#i really wanted to capture a lot of that reverence and have it be like a song inklings would sing to honor the sea

[cherry-bomb-ships]

I’d LOVE to see any of your lyrics but…. calamari Inkantation pls? 🥺 👉👈

Ok once again... THANK YOU FOR YOUR INTEREST, ANON 💖💖💖💖💖 I've been writing lyrics for Splatoon songs sonce literally 2016, it's only just recently that I've wanted to turn it into a larger project and record the lyrics I've made to make covers! Now then, Calamari Inkantation is one that I finished recently and it was actually a rather challenging one for me. While I'm not sure if I'm 100% satisfied with it and I may rework things here and there, it has a lot that I really like! Without further ado, below the cut here is my lyrics for Calamari Inkantation uwu

Can

You feel

It now

The rhythm of the sea

In you

Channeling through our song

We drum

The beat

Our voices give our blessing

And our hearts beat as one to the old Calamari Inkantation

Born of the foam

We rose, we rose

The might of the sea flows deep within our ink

And until the day that the ocean reclaims her children

On this holy land we reign, reign, reign

Now

When we

Unite

And harmonize

The sea takes hold

We feel it in our soul

We crash, we sway

We ebb and flow like the waves and we move here as one, giving honor to our old mother, so

Can

You feel

It now

The rhythm of the sea

In you

Channeling through our song

We drum

The beat

Our voices give our blessing

And our hearts beat as one to the old Calamari Inkantation

[ninibeingdelulu]

You really like them a lot, don't you ?

synopsis-> You just love your boyfriend’s arms

a/n-> new design, y'all like it ? CLICK ME

The soft patter of rain against the windows filled the cozy apartment as you snuggled closer into Leon's warm embrace on the couch.

His toned arm was draped over your shoulders, the sleeve of his snug t-shirt pushed up just enough to reveal those thick, protruding veins that never failed to set your heart aflutter.

You traced your fingertips lightly over the raised paths, admiring how they rippled underneath his pale skin with each flex of his powerful muscles.

Leon let out a contented hum, clearly amused by your fascination as he pulled you nearer.

"You're at it again, love." he chuckled deeply, the rumble vibrating against your cheek where it rested on his chest.

"When are you gonna get enough of these old things?" he added.

"Never." You murmured without a shred of shame, continuing to reverently follow the roadmap of veins along the underside of his forearm down to his large, capable hand.

Just mapping every ridgeline and groove with your exploratory caresses and committing them to memory all over again.

Leon was all sinewy strength contained in an appealingly rugged package - the epitome of everything you found irresistibly attractive in a man.

He shivered visibly when you traced the thick cords leading into the sturdy bones of his knuckles, seeming to shudder from the featherlight sensations dancing over such calloused skin.

With a sly grin, you began kneading into the tough musculature with your thumbs, relishing every twitch and flutter you could coax out of your buff boyfriend.

"Damn, you really do have a thing for my arms, huh?"

Leon's voice had dropped into a lower, huskier register tinted with growing arousal the more you lavished them with worship.

"Should've known keeping those guns on display was a dangerous game to play around you..."

You raised your gaze to find his stormy azure eyes already drinking you in with a molten, smoldering intensity that made heat bloom low in your belly.

His plump lips were quirked into that trademark lopsided smirk - the one that never failed to liquify your bones into pliant putty under the weight of his mere stare alone.

"Can you blame me?" you purred, purposefully flexing his wrist upwards and mouthing at the thick, flexed veins standing in stark relief against tawny skin and crisp blonde hair.

"With arms like these to enjoy whenever I want...who needs a tv show as entertaining as you are to look at, baby?"

The low gravelly groan that rumbled free was your only warning before Leon captured your lips in a searing, demanding kiss.

His free hand anchored itself in your hair to angle you deeper into his passionate onslaught while your nimble fingers continued their devoted ministrations along every rope-thick tendon and bulging swell they could find.

All thoughts of the show you'd been watching instantly fled your mind when the insistent press of Leon's arousal strained against your hip.

Leaving your mind deliriously empty of anything except worshipping his body like the muscular wonderland it was...

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

Your works beautiful, so much detail 👍Request: Alastor × female reader. They've been together for a long time; Alastor decides he wants have sex with reader. Reader tells him she's a virgin, which makes him want this occasion to be very special. On the night they plan it, Alastor gets called by his soul owner making him go away before their time together. Alastor's fearing that he won't make it back in time. He makes it back and they have a very romantic sex time. Soft, gentle, lots of kisses.

Trust - Alastor x fem!reader

MATURE CONTENT AHEAD! MINORS DNI!

Hello! Thank you for this request!! Sorry if it came out a bit angsty. I haven't written smut in a while (since the ones posted until this one were written a month ago) and I kind of got more into the emotional side of it. Also, I had this song from TDG stuck in my head while writing this. Hope it's sweet tho!❤️

Words: ~1800 TW: vaginal sex, first time sex, oral (female receiving), fluff and a bit of angst

You thought he forgot. You thought he only filled your head with empty promises, just to make fun of you. To prove to you that he was not going to be tied down to you in any way.

But not now - not when his hands slowly lifted up your shirt, the brief touches sending shivers down your spine. Now, when he kissed you so eagerly, but at the same time so soft, as if not to scare you.

"I thought you left me..." you said, as he stopped, his eyes meeting yours. He sighed, resting his forehead against yours. He didn't blame you for thinking that. Even he didn't believe he would make it back in time - but he was here now.

“I would never willingly leave you behind, my dear. Something…unfortunate arose, but I returned as swiftly as I could.” he captured your lips once again, almost as if the thought of not returning made him miss you, even though you were right there, underneath him.

"Will you ever tell me what's going on?"

You knew Alastor had a deal. Who was the one on the other end remained a mystery. Alastor kept an open heart towards you, the idea of having someone he could open up to was not so dreadful as he thought it would be. But you never pressed things any further. If he wanted to tell you, he would do it himself.

"It's really nothing you should be concerned about, my dear...." he whispered, his soft smile faltering for a moment. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, freezing like this for a moment, your fingers brushing through his hair and occasionally caressing his ears. "I just..." he started, lifting his head slightly to look at you, but something made him stop, his smile reappearing. "Now, now... Let's not destroy the mood, right?"

His lips found yours, hesitant at first, then gradually more assured, every brush of his skin against yours igniting a fire within him. His fingers ghosted over your shirt, pausing as if waiting for unspoken permission, before slowly moving upward, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. A gasp made his ears twitch, as he started playing with your soft boobs, massaging them and occasionally pinching the already hardened nipples.

Alastor's kisses slowly reached your neck, the sensitive skin burning underneath his touch. He needed to let go of all his thoughts - he needed to get lost in the moment. To get lost in you.

He wanted to forget about everything he's ever done: the murders, the deals, the mistakes. He wanted to have you - the only thing that could still make him feel some warmth, something not even he thought was possible anymore. His fingers ghosted over your skin, more reverent than possessive, as if he feared you might vanish.

Your shirt slowly came off, exposing all of you entirely, a soft blush burning on your cheeks. Every little touch of his lips won a gasp from you - his tongue slowly encircling your nipple, while his claws left little trails behind them. His lips traced slow, delicate paths across your skin, lingering as though he could memorize each sensation. Every kiss was a quiet promise.

In a swift move, he took down your panties, leaving you completely vulnerable in front of him. You felt so small, like a deer in front of a wolf. But you weren't scared. And he knew that.

Alastor grabbed your knees, slowly opening your legs, your core glistening in the soft lighting his bayou provided. He ran his hands up and down your thighs as he leaned down, his breath sending shivers through your body.

"Are you trembling because you're scared, my love, or is it something else entirely?" he asked, his voice soft, a hint of amusement in it.

"Just... a bit nervous, I guess..." you whispered back.

He chuckled slightly, the sound of it making you clench slightly around nothing. "There's nothing to worry about, my dear... Now lay there and let me taste you."

Without warning, he gave you a long lick before his lips connected to your core, harshly sucking and eating you up like a starved man. Your hands quickly grabbed his hair, pulling it slightly as moans filled the room. Soft grunts from him made your heart skip a beat, the sight of Alastor between your legs mesmerising you completely.

He abused your sensitive bud with no remorse, your screams of pleasure going unnoticed by the deer demon. He was too lost in the moment, your taste awakening something feral inside of him.

"Ahh~ Shit! Al-Alastor, fuck!" you tried to move, but his claws tightly grabbed you, stopping you from escaping. His tongue flicked over you, the new sensation making you lightheaded. Slowly, he pushed his index finger inside of you, slightly spreading your walls that were desperately clenching around him. His tongue never slowed down, as his finger started pumping in and out of you.

You felt yourself melting into his touch, the sounds of your arousal making his bulge grow with every second. He never thought he would get so weak hearing you like this – vulnerable and begging him to make you feel good. Completely at his mercy and despite all these, you trusted him entirely.

Trust—a concept so foreign, yet here it was. He could shatter it, yet the idea of doing so left him hollow.

Something he earned easily as a way to manipulate others, to destroy them completely when they least expect it. No, he didn’t care about trust. Not when it came to others. But you were there. He could break you, he could torture your soul in ways you never even expected, but you still trusted him. And somehow, a part of him hated it.

He hated it because a part of him knew he would disappoint you. No, he didn’t care if Charlie failed. He didn’t care if that hotel one day just collapsed, taking everyone with it. But failing you...

Alastor's chest tightened. He'd always been the predator, never the prey. Yet, at this moment, the thought of failing you gnawed at him in ways he never imagined. Love was foreign to him — too tender, too vulnerable. But here, with you, it was the only thing that made sense.

It wasn’t just a mere thought that passed his mind from time to time – just a dark possibility that lingered in his mind. It was something that made him go crazy. Just like how he disappointed his mother, it hurt him to the deepest parts of him.

He stopped for a moment, looking up at you, watching as your chest rapidly rose. “Alastor?” you whispered as you tried to regain your composure.

What if he failed his part of the deal? What if he was never going to return to this? What if you were going to get hurt?

He quickly climbed back on top of you. With trembling hands, he gently cupped your face before leaning in, his lips brushing against yours. This kiss felt desperate as if he were savouring what could be the last time, his every move filled with longing. A desperate kiss before you were going to be taken away from him, just like everything he dared to love.

But when he opened his eyes, you were still here, and a part of him got warm again. “Are you sure you want this, my dear?”

You pulled him closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I want you, Alastor… More than anything…” Something in his mind broke. With one hand, he reached for yours, bringing it down to his hard bulge, your face burning at the sudden gesture.

"I never thought I'd be capable of this… of wanting someone as much as I want you," Alastor whispered as you felt his hardness. "You're killing me..." he buried his face into your neck as he quickly unzipped his pants. He didn’t plan to give in so easily, but he needed this. He needed to make sure you were really there. He needed to feel you entirely.

You closed your eyes as his lips placed trails of kisses down your neck, his tip pressed against your core. He slowly moved it in and out, barely entering you, as you winced a bit at the discomfort. It was like a torturous game between pain and pleasure. With every move he entered more and more, stretching you out as soft moans enlightened him.

Alastor pressed his thumb against your clit, circling fast as he went in deeper, careful not to hurt you. Low grunts echoed in your ears as your walls clenched around him. He had to fight back the urge not to pound you into the mattress right there, the slow pace making him go crazy.

Every thrust sent shivers through your body, the way his finger moved against your clit making the coil in your stomach twist. The way he dragged around your sensitive walls made you melt against him, pulling him deeper into your embrace.

His mind was a mess, taking in every detail of this moment. He wanted it to last forever, to feel you there with him until you both would die once again, whatever that could mean for a sinner. Because maybe this time, he would die happy.

His pace quickened, your wetness gushing around his cock as you felt yourself getting closer. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers slowly tugging at his hair. Your moans were everything he could think of, flooding his mind like a sweet melody.

A deep thrust made you cry out in pleasure as he never stopped abusing that sweet spot. His name was everything you could think of as you tightly clenched around him, the waves of pleasure making your body spasm against his bigger frame. And, despite his attempt to engulf himself more in this moment, it was enough for him to finish. With powerful thrusts he spilt his cum inside of you, filling you up entirely.

You sat there, watching him as his body went numb against yours, pulling you closer towards him. You knew there was something he pushed in the back of his mind, something he would never tell you unless ready to. So you just pulled him closer, at least making him feel a bit relieved.

“I love you, Alastor…” you whispered, as his ears twitched slightly at the words. He pulled you closer, wanting to feel that warmth you never failed to provide for him.

“I…” The words were right there, lodged in his throat. He had never spoken them before, not with this kind of weight. What was he without the walls he built around himself? But as his gaze locked with yours, the warmth in your eyes broke him down, word by word. You cooed him, running your hand through his hair, his breath soft.

“I don’t want you to leave me too, my dear…”

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail @xghostnuggsx @vxllys

@ustulia @n0tmentallystable @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog @alastorthirsty

@l3rittany @catticora

[randomdragonfires]

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Part Two

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him. 

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader

WORD COUNT | 13.2k

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!  

A/N | Not beta read. ;)

She sits at Aemond’s kitchen counter, her eyes wandering over the photographs sprawled out in front of her. Each image captures the haunting beauty of the ruins of Valyria, a place Aemond has been passionate about for ages due to his heritage. The smell of French toast wafts through the air, mixing with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He pours her a mug and slides it over to her.

Just for a second, the domesticity of it all makes her want to blush. 

She has been seeing men, yes. Ever since she got to college, there have been no shortage of men who want to date her; but she has been hesitant about letting any of them close. Perhaps it is the idea of being touched once more, or the comfort she has grown for herself that she refuses to let anyone in - she does not know.

But not Aemond, seems like. He’s been her bedrock ever since she moved to Oldtown, and sometimes, he does little things that make her feel warm.

She has a hard time figuring out what it is, but it’s certainly not feelings. She’s had them before, for Daeron - it’s a lot more intense, usually.

This is easy. Too easy. It is easy to be attracted to Aemond, he’s got that about him. But he’s also Aemond - Daeron’s brother. It is quite messed up. It is easy to be infatuated, she feels. But she’s not quite ready to do anything about something so miniscule - especially given what he means to her.

It’s all a bit of fun, really. A mindless little crush.  All of it goes away in time.

And there’s also the fact that he seems to like someone else, and not her.

Aemond moves gracefully around the kitchen, flipping slices of bread in a sizzling pan. His expression is animated as he recounts the details of his recent trip. "Valyria is everything I imagined and more," he said, his voice filled with awe. "The architecture, even in ruins… phenomenal.”

She picks up a photo showing a grand, crumbling archway, its intricate carvings still visible despite centuries of decay. "This is incredible," she murmurs, tracing a finger over the image. "Like walking through time.”

He smiles, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Exactly. Every piece of rubble, every shattered column… and the dragons… you can feel their presence, even now."

She looks up at him, curiosity piqued. "Did you find anything related to your family?"

"I did. There were symbols and inscriptions that matched the Targaryen coat of arms. There was this…” He turns quickly to rustle his hands through the photos, trying to find one that he probably intends to show her. When he spots it, he slides it to her by the fingertips. “This old stone tablet with the Targaryen dragon carved into it, still intact despite the centuries.”

"That's incredible. It must have been surreal to see it in person."

"It was," Aemond agrees, his voice tinged with reverence as he went back to the stove. "There were also ancient manuscripts, or what was left of them. The text was almost completely eroded, but you could still make out references to my ancestors. And there was a mural, faded and cracked, but you could see the dragons soaring over Valyria in them, with what we believe were the early Targaryens among them."

He placed the plate of French toast in front of her and sat down, his eyes glowing with excitement. "I even found a piece of what might have been a dragon egg, petrified but still recognizable.”

Wylde takes a bite of the French toast, savoring the warm, cinnamon flavor, but her mind was captivated by Aemond's discoveries. “How’d you end up making the trip? Thought it was closed for like… government reasons or something?”

“Right, so… Aegon-”

“That never ends well.”

The edge of his lips twinges upward and she clocks his faint smile. “He's the creative director of The Kingslander now.” She has heard of it. Aegon Targaryen was quite the flighty boy growing up, with little to no focus on anything low-key. He would always have an eye for anything creative and aesthetic though, and had a unique style. Alicent spotted an early opportunity for her eldest son, and had him intern at The Kingslander, one of the many magazines that Targaryen Consolidated owned. Soon enough, he had something to channel himself into, and it showed. From fashion photography to various directed photoshoots, he was in his element.

But at heart, Aegon was never meant for the desk lifestyle. So when Sara Snow - an archeology professor - tumbled into his life and told him she was to leave on an expedition for half a year, he took the opportunity to let loose and chase her across the globe. She had him enrolled into the documenting team so he wouldn’t be twiddling his thumbs, and he seems to have taken to it quite well.

‘So I’m like, into history now.’ She can clearly hear him say it. “I don’t know. He likes this girl, and he got access, so he invited me to go along because there may never be a chance again.”

“Sounds like such an Aegon thing to do,” she says wistfully as the last bits of her food disappear from the plate. 

“What?”

“To put his heart on the line and take risks that involve going halfway across the globe to a restricted area for a girl.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“You wouldn’t do it?”

Aemond pauses, contemplating the question. "It's not that I wouldn't. It's just... different for me."

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Different how?"

“He’s so… out of control. I’d not prefer that.”

“Hm. Or perhaps you haven’t had your crazy grand romantic moment yet.” Red blooms over his cheeks as he faces away, taking her plate to dump it into the sink. “Speaking of. You mentioned you met someone months ago! I’ve been here for three months already and you’re yet to tell me anything!”

“It’s very casual.”

“Liar. You’d not be hiding her like your life depended on it if it was.” 

“Hm.”

She stands up, gathering her books and bag, ready to go home. She begins to assemble all the photos, carefully placing them back into the box. As she reaches for the last few, her fingers brush against a small, delicate emerald locket she hadn't noticed earlier. She holds it up, admiring its intricate design.

"Is this from the expedition too?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.

Aemond turns, scratching the back of his neck as he answers, "No, that's a friend's. She was looking at the photos earlier." A faint blush creeps up his cheeks, but Wylde notices it immediately.

"And is this the same… friend that you're trying to hide from me?" she teases, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Perhaps," Aemond admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

She chuckles, and stores at the back of her mind the observation that whoever he’s seeing comes and goes to the flat, just like her. "Good taste in jewelry, I'll tell you that much. I like her already."

She walks up to him, wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug and planting a friendly kiss on his cheek. The tingling feeling is back again, but she ignores it like the plague.

 "Food was good. One of these days you'll give Criston a run for his money," she jokes - to lower his tension or hers, she does not know.

Aemond mutters his thanks, his blush deepening. "Don't get your hopes up too high."

She strolls through the lively streets of Oldtown, her phone pressed to her ear. The scent of fresh pastries from a nearby café mingles with the distant hum of conversation, and the old world charm brightens up her day.

“Hey… been a while!” she says, her voice bright with genuine enthusiasm. “How’s everything at KLU?”

There’s a brief pause before Daeron’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Hi, yourself! Things are going great here. Campus is even more lively than I expected, classes are alright. How’s Oldtown treating you?”

You could have found out for yourself if you’d followed through with me, she thinks. She’s quick to kick her bitter thoughts to the curb though.

She glances around at the charming storefronts and the lively crowds. “It’s been a whirlwind. The courses are intense, but I’m getting used to the pace. I’m really enjoying the city - it’s everything I hoped it would be. So different from home, but in a good way. Aemond and I spend a lot of time together, so that’s nice.”

“Yeah, Oldtown is amazing,” Daeron agrees, his enthusiasm unwavering. “I remember going there to visit grandpa often as a kid.””

“Oh yeah!” Her curiosity gets the better of her, and her question tumbles out before she can stop herself. “How’re things with you and Floris?”

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line. She can almost hear Daeron shifting, his voice a bit more guarded when he replies. “Oh, Floris is… she’s doing well. She’s been really busy with her studies and all. It’s been a bit hectic for her, but she’s handling it. You know how she is - always on top of things.”

No, I don’t know how she is, actually.

Her brow furrows slightly as she walks past the café, where the smell of coffee and baked goods wafts out into the street. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something feels off to her. “That’s good to hear. But you sound a bit... dull. Everything okay?”

Daeron let out a nervous chuckle. “No, it’s nothing like that. We’ve just been caught up in our own worlds lately. It’s a lot to balance with everything going on. But she’s fine, really. We’re fine.”

He’s lying. She knows. She knows him like the back of her hand.

Arianne Martell approaches her in the distance, her bright smile unmistakable. She sighs into her phone, deciding to let the topic drop for now. “Hey, Daeron, I’ve got to go. Catch up later, yeah?”

“Okay, bye. And hey-”

“What?”

“I miss you.”

Much and more has happened between them, but she can’t help but smile all the same. “Me too. We’ll talk soon.”

Heart warmed by the fact that she can have a conversation with him again without wanting to pull his spun silver hair out, she picks up the pace to join Arianne. 

They queue up at the cart, their conversation slipping into the familiar rhythm of college gossip. Arianne’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she leans closer. “You won’t believe what I heard about Margaery Tyrell. Apparently, she’s been sneaking off to meet with Lionel Hightower.”

Wylde raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Margaery? Really? I thought she was with-”

Arianne nods enthusiastically. “Renly Baratheon, yes. But my brother saw him and Loras Tyrell making out at one of his parties.”

“Well. Fair enough.” 

Arianne grins, clearly enjoying the drama. “Oh, it gets better. Apparently, they’ve been trying to get Cregan Stark to join them but he’s much too prudish for a threesome.”

“Prudish or just uncomfortable with them?”

“Who knows?”

As they walk past the cart, Wylde’s gaze drifts toward the window of a nearby restaurant. For a moment, she spots a familiar silhouette through the glass. She wants to think it’s Aemond, but it would be a reach to assume every tall man in a black hoodie is him.

But she spots Vhagar parked out front, and now she knows for sure.

Aemond is seated with his back to her, and she can tell by his posture that it's him. He’s accompanied by an obscured woman who gestures animatedly as she talks. They seem engrossed in deep conversation, and Aemond’s face is animated, his focus entirely on the woman before him.

Her curiosity is piqued, but she quickly refocuses on Arianne, who is now recounting the latest gossip involving the drama club’s lead actor.

It feels wrong to be peeking into Aemond's life like this.

Arianne’s laughter draws her attention back. “Anyway, I have a date with Arys tonight!”

“STOP! Really?”

“He finally asked me out, thank the Gods. Thought he was going to drag it out forever!” 

She laughs, the earlier sight of Aemond slipping from her mind. 

“Yeah so, you’ll come in and help me get ready?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They are sprawled on his plush leather couch, the glow from the laptop illuminating their surroundings. The soft hum of a wildlife documentary is heard, the narrator's voice a soothing backdrop to the scenes of the Sarnor savannah playing out on the screen. Bowls of snacks—popcorn and chocolate-covered almonds—are scattered around them, within easy reach.

She is nestled comfortably against Aemond’s side, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm is draped casually around her, fingers idly tracing patterns on her arm. They are so close, their bodies glued together that it’d be so easy to assume that they were a couple, rather than friends who’ve known each other their entire lives. Every so often, Aemond’s hand dips into the bowl of popcorn, bringing a few kernels to his mouth, while she picks at the chocolate almonds. She feels the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the warmth of his body seeping into hers.

As his fingers trace gentle patterns on her arm, she feels a shiver run through her. It’s a simple touch, yet it sends her heart racing. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact, every subtle shift in his posture. The way he holds her, casually yet protectively, makes her wonder if he feels the same way. Does he know how much these small gestures mean to her? 

He’s just being friendly to a girl he’s known almost his entire life.

She steals a glance at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the laptop screen. His sharp features are softened in the dim light, and she notices the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates on the documentary. She resists the strange urge to smoothen out the lines on his face and help him calm down.

She sighs contentedly, but soon a dull ache begins to build at her temples. She shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the headache persists. She groans softly, bringing a hand to her forehead.

Aemond glances down at her, a look of concern crossing his features. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a headache,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and leaning further into him. “It’s been a long day.”

Without a word, Aemond begins to gently massage her scalp, his fingers working through her hair with practiced ease. His attention remains fixed on the laptop screen, but his touch is gentle and soothing, each movement easing the tension from her temples.

She feels a flutter in her chest, a familiar sensation she’s tried to ignore. The crush she has on Aemond, usually kept carefully in check, creeps up on her as he continues to massage her scalp. His touch is both comforting and intimate, sending shivers down her spine.

Hormones are a nasty little thing, she surmises as her mild feelings refuse to go away. How could they, when he’s holding her like this?

She feels the need to speak if only to calm herself down.

“Daeron and I spoke today.”

His hands stop immediately, and his face hardens as he looks down at her. She looks up to meet his gaze, and she refuses to think of how close she is to his lips. She won’t.

Perhaps she is a little attracted to him. 

It’s natural, and honestly? An inevitability. He’s Aemond. Anyone with proper vision and a sound mind would be attracted to him. She’s just lucky that she knows him well enough to be part of his space.

It’s stupid and even a bit silly. She’ll be over it just fine.

She moves away from him, sitting facing him with crossed legs. “What did he say?” He asks, and she spots the defensiveness in his tone.

“Nothing to worry about, it was nice actually.” She smiles, still very fond of her long-time best friend. “We just caught up and he was telling me about KLU. He also said he had plans to visit here in the summer, so I’m quite excited!”

“And how can you be sure that he’s not going to let himself be pulled away again?”

“About that…” She sighs. Regardless of how messy their equation had been towards the end of school, she has grown back her affinity for the youngest Targaryen brother. She supposes all they needed was time. “I asked about him and Floris today, he seemed very hesitant with his answers.”

“Hm.” She hears the pop of each of his knuckles as he cracks them with a concentrated look on his face.

“I don’t know. I think he’s lying.”

“You’re sure?”

“I know him. I know him well, like the back of my hand. I know when he’s lying. He didn’t sound like himself. I worry for him.”

“It’s not your place to do anything until he asks for help.”

“But I didn’t even-”

“You know him and I know you. You’d trip over yourself trying to help him.”

Her shoulders slump as she realizes he’s right. It is in Daeron’s nature to come to her when he’s down, and it is in her nature to be there for him. She’s wired that way, truly. How can she not be, when she’s been that way for as long as she’s known him?

“I’d rather you not be hurt again. Daeron is… careless. He and Aegon never consider anything beyond the next ten minutes, and they leave a big mess in their wake.”

She smirks. “Are you using me as an excuse to take shots at your brothers?”

She sees the corner of his lips twitch, and she brings her hands together as she sighs once more. “I just… I’ve had time to get over the fact that we drifted apart. But it made me quite sad that he felt the need to lie to me and smooth things rather than actually tell me what’s going on, you know?”

“Happens.” His replies are curt and his disposition is rougher. She doesn’t know why, and she refuses to let it grow. “Nothing you can do about it,” he adds.

“Hm.”

The sounds of the documentary keep the room from being pin drop silent, and she gets off the sofa to go to the fridge. “We’ve run out of cheesecake.” She says, coming back to where she was sitting before.

“Yeah, I need to get more.”

“You could have gotten some when you went to Moonbloom a few days ago.”

Aemond’s nervousness was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him well. But to her, the subtle shifts were as clear as daylight. She noticed how his jaw tightened just a fraction, the way his eyes seemed to flicker with an almost invisible tension. His usually steady hands would still, fingers curling ever so slightly into his palms. He’d draw in a slow, controlled breath, his chest rising just a bit higher than usual.

“When did you see me?”

The eyebrow of his functional eye lifts just a little, almost as if he’s asking her how she knew. "I saw Vhagar parked outside. Figured nobody else had a bike that looked similar. Thought you may be with someone, so I didn’t want to intrude."

"Professor Rivers," he replies, his tone dangerously neutral. "I was working on my papers about the expedition, using them for my semester submission, and we bumped into each other."

"Oh, okay. Weird, isn’t it? To bump into professors outside of campus. Like people let out of their natural habitat."

"Hm. Perhaps." His cheeks take on a faint pink hue, and she can’t help but smile.

"Why are you blushing?" she asks, laughing heartily, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "You don’t have a crush on her or something, do you?"

"Gods, no," he replies quickly, the words almost too quick. It’s a lighthearted quip to her, nothing more, but the slight tilt in his tone lingers in her mind, a small seed of curiosity planted.

“I mean, she is pretty. I wouldn’t blame you.” She laughs, trying to tease him further and he disappointedly nods side to side.

A few hours go by as they continue to pass the time, but Aemond seems a little tense from thereon out. He’s quieter - if that’s even possible - and his responses, more measured. She notices the way he occasionally bites the inside of his cheek, a habit he has when something's bothering him. His fingers tap lightly against his knee in an uneven rhythm, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

When she asks him a question, he pauses just a moment longer than usual before answering, as if carefully choosing his words. The slight furrow in his brow, the way his gaze occasionally drifts to the floor, and the almost imperceptible sighs he lets out - they all speak of an unease that she spots effortlessly.

These are the times when she hates knowing the Targaryen children as well as she does.

She watches him closely, feeling a pang of guilt. He’s not the kind to take these things to heart usually, but something about her teasing seems to have unsettled him this time. She no longer feels welcome, and she knows he’d rather be left alone now and to find her when he’s ready for her again. She doesn’t like that it has to be this way, but giving him his space is the most she can do.

She stands abruptly, murmuring something about an early class in the morning and how she has to go. He immediately softens then, and stands idly with his hands in his pockets as she packs her bag. 

She doesn’t like leaving him like this, but just as she moves to the door, she turns at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand, holding onto her wrist. With his other hand at the back of his neck, his look is almost sheepish. “Listen, sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable-”

“I’m sorry too. It wasn’t funny to tease about your professors. Didn’t realize you were quite touchy about it.”

“I’m not, just… I don’t know what happened.”

Her gaze is fixed at his strong hand holding hers, and she looks at it for too long before he notices it and drops it like hot coal. She misses the warmth of him immediately with a strange overwhelming feeling she cannot put into words. It’s not her silly little crush on him, it’s just a natural physical reaction, she tells herself.

She softens and melts immediately at his peculiar attempt to smooth things over with her, and it is heartwarming to her that he tries. “Aemond, it’s okay. You’re fine. If anything, I should apologize and I am sorry.”

“Neither of us should be apologizing, this is a non-issue.” He says, and she recognises the finality of his tone. There is no space for debate; and in all honesty, she doesn’t know why a throwaway statement became a big deal anyway.

“Okay.” As is her habit, she leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him on his warm cheek before saying bye. Tonight however, neither of them seem to want to leave each other as they continue to be glued to where they stand. She notices the ring on his finger and remembers Daeron, her mind racing to the conversation they had once more. Her mind travels to every word he said on their phone call, and the words rush out of her before she can help herself.

“You wouldn’t ever lie to me, would you?”

He sighs, leaning on the doorway with his hands folded into his chest. She cannot deny how effortlessly good he looks right then.

“I’d never hurt you.”

“Okay.” She absentmindedly nods as she repeats the words to herself and she bites her lip. She clutches onto her sling bag as she finally moves away.

She doesn't quite dwell on the fact that he promised not to hurt her but didn't exactly promise never to lie.

The thrum of music pulses through the packed house, every beat vibrating through her bones. She scans the crowd, trying to spot Arianne, but her friend has disappeared into the sea of bodies. She shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. The alcohol has dulled her senses just enough to make everything feel a little softer around the edges.

As she leans against the wall, Willas Tyrell saunters over, a confident smile playing on his lips. They’ve been eyeing each other all night, and now, with eight rounds of beer warming her veins, she feels bolder than usual.

"Hey, lost your friend?" he asks, his voice smooth and warm.

"Yeah, Arianne's somewhere in this madness," she replies, laughing lightly. "But it's not so bad. I found you."

He chuckles, taking a step closer. "Lucky me. What are you drinking?"

"Beer. Not my first choice, but it does the job."

"Well, if you're up for something better, I’ve got some whiskey upstairs," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Interested?"

She arches an eyebrow, feeling a thrill of excitement. "Whiskey, huh? That does sound tempting. Is that all on offer though?"

"Why don’t you come and find out?" he teases, holding out his hand.

Without hesitation, she takes it, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrap around hers. They weave through the crowded living room, climbing the stairs to a quieter part of the house. The music grows fainter, the air cooler, as they reach an empty room at the end of the hall.

He closes the door behind them, and she turns to face him, her heart pounding with anticipation. They are inches apart, the charged energy between them palpable.

"You know," she says, her voice low. "I've always thought you were kind of cute."

"Kind of cute?" he repeats, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I was hoping for more than 'kind of.'"

"Well, you might have to work for it," she challenges, stepping closer until their bodies are almost touching.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small flask, unscrewing the cap and offering it to her. "How about some of this?"

She takes a sip, the burn of the whiskey warming her insides and adding to the haze in her mind. She hands it back to him, their fingers brushing in the exchange, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Not bad," she says, licking her lips. "Maybe you do have good taste."

He laughs softly, his eyes darkening with desire. "Glad you think so. Now, where were we?"

"Right about here," she whispers, closing the distance between them.

He doesn't need any more encouragement. Willas cups her face with one hand, the other sliding around her waist as he pulls her in for a kiss. It is slow and deliberate at first, but quickly grows more intense, their mouths moving hungrily against each other. She can taste the faint hint of whiskey on his lips, mingling with the lingering taste of alcohol on her own.

Her hands roam over his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles through his shirt. He responds by sliding his fingers under the hem of her top, lifting it over her head and tossing it aside. His touch is electric, sending shivers down her spine as he deftly unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the floor.

"You’re full of surprises," she murmurs, her breath hitching as he kisses down her neck.

"You have no idea," he replies, his voice husky with need.

He pushes her onto the bed, the world around them narrowing to just the two of them. She lands on her back, looking up at him with a mixture of desire and haziness, the room spinning slightly around her. Willas hovers above her, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of her bare skin. He leans down, capturing her lips in another searing kiss, his hands exploring her body with a desperate urgency. She arches into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer.

Their kisses grow more frantic, each movement a testament to their mutual need. He trails his lips down her collarbone, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin, eliciting a gasp from her. His hands slide lower, brushing against her waist, before moving to undo the button of her jeans.

She’s caged between his strong arms, with nowhere to move. For a fleeting moment, the sensation is thrilling. But then, as Willas's hands slide lower, the room spins faster, and the walls seem to close in. Her breath catches in her throat, and she’s suddenly transported back to that night in school with Jason Lannister, his oppressive presence, the helplessness, the terror.

A cold sweat breaks out on her skin. The memory floods her mind: Jason's hands on her, her desperate attempts to push him away, the fear that froze her limbs. The room spins more violently now, and the warmth of Willas's body becomes suffocating.

"Stop," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

Willas doesn't hear her, his kisses growing more insistent. The panic rises in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Stop," she says again, louder this time, but it still feels like she’s shouting underwater.

Her heart races, and her vision blurs. She tries to push him away, her hands trembling. "Willas, stop," she says more firmly, her voice cracking.

This time, he hears her. He immediately pulls back, his eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but edged with worry.

She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't... I can't do this. I'm sorry."

He moves away quickly, giving her space. "Hey, it’s okay. It's okay," he reassures her, his tone soft and understanding. He sits beside her, not touching, giving her the room she needs.

She sits up, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. The room still feels like it's spinning, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess. Willas watches her with genuine concern, not pushing, just waiting.

After a few moments, he reaches for her discarded top and hands it to her along with her bra. "Here, put this on. Take your time."

"I'm so sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don’t apologize," he says softly. “You’re good, just breathe. You’re fine.”

She nods, focusing on her breathing, trying to regain control. The panic begins to ebb, replaced by a shaky calm. Willas stays beside her, offering quiet support.

"Thank you," she finally manages to say, looking at him with gratitude and a lingering hint of embarrassment.

"Anytime," he replies with a gentle smile. "Do you want me to call someone?”

“No, I… I think I’m gonna just… go.”

“Let me help you.”

“It’s okay. Can you just… I need a moment, if that’s okay. I’m so sorry if I ruined tonight for you.”

“You’re alright. I don’t feel good letting you go off alone like this though.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.”

She steps out of the house, the cool night air hitting her like a splash of cold water. The noise of the party fades behind her, replaced by the quieter sounds of the street. Scattered red cups and empty beer bottles litter the front yard, remnants of a night that feels distant and surreal now. A figure lies passed out on the lawn, oblivious to the world as others continue to mill about inside.

She walks to the corner of the pavement, her steps slow and unsteady. The streetlight above her makes the world feel too bright and too stark. She sits down, her knees drawn up to her chest, and tries to steady her breathing. The cool concrete is a small comfort, grounding her as she struggles to calm her racing heart.

With trembling hands, she pulls out her phone and dials Aemond’s number. The ringing seems to echo in her ears, each tone stretching into what feels like an eternity. Finally, the call connects, and she hears the distant, muffled sound of conversation.

“Aemond,” she says, her voice cracking and barely more than a whisper. “I—I need you. I’m… I’m outside Margaery Tyrell’s party.”

There’s a brief pause on the line. She hears the faint hum of a cheerful woman’s voice, laughter floating in the background. A pang of guilt hits her hard. She feels like an intruder, her mind racing as she realizes she might be interrupting something important.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her voice breaking. “I—I’m really sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t mean to interrupt… whoever you're with. I just— I’m so scared. Can you… can you come get me? Please?”

Her breathing comes in ragged bursts, her words tumbling out in a breathless, almost incoherent rush. The panic clawing at her chest makes it hard to focus, and the alcohol hasn’t worn off one bit.

“Wylde?” Aemond’s voice is suddenly urgent, cutting through her frantic apologies. There’s a concern in his tone that makes her stomach clench.  Don’t move. I’ll be there soon. Just breathe, okay?”

She struggles to calm her racing heart, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, her voice trembling with desperation. “I’m really sorry… I just… I can’t… One minute we were kissing and the next I’m crying, I can't breathe...I-”

“Wylde, listen to me,” Aemond says firmly, but gently. “It’s okay. I’m on my way. Just stay where you are. I need you to breathe and stay calm. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

The call ends abruptly, and she is left in the cold night air, clutching her phone with shaking hands. Her breaths come out in shaky, uneven puffs as she tries to focus on Aemond’s calming words. The street feels both stark and surreal, the shadows around her stretching long and foreboding. She pulls her jacket tighter around her, trying to find comfort in its warmth while waiting for him to arrive.

As they arrive at his apartment, the familiar rumble of the motorbike fades as he turns the keys. Aemond helps her off the bike with a gentle but firm hand, guiding her carefully up the stairs and into his apartment. The door swings open to reveal a cozy space, bathed in the dim, warm glow of a few scattered lamps.

He holds onto her with one hand, using his free hand for everything else. Her head rests under his chin, and she can’t help but nuzzle herself into his neck and make herself at home as his warmth pervades her dulled senses. 

He leads her inside and guides her to the bathroom. With a tender touch, he helps her sit on the edge of the tub. The gentle hum of the apartment and the soft rustling of his movements are a soothing backdrop to her foggy consciousness. He rummages through a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of water and painkillers.

“Here,” he says softly, handing her the water and pills. “You should take these. They’ll help with the headache.”

She nods weakly, managing to swallow the medication with a few sips of water. Her head feels heavy, and her thoughts are a jumbled mess, but the care in his voice and his steady presence offer a small measure of relief.

Aemond helps her to her feet and guides her to the bedroom. The room is dim, the only light coming from a small bedside lamp. He pulls out a clean pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts from a drawer. Gently, he helps her out of her clothes, the fabric of her dress feeling foreign against her skin as it’s removed. He helps her into the comfortable shorts and oversized t-shirt, the soft material a welcome contrast to the night’s chaos.

As he tucks her into bed, pulling the sheets up around her, he is both careful and attentive. She shifts under the covers, trying to get comfortable, but her eyes are heavy and her body feels weighed down by the evening’s events. She feels his warm lips on her forehead once more, and she reaches out to hold onto his wrist before he goes away.

“Stay. Please.” she murmurs, her voice barely audible as she begs.

Aemond’s gaze softens. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures her, settling down on the edge of the bed. He sits there for a moment, his hand gently stroking her hair, the motion soothing and familiar.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice wavering slightly. “I’m sorry for all this.”

She hears the faint ticking of a clock as her heartbeat calms down. The rustling of sheets as Aemond adjusts himself to join her. The warm golden glow of the bedside lamp. The warmth of her hand in his under the sheets. The feel of his thumb gently moving over her knuckles. The softness of his hands as he brushes off stray hairs off her face. The strength of it as he cradles her head like it’d break if he pressed further.

Aemond wakes in the middle of the night, his hand instinctively reaching out to the empty space beside him. The cool, undisturbed sheets where her warmth should be jolt him fully awake, a sudden surge of concern piercing through the remnants of his sleep. He sits up quickly, the room around him still cloaked in the deep shadows of night, and listens intently. The faint glow emanating from the kitchen draws his attention, a small beacon in the darkness.

He slips out of bed, his bare feet silent against the floor as he pads softly toward the light. Each step feels measured and deliberate, his senses heightened in the quiet stillness of the early morning. The corridor seems longer than usual, the dim light at the end creating an almost surreal atmosphere, as if he’s moving through a dream.

As he approaches the kitchen, the scene gradually comes into focus. She’s sitting at the counter, bathed in the soft, warm glow of the single dim yellow light over the countertop. The rest of the kitchen is enveloped in darkness, the contrast making her appear almost ethereal. Her presence is both comforting and concerning.

She’s wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of his shorts, her bare feet resting on the lower rung of the counter-height stool. The loose fabric drapes over her frame in a way that makes her look even smaller and more vulnerable. Her posture is slightly hunched, and she’s absently stirring the contents of a mug, the soft clinking of the spoon against the ceramic creating a gentle, rhythmic sound that fills the otherwise silent space.

He takes a moment to observe her, his heart aching at the sight. Her hair falls messily around her face, and her nose looks flared. She seems lost in thought, her eyes focused on the swirling liquid in the mug, as if trying to find answers in its depths. The tension in her shoulders is palpable, and he can see the strain of the night’s events weighing heavily on her.

He doesn’t yet know what’s happened. All he knows is that she’d been in a bad time once more, and it’s one too many times for someone as sensitive as she is. Her eyes are downcast, lost in thought, and she seems miles away, even though she’s right there in front of him. 

Aemond watches her for a moment, noticing the way she grips the mug tightly, as if drawing strength from its warmth. Stepping into the light, he moves towards her with a quiet grace, not wanting to startle her. She looks up as he approaches, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and relief. He pulls out a stool beside her and sits down, their knees almost touching, creating an intimate, comforting space amidst the darkness.

“You should be sleeping,” he says softly, concern evident in his voice.

She lets out a small, tired sigh, her fingers tightening around the mug. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everything just… it feels too much.”

They sit in silence for a while, the atmosphere thick with unspoken emotions. She slowly sips from the mug—warm milk, he notices. His eyes wander to the honey bottle at the far end of the counter, suggesting she had been stirring it in when he came in. The soft clinking of the spoon against the mug fades into the background, replaced by the quiet, steady rhythm of their breathing.

His hand rests gently on her thigh, his fingers making slow, soothing movements that help to calm her. She feels the warmth and comfort of his touch, and instinctively, she settles her hand over his, drawing strength from the simple contact. Time seems to slow down, and they remain like this for a while, enveloped in the stillness of the moment.

He looks at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, and he remembers the first time he realized he had some sort of feelings for her - fleeting, if not definitive. Back in King's Landing, in her bedroom, he had been so close to her that he’d had half a mind to kiss her. But she had been so troubled, and he knew from seeing Aegon and Helaena, that no good comes from entering into anything when you're not quite yourself.

He thought he would ask her out when she came to Oldtown, imagining a fresh start in a new place. But by then, the distance had played its part. 

His feelings, once intense in the way that only teenage introverts could experience, had started to dissolve, replaced by the new experiences and people that college inevitably brings into one's life. And then there was Alys. With Alys, there was no power play or domination that one would expect from a relationship with the age gap that they have - just two people who understood each other's interests and passions deeply, like no one else in their lives did. They were kindred spirits, and being with her felt easy and right. Alys was good to him, and their relationship felt solid and mature - regardless of how shaky the existence of it would seem to everyone around him.

Yet, as he sits here with her, he takes in her soft face, framed by her hair and lit up by the golden dim light. It is then that he realizes that his feelings - no matter how mild, how fleeting - never completely went away.

Finally, Aemond breaks the silence, his voice gentle and full of concern. “What happened?” he asks, his eyes searching hers for answers.

“I was at the party, and Will Tyrell and I were flirting.” His hand tightens over the smooth expanse of the skin of her thigh. “I’d had like… ten rounds of beer or something. One thing led to another and next thing I know, we’re making out in an empty room and…” She exhales with more effort than is required for her to live, and he encourages her to go on. “It just took me back to Jason Lannister for a moment and I started panicking. Couldn’t breathe for a moment there, really.”

“Hm.”

She leans her head down to be eye level with him, and she takes his hand in hers before she lets out a playful smile. “You’re like… my knight in a black motorcycle now, you know? Twice now I’ve had weird things happen to me at a party, and you've come to the rescue both times.”

“It’s not funny,” he says. He’d genuinely felt his heart stop when he heard her panicked voice over the phone at Alys’ house.

“It’s not. Sorry, I’m just grateful for you.”

Her hand leaves his to cradle his cheek. She’s the one who was found reeking of alcohol and vomit, and somehow he’s the one that needs comforting. “You’re always so serious, hm? So serious…” He grunts in response.

“Thank you. For being with me.”

He’s never been good with compliments, and this is a heavy one that he cannot wrap his mind around. He lets it wash over him like a calm evening breeze.

When her mug is empty and they come back to his bed, neither of them are in the right mindspace to wonder about how easily intimacy comes to them. 

Instead, she chooses to watch him, his silhouette. She’s still tired and hazy from the alcohol, and given the moment they’ve just had and the complete darkness of his bedroom, she can’t help but say it.

“You’re pretty.”

He doesn’t react, so she feels emboldened enough to continue. “You have such pretty eyes too. I always thought about it, but you always hated talking about your eyes so I never quite bothered with telling you.”

“Hm.”

Her quiet knight on a black motorcycle. 

How the fuck is she supposed to get over him now?

She wakes slowly, the world coming into focus as the soft light of morning filters through the blinds. She feels the warmth of Aemond’s chest against her back, his arm draped loosely around her waist. There’s a quiet comfort in the way they’re entangled, as if this is exactly where she’s meant to be. She’s still wearing his clothes - his t-shirt and shorts - and somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Her gaze drifts over to the bedside table, and she spots his reading glasses resting on top of a copy of Ten Thousand Ships. She thinks about how she never wants to see a table without his glasses again. 

The thought lingers, surprising her with its intensity. She tries not to move, not wanting to break the spell of the moment, and instead lets her eyes take in the little details around the room.

The leather jacket hanging neatly on a hook behind the door catches her attention, standing out in what she could only describe as clinical cleanliness. The pale walls, the simplicity of the space - it’s all so Aemond. Everything is meticulously arranged, no clutter in sight, just like him. Every little thing in this room reflects who he is, and she finds herself memorizing it all, as if trying to hold onto this feeling for as long as she can.

Before her thoughts can go further, she hears him stir behind her, his voice low and groggy. “Morning,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

She turns her head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him. “Morning,” she replies softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Aemond tightens his arm around her waist, pulling her just a little closer, and she feels her heart swell with a warmth that she isn’t ready to let go of. This, right here, feels like everything she didn’t know she needed.

She shifts slightly in his arms, just enough to face him. There’s a comfortable silence between them, one that feels both familiar and new. She traces lazy circles on the back of his hand with her finger, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“This is nice.” she says with a playful grin, trying to keep things light despite the weight in her chest. “Girlfriend behavior. Waking up in your bed, wearing your clothes… I’m basically halfway there.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. ��Is that so? You’re already planning our future together, then?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “We’d probably spend our weekends at bookstores and museums. You’d drag me to some obscure historical sites, and I’d make you try every new coffee shop in town while I move around taking photos.”

“Sounds terrible,” he deadpans, though the warmth in his eyes betrays him.

“Absolutely dreadful, the most boring couple ever.” She agrees, her tone just as teasing. “But, hey, I’d get to borrow your shirts all the time, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Aemond smirks, but his expression softens as he looks at her. “Are you alright?” His voice is gentle, laced with concern.

She nods, trying to brush it off with a smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He doesn’t let it go, though, his thumb brushing lightly against her side. “Really?” 

Everywhere he touches, her heart seems to follow. It skips a beat at the sincerity in his eyes, and she feels the familiar tug of emotions she’s not quite ready to name. “I promise, Aemond. I’m fine.”

He studies her for a moment longer before finally nodding, though the worry doesn’t entirely leave his face. “Hm.”

She can’t help but laugh at his persistence, leaning in to kiss his cheek lightly. “I’m alright, I swear.”

She presses a hand to her forehead, feeling the dull ache settle behind her eyes. “I’ve got a slight headache,” she admits, her voice a little groggy. “And I could really use some food.”

Aemond nods, concern flickering across his face. “I’ll make us breakfast.”

They both slide out of bed, and she follows him to the bathroom where they keep spare toothbrushes for each other. It’s a simple, unspoken thing - having brushes at each other’s places because they often sleep over - but this is the first time she’s woken up with his arms around her. As she brushes her teeth beside him, the domesticity of it all makes her blush. It feels so natural, so easy, and yet there’s something about it that sends her heart racing.

After rinsing her mouth, she drinks a glass of water to ease the remnants of her headache before heading to the kitchen. She takes her usual place on one of the bar stools behind the counter, turning on the coffee machine. The sound of it humming to life is oddly soothing, and she watches as Aemond walks in, already rolling up the sleeves of his black sweatshirt to get started.

He pulls out the ingredients, his movements efficient and practiced. Wylde offers to help, and he nods her over without hesitation. As she steps closer, he lifts a small slice of cut avocado to her lips, eyes not moving away from the chopping board - habitual, it all seems habitual. She grunts, leaning in to eat it straight from his hand before taking over with slicing the bread.

They work together in comfortable silence, moving around each other with the ease of familiarity. Aemond cooks the eggs while she toasts the sourdough, and before long, they’re sitting at the counter with plates of food in front of them. The avocado is perfectly creamy, the eggs just the right amount of runny, the toast crisp and warm and her coffee is just right. 

Then she remembers he found her a right mess last night, and he’s simply being nice to a friend who had a bad night.

She wonders if the girl he’s hiding from her is perfect for him. She wonders if she ever embarasses herself in front of him like she clearly did last night. She wonders if he’s made her toast. She wonders if she’s woken up to the warmth of his lean arms wrapped around her waist. She wonders-

“What’s on your mind?”

She nods from side to side, a reassuring smile that is convincing enough that he doesn’t push further.

They eat in peaceful silence, exchanging small smiles as they enjoy the meal. It’s a quiet moment, but there’s a warmth in it that neither of them can ignore. When they’re done, they clear the dishes together, and for a brief moment, she lets herself imagine that this is what it could be like - easy and comfortable.

She wanted to catch him by the shoulders. She wanted to hug him till it hurt and her feet left the ground. She wanted to tuck her head into his neck and breathe in the smell of him, bask in the warmth of him. 

Choose me, choose me, choose me, choose-

She wants him. 

Gods.

She says thank you and leaves instead.

The next few weeks pass in a series of moments - each one small and seemingly insignificant, yet all of them add up to something much larger in her heart. It’s as if the universe has conspired to put Aemond in her path at every turn, and with each encounter, she finds herself falling deeper into feelings she’s not quite ready to name.

In the university hallways, she always spots him first. He’s usually leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a book he seems completely absorbed in. The early morning light filters through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over him. She notices the way his hair catches the light, the soft strands glinting silver against the dark fabric of his jacket. He looks so focused, so utterly engrossed in whatever he’s reading, that she almost doesn’t want to interrupt. But then he glances up, meeting her eyes, and a small, rare smile pulls at his lips.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low and smooth.

“Morning,” she replies, feeling her own smile spreading as she walks over.

The rest of their walk is silent until their hands reach out to graze at each other for just a few moments before they go their separate ways.

A few days later, she finds herself in the library, hunting down a book for one of her Foundation of Art in Essos assignments. The place is quiet, the scent of old paper and ink filling the air, and she’s completely lost in the stacks when she hears a familiar voice.

“Looking for something?”

She turns to find Aemond standing just a few feet away, a small stack of books in his arms. His eyes flicker to the title in her hand, and she swears she sees a hint of amusement in them.

“Yeah, just…this one,” she says, holding up the book she’s just found.

He nods, stepping closer. “That’s a good one. You might also want to check out the one by Mallister - it gives a different perspective.”

She takes his word and joins him at his table. She lets herself blush and be bothered by their feet touching under the table occasionally.

In their one shared class, she finds herself sneaking glances at him more often than she’d like to admit. Aemond always sits a few rows ahead, his attention fixed on the professor. She watches the way he takes notes, his handwriting neat and precise, and the way he occasionally pushes his hair back when it falls into his eyes. It’s such a small thing, but it makes her smile every time.

One day, he catches her looking. Instead of brushing it off or ignoring her, he turns slightly in his seat and raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. She feels her cheeks heat up, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she raises her own eyebrow in response, a silent dare.

After class, they walk together, discussing the lecture and the points that stood out to them. Aemond’s insights are sharp and thoughtful, and she finds herself hanging on to every word he says. There’s something about the way he sees the world - so different from anyone else - that fascinates her.

Then again, he could tell her that the dragons have come back to life - and she’d find a way to believe that too.

Cafe Moonbloom - her favorite cafe at Oldtown - becomes another place where their paths cross. It’s a cozy spot, filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and soft, ambient music. She often comes here to study or relax, and more often than not, Aemond shows up too, as if drawn by the same comforting atmosphere.

One afternoon, she’s sitting at a corner table, sipping her usual lavender latte, when he walks in. He spots her immediately, and after ordering his drink, he joins her at the table without hesitation.

She smiles. Seems it’s all she’s capable of doing in his presence these days.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, each of them absorbed in their own work. But every now and then, she finds herself looking up, catching glimpses of him as he reads or types on his laptop. 

At one point, he reaches across the table to take a sip of her drink, curiosity in his eyes. She lets him, laughing softly when he makes a face at the taste.

“Not a fan?” she teases.

“Too floral,” he replies, but there’s a warmth in his voice that makes her heart skip a beat.

“You say that each time.”

“That’s it,” she declares, looking over at Aemond, who’s deep into his notes. “We need a break. A real break.”

Aemond glances up, raising an eyebrow. They’re sitting in her flat, surrounded by textbooks and empty coffee cups. She closes her laptop with a decisive snap. “A break,” she repeats, leaning back against the couch and stretching her arms above her head. “We’ve been drowning in work for weeks. Let’s take a day off tomorrow and just… see the city. No papers, no studying. I can’t anymore.”

He considers her words for a moment, then slowly nods, a small smile forming on his lips. “Alright.”

When tomorrow comes, they’re on his motorbike - and she has no idea what he has planned.

The decision is made in a heartbeat. Aemond’s nod is all the confirmation she needs, and by morning, they’re zipping through the streets on his motorbike. The city blurs around them as the wind whips through her hair, the sound of the engine filling her ears. She clings to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, trusting him completely as they speed through the early morning light.

They weave through the streets, bypassing the usual morning traffic as the city slowly begins to wake up. The cool morning air carries the scent of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby river. Her excitement only grows as they approach the Honeywine, the river shimmering under the pale sunlight.

Finally, Aemond guides the bike down a quiet lane and comes to a stop near the edge of the river. She can see the Quill and Tankard ahead—a tall, timbered building leaning slightly southward, the dark wood exterior glowing in the morning light. The pub is nestled on an island in the middle of the Honeywine, connected to the rest of the city by an old plank bridge.

Aemond parks Vhagar, and they both dismount. She removes her helmet, her hair tousled and windswept, and follows Aemond as he leads the way to the bridge. The wooden planks creak slightly underfoot, adding to the charm of the place. She glances over the side, watching the water ripple below, the sound of the river soothing after their wild ride.

“You brought me to the Quill and Tankard?” she asks, her voice filled with pleasant surprise as they reach the other side of the bridge, her fingers brushing against his arm.

Aemond glances at her with a small, knowing smile. “Good spot to start,” he replies.

As they step inside, the warmth of the pub wraps around them like a cozy embrace. The common room is inviting, with wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and sunlight filtering through the tall, narrow windows. The smell of bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making her stomach growl in anticipation.

They find a table near the window, the perfect spot to enjoy the view of the river and the old apple trees outside. Aemond shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over the back of his chair, his movements casual but undeniably graceful. She follows suit, but can’t help but notice how effortlessly he commands the space around him.

When their breakfast arrives - thick slices of sourdough toast topped with peanut butter, peaches, and pomegranate, alongside a pot of rich, dark coffee—she sighs in contentment, her eyes sparkling as she glances at Aemond. “This is perfect,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

He nods, the corners of his lips lifting into a faint smile as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m glad,” he replies, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary. She thinks her heart actually skips a beat.

They eat slowly, savoring the food and the easy conversation that flows between them. Every now and then, their knees brush under the table, sending a little thrill through her that she tries to ignore, though the faint flush on her cheeks might give her away. Aemond seems to notice, a small, teasing smile playing at his lips whenever their eyes meet.

After they finish, they linger for a while longer, sipping the last of their coffee and enjoying the calm, the comfortable silence between them punctuated by the occasional shared glance and knowing smile. When it’s finally time to leave, she feels a reluctant tug in her chest. She doesn’t want the morning to end, but she knows they have the whole day ahead of them.

As they cross the old plank bridge again, she reaches out and takes Aemond’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. His skin is warm against hers, and she can’t help but notice how naturally their fingers intertwine. He glances at her, his expression softening as he squeezes back.

“Where to next?” she asks, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she tilts her head, her eyes searching for a clue.

Aemond smirks, his eye glinting with the hint of another surprise. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

When they finally arrive at the Starry Sept, she hops off the bike, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the towering structure before them. The sept stands like a sentinel over the city, its seven-pointed star gleaming in the sunlight.

“This is incredible,” she breathes, her excitement palpable as she hurries ahead, eager to explore. She glances back at Aemond, who trails behind with a small smile on his lips, his phone in hand as he quietly captures the moment—the soaring architecture, the play of light and shadow, and her own vibrant enthusiasm as she moves from one point of interest to the next.

She leads the way, her steps light as she marvels at the intricately carved statues and the colorful stained-glass windows that adorn the sept. Every now and then, she turns to share her excitement with him, her voice animated as she points out something new—a particularly beautiful mosaic, a hidden alcove, the way the sunlight pours through the windows, casting rainbows on the stone floor.

Aemond, as usual, is quieter, but she can see the way his gaze softens whenever he looks at her, how he pauses to take photos not just of the sept but of her too, capturing the way her eyes light up with each discovery. There’s something in his expression, a quiet contentment that makes her heart flutter whenever their eyes meet.

They wander deeper into the sept, through narrow corridors that twist and turn like a labyrinth, the ancient stones cool under their fingertips. She is in awe of the place, her footsteps echoing in the silence as they venture further inside.

When they reach a section that is clearly marked as restricted, she hesitates, looking at him with a raised brow. “Are we allowed in there?” she asks, a mix of curiosity and caution in her voice.

Aemond’s response is a single word, spoken with quiet confidence. “Otto.”

She laughs softly, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. “Of course. Should’ve guessed.”

With a smirk, he pushes open the heavy wooden door, leading them into a part of the sept that few ever see. The air here is different, almost sacred, and she feels a shiver of reverence as her fingers brush against the rough stone walls.

At one point, her foot catches on an uneven flagstone, and she stumbles, a startled gasp escaping her lips as she feels herself begin to fall. The world around her seems to tilt, the ancient stones rushing up to meet her, but before she can even process what’s happening, Aemond is there. He moves with a speed and grace that never ceases to amaze her, his strong arms enveloping her in a firm, protective embrace.

His hands settle on her waist, fingers splayed wide as if to shield her from the world itself. The sudden, intimate contact sends a jolt of electricity through her, making her pulse quicken and her breath hitch in her throat. For a moment, they are frozen like that, their bodies pressed close together, and all she can hear is the rapid pounding of her own heart.

Aemond’s chest is solid against her back, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, calming and steadying yet igniting something deep within her. His breath is warm and steady, ghosting across her ear in a way that sends shivers down her spine. She’s hyper-aware of every point of contact—the way his fingertips press gently but possessively into her sides, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the subtle scent of leather and pine that clings to him.

She turns in his arms and for a moment, she thinks he might kiss her. The thought is dizzying, and she’s caught between hope and fear, between wanting to close her eyes and lean in, and wanting to pull back before everything changes. But then, almost as quickly as it began, the moment shifts. He blinks, the intensity in his gaze softening just a fraction, and she sees the flicker of restraint, the conscious decision as he takes a step back, putting a small but significant distance between them.

The loss of his warmth is immediate, almost jarring, and she feels the absence of his touch keenly, like a missing piece she hadn’t realized she was holding on to. He’s still close, still within reach, but the spell between them has broken, the moment passed, leaving behind a lingering sense of what might have been.

She gives him a small, grateful smile, though it feels a bit shaky, her heart still pounding in her chest. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice quieter than she intends, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile understanding they’ve just shared.

He nods, his lips curving into a faint smile, though there’s something in his expression that she can’t quite read, something that leaves her wondering if he’s as affected by the moment as she is. His hand drops from her waist, but not before his fingers trail lightly down her arm, a touch so fleeting it’s almost like an afterthought, yet it leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

Eventually, they reach a small, secluded courtyard, open to the sky and bathed in golden light. She lets out a soft sigh as she looks around, her eyes wide with wonder.

Something has shifted. This much they both know.

The ride back to her flat is quiet.

They’ve spent the entire day together, yet there’s a weight in the air between them, something  that hangs in the silence. The Starry Sept, the Quill and Tankard, the moments that lingered just a little too long - all of it circles in her mind, and she wonders if he’s thinking about it too.

She holds onto him just a little tighter.

As they near her apartment, she breaks the silence with a light-hearted comment. “You know, if someone told me a month ago that I’d be exploring the Starry Sept with you, sneaking into restricted areas like we’re in some spy movie, I’d have laughed them off.”

Aemond chuckles softly, the sound almost drowned out by the bike’s engine. “Guess you’re more adventurous than you thought.”

She grins, resting her chin on his shoulder as she speaks into his ear. “Or maybe you’re just a bad influence. You and your… Otto connections.”

He smirks, though she can’t see it through his helmet. “I prefer ‘resourceful.’”

She laughs, a light, musical sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he can’t quite explain. “Resourceful, huh? I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need to get into a restricted section of the library.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re too serious,” she teases, nudging him gently with her knee. “You need to loosen up, Aemond. Enjoy life a little.”

“I enjoy life just fine,” he counters, though there’s a trace of defensiveness in his tone.

“Oh, really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you could use a bit more fun.” She tilts her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe that’s why we get along so well. I bring the fun, you bring the… brooding?”

“I do not brood,” he says, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

She raises an eyebrow. “You totally brood. It’s your thing. That, and being all mysterious and - ”

“And what?” he interrupts, genuinely curious now.

She pauses, the words hanging in the air between them as they finally pull up to her building. He turns off the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening. Slowly, she slips off her helmet, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders as she considers her next words carefully.

“And… thoughtful,” she finally says, her voice softer, more serious now. “You notice things about people. You’re observant, and you care. Even if you don’t always show it.”

Aemond is quiet for a moment, processing her words. He steps off the bike, standing close to her as she sits on the seat, their proximity making her heart race. His voice is low, almost vulnerable. 

“More than you might think.”

There’s a moment of silence as they look at each other, the air between them thick. She bites her lip, her usual playfulness replaced by something deeper, more intense. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Aemond takes a step closer, his hands resting on either side of the bike, his body inches from hers. “You do?” he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

She nods, her eyes searching his, looking for the truth in his words. “Yeah. I do.”

Aemond’s eyes hold hers for a long moment, the violet of his iris darkening as his gaze drops to her lips, then back to her eyes. She can see the conflict there, the way he’s holding himself back, the tension in the air between them charged with tension every passing second.

She inhales deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the heat spreading through her body. Her fingers flex slightly, still gripping the edge of the seat, a lifeline to steady herself as she teeters on the edge of something she’s been avoiding for far too long.

He shifts closer, the space between them shrinking to almost nothing. His hands hover just above her thighs, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric of her dress. She can feel the roughness of his breath against her skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he fights the same battle she is.

Pull him in, or let him pull away.

And then he’s moving, slow, deliberate, one hand lifting to trace the line of her jaw. His thumb brushes over her bottom lip, the contact so light it sends a shiver down her spine. She parts her lips slightly, instinctively, her breath catching in her throat.

Aemond watches her, his gaze intent, burning, like he’s committing every detail to memory. Her flushed cheeks, the way her lashes flutter as she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, the way her breath hitches as his thumb drags down, grazing her chin.

She’s the one who leans in first, just enough for their noses to brush, for his breath to mingle with hers. “Aemond…” she murmurs, barely a whisper, a plea and a question all at once.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his hand slides to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he closes the distance between them. His lips meet hers in a kiss that starts slow, tentative, like he’s testing the waters, unsure of how far she’ll let him go.

But she’s not holding back, not now. Her hands move to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she pulls him closer, her lips parting to deepen the kiss. He responds in kind, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat as he presses against her, the kiss turning heated, urgent.

It’s not a gentle kiss, not after all the tension, the words, the stolen glances. It’s everything they’ve been holding back, all the frustration, the longing, the need crashing together in a tangle of lips and tongues and breathless gasps.

She shifts on the bike, her knees brushing against his thighs as she pulls him closer, needing more of him, needing to feel him everywhere. His hands slide to her waist, fingers digging in as he lifts her slightly, positioning her so she’s sitting on the very edge of the seat, her legs parting to make room for him.

Aemond steps between her thighs, his body pressing into hers, the kiss deepening as he takes control, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that leaves her dizzy. Her hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping tight, as if she’s afraid he might pull away, that this might be a dream she’ll wake up from.

But he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses closer, his hands roaming over her back, her sides, mapping out every curve, every inch of her that he’s been dreaming of touching. His mouth moves against hers with a desperation that matches her own, a need to make up for all the lost time, all the moments they could have had but didn’t.

She tilts her head back slightly, giving him better access as his lips move to her jaw, then down to her neck. He kisses a line down to the hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his clothed shoulders.

“Aemond,” she breathes out, her voice shaky, needy.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, intense, filled with something she’s never seen before. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice rough, barely controlled. “Tell me, and I will.”

“I thought you were seeing someone.”

“Tell me to stop.” The sentence holds no space for argument, almost as though he knows for certain that she wouldn’t stop him.

She couldn’t even if she wanted to. 

Instead, she shakes her head, her fingers curling around the nape of his neck as she pulls him back to her, her lips finding his in a kiss that says everything she can’t put into words. She does not want to think, she simply wants to be.

The world falls away. There’s no more fear, no more doubt, no more holding back. It’s just them, tangled together in a mess of heated skin, breathless kisses, and a desperate need for more.

Time seems to slow down and speed up all at once, the kiss stretching on for what feels like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough. She feels like she’s drowning in him, in the way he tastes, the way he feels pressed against her, the way his hands hold her like she’s something precious, something he’s afraid to lose.

And when they finally pull apart, gasping for air, their foreheads resting together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, she realizes that this - whatever this is - was inevitable. They were always going to end up here, at this moment, with everything they’ve been holding back finally spilling over.

The streetlamp glows, the light flickering over them. The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of rain, though the clouds have long since parted to reveal a sky dotted with stars. They hear the occasional whoosh of a car passing on a nearby street, tires hissing against the damp pavement, the sound growing louder before fading into the distance. Somewhere nearby, a dog barks once, twice, before falling silent, leaving the night to its quiet.

The scent of the city surrounds them - a mix of wet asphalt, a hint of exhaust, and the faint, lingering aroma of coffee from the cafe on the corner. But there’s something else too, something she only just notices now - the subtle, clean scent of Aemond’s cologne, mingling with the smell of leather and the faintest hint of smoke, clinging to his clothes and skin. It’s comforting, grounding her in this moment, making it feel all the more real.

The soft thud of her heart is almost louder than the ambient noises around them, each beat echoing in her ears as she takes in the scene - the way Aemond’s hair catches the light, the way his eyes seem to reflect the stars above them, the way his breath mingles with hers in the small space between them.

You’re seeing someone else, she had said. He hadn’t disagreed.

She wants to reach out, to shake his shoulders, to demand that he tell her what this all means. She wants him to choose her, to see her in the way she sees him - more than just a fleeting moment, more than just this night. The urge is so strong it almost frightens her, this need to make him say it, to make him admit what they both know is simmering between them. But she holds back. She swallows the words before they can form, feeling them burn in her throat, a quiet ache that spreads through her chest.

She could ask him, right now, what this means for them, whether this is something real or just another moment that will fade with the dawn. But the fear of his answer, or worse, his silence, keeps her rooted in place. The thought of hearing him say that this is nothing, that they are nothing, is more than she can bear. So she says nothing.

Instead, she stays silent, feeling the weight of a barrier that she both wants to break and keep intact. Because asking him, forcing him to confront whatever this is, might ruin it. Might turn this into something complicated, something messy. 

She’s not sure she’s ready for that. Not yet.

She decides, in that moment, that she would rather have him like this - halfway, uncertain, but here - than risk losing him entirely. So she bites her tongue, swallows her fear, and chooses to stay in the safety of their unspoken connection. It’s easier this way, she tells herself. Easier to take what he’s willing to give and leave the rest unspoken, untouched.

“This is real.” He nods. 

She leans into the warmth of him, feeling the press of his hand on her thigh, the steady beat of his heart against her own, and lets herself have this. 

For now, it’s enough.

MASTERLIST No tag lists. Please follow and turn on notifications for @randomdragonfics to get fic updates! :)

[prismaticpichu]

as someone who has only played part 1 of the 7 remake, can u briefly explain why sephiroth is considered "good" by the fandom? im curious!!

Oh no… you’ve awakened the beast within! 😂❤️

Just kidding!! I’d be honored to answer, my friendo! 💕

~

In short, Sephiroth was technically always good once upon a time, even back in the og game. A huge staple of this man’s origins (as found out through a flashback) is the fact that he wasn’t born evil, wasn’t raised evil, but was rather a revered war hero who descended into madness—all of which is captured in a tragedy dubbed “The Nibelheim Incident.” (Aka a fiery massacre Sephiroth commits upon learning about his half-alien anatomy and 7 days of sleep deprivation). It’s made pretty clear (at least imo) that these circumstances turned Seph into a monster, and that the real Sephiroth was someone who died amid those 7 days. This is also corroborated by a very famous line by Zack (Cloud’s bff) that goes “You’re not the Sephiroth I used to know!” (Because the Sephiroth he used to know, the hero, is not the person standing at the end of his blade.)

So… there is that! But while OG FF7 does give us this foundation, and people absolutely enjoyed the little bits of sane!Seph that were fed to us through this flashback, it wasn’t until another game—a prequel—called “Crisis Core” that really took Sephiroth’s “pre-Nibelheim” self (the “war hero” part) and ran with it. Explored it, more like, and stretched it out to an incredible degree. It was in this game that we were really introduced to a Sephiroth who wasn’t evil; a Sephiroth who had two best friends; a Sephiroth who cared about his comrades and really wanted nothing more than to protect them. And it’s here that fans (myself included lmaoooo) absolutely love to HOARD these kind!Seph moments like precious gems.

A few noteworthy acts that contribute to Seph’s good heart:

• Saving Zack from a blast of fire

• Training Zack when his mentor deserts

• Offering to donate his blood upon accidentally injuring his best friend, Genesis

• Refusing to kill his best friends when they turn against the company he’s loyal to

• Goes out of his way to check in on Zack and allows him to return to Aerith (his gf) when her home is threatened.

• Overall just has a caring and patient aura about him.

I’d say this is where a majority of the “good” Seph fandom love comes from <333 Again, it’s always been a part of Seph’s origins that he was once a good fellow, but it was this game in particular that really expanded it—really fleshed out the human side of his DNA, really made him more empathetic than he ever was. And boy did it make his downfall hurt all the more in Crisis Core’s version of Nibelheim.

(Also worthy to note that, in regard to his fiery rampage, there is a lot of evidence pointing towards him being possessed. Nothing is confirmed, but it does cushion some of the initial fall. Absolutely not a justification—not an excuse—but it really just goes to show how this man was not himself when he crossed that threshold into villainy. He wasn’t the Sephiroth people knew.)

There is also Ever Crisis wherein teenage Seph is seen guiding some SOLDIERs around before the events of Crisis Core (the likes of whom he wants desperately to protect). But i’ma refrain from saying too much about that one bc we don’t have the full story of that one yet! ;3 💕

[starwarsmum]

Day 5 of the Maribat BioFam Sept prompts! Trust Fund

@maribat-calendar-events

A short fluffy one today ❤️

“You know, now that we've done the DNA test, we should talk about how to split up the Drake inheritance,” Tim said casually, sipping the coffee he had freshly brewed for them. When Marinette gave him a questioning look, he launched into a brief discussion about Drake Industries. “So, yeah, since you're one of us, you should be getting half of the inheritance.”

“Oh, oh no no no, that's all yours,” Marinette said, waving her hands frantically. When he looked put-out, she started to splutter and squeak. “It's just that, Maman and Papa are the only parents I've ever known, it seems greedy to just show up and take half of an inheritance from you, who was their actual kid.”

“Nettie, it's fine,” Tim reassured her, taking another sip of coffee. “I have more money than I know what to do with, especially as I have a trust fund from Bruce after he adopted me. Splitting the inheritance with you would make me feel better about not being there for you our whole lives.”

“Tim, that's really not your fault,” Marinette complained, burying her head into her arms. She looked up with a glare when he laughed, which only made him laugh harder. She grumbled something unintelligible before sliding off of the stool to grab her own mug of coffee.

“Good morning, Drake, Marinette.” Time groaned internally when he heard Damian’s voice behind him, wishing it was anyone else. Marinette had been visiting for two weeks by this point and Tim felt like Damian had spent more time with her than he had. “Marinette, did you still wish to see the manor’s gallery today, or was there something else?”

“Morning, Dami,” Marinette chirped, pouring another cup of coffee alongside her own. “I don't really mind, but I did promise Tim that we could go skateboarding today, and he said we were doing that after lunch. So whatever we do has to finish at lunchtime.”

“I did not know you were interested in skateboarding,” he replied, hovering close to Marinette as he accepted his cup of coffee. Tim was very much beginning to feel like a third wheel and coughed loudly to remind them that he was still there. Damian ignored him. “We shall do the gallery today then, as it ensures we shall not be late.”

“Thanks, Dami! So, where are you teaching me the basics of skateboarding this afternoon, Tim?” She turned back to him, cheeks lightly flushed as Damian didn't step away from her. Tim fought to keep the grimace of his face while she was looking at him.

“Bruce built a skate ramp and half-pipe on the grounds, so I thought we could head there,” he said, smiling when her eyes went wide. He waited for a beat before turning to Damian and deciding to try and be civil. “If you want…to join us, you're welcome to.”

“I shall give it a miss this time, thank you,” Damian replied stiffly, though there was an undercurrent of surprise in his tone. He then turned to Marinette and offered her his arm so they could walk to the gallery. Tim might not like the attention Damian was showing to Marinette, but he couldn't deny that it was doing a lot of good for Damian to spend time with her.

_ _ _

Looking through the gallery with Damian was a dreamlike experience. She loved how thorough he was in pointing out the different pieces, the techniques used, and his own personal thoughts on them. So when he offered to show her his works, she jumped at the chance. Which is how she found herself in his workshop, gazing at a piece he had created of her.

“It is not as true a likeness as I would like,” Damian said, and Marinette could hear a note of anxiety in his voice. She touched the canvas reverently, speechless. He had captured her in a creative snit, head bent over her sketchbook and her eyes focused. 

“You're right, you've made me look pretty,” she whispered. She was pretty sure she had stopped breathing. How had he made it look like her and yet she knew she didn't look this beautiful. She turned to look at him when he huffed in annoyance.

“Tt, so you see the issue - I was unable to capture how beautiful you truly are, downgrading it to ‘pretty’. Pretty is a wholly inadequate word to describe you,” he said disgustedly. And now he had stopped her heart dead in her chest. She felt heat rush to her face as he looked at her, his fingers brushing her flaming cheeks. “Precisely like that, I do not know how I could accurately paint how transcendent you look when you blush.”

If she could have made a noise, she's pretty sure she would have whimpered. She could only stare up at him, eyes wide as he moved closer. They were almost nose to nose and she could feel his breath fan across her face. It smelled like the coffee they had drunk that morning.

“I would like to kiss you, Marinette,” he murmured and suddenly she realised that her heart hadn't stopped, because it was beating so loudly she was sure it would leap out of her chest. Somehow, she managed to move enough to make her lips meet his.

It was wonderful but over much too soon. Clearly Tikki's luck was rubbing off on her because how else had she managed to catch the eye of the greatest guy she had ever met? He was sweet, sarcastic, funny but serious and his straightforwardness meant that she never had to guess his meaning.

“Unfortunately, we must head down for lunch,” Damian said at last, sighing into her hair. Marinette pulled back slightly and gave a mischievous giggle as she looked him in the eye.

“Oh, I think we can be a few minutes late.”

[pocketwei]

hii do you perhaps have any dofuwani fics recommendation. I've checked out the the ao3 but I really don't seem to like anything there after scrolling thru the most kudos'd works... I feel like you (and a few other artists) get them and I wanted to read things in a similar tone as your art and so far I'm in the trenches bleeding out. like obviously no offense to any of the writers it's just that all the like modern highschool loving dad croc and etc aus are not for me... OTL I hope I'm not sounding rude and thank you for your time!

oh anon come rest your head upon my bosom.... I got you anon..... as a fellow slave to canon-compliance I, too, know the pain of sifting through pages upon pages of AUs, not that there's anything wrong with them but I just can't imagine these sickos working a 9 to 5 in a suit...... thank you for thinking my vision of dofuwani is trust-worthy, this is vain on my part but it genuinely means a lot <3 OK rant over here are the goods, in no particular order (always mind the tags but I figure if you asked me for dfwn sacred texts you're probably a fellow sicko):

that was now and this is then. by ghostwit (M): one of my favourite ever, perhaps even my favourite. About a long relationship, about twisting each other inside the skin, about being formative to each other in ways so deep and intertwined that they can't seem to tear one apart from the other. And despite it all* (*the murders and the hatred and the irreconciliable flaws and differences of their Ego (philosophical) and the unbearable, unacceptable vulnerability of understanding), they are, somehow, unforgivably and incomprehensibly, in love. *smashes head against pavement, it cracks open like an egg, spilling millions of dofuwani thoughts everywhere

no better irony by ghostwit (E): shichibukai meeting sidequest...... excellent characterisation like everything Haze writes (it's just The Best dofuwani there is..... read everything he wrote please). I'm so fond of them in that fic in a way that's like. watching stick bugs in a terrarium. You don't understand them and they don't understand you but you're just happy they're having fun. You wouldn't join in for anything in the world though.

like i need a gaping headwound by ghostwit (M): loguetown era dfwn, Haze back at it with formative years and the fresh sprouts of insanity in these two. So so so good.

nothing in this world that's quite prescribable by ghostwit (T): the opening of this fic is perhaps one of my favourite scenes ever. Vulnerability and odd transparence that only drunken disinhibition allows. Which is rare for these two. Absolutely adore this one.

honestly you can and should read everything Haze has written for these two they're just so AUGHHHHHH

black & bloody & rotten & perfect by revolvermonkcelot (M): perfect capture of the fine line between (????love, perhaps) and insanity they walk on. Absolutely fucking insane about this one, the reverence and sacrality of their whole thing, the Indulgence:tm: and permission that can be revoked (for Crocodile is mercurial in his vulnerability), but that is somehow maintained in a delicate and incomprehensible equilibrium. + absolutely incredible undertones of wani (trans)identity crisis, the imperceptible yet meaningful and constant change of the Form... Head in hands

Just a taste by marimoes (M): perfect perfect perfect characterisation, little gestures that betray familiarity. Perfect on all accounts

Swallow by revolvermonkcelot (M): my roman empire. Absolutely perfect Wani characterisation, it's The Wani for me. Exploits perfectly the essential dfwn dichotomy of "one entity tumbling down and the other rising up, meeting halfway through in the eye of the storm, in a singular moment". Classy cannibalism that ties to the no-less essential concept of consumption, to be/become whole again. The reason why they somehow stick together is because of this primordial longing for something, for understanding perhaps, for beauty sometimes, for belonging. Fcuking hell I love them so mucj

A Bird and His Cage by doctornemesis (E): read this one a long time ago but it's in my bookmarks so I trust past me's judgment and tell you it's amazing

From Dressrosa with Love by Sibilans (E, on-going): incredible atmosphere, perfectly depicts the post-golden age rotting glamour of Dressrosa. They are particularly unhinged in this one.

i wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name by stealth-black-leg (Kiir_Bee) (E): I'm running out of steam for long meaningful comments but this one has top tier characterisation.

That's it!! Don't forget to comment and leave kudos to give writers the love they deserve <3

[dwellordream]

thoughts on HOTD, episode 5, season 2 (spoilers below)

I think the scene of Meleys being paraded through the streets was well done. It captured the sheer magnitude of a dragon's death to smallfolk who have never seen a dragon die in battle, and certainly not in battle so near to home. I like that we see some of the smallfolk hesitantly bowing reverently to the severed head, while others decry the Greens for it, and others still begin to realize that dragons are simply animals which can be butchered with enough force.

I'm glad they didn't wimp out on Aegon's burns. Probably they could have gone even gnarlier, but I have hope we will see them bring back Viserys' mask from season 1. And it shows us how quickly Criston reverts to arrogant contempt when he feels threatened- he can't even admit to Alicent how badly he fucked up, and now that she's distanced herself from him, he wants to grind her underfoot as much as he did Rhaenyra.

The Brackens openly goading Daemon- and Daemon threatening to burn them, then belatedly realizing he can't afford to for PR reasons, then trying to pawn it off on the Blackwoods- who seem fully willing to war-crime it up, so I'm glad they're not being portrayed as the Noble Heroic Victims threatened by those Evil Andal Brackens- is so Daemon-core. He is pathetic. He's always been pathetic.

Some of my friends have been theorizing that the show, in an effort to play up the Jace - Robb parallels, may actually keep Jace alive longer in an effort to build up his character. So I could totally see them having him survive the Gullet- maybe switching him and Joffrey's deaths- and having him perish after Rhaenyra has taken King's Landing, while trying to prevent the mob from descending on the Dragonpit. (I am not the first person to think of this, BTW, but I'd be excited if they did that- Joffrey is basically a nonentity.)

I'm aware a lot of Targaryen fans loathed the Daemon/Alyssa hallucination, but like, come on. Daemon projecting his Ideal Valyrian Woman fantasy onto the dead mother he never knew is a step too far? Really? it makes perfect sense for him. Daemon wants the fantasy of the 'perfect match' with a fiery, proud Targaryen woman- but in reality, he can't cope with the daily conflicts and compromises of a marriage with anyone, even the most biddable woman. He would never be content with the title of 'consort' in the long-run. Anyone who seriously thinks he and Rhaenyra would have had a long and stable marriage after she won the Iron Throne is kidding themselves. Daemon loves her, but that's not enough.

Alys' concern for the smallfolk surprised me a bit, but I'm not upset by it. It gives her more nuance than just 'evil scheming smallfolk witch' and sets her up as a foil for Mysaria, only 'counseling' Daemon with hauntings. At the same time, her hauntings are convincing Daemon that no one will respect him unless he makes a name for himself as a brutal sole ruler- one who is willing to do what Rhaenyra won't, slowly dooming him.

I don't find it OOC for Baela to refuse Driftmark- she was raised with the expectation she would someday be queen, obviously that's what she wants and desires. However, it would have been nice to see her suggest that Corlys offer Driftmark to Rhaena instead, even if we know Corlys is highly unlikely to agree with that- Rhaena has no dragon and is stereotyped as more 'soft' and 'feminine' than her twin.

I like the subplot with Hugh the Hammer. I'm glad they're not portraying him as a dimwitted thug, the way Fire & Blood does. He has valid reasons to want to secure power to protect his family and drag them out of poverty, and I hope they don't suddenly pivot to him turning evil the second he gains a dragon.

I feel like I genuinely don't have as much to say about this episode; it went by pretty fast, and it felt a bit fillery at times. That said, I still enjoyed it, and I'd give it a decent 8/10.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Tsunami Creator's Chapter 174

TL;DR - Jegal Mi Ryeo and Murim Alliance Leader were shocked upon reading the report of what Cale did in Yunnan. Cale elevated to god status. GED troops secretly head to Hainan. Cale's group went to Nanman.

Soos? LSH = ✅ CJS = ✅

The Murim Alliance Half of the chapter was about general commander Jegal Mi Ryeo and the Murim Alliance Leader talking about what Cale had done in Yunnan. This part was supposed to be serious talk, but frankly, it had a lot of funny parts. 😂

The two were convinced that Cale was a god and not a human... 🤣🤣🤣 And then some talk about how the rescued Yunnan residents might become Cale's believers absolute supporters. 😂

Murim people pursue strength, right? So what if they witness Cale showing off such power in a massive scale? Answer: They'll worship Cale. 🤣🤣🤣

Mi Ryeo and Murim Alliance Leader then discuss how they should not let one person influence the entire murim. They knew that Cale was not interested in honor or power, but that was what made Cale so scary. And the amusing part here is that Cale would definitely agree with them!

Heck, Cale mentioned today that he wanted to go home already and experience slacker life. So Mi Ryeo and Murim Alliance Leader's political plotting would totally help him. 😂He does not even want to be a god, right? 😂

Off to Hainan Second half of this chapter was about Cale's plots. Because Nanman was a trap by the Blood Cult, the GED forces would head there, but some would actually head to Hainan secretly. However, Cale's group would be going in advance to Nanman via Raon's teleport magic. All of these was to confuse the Blood Cult about their actions.

Toonka was with the Evil Alliance people who would be heading to Hainan. Seriously, Toonka must have been born in the wrong world. The Sima Clan and the Evil Alliance are like family to him already. 🤣🤣🤣

At Nanman Castle More funny parts:

Cale: *asks about revered old Baek* Hoya: *talks about how Baek could purify jiangshi on a large scale* CH: *brightens up* CH: He's someone I need to keep alive. Cale: …What? CH: I will make sure to catch him alive. Cale: (His bright expression is really gentle, but why does his words sound strangely vicious? I must be seeing things...)

Cale: Hoya, Yoon-ah, let's do well, okay? Hoya & Yoon: *trembling in fright* CJS: Kek. 😏 Cale: *stares at CJS who was laughing strangely* CJS: *avoids Cale's gaze*

Ending Remarks Next chapter will be about revered old Baek's capture operation. Ron, Sui, and CH were in charge of that operation, so perhaps a fight scene again? Or maybe some new info dump?

Oh yeah, the author's Q&A will be released by Monday next week. I plan to translate and post it here, so please look forward to it!

[animehouse-moe]

Chainsaw Man Chapter 145: Kumbaya

Wow, a whole lot of questions have arisen from this chapter. Yoshida appears, Asa makes a move, the prophecy creeps ever forward as the Chainsaw Man church is captured. Fujimoto can make a lot happen in a chapter when they really want to.

So, Mr. Public Safety Devil Hunter here says two interesting things to open up this chapter. He talks about wanting War to mutually destroy Chainsaw Man, and he alludes to Chainsaw Man being God. Yeah, capital G there.

So, what do they mean? Clearly, Public Safety (through the Future Devil) became aware of the Nostradamus Prophecy a while back, and have understood that Denji has a key role to play in it. Fami corroborates this theory as she tries to weaken him.

And the second image. Well, that one's sort of obvious. Chainsaw is revered as a Devil unlike any other, the only ones we've not seen it conquer is the primal devils. Even then, he got pretty close with the Falling Devil.

Anyways, one of the big reveals of the chapter: the Justice Devil.

When you look at its design language, you see nothing of the fiendish appearances from previous instances of "justice devil" contracts. So what could be going on here?

There's a few ideas, but first its important to gather up the facts.

Firstly, the corpse of the Justice Devil was beneath the Chainsaw Man church. Secondly, Fami at the minimum had control of the Falling Devil. Third, the Justice Devil and Falling Devil appeared at sunset and the Falling Devil returned at sunrise. Fourth, the devil that has formed contracts with people throughout the story is claimed to not be the Justice Devil.

So, my first theory. The Justice Devil actually did form contracts with the individuals in question. However, these contracts weren't formed on Earth. Devils "forget" about Hell, but are a new iteration of themselves each time they appear on Earth. The "them" that exists in hell is the original, so what would happen if someone formed a contract with a devil in hell? It's not the most likely, as Fujimoto probably hasn't mislead readers with the identity of this Devil, but you never know.

The more likely theory though is that the Devil that formed a contract with these individuals under the guise of the Justice Devil, is the same one that gave Fakesaw Man his abilities. But what could it mean, is the real question. Does this unnamed Devil impart the abilities and nature of "Justice" onto individuals in how each person understands it? The class president and the Chainsaw Man church believer both sport at least a little similarity in design language with the idea of multiple heads, which makes sense given the selfish nature of each. Yuko's appearance though is largely different from theirs, which is once more understandable considering the difference in reasoning.

So, what could this devil that's been masquerading as Justice be? I think the one that comes to mind the quickest is "Desire", or something similar. The Devil requires the ability to fulfill the interests or needs of the individual, and to do so in a very direct way. Yeah, we've seen a lot of this "Justice" in Part 2, but we should remember that in part 1 almost all the devil contracts out there did not do anything to change the appearances of the individuals forming the contracts. The only example off the top of my head is the Zombie Devil.

But going further than that is the question of how Fami got this Devil on their side, and even further why she's playing so many angles at once. Betting on "both sides" she aims to kill Asa and Yoru, but also empower them through the Chainsaw Man church? There's a very long game going on here with Fami and the Nostradamus Prophecy, and I'm very very curious to see how it all ends up going down.

Anyways, here's another Asa door moment. Couldn't be a CSM protagonist without them.

Following this, two very big things happen. The first is the sun goes down. Drawing attention to this is signaling that another devil will appear. Whether it's a primal devil or not, or even potentially the revival of the Justice Devil I've no idea, but a threat looms on the horizon.

This idea begs the question of why the weapons were trying to create a massacre at the amusement park today though. It seems probable that their entire goal was to have a new devil appear come sunset (considering Barem's reaction), so it makes me wonder why they would try to do something so pointless.

The second though, is Asa's arm getting cut off. This is really big for two reasons. One, badass Yoshida in action looking like a young (and hot) Kishibe.

Secondly, and more importantly, it's the first time Asa's been severely injured since Yoru revived her. What are the mechanisms for regeneration and healing with Asa? How much can she heal, if it all? Is regeneration entirely on Yoru, does she have to be in control of the body to heal?

There's a lot of questions with this piece, because unlike all the other hybrids that have a "starter" for their transformation, Asa's is implicit. There's nothing that "kickstarts" her hybrid form, simply because she doesn't have one. Does that mean that she'd heal closer to how a Fiend might? That is, the act of transformation alone cannot regenerate or heal like it does for Denji?

I'm very very curious to see what happens here, because oddly enough this is a piece that can massively affect how we view exactly what Asa and Yoru are.

We're quickly barreling towards the date of July 18, 1999, the date of the last lunar eclipse of the 20th century, and with chapters like these we're piling on all sorts of curious odds and ends that will undoubtedly play a role in this impending night of terror. Really can't wait to see what Fujimoto does with it next.

[katealpha]

Art by @Dizy_Wata_Toons

—-————————————-

Prologue:

Shortly after the year 2026 began, the Earth was suddenly visited by a fleet of massive saucer ships. There was panic at first, with many seeing this as the beginning of an alien invasion. However, contact was made between the two, and over a few months, humanity began to learn more about the Serpent Empire.

Predominantly made up of clones, the serpent species were born to serve their leaders, with the most efficient way of growing new clones being through the natural reproductive system. For eons, the serpents were conquerors, taking resources and women from various planets to serve as revered but captive broodmares for the aliens. By the time the serpents discovered earth, they’d expanded and taken so much control that the breeding program was entirely voluntary. Once diplomatic ties were made, the serpents began to integrate themselves into Earth’s societies. Chiefly, they advertised the breeding program and offered unbelievable amounts of money to volunteers.

This is where Nina Gao came in.

Nina was an actress who had recently started to gain traction in Hollywood. Seeing an opportunity to boost her career and help bridge the gap between Earth and the serpents, she had her agent contact the empire and soon, there was a drop ship hovering in front of her penthouse balcony….

# 1 Week Later….

A a phone camera began to record, standing up on a small tripod. The subject was Nina, who after a week of thinking, decided how she’d record the progress of what was happening to her. In short, she was pregnant. The operation done on her was a success.

Once she saw that she was being recorded live on YouTube, she smiled and stepped back so the camera could capture her from the thighs up. Now that she was in frame, she waved.

“Hey everyone! Nina here. I don’t normally upload to my official YouTube channel, but this is a very special occasion. Some of you might already know what this is about if you follow my Twitter and Instagram, but I’ll explain it again here. So, those serpent empire aliens who’ve been chilling out around our planet? Well, they’ve been basically doing help wanted ads for their breeding program.” The actress sneered slightly. “I know it sounds super weird, but they assured me that it was refined and safe for humanoids like me. Yeah, I kinda called them to volunteer. Why? Because I think having at least one movie star hear them out will make things between our kinds. That, and I’ll admit, I’m making twice as much as I would on a normal gig. If you’re watching at home and struggling with your bills…I’d probably think about it.” She gave a rather awkward chuckle before she changed subjects.

“Anyways, the procedure wasn’t really bad. They did it exactly a week ago, so as I’m recording this, I am pregnant with their kind. Just to make it fully known. In fact I’ve already started showing. They told me that the pregnancy would last about a month.” She sighed. “So yeah, hopefully it’ll all turn out okay. But here, let me show you guys the progress so far.”

Nina zipped down her thin sweatshirt and revealed her bare stomach to the camera. While she was hardly completely toned around her tummy, a turn to the side showed that something was different. Her stomach looked like she’d eaten too much at a restaurant. Like an average food baby one would see on tik tok or even that side of YouTube.

“You can definitely notice a little when I turn to the side. That’s gonna get a lot bigger over the next few weeks, and they already told me that I’m gonna start getting growth spurts and cravings soon. So yeah, can’t wait for that crap to get started. I’m just glad I only have voice roles to worry about for a while. I don’t know if I can go on a set with how nauseous I’ve been feeling all week. They basically plumped this concoction of their DNA and other stuff into my body, which forms into their version of babies over a month. Don’t worry, it was through my belly button and it didn’t even hurt. It felt weird but it wasn’t like getting a syringe poked into you.”

As she finished saying this, her stomach audibly rumbled on camera. She looked down and blinked. “Ugh, I just got super hungry. I’m gonna end this video now. Please keep things respectful in the comments, and it’ll be seeing you in the next update.” Nina reached over and ended the live feed to upload it fully. Afterwards, she went directly to the Door Dash app, all while her stomach moaned and gurgled deeply…

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 4: Elves!

again the narration spotlights how the Valar anjoyed stuff in shielded Valinor and Middle-Earth did not. I'm getting more convinced that it is canonically a not-so-great thing.

Balrogs are Melkor's earliest servants. And mentioned in each chapter.

Sun and Moon being the sign of the time of Elves ending is canon.

Varda made stars from the liquid Treelight. Like Silmarils. which means Gil-Estel is even closer to normal stars than I thought. (also: the stars are seeds? ^^ ) (no, I do not know why they did not ask Vards to break the stars instead, but i am pretty sure someone would ask me this)

The Valar are canonically surprised at each thing happening in its designated time even though they've seen it in the Vision.

Oh, this is just hilarious. (In a rather negative sense.)

Manwë on page 84: "Iluvatar told my heart to a) regain dominion over Ards, b) free the Elves from Melkor's shadow. So this is the plan.". The Valar on page 85: capture Melkor and happily go back to Valinor. dominion over Arda: left to be claimed by Sauron and random Elves. Elves: Free from Melkor, but not from the trauma, nor from Sauron, nor from probably some other things that could be seen as "Melkor's shadow". The Valar: Happy and proud of themselves.

Also, one of their main motivations to get Elves to Aman is "they'r pretty and we want to have them here", which is sub-optimal again. Sure, it's not bad-bad, but they are the Valar. I have high expectations for them.

I really think they should have Tulkas+Orome+someone smart (Namo because it's his job) go with Melkor and put him in jail, and all the others should have stayed and helped the Elves and taught them and stuff. Not instantly go back to their safe corner (which was the reason why they found the Elves so late).

Yes, I am somewhat Valar-critical. Like, I see them as the good guys and they are trying, but also I do have insanely high expectations which is probably unfair for them. But. The results.

(Also with all my dislike for Orome's personality, he is doing a lot of good job here).

"All the Elves revere Ingwë's name" — excuse me, what? this is one of the very "Silm is a secondary source" sentences. Sure, most Elves probably do. But do not tell me Feanor, or his sons, or people aligned to him revere the guy who a) is very, very pro-Valar b) is related to Indis and in some versions the reason why Finwe got together with her.

Like, sitting at Manwë's feeet and being his emotional support fanboy is great (unironically) and sweet, but even with the most positive interpretation of Ingwë he would not be respected by literally all Elves.

Oh, the original Denethor. I always forget him.

[nixylubouv]

🌺 Snippet Request 🌺

Dear Anon, thank you for your snippet request. I know I you sent this a while back. I finally got around to finishing it. I really liked your prompt. It was very unique and gave me a lot of inspiration!

Prompt: [Garden, Tears, and Cage with fluff/hurt and comfort vibes]

The sound of footsteps clicked against the singular marble pathway that led to Hero’s cage. Hero shuddered, curling in on themselves in the furthest side of their prison. It was like a giant birdcage, gilded and ornate gold. And Hero, like a little bird, displayed for Villain’s pleasure. The enclosure that surrounded Hero was meant to be a replica of their home world, giving the illusion of a forest. 

Trees with rough russet bark and flowering foliage in all shades of blue grew to the crystal dome ceiling high up above. Purple vines were woven in the canopy and entwined in the bars of Hero’s cage. A gentle article waterfall burbled somewhere behind, falling into a lazy stream of cerulean waters that ran throughout the glorified garden.

Small white flowers dotted the shrubbery like stars, and glowing orange moss climbed the scattered rock fixtures. Maybe to a stranger, the likeness to Hero’s home would have been astounded. To Hero, it was a mockery. Everything was too well maintained and manicured. It was nothing like the wild beauty of a true native forest. 

The worst part was the stillness. No birds twittered or insects chirped, no breeze blew or leaves rustled. Everything was just wrong. It was terrifying. Hero would have preferred a windowless basement room over this death-like silence. 

Click. Click. Click. The footsteps drew near, rounding a huge flowered hedge into the cage’s line of sight. Hero didn’t look. They braced themselves for Villain’s saccharine sweet voice and disgusting honied words of love.  

“Hello, Hero.” 

Hero’s head snapped up. That wasn’t Villain’s voice. Hero gaped at the person standing just outside their birdcage. Supervillain, dressed head to toe in finery. And covered in blood splatter. They walked right up to Hero, sword clattering to the floor. They fell to their knees and gripped the golden bar with one hand. 

Hero was frozen. Trapped in Supervillain’s dark magnetic eyes. Supervillain smiled and held up the object in their other hand, something that sparkled brilliantly in the artificial sunlight. Hero tried to process what they were seeing. It was gorgeous. Hundreds of crystal tears welded together in a crown, almost as many as Hero had shed in their lifetime. 

“How? I thought Villain had sold them all.” Hero couldn’t resist asking. 

Supervillain smiled at that, the gentle expression so out of place on their beautiful face that it caused Hero to shiver. “I know. I tracked them down.” 

Hero inched closer to the front of the cage, mirroring Supervillain’s kneel. “You didn’t use them?” they questioned. Hero’s people rarely shed tears, and the power contained in them could lead people to wage war. It was the reason Villain had captured Hero, no matter how they liked to pretend otherwise.  

“I never wanted you for your tears,” Supervillain said. The bar in their grip started to glow. Hero watched in silence as the glow spread around the cage, disintegrating the vines and melting it down around them.

“I wanted you for you,” Supervillain finished in a hushed whisper. Slowly, reverently, they placed the crown on Hero’s head with both hands. Finally returning what was stolen so long ago. It was very stupid, Hero supposed. To feel touched. Kneeling here, face to face with Supervillain. Wearing a crown made of tears and kneeling in a puddle of gold with someone who they had considered an enemy a lifetime ago.

Tentatively, Hero reached up and cupped Supervillain’s face. Supervillain leaned into Hero’s palm as Hero wiped a thumb under their eye, smearing away the blood. 

“If I leave now, will you stop me?” 

“No.” Supervillain responded simply. And Hero believed them. They felt the bud of an unknown emotion bloom in their heart, something they long thought had withered away. 

“Good.” Hero stood up, pulling Supervillain along with them. “Then let’s get out of here.”

[saiyomiya]

Mamiya Review

Man, I don't know many people who know what Mamiya is, and that's a shame. Hell, the only way I know it is because I checked Andrew Hodgson's portfolio the other day and was captured by the art.

People should REALLY check this out. It's like if Nisioisin and Subahibi and the bunker dream scene in Disco Elysium and your lingering yearning for whoever just came up in your mind just now had a love child with the brain the size of thousands of universes or something. Like is that not the most incredible sentence you've ever read? I'm me and I wrote that sentence but it would've made me want to read it.

Pros

Beautiful art

Incredibly curated freeware OST that made me a fan of Ludo for life

Great translation with beautiful and succinct prose

Incredibly well-paced and doesn't waste your time at all

Cons

There is some thematic messaging in the game that leaves a bad taste in my mouth which is obviously subjective but hey this is my review

Will probably leave you hanging and wanting more answers when you're done, maybe even a bit dissatisfied (warning: I am dumb and maybe something flew over my head, a single read is definitely not enough for this one)

Rating: It's good, great even. The part I don't really like about it is subjective and some/most people might be fine with it or understand something about it I don't. I tolerate it because the rest of the game is interesting and everything else about it is very up my alley. If you're interested, make sure you buy the DLC DoomsDayDreams as well. It contains the last chapter of the story.

Spoiler subjective rambling to myself below the cut. Warning: I am dumb and might be too stupid for this game

Steam | VNDB (Part 1)

Why this game is kino

The settings are super interesting and the writing is beautiful. Honestly I would love to fine tooth reread it someday, maybe in Japanese. (Too bad Textractor can't since the engine uses Javascript).

The scope of the game is impressive and how verbose it is about all of those things is an incredible accomplishment. There is something universally accessible about Mamiya's message. You don't need to read a trove of philosophy books to understand what it wants to say. (Though obviously there are references.) You don't need to tolerate great horrors to get to the good parts. The pacing is good and it doesn't waste your time. It doesn't think you're stupid and believes in your ability to figure stuff out. There's a chance I'm jabbing at a kamige a lot of people revere that I also like for the most part but despise at the same time

MAMIYA (meme), Natsume, and the trichiliocosm are all very interesting and well handled themes. I've never really been able to word these feelings myself, so reading a story that builds something about concepts I've felt in my core was very freeing. It kind of makes you feel like an atom, if we could understand how a single atom feels. I think we all have thought about these things at least once. As humans, we all worry and think of the beyond every once in a while.

The effect this story has on you is genuinely beautiful. How can you feel so small and yet so important at the same time? Not only are you a body, you are your soul, you are your mind, and you have an existence before anyone knew what you are. Yet at the same time, we are all part of an infinitely expanding universe that is not only what we ourselves see, but what everyone else generates.

You feel so cherished and yet so insignificant at the same time.

I find MAMIYA so fascinating as well. To verbalize and personify the idea of yearning and admiring a ghost of a person is super interesting. Everyone has felt that for someone else, a longing to be with or to become a beloved. A lot of people grow out of that, but what happens when you don't? What happens when the scars that that yearning left are too deep? Being able to write a story about this concept, give it a mind of its own, and make it metatextually infect actual readers is brilliant.

It's kaleidoscopic in nature. It's a story that is so many things. It wants to be a literal read, it wants to be an abstract read, it wants to be meta, it wants to haunt you, like a ghost, like a veil, for the rest of your life. It's an incredibly unique and unforgettable experience. The only other game to make me feel similarly was Subahibi but I felt way less miserable while going through Mamiya.

That, on top of watching these characters face their weaknesses and ultimately conquer them with their own strength really tickles the Nisioisin fan in me. Like, all of this is incredible stuff. EX is incredible too, even though it hurts so bad. The bittersweet and vague and confusing endings for me leave me wanting more and someone smarter than me to explain what happened help

It leaves you with a love that is yours alone.

If you like the Pink House characters don't read this word vomit

(Vague Door 2 Fata Morgana spoiler mention)

Okay, time to get negative. I dislike almost all of the Pink House characters. I mean, that's definitely by design. All of them are groomers who succumbed to mental weakness and also nobody likes a groomer. It's pretty hard for me to view them just as characters because they did such horrible things to vulnerable children for their own self-satisfaction and weakness. Like brother I'm sorry but I can't just look at characters like this as just characters.

I fucking hate Osamu as a person. He's my least favorite character. To instill MAMIYA is to leave yearning, but damn, him leaving Ryou with his abusive mother and his biological daughter behind is just despicable. He is insufferable to everyone he talks to, he's ugly asf too, I'm gonna kill him, give me ten dollars. If you like him, more power to you, you're better than me, but my brain just can't run the calculations to tolerate him. Just a subjective thing.

Mayuri's relationship with their mother is relatable and I think their struggles with their inner child and self love are very interesting. However, what they do to Minato throughout DDD is despicable and unforgivable to me and it's very hard for me to look at them objectively. Like I totally get that's a me problem.

I mean, I get it though. There are people in my life who've done awful things to me, but I don't want them to die. Rather, I want them to live and be happy, but away from me. I don't wanna know how they're doing either. In this way, I really have nothing against the better ending Minato has with Mayuri, and I found their duel together interesting. It's well done, in my opinion.

Touma is the least offensive of all of them to me and I don't have much to complain about with him, at least from my understanding of his struggles and what he did overall.

Okay he did bad shit too but somehow it didn't leave as bad of a taste in my mouth than the other two. That too, is subjective.

Finally, Samejima is so boring to me. I never cared about Yukimasa from Fatamoru, so more of the same is more shit I don't care about. He's not very interesting to me on a personal level. I just never cared for characters with his narrative.

I guess for me, since ALL of Natsume's friends patch things up with the Pink House quartet it starts to feel very vaguely like, the way to handle your abuser is to understand why they abused you and then accept that it is a cycle and maybe get along with them and cheer them on. Saying that hilariously minimizes every arc but I mean, this was the vibe I got from all four of them just... more or less forgiving their abusers who put them through psychological and sometimes physical hell. It just didn't sit right with me. I think, for a game like this, having at least one character NOT be the "bigger" person and not be amicable, not forgive even after trying, would've made the message come across more clearly. Forgiveness and handling of abuse is messy and a bit of inconsistency among the cast would've garnered a bit more goodwill on my end.

Of course I might be missing the point or blind. I might be dumb as hell who knows. I would love to be enlightened otherwise. It just left a really bad taste in my mouth for a story I overall liked and became the hugest con about it for me.

Character rankings

Upper layer: Nidome > Mamiya > Natsume > Librarian > Senior

Nidome is cute even though he doesn't do much. I liked his design and I felt like this whenever he called Natsume a silly goose. Librarian and Senior are cool I just wish we saw more of them. The upper layer itself is really cool conceptually and I would love a story about it, but who knows if that's gonna happen.

Natsume and Mamiya are givens to like. I honestly can't tell if I like one or the other more.

Natsume's friends: Minato > Haruki > Ryou > Keito

Minato's narrative is relatable and I like them a lot, Haruki I liked more than expected, Ryou is fine, and I like Keito enough, but I feel like as I've gotten older I've had less patience for characters of his archetype. Or don't care about them. Like he's just there to me.

Pink House: Touma > Samejima >> Mayuri >>> Osamu

Touma is the least offensive of them to me (to the point that I would say that I like him), I don't like how Mayuri was handled and Osamu is just trash to me for reasons I spoke of earlier. I don't feel anything for or against Samejima. It's not his fault I don't care for his narrative archetype, but at least he's better than the other two behind him.

Natsume: Spectator/Idea/As a part of MAMIYA > Body

I'm just fucking around at this point

Conclusion

What can I say that I haven't said? It's good and I hope it gets more popularity someday. It certainly deserves it and I think it could be considered a kamige among VN enthusiasts if they gave it a try. People are just going to have to spread the word. I do think that most people would more positive than me even though I feel relatively positive about it, so go crazy and become the salespeople Kenkou Land deserves.

I still feel like I have so many questions and want so many answers for the main endings themselves. EX is both heartbreaking and yet so freeing at the same time, and the main ending is bittersweet and confusing.

It's as if I woke up to news to my dear friend Natsume Souichirou dying myself.

[bambinification]

Tyrus Wong's influence on Bambi's artstyle really cannot be overstated.

Like, I'm sure a lot of people have Pointed Out that Bambi's backgrounds are unlike other Disney works because of Wong's inspiration coming from Chinese ink paintings. But after watching 4 hours of behind the scenes content for Bambi, I *really* want to hammer it home for people that he didn't just bring in an idea that Walt liked. Walt literally *asked* for the aspects of Wong's work, without even knowing what he was asking for.

During Bambi's production, Walt Disney struggled for a Long time to capture the exact style he wanted. He emphasized ad nauseam that he didn't want Bambi to be a cartoon with anthropomorphized characters and environments. When his artists were working on concept art based on photographs taken in real forests, the art was constantly too detailed. They couldn't have complex backgrounds with every single leaf drawn in, but they also couldn't NOT have leaves drawn in, right? Additionally, from day one, Walt insisted on subtlety. He didn't want a cartoon, but he didn't want photorealism. He wanted to capture the essence of nature, to make you Feel the forest more than seeing it in detail. He wanted realism of Vibes.

Hey, does that sound familiar? Almost like those qualities were popular in ink wash paintings in China during the Song dynasty?? (And then later in Japanese ink paintings??)

Walt Disney did not have the education or the words to express that he wanted qualities of traditional Chinese landscape paintings in the Song Dynasty. But the aspects that he described wanting in his creative meetings are *textbook* features of Chinese and Japanese ink paintings. Essence over detail, an end result that definitely *looks* like a detailed landscape, but with techniques in minimalism and almost pre-impressionism.

So when Wong showed his concept art to his supervisor, it was less of a "oh this looks rad" situation and more like a "sent from God to answer our prayers" situation. Tyrus Wong didn't just influence Bambi; I genuinely believe he saved the film. He was the only person to give Disney exactly what he was asking for, and he did it with ease because he was familiar with an artform rich in qualities that Walt was specifically looking for.

Now, I know most people know Walt himself moved Wong to head background supervisor after that. However, Wong was laid off during Walt's anti-union bitch fit in 1941, and I don't think Wong was hired back. Even so, the animators that remained at Disney in 2005 clearly hold great reverence for his work. He's mentioned in all but two of the backstage featurettes.

[kalechipslives]

sorekara setting design

Here are some notes on the development of SOREKARA's style and presentation. If you couldn't already tell, SK takes a lot of inspiration from 70's/80's anime, Nobody's Boy Remi being the reference point for much of it. I've always respected Dezaki for his monumental work so I've always wanted to pay tribute to it (especially the early stuff). I don't think I was as successful as I'd like to have been, but alas! There is still more to come! So without further ado!

I was just talking about Dezaki , but now I shall talk about something completely different. To set the tone, I created the cat and the trolley setting first. The Girl's design should be plenty obvious (lol). But the background here I paid special attention to... I find the paints of Night on the Galactic Railroad to be very unique. They have a line less, airbrushed quality to them that blends in surprisingly well with the characters. I did some research and studied 児玉喬夫 Takao Kodama's work, as they were credited with setting design for this film as well as Genji Monogatari. Actually, if you look at Genji Monogatari's backgrounds, they have the exact same airbrushed quality! I had never done a background like this before (I am certainly not an environmental artist) but I think I did a fairly good job of it.

...I immediately switched gears and without thinking, went back to Dezaki works. I can't say I was very faithful at all. The night sky is easy to paint, with it's notable color spray and paint blots, but I diverged quite a bit with the watercolor textures. Shichiro Kobayashi is the artist I looked to the most, and this project made me appreciate him more than ever before. Just looking at his paints gets me emotional... The vibrant colors, the dramatic angles, you can just feel his reverence for life overflowing from the work. There really isn't anyone better. I need to study more if I'm to capture even a fraction of his skill. That being said, I did make sure to animate the backgrounds slightly with the sparkles on the water-- The reflection of light on water is my favorite to draw! Also, flowers are a very important motif (for various reasons, ohohoho). Kobayashi seemed to love drawing flowers, the paint around the edges give is a delicate look. Actually, if you look at the textbox...

Instead of full-color CGs, I opted to use "postcard memories". This was a technique Dezaki used where he would show a detailed, scratchy-lined illustration to highlight important moments instead of fully animating them. It creates a really memorable image that draws out all of your emotions! I tried to emulate them (the more single-toned ones, that is) for the game. It was 1/3 Dezaki worship, 1/3 time-saving technique, and 1/3 excuse to draw lots of scratchy lines. I love scratchy lines. This way, I could make a lot of memorable shots that were visually interesting without overworking myself.

As another note, I looked to Akio Sugino's character art when drawing. The characters don't really look like Sugino characters, but I was emulating his shading technique with (once-again) the scratchy lines. Ah, I was in heaven. Looking at his older work, the linework is hardly ever clean-- but the rough, hand-drawn edge gives everything a tactile quality and the strong anatomy makes everyone so gorgeous. It's like an engraving come to life.

Finally, the anime effects! On the left you can see soothat before his values are adjusted (very dark, isn't he?) and on the right you can see he is in-game, values adjusted with a more appropriate "anime" look. This is because anime cells are put onto a CRT screen, so they end up looking very different. I created an auto action in CSP to adjust the color grating and line quality of every asset before popping them into the game for the chromatic aberration to take effect. The lines are slightly crunched a blurrier compared to the original. It gives it a more "physical" look. The colors are fixed up-- you'll see there is no pure black. If you look at a physical anime cell, you'll see they more often than not do not include pure black. There is usually a tint of green or red in there.

The chromatic aberration filter... I don't know how noticeable it is to the average player, but the game actually has a built-in filter that creates a slight "chroma" effect to emulate the look of frames through a crt/light. This means the red + blue + green values of the entire screen are split up and adjusted to layer slightly off from each other, giving it a little visual interest. It was AN EXTREME doozy to put in, with my poor programmer coding it and re-coding it until the end. It seemed simple at first, but there are parts where the game zooms in which totally broke the filter! It made out eyes bleed! But it was repaired in the end, so blessing upon you, Sandy. You saved my life.

The reason why I looked to Ie Naki Ko/Nobody's Boy Remi specifically is because that's where I feel the most "pure" energy from. It is a show that leans incredibly hard on it's techniques to get by but because of that it really embodies what I love about old anime-- It has a selfless reverence for its subject that drives you to watch and surrender your heart. Dezaki's powerful directing, Sugino's gorgeous drawings and Kobayashi's majestic paintings come together to make a work that shines. The setting is truly at the forefront with the characters getting lost in the grandeur. That's the attitude I had with SOREKARA: "There are things much greater than us, so isn't it wonderful that we are able to see them side-by-side?" There are many animation techniques that are cost-effective while still being utterly beautiful, I would love to copy them someday but I wasn't able to go that far yet. At least not in the demo. There's still time, I suppose... Studying limited animation from old anime is actually extremely useful when creating visual novels. Understanding the placement of cells and their layering/movement has given me even more ideas for stories!

I ended up going on a rant about anime again ^^" But it's so beautiful, you must now understand my heart going into the work. I always think of my characters and their journey, of course, but before that I think of the setting. I want the player to experience beautiful and mysterious things alongside their traveling companions. There is still so much more to make. I hope to incorporate more Dezaki-style techniques in this and future works. Please remember the true message of my works.... Not that love finds a way, or that your connections can transform your world...it's that....anime is very, very cool.

Thank you for reading 🙇🏽‍♂️