the feast turning from a mutual annoyance to discussing the book of poetry that he had seen her reading, which itself had turned into a rather long and in depth conversation on the Valyrian poet, Praxilla, whose work had survived by the grace of her living the life of leisure in Lys when the Doom happened. Wylla and his elder brother unknowingly shared a fondness for drinking songs penned by the scribe, although Aemond was smart enough to know he shouldn’t bring that up.

Not until he needed to.

“It is polite to speak when coming upon someone, Your Grace,” Wylla’s northern burr was arch as she focused on her task. “I would curtsy, but you can see I’m already on my knees.”

Aemond’s cheeks flushed at the turn of her words, and he was not certain if she understood how they could be taken. He decided that she didn’t, for she did not turn to look at him, seemingly unbothered. All for the best, he supposed, for Aemond did not think he could meet her gaze should she be facing him.

“Why are you cutting my flowers?”

“Your flowers, Your Grace?” Wylla laughed, a sharp, lilting sort of sound and he wondered if that’s what she sounded like when she sang. Did she sing? He had not asked her. “These flowers belong to Queen Visenya, for it is her garden, is it not?”

“It is my garden,” he pushed back, frowning at the back of her head, the mass of thick, twisted black braids kept in place with a woven, pearl hair net with wicked looking, pearl tipped hair pins to keep the heaviness of it in place. He flexed his hands, wiping them on his riding leathers as he approached. There were other flowers in her basket, like wisteria and some of the roses from the main garden. He sat, bending his one leg to rest an arm on while the other reached in.

Up close, he could see the red flush to her pale cheeks. He did not recall them looking so red when he saw her the day before, outside of the bit of sun all the girls had gotten during the sun.

Her smack was quick, the sound of flesh stinging flesh loud and he immediately pulled back with a hiss and a glare. “How dare-”

“Those aren’t for you,” Wylla said forcefully, the gray eyes of her bright in her face as she finally looked at him. “They’re for Lady Abrogail.”

Aemond had killed a man for the fox-faced woman before him without hesitation, and the knowledge of it settled in him still, generally buried over the past few weeks because he had no idea what to do about it. They’d been attacked in the night, and Wylla Karstark had shoved a knife between the man’s ribs without hesitation. So tall, Wylla Karstark seemed, so loud, filling up the spaces she was in without holding herself back, that he had so often forgotten how small she was.

Until she was there, in front of him, those gray eyes like the storm ridden ocean.

Aemond held her gaze, reaching back into the basket to pluck one of the deep purple, nearly blue anemones that she had gathered, twirling it idly between his long fingers before reaching up to tuck it behind her ear. Wylla was still beside him, her red painted mouth parted slightly, so he could see the flash of her white teeth behind it. Her cheeks deepend in their red to match the paint on her lips and Aemon hummed.

Abby had been understandably shaken. Knowing her as long as he did, even with the smiles affixed to her face, he knew the signs as intimately as he understood Helaena’s or Aegon’s, or his own mother’s. Wylla Karstark was a mystery. She had been quiet, from what he had seen, but the wedding preparations had taken up much time with the girls, as well as her brother finally leaving the capital earlier that week.

He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking, before he met her gaze. “Are you alright?”

Her inhale was loud. It trembled and she pressed her red lips together, her throat bobbing with a swallow and looked back at the flowers but did not move to cut anymore. Aemond did not push her, but only waited.

“Yes? No? Strangely yes,” she finally whispered. “I think that’s what bothers me more.”

“That bastard came in with intent to harm,” Aemond said. “If you didn’t kill him, someone else would have. You were incredibly brave.” None knew where he’d come from. The assailant had been clad in the same red garb as the rest of the servants. A baseborn man. Waters or Storm, Aemond couldn’t remember, much like he had no memory of the man’s face before he stared down at it, red and wheezing before he killed him.

“At least it wasn’t Aegon,” Wylla whispered, her eyes wide, drawing his attention back to her. “What would have that turned into - him sneaking in for them to slobber all over each other. Me thinking he was an attacker and-”

The snort of laughter that escaped Aemond at the idea of it all could not be held back. He bent his head, gasping for air as his shoulders shook and it was only a moment before Wylla’s own peel of laughter joined his. It had been some weeks since he’d laughed, in the wake of what happened at the hunt drying up what little humor he’d indulged in. There was an infectious quality to Wylla Karstark’s amusement that he found comforting. Aemond looked at her, her face flushed from her laughter, and he leaned in, kissing her.

The laughter abruptly stopped, her mouth soft against his, still from her clear surprise. She tasted like oranges. Abby must have indulged in the sweet and sour orange cakes they had at the feast. Wylla did not respond, but she didn’t move away either and Aemond took that as acceptance, and he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, thumb swiping softly against the apple of it. Kisses with Helaena had been different - always expected, always ready, with her initiating many of them. The one time he’d kissed Abby, when they were little and Jace had dared him to, did not count. The both of them had made faces, vowing to never do it again.

Kissing Wylla, though? He never wanted to stop, especially not when she reached up, the clippers making a soft thump along the grass to wrap around the end of the braid slung over his shoulder. She tugged it gently and Aemond broke away, blinking and gasping. “What?” he asked. “Should I have not done that?”

“Oh, you should have,” she reassured him, breathless and red faced. She licked her lips and looked at her fingers still wound around his braid, toying with the leather tie. “I was just reminded of something someone told me once.”

He cocked his head, mouth pursed. “What was it?”

The smile that cut across Wylla’s face was amused, the scar along the top of her lip giving a mischievous bend to her small, red mouth. “It was about how dragons purr when you pull their hair.”

Whatever thought started to coalesce about her late night conversation with his sisters was pushed right out when her lips found his.

I would love to hear your thoughts! Even if it's just a keyboard smash! Reblog to spread a story around so others may find it! I would love to hear your theories! What did you love? What are you looking forward to? Happy to have you here as always <3

#my fic #hotd tag #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd oc #fyeahgotoc #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #baela targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #oc: abrogail strong #aegon x abby #abrogon #otp: do not go far from me #man tagging is so annoying

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percyaugod · 2 days

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Unnamed Rise AU Part 2: Eternal Prison

Edit: It has now been named The Prisoner and the Pretender AU. : D

Leo was bored asking how long has he been stuck there anyway. The technodrome says forty-three seconds. Leo is unamused and gives a flat "Ha Ha. No really."

The technodrome doesn't say anything and Leo is left reeling. "What, how!?"

"Time dilation. Time moves faster here than back in your dimension. If it makes you feel any better you aren't aging. This place was designed to be an eternal prison. Not very eternal if the Krang die of old age."

Leo crossed his arms muttering bitterly about how well that worked out.

The technodrome holds Donnie above all others, and it is partially because of being connected, but it's mostly because Donnie is just Donnie. Donnie is the first to look at the technodrome and see something truly amazing. It holds him in such high regard because he holds it so high. Which is why it doesn't want to disappoint him and lose that.

Not to mention how much of himself he was willing to give to it so it could think for itself for the first time. No more just sitting around waiting for commands. Being used like a tool by those that don't appreciate it, don't deserve it.

Leo keeps the technodrome talking so he can hear his brother's voice, though he'd never admit it to even himself. He's just gathering data, nothing else. Yet he's probably just doing stuff to aggravate the technodrome like messing with the stuff it uses to make nutrients so Leo doesn't wither away.

It tastes awful, he's just trying to make it pizza-flavoured. Or preferably anything other than what he imagines Dad's chair tastes like. He knows chemistry, he can do this!

The technodrome begs to differ. He knows Earth chemistry. These chemicals are literally alien to him.

The technodrome keeps moving so it's harder for Krang One to find them. Which is extra difficult while trying to look like just a piece of nonfunctional rubble floating there.

Leo would definitely try to sneak outside. If nothing else he's bored and wouldn't completely trust the Krang spaceship. He still hasn't decided whether it sounding and acting like Donnie is worse or better. At least it'll be harder to forget the egghead.

The technodrome only lets him out to get supplies because even broken it's still far too big to enter. Supplies are hard to come by though, and who knows how long Leo will be in here until his brothers can save him. It keeps watch of all exits in case he tries something.

Leo is definitely curious about the technodrome, especially its connection to Donnie. How exactly did it get a copy of his brother on its systems, and what is it going to do to the original?

He wouldn't just ask it directly though. Donnie can't lie, but who knows about the technodrome. He asked in roundabout ways about other tech and functions to gather more info before making his way slowly to how piloting it works.

Leo tells stories to the technodrome who listens since at least he isn't trying anything. It's when he tries to exaggerate something and the technodrome corrects him that he realizes the technodrome remembers this stuff too because Donnie remembered it. So now Leo has the technodrome tell him stories to help him remember. It's odd hearing some of the same events but from Donnie's point of view.

Leo has a lot of trouble sleeping, especially in a prison dimension. He says something completely wrong and falls asleep to a "Donnie" rant.

Leo asks the technodrome what it knows about neuroscience since it could help him take care of his brothers in the future as team medic (you can rip medic Leo out of my cold dead hands) and he's pretty sure the ship mentioned tapping into someone's brain or nerves to receive instructions.

He's really going to have to look Donnie over when he gets back because that can't be good.

The technodrome constantly brings up Leo having the portal closed on it. Is this what Draxum feels like dealing with him? Good.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt au #rise leo #rottmnt technodrome #rise donnie #Ish #Unnamed rise au #The prisoner and the pretender AU

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iifishizzleii · 14 hours

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könig & gaz - first meet

rare ship alert lmao. unedited :]

könig, who’s sent by kortac (much to his displeasure) on a co-op with task force 141.

he doesn’t like how they work, how their attention will divert from the mission the moment it comes to protecting civilians.

if there’s a chance that innocent lives can be saved, könig will do what he can. but, he won’t compromise a mission over a few lives, because what’s war without sacrifice? (not that their sacrifice means anything in the end, but to be fair, if you see a group of military men rushing one way, why wouldn’t you run the other way?) he has a job, and it’s a job that pays him to take lives. not save them.

the 141, on the other hand, work like they are. and it’s fucking annoying because they suddenly have a conscious for the lives they’re taking, as if the soldiers they’d killed in the field weren’t civilians in gear— as if they weren’t men who were someone’s husband, son, or father. but what does könig know? he’s just a colonel who’s been on the field longer than even price.

(the truth is, könig wasn’t raised knowing the value of human life. his father hated his mother, and his mother hated that he looked like his father. when he was diagnosed with social anxiety, it was just a label to the skin-crawling feeling he got whenever somebody stared at him for too long, the fraying to his nerves when the voices around him made the ones in his head scream louder. people had never done könig any good in his life. so, what did they deserve from him?)

he was forced to a briefing with the 141, and they were as insufferable as he remembered. price, with his unintelligible bear grunting that had könig leaning left because the hearing in his right ear had dulled, and the odor of cigarettes and stress that always followed him. ghost, who‘s staring was like a dissection he felt tugging at every nerve, dull eyes watching könig from across the table in a way that made the taller man want to peel out his eyes. soap, the blabbering bastard that never knew how to sit still without brushing up cozy against the masked lieutenant. all three of them were ripe for early retirement by könig’s hand, testing him with every indirect jab and comment made at the expense of their former enemy. then, a fourth man könig hadn’t bothered sparing any attention for asks price and question, and he turns.

his name was gaz. that’s what könig was told, at least, though he doubted it was the brit’s real name. not that he gave a shit. and ‘gaz’ was no older than thirty five.

he stood to price’s right, staring down at the map on the table with a sharp focus könig noticed. and while they weren’t many things on this Earth he enjoyed, one thing könig could appreciate was a weapon that was as lethal as it was transfixing.

he has big, brown eyes that swam with emotion, something könig’s bitter heart wouldn’t know a thing about. full, tanned cupid bow lips twisted into a thoughtful frown as price and laswell discussed their plans for the mission. his skin was copper, unlike the pale complexions könig was accustomed to seeing on Al Mazrah and Ashika Island. he has thick brows and sharp nose, and when he folds his arms across his chest, his biceps bulge under the grey-blue button up shirt he wears. the curve of his ass and muscled thighs are hugged by his tactical cargo pants.

he wasn’t stocky like soap, nor was he as intimidatingly huge as price or ghost. it was anything larger in size, after all, that people’s attention naturally gravitated to. könig would know. and between the four of them, gaz sits directly in the middle of being physically dominating. and it’s that which interests könig, because while any other less experienced man would chalk gaz’s size up to his skill, he knew better. gaz had every good of a chance of killing him as the rest of the men did. maybe even more, now that könig was aware of how his presence effected the group, and how easily gaz could use to his advantage.

“hübsche klinge,” könig muttered under his breath.

but, awareness seemed to lose meaning as he watched the young man across the room, dark eyes trailing up the thin fabric stretched across gaz’s stomach before lowering to watch his narrow hips as shifts to face price.

then soap cracks a joke and könig would have condemned him for it, unused to such easy going attitude while prepping for a mission, but the sight of gaz’s lips uncurling into a the barest hints of grin make könig freeze. he’s a grown man for christ’s sake, a force of nature feared by enemies and revered by allies. not even the sight of a his own family’s mangled corpses could sway him.

yet, watching that small grin on gaz’s face bloom into a full smile, an exasperated but amused laugh escaping plush lips at soap’s joke, has könig tightening his fists at his side, tracking the way gaz’s eyes crinkle in the corner from the stretch of his smile, his arms unfolding just to refold them oppositely.

könig decides at that moment that out of all the 141, gaz would be the biggest hindrance.

#cod #call of duty #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #konig #konig cod #gaz cod #RARE SHIP #konig x gaz #trying this out #sunny x grumpy #sunshine x grumpy #gaz is sunshine #konig is grumpy

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desultory-novice · 3 days

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[Unfinished Late Night Ficlet]

-530 words -Marxolor implied

He got up out of a bed that was already half empty. Soft warm lights illuminated the borders of the floor to ease his journey out of the room. They guided him toward the bathroom and then, when he did not make a move to return to bed, proceeded him down the hall. They began to pulse with subtly brighter light at the door to the kitchen. A suggestion. He took it. She knew him well.

But she had not just been guiding him toward food and drink. His partner-in-crime, as they laughingly referred to each other when the sun was up, was here as well. The ingredients for what could easily be a sandwich, should one apply even a modicum of effort, lay strewn about the floating center island next to an abandoned plate.

The orphaner-of-sandwiches sat in the corner like a marionette with his strings cut. Or a clockwork toy that had wound itself out mid-spin, toppling over with the last of its potential energy in an ungraceful fashion.

He ignored him and the bread and meats and poured a cup of coffee for himself. The aromatic roast dancing on a gauze ribbon of smoke to tickle his senses reminded him of, not home, but a place he'd given that name to.

He took a sip.

Bitter.

Yes. That's what those memories tasted like too.

He poured a second cup and deposited three white cubes of condensed crystals in it. They landed with a bloop, bobbing up and down until finding their balance and beginning to dissolve.

He encouraged them to pick up the pace with a small wooden stirrer.

Then he floated over to the lump on the floor and waved the cup in front of him. The other's violet irises lacked the spark of life, but that hardly meant anything to worry about. It wasn't even all that unordinary. Not on nights like these.

Indeed, upon his second waving of the warm, volcanic-ash of a roast, the irises began to track his movements. With his other hand, he picked up a long, limp arm from the floor and gently wrapped the finger like claws around the cup. They held in place and he let go, satisfied a shattered cup wouldn't follow.

Then he watched his partner intently as the mug began to rise, eventually meeting lips cracked partly open. Those lips took the first sip. Violet eyes widened and immediately the other spat the half-swallowed contents in a spray across the kitchen.

"Salt?! Magolor, I'm going to kill you!"

An accusing claw thrust his way.

"That's what you get for leaving food out in my kitchen, Marx," Magolor nonchalantly returned to nursing his coffee. Marx did too, for once he'd had a moment to consider the sickening concoction (a taste Magolor knew by experience. For Marx had been the first to prank him in such a manner) he decided he actually liked it this way.

They sat there drinking in silence for a time, the whitenoise whirr of the ship keeping the room from feeling too empty, too still. There was never any asking, "What's wrong?" or "Couldn't sleep?"

Another reason they got along so well.

#Magolor #Marx Kirby #Marxolor #Dess Fanfic

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stevieharringtonwifeguy · 9 months

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steve, robin, chrissy, and nancy starting a band together. each have their own kind of more classical musical training with robin being in marching band and steve, chrissy, and nancy all having Rich People Music Lessons as children, but everyone's shocked when they decide to turn that talent towards a punk band called Baby and the Girls

and they start off kind of small, with their Gimmick being the disconnect between their more prep/normie visual aesthetic and the angry, violent tone of their music. steve's the singer (he has a lovely voice, kind of warm and croony until he really starts screaming), chrissys the drummer (she's so tiny you can barely see her behind that thing), nancys the bassist (solid, dependable, gets a little smile on her face whenever she's got a particularly sexy baseline bc she knows the bass is what makes a song a fuck song), and robins on guitar (and keyboard, and violin, and one time an accordion which is still her favourite song to perform. basically whatever other instrument the song calls for she's got it)

and they get kind of a following not just for their angry music criticising the government and society and the like, but also because of how unabashedly queer they are. chrissy/nancy/robin have all visibly flirted with each other during concerts and no one's quite sure what the deal is there. steve performs like 75% of their shows in full drag as Baby (hence the band name) and winks flirtatiously at both male and female audience members alike

eventually they get Real Big, and get signed to an actual record label. despite knowing how queer they were before signing them, it's still like the early 90s so the label makes them tone it down a bit. song lyrics get a little more ambiguous (but not if you actually like. listen to them. i mean steve sings about eating a wide variety of fruits and vegetables in a way that like. We All Know What The Peach Is Steven), steve's not allowed to perform in drag anymore (although he does lose a suspicious amount of bets whose forfeits 'force' him to perform in a dress. new fans are baffled at how bad this guy is at bets), and the band name has to change, becoming Stevie and the Girls (the label wanted it to just be 'steve' but they compromised)

and over the course of their career, at some point they end up on a talk show with the Other Band From Hawkins, corroded coffin. the host is clearly angling for a punk/metal standoff, maybe Known Non-conformist eddie munson will call them posers for wearing so many pastel colours, or since everyone knows that steve chris and nancy at least used to be pretty popular in high school maybe there's some lasting high school drama to up their ratings

and yeah, their ratings skyrocket for that episode, but only bc steve and eddie reveal they've been dating since 1987

#i'll be honest i know it's not historically accurate to The Scene at the time but they're mcr. also stevie writes Rebel Girl for eddie #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #chrissy cunningham #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #idk if there's a ship name for the three of them but that's what they're doing #when they were coming up with band names steve suggested Fourth Wheel bc that's what he was #but chris and nancy pointed out that stobin has Relationship Priority like if they were all hanging out steve is def not left out #he and robin share a brain how can you be fourth wheeling her relationship #and stobin was like okay. fair.#so now they're Baby And The Girls #so named bc eddie came to a rehearsal once and in greeting them went BABY!!!! 🥰😊💖#and then after covering steve's face in squishy kisses regained his composure and did what WOULD have been a very smooth 'girls.'#had it not been preceded by five minutes of smooches #eddie munson

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foxqueen-katarian · 2 years

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A part of me enjoys the idea of Wulf deciding that he’s not done dating Caleb and just carrying on like the last fifteen years didn’t happen. It’s a little more complicated what with being adults and having responsibilities, and Caleb’s new boyfriend (who Wulf is also okay with dating, if they ever get past the distrustful stage in their acquaintanceship), but he’s willing to put the time and effort into it.

Caleb is completely oblivious to what’s happening, Wulf’s always been helpful and physically affectionate nothing weird about that, and he does sleep better when there’s another person in the room, and it’s very considerate of Wulf to stop in when Essek has to be away, and it’s completely normal to kiss your friends on the mouth with tongue Caleb spent a good portion of his teenage years doing just that, and Oh Fuck Shit Gods Damn It when did we start dating again?

#Essek isn’t thrilled at sharing until the first time Wulf manhandles him into bed #and tells him in Undercommon all of the things he’d like to do to Essek if he would just cooperate #Astrid thinks all three of them are idiots but they’re now her idiots so it’s somewhat acceptable #everyone else is just very confused by the whole thing #caleb widogast #I don’t know what the ship name for Caleb/Eodwulf is soooo

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hadesknockedupintheunderworld · 2 months

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Mmmmmm thinking about Nine the fox walking around with his two bodyguards (Alpha Grim Sonic and Chaos Sonic) again

The fox and his most devoted halberds who are also possessive bitches

No but like but like I need you to understand

Chaos Sonic who was originally revived to take Sonic's place, to fill the hole in a frienship Nine came to believe as fake, and yet clearly held onto so dearly. Chaos Sonic, who was supposed to be the same as before, except made to be Nine's devoted best friend who would never betray him.

Alpha Grim Sonic who Nine reportedly modeled after the hedgehog he (foolishly) thought of as a friend. A robot copy of Sonic who would not talk back, who would not think, who was only made to serve and protect Nine.

Chaos Sonic, whose time spent with Nine turned programmed allegiance and care into some form of love (obsession and possessiveness)

Alpha Grim Sonic, who was not supposed to think and feel. And yet, with time spent serving Nine and opposing Shadow, he begins to feel and to think (a budding soul forming within his metal frame and existing beyond his programming). A robot created to protect and serve, whose feelings for his creator and master begin to grow over time.

When did his internal drive shift from playing the role of Nine's best friend? When did he begin to resent Sonic for what he did to Nine? When did he begin to want to see Nine happy and safe and accomplished (rather than just simply alive and able to complete his goals)? When did he begin to crave Nine's attention and to make him stop thinking about Sonic?

Wasn't he programmed to be no more than an unfeeling robot, a set of algorithms designed to allow him to fight, protect, serve, and strategize only as needed? Why does he want to hurt Shadow so much (is it really just out of the drive to protect Nine, or is it to make the hedgehog pay?)? He'd follow Nine's orders to the ends of the earth, but why does he worry about Nine when they’re separated? Why has he started to covet Nine's smiles and bouts of happiness? Why does he feel annoyance when Nine converses with Chaos Sonic like he's also not there? Why is he starting to understand why Chaos Sonic resents Sonic, beyond the fact that Chaos Sonic has always fancied replacing him? Alpha Grim Sonic has never wanted to replace the real thing, never understood why Chaos Sonic would, but he's starting to understand jealousy (in the way one begins to feel things they cannot put words to).

Chaos Sonic would tell you it's because he and Nine are best friends. Alpha Grim Sonic would tell you that it's because Nine is his master. Yet, deep down, the two have begun to want to be useful and important to Nine. They want to protect him and see his goals through past any loyalty programming. It does not matter whether such an outcome was inevitable or not (based upon their programming or the holes Nine made them fill in his life), only that they believe that they'd choose this even if Nine tried to let them go.

And Nine... Nine who creates distance between himself and the two robots almost instinctively, as if he's trying not to grow attached (ironic, given the roles he placed the two in, the holes in his life he made them fill after he believed that Sonic had backstabbed him). And yet, just as much as he insists that Alpha Grim Sonic is cold and unfeeling and programmed to serve or that Chaos Sonic is just like that (given the personality programmed into him and his similarities to Sonic) and was programmed to follow orders, he finds himself beginning to value the two as more. He should see them as tools, he tries to think of them as tools. And, yet, over time, the two become irreplaceable agents of his will. He can’t allow himself to believe they really care about them, but he wants them to know that he likes having them around, that no other robot can fill the roles he programmed them for, and no real mobian could be as effective as them (even if it's embarrassing to admit). They become...a comforting presence, especially when he's stuck in the Grim post canon, practically alone, closed off from being able to see Sonic again

Do you get me do you get me?