#i had them on and was hit with thoughts of The Character

[celestiamour]

Ever since squid game s1&s2 wi hajoon character😩 I even saw a clip of his back 💀ok im getting side tracked😭so may I please request a smut with junho x fem reader where he’s stressed trying to find his brother but his wife or gf is there for him to keep him calm. It could literally be any plot😭 just need Jun Ho

ft. hwang jun-ho x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ eating you out after a long stressful day┊0.7k words

setting: season 1, before the 33rd games contains: smut!! dom jun-ho & sub reader┊oral fixation, receiving oral, overstimulation, mentioned nipple play & marking, established relationship

➤ author's note: i need this so bad, the new year depression is hitting and i’m so lonely

being a police detective is insanely stressful on levels he couldn’t even begin to explain, even more so when it’s a case related to him personally. ever since his brother went missing, he’s been relentless in his pursuit to find him, searching for even the tiniest clues that may help push the dead end he’s been stuck at for so long. he comes back a little bit later each night with less and less energy, crashing out on the couch and fall asleep to stop the raging headache from considering all of the possible things that could have happened. 

he still makes an effort to be there for you though, taking time out of his busy schedule to take you out on at least one date per week, not just to remind you that he loves you even with how busy he is, but for him to relax too. there’s nothing better than being comfortable and able to turn off the gears constantly turning in his brain in the company of someone he adores so much, and returning home to rest in your warm embrace is akin to heaven for his troubled mind. 

sometimes he likes to shut his brain down entirely when having sex with you and just thoughtlessly do his own thing. it’s almost therapeutic for him, even though you’re the victim of his ministrations and find your body suffering from too much pleasure (if it’s even a thing, he draws a thin line that makes you wonder).

like he is right now, hands spreading the inside of your thighs with a tight grip to prevent them from closing and his mouth laser-focused on what’s in between.

“i-it’s too much,” you whined, trying to push him away for a second of relief yet making no real attempt to do so, limbs slacking after a mere second of effort. perspiration had covered your skin in a thin sheen, shining under the light of the ceiling fixture and drawing attention to his previous actions: marks from constant sucking and biting into your soft flesh all over your neck and chest area. 

he simply hummed in response, the vibrations sending pleasure straight to your clit and making your whimper, not really listening to you. there weren’t really any thoughts in his head at the moment, only trying to pull another orgasm from your spent body to taste more of your addicting nectar and listen to your cries that sounded like the song of an angel.

you originally wanted to pay him attention before yourself, taking the edge off the perpetual stress he was going through with his climax, yet this was all he wanted to do, sucking on your clit like it was candy until the neighbors knew his name. there was no real skill or technique behind his movements, just pure unadulterated passion and lust as he pulled you even closer than you thought possible with an increased pace of fucking you with his tongue. 

it felt so suffocatingly hot, taking another breath only to let out another pitched moan in a vicious cycle. you didn’t know where to put your hands, alternating from the bedsheets to your oversized t-shirt stolen from his before finally tangling your fingers in his dark locks and tugging which caused him to groan in response. he finally opened his eyes and met your half-lidded ones, but he did not stop his assault on your engorged pearl. truthfully, the sight of you as such a blissed-out mess was almost enough to make him cum untouched, and he’s not even certain if he didn’t.

the familiar feeling of an orgasm washes over you, the intensity of it being your third tonight making your back arch off the mattress and your toes curl with a pitiful gasp. still, jun-ho’s lips stayed latched onto your abused pussy, lapping up all of your arousal like a damn dog until you were all cleaned up with nothing but his spit slicking your folds. you whimpered when he finally let go only to part your swollen hypersensitive cunt with his finger, admiring how it quivered and clenched around nothing begging for more.

it was going to be a long night, but it’s worth it if he gets the satisfaction of carrying you out of bed the next day due to your shaking legs and he finally wakes up with a clear head for once.

[alyslittlehaven]

In What We Keep Chapter 1 - A Fires Warmth.

DragonBorne!Reader X Azriel Shadowsinger.

One fateful night after a mission, the three bat brothers need to seek refuge from the cruel winds past the mountains of Illyria, after a little debating, Azriel decides to take his brothers to the slice of life he took for himself

Warnings: Self Made Fae Race, swearing, talks of sex/sexual interactions, lewd jokes and or conversations, Pregnancy, Pre-established Relationship, mates, fated, Soft Azriel, secret relationships and more ACOTAR IS NOT MY BOOK, NEITHER ARE THE CHARACTERS

(This is short due to my writer's block hitting hard, also- ignore my horrible writing in this I don't have the greatest imagination right now lol.)

“This storm isn’t going anywhere, Az.”

Cassian’s voice strained as he squinted through the heavy snowfall. Their footsteps behind them quickly being covered up as they continued on through the cold. Cassian groaned, his body shivering harshly.

 Azriel grunted as he tightened the fur that hung around his body. The black dire wolf pelt kept out the wind just for a little longer as the snow picked up around them all. Azriel looked over his shoulder, his hair swaying lightly in the wind as his brothers stopped behind him. There was no way they could continue on like this. Flying in this weather would be a death wish and the creatures that they were hunting were extremely sensitive to magic. Their noses picked up the slightest bit of arcane and followed it like it was food. 

The snow continued to whip around them. Azriels wings shifting as the wind blew in between the membrane and his back. The cold slowly seeps into his bones as the three of them pick up the pace once again. Rhysand let out a huff, looking around slowly and yelling over the blizzard. “There is no way we can get to RoseHall like this, let alone the camps! We need to find shelter!” Cassian nodded, looking at Azriel with a pleading look. Rhysand was right, there was no way the storm was going to let up, and if anything was just getting worse the longer they walked. Rosehall was nowhere on the other side of the mountain and the winds of Illyria were unforgiving to travellers during the summer months. What would happen to the three of them if they continued to trudge through the snow?

Cassian crossed his arms, his lips turning blue as they stood still huddled together. His wings spanned out and fluttered to get the snow off of them. The weight on his shoulders now dispersed as her shook himself off. Azriel looked around, looking for any kind of landmark that could tell him where they stood on the mountain. His eyes locked into a bundle of lights in the distance. A relieved breath left him as he saw the small, broken sign with a carved dragon egg on it. 

His brows furrowed as he thought, his arms wrapping around himself as he took a couple of steps. Dread slowly made its way to his stomach as he realized where they were heading.

He could bring them into his home. The small cabin he had built with his own hands inside of the heart of the hearth. The home that his mate was in while he stood out in the cold with his brothers. Her body probably curled up on the couch with that ugly knitted blanket she made draped over her as a book remained under her nose. The fire probably roaring in the fireplace and leaving the room in a nice orange glow.

Azriel sighed, quickly pulling up his hood before beginning to move in the direction of the light,. His voice hoarse as he spoke. "I have somewhere we can stay. if you don't mind walking for a bit more, that is." Cassian rolled his eyes, his feet moving without him having to think about saying yes or no as he followed his brothers closely. 

“Azriel…where are we going?” Rhysands teeth chatters, his breaths coming out as fog due to the cold. His whole body nearly froze at the question. He had worked so hard to keep this part of his life a secret from his family. The relaxing life he came to every night and woke up the day after next to. The happy cabin he filled with love and work that he made sure he separated his work life from his mate. His wonderful, beautiful mate pressed kisses to his hand when he came home from work and tried out new Illyrian recipes so he would feel at home in the hearth. The best woman he had met, and the calmest. They had spoken about it a few times, introducing her to his family and the inner circle, and despite her wanting to meet them he just didn’t want to yet. Wanting to keep her to himself just for a little longer.

“To…a friend's house. She lives right up here in this cabin.”

Rhysand and Cassian looked at each other, a small shrug was all Cassian responded with as they walked up the stairs of the porch. Azriel quickly opened the door, the wood creaking under his weight as he ushered the two in. A frown on his face as he shut the door behind them. “Y/n?” Azriels voice carried through the small cabin, some shuffling in the distance going dead silent.

“I’ll be there in a second love!” A couple of pans knocked together before she walked into the hallway, a small pep in her step now that she saw who was in her home. Cassian, ever the gossip, repeatedly hit Rhysands arm like a teenage girl. A smirk on his face as he raised an eyebrow at Azriel.

Rhysands jaw dropped as she untied her apron, the large and evident bump now on full display as she put down the fabric and pressed a hand to her stomach. Her eyes raked over the two unfamiliar men with a gentle smile. "You must be Azriels brothers...welcome to the Hearth. Come- Sit down, please."

[4suke]

return.

tsukishima kei x reader oneshot, fluff/angst, exes to lovers crossposted on ao3 as higashikatas.

his undoing first came in the form of a thick white envelope stamped in curlicues of golden ink.

SHIMIZU KIYOKO WEDS TANAKA RYUUNOSUKE! reads the stiff card inside and he allows a small smile to appear on his face, before opening his messages and congratulating them both. he won’t deny that he’s happy for them; they’re the only high school couple he knew that ever truly worked out. never mind the fact that it felt vaguely like a slap in the face when he thought about his own first romance.

now, kei’s thinking to himself that maybe he should have been a dick and not shown up. the wheedling and whining of all his ex-upperclassmen would have been preferable to the scene unfolding before his eyes right now.

it was stupid of him to not consider that you would be here too… but wasn’t that the point of the last seven years? the amount of time it had taken for him to forget about you felt pathetic in itself. the amount of time it took for all that work to be undone was even worse.

you were laughing. head tilted back, eyes crinkled and your hair cascading down your back. he doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see that it’s grown longer- a lot changes in seven years, he has to remind himself. you’re being twirled around by hinata, who’s own beaming face only seems to amplify your joy. the lighting hitting both of your faces made things worse. kei felt like a side character now- which he supposed he was now. the chapter about the two of you had long been shut.

he doesn’t know how long passes before the song comes to an end. hinata bows low over your hand, pretending to bite your finger instead of kissing it, and you both start giggling all over again. you glance away from hinata for a second, collecting your breath, and your gaze slides onto him.

it’s like time has stopped (as cheesy as it feels) and neither of you have changed and grown and matured; he’s still the sharp-tongued, short-tempered high school boy and you’re still the beautiful, perfect high school girl who would playfully place daisy chains in his hair before a game and grin when he took them off and tucked them protectively into his backpack. the same girl who intertwined hands with his during video games just to mess with him and crow over his loss. the same girl who kissed his swollen eyelids on the rare occasions he let himself cry. the same girl who told him you loved him every single night without fail.

your grin falters and the facade is broken. nodding in response to something kageyama is saying, you duck your head and slip away.

kei doesn’t blame you in the slightest.

the rest of the afternoon seems to pass like a blur. he vaguely remembers sugawara cackling about ennoshita being the one to catch the bouquet and yamaguchi hovering by his elbow for a few minutes talking animatedly before wandering off with yachi, until he ends up at a table alone watching everyone else on the dance floor.

“i know being a bitter asshole is kind of your trademark, but could you try to tamp it down a bit?” you side eye him while taking a sip from your drink, passing him an identical glass. “it’s a wedding. be nice. don’t scare the children.”

he’s not sure if he jolted with the surprise, but can you blame him? the last time you spoke was the five minute video call seven years ago when he’d ended the horribly optimistic and unrealistic long-distance relationship the two of you had vainly kept up almost half a year into college. the shitty wifi connection had done nothing to hide the wetness in your eyes and he’d stared at the blank screen for almost an hour afterwards trying to convince himself that he’d done the right thing.

compared to the last version of you he remembers, the you that is now coolly surveying him over the rim of your glass seems almost scarily calm. some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because you sigh and almost roll your eyes before sitting down opposite to him.

“so what have you been up to?”

he scoffs. “really?”

“really.”

he fiddles with his cuff. “i graduated.”

you nod. “tadashi showed me pictures. your hair was longer.”

“yeah. i’m working at the museum now.”

“just like you’d always wanted,” you murmur, smiling. it doesn’t reach your eyes.

all i’ve ever wanted is you, kei wants to cry out. instead, like the coward he is, he manages a weak nod and watches you take another sip of your wine.

the silence stretches awkwardly and you make to get up, murmuring something about going to get another drink.

he can’t have that. he knows if you walk away now, he’ll never see you again, so he grabs your wrist desperately. “what about you?”

you stare at his hand, an indecipherable look in your eyes. “i graduated.”

“yamaguchi didn’t show me any pictures.”

“yeah. he and shoyo also made me block you from seeing them. they said i should let you die of curiosity while i moved on and that it was what you deserved for being a jerk.” your voice tapers off awkwardly and kei feels like he’s been dunked in an ice bath.

“you and hinata… are you…” he can’t bring himself to say it.

you raise an eyebrow. “this is none of your business, but no.”

“i know,” he says a little too quickly. “sorry.”

“i’m working at that firm, by the way,” you continue. “just like i-”

“-always wanted,” you both say in unison. you give him a faint smile and he tentatively loosens the grip on your wrist, moving to intertwine his fingers with yours. you don’t stop him.

he doesn’t make an effort to continue the conversation from there, terrified of ruining something and making you leave all over again. meanwhile, the party is slowly dying down- the speakers are blaring progressively less aggressive music, and most of the dance floor has split up from larger dance groups to couples swaying together in each other's' arms. he watches as your eyes follow tanaka and shimizu (except technically she’s a tanaka too now) smiling softly at each other in the middle of it all.

the last dance is announced, and kei clears his throat. “do you want to…?”

you turn back towards him, raising an eyebrow. “you don’t dance in public.”

“a lot changes in seven years.”

“fair enough.” you let kei lead you between the dancers, hand never leaving his, and curl your other one around his shoulder. his other hand finds itself gently on your waist, unsure of the exact amount of distance to be putting between the two of you. this brings another hint of a smile to your face, and you effectively close the gap. your head is almost leaned on his chest and he’s sure you can hear his heartbeat as you take a deep inhale.

“was there anyone else?” you ask suddenly, and he almost trips.

“just one,” he says carefully. “girl in anthropology named miyawaki all through junior year. and some one night stands. you?”

you hum. “engineering guy named nakamura for a year and a half. that was all.”

was he better than me? he wants to ask. handsomer? funnier? kinder? what was it that made you stay with him for almost two whole years? most of all, he wants to know why you broke up. apparently you’re thinking on similar lines, because you beat her to the question.

“so why did you end it with her?”

“why did you end it with him ?” he doesn’t mean to rebuff your question with another one- his defense mechanisms are kicking in.

you shoot him an unimpressed look. “why do you think?”

he nods, smiling slightly. “me too. i think.”

“crazy.” your smile reaches your eyes this time. “still in love with me after all this time.”

“how could i not be?” he shifts you closer to him, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his hand tighter around yours.

“why’d you do it, then?” you mumble into his jacket.

“do what?”

“tsukki.” you graze his knuckle with a sharp nail tip.

he sighs. “it would’ve been hard. i was just trying to stop it before it got too hard.”

“selfish,” you mutter. “considering how it was harder for me without you.”

“it was harder for me too.” he swallows, holding you even closer. “and i’m sorry.”

you don’t respond, but he feels the hand on his shoulder curl tighter into the fabric of his jacket, and allows himself to smile a little.

“you still know me better than anyone else,” you say. “and we’re both never getting over each other.”

“you’re saying you want to…” he can’t finish the sentence, terrified of having misread the room horribly.

“yeah.” for the first time, he hears some nervousness leak into your voice. “maybe we had to grow apart before we-”

“-came back together,” you say together, him finishing your sentence for the second time that afternoon.

you tilt your head upwards, brushing noses. “and i know you better than anyone else too, tsukishima kei”

“can i kiss you?” he murmurs, hand coming up from your waist to cup your face gently. you don’t even respond, simply going up on your tiptoes to meet his lips.

seven years and two broken hearts and oceans of what-ifs and broken promises later, he’s still a boy in love with the same girl. if he imagines it just right, it’s exactly like your first kiss on the steps of the volleyball team’s gym, the warm summer breeze and bright stars above the only witnesses. like then, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, the one thing he knows he’ll never get tired of.

neither of you notice your upperclassmen breaking out into frenzied whoops, money exchanging hands, pictures being taken. but none of that matters- because right here in your arms, he’s never felt more complete. when you pull away, he knows you, the only other person that knows kei more than anyone in the world, who knows exactly how he feels with a single look into his eyes, feels exactly the same way.

beaming like the sun itself, you kiss him again.

[will80sbyers]

Mileven is endgame, proof (let's see if you dare to respond):

1- Mike was scared of losing Eleven, that's why he made that face at the end of s3, he is so in love he cant even handle it!

2- Mike tried to help el when she got bullied and went looking for her, until you know who decided to make that moment about him. When El hit Angela, he was in shock, but the next day he tried to apologize empatizing with her and forgave he for lying inmediatly

I do think Mike likes Will, but he is in love with Eleven and that is a fact

Be honest are you a Byler pretending to be a mileven?

Because even for a mlvn there's no coherent train of thought here in any way so I hope it's someone saying random shit lol it's actually a trainwreck of "logic" from start to finish to the point that it's funny

Baby, if Mike "likes Will" then byler is endgame 100% because writers don't write bisexual characters or make a character like another if they don't intend to do anything with it, if you think in any capacity that Mike is bisexual then mileven is done lol

1) You're right, Mike is scared of losing El from his life, that's why he's still clinging to her even if the relationship is not good for them anymore... and I don't think he has realized his feelings for Will consciously yet, he's still trying to repress them, in the season 3 finale the reason he makes that face after the kiss is because he's shocked and they wanted to replicate the kiss in the IT saga between Bill and Beverly, note that they have also made a OBVIOUS parallel between byler and benverly...which will both be endgame 🌈❤️🤗

If you were talking about this shot right here

this is because he also has feelings for Will and it's directly connected to Will because that's his house and we had another shot before of Mike looking at the cars go away so they didn't need to repeat a shot of Mike like that, it wouldn't make sense if it was for Eleven, it's pretty obvious Byler is being constructed and mileven is being destroyed and it's been a few seasons of this...

They even made him find her choice of breakfast weird for literally no reason at all except focusing on how much they aren't really that much compatible as a couple

+ not liking her milkshake, not liking skating, not liking the pizza with pineapple, dressing up in a completely different style only because he feels so insecure with her that he feels like he needs to pretend to be cooler than who he really is and being with her makes him feel like he has to be in the "boyfriend role" instead of being just Mike... like El feels like she had to lie for months about her whole life just because she felt like Mike wouldn't love her if she wasn't normal enough... They don't understand each other fundamentally anymore and it's okay, you grow and you change and relationships stop working sometimes!

2) At rink o mania MIKE is the one that starts their argument taking away the focus from finding Eleven... just because he's pissed that Will wasn't acting happy that he was there being a 3rd wheel for their date... And Will clocked that and asked him to explain himself lmfao

Mike doesn't know what true love is yet... exactly like Laurie from Little Women didn't know shit about true love and was idealizing Jo

Mike is doing the same to El because he's a 14yo kid... He'll understand as he grows up 😚

[cl0ckworkpuppet]

hi enstarries! due to. R Recent events. i think it's important to mention that enstars has always had very shitty writing and treated its characters horribly, mischaracterized them for plot convenience and forced tension, and not listened to extreme waves of (even polite and civil) fan criticism.

HappyElements Is Not Your Friend.

They want Money more than anything else, and like 80-90% of their profit come from the top 1% of spenders. this is how gacha games function.

that being said, the choice is yours to decide whether or not you want to continue financially supporting happyele. if you're okay with your money going there, i can't stop you. I won't try to push you in either direction, but i will personally be stopping

instead, what I can do is provide some alternatives to pulling on the next banner if you still want to love the little freaks this company made:

SUPPORT FAN CREATORS!!!!!!

read that fanfiction! find a good story translation on Tumblr (maybe one from a unit you don't think about often)! look through someone's art! buy a fan zine! buy stuff from etsy!

make stuff yourself, too! it doesnt have to be big either: maybe just one paragraph ideas for stories you thought of! do some lazy card edits that you think look like shit! edit a mashup of two songs! make a cover! draw little sketches!

don't like canon enstars? hit da bricks!!! it won't solve the terrible problems with the game and its stories, but it might be a valuable use of your time, you never know!

[yupuffin]

I think the aspect of the 2.7 story that felt most impactful to me was something that was previously addressed in the Penacony main story, but was reemphasized and expanded upon with Sunday being the narrative focus of this update:

Sunday is scared.

His motivation to protect the people and things important to him -- Robin is an excellent example -- manifests as a desire for control, to eliminate potential dangers. This motivation is based in fear; he's afraid to lose what he has to factors beyond his control, like the bullet that nearly took his sister's life.

And part of the "true paradise" he longs for involves preventing the sense of powerlessness that accompanies that fear. He believes that humanity sleeps because "we are afraid to awaken from our dreams." Indeed, the appeal of the "sweet dream" of Penacony is freedom from the uncontrollable and inevitable tragedies of the waking world.

It's part of what made him such an effective villain in the Penacony arc; even though you may disagree vehemently with his actions, you can understand with and sympathize the rationale behind them. In his mind, absolute control over the Dreamscape -- the elimination of frightening unknowns -- is the most effective way to keep everyone safe and happy. However, this undermines the real freedom and autonomy of the affected populace, many of whom are unaware of the Dreamscape's true nature.

In the 2.7 update, Sunday is "nerfed after turning into a good guy," to use March's words. Previously, he enjoyed immense social status as the head of the Oak Family -- and as the imposing, invulnerable, "final boss"-style antagonist. Now, his role is effectively reversed; he's a fugitive who has to disguise himself to evade the potential consequences of simply being seen.

He's an incredibly vulnerable position.

Not just physically -- as the audience, we also get intimate insights into his feelings and thought processes. Now he recognizes the scope of the harm he was previously willing to cause in the name of absolute control, and shoulders the responsibility of dealing with the repercussions.

His newly evident guilt and shame is emotionally moving on its own...

...and becomes even more poignant when you realize that guilt and shame and vulnerability has been a crucial aspect of his character from the very beginning. After all, so much of his deep-seated fear of the unknown stemmed from him blaming himself -- his lack of control over the situation -- for Robin's unforeseen injury.

I found the scene at the Dream's Edge the most touching in this update. Sunday's conversation with Robin is a bit of a paradox: he is deeply sincere and vulnerable in speaking to his own sister, yet guarded because he must avoid revealing his true identity. And Robin, in turn, directly provides an alternate outlook on Sunday's character, describing him as though to someone who's never met him, as though he isn't there.

And Robin's perspective reaffirms that Sunday's apparent invulnerability was essentially a facade. He may have been the head of the Oak Family, and the imposing final boss, but at the same time, on the inside, he was continually paralyzed by fear.

Sunday has always been vulnerable. He has always been scared.

And I think what makes the conclusion to the 2.7 story so satisfying and triumphant is that Sunday begins to properly address his fear, his persistent guilt and shame. He moves beyond simply acknowledging it, and recognizes not just how indulging his fear can bring further harm, but also what good things (that otherwise wouldn't occur) can happen when he overcomes it -- as it were, when he doesn't let his fear control him.

I'm going to be real, I probably had an intelligent-sounding conclusion for this, but... it took me several weeks to write this and I've forgotten any idea i might have had previously, so let's just say he definitely hit me right in the feels. 🤣

[higuchisora]

Honestly, I was always under the impression that Vander parented them "indirectly", if that makes sense. Like, Vander parented Vi, and Vi took those lessons and parented the others with them, because Vander simply didn't have the time to do so himself, and Vi was basically his mini-me.

Even prior to season 2, when I saw how the previous League bio for Warwick, implied his only memory of his past life was Powder (it says all he remembers is a little girl screaming a name- aka Powder screaming for Vi), that kind of confused me. Because on one hand, yes they're both his daughters and it's his final on-screen moment in season 1, but on the other, it felt thematically odd.

Like, he's supposed to be "dead"/unconscious by then. So wouldn't it make more sense if his final memory is of Vi screaming and crying over him? Also, considering Powder wasn't even crying over Vander- it's weird to me that his final memory is about an experience he isn't really a part of. It's Vi and Powder's scene, not Vander's and Powder's or Vander's and Vi's, so why would we want that to be his only memory?

Safe to say, as much as I thought it was sweet that they had a moment of recognition in season 2 (though I do have to wonder why seeing him like that didn't trigger Jinx at all), it definitely felt off to me. Especially since we never got to see Powder/Jinx have any real positive relationships with anyone other than Vi (before Silco), seeing her and Vander being so connected after his transformation didn't feel earned. Any affection she might've had for her previous family (and them for her) prior to Warwick nearly killing her is left entirely up to the audience to infer, which isn't really a good choice for a scene that you want to be emotional for EVERYONE. If his return is supposed to be inarguably a good thing, why leave the context behind it entirely ambiguous?

Especially when they already have a character set up for this exact kind of bittersweet moment: Vi. The focus on Jinx in the Dad Rescue Arc would make way more sense to me if Silco was the one being brought back. It really should've been Vi taking the lead on this one, which would've perfectly handled the "we don't know what to do with her anymore LMAO" thing Linke was talking about. (Honestly, I'm personally of the opinion that we shouldn't have had a Vander-Returns-Arc at all, considering the lack of time and simultaneous lack of substance both this arc and this entire season had, but I'd do anything to give Vi something to fucking do). OP is 100% correct, Vi should've been the one to grab Jinx and hit her with the "he was your dad too" line. Could've especially been potent if Jinx was all, "why couldn't it have been Silco?" about the whole thing, maybe even making digs at Vi at first when she tells her Vander's back (doing a "looks like crazy runs in the family" line or something), leading to some conflict between them at first, before Vi dishes out that line and perhaps a heartfelt "trust me just this once, just one last time" (or something to that affect). Which would work on Jinx IMO, because as we've established, as angry as she is with Vi, her willpower might as well be wet paper when it comes to trying to "hate" her sister.

If anything, this arc probably should've centered more around how the sisters still love each other, rather than their dads tbh. Vi obviously loves Vander, just as Jinx loves Silco, but I feel it's pretty clear they BOTH prioritize each other over everyone else, even still. Yeah yeah, Vi hit Powder, Yada yada- but think about it for a second. If all of this still happened, but this time it was, say, Mylo that did all this, blowing up their family etc. Etc.- do you seriously think Vi would have forgiven him for it? Do you think she'd desperately chase after him the way she chases Jinx, if Mylo ignored her orders and gotten Powder killed? This would be entirely different story, because Vi would've probably beaten Mylo to death, actually. She wouldn't have held back and walked away the way she did for Jinx in act 1 of season 2. She wouldn't be crying and bargaining with Mylo at that dinner party- she'd be straining against the ropes so she could strangle him with them. I'd say the same goes for anyone that isn't Jinx. Even Vander- even if she couldn't kill him, she'd never forgive him. He'd be dead to her in all the ways that matter.

Hence, this arc (imo) should've looked more like the sisters lowkey using Vander as a vehicle/excuse for their reunion. Like, Vi being so eager and happy to have Vander back because yes, she loves him and missed him, but also, it's one less reason for her to be mad at Jinx. One less reason her sense of duty would have to pit them against each other. If Vi could wave her hand and bring them all back, I'm convinced her first thought would be, "now we can move on, now I'm not obligated to oppose her." Because I genuinely believe the only thing really holding her back at this point is this idea of "I have to do what's 'right'." She was ready to move past this even before Vander came back as a furry, now she just has an excuse to show up unannounced at Jinx's door. And Jinx, too, being as obsessed with Vi's affection as she still is, would probably make some jabs and generally be distrustful, but the entire time she's still going along. The opportunity is too good to pass up. The chance to have Vi back is too tantalizing, is quite literally exactly what she's always wanted, even now, even after all this time. She'd take it, and as soon as she got a taste of that affection again, the soft smiles and the fond gazes, maybe even an instinctual pat on the shoulder, done before Vi even has time to consider if she should do that or not- it's a done deal. She'll still be insecure, in need of constant reassurance- but she'd be too eager to really be cautious, desperately seeking more and more of it.

As would Vi, who'd be over the moon to be able to hold a conversation with her sister again that wasn't laced with constant insults and hostility. It'd be almost like they're kids again, before everything went to hell in a handbasket, just them (and their dad) in a dingy old bar. As long as they ignored all the fur, of course.

TLDR basically I hijacked this to say I agree 100% with OP and think this arc was emotionally/thematically dodgy in several ways, which I explore a little in this reblog.

Jinx just never really liked Vander that much.

One of the things that, to me, seemed like a main theme in Jinx's arc in season 1 was the contrast between her two families, and how her switch from Vander's daughter to Silco's drastically changes the way her personality takes shape.

And I hate that the fandom, and now the show, too, has reduced Silco to an unhealthy influence in Jinx's life, pushing her towards her "bad" side (being Jinx) when, for all his flaws... he gives her a better childhood than she ever had with Vander. The first three episodes of the first season, to me, when I watched them, illustrate quite clearly that Powder feels unhappy in her family life. She is the most mal-adjusted of Vander's kids. Her older brother constantly berates her, and it's quite clearly having a big effect on her self-image. She later takes up the Jinx name and persona once she feels like she has become irredeemable as a person. Her other brother never defends her. Vi is the only one who is there for her, and they care for each other, but at the same time you can see there's still a little insecurity in their relationship. Vi is worried that maybe Powder is indeed too weak, and Powder worries that maybe Vi does indeed see her as a Jinx like her brother does.

And when it comes to Vander... he's just not really all that present in her life. And I don't blame him, the man has four kids to take care of, on top of keeping things running in the Undercity. It's clearly not his intention. But it doesn't change the fact that he's not there for Powder, not as much as she needs. To me, when I watched the first season, it seemed like Vander was a figure that felt far away to Powder, someone that she admired but also feared being completely herself around, and someone that she ultimately wished to be closer to than she actually was. It's worth mentioning that Jinx never says his name post time skip, and he is not a hallucination for her, not until Vi brings him up in the finale. Hell, Claggor is somehow a hallucination for her and he never even speaks. Vander was just not an influential figure in Jinx's life.

I always found the scene at the end of ep3 of s1 fascinating, because Powder never once mourns Vander. She never once cries for him and never once says his name. When she sees his dead body, she becomes shocked and starts crying, but it's not actually what breaks her. What breaks her is Vi's rejection. Had it just been that she accidentally caused the deaths of her brothers and adoptive father, she would not have crumbled mentally. It's Vi's rejection that destroys her. Now, of course, a little girl that cares more about her sister's affection towards her than the lives of her family members is kinda messed up, but that's what makes her character interesting. And we can see that that little girl doesn't go anywhere, as Jinx displays the exact same one-mindness about her sister. Because Jinx and Powder were never really that different, after all.

She is quite clearly placed with her back to Vander's body, that she never turns to, barely looks at, only enough to recognize him and see he's dead, and never says the name of. She's turned towards Vi, calling for Vi, crying because of Vi, and no one else. Heck, Vi had just been crying over his body a few moment ago. Vi is clearly distraught over his death. Vi is devastated, she literally punches her sister and curses her in the exact worst possible way she can, in the way she know it will hurt her sister the most. But Powder... she just honestly dgaf.

So to then hear Jinx say this line in season 2...

...is just straight up jarring. I was pulled out of the story when I heard this. This is Jinx saying this to Vi. This kinda makes it seem like it was Jinx who was most attached to Vander, or at least that she was just as attached to him as Vi was. Which is just not how things seemed in the story at literally any point until this one. And then season 2 continues this way, and somehow makes Jinx seem like the closest daughter to Vander. Flipping Warwick literally acts more attached to Jinx than Vander ever did to Powder. Like literally. Season 1 clearly sets up that Vi is the favorite daughter, and then they just... flip it?? Warwick cares more for Jinx and responds better to her than to Vi. It's actually insane. It's true they sanitized Jinx's character to hell and back this season, but this is a straight-up rewrite. I can't wrap my mind around why they did this. Plus, the entirety of act 2 they set up this weird and pointless arc of Jinx rekindling her relationship with Vander or something... and like literally her story was genuinely never about that.

(This COULD have been Vi's story. And that might have actually been cool, and made sense. Maybe Vi is the one who finds him, and she is the one who helps him calm down. And then she brings Jinx, and maybe Jinx is terrified because she was never that close to Vander, and then she literally killed him, so seeing him again is the last thing she wants. Maybe VI is the one who tells Jinx that "he was your dad, too", which would make A LOT more sense, and maybe that's the first time that Jinx thinks that oh, yeah, he was... And then maybe they have a cute moment where Vander forgives her. Or maybe she sees the state he's in right now and loses it completely. Or maybe they look at each other and they both see the monster each of them has become. And then maybe Vi looks down at the enforcer uniform she's wearing, and, privately, sees it too. Idk. The things we could have had.)

Silco was actually a good dad to Jinx, in all the ways that Vander wasn't. He gives her all the attention that she never had before. He not only listens to her, but actively asks for her side of the story. He never insults her, and he defends her against Sevika. He trusts her and gives her opportunities to prove she's capable. She goes from being one of four siblings, and getting lost in the shuffle and often ending up feeling forgotten and alone, to being the most important child, always taken into consideration and almost put on a pedestal by her dad (this, like, has to have cured some inner wounds, i think).

Silco understands Jinx better than any other character in the show, and I'm genuinely sad that we didn't get to see any flashback of Jinx growing up with him. Because their relationship was so unique, and so integral to Jinx's character and to the rest of the story, that the fact that we never get to see any other glimpse into their bond is just...

As a final note, I'd also like to add that I dislike when people say that Silco "groomed" Jinx. I think a much more realistic analysis is that he enabled her. And as for all the times he tells Jinx that Vi "betrayed her", that's just a reflection of his own trauma, and also because he fears that if Jinx knew Vi was alive, she would go back to her and leave him (which, considering what goes down in the s1 finale, not an unfounded fear). It's wrong that he does that, but it's not out of malicious intent (also tbh Jinx never really seems to believe him anyway).

And for all the people who say that Silco "turned Jinx into a terrorist" (dumbest people in this fandom fr, im sorry), that's just straight up not true. Powder was already like that. That is quite literally why Silco adopts her. Because he sees that she's like him. Silco would not have taken Powder in if he thought she was just a cute, innocent kid who was orphaned (to, what, raise her for years so that, MAYBE when she's older, she MIGHT be useful to him? when they meet he doesn't know she's the one that caused the explosion, he just knows that she's been abandoned by Vi). This is the kid who thought playing around with explosives was a fun hobby. This is the kid who giggled at the thought of hurting others. This is the kid who already suffered from explosive emotions. This is the kid who saw her father and her brothers dead, because of her, and all she cared about was whether her sister was mad at her because of it. This is the kid who throws herself at the first person she sees, someone who her sister hates, who is the cause of all this destruction, and with an anger that shocks most viewers, declares that Vi is not her sister anymore. She is livid in that one moment.

Powder already had it in her from the beginning. And it's also ok to like a character (and to write one) even if they are not 100% morally pure in every single way under the sun, cause that is quite literally what stories are for.

[lexiecon-mp4]

Jayvik and Butterflies || Arcane Meta

The butterfly motif has put everyone into a chokehold (myself included) and has had me brainrotting so hard for the last few days that I felt compelled to make my first Arcane post.

With how repetitive the butterfly motif is within Viktor and Jayce's lives throughout Arcane, I thought it would be fitting to do a meta looking into what that symbol might mean.

So first things first; where do we see this symbol pop up? In presumed chronological order of in-universe events, here are some of the following;

1. Viktor when following his toy boat (S1E6)

2. Jayce after being saved by the mage (S1E2)

3. Mechanical butterflies shown during Progress Day (S1E4)

4. Butterfly at the Fissures when Jayce and Viktor talk about failing to "do good" (S1E9)

5. A flash frame of a butterfly appears when Jayce hits the Arcane with his hammer (S2E3)

6. The hammer itself is shaped like a butterfly after Jayce emerges from the Arcane (S2E5)

7. Viktor and Jayce vaguely form a butterfly-type shape when they sacrifice themselves (S2E9)

(If I'm missing any I apologize, but these are the memorable examples that I think embody the themes I'm going to discuss. Feel free to comment more!)

I'm not including Jinx's mechanical butterflies here since they are more reminiscent of Firelights, but it is fitting that she has taken a symbol associated with progress from Progress Day and retrofitted it to her own design, just like she does with Hextech itself. That already serves as a manifestation of how Jayce and Viktor's shared creation can lead toward a dangerous path.

Ultimately, I think there are three main themes that I believe fit both characters respectively along with their arcs.

1. METAMORPHOSIS

Viktor goes through a literal metamorphosis of his own as a result of the glorious evolution, both physically and emotionally. Like the change of a caterpillar to a butterfly, his evolution is one that he perceives to be an "improvement" on his prior form. Simultaneously, his obsession with perfection (due to his own insecurities, struggles and oppression) shifts his focus. His original ambitions to help the people of Zaun and beyond are lost as he prioritizes using the Arcane to "improve lives", even against their own will. For the final step of his evolution, he sacrifices his humanity and breaks out of his "chrysalis" as a changed man. Viktor become utterly unrecognizable to everyone, even to his own partner; until the last scene between the two.

Jayce has seen that he has become something completely different than the Viktor he knew before. But regardless, he sees him as beautiful in the context of his current "perfect" AND prior "imperfect" state. The caterpillar and butterfly are one and the same, just like the man he knew and the "Machine Herald" that stands before him. He sees under the facade (a literal mask) that Viktor wears, knowing that his partner is still there.

What distinguishes Viktor from the butterfly is that his metamorphosis doesn't end with the "glorious evolution." While the evolution was intended to be a point of no return, it was eventually shown to be another step in his ever-changing arc. Viktor doesn't revert back to his original state, but makes his sacrifice alongside Jayce because of the growth of his character. The final, glorious evolution he always wanted was in liberating everyone from the Arcane, not enslaving them.

The metamorphosis theme also applies to Jayce, as he has obviously "evolved" after touching the Arcane. Yet despite his own evolution, he never loses that humanity that allows him to keep hope for Viktor still being in there. Both of them become something more in the end. I especially love that this happens by each accepting their flaws and acknowledging one another as beautiful. Jayce would still love Vik if he was a worm the caterpillar, since that was the first and original iteration of the man he admires.

2. THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

The butterfly effect is one of my favorite thought experiments related to chaos theory; the underlying patterns/laws of the universe's systems that seem random but are actually dependent on initial conditions. The effect argues that a simple flutter of a butterflies wings could lead to a chain of events that cause something completely different and significant. Arcane has several of these "butterflies" (e.g. the note Vander wrote for Silco) but the most prominent one yet again connects Viktor and Jayce.

Old Viktor explains that in every universe, he gave young Jayce a different rune in order to invent Hextech, presumably with the hopes of preventing the apocalypse as well. He knew that Jayce was the only one who could show him the truth about perfection, but without the right rune, he couldn't get there. It was the specific choice of an acceleration rune that allowed for the events of season two to occur. This small change gives Ekko a chance to fight back and Jayce the chance to talk it out with his partner.

(My personal theory is that the acceleration rune allowed for Ekko and Jayce to travel to a different dimension through the Arcane. This led Ekko to create the Z-Drive and gave Jayce the knowledge of his and Viktor's fates. The rune in his wrist was likely what brought him to Old Viktor in the first place. Otherwise, it's likely that Ekko, Heimer and Jayce would have been absorbed/disintegrated in the process.)

At the beginning of S2E6 Viktor describes Jayce as having "a singularity simultaneously self-replicating and self-annihilating." While the singularity seems to be driving Jayce insane and irate, it contains the chaos needed to stop the influence of the Hexcore over Viktor, Piltover, and Zaun.

In the end, both are able to intersect the "chaos and order" of the Arcane, connecting the rune embedded in Jayce's wrist with Viktor's Hexcore-ified body. The disorder of the Arcane in Jayce seemed random at first, just as the rune given to him did. Yet it was these initial conditions that determined the fates of everyone involved, including the closure that he and Viktor were able to have in the end.

The way that these two are able to break the terrible fate determined for them if they ever met, while still being able to resolve their conflicts at the end, is some extremely beautiful storytelling.

3. MIGRATION/THE JOURNEY

Finally, the act of migrating is one that I feel applies most to Jayce in season two, but also is present in Viktor's backstory and struggle against his disabilities.

There's a specific species of butterfly that migrates every fall, which are the Monarch butterflies that are native to North America. These creatures must brave difficult conditions as they travel down south to more temperate climates. It is a physically demanding trip that tests the resolve of the butterflies, which in Jayce's case, also shakes him to his core.

He has to endure many perils and pains when the Arcane transports him to the "bad ending" universe. He travels through Zaun, gets stuck in the Fissures for a while, then finally climbs the Hexgates to learn the truth about his dream. While the sufferings of the journey itself feel unnecessary, it's a path Jayce must take in the end no matter how painful. Like the monarchs, he perseveres and makes it out of there alive.

But unlike them, this difficult pilgrimage is necessary to shape Jayce's character. He essentially speed-runs Viktor's personal journey as a Zaunite; born in Zaun, being poisoned by the Fissures, and "pulling himself up by his bootstraps" all the way up to the gilded heights of Piltover. It's a perilous and painful trip, made more difficult by his injured leg. Yet when Jayce reaches the top, none of the achievements matter to Viktor in this universe. After everything he had done, there was only the empty husk of his loved one and the truth it carried that remained. His illness and "imperfections" were cured, but at what cost?

This puts everything into perspective for Jayce. At the end of his travels, he realizes what he really wants to save isn't Hextech, or his dream, but his partner. In turn, it saves the lives of everyone including that of Viktor's, who comes out of the other side of this journey loved rather than alone. Perhaps their presumed deaths aren't the most happy ending for both of them, but they certainly made it to clearer skies together.

(One last additional note: I love that the alternate universe only has dragonflies instead of butterflies; the connecting symbol between the two is missing in this universe because they couldn't save it in the end.)

So ultimately, the motif of butterflies for Jayce and Viktor represent the change, resilience and interconnectedness of the pair. Throughout the entire two seasons, this symbol follows them on their respective arcs like a red string of fate. As Viktor calls it, they are "two sides of the same coin, inextricably bound." The final two variables needed to solve the Arcane, and they could only do so together.

(i hate these guys they have irrevocably rewritten my brain chem)

Thank you for reading if you made it this far!

[x-reader-things]

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Ekko x gn!reader [could be read as either romantic or platonic]

Summary ; In which you and Ekko help each other find your spark of creating again.

Requested? ; No. Self indulgent.

Warnings ; hurt / comfort, grief, a hint of survivors guilt but mostly just guilt in general, loss of a friend [unnamed uncanon character], not exactly a warning but hair is mentioned w / no specific hair type described.

Word count ; 2.3 k words

——————————————————————

You stare at the mural in front of you.

Tall and daunting. The tree grew around it like a shield, and the portraits were protected by the home built above in the branches.

Rain pattered on the ground. It had begun to soak through your clothes, dotted cold and unwelcoming on your cheeks. Slid off your head and yet caught into your hair at the same time. You were lucky it wasn’t pouring.

It smelled. A mix of petrichor and something putrid. No doubt from the smog that always left the sky over Zaun grey, and never clear enough for the sun to fully peak through. Such is the usual, for the undercity.

None of that mattered, though.

You were tasked - well, you took it upon yourself - to paint a portrait of another fallen Firelight. You were an artist like most of them were. You painted in your downtime for a while, up until recently.

The past year hadn’t been kind to you. Even with the Firelights being there, existing as a home. As a beacon of hope. For change. It wasn’t enough to fan the flames of the dimmed spark of creativity, that you longed to feel once again.

One failed mission after the next. An injury in your leg that had you benched for weeks. Chembarons were getting reckless, and enforcers were relentless - you feared when the other shoe would drop, when shit would hit the fan.

And then, the recent loss.

A close friend of yours.

The guilt was impudent. Almost impertinent. It seared into your bones like an angry flame that simmered and waited. Stars, you hated it so much. It never went away, no matter how much you tried to distract yourself by throwing yourself headfirst into work.

You took up more tasks despite the stinging twinge in your leg. You did more chores under the guise of letting fellow firelights take a break. Some meaningless and small, others bigger and more meaningful. Busying your mind so you didn’t have time to think too much.

And you took this task, especially, because you thought you could handle it.

You thought this would knock you out of your stupor, let you create again, out of respect for your fallen friend. Give yourself an outlet to let things be, let your mind be content, albeit in a melancholy way.

But the moment you stared into the blank space you were given to work with, all you could do was freeze.

One wrong move, and you’d fuck it up for good. One wrong stroke of a brush and a spray can would mess up the image of that friend.

And starting would ruin the blank space even more. It’d have marred the image you had in your mind, the one you needed to begin soon, lest you get sick from the rain. You didn’t want to mess it up.

You didn’t want to fuck it up.

You didn’t want to ruin the image of your friend.

The friend who you lost because the phantom pain in your leg grew too much to the point where it screwed up your footing on your hoverboard, made you swerve around an incoming bomb being thrown by a blue haired woman working for Silco, made you knock into your friend who lost their own balance and fell with a mind shattering scream, and then—

“Still haven’t started yet?”

Light thunder crackled in the distance, the rumbling amplified by your hyper vigilance.

Startled, you took in a sharp breath, and instantly turned to where you heard the voice from. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath in. Your lungs were grateful for the intake of air.

On the wooden balcony below you, you caught sight of the main firelight leader. Ekko.

Arms crossed, eyes tired, head tilted in the usual way he did while regarding something he needed to comprehend. The twisted locks of his hair moved with his head, vibrant against the greyed out colors surrounding you both. Usually, the grounds and the walls surrounding the firelight hideout were more colorful. Today, the rain made it more somber.

“I…”, you tried to form a viable excuse. Whatever your words were caught on the tip of your tongue, and refused to make themselves known. Your eyes flitted back to the blank part of the mural, and back to Ekko.

You wondered if he’d understand.

“I. Can’t.”

Your words were stilted. Hesitant. They cut through the rain like a knife. Unsettled in the air.

Ekko straightened up ever so slightly. He dipped his head the slightest bit lower, with a blink and a raise of his brows. His dark brown eyes urged you to continue.

“I-I can’t—“, you repeated, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Your thoughts were buzzing in your mind and you couldn’t stop the words from flowing in time. They tumbled out in a jumble you swore on you could comprehend, and your arms gesticulated as you paced on the creaking wood below your feet.

“—every time I try, I just. Can’t. And I need to do this, I have to. I promised I would. And I can’t stop thinking about what happened but I need that to stop, I have to do this because they’re my friend and I can’t fuck this up, I can’t ruin the image of them. And I can’t fucking—“

You kicked a paint can at your feet. It soured over the ground below you, and felt to the grass well below the balconies.

“—bring myself to pick up a single one of these paint cans.”

Ekko’s eyes followed the paint can while it fell. It hit the dirt below, and the distant thump was drowned out by the rain. He clicked his tongue, and sighed with a shake of his head.

You were angry. You were grieving. It’s not like he could tell you to stop, nor would he ever. Any and every Firelight knew what it was like. Seeing you like this, though - abound with ideas, but with no spark, no drive anymore…

It reminded him too much of himself.

He was a leader. The leader of the Firelights. He focused his time on making their hideout a home. Bit by bit, he picked up the broken pieces of Zaun. Did his best to, at the very least. The chembarons, Silco and Shimmer proved difficult, along with Piltover.

With all that work, and all that responsibility, it left him restless. Left him exhausted. Even with the help of Scar, his second hand man, and many others within the community he created, it still weighed him down. Every time he opened that journal of his, without the need of making a blueprint for a new gadget to create, without the need for a map for a plan, the pages were blank.

When he tried, those pages were ripped. Those pages were full of jagged lines, or crinkled up and tossed to some corner of his messy room. He’d stare at those pages for hours, head in his hands, and wonder where the hell his spark went.

When did he lose it?

How?

Ekko took a few steps forward, and pulled himself up to the platform above. With a grunt, he heaved over the wooden railing as carefully as he could. The rain made everything they stood on wet, and prone to slip on. When he stood up, and dusted his hands off, he got a clear look at you.

You forced out a sound, a mix between a scoff and a wry laugh. Ran a hand over your head, and pushed water droplets flat onto your hair. Tore your eyes away from where the paint can used to be, and back to the mural. “Been stuck for months. And the one damn time I need to create, for them—“

You sharply gestured your arm out to the blank spot - an eerie crème colored sight compared to the rest of the wall, save for a few cracks - and your voice trembled. Water droplets fell from your hand as it flicked away from the top of your head.

“Hey—”, Ekko reached a hand out, and rested it against the opposite arm that stayed at your side. He grasped your elbow, and gave it a gentle tug. It tore your attention away from the wall, and back onto him. His voice was calm, almost somber. “— C’mon.”

He took in a breath, and his other hand made a breathe-in motion. You followed in suit, the smell of petrichor invading your nose, air filling your lungs. The tension in your shoulders went tighter.

After a few seconds, Ekko slowly breathed out. You followed him, and the tightness in your muscles faded ever so slightly.

Once Ekko was sure you were calm enough, he scoffed out a small breath, and the corners of his mouth twitched up in a wry sort of smile. It was small, but it was there.

“I… get what you mean”, he started. His voice was in a softer tone. One you didn’t hear as often, compared to his ‘Leader Voice’. It blended into the ambient noise of the rain, yet it was perfectly clear for you. Never broke the calm like the thunder did.

“When I got good enough, I started this—” Ekko looked at the wall behind you, an old ache settling into the small pinch between his brows. “—the mural. Thought that since i the skills, I could put this up. Thought that I could make something good, make something to remember them by, for...”

He sighed through his nose. You followed his gaze, and landed on the portraits you’ve known for years. Six portraits. The oldest ones. The same style, the same paint, the same process.

All were Ekko’s. The people he knew, before the Firelights had become The Firelights. Before he had to grow up as quick as he did.

“… your family?”, you asked tentatively, to complete the sentence for him. Ekko hummed in acknowledgment, and the smallest hint of a smile grew on his face.

“Yeah. My family.”, another sigh, and his shoulders dropped when he looked up at the rest of the mural. “Back then I created so much. Started this tradition, whenever we lost someone. Helped to create so many things for us. For the Firelights. A lot like you did, when you first started here, y’know? But now—”

Your eyes met again.

“—you can’t even look at a blank page anymore.”, you finished. He gently squeezed your elbow, and your hand had instinctively found its way to rest against his forearm.

“You get it”, he nods. “So…”

He let go of your arm to lean down and grab a paint can. Your hand lingered against the arm of his jacket, the outside of it already littered with dark spots from the rain. When Ekko stood up, he shook the spray can at his side. The mix bearing hit against tin of the can, and mixed the paint up enough to be properly used. After that, he took your hand off of his arm, and turned it so that your palm was facing up. He placed the paint can into your hand.

“—Let’s just… Take things slow. See how things go from there, alright?”

The cool metal of the can soaked into the skin of your hand. Your fingers curled over it, and tightened their grip.

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”, you whispered.

The very thought of starting the portrait you dreaded to creeped up from the back of your mind. The cold seeped back into your spine. You wouldn’t say it out loud but it terrified you to the very depths of your being.

“You won’t.” Ekko’s voice broke through the anxious haze that began to cloud your head again. His hand remained on the other side of the paint can in your hand. A promise that he wouldn’t leave you alone. “I got you. Besides—“

He gestured to your leg. A reference to the injury. “—standing up here alone for hours at a time won’t be good for that leg of yours. Figured you need someone to help when you need to rest it.”

You gave him a weak smile. A small thank you for the thought. He wasn’t wrong. Standing for that long would hurt. However…

“It’s gonna make it real, Ekko.”, the tremor in your voice returned. Warmth stung behind your eyes. Warm tears, against the cold air. “Losing them.”

The tremor in your voice this time had finally broken it into pieces.

“I know.”, Ekko murmured. He definitely knew. “It’s gonna hurt for a long time. But this—“

He waved his hand towards the mural. “—is the first step to healing. I’m gonna be right there with you.”

You nodded, and wiped a stray tear that fell from the corner of your eye.

“Alright.”

Ekko moved his hand away from the can, and you walked forward. You stepped on the creaking wood of the step stool in front of the mural. The intimidating blank stretch of the concrete felt way larger than it appeared. But when you took a deep breath, and caught the encouraging nod of Ekko when he went to your side a little ways away, the tension fell away.

The rain pattered calmly behind you.

The cold didn’t sting as deep. Neither did the guilt.

You shook the can at your side again, and raised it up to the wall. You sniffed once, and exhaled a shaky breath.

One spray after another.

One shape formed into an ear. Another, a nose. Soon the eyes.

And soon, a face. A little extra help from Ekko turned that face into a person. Your friend.

Nothing was marred, nothing was ruined.

And for once, the world seemed a little less cruel.

[missypanther]

Hase as new principal character??

I've been thinking about the Dandadan duos for a while and how all the new characters that are introduced seem to have been selected so that they have good chemistry or have elements that make them complementary (Aira & Jiji, Kinta & Vamola, Unji & Rin). I won't talk about it here and now, but after Kouki's introduction I thought that his perfect pair would be Hase.

Chapter 175.

A girl whose main characteristic is that she receives bullying at home and at school and who is ignored by everyone and Hase who is Okarun's main bully and who seems to be on very similar terms to Kouki.

Episode 1.

I had some hope when he returned for the physical tests chapter (chapter 167), but since he was always a character who was there from the beginning and who has not appeared again too much. I just thought it would be a good idea, but it wouldn't be developed. Now, after chapter 180…

I know many will hate Hase for good reasons. But the simple fact that they reintroduce him into the story opens up a field of possibilities that is very interesting.

Okarun's Backstory: It is possible that they use Kouki and Hase to delve into part of Okarun's story and the bullying he receives at school.

A possible redemption: I want to leave the door open to think that Hase can also have a story and not just that he is bad and that's it. This redemption interests me not so much for him, but for Okarun himself. Being able to feel safer at school and gain much more confidence.

Confrontation between Hase and Okarun: We have almost been promised in this chapter that both are going to hit each other. Okarun without powers and Hase with powers but very new ones… This can be a cure of humility for Hase and a ball of oxygen for Okarun's self-esteem and confidence.

[maxdibert]

In my opinion, Albus Dumbledore is one of the most hypocritical and despicable characters in Harry Potter—if not the most. I find it outrageous that this old man dares to say he’s disgusted by Severus when he’s not all that different. My soul cringes at all the "greatness" surrounding him, and his whole "for the greater good" rhetoric feels like a cold shower, as if people have a moral obligation to die to save the world.

Severus, a mere pawn in the grand scheme of things, is disgusting because he joined the wrong side, but the great and kind Albus is a symbol of the resistance against evil—even though he was practically Grindelwald's right-hand man. This attitude of placing himself above someone like Severus is so infuriating.

Not to mention all the mental gymnastics he does, belittling and minimizing Severus’s trauma, making him seem crazy when he snapped in POA. Apparently, the past is only condemnable when it’s convenient.

My problem with Dumbledore goes way back, long before the whole thing with Severus even came into play. I already thought he was quite a self-righteous prick for claiming to care so much about people and then leaving Sirius Black to fend for himself. I mean, the whole situation with Sirius, Peter, and the Potters never sat right with me. Seriously, with all of them supposedly under his command—because he was the ultimate leader of the four—when Sirius is allegedly the culprit, Dumbledore just lets him go to Azkaban without even probing his mind to see what happened?

Having a supposed Voldemort ally, a double-agent serial killer, and you seriously don’t want to extract every piece of information from him? You’re not interested in investigating what really went down there? Or maybe he probably knew Sirius wasn’t a threat but didn’t care because he’d already achieved what he wanted: Voldemort out of the picture for a while and the kid being watched over at his aunt and uncle’s house. That initial question then evolved into: The kid at his aunt’s house protected by his dead mother’s spell while a double agent infiltrates the enemy ranks, willing to do anything for Dumbledore’s validation? (Once it became known about Lily’s spell and that Severus had been working for Dumbledore).

Even before I had the full picture, Dumbledore’s attitude toward Sirius smelled fishy. It seemed really off and totally incoherent for someone who supposedly cared about the people under his command. This feeling intensified for me in the fourth book and then really hit home in the fifth. Sirius is essentially the only emotional support Harry truly finds in an adult. Sure, Sirius is dysfunctional in himself, but Harry sees him as the father figure he never had, or at least that connection to his parents he so desperately needs. It’s canon that he needs to talk to him, even if it’s just to vent.

Doesn’t the kid matter to you enough to use your super-powerful, highly respected wizard influence to clear Sirius’s name so the kid can at least spend weekends with him in Hogsmeade? I mean, come on. I’ve seen many people try to justify this by saying, “If Sirius were available, Harry would have wanted to go live with him and leave the Dursleys, and Lily’s spell wouldn’t work,” but that’s pure bullshit. Just tell Sirius that what keeps Harry alive is being at his aunt’s house. Sirius is rich enough to buy a house in Privet Drive and be close to the kid so he wouldn’t have to leave. It’s not that complicated.

But this is something I thought of later with the last book. What really bothered me in the fourth was: why wasn’t Dumbledore doing anything? Why, in the fifth book, does he have a guy who’s clearly a walking time bomb locked up in his childhood home? Just waiting for him to finally explode? Honestly, when I read the fifth book, I thought maybe Dumbledore put Sirius there and set all those restrictions because he knew him well enough to know he’d eventually snap and do something reckless, and Dumbledore could just wash his hands of it. Even before all the truth came out, before the seventh book, Dumbledore already disgusted me. With everything in hindsight, not only does my nearly two-decade-old theory still make sense, but I firmly believe it’s true. I think Sirius Black annoyed Dumbledore, not only because of how he could influence Harry but because he was a disruptive element. He was a soldier who didn’t blindly follow orders, someone explosive, with an uncontrollable temperament, whose leitmotif had always been opposing authority. I think Dumbledore knew that Sirius probably only stayed somewhat stable in the Order because of James, and once James was out of the picture, there was no one to handle him. So, indeed, he became a nuisance. He could do without him. Sirius wasn’t useful because he was too temperamental and impulsive for espionage or information gathering. He wasn’t helpful offensively because he systematically questioned authority and wouldn’t follow Dumbledore’s orders unless he had a good reason. So, Dumbledore let him remain a fugitive and then locked him up in his childhood home, which was essentially his greatest trauma, and left him there to drink himself into misery until he couldn’t take it anymore, snapped, did something stupid, and ended up dead.

But not only that, Dumbledore’s attitude toward his students always annoyed me. I’ve always hated favoritism because I was raised that way. My mother was a teacher at the school I attended until I was about 12, and I never got any special treatment. She was literally tougher on me than on anyone else. As a kid, I could never understand why Dumbledore showed so much favoritism toward Gryffindors. I could kind of get that Slytherins were the “bad guys” and blah blah blah, but there were two other houses he completely ignored. Over time, and with maturity, this feeling only grew stronger.

When I read the sixth book, I was genuinely outraged because the guy condemned Tom Riddle when he was just a kid. Like, ??? How is it possible to make those judgments when they’re just children? I also thought it was absurd that he told Draco not to do it. I mean, after six years of totally ignoring him because to you, he’s just a Slytherin son of purists doomed to darkness, you tell him not to follow the orders of the maniac threatening his family?? Don’t you think if you’d done your job as a teacher and stepped in earlier to make the kid question what his parents were telling him, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in this situation? Don’t you realize you abandoned and ostracized an ENTIRE HOUSE FULL OF KIDS highly susceptible to supremacist ideas, didn’t give a damn, and now you’re surprised when decades of negligence result in those kids choosing the wrong path? Don’t you understand that the alternative to following Voldemort is following you, and the only thing they know about you is that you either ignore them or constantly favor their rivals? Like, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU EXPECT?

And then there’s the Severus issue. Some people say Dumbledore was the only one who understood Severus. Yeah, sure, he understood him all right. He understood him well enough to use all his traumas against him, manipulate him, and turn him into a weapon. Some people also say Dumbledore was like a father figure to him. I don’t doubt that Severus might have seen him that way, as a positive paternal figure (finally, after his father and Voldemort) whom he wanted to please because he felt that if Dumbledore validated him, it meant he was becoming a better person and redeeming himself—maybe in a way similar to how he saw Lily as someone through whom to measure the right direction. But this wasn’t reciprocal. Dumbledore didn’t give a damn. Dumbledore saw Severus the same way he saw Harry: as a weapon. He realized Severus was an unstable, scared boy with a massive load of guilt, and being fully aware of the power of guilt from his own experience, he decided to exploit it. He knew Severus was talented, knew he could become even more so, so he locked him in a gilded cage: left him at Hogwarts, which had never been a home to him but a torment, kept him closely monitored, and used his skills whenever he wanted.

Dumbledore is the perfect kind of person to be a general in a war. Honestly, he’s amazing at it. He understands that soldiers are weapons and must be prepared to die for the greater cause. He understands that wars have casualties and that’s okay as long as those casualties help move closer to victory. He understands that sacrifices must be made and that if those sacrifices bring us closer to the goal, that’s fine. He gets that disruptive or dissonant elements that could jeopardize his plans need to be eliminated. He perfectly combines Machiavelli’s style with Sun Tzu’s: make your soldiers see you not as a superior but as a father.

He earns absolute devotion by embodying this fatherly figure that inspires trust, but deep down, his mind is a tangle of plans. His goal is to defeat Voldemort (who, by the way, is also a product of his own negligence, because if he hadn’t been such a crappy teacher, maybe he would’ve noticed the red flags and stopped Riddle earlier, but okay). If defeating Voldemort means a bunch of teenagers have to die, another kid ends up in prison, a child has to sacrifice his life, or the people around him are manipulated, so be it.

I understand this philosophy—it’s very military—but I don’t agree with it because I hate that kind of mentality. I could respect it if it weren’t for the fact that Dumbledore, on top of it all, is so moralistic. The guy who should be the last to pass judgment on others’ decisions, who should keep his damn mouth shut, is constantly moralizing, being condescending, and posing as the champion of morality and the compass of good and evil. Honestly, I would have slapped him in the face, I swear. What a jerk. So many messed-up people, all because he was a narcissistic prick. Screw him.

[kckt88]

Scorched Hearts - Younger II

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

A glimpse into the past of Aemond and Valaena.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Mild Violence, Blood, Language, Secret Relationship, Uncle/Niece Incest, Shame, Self Loathing, Discussion of Brothel Visit, Kissing, Fingering, Coming in Pants, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, P in V.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 10080

A.N -

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx

The coming year had been long and trying for both Aemond and Valaena, but their letters had been a lifeline.

Each parchment carried their joys, struggles, and the quiet comfort of knowing they still had each other despite the distance.

Aemond had written of his determination to overcome the limitations imposed by the loss of his eye. He described the gruelling hours he spent training with Ser Criston, vowing to become the fiercest swordsman in the realm.

His studies proved a little more challenging; reading with one eye often led to debilitating headaches.

But Valaena had suggested a remedy—willow bark tea—and to his relief, it helped. He thanked her profusely in his letters.

In turn, Valaena shared news from Dragonstone. Her mother, Rhaenyra, had been overjoyed at the birth of her son, Aegon, though the choice of name had caused ripples of discontent.

Aemond wrote back, confirming that his mother, Alicent, saw it as an affront to her own son, Aegon.

Otto, Aemond said, was not shy in voicing his opinions on the matter, fuelling the already simmering tensions between their families.

Aemond confided in Valaena his fears for Helaena, who was now betrothed to Aegon. He worried for his sweet sister, knowing Aegon’s temperament was far from gentle.

He hated the idea of her being unhappy in her marriage, but his protests went unheard.

Then came the day Aemond made a bold suggestion: they should meet in person.

They were both older enough to fly their dragons on their own, and he proposed a spot near Wendwater.

Valaena had readily agreed, her heart fluttering at the thought of seeing him again.

It had been over a year, and she missed him more than words could convey.

Convincing her mother, however, proved more challenging. Rhaenyra was reluctant to let her only daughter fly Silverwing alone.

But Valaena’s persistence and assurances eventually wore her down.

The day finally arrived. Strapped into Silverwing’s saddle, Valaena took a deep breath before giving her dragon the command to take flight.

At first, fear tugged at her, the vast expanse of the skies unnerving without the familiar presence of Syrax or Caraxes flying alongside her.

But as Silverwing’s powerful wings cut through the air, the bond between dragon and rider strengthened.

Valaena began to feel a sense of exhilaration, trusting Silverwing to guide her.

Eventually the Wendwater soon came into view, and her heart pounded as she spotted Vhagar—a hulking silhouette on the ground below.

Beside the ancient dragon stood a silver-haired figure.

It’s him.

Silverwing landed with a gentle thud, her scales glinting in the sunlight. Valaena unstrapped herself and slid down the dragon’s wing, her boots hitting the ground softly.

For a moment, she hesitated, taking in the sight of Aemond as he approached her.

He had changed. His hair was longer, and straighter cascading past his shoulders, he stood a little taller too, his frame lean and gangly.

Aemond tilted his head, noticing her hesitation, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then he opened his arms.

Valaena’s feet moved before her mind could catch up, and she broke into a run, throwing herself into his embrace.

Her arms wrapped tightly around him, her fingers clutching the fabric of his cloak. She buried her face in his neck, breathing him in—the faint scent of leather and something uniquely Aemond.

“I missed you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

His arms tightened around her, his hand cradling the back of her head. “I missed you too,” he replied softly, his voice thick with feeling.

For a moment, the world seemed to still. It was just the two of them, reunited at last, and neither wanted to let go.

Valaena stepped back slightly, taking in Aemond with a soft, admiring smile. “You’re getting so tall,” she said, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

Aemond grinned, his expression boyish for just a moment before he reached out and gently twirled a lock of her dark hair around his gloved hand.

“And you are-sīr gevie” he murmured, the Valyrian words rolling off his tongue smoothly (So beautiful).

The compliment made Valaena blush, a soft warmth spreading across her cheeks as she lowered her gaze for a moment.

Then she felt Aemond’s fingers slip into hers, his hand warm even through the glove.

Their gazes met, and for a long moment, the two of them simply stood there, basking in each other’s presence.

Behind them, Vhagar shifted, her massive form casting an even larger shadow over the clearing.

Valaena turned her head, taking in the dragon with wide eyes. “She truly is a wonder,” she breathed.

Aemond followed her gaze and smiled with quiet pride. “Would you like to meet her?”

At Valaena’s eager nod, he kept her hand in his and led her toward the ancient dragon.

Vhagar, sensing their approach, lowered her colossal head, exhaling a warm gust of air that rustled the grass.

Silverwing, however, grumbled protectively behind Valaena, her tail slamming into the ground in a clear warning.

“Lykirī, Silverwing,” Valaena said firmly, turning to her dragon. Silverwing reluctantly backed down but kept her sharp gaze trained on Vhagar, her nostrils flaring (Be calm).

Aemond chuckled softly. “I thought she was said to be the gentlest of all the dragons?”

Valaena laughed, a bright sound that seemed to cut through the tension. “I guess when it comes to protecting her rider, things can change.”

Turning back to Vhagar, Aemond placed a hand gently on the dragon’s massive snout and said “Sagon sȳz uēpa riña-” (Be nice, old girl).

The old dragon huffed, blowing a gust of hot air over both of them. Aemond took Valaena’s hand and placed it on Vhagar’s snout.

The ancient dragon cooed softly before nudging Valaena backward, almost playfully.

Aemond laughed. “I think that’s her way of saying she likes you.”

Valaena smiled, her fingers grazing over Vhagar’s warm scales. “Good to know,” she said, before turning to Silverwing. “Now, do you wish to meet her?”

He nodded, following her toward the sleek silver-scaled dragon. Silverwing trilled affectionately, bowing her head toward Aemond.

Behind him, Vhagar began to lumber after her rider, the ground trembling beneath her weight.

Aemond raised a hand without turning. "Iksan sȳz-" he said calmly, and Vhagar halted with a deep, grumbling huff (I’m fine).

"She’s quite protective," Valaena remarked with a soft laugh.

"For obvious reasons," Aemond replied, his fingers briefly grazing the edge of his eyepatch.

Valaena’s expression grew serious. "I’m sorry for what happened," she said softly. "You didn’t deserve it."

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he gave a small nod. "It’s not your fault," he said, his voice quieter than before. "But I appreciate your apology."

Silverwing nudged Valaena gently, rumbling sweetly as if sensing the shift in mood. Valaena turned back to her dragon with a fond smile. "And this, of course, is Silverwing."

Aemond reached out, his hand brushing over the smooth, glimmering scales of the dragon’s snout.

"She’s beautiful," he murmured, his voice tinged with admiration.

Silverwing cooed in response, her large, intelligent eyes watching Aemond with curiosity.

After a few moments, Aemond once again took her hand. "We did it," he said, his voice filled with quiet pride. "We finally have our dragons."

"We do," Valaena agreed, her smile wide and genuine.

"Come," Aemond said, guiding her toward the soft sand. "Let’s sit. I’m sure there are things we can talk about that couldn’t be put into our letters."

Valaena eagerly nodded, sitting beside him. Her heart skipped a beat when his arm settled around her shoulders, a warm, steady presence.

Blushing, she leaned ever so slightly into his side, contentment washing over her.

For the first time in what felt like forever, all was right in their world.

Over the following months, Aemond and Valaena met as often as they could, always at the same secluded spot near Wendwater.

Their weekly meetings became their sanctuary—a brief escape from their families.

Though they continued to exchange letters, the frequency dwindled, as their time together now provided the comfort and joy that the written word could never fully convey.

Their days were filled with laughter and light-hearted challenges, like racing through the clouds on the backs of their dragons, Silverwing and Vhagar.

They soared through the skies, their laughter ringing out as they pushed each other to go faster, higher.

Between their races, they discovered a small, abandoned cabin nestled among the trees.

Though the structure was weathered and in need of repair, it quickly became their refuge, a place affectionately referred to as “our place.”

It was theirs alone, untouched by the world beyond.

But then one day, Aemond didn’t come.

Valaena waited for hours on the familiar beach, her heart sinking with each passing moment.

When the sun began to dip below the horizon, she returned to Dragonstone, her mind plagued with worry.

For days after she wrote letter after letter, desperate to hear from him, but none of them received a reply.

What if they had been discovered? Had Aemond been forbidden from seeing her? Or worse—had he been injured?

As the weeks stretched into nearly two months of silence, darker fears crept in.

What if Aemond had decided he no longer wanted to see her?

The thought shattered her heart, leaving a gaping void where their bond had once thrived.

Eventually, she accepted what felt like the inevitable: Aemond didn’t want her anymore.

But before giving up completely, she penned one final letter—a desperate plea for him to meet her at their place one last time, even if it was to say goodbye.

Dressed in her riding leathers, Valaena took to the skies on Silverwing. The dragon sensed her rider’s anguish, cooing and trilling softly throughout the flight in an attempt to console her.

When they reached the beach, Silverwing stayed close, her presence a source of quiet comfort as Valaena waited.

Hours passed, and the sky darkened with the approach of evening.

Tears streaked Valaena’s cheeks as she stared at the empty horizon.

Finally, she turned to mount Silverwing, resigned to the truth that Aemond wasn’t coming.

Then a mighty roar echoed through the air.

Valaena’s head snapped up, her heart pounding as Vhagar descended through the clouds. The ancient dragon circled once before landing with a ground-shaking thud.

Aemond climbed down the rope ladder, his movements deliberate. When his boots hit the sand, he turned to face her, his expression solemn.

"You haven’t been responding to my letters," Valaena said, her voice trembling. "Or coming to our place."

"No," Aemond replied flatly, his tone detached, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

"Have I done something to upset you?" she asked, her voice breaking. "If I have, then I’m sorry, and—"

"It’s not you," Aemond interrupted, his voice strained. "It’s me."

Confusion flashed across her face. "What do you mean?"

Aemond took a deep, shuddering breath. "I think it’s for the best that we don’t see each other anymore."

The words hit her like a blow. "W-what? Why?"

"We’ve been fools," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To think we could carry on our—friendship."

"Has something happened?" she pressed, stepping closer. "Has your mother or grandsire discovered—"

"No," Aemond cut her off sharply. "We have not been discovered."

"Then why?" Valaena asked, her voice rising with desperation.

A long silence hung between them, broken only by the distant sound of the waves.

Finally, Aemond spoke, his voice trembling with shame. "Because I am tainted. Despoiled. I am no longer worthy of your friendship-or our closeness."

Valaena furrowed her brow. "What are you talking about?"

"F-For my name day," Aemond began hesitantly, his fists clenching at his sides, "Aegon took me to a brothel on the Street of Silk. He said it was his duty as my brother to ensure I was as educated as he was."

Realization dawned, and Valaena’s heart plummeted. "Oh," she whispered, taking a step back. "So you—"

"I didn’t want to," Aemond said quickly, his voice cracking. "But Aegon-he paid, and the woman, Sylvi, she had to—"

"Oh, Aemond," Valaena said softly, rushing forward to take his hand.

But he recoiled, pushing her away. "No. I am no longer worthy of you. I’ve tainted myself with the touch of a whore."

"It wasn’t your fault," Valaena insisted, her voice firm.

Aemond shook his head. "I wanted my first time to be with you," he said, his voice raw with anguish. "But now it’s been taken, and I’ll never get it back."

Valaena’s chest ached at his words. "We can still be together," she said, tears streaming down her face.

"No, we can’t," Aemond said, his voice hollow. "I’m disgusted with myself. And you—you are so sweet, so lovely. I don’t deserve you."

Valaena’s hands balled into fists. "So that’s it? You’re just going to turn your back on me? Don’t I mean anything to you?"

"You mean everything to me," Aemond said, his voice breaking. "And that’s why I’m sparing you."

"All you’re doing is breaking my heart!" Valaena cried. "I-I love you, Aemond”

His head snapped up, his eye wide with disbelief. "W-what did you say?"

"I love you," she repeated, her voice steady despite her tears.

Aemond gasped softly. "But-how can you, after what I’ve done?"

"Because you’re still my Aemond," Valaena said. "And it wasn’t your fault."

For a moment, Aemond stood frozen. Then he surged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

His voice cracked as he muttered, "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry," over and over again.

Their knees gave way, and they sank to the sand together. Aemond buried his face in her neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

Valaena held him close, her fingers threading through his long silver hair as she whispered, "It’s going to be okay. Iksan lēda ao" (I’m with you).

In the months that followed their emotional reconciliation, Aemond and Valaena grew closer than ever.

Their bond, already strong, deepened with the comfort of shared joy of simply being together.

They turned their attention to repairing the old cabin, transforming it into a cozy retreat that was entirely theirs.

The process was slow—neither of them had any knowledge of carpentry or repairs—but Aemond optimistically declared, “That’s what books are for.”

At their weekly meetings, he arrived with his satchel bulging with tomes on woodwork and home repairs, their pages well-thumbed as he poured over diagrams and instructions.

Their efforts were often punctuated by fits of laughter. Like the time Aemond hit his thumb with the hammer while trying to repair a hole in the wall, spending an hour muttering curses under his breath.

Or when Valaena, perched precariously on a stool, tried to hang curtains on the drafty window only to lose her balance and tumble into a pile of blankets.

By some miracle, they made progress, patching the cabin’s worn wooden walls and repairing the sagging beams.

It wasn’t perfect—the walls leaned slightly, and their makeshift solutions were far from elegant—but the sense of accomplishment was undeniable.

They began leaving things behind: blankets, supplies, and small touches that made the cabin feel like home.

Valaena even tried her hand at sewing a tapestry to hang on the wall, her needle fumbling through the fabric in an attempt to create a dragon.

When she showed it to Aemond, he tilted his head and smirked. “It’s-recognizable. If you look at it upside down.”

Valaena huffed, playfully swatting his arm. “Oh well, perhaps my talents lie elsewhere.”

Despite the teasing, Aemond hung it up anyway, insisting it was a valuable addition—though it ended up serving more as a draft stopper than decoration.

When the cabin repairs were finally complete, their visits became less about work and more about enjoying each other’s company.

They spent hours curled up in front of the small hearth, taking turns reading aloud.

On days when Aemond’s headaches flared from the strain of reading, he would lay his head in Valaena’s lap, letting her voice soothe him as she read, her fingers gently combing through his silver hair.

One day, Valaena suggested they try sparring.

“I don’t want to hear any of that you’re a girl nonsense-” she declared, brandishing a wooden practice sword that Aemond had left in the cabin.

Aemond’s lips curved into a smirk. “I wasn’t going to say that at all. In fact, I declare you a worthy opponent.”

They faced off on the sandy shore, wooden swords clashing as the sound of laughter mingled with the crash of the waves.

Valaena surprised herself by holding her own for a while, dodging Aemond’s strikes and managing a few good hits of her own.

But then Aemond, quick and calculated, tripped her.

She tumbled to the ground with a surprised yelp, sand sticking to her. But she wasn’t about to let him win so easily.

As Aemond extended a hand to help her up, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him down with her.

They landed in a tangle of limbs, laughter spilling from both of them. The sound faded as their eyes met, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

Aemond’s gaze softened, his expression shifting into something tender yet intense. Slowly, he leaned closer, and Valaena felt her breath catch as his lips met hers.

The kiss was hesitant at first, shy and tentative, but it carried a deep, unspoken passion that had been simmering between them for what felt like forever.

Aemond’s gloved hand cupped her face with gentle care, while Valaena’s fingers tightened in the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

Their tongues brushed, igniting a warmth that sent a shiver down her spine.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling in the quiet, intimate moment.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Aemond admitted, his voice low and rough.

Valaena smiled, her cheeks flushed. “Me too.”

For a long moment, they stayed there in the sand, the roar of the waves and the distant calls of their dragons a comforting backdrop to the start of something new between them.

The cabin was quiet, the only sounds the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional whistle of the wind through the trees outside.

Valaena lay nestled in Aemond’s arms on the small bed they’d pieced together during their repairs, their bodies pressed close together on top of the fur blanket.

Aemond’s nose brushed against her neck, his breath tickling her skin as he murmured against her ear, his voice low and filled with determination.

“I’m going to marry you someday,” he said, his words a promise.

Valaena smiled, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his arm. “Oh, are you now?” she teased, her tone light but her heart racing at the conviction in his voice.

“Hmmm” Aemond hummed, pressing a soft kiss to her jawline. “I intend to keep the vow I made in front of the weirwood tree.”

Valaena huffed a laugh, tilting her head to look at him. “I think our family might have something to say about that”

A shadow passed over Aemond’s face before smirked, his violet eye glinting in the firelight. “I don’t care,” he said firmly, his arms tightening around her. “We’ll run away if we have to.”

“Run away?” Valaena giggled, the thought both thrilling and absurd. “Where would we go?”

“To some faraway land where no one can tell us that we can’t be together-we would live free and have children-create our own family” he said confidently, his lips brushing her cheek as he peppered it with kisses, his affection making her laugh again.

“You make it sound so simple,” she said, though the idea filled her with a reckless kind of joy.

“Because it is,” Aemond replied, turning her face toward him and capturing her lips in a kiss.

This kiss wasn’t playful like his earlier ones; it was deeper, slower, filled with the weight of his love for her.

Valaena melted against him, her hand slipping into his hair, fingers tangling in the silver strands as she pulled him closer.

Aemond half-rolled on top of her, the kiss growing more intense as their breaths mingled.

After a few minutes, Aemond pulled back, his forehead resting against hers as they both caught their breath.

Valaena’s hand toyed with the strap of his eyepatch, her fingers hesitant.

“May I?” she asked softly.

Aemond stiffened, his body going still. “It’s unsightly,” he said, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

“Ivestragī nyke ūndegon ao,” she whispered, her tone gentle but firm. (Let me see you)

He hesitated, his chest rising and falling as he took a deep, shuddering breath. Finally, he nodded, moving back slightly to kneel on the bed.

His hand shook as he reached up and removed the eyepatch, the leather falling away to reveal the scarred, empty socket beneath. He lowered his head, unable to meet her gaze.

Valaena sat up, her heart aching at his vulnerability. She reached out, placing a finger under his chin and lifting his face.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to the scarred side of his face, her kiss lingering as she whispered, “Ñuha gevie gēlenka zaldrīzes.” (My beautiful brave dragon)

A tear slipped from his good eye, and before he could say anything, Valaena kissed him again, her hands cupping his face as she guided him back down onto the bed.

Aemond followed her willingly, his lips never leaving hers as he settled between her legs, their bodies aligning.

The kisses grew more fervent, their hands roaming one another. Aemond’s tunic was discarded, his cotton shirt quickly following. Valaena’s dress was unlaced and pulled from her body, leaving her in a sheer shift.

They paused, breathing heavily as they looked at one another, their love unspoken but palpable in the air between them.

“I-I’m not ready to-to lie with you,” Valaena whispered, her voice trembling.

Aemond smiled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone soothing. “We won’t do anything you’re not ready for.”

Valaena hesitated before shyly whispering, “B-but you can touch me-if you want.”

His gaze searched hers, his eye filled with reverence. “Are you sure?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” she breathed, nodding.

Aemond kissed her again, his hand trailing down her body with a reverence that made her shiver.

His hand slowly moving under the fabric of her shift, moving it higher and higher his fingers skimming the soft flesh of her thigh before his fingers rubbed her pearl over the cotton material of her small clothes.

“Already so wet for me” groaned Aemond.

“A-Aemond” breathed Valaena.

“Does it feel good baby?” asked Aemond.

“Oh-Aemond-yes-please” whimpered Valaena as he moved her small clothes aside and slid two of his long fingers inside her.

“Ñuha dōna jorrāelagon” whispered Aemond as he slowly curled his fingers inside her (My sweet love).

“A-Aemond,” she stuttered, her body trembling beneath his. “Something is happening, it f-feels-”

“Let it happen,” he groaned, his lips brushing against her ear as he rolled his own hips against her, matching the rhythm of his fingers and they moved inside her.

Valaena’s body arched, as the pleasure exploded and she shuddered against him, a soft cry escaping her lips before she relaxed, her cheeks flushed pink.

“Did you enjoy that?” Aemond asked, his voice low and tender, as he slowly removed his fingers.

“Yes,” she whispered, her face heating as she avoided his gaze.

He kissed her again, pulling her close and holding her against his bare chest.

“What about you?” she asked softly,

“D-Don’t worry about me” replied Aemond his cheeks tinged pink.

Valaena frowned and looked down and noticed the damp spot on Aemond’s trousers. “Did you-”

Aemond nodded, looking slightly embarrassed. “Yes-I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it-”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly, offering him a shy smile.

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips before climbing off the bed and using a rag to clean himself up.

When he returned, he pulled back the fur blanket, gesturing for her to climb in.

“We don’t have much time before I have to go back to Dragonstone,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness.

“I know,” he said sadly, pulling her into his arms once they were both under the fur. “But please, just let me hold you.”

Valaena sighed in contentment as she cuddled up against him, his warmth and steady heartbeat soothing her.

They lay there, tangled together, savouring every stolen moment before the world inevitably pulled them apart again.

Valaena’s name day feast was in full swing, the great hall of Dragonstone alive with the sounds of laughter and celebration.

The long table was laden with food, the golden glow of the firelight reflecting off polished goblets and dishes.

Despite the warmth of the occasion, Valaena found her thoughts elsewhere—on a certain silver-haired prince.

Her mother had insisted on hosting the feast, and Valaena had been unable to refuse. She sat at the table, surrounded by her family.

Rhaenyra and Daemon occupied the seats at the head, her brothers Jace and Luke sitting to one side, and her stepsister Rhaena on the other.

Near the fire, her younger brother Aegon sat on a blanket with baby Viserys and their nursemaid, Elinda, playing with brightly painted wooden toys.

The first gift was from Rhaenyra—a set of new riding leathers tailored to perfection.

The shoulders were patterned with swirling dragon scales, and finished off with a crimson sash that could be fastened using her dragon chain.

Daemon followed with a gift of his own—a matching leather wrist gauntlet embossed with the Targaryen three-headed dragon sigil.

“A set of two,” he said as he fastened it onto her wrist, showing her the matching one on his own. “Biare brōzio tubis tala,” he said with a rare softness in his tone. (Happy name day, daughter)

Valaena smiled, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Kepa-” she said, her voice filled with warmth. (Father).

Jace presented her with a set of beaded bracelets, made of silver and white “In honour of Silverwing,” he said with a grin.

Luke offered her a set of hairbrushes, carefully crafted from polished wood “They’re not much, but I hope you like them-I know you don’t like  others touching your hair” he said shyly.

“They’re lovely,” Valaena said, her smile reassuring him.

Rhaena handed her a seashell necklace, from the Driftmark shores.

From Maester Gerardys, she received a tray of her favourite cakes.

As her eyes scanned the selection, she noticed that some were ones Aemond particularly enjoyed.

Her gaze flickered toward Gerardys, who stood silently at the edge of the hall, his expression calm but his eyes knowing.

“Thank you, Maester-” Valaena said aloud, her voice bright enough to carry, ensuring the gesture was noticed. “Will you not join us?”

Gerardys inclined his head. “It would be my honour, Princess-” He took a seat beside her, and as the feast carried on, he discreetly pressed a folded letter into her hand beneath the table.

Valaena whispered her thanks, and the Maester gave a small, encouraging smile.

Later that evening, Valaena seized her opportunity, slipping away from the hall, she quickly changed into her new riding leathers and headed toward the stone staircase that led to the dragons’ cavern.

“Off flying again? Sister-” Jace’s voice stopped her, his footsteps echoing in the corridor as he approached.

“Of course,” Valaena replied, her tone casual as she adjusted the fit of her leathers, her fingers toying with the smooth fabric of the red sash.

Jace tilted his head, studying her. “Where do you go when you disappear for hours on end?”

“We just fly-” she said simply, her gaze steady. “Sometimes we find a place to rest, and I wait whilst Silverwing hunts.”

Jace smiled faintly. “You always were more dragon than the rest of us.”

“Even though my dragon egg didn’t hatch?” she asked, raising a brow.

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Mother told me that not all dragons are born to us. Sometimes, there are those who must go out and claim their dragons.”

“Maybe it was fate,” Valaena said softly. “Maybe my egg didn’t hatch because Silverwing was meant for me.”

Jace nodded, considering her words. “It takes a great deal of courage to stand in front of a dragon and do what you did.”

Valaena’s fingers brushed over silver dragon chain that fastened across her body. “Just like Aemond and Vhagar,” she said, her voice quieter now.

At the mention of Aemond, Jace’s expression quickly soured. “That’s different,” he said sharply. “You claimed a dragon that didn’t belong to someone else.”

Valaena scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “We don’t own the dragons, Jacaerys. They are sentient, intelligent creatures capable of making their own decisions. Like it or not, Vhagar chose Aemond that night. She saw something in him, and we both know that if she didn’t want to accept him, she would have reduced him to a pile of ash.”

“But Rhaena—”

“Vhagar was her mother’s dragon,” Valaena interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. “I understand why she wanted to claim her, but that doesn’t give her the automatic right to do so. Look at Meleys. She once belonged to Daemon’s mother, and yet she refused him. His own mother’s dragon, and she wouldn’t have him. But she bent her neck to Rhaenys.”

Jace faltered, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I guess when you put it like that-”

Valaena’s tone softened, but her resolve remained firm. “It was Aemond’s right as a Targaryen to claim Vhagar, and he lost his eye for it. You might want to remember that the next time you cast scorn upon him.”

Before Jace could respond, she turned and descended the stairs, disappearing into the cavern below.

Silverwing landed on the sand with a resonant thud, her powerful wings kicking up a swirl of salt-tinged air.

Valaena slid gracefully down the dragon’s shimmering silver wing, her boots sinking slightly into the soft ground.

As she dusted herself off, her gaze shifted to where Vhagar loomed nearby, feasting on what appeared to be a large whale she had recently caught.

Silverwing chittered, a sound halfway between curiosity and a plea, and moved cautiously toward Vhagar, clearly interested in sharing the spoils.

For a moment, the older dragon seemed disinclined to share, her massive head lifting to stare down at the smaller Silverwing with an almost reproachful glare.

But then, with a deep huff that sprayed sand and bits of seawater into the air, Vhagar relented, shifting aside slightly. Silverwing chirped in triumph and eagerly joined the feast.

Valaena huffed a laugh, watching the two dragons interact with a mixture of affection and awe. She adjusted her riding leathers and sash before heading toward the small cabin nestled amidst the rocks and trees.

When she pushed open the door, warmth and the soft crackle of the fire greeted her. Aemond was seated in a chair by the hearth, his sword resting against the arm, but as soon as his eye met hers, he rose swiftly.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, his hands immediately cradling her face as he kissed her deeply.

When they parted, Aemond rested his forehead against hers and whispered, “Happy name day, my love.”

Valaena blushed, the warmth in his voice causing her stomach to flutter. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft.

“I have something for you,” he said, stepping back slightly. He retrieved a small box from a nearby table and handed it to her.

Valaena opened it carefully, her breath catching when she saw the pendant nestled inside—a small, brilliant sapphire that caught the firelight and shimmered like the sea.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Is this—?”

“Yes,” Aemond interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “A piece of my sapphire.”

He took the necklace from the box as Valaena eagerly turned around, gathering her long, dark hair and holding it up for him.

Aemond fastened the delicate chain around her neck, his fingers brushing against her skin.

“How is the sapphire?” she asked, her voice curious.

Wordlessly, Aemond removed his eyepatch, revealing the jewel nestled where his left eye had once been. The surrounding skin was faintly red, but it was healing well.

Valaena’s hand reached up instinctively, her fingers gently caressing the scarred side of his face. Her gaze lingered on the sapphire, its mesmerizing hue catching the firelight, before her eyes returned to his.

Her thumb brushed along the sharp edge of his jaw, her touch tender.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. “Truly.”

Aemond’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his expression replaced with a small, grateful smile. “D-do you like the necklace?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“I love it,” Valaena said, sincerity shining in her dark eyes. “Thank you.”

Relief and joy softened his features as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. His arms encircled her, pulling her flush against him.

Their shared warmth seemed to banish the chill of the night, and Valaena’s hands found their way into his hair as she kissed him back fervently.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, Valaena’s cheeks were flushed. “I-I’m ready,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with both nerves and determination. “I-I want to lie with you.”

Aemond froze for a moment, his eye searching hers. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his tone gentle but firm. “We don’t have to”

“I’m sure,” she replied, nodding with conviction. “I want this. I want you.”

Aemond’s lips curved into a soft, reverent smile. “Okay,” he said. “But if at any point it becomes too much or you want to stop, just say the word.”

Valaena nodded, her heart racing but her resolve steady. Slowly, she began to undress, her fingers trembling slightly as she unclasped the dragon chain and slipped out of her riding leathers.

She draped them over the back of a chair, followed by her shift, leaving her bare save for the sapphire pendant that was now rested against her chest.

Valaena took a deep breath and climbed into the bed, pulling the fur-lined covers around herself.

Aemond followed suit, removing his leathers, before slipping beneath the blankets beside her.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with anticipation, until Valaena reached for him. Her touch was hesitant yet eager, her fingers brushing against his arm before trailing upward.

Aemond leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that quickly deepened, his hand cradling her cheek before sliding into her hair.

As their kiss deepened, Valaena gently tugged him with her as she lay back, drawing him closer.

His body shifted, half-draped over hers, their forms pressing together as the world outside faded into nothingness.

Aemond pulled away from the kiss and began to shimmy down the bed, before lowering his head between Valaena’s legs.

“W-What are you doing?” asked Valaena her voice shaking.

“Shhh ñuha jorrāelagon-” rasped Aemond (my love).

“Aemond-” shrieked Valaena her eyes rolling into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

Valaena bit her lip to step her from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Let me hear you” groaned Aemond, his own hips rutting into the bed.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” begged Valaena.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes-yes, so g-good” breathed Valaena, her fingers coiling in Aemond’s silver hair.

Aemond pressed two fingers inside Valaena, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake, his tongue moving against her folds, his lips wrapping around her pearl.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Peak for me” whispered Aemond.

Valaena arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Valaena’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Aemond paused when he got to her chest, his hand gently cupping her breast before he sucked the rosy bud into his mouth, his tongue rolling around the stiffened peak.

“Ohhh Aemond” whined Valaena.

Aemond released her nipple with a soft pop and smirked “Do you like that?”

Valaena nodded and blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself ñuha nūmio” murmured Aemond (My pearl).

“I-I’m ready” muttered Valaena jumping slightly when she felt Aemond’s cock against her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow” whispered Aemond.

“I-I trust you” whispered Valaena nervously.

Aemond smiled before he knelt between her thighs, supporting himself above her on his forearm while his other hand guides his cock to her wet centre.

“Oooh Aemond” exclaims Valaena.

Aemond slowly pushes the blunt head of his cock inside. Just the tip feels okay but then he’s pushing inside, and it stings, Valaena takes a deep breath and clenches her eyes shut as Aemond keeps moving until his cock fully slides into her, his hips coming to rest against hers.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond.

“It hurts,” cried Valaena.

“Do you want me to stop-I can pull out” whispered Aemond raising his hand and tracing his thumb over her plump bottom lip.

“N-No g-give me a moment” whimpered Valaena.

Aemond nods, holding himself above Valaena, she can feel his cock throbbing and twitching inside her.

For a few silent minutes, Aemond begins to press gentle kisses all over Valaena’s face and neck, then after the sting has faded somewhat, Valaena gently moves her hips.

“I-I think you can move”.

Aemond exhales shakily, slowly pulling out halfway only to thrust right back in.

“You’re taking me so well-” whispers Aemond soothingly, thrusting again, harder this time.

Gradually he gets into a rhythm, his movements slow but powerful.

Valaena slides her hands up his back towards up to his shoulders, clinging to him as his thrusts shift her up and down the bed. The wooden frame creaking slightly.

Aemond makes a strangled sort of sound and lowers himself onto Valaena even more, kissing her passionately.

His cock still thrusting in and out.

Valaena kisses him back, threading her fingers through his long silky hair.

Aemond breaks the kiss, breathing heavily.

Valaena can feel herself clenching around him as his cock keeps hitting the same spot inside her.

“Ooo Aemond-f-faster. P-please”

“A-Are you sure?” asked Aemond.

“Yes. Please I want to feel you” whispered Valaena.

Aemond groans as he begins to move faster pounding into her, their skin slapping together.

“Aemond-Aemond-”

“You’re so fucking perfect, mine all mine” growls Aemond as he reaches down and circles her pearl with his finger.

“Y-Yes, yours all yours” moans Valaena squirming as her pleasure peaks and she explodes.

Aemond lets out a long low groan, removing his finger as his hips buck wildly. His cock twitching as he spills his seed into her.

Aemond’s hips finally stagger and stop, his cock still twitching slightly. His face buried in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as he rests for a moment before he slowly pulls out.

Valaena gasps as he slips from her, and Aemond looks down to see a mix of blood and his seed staining his cock.

Aemond slowly climbs out of bed and soaks a rag in the basin of warm water near the fire, he comes back to bed and gently cleans between Valaena’s legs, careful not to hurt her.

“Is this, ok?” asked Aemond.

“I-Its fine” replied Valaena, her cheeks tinged pink as Aemond finishes cleaning her.

He returns to the basin, wetting the rag one more time before cleaning himself and then he comes back to bed, climbing back in and wrapping his arms around Valaena, a sigh of contentment escaping her as she lays her head on his chest.

The room was quiet save for the soft crackle of the fire, the flickering light casting warm shadows over the cabin's wooden walls.

Valaena lay nestled in Aemond’s arms, her head resting on his chest as he held her close beneath the fur-lined blankets. His hand traced lazy circles on her back, and she could feel his steady heartbeat beneath her cheek.

“Are you okay?” Aemond asked softly, his voice gentle as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m fine,” Valaena whispered, her voice still tinged with shyness. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “Are you?”

“I am,” he replied with a small smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Valaena traced patterns on his chest with her fingers, her cheeks warming as she hesitated before whispering, “D-did you enjoy it? W-was I g-good?”

Aemond’s brow furrowed slightly in surprise, and he cupped her face with his hand. “I enjoyed it immensely,” he said, his tone steady and reassuring. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“I-I’ve never done it before, and-” she admitted softly, her gaze falling to the hollow of his throat, unable to meet his eye.

Aemond placed a gentle finger against her lips, silencing her. “My experience with Sylvi was nothing compared to what we just shared,” he said firmly. “She was nothing, and—” His voice softened, his eye locking with hers. “-You are everything.”

Tears pricked the corners of Valaena’s eyes as she smiled and whispered, “I love you so much.”

Aemond leaned down and kissed her tenderly. “I love you too,” he murmured against her lips before deepening the kiss, his fingers tangling in her hair.

When they finally parted, Valaena giggled softly, her cheeks tinged with pink. “That thing with your tongue,” she began shyly, “did you learn that—”

Aemond’s cheeks flushed a deep red as he interrupted quickly, “No! I-I asked Aegon for advice on how to-please a woman.”

Valaena blinked in surprise, then laughed softly. “Oh, well, I suppose he is quite knowledgeable on the subject.”

Aemond huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s about the only subject he does excel in.”

Valaena giggled again before her expression grew more serious. “When I get back to Dragonstone, I’ll have to ask Maester Gerardys for some moon tea.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed slightly. “Won’t he tell your mother?”

“No,” Valaena said with confidence. “I trust him. He’s the one who helps send my letters to you.”

Aemond nodded thoughtfully. “Isn’t he the Maester who made that salve for my eye that you sent me?”

“Yes,” Valaena replied. “He’s quite skilled and very knowledgeable about healing methods.”

“That salve worked wonders,” Aemond said, a hint of disdain creeping into his voice. “Far better than the piss-water Maester Orwyle prescribed.”

Valaena laughed softly. “Mayhaps Orwyle has his limits on what he knows.”

“Possibly,” Aemond mused. “Though you should see the state my father is in. That man’s beyond saving.”

Valaena’s expression grew serious as she propped herself up on her elbow, the covers slipping from her shoulders, revealing her bare chest.

Aemond’s eye momentarily lingered, captivated, before she interrupted his thoughts.

“Is my grandsire really that bad?” she asked.

Aemond cleared his throat, trying to focus. “We’re not permitted to see him. Not that he would want to see us anyway. But last I heard, whatever rot has set upon him has taken his right eye.”

Valaena’s lips parted in shock. “Oh, that sounds horrendous. But forgive me for saying-rather poetic.”

Aemond tilted his head, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“You lost your eye,” Valaena said softly. “And now he’s lost his.”

Aemond hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose he cares either way.”

Valaena lay back down, her expression troubled. “It saddens me greatly that he does not treat you as a father should.”

Aemond brushed a finger over her cheek. “I’ve grown used to his indifference.”

“Still, it shouldn’t be that way,” she murmured, her voice heavy with sympathy.

Aemond’s finger continued to trace her skin, his tone softening. “What’s my uncle like as a father?”

Valaena smiled faintly. “Pretty good. He taught me High Valyrian and gave me lessons on dragon riding. But mostly, he just chases after my mother. The two of them are always kissing, holding hands, and disappearing off to their chambers.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head. “And to think, my grandsire believed Daemon was a second Maegor, when in reality he’s just-cuntstruck”

Valaena burst into laughter. “You can say that again.”

Aemond’s grin widened. “Speaking of again-” He shifted closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I wish to take you again. If you’ll have me.”

Valaena’s laughter faded as she gazed into his eye, her heart fluttering as she felt his cock hardening against her.

She leaned in and kissed him, her voice breathy against his lips. “Of course I’ll have you.”

With that, Aemond rolled on top of her, his lips capturing hers in a passionate kiss, their shared warmth igniting once more as the fire crackled beside them.

Over the following weeks, Aemond and Valaena became utterly consumed by their passion for one another.

Their stolen moments at the cabin became the centre of their world, a sanctuary where they could leave behind the pressures of their families and simply be together.

Valaena often arrived at the cabin before Aemond, her heart racing in anticipation of his arrival.

The moment he stepped through the door, she would launch herself into his arms, their lips colliding in a heated kiss that left no room for words.

Clothes were hastily removed, their eagerness rendering them heedless of where they were.

Many times, they didn’t even make it to the bed, their passion igniting on the wooden floor before the crackling fire.

Sometimes, their passion spilled beyond the walls of the cabin. There were times where Aemond would press Valaena against the side of the cabin, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, whilst he pounded inside her with a series of deep penetrating thrusts.

Or they found themselves on the sandy shore, the waves lapping over their feet and legs as they made love under the stars.

The two of them take the time to learn each other’s bodies, experiencing an intimacy like nothing either of them had ever felt before.

Aemond would trace idle patterns on Valaena’s bare skin, whispering words of love in High Valyrian, and she would smile, her fingers tangling in his silvery hair.

Of course, when Valaena returned to Dragonstone after their encounters, there was always had a cup of moon tea waiting for her, the herbal concoction steaming on the hidden ledge under her desk.

She would hold her nose and down the bitter liquid in one gulp, grimacing at the foul aftertaste.

But it was necessary as Aemond would always spill his seed inside her, and they were both too young to bear the weight of children just yet.

They sometimes spoke in soft whispers of a future where they might be blessed with a babe or two, but for now, Valaena was content, she cherished the time they had together, their secret world of love and desire.

Aemond, too, seemed utterly at peace in those moments, his usual sharp intensity softening when he held her in his arms.

For now, it was enough for the two of them to share their stolen happiness.

Yet a shadow hung over their relationship, growing darker with each passing day. Aemond’s frustration was mounting, his restlessness palpable.

The secrecy that bound them, was becoming like a cage. He yearned for more, for a life where they could be together openly, without fear or restraint.

The ache in his chest when they parted gnawed at him, sharper each time he mounted Vhagar to return to the Red Keep alone. His love for her was all-consuming, and the distance between them was unbearable.

Valaena saw it in his eye, in the way his grip tightened when they said their farewells.

It was only a matter of time before Aemond’s frustrations boiled over—before the simmering anger and longing he held back could no longer be contained.

It happened a few weeks later, after yet another night of passion that left them tangled in the sheets and each other’s arms.

The firelight flickered softly in the dim cabin, their breaths still mingling in the aftermath.

Valaena lay draped over Aemond’s chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin, their shared silence a comfort.

Aemond then broke the silence with a frustrated sigh. "I’m tired of this, Valaena. Tired of sneaking around. Tired of hiding what we are."

Valaena fingers, stilled and she propped herself up on one of her elbows, looking down at him with a mixture of sadness and apprehension.

"Aemond, you know why we have to keep this secret. If anyone finds out—"

"I don’t care!" he snapped, sitting up abruptly, dislodging her. "Do you hear me? I don’t care what they think. I want to be with you openly. To stand before everyone and say you are mine."

"And what do you think will happen then?" Valaena shot back, her voice rising. "Do you think they’ll smile and bless us? They’ll tear us apart, Aemond! You know this!"

Aemond’s face darkened, and his voice dropped to a dangerous edge. "I refuse to accept that. I won’t let them control my life—or yours."

Valaena’s frustration boiled over, her voice cracking with emotion. "You think I like this? Do you think I enjoy sneaking around like some thief in the night? I hate it as much as you do, but we don’t have a choice!”

“There’s always a choice,” Aemond growled, standing and pacing the small space.

“Is there?” Valaena asked, her tone sharp and biting. “Do you think they’ll just allow us to be together? Do you think our family will just smile and nod? Aemond, wake up!”

He whirled on her, his single eye blazing with fury. “Do not speak to me as if I’m a child, Valaena. I understand the risks better than anyone!”

Valaena stiffened, drawing back slightly to meet his gaze. "We’ve been over this, Aemond. It has to be this way—for now."

"For now?" he scoffed, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face, his jaw tight with frustration. "More like forever. Let’s not delude ourselves."

“-Aemond! If we’re discovered, they’ll tear us apart!”

"Then maybe I should find someone else," he spat, the words escaping before he could stop them.

The words hit her like a blow, and for a moment, Valaena could only stare at him, her breath hitching.

“What?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Maybe I should find someone that doesn’t require me to participate in this ridiculous charade,” he said, his tone biting and cruel, though the pain in his eye betrayed him.

“FINE!” Valaena screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Go! Find someone else! Someone who will parade around with you and feed your ego”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his chest heaving with anger. “Maybe I will,” he spat, grabbing his tunic and yanking it over his head and then pulling on his breeches and boots.

“GOOD!”” Valaena shouted, her voice cracking. “I’m sure there are plenty of simpering court ladies just dying to spread their legs for you!"

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the cabin.

Valaena scrambled after him, tears streaming down her face. "Aemond, wait, please!"

But he ignored her, storming out of the cabin and into the cool night air. He reached Vhagar, hastily climbing the rope ladder.

The old dragon rumbled in confusion at his hurried commands, but obeyed nonetheless, taking off into the night sky.

The rush of wind and the familiar power of flight did little to calm him. His mind churned with anger and regret, the argument playing on a loop in his head.

Aemond then realized, with a heavy pang, that Valaena had been right.

The chasm within their family grew wider with each passing day, and though he loathed to admit it, their love was yet another crack threatening to deepen that divide.

If their relationship was discovered, the fallout would be catastrophic.

Aemond imagined his mother’s stern rebuke, her sharp words dripping with disappointment, mostly likely followed by a sharp slap.

His grandsire would look upon him with disdain, lecturing him on how reckless and idiotic he was, and the danger he posed to his own future.

Aegon, ever the hedonist, would undoubtedly slap him on the back, making some vulgar jest about his conquest, entirely blind—or wilfully ignorant—to the gravity of the situation.

But none of that frightened him as much as what Valaena would face.

The thought of her suffering for their love churned his stomach. He had taken her maidenhead. She was no longer virtuous in the eyes of the lords and ladies of Westeros.

The thought of her being deemed unworthy, rejected for something as sacred to him as their love, filled him with rage.

No highborn lord would take her to wife now, not when her honour was deemed sullied.

The idea of another man even daring to look at her, let alone touch her, sent jealousy surging through his veins like wildfire. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening.

No. He wouldn’t allow it.

Valaena was his—his love, his partner, his heart. She had given herself to him willingly and completely. She was everything he could ever want—the one light in the shadows of his world.

The mere thought of losing her, of never holding her again, shattered him.

Valaena had been his truest friend as a child, the one soul who had understood him when no one else could.

Now, she was his greatest love, the centre of his very being. The weight of it all—their love, the risk, the uncertainty—crushed his chest, making it impossible to breathe.

Aemond clenched the reins, his voice raw as he shouted into the night, "FUUUUCK!"

Vhagar rumbled in response, as though sharing his frustration. Aemond pulled on the reins, turning her back toward Wendwater. His heart pounded as the cabin came into view, with Silverwing still perched nearby.

Relief flooded through him—she hadn’t left.

Vhagar landed with a thud, and as Aemond climbed down the ladder, she gave him a look of reproach. He ran a hand along her massive neck. "Kessa, nyke gīmigon nyke iā mittys," he muttered. (Yes, I know I’m an idiot)

Vhagar grumbled as if in agreement, lumbering off toward Silverwing, who seemed equally displeased, her lashing at the ground.

Aemond took a deep breath and stepped into the cabin. His heart ached at the sight before him. Valaena lay curled on the bed, her face buried in the pillows as she sobbed.

Quickly discarding his clothes, he climbed into bed beside her, gathering her trembling form into his arms.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. "I’m so sorry, Valaena."

She sniffled, clutching at him desperately. "I thought you’d left me."

"Never," he vowed, his voice cracking with emotion. "Forgive me."

Valaena pressed her face into his chest, her tears dampening his skin. "I do," she whispered after a moment.

Aemond let out a shaky breath, holding her tighter. "You were right. If we’re discovered, they’ll tear us apart, and I’m not sure I’d survive it."

"Me either," Valaena admitted softly. "You are my heart and soul."

"And you are mine," Aemond said firmly.

As they lay entwined in the flickering firelight, Valaena’s tears began to fall again, silent and unrelenting, a reflection of the pain in her heart. Her voice wavered, raw with anguish, as she finally broke the silence.

“I hate this, Aemond,” she whispered, her fingers digging into his back as though anchoring herself to him, desperate to keep him from vanishing into the shadows. “Believe me, I hate every moment of sneaking around. I want so much more for us.”

Aemond’s heart twisted at the pain in her voice. He gently cupped her tear-streaked cheek, his thumb brushing away the wetness. “Then tell me, Valaena,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion. “Tell me what you want.”

Her shimmering eyes locked onto his, and her voice broke as she poured her heart out, the words tumbling from her lips like a flood she could no longer hold back.

“I wish you could stand before the world and declare your intentions to marry me,” she began, her voice trembling with the weight of her dreams. “I wish we could have a ceremony in the Great Sept, with bells ringing and the entire realm gathered to witness our love. I want to stand there, draped in Targaryen red and black, and feel your cloak fastened over my shoulders. To hear you pledge yourself to me, to speak the vows that would bind us forever—and for me to do the same.”

Aemond’s lips parted, his voice barely a breath. “Ñuha jorrāelagon” he murmured softly, (My love).

Valaena’s tears spilled freely now, her voice gaining strength as her longing poured forth. “I want to seal those vows with a kiss, to have our love celebrated, not hidden. I want a grand reception filled with laughter and joy, where our family and friends toast to our union. I want to hold your hand as we sneak off to our chambers, to undress slowly and savour every moment. To make love all night without fear, without restraint, because the world would know we belong to each other.”

Aemond’s throat tightened, his own emotions threatening to overcome him. He pressed his forehead to hers, his touch grounding her even as her words sent his heart soaring.

“I want to feel your seed take root inside me,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, her hand moving instinctively to rest on her flat stomach. “I want to carry your child, to feel my belly swell with our love. To see the look of joy on your face as you hold our babe for the first time. To watch you become a wonderful, devoted father. I want a family with you, Aemond. A life where we’re free to love each other openly.”

Her voice cracked as a sob escaped her, and she buried her face against his chest. “I hate this secrecy. I hate the lies and the shadows. But even though it breaks my heart, I’d rather have this—this fragment of a life with you—than nothing at all.”

Aemond’s arms tightened around her as if he could shield her from the world’s cruelty, his own tears glistening in the firelight. He pressed a reverent kiss to her temple, his lips lingering as he fought to steady his voice.

“I vow,” he said, his words thick with conviction, “that one day, we will marry. I will drape my cloak over your shoulders, and I will speak the vows that bind us. Before all who are there to look upon us, I will pledge my love to you, my wife, my Queen-”

He drew back slightly, his gaze softening, a quiet smile curving his lips. “We will have as many children as you desire—beautiful, fierce children. Dragon riders, every one of them.”

“Oh-Aemond,” Valaena gasped, her eyes brimming with fresh tears, her heart swelling with love and hope.

“And when the time comes,” he continued, his voice dropping to a tender whisper, “when we have lived a full, rich life together, I will not leave this world without you. We will go together, so that even in death, our spirits remain intertwined. Our love will be eternal.”

His lips hovered over hers, and he kissed her softly, reverently, sealing his words with a promise as unbreakable as Valyrian steel. When he pulled back, his violet eye held hers, filled with a love so fierce it left her breathless.

“I love you, Valaena,” he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. “I always will.”

Valaena nodded against his chest, her tears soaking his skin as she clung to him. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice fragile but resolute. “But promise me, Aemond. Promise me that we’ll find a way.”

"I promise," Aemond vowed, holding her tightly as though he could shield her from the world. "We will find a way to be together, Valaena. I swear it."

The End.

[stellaclaw]

except that appledusks behavior isnt multi dimensional, its the absolute bare minimum to not be a total monster.

mapleshade crossed the river because she was desperate and panicking. and they would have made it across had it not been for the sudden wave- they were manging before that, so crossing was in the kits ability. what happened was a terrible accident, and one mapleshade clearly is horrified and grief stricken over. appledusks mourning begins and ends with ‘you killed my kits’ and having her thrown out. the next we see, hes happy with reedshine, whos pregnant.

feeling bad his kids died, not starting a fight with somebody whos clearly deranged and a capable fighter, and taking a hit for his pregnant wife are literally the most basic things he could do to not be an actual plot device. it doesnt make him deep.

as for nightcloud and crowfeather, bonefall and warriorsfireandwater have very good posts analyzing them better than i could ever put into words. needless to say, nightcloud is WAY overblown by the fandom- she does virtually nothing besides feel jealous and pull him away from leafpool, and thats after books and books of him mooning over leaf and emotionally and physically abusing his son to the point of his treatment being what drives breezepelt to the dark forest.

you are affording far more grace to these books than you should. at the end of the day, very very few characters in warriors are complex. before you ask, i would not call mapleshade and nightcloud complex either. the writers clearly want you to take a certain impression of them in mind, but fail to convey it- theyre badly written books all the way to the core!

you also should almost never take a characters sacrifice at face value in these books either. its funny that you mention tom, because he, too, is considered redeemed by the authors. because he died for his daughter, he deserves forgiveness, in kates own words! skystar also dies taking a bullet, and the characters talk about how this emphasizes how he was a good guy, actually, despite being probably the greatest monster of the series (seriously, go read bonefalls many posts analyzing the series. they are excellent). sandgorse is an absent husband and terrible father who dies heroically as well. and what of onestar, again a bad husband and father who- you guessed it!- dies protecting the clans. heroic deaths are used by the writers to redeem the shitty men of this series and make it so the audience feels like they cant criticize them, because look! they did a good thing!

what you really need to ask is why crowfeather is made complex by a woman he knew for 2 weeks being fridged. why is leafpool leaving him such a tragedy that makes him emotionally abusing her as punishment so suddenly compelling. why is nightcloud being “bitchy” suddenly a defense for his blatant abuse of his son? why is appledusk doing the absolute bare minimum suddenly enough to make him complex? do you feel the same way about nightcloud, who lost two of her children and had her husband become emotiomally absent during this traumatizing time, had to protect her omly living son from his abuse? for mapleshade, who thought she could bring peace through her love and paid the ultimate price for her naivety?

this is ramble-y but i think you get the point. op was not truly discussing how appledusk was one-dimensional, op was aiming to make the point that appledusk was a shitty guy with very little going for him and people worshipped the ground he walked on. and op is right and actually should have gone farther, because op is criticizing a wider trend in this fandom, in which the narrative and fandom bend over backwards to give extreme grace to male characters while female characters get ripped apart for any form of wrong-doing, and if nothing bad enough is present, facts are fabricated to demonize them for.

i think its just something to ruminate on. i advise reading more into the topic. i already heavily suggested bonefall, whos good at analyzing not just the writing itself, but the writing and fandom trends.

anyway if people are allowed to make excuses for bramblestar and fucking appledusk, I should also get to say that nightcloud did nothing wrong

[twig-tea]

The Fragrance You Inherit Remained Gentle and Kind

The Fragrance You Inherit was such a gentle and kind show. I loved so many things about it: The performances, the music, the colouring, the pining, and above all, the kindness. I've said before and I will repeat: this is a show about good people who love each other doing their best to be kind to one another, and it was a pleasure to watch. Run don't walk to Siiri's blog @isaksbestpillow to download the show with her subs. Spoilers for the finale to follow.

The interpersonal relationships were the star of this show: The mother/son relationship between Toki and Sakura, Sakura's friendship with On-chan, Toki and Kanae's budding romance and learning what it means to be in a relationship together, Sakura and Mone as reunited old friends and how they immediately regress into giggle-fits in each other's presence, Kanae and her father and how Hoshii-sempai remained a lovable and supportive dork through the whole series, Sakura and her own mother, and even Toki and On-chan and the loving uncle/nephew-like relationship they build...all of them were perfect, loving, and sweet. And the relationship parallels were used well to move things forward--Mone sees the parallel between herself and Sakura in the past with Toki and Kanae in the present; Mone draws from her relationship with Toki to understand her relationship with her own mother better; and Toki draws from his experience with Kanae to understand his mother better (and vice versa, he draws from his mother's relationship to understand his own better too).

I said after ep 1 that my expectations for this show were that we would get closure for Sakura and we did, in a series of beautiful scenes. I love how the series is bookended by two very different weddings that Sakura attends with very different emotions, and how much support Sakura has around moving on and seeking happiness for herself. Though we didn't see the scene, we got enough of Toki and Kanae's relationship that I believe that Kanae also knows about Sakura by the end of ep8, and her giving Sakura the flowers is tacit approval for Sakura to go out and date (a woman).

In addition to the confession scene, I absolutely loved Sakura's coming out scene with her mother; the way this was done to underscore the importance of a child's happiness to their parent was well done and was a good message to send. Generally the message about coming out in this show was that it is not something you owe anyone but is a gift you give the people you love so that they know you better and as a benefit, by knowing more about you, their world expands. I liked this message.

I had also said in the same post-ep1 post that this show seemed gearing up for a teenage boy meltdown, but I did not predict how sweet and loving this meltdown would be. Toki is the most thoughtful and caring teenage boy of all time. The scene with him and his mother on the phone in episode 7 made me cry so much! I really appreciated that the show was clear that Toki had absolutely no reason to ever doubt that he was loved by his mother, but that the evidence of his life and their history was not enough to break through the teenage melodrama when it hit, and he needed to hear it from her directly. I have to stop and give kudos to Sakura's actor Hoshino Mari, who did a phenomenal job. I felt her desperation and concern for her child so strongly, as well as her relief.

While I'm giving shout-outs, I also need to shout out Takeda Kouhei, who was perfect as the sardonic and empathetic gay bestie On-chan. I was so happy to see him every time he appeared, he always gave excellent advice, and his presence was so soothing.

And while Toki and Sakura were the core of the show, I really appreciated that all of the characters felt like they had their own motivations and drivers. It would have been easy to have made Kanae one-dimensional or without agency, or to have made Hoshii-sempai a distant or unsupportive father, or Mone the passive recipient of Sakura's feelings. But the show balanced all of these characters as distinct people who each had their own perspective.

Thank you again to Siiri for subbing this series and making it available for all of us to watch; this was another gift of a show. And thanks to the giffers who giffed this show, especially @easterndelights !

[galaxymagitech]

A Passing Grade in Trust Issues

(Whumpuary 2025 - Day 5)

Summary:

“Do you trust me?” Bruce asks.

The answer is no, then it's yes, and then, after one betrayal too many, it's no again.

Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson

You can read it here or on AO3.

“Do you trust me?” Bruce asks.

The answer, of course, is no. Tim is training as Robin because he doesn’t trust Batman. But Tim is aware that this is a test, and in order to pass, he has to say yes, and in order to become Robin, he has to pass.

So, he steels his voice, holds the communicator close to his lips, and lies to Batman for the first time.

“Yes,” Tim says. “Of course I trust you.”

“Hn,” Bruce grunts. “Then turn off the comms and cowl stream. This conversation needs to be unmonitored.”

Tim’s hand hovers over the button. Turning off the comms would leave Batman without backup—as terrible of a backup as a half-trained Robin is. It’s horribly against procedure, and dangerous to boot. But—

But this is a test, and Tim intends to pass.

“Turning comms and stream off,” he says, and presses the button, watching the batcomputer screen go dark. Tim sits alone in the Batcave and waits.

***

“But don’t you trust them?” Tim wonders as he stares at Bruce’s contingency plans. He gets plans to take the Justice League down in case of mind control—it’s certainly a common enough problem—but Bruce has made predictions of his fellow heroes actions and then planned his own reactions to take them down. This isn’t about a mind-controlled Justice League. This is a series of plans to take down Bruce’s colleagues. His friends.

“No, Tim, I don’t.”

“But it’s Superman. And that’s Wonder Woman. And—”

“Trust is a weakness, Tim. We’re human. A single hit can take us out. All it takes is one moment where we let our guard down, and that’s it.” Bruce shakes his head. “Trust is what gets us killed.”

“Is that what…” Tim trails off, his gaze falling on Jason’s memorial case. “Okay, Bruce.”

***

“Do you trust me?”

Tim stands on the edge of the burning rooftop, looking at the long fall below him. Batman is nowhere in sight, off fighting Firefly a few blocks down.

Tim tries to trust Bruce. Ever since he’s become Robin, Bruce has always had his back. But it’s hard, when he’s so far above the ground and Bruce is asking him to—to jump. Tim doesn’t want to die, okay? He knew it might happen, but—he’s not going to literally jump to his death.

And yet, this is Batman asking. Batman always has a plan.

“Yes,” Tim says, and it’s not really a lie this time. “I trust you.”

He spreads his arms wide and takes a leap of faith.

Falling through the air, Tim closes his eyes and hopes that his thoughts don’t go blank. His heart races, and he knows the ground is getting closer, closer, clo—

Somebody’s arms wrap around Tim’s torso, jerking him into an upswing. Tim’s eyes snap open and he sees Dick smiling down at him. Oh, Tim thinks. So Bruce did have a plan. Really, Tim was dumb for even doubting in the first place. Bruce would never tell anyone to jump to their death. What was he even thinking?

“Sorry about that, Baby Bird,” Dick says as he deposits Tim on a nearby rooftop. Below, firefighters begin to extinguish the flames. “Firefly’s got a hacker on our comm frequencies, and B couldn’t tip him off that I’m in town.”

“Right,” Tim says, feeling like an idiot. Next time, he won’t make the mistake of questioning Batman’s judgement.

***

“But I trust them!” Tim protests. “They’re literally superheroes.”

“This is not a discussion,” Bruce says harshly. Tim winces. “Your secret identity is your life, and you must guard it like such.”

“Then just one of them, at least,” Tim says. “You can even choose which one. Please, Bruce. Can’t someonemy age know? Dick had the Ti—”

“The Titans were a mistake.”

Tim’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Dick is too trusting. He should never have revealed his identity to them. It put him in terrible danger—that Markov girl could have done so much damage.” Bruce shakes his head. “I thought better of you, Robin.”

“I—”

“No,” Bruce says. “I’m disappointed that you even suggested this, let alone continued arguing. You barelyknow those children. It’s ridiculous to trust them.”

Tim wilts under the force of Bruce’s glare. “Okay, B.”

“It’s for your own good,” Bruce says.

Tim’s team members don’t even know his name, and Ives and Zoanne don’t know that he’s Robin. He has two sets of friends, but he’s more alone than ever.

And yet, Bruce is the expert on secret identities. If he says not to tell, Tim won’t tell. He trusts Bruce.

***

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Tim says, without hesitation, without doubt. He is Robin, and this is Batman.

“Then don’t tell Dick about this. I can’t have him interfering in this case.”

Tim doesn’t understand. Dick—Dick deserves to know. This is about his weird archenemy, after all. But, well… “Alright, B,” Tim says.

Three days later, and an injured Dick and an extremely frustrated Bruce are having their monthly screaming match. Tim sits in the corner of the Batcave and tries to ignore it. He could go upstairs, could put on headphones, could do any number of things to keep from hearing the words they’re hurling at each other. But he has to know what they’re saying. He caused this, after all.

(Dick isn’t angry at Tim. He doesn’t even know Tim was in on the secret. But Tim is guilty nevertheless. Dick is hurt because of him.)

***

“Question everything,” Bruce says.

When does it end? Tim thinks.

Bruce says this was training. Says that it’s a good thing Tim questioned the character of his friends, questioned his own memories.

This isn’t training.

When does training go too far? Tim wonders. How’s that for a question, Bruce?

***

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Tim doesn’t allow himself to think about the question.

“Then don’t follow me.”

Tim follows Bruce anyway and ends up saving his life.

Bruce lectures him for not following orders.

***

“Trust is the enemy,” Bruce says, as Tim sits on the medical cot, shivering. The chills alternate with an unnatural warmth that feels like it’ll burn him up from the inside. “You need to learn to doubt your senses.”

Tim’s teeth chatter. Whatever Ivy and Crane cooked up together really sucks, even with the antidotes. “’m not in the mood for a l’cture, B,” Tim says, tugging on his blanket and trying to cover himself entirely with it.

“You could have avoided that fall,” Bruce says. “You knew you were hallucinating, but you still trusted that the ground was where it seemed—”

“Stop,” Tim says, closing his eyes. Every inch of him feels unbearably cold. “Just stop. I get it.”

“Do you?” Bruce asks. “Because you keep making this mistake, Tim. You could have died.”

“I know,” Tim says. “I know, B. I know.”

(And he does think he knows, this time. Because sitting here, shivering in the well-heated room with Bruce sitting next to him, he feels utterly alone.)

***

“Do you trust me?” Bruce asks.

Bruce had wanted Tim to stop trusting, is the thing. He’d pushed and pushed and pushed, all because he thought Tim was too trusting. 

To Bruce, trust is a weakness, a failing, an enemy. And now that he’s pressed that belief into Tim, well…

It’s wrong, it’s disrespectful, it’s horrible. Bruce was only trying to make Tim stronger. Bruce wants what’s best for him.

But you reap what you sow. So, Tim looks at Batman and can’t help but tell the truth.

“No,” Tim says, “I don’t.”

Instead of being angry, though, Bruce gives him an approving nod. “Good.”

Oh, Tim thinks. I finally passed the test.

[ravenlexis]

gonna say something controversial...

i'm going to put this under the cut bcs it got long. read at your own risk? check the tags?

i just backed out of a fic, which is smth that i do often when i don't like an aspect of it or when there's smth i'm uncomfortable with in the fic. there not actually anything like that with this recent one really, i'm not uncomfortable with anything or dislike anything about it.

just that not even third way through it, i realised that it's aventio. and while i'm a firm ratiorine enjoyer, the fic was rated T, i figured that i'll read it to see if i enjoy it, y'know?

i got through half of it before finally backing out.

this is where it might get controversial.

some months ago in the big year of 2024, there was a widespread discussion on many platforms (not just tumblr) on ship names. how it's all so boring nowadays, just the name of the characters smushed together and how dumb it is to differentiate one for when character A is the top and one for when character B is the top.

i do generally agree that some ship names could be better. there are some ship names that don't sound great no matter how their names are combined. but i do think it's actually important to differentiate the "top".

NOT just for PWP reasons, tho obviously that's one of the reasons why people have different ship names depending on which character tops. denying this particular reason is redundant.

mostly tho, from many (and i do mean, many) experience of reading fics, rated E, M, G, or T otherwise, people do write (and draw) differently depending on who tops.

this particular fic that i mentioned is one of them. aventio (and i'm using this bcs that's how the fic author intended it) were on a mission gone wrong (standard premise). ratio was escaping from the enemy, got cornered, got saved by avent, and off they went, improvising their escape route. during this whole thing, ratio was freaking out bcs avent was holding his hand (very cute author, plus ten points. we need more shy ratio in the fandom).

they got cornered into hiding and just when they were about to be able to escape unnoticed, ratio hit something in the dark and it crashed to the floor, loudly.

then they were both panicking, bcs clearly the enemy was investigating the noise. in a flash of brilliant problem solving, avent asked for ratio's agreement to fake make out with him (nothing fake about it tho, they both made the most of the situation and enjoyed themselves). the enemy was flustered (not recognising who they were), tried (and failed) to sternly warned them to evacuate (bcs after getting an eyeful of the smooching sesh, it's awkward for them lmao).

and i stopped reading there bcs i cracked up so hard i was late to work (and i'm not even joking).

bcs the author specifically typed smth along the lines of "Aventurine stayed where he was, covering Ratio with his body in the hopes to keep the guards from recognising him."

i was not prepared for that mental image, honestly.

i'm not making fun of the author in any way. it was refreshing to read up until that point. bcs in this fic, ratio is the one fumbling like a schoolgirl with a crush while avent was very assured in their partnership. but i just can't handle thinking that avent, who can stand behind ratio and hide without actually trying to, can actually hide ratio with his body.

and ngl, this fic writes ratio in an almost traditionally romance heroine way. he was blushy and giddy, even during the escape. freezing when the enemy cornered him and needed to be saved by avent.

i'm not saying ratiorine fics don't do this btw, there are fics that made avent a bit more traditionally feminine. (a damsel type of character, which just, no. he's very much capable, he had survived a lot canonically. i also backed out of those type of fics.)

what i am saying, and the whole point of this long post (which i thought was gonna be short), is that there's a necessity for the distinction of ship names. aventio and ratiorine both featured ratio and aventurine but they are depicted in vastly different ways. sometimes, the distinct ship name helps us find the art (be it fics or fanarts) that align with our characterisation of these characters.

every fan has different headcanons and characterisations for the characters they like, and while it may seem "confining" or "dumb" to care about who tops or bottoms, it actually impacts how someone writes (or draws) the characters.

i see so many artists that tagged their art as both ratiorine and aventio that clearly only needed to tag it as aventio and vice versa. there's a reason people use this system to begin with and it works for the longest time. those who don't care about who tops or just enjoy reading them switch dynamics usually use a third ship name.

honestly, if you reach this part, i appreciate you. be it bcs of curiosity or if you actually agree or reading just to disagree.

all that i ask is you actually pay attention and see if you can differentiate the distinction, how much the dynamics impact how the author or the artist portray them as individual characters. not just ratiorine in particular, but any ships you enjoy.

anyway, thanks for reading till the end. have a great time, be it early morning or late night or anything in between wherever you are. and if you do want to disagree, pls do so kindly.