#drop in anchor tool

[dreamwritesimagines]

Sunshine [9] - Tranquility

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your patience! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Simple days can be calming.

Word Count: 2853

CW: Explicit language, mentions of sex, drinking, adult themes MDNI

Series Masterlist

Well.

This was very fun.

“I mean to repeat, I do have a hammer at home,” you said, leaning your elbows on the cart as you pushed it slowly and Logan raised his brows.

“Just a hammer?”

“Yeah, I wanted to put up that framed picture of me and Theo so Jamie brought it and then forgot it.”

“Exactly why we’re here.”

Home Depot wasn’t really your favorite place to shop in, you couldn’t even remember when the last time you had been there was. Needless to say, you felt a bit overwhelmed as you looked at the aisles with many tools and construction products, but Logan seemed right at home there, and the simple act of going shopping together -whether it was at a store you were familiar with or not- made you feel all warm inside.

Who knew the aftermath of breaking your bed would be fun as well?

Logan grabbed a pack of what seemed like tiny pieces of metal to put it in the cart, and you looked around, then gasped.

“Let’s get these, they look prettier!”

“Screw anchors?”

You tilted your head.

“Well if you feel that strongly about them…”

“No I mean— that’s what they’re called.”

“They’re yellow, I like yellow!” you said, grabbing the pack off the hook to hold it up and Logan chuckled.

“Sweetheart, if we’re going to use them on your bed, they need to be metal. Your bed frame is metal.”

You looked down at the pack. “Oh, these look plastic.”

“Mm hm, they are plastic.”

“Well, where do people use these?”

“On drywall, mostly,” he said. “When you’re hanging—hold on, did Jamie just put a screw into the wall for those frames you mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

He blinked a couple of times, then cleared his throat and took the pack from you to put it into the cart as well.

“Yay!”

“Anything else you want from here?”

You looked over at the shelf, then shook your head and Logan threw an arm over your shoulder to pull you closer to himself as you both went into another aisle.

“So wait, you need to put stuff into the wall to put stuff into the wall?”

“Mm hm.”

“Why?”

“Well, otherwise the screw can slip out of the wall when you hang something,” he said. “Anchors make sure whatever is on the wall doesn’t fall on anyone. It’s the same logic with anchoring furniture.”

“None of my furniture is anchored.”

“Babe, you have a mirror in your living room.”

“I just leaned it to the wall,” you pointed out and Logan heaved a sigh, then gently guided you into another aisle.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a drill?”

“Good guess—Logan, we’re not buying a drill!”

He went closer to one of the shelves to grab one to check it. “Why not?”

“I’m not gonna use it.”

“I’m gonna use it, I don’t want that mirror to fall on you.”

“It’s on the other side of the room.”

“Accidents happen,” he said. “That thing needs to be anchored along with God knows what. Every home needs a drill.”

You scrunched up your face, leaning back to the shelf.

“Debatable,” you said. “Every home needs a medicine cabinet. A drill is just something people in home makeover shows use.”

“What are makeover shows?”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God, you’ve never watched those? We’re so watching those, I need your commentary.”

Logan turned the drill in his hand and you bit inside your cheek, trying to fight the urge to jump on him in the aisle of Home Depot. Clearing your throat, you tried to focus and crossed your arms.

“Not that one,” you said and Logan turned his gaze to you.

“Why not?”

“We should get that one,” you pointed at the other drill on the shelf and Logan bit back a smile.

“Babe, that one is 12 volts. This one is 18.”

“Volt isn’t everything,” you said as if you knew what you were talking about and Logan pulled his brows together.

“It is kind of important in a drill—”

“Yeah but Logan, that’s orange,” you said and grabbed the pack of yellow plastic anchors out of the cart to hold it up. “See? They’ll match if we get this one!”

Logan stared at you as if he was trying to find the right words to disagree with you but you pulled your brows together before putting the pack next to the drill so that he could see it better.

“Same shade!” you insisted as you pressed your finger on the drill, looking up at him and the corners of his lips twitched, that fond light shining in his eyes before he nodded slowly, then put the drill in his hand into the shelf to grab the one you were pointing at.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get the matching drill then.”

                                                 *

At first you had been worried about being too much of a bother when Logan said he’d be fixing your bedframe but now, sitting on the couch eating the snacks you got on your way back home, you couldn’t help but notice Logan looked very comfortable and happy to be helping you out. Right after you got back home, he fixed your bedframe but apparently having a drill and a toolbox within his vicinity had awakened something in him that he was now working on what could be “fixed” in your living room.

You could’ve sworn his face had lit up like a Christmas tree when you mentioned you had shelves somewhere that you had been procrastinating on putting up.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” you asked as you popped a piece of chocolate in your mouth and he shook his head, holding the shelf against the wall to draw on where he’d put it up.

“No need princess.”

“I could help, I have some experience in it,” you pointed out. “Not very pleasant experience but experience nonetheless.”

“How’s that?”

“Um, when I was a child, whenever something broke in our house my dad would want to fix it himself,” you said. “And he’d ask me to hold the flashlight and but then scold me for pointing it at the wrong place.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah.”

He looked at you over his shoulder before grabbing the drill and turned it on, making you grimace at the loud noise. He drilled two holes in the wall, then grabbed the plastic anchors and the hammer to nail them in.

You’d had a wet dream like this.

“How did you learn how to do all this?�� you asked him and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve been around for some time. You pick up hobbies.”

“And that’s your hobby?”

“I like fixing things,” he said. “And building stuff.”

You sat up straighter, your whole attention on him.

“Okay, so I can add it to the list of things I know about you,” you said with a bright smile. “I’m quite proud of myself you know, growing that list isn’t the easiest thing in the world.”

Logan shot you a small grin. “Subtle.”

“Hey I’m just warning you beforehand,” you said, holding your hands up. “You won’t even see me coming and before you know, you’re opening up to me.”

“Oh is that what’s gonna happen?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m too stubborn to quit.”

Logan’s smile was calm before he took a deep breath, then started working on the shelf again.

“It’s just…” he murmured. “A long story, you know? Too much to tell.”

“That’s okay,” you said softly. “I’ve got time. And until then, you can listen to me talk about absolute nonsense.”

“I like doing that, in case it escaped your notice.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest and you took a deep breath, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“So yeah, I apparently held the flashlight wrong. And there was also that one time—I’m just not the best at fixing things, there was that one time Julie tried to teach me how to change a tire but I ended up convincing her to go get mimosas instead. She’s really good at all that, I swear she and IKEA manuals have something going on that the rest of us human kind cannot understand, she built my wardrobe and I honestly just provided her with cookies—oh my God, Logan!” you said with a gasp. “Do you want cookies?”

A fond smile curled his lips as he looked at you over his shoulder.

“No seriously, I know you liked the chocolate chip ones but I’ve been dying to try this new recipe, it has mint chocolate—do you like mint chocolate? I hope you’re not one of those people who say mint chocolate tastes like toothpaste because I am a ride or die mint chocolate lover, but I think I can also make—”

You were cut off when he strode to you to lean down and kiss you, cutting you off before you let out a giggle.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling back to look at you better. “I’d love some.”

You beamed up at him and stole another kiss from him.

“So yes to the mint chocolate cookies then?”

He stroked his thumb over your cheekbone, that loving look in his eye making your heart skip a happy beat.

“Sure thing sweetheart,” he said. “Yes to the mint chocolate cookies.”

                                                        *

The more time you spent with Logan, the giddier you felt. You knew that you were supposed to keep yourself in check and play it cool considering everything between you two was very new, but it felt as if since you two had got together, you hadn’t been able to stop smiling.

Or it could’ve been just mind-blowing sex.

Either or.

“I’m not really much of a TV person.”

“And I respect that, but not having seen Titanic is simply just not acceptable,” you said as you poured the popcorn into the bowl and made your way to the couch. He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you to his lap, making you let out a squeal as you straddled him with a giggle.

“You’re not distracting me this time,” you told him, pecking him on the lips before getting off his lap to sit beside him, still holding the popcorn bowl tight. You grabbed the remote to start the movie while Logan frowned at the screen as if it had personally offended him.

“I mean I heard about it,” he said. “It’s romance, right?”

“The best romance in the history of humankind.”

Logan pulled his brows together.

“So low expectations, got it,” he said. “The title suggests it’s not gonna end well?”

“Listen, they may have only known each other for four days—”

“Four days?!”

“Yeah but it was true love,” you said in a solemn manner, nodding your head and Logan’s frown deepened.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, babe.”

“That’s totally how it works,” you said. “It’s like opposites attract wrapped in star-crossed lovers wrapped in a tragic love story. I watched it for like 50 times, it’s my comfort movie. I always cry at the end.”

“Your comfort movie is a movie that makes you cry?”

“Yeah,” you said and grabbed at his arm when turned to look at the screen. “Look, that’s Jack! That’s who Rose falls in love with—wait, Logan, I have a question.”

“Hm?”

“So you were around when Titanic happened?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember it?”

“I remember the news of it, yeah,” he said. “Everyone was shocked by it.”

You took a deep breath to ask him another question but your doorbell rang. You turned your head and stood up but Logan was faster than you, so he walked to the door to open it and as soon as he did, Julie’s voice reached you.

“Holy shit you’re tall.”

“Julie?” you asked as you approached the door and Logan stepped aside. “Hi!”

“Hey, sorry I didn’t…” she motioned at Logan. “It’s just that I texted you and you didn’t answer, and I was on my way here anyway because who just got out of a terrible argument with her ex dickhead of a boyfriend and needed some distraction?”

“Jesus, that asshole again?” you asked and she nodded.

“Yep.”

“Come in!” you said and Julie shook her head.

“No no, I really don’t wanna interrupt your sexy time.”

Logan tilted his head while you shot her a lighthearted glare.

“Come in,” you insisted, pulling her by the arm before closing the door. “We’re watching Titanic. Logan, this is Julie, my best friend. Jules, this is Logan—” you paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.

Boyfriend was a big title and you hadn’t really talked about it before, and you actually didn’t know where Logan stood on this whole thing so you decided to play it safe.

“I told you about him,” you ended up saying and Logan extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Julie said, shaking his hand. “You really are a good looking dude, and I was so right about the lumberjack vibes.”

Logan blinked a couple of times as if he didn’t know how to answer. “…Thanks?”

“No problem.”

“I’m pouring you wine,” you said, making your way to the kitchen with Julie following you, and Logan lingered in the hallway for a moment before going back to the living room.

“Are you sure it’s cool I’m crashing your date?”

You took out a wine glass before pouring some wine in it.

“I’ll be offended if you ask me that again,” you told her and she hugged you, making you smile and press a kiss on her cheek.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to like, buy a baseball bat and threaten him?”

“Nah I’m fine,” she said as she pulled back to take the glass from you. “It’s just fucking frustrating.”

“Screw him, he’s an idiot,” you told her as you held her other hand and you both went into the living room.

“Hey man, sorry about the interruption,” Julie told him, flinging herself on the armchair and Logan shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. No interruption other than me trying to figure out how these two people will have the ‘greatest love story’ in four days.”

“It is true love!” you said, smacking the back of your hand into your palm to emphasize each word and Logan chuckled.

“Yeah alright, sorry. True love.”

“Weren’t you around when this happened?” Julie asked, motioning at the screen and you grinned.

“We share one braincell,” you told her and Julie crossed her arms, looking at Logan.

“Did you meet Thomas Edison?”

Logan looked almost confused. “Uh, no?”

“Good, he was an asshole. Did you meet Victor Hugo?”

Logan paused for a moment, then turned to look at you. “Are you guys all secretly French?”

“No, we just watched Les Miserables one hundred times,” you answered while Julie sighed.

“A masterpiece, if you will.”

“Better than this whole true love in four days thing?” Logan asked, motioning at the screen and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Careful there buddy, you’re on thin ice.”

Logan shot you a grin, making you smile back before you turned to Julie.

“Seriously, what happened with that jerk?”

“Oh you know, the usual drill. He called me drunk, started with begging and then that whole thing turned into him listing every single bad thing about me.”

“He was the one who cheated on you.”

“Yeah and you’d think he’d remember that.”

Logan threw an arm over your shoulder to pull you closer to him.

“I can beat him up if you want,” he said in such a matter-of-fact tone that it made you look up at him in confusion. Julie let out a small laugh.

“You, I like you,” she said, pointing at him before she looked at you. “I approve.”

“Aw thank you.”

“That being said,” she said. “Logan, you seem like a really nice guy but make no mistake, if you upset her in any way, I’ll get the biggest magnet I can find and point it at you so that I can pull that metal skeleton of yours out of your body.”

“Julie!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening and Logan’s smile widened as if he was merely amused. “Don’t listen to her. She’s nice to me and terrible to everyone else.”

Julie blew you a kiss and Logan nodded his head.

“Noted,” he told Julie and Julie grinned at him.

“See? You and I are gonna get along just fine.”

You heaved a sigh, then grabbed the bowl to hold it out for Julie to take some popcorn. She grabbed a handful, then leaned back to watch the movie while you leaned your head on Logan’s chest, trying to pay attention to the movie. Logan nuzzled into your hair and pressed a kiss on top of your head, making your stomach do a happy flip and you felt a smile warm your face before you bit on your lip, then turned your gaze to the screen again.

10 - Storm

[2neaky]

❤︎ .𖥔˚𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𓍼ོ.𓍢ִ໋

𝓜𝓓𝓝𝓘 ☆ 𝓦𝓐𝓡𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢 - reader is aroused from getting a tattoo (soft core) / Eren x Blackreader | mini drabble—working thru a writing slump so bear w. me on these shorter fics, enjoy <3

Over a hundred times per second, thousands of times per minute—the needle keeps hitting delicate skin.

Sometimes it breaks, leaving droplets of blood in its wake. Other times, it’s just strong enough to withstand the attack, leaving the skin raw and swollen.

‘It’s probably red,’ she thinks as her thighs clench around the chair.

There’s a moment of clarity; The needle has been lifted.

“You good?”

His voice almost makes her shiver.

Her closed eyes squeeze together.

“Mhm.”

She hears him moving around some tools behind her. “Use your words.”

“Yeah…”

Low, green eyes bore into the back of her head, watching closely.

From their first meeting, she could tell that Eren was an ‘all-about-the-details’ kind of man. Analytical, almost to a fault (noting the times he’s kept her in his chair longer than needed, just to perfect a tattoo). She doesn’t appreciate him any less for it.

Yet, she’s burning up under his stare. She almost wishes he would look away, as stupid as that sounds.

“Tell me when you need a break.”

She nods and turns her head to the side to rest against the headrest, eyes still closed.

“𓊆ྀི⋆˖ ⭑˚⊹𓊇ྀི.”

Soft mink lashes blink as she peels her eyes open to look at him—as best as she can from this angle, anyway.

“Tell me.”

He’s a soft-talker, quiet most times. But the added edge to his voice at times just gets her.

Usually, she laughs it off, making a joke about him. It makes it easier to ignore the way his tone fires her up.

She can’t laugh this time.

Her body inches up higher against the back of the chair, her wide hips do a meager half-drag against it.

Why did she wear jeans?

“Okay.”

The whine of her voice almost alarms him. His gaze lingers on her for seconds more as his mind replays the way her full lips twitched into a pout.

He saves an apology to continue his work.

The second the needle touches her skin, her spine tenses beneath his hand. It isn’t so much of a big movement that he has to take a pause. Just a tiny shift beneath the skin. Still, he notices it.

He also notices the restless sway of her right knee every time he lifts the needle. And how her hips keep anchoring down against the seat. Even how her breathing picks up.

During their first ever session, he wondered why she would never tap out for breaks. But, it’s too obvious that she enjoys more than she should. Even when she tries to hide it.

A breath of amusement leaves through his nose.

The needle trickles half an inch lower, closer towards one of her back dimples. He applies more force behind the gun.

Her eyes roll back shut. Her arms shield her face, keeping him from seeing her tug her bottom lip between her teeth.

A stifled whimper sneaks out.

“This is gonna be a long one,” he mutters.

He doesn’t lift the needle.

It’s getting harder and harder for her to keep still. She releases her bottom lip and it trembles.

Eren glances up at her and presses a little harder. The sting reaches deeper.

Her lips part as her face pulls together.

“I’m almost done, you could hold out.”

A tiny mewl slips from her. It’s soft and broken, so unlike her strong, brazen attitude.

Something in his chest drops; It free-falls down his stomach and to his dick. He lifts the gun with a sigh.

His breath fans against the raw skin of her back. She shivers as her hips twitch against the chair again.

“Good job.”

[charliemwrites]

Talked about this with @ceilidho last night and it’s making me Insane,

Neighbor!Johnny.

His parents have moved to be closer to his sisters and their children, leaving him their gorgeous house to crash at during leave.

When he moves in, you bring him a batch of cookies, welcoming him to the neighborhood and telling him to stop by if he needs anything. Something in his eyes flickers as he takes you in, sundress and sneakers.

“Cookies aren’t the only sweet treat here,” he drawls, grinning.

Your neighbor Johnny who leans folds his massive arms over your fence when he catches you out by the pool. You don’t have your towel or a coverup because it’s your own backyard, but it’s fine! There’s a fence between you two and anyway he’s just coming to say hi.

Johnny who tsks when you tell him your husband went on another business trip without fixing the AC. You don’t want to call someone over while you’re home alone. Not to worry - Johnny is handy with wires and he’ll fix it for free. And while he’s here… that cabinet too, aye? And the shower drain that’s a bit clogged?

You don’t notice that a couple of your photos are missing from an album you keep in the basement with the heater. Or the lotion from your cabinet is gone - your husband probably tossed it. Definitely don’t notice the very very slight change in consistency of your body soap.

One day you’re just home from groceries and Johnny stumbles out of a taxi. He’s got a big black duffel bag, still in uniform. There’s dirt in his mohawk and streaky paint on his face.

“Bonnie,” he sighs, making a beeline for you. “Missed you. Give us a hug? It was a rough go.”

And of course you hug him - least you can do for a man risking his life to keep the rest of the world safe!! You dont notice the smudges he leaves on your cheek until your husband points it out when he gets home.

Your husband…

Johnny doesn’t let Ryan call him Johnny; he introduces himself as “Soap.” You figure it’s a guy thing, giggling about the callsign while Johnny grips bruises into your husband’s soft white-collar hands.

He doesn’t like Johnny. Says it’s weird how he’s always hanging around.

Not always, you correct, he only gets a couple weeks of leave at a time.

And he spends as much of it as he can with you. It’s nice, though, to have company while you futz with housewife chores and pretend to anticipate your husband’s return home.

Johnny’s good company! He listens with rapt attention to the rambles your husband barely even pretends to hear. He doesn’t call your crime podcasts creepy, or your tv shows noisy.

(In fact, he listens a bit too closely. If you paused while cooking or cleaning, you’d notice the feverish light in his eyes. Certain turns of your tongue make his thighs twitch).

When you’re having a bad day, venting to Johnny about it over a cup of coffee, he listens, nods, clicks his tongue.

“He best take care of that when he gets home.”

You don’t get what he means, and the next day when you’re still annoyed, he shakes his head.

“All pent up still, eh? He not taking care of you right?”

You fluster and swat at him, remind him you’re not one of this army bros he shouldn’t be so crass. He keeps making those comments. You just roll your eyes and wave him off - but never correct him because it’s true.

One day your husband is home when Johnny stops by. You got something stuck in the sink drain and need him to get it - knew Ryan wouldn’t call in a reasonable time to save it.

When he comes in, Johnny drops a kiss on your cheek before going for the kitchen. Knows exactly where it is, you two have a standing brunch date there.

Johnny listens to you talk while he works, fusses at you for trying to hand him his dirty tools. Goes into your fridge, grabs a can of soda and a peach. Reminds you that you’re running low on yogurt while he licks juice from his fingers.

When he’s done, he drops one last kiss on the corner of your mouth, big hand anchoring you by the hip. You walk him out, promising to let him look at that rattling noise your car has been making the next day.

It starts a fight. Ryan is furious that Johnny is so comfortable in “his” house. You shake your head, tell him that you’re just as comfortable at Johnny’s but that only seems to set him off more. He tells you that it’s not normal, that Johnny is being inappropriate and you’re letting him.

You scoff and roll your eyes, tell him that he’s being insecure, that you only have eyes for him. He ends up storming out, presumably to go stay at his brother’s.

Thirty minutes after he’s gone, there’s a knock at the door. You know it’s Johnny. You almost answer it. But Ryan’s accusations ring in your head and dig a guilty pit in your stomach. You go upstairs, pretending you didn’t hear it. Or any of the others for the half hour after.

[delulustateofmind]

Thinking about cult leader geto and poor non sorcerer captive that he keeps for entertainment :(

warnings: Monster toys, cult leader geto, somewhat captive reader, dubcon, petname: pup. Unedited/brain dump. Off to horny jail after this one.

He can't be caught fucking some nonsorcerer monkey so he goes to other methods.

Currently, has you faced down on the bed, hips raised high with his arm wrapped around securely around your waist to keep you steady and prevent any attempts from squirming away.

Leaning in, his voice sharp with condescension coated with sweet honey, he sneers softly into your ear, "You're doing exactly what you were made for. Just breathe and obey, yeah? Serving your leader, your god—is all you're good for."

As he dips a thick, fat dildo passed your sodden folds and deep into your poor cunt. Geto would never dirty himself with your pussy so he has to use other methods to see the way your eyes roll back before closing shut. The way your soft lips part with heavy breaths and moans as he inches the toy into your poor pussy that has been played with for way too long today.

Suguru isn't exactly nice with his playthings, don't ya know? :)

He honestly can't tell if he likes this toy, thick and girthy with a knot at the end that he's certain won't fit tonight. Or if he enjoyed the one earlier that had soft barbs poking out. Both of them left you a drooling mess, muttering sweet thank yous to him as you sucked his fingers clean. Hell, you'd even suck the toys clean when he was done. Looking up at him all blissed out and dumb, begging to be his little bitch. Pathetic truly.

However, he still enjoyed it. Pushing you past your limits.

Suguru is as slow and methodical about it. Cooing softly about how good you're being, about how this is your purpose, serving him.

"Such a good girl" A velvet purr slips from his lips as his grip tightens around your waist. As he begins to pick up speed. Those sweet wet sounds filling the temple walls. "Mind telling me what that feels like? Use your words, c'mon. Don't make me ask twice."

You could only babble out something, unsure what words could even form at this point. This is the third...no, fourth toy, he's tested this evening. Thankful it wasn't a vibrating one this time. You were surely dehydrated by this point from how much you've came the last few hours. You could feel the toy reaching past your breaking point before he began to press sweet kisses on the nape of your neck.

"Ah...squeezing too tight, it keeps wanting to slip out. That's no good" he hummed softly, voice tinged with disappointment. As he tries to press the think, girthy toy deep inside again, only for your walls to tighten around the intrusion. Forcing the toy out once again.

"Didn't know you could be such a bad pup," he drawls as his grip tightens along your waist, anchoring you to him. "Pushing it out like that? Guess I'll have to punish you again," a wicked smirk forming on his lips as his voice lightens to something more teasing "Youre making me think you like this sort of thing, naughty little pup. Is that it? Hm?"

You whine as you feel him drag the toy out of your cunt, a string of your juices attached as he gently sets it on the bed. Your gaze settles on the shaft, nine inches with a huge knot that couldn't get passed your folds. The toy he's been working on your cunt for the past hour. The tool that was the thing stretching your walls, making your mind all fuzzy. You couldn't think straight, fucked too dumb to even witness the way your master's robes are falling to the floor and an angry pink dripping tip is pressed along the slit of your abused leaking pussy that was gaping, in search of something to ache that feeling in your core.

"I guess we all fall for filth at some point," he mutters softly to himself, the words dripping with disdain. His grip tightens as his dark eyes flick down to meet yours, cold and unrelenting. Leaning in closer, his voice drops to a chilling whisper, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.

"Tell anyone, or even think about making a move, and your family is dead. Got it, sweetheart?" The mock endearment twists like a knife, his tone sickeningly sweet yet utterly devoid of mercy. As his hips meet yours, causing you to see stars as he bottoms out, drool staining the bedsheets as his cock fills you whole.

Guess you'll just have to be a good little pup, don't you? :(

[stellarbit]

Tech's Calculations

This edges on NSFW, but only slightly. Lots of tension though 1.5k words

You and Tech find yourselves alone on the Marauder. Little do you know Tech has been playing you like a fiddle.

I'm fixated on these men and probably going to be popping out little drabbles while I crawl out of my skin waiting for a new episode. Tech is my main man so he gets the first spotlight. Enjoyyyy

After the Batchers made a jealous fuss about your ties with the 501st legion, you honestly didn’t expect much to change. At most you’d continue to gradually get closer.

That was not the case.

Whatever illusion you had of their physical boundaries vanished within a rotation. How you overlooked their constant intrusion of each other’s personal space, you’d never know. Wrecker tended towards ‘love taps,’ if you could even call them that with how hard he hit. Hunter started herding you around with his hands whenever he deemed necessary. Crosshair maintained the most distance, but his getting in your space for teasing snide remarks was on the rise. Out of all of them, Echo changed the least.

You knew Echo the longest, credited to your shared history with the 501st, and were the most at ease with. He felt more brotherly than the others and made a habit of being the one to tend your wounds or adjust armor you couldn’t reach. 

The most changed with Tech. At least on your part. His straightforward approach to things had him moving on impulse. He always pushed you out of the way or reached over you to grab something or make adjustments, his focus more on the task at hand than personal space. On occasion he fully leaned over you, hand on one shoulder and draped over your other to move for you. It happened once when you failed to activate a safety device while piloting. Another time as you were tweaking your blaster in an ‘ill advised and inefficient manner’ as Tech put it. And, most often, as you played dejarik.

Generally, you managed to keep your cool when the boys got in your space. It proved more difficult with Tech. With his observational skills it didn’t go unnoticed.

Tech noticed changes. He was fixated from your initial, and colorful, reaction to his touch. He found himself instigating you, seeing what interactions elicited what physical reactions to you. While reaching over you to activate the Marauder’s safety device, he purposely pressed into you to see your behavioral and physiological reactions up close.

Tech took note of the absent blush, the momentary hitch in your breathing, and, most interestingly, the way your legs squeezed together. Each time, he found himself struggling to suppress the urge to use his hands to provoke even more reactions, torn between his growing attraction and his analytical restraint. 

Between missions, and especially when you were bunked directly across from him in the Marauder, he found himself replaying those little moments and wondering what was next to test.

The perfect opportunity came when a section of your armor’s thigh plate cracked off. Echo, Hunter, and Wrecker were off ship wrapping up your current mission. Leaving you and Tech to prep Marauder and prepare for any emergency pick ups.

Your thigh plate wasn’t just chipped; it had bent inwards and stubbornly refused release. As someone who had taken to armor begrudgingly after joining the Batch, you despised every moment spent in it. Being a Jedi trained in cloth, the weight and restriction of armor grated on your nerves.

“Dank farik!” You hissed as you lost purchase on the thigh plate once more.

Echo was nowhere to assist, allowing Tech his chance.

“At the angle it is bent, the anchoring device will need to be disassembled in order to remove your plate,” he stated matter-of-factly, wasting no time in gathering the necessary tools for the job. “An easy and swift task for me.” From the corner of his eye he caught you defeatedly drop your head

Perched on the lowest cot, you sat with your elbows resting on your knees, leaving just enough space for Tech to maneuver between them. As he slid into the gap, your legs instinctively attempted to close, inadvertently squeezing around Tech's torso. You let out a nervous laugh, "Didn’t mean to crush you there, sorry."

Recognizing the need for caution, Tech responded calmly, "Your thighs are not capable of exerting enough force to crush me. I am fine." He met your gaze, his expression conveying both reassurance and a hint of uncertainty. "Close contact is necessary for me to access the anchoring device. Please inform me if you feel uncomfortable, and I will cease immediately." Despite his eagerness to proceed, Tech prioritized your comfort above all else, silently hoping for your consent to continue.

You blinked at him once, then twice, before closing your eyes and letting your head fall back. “Do what you need to do. Just get this thing off of me.” Your nonchalant response took Tech by surprise, unexpected based on your previous reactions to him.

With your eyes still closed, you leaned back against the cot, almost as if basking in the sun. Tech cautiously slid his gloved hand up your thigh plate, keenly observing for any sign of discomfort or hesitation from you. His thumb grazed your inner thigh, a touch that unexpectedly jolted you back to attention. Tech quickly averted his gaze back to the task at hand, pretending not to notice your reaction.

Pressing his thumb into your thigh to gain better access to the jammed anchor, Tech meticulously worked on dismantling the piece. As his thumb smoothed over your thigh, gradually moving higher, you couldn't help but twitch involuntarily. Sensing your reaction, Tech glanced up, adjusting his thumb ever so slightly. “Are you alright?” he inquired, noting the pink splotches creeping up your throat.

You sat up a little more, really looking at Tech and taking in the sight of him between your legs. Between your legs with a finger inches from the apex of your thighs. Watching a second longer, a thought occurred to you. He knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s doing it on purpose.

Deciding to play along, you flashed him a reassuring smile. “Sure am.” You hummed, spreading your legs slightly wider. “All yours, Tech.” He didn’t continue immediately, but kept his eyes on you. You pushed a little more. “Unless you’re stuck on what to do next.”

Tech didn’t break eye contact as he lowered the spanner and pressed his thumb into your thigh once more. His action elicited a new reaction from you—you bit your lip. “I apologize if that is sensitive,” Tech said, his voice laced with more amusement than usual, as he continued his work.

Tech's gaze remained fixated on you, carefully noting every detail of the interaction. With a calculated ease, he maneuvered his hand between your thigh and the armor, deftly releasing the plate. As his hand flattened against your leg, he proceeded methodically, sliding his hand down inch by inch to slide the thigh plate off.

Even after the task was completed, Tech lingered, his hands remaining in place. There was a brief pause between you two until you brought your legs back together to close in on him.

"Is this how Echo typically removes your armor?" Tech inquired in a low breath.

You managed a breathy, "No."

In response, Tech adjusted his grip, his lower hand now circling to the back of your thigh while the other lightly gripped your inner thigh. A shiver ran through you, accompanied by a soft sound escaping your lips.

"Is this how you typically react to Echo touching you?" Tech's asked more confidently than before..

You leaned in closer, meeting his gaze. "What is your hypothesis?"

"I haven't observed you and Echo in such a position," Tech admitted. "Thus, I don't have enough factual data to accurately hypothesize. But my hope is that no, you do not. I think I'd like to be the only one you react to in this way."

An ache bloomed between your legs, just above his fingers. Your hips rock forward just enough that his teasing touch brushed onto your aching bits.

“Tech,” Hunter’s voice broke the silence but still neither of you moved. Tech’s hand remained in place. “Is the ship ready to go? We are inbound and ready to get off this force forsaken planet.

Before Tech moved his hand, you leaned forward to activate the comm for him and bring your face within inches of his.

“Everything is in order.” A subtle crack in Tech’s usually composed demeanor was evident as he responded, “Ready when you are.”

You released the comm at the same time Tech pressed his hand into you and you hissed at the sweet pressure. His eyes widened slightly and in an awe struck voice he said, “Fascinating.” With that he pulled away and stood, leaving you aching even more.

“It would not be ideal to be discovered in this position.” He extended a hand to help you stand. “Although, I look forward to finding myself in such a position in the near future.”

You accepted his hand, but as he assisted you to your feet, you couldn't resist pulling him closer. “All this time, I thought you were oblivious.”

Tech rolled his eyes, a hint of amusement dancing through them. “Obliviousness is not a characteristic I possess,” he countered, his gaze unwavering. “Every action I take is deliberate.”

“Noted.” You reached up and quickly pinched his cheek. “For the record, I too look forward to finding you in such a position in the near future.”

[wilderhyperfoxations]

sinbad and merlin's relationship (some thoughts)

  i've been thinking about how despite being one of the only people to betray merlin, sinbad ended up as the most loyal person in merlin's life. he didn't know who merlin was, and so treated merlin like he'd treat anyone else. 

  i know plenty of characters wouldn't care about merlin if he was not THE merlin (cassade wouldn't care, valen, i think he still would but it's complicated, i think at the start he wouldn't care but through being together for so long his mind changed). 

  sonja and lucca would've dropped merlin like a rotten fish if he hadn't done so much for them. 

  sinbad? well, merlin did do sinbad some favors, but sinbad did plenty in return. sinbad and merlin are on even ground moreso than merlin is with anyone else (besides hogan)- they went through some wild shit together. 

  and sinbad so vehemently trusts merlin, it's almost sickening. he doesn't trust merlin only in the magical department, no, he trusts him personally. merlin still has that damn anchor pendant! and that's sinbad's prized possession. he wouldn't give something like that to some random person. not to mention spilling his backstory and being all anxious around his moms.

  merlin is special to sinbad not because he's merlin or a useful tool, but because merlin is his only true friend. 

  PLEASE I COULD RANT ABOUT THIS FOR DAYS-

[fixing-bad-posts]

HOW DO YOU MAKE THESE THIS IS GONNA TAKW FOREVER

omg 😂

it doesn’t actually take me too long. tutorial under the cut for anyone who wants to know how to make cut-up style poems like this one:

so i take a screenshot and put it into ms paint, where i make myself a working space by setting the background to some colour other than black or white. in the example below, i use purple.

⬆ as you can see above, the left side is a screenshot, and beside it is a working space made of purple. i use the ms paint "select" tool to drag words where i want them.

after i have the text looking how i want it, i once again use the "select" tool to copy + paste my text into GIMP (which is free to download).

once the image is in GIMP, i make sure that it has an "alpha layer" which basically means that the negative space will be transparent rather than a solid colour.

then i use the "select by colour" tool to erase all the purple, and leave me with floating text strips.

new layer time! i create two: one for the shadow, and one for whatever background graphic i want. sometimes, i rename the text layer.

⬆ arranged like so: text layer on top, shadow layer under that, background graphic in the background.

now, using the "fuzzy select tool" (the one that looks like a magic wand in GIMP), i navigate to "TEXT LAYER" and select everything that is not text. then, i invert the selection using the "select" drop-down menu.

(the hot pink here indicates what i have selected)

now that you have your selection inverted, navigate to "SHADOW LAYER" and use the "bucket fill tool" to colour in this inverted selection (which should be an exact shape-match for your text). usually, i will set my "TEXT LAYER" as invisible while i do this, so i can see what i'm doing.

then i drag the shadow into place, wherever i want it, using the "move tool"

finally, navigate to "BACKGROUND LAYER" and copy + paste any picture or graphic you want as the background. i'm using a picture of merlin, because i love him and he makes me happy.

you may have to fiddle around with image size, and remember to anchor it to the background layer once you're happy with where it sits.

merge all the layers, select all, and paste it into tumblr:

voilà! hope this helped lol—let me know if you have any questions <3

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

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

Chapter One Hundred & One

“Your Grace?”

The Grand Maester’s chambers were dimly lit, the only light coming from a few flickering candles scattered across the room and the muted glow of a small hearth. Shelves lined the stone walls, filled with leather-bound tomes, jars of herbs, and countless vials of strange, murky liquids. A faint, musty odor clung to the air, a blend of old parchment and medicinal concoctions. The room was cluttered but organized, each item clearly having its place, from scrolls stacked neatly on the desk to tools used for various experiments.

Vaegon sat at a sturdy oak desk near the center of the chamber, quill in hand, scratching away at a letter with quick, deliberate strokes. As soon as he noticed Maera at the entrance, he rose immediately, setting aside his quill.

He bowed his head in respect. “I am surprised to see you here.”

The Queen’s gaze wandered as she stepped inside, trying to distract herself from the unease that had followed her into the chamber. Her eyes landed on one of Vaegon’s juniors in the far corner, hunched over a small table. The apprentice was carefully dissecting a dead toad, its insides laid bare as he poked and prodded with a tiny scalpel. Maera shuddered involuntarily, a wave of revulsion washing over her at the sight.

Vaegon’s voice pulled her back to the present, his words cutting through her discomfort. “Is it your collarbone that troubles you, Your Grace?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. His gaze dropped to her shoulder, recalling the wound she had sustained in battle.

Maera’s hand instinctively brushed over the spot, her fingers tracing the faint scar hidden beneath her dress. “No,” she replied softly, shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought. “It’s fully healed now, thanks to your care.” She paused for a moment, steadying herself before continuing. “I’m here for another matter entirely.” Her voice was calm, though a current of anxiety underlined her words, the reason for her visit still weighing heavily on her mind.

The Grand Maester’s violet eyes remained fixed on Maera, studying her closely as she stood before him. The Queen fiddled with the sleeve of her green and black dress, her fingers twisting the fabric as if it might anchor her swirling thoughts. She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly as she gathered the courage to speak.

"My moons blood has still not returned," she said, her voice measured yet betraying a hint of vulnerability. She paused, her gaze dropping for a moment before she continued, her tone softer now, almost as if admitting a weakness. "And…I’m concerned about my ability to have more children."

Vaegon scratched at his beard, his fingers moving slowly through the wiry silver strands as he considered her words. He hummed thoughtfully, the silence stretching for a beat before he spoke. "You are still feeding your daughter yourself, Your Grace," he began, his tone steady, almost placating.

Before he could continue, Maera shook her head sharply, cutting him off. "I know," she said, her frustration seeping through. Closing her eyes, she sighed, her fingers still tugging at her sleeve as her green eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I just need to be sure there’s nothing to worry about."

Maester Vaegon gave a slow, understanding nod, his expression softening. Without a word, he turned and called over to his junior, who was still hunched over the dissected toad, his concentration unwavering. The young man flicked his eyes up, his brow lifting slightly in question. At Vaegon’s command, he rose from his seat, carefully setting down his tools.

"The Queen requires an examination," the Grand Maester ordered, his tone firm yet respectful. The junior apprentice nodded quickly, setting aside his previous task and washing his hands in a basin nearby. He approached Maera with caution, his demeanor professional, though the faintest flicker of nervousness crossed his face as he stood before the Queen, preparing for the task at hand.

As the junior beckoned Maera to a nearby bed, she heard Vaegon clear his throat. “I will give you privacy, Your Grace,” he said with a respectful nod, before turning to walk toward the door.

But before he could take more than a few steps, Maera called out softly, “Wait.” Vaegon stopped in his tracks, turning to meet her gaze.

Despite the tangled feelings she still wrestled with regarding her estranged grandfather, Maera knew she could not deny his skill. He was one of the most learned Maesters in the Realm, and if anyone could provide her with sound advice, it was him. She stood still for a moment, the words catching in her throat, but then she gathered herself. “I would value your opinion as well,” she said, her voice steady but carrying a hint of vulnerability.

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Vaegon’s lips, though he quickly masked it with his usual stern expression. “Very well, Your Grace,” he replied, his tone formal, though there was a warmth beneath it. He moved back to his desk, settling in quietly as the junior prepared the examination.

Behind a modest screen, Maera lay on the basic bed, the fabric of her dress hitched up to her hips, her smallclothes discarded. The cold air of the chamber chilled her exposed skin as the junior Maester began his work, his hands clinical and detached but still foreign. Maera clenched her jaw, her breath coming in shallow, controlled bursts. On the other side of the screen, Grand Maester Vaegon’s quill scratched steadily against parchment, the rhythmic sound a strange comfort amidst the invasive touches.

The sheet beneath her fingers crumpled as she clutched it tighter, her knuckles turning pale. Her body tensed, each sensation drawing her further into herself, her mind seeking solace in thoughts of duty and legacy. All had to be well; there was no other option. For the Realm, for her husband, for the future she was meant to secure.

As the junior Maester withdrew his hand, Maera hissed at the sharp discomfort that followed. He looked up at her with a blank expression, offering no immediate reassurance. She frowned, trying to read his face, but there was nothing there. "I am finished, my Queen," he said stiffly, stepping back from the bed.

Her heart sank slightly. There was no way to tell what he was thinking. Was there something wrong? He made a quick, nervous bow before adding, "I just need to consult with the Grand Maester," and hurried away, disappearing behind the screen.

The Queen sat up slowly, her body still tense as she readjusted her undergarments and smoothed the folds of her skirts. The room felt colder now, and her anxiety surged as she strained to hear the conversation between the two Maesters. Their voices were low, barely above whispers, but her senses were heightened. She heard fragments of the junior's voice, followed by Grand Maester Vaegon’s quiet but firm, "Are you quite sure?"

The junior continued to murmur, his tone cautious, and Maera’s patience wore thin. What were they saying? Why weren’t they telling her? The uncertainty gnawed at her until she could stand it no longer. Without a word, she hopped down from the bed, her shoes hitting the stone floor with a soft thud. The modesty screen scraped loudly as she moved it aside, the sound echoing through the chamber.

She strode toward them, her arms crossed, her green eyes flashing with frustration. "Well?" she asked, her voice cool and demanding, though her heart pounded with dread beneath the surface.

Grand Maester Vaegon glanced at her before nodding to the junior. "Thank you," he said, his tone measured. "You may study in the library for now. I expect you to read up on this.”

The junior’s eyes flicked nervously from Maera to Vaegon before he quickly bowed. "Yes, Grand Maester," he said, turning on his heel to leave.

Before he could step out of the room, Vaegon’s voice followed him like a command. "And remember," he said sternly, "this does not leave this room." The young Maester nodded, his face pale, before scurrying out through the heavy wooden door, leaving Maera alone with her grandfather.

She remained rooted to her spot, her arms still crossed, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. His expression was frustratingly unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his violet eyes—the same shade as her husband and daughter—betrayed little. She searched his face for any hint of emotion, wondering why he had sent the junior away to study instead of revealing what he had discovered.

“What does he need to read up on?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

The Grand Maester didn’t answer immediately, his eyes drifting down to the parchments strewn across his desk. It was maddening. Anxiety crept up on her like a shadow, tightening around her chest with each passing second of silence.

She studied him more closely, trying to decipher what lingered beneath his calm exterior. His age had weathered his face, but beneath the lines and stern expression, there was something else—an echo of protectiveness, almost familial. It struck her how much he reminded her of her mother in that moment, the way his eyes softened ever so slightly, but still held something back.

“Is something wrong?” Maera asked, her voice more fragile than she intended, a crack in her usually firm demeanor.

Vaegon remained quiet, his silence gnawing at her. Her nerves wound tighter, coiling into a knot of dread deep within her belly. She chewed on her bottom lip, her mind spiraling. It was too much to bear—the waiting, the not knowing. The thought of not being able to bear more children clawed at her, turning her fear into something raw and aching.

“Is it—” she began again, her voice barely above a whisper this time, “Am I… unable to have more children?”

Finally, Vaegon sighed, a deep and weary sound. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and for the first time, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “On the contrary, my Queen.”

Maera’s brow furrowed, confusion mixing with the relief she desperately wanted to feel. The Grand Maester stepped forward, his gaze gentle but firm as he delivered the news. “You are with child.”

There was a silence in the room following the news. After some time, the Queen found herself sat at one of the wooden desks, her elbow propped on the desk, her chin resting on her hand. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, as her mind grappled with the news. With child. The phrase echoed in her thoughts, tangling with the myriad emotions surging through her. It should have been simple relief, yet it wasn’t.

Across the room, the soft clinking of metal and glass caught her ear as Grand Maester Vaegon prepared a tray of refreshments. She heard the jug being carefully set down, the faint chime of plates being arranged with precision. The mundane sounds of his work contrasted with the rapid heartbeat in her chest, grounding her, even as her mind raced.

The news had landed like a stone, sending ripples through the carefully constructed calm she had built for herself. Now, those ripples threatened to become waves. She was with child again. The Realm would get its heir—or so she hoped. She traced small, idle patterns on the wooden surface of the desk with her finger, her thoughts swirling in sync with the repetitive motion.

Happiness... relief...But also fear. So much could go wrong, she knew that all too well. The pressures of the crown, the expectations of the Realm, the fragility of pregnancy—all of it weighed on her, heavier than any crown she had ever worn.

The soft thud of footsteps approached, and Maera looked up as Vaegon came to her side, the tray now in his hands. He placed a plate and cup gently in front of her, his old hands steady despite their age. Maera glanced at the offering as the Grand Maester poured water into her goblet, his movements careful, deliberate, as if trying to soothe her with the smallest of gestures.

A slice of pie was placed on her plate—small, simple, but a kind reminder that she should eat. Maera stared at it for a moment, her appetite absent despite the gnawing hunger in her stomach. She exhaled slowly, the enormity of the situation beginning to settle, but the knot of emotions in her chest refused to unwind. Vaegon sat beside her now, his presence steady and unintrusive, allowing her the space she needed to process the news. The silent support of her estranged grandfather was unexpected but appreciated.

The Queen picked up her fork, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought a piece of the pie toward her mouth. But just as it was about to reach her lips, she stopped. A wave of confusion swept over her, and she slowly placed the fork back down. Pushing the plate away, she looked at Vaegon, her brow furrowing.

"I don’t understand," she murmured, her voice quiet but laced with frustration. Her eyes fixed on the Grand Maester, seeking clarity. "My moons blood hasn’t returned. I thought... after childbirth, its return meant a woman was fit to conceive again. How could I be with child if—" She trailed off, her hand resting on her abdomen, the weight of her uncertainty pressing down on her once more.

Vaegon chewed thoughtfully, finishing the last bite of his food before swallowing. His violet eyes softened as he considered her words, but there was no surprise in his expression. Instead, he offered her a small, almost nostalgic smile.

"I have seen this before," he began, his voice calm, measured. "Among the lowborn women, those who have no choice but to nurse their babes themselves." He seemed to recall memories of his earlier years, his smile growing faintly as if remembering the simpler days when he worked among the common folk. "The womb can prepare itself for another child before the woman is even aware. Even without the return of the moons blood."

Maera nodded slowly, taking in his words, though the confusion still lingered in her mind. She picked up her fork again, this time without hesitation, and took a small bite of the pie. The savory taste of mushroom filled her mouth, and despite everything swirling within her, she found herself appreciating the flavor.

For a brief moment, she let the food ground her, allowing the familiar taste to bring some semblance of normalcy back to her. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully, her mind still whirring, but the edge of her anxiety had dulled. She had to admit, for all her misgivings about Vaegon, the man’s extensive knowledge was invaluable. Despite the complicated nature of their relationship, she understood that he was definitely well-suited for his role, and was glad that she had selected him.

Lost in her thoughts, Maera barely noticed the gentle brush of a hand against her own. Her green eyes flicked up, meeting the violet gaze of her estranged grandfather. Vaegon quickly withdrew his hand, as though startled by his own action, his expression betraying a rare flicker of uncertainty. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowered to barely a whisper. “If this is not something you want…”

Maera furrowed her brow, unsure of what he meant at first. But then, with a sudden clarity, she realized what he was asking. Judging by her earlier reaction—her confusion, her silence, the shock in her eyes—it must have seemed as though the news of the pregnancy had unsettled her deeply, perhaps even as though she did not welcome it. Vaegon, with his quiet voice and thoughtful gaze, was giving her a choice. He was subtly offering her an out, something she hadn’t expected, and the understanding dawned on her that he would handle whatever decision she made with the utmost discretion.

Her heart quickened for a moment, but then she quickly shook her head, her voice breaking the silence that had settled between them. “No, no, that’s not it.” She spoke quickly, almost stumbling over her words in her haste to correct him. “I… I’m just in shock, that’s all.”

She let out a shaky sigh, feeling the weight of the situation settle more heavily on her shoulders. Maera leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead as if trying to ease the tension gathering there. “The King needs an heir,” she said, her voice firmer now, as though she were reminding herself of her duty. “And the Realm needs stability.”

However even as she said it, her thoughts drifted to Aemara, her baby girl still so small, still so dependent on her. A pained expression flickered across Maera’s face, and her hand instinctively moved to her chest, where her heart ached with the thought of being pulled in so many directions. “But Aemara… she still needs me.” Her voice softened as she spoke aloud the thoughts that had been haunting her since Vaegon had delivered the news.

Her eyes clouded with worry, the enormity of what lay ahead threatening to overwhelm her. As a Queen, she was bound by duty to the Realm. As a mother, her heart belonged to Aemara. Would she able to love another child as much as she loved her daughter? Would this pregnancy hinder her from being the best possible mother?

And then of course there was the war. Aemond would surely worry about Maera riding in this condition, but Ēbrion was a crucial tool in battle strategy. If the Blacks sensed weakness, they would surely take advantage. This was all so frustrating. How could she balance all of this, especially when each role demanded so much from her?

She heard the soft sound of a chuckle from across the room, unexpected enough to draw her out of her spiraling thoughts. She glanced up to find Grand Maester Vaegon looking at her with a rare softness in his violet eyes.

"I remember when my wife fell pregnant," he said, his voice carrying an almost wistful note. “It was something she always wanted and yet she was still so nervous.”

Maera furrowed her brow, her curiosity piqued. It was the first time he had ever spoken of his personal life. Of the blood that bound them. Of anything beyond their duties and relationship as Queen and Grand Maester. She had always known little about him beyond the fact that he was her estranged grandfather, a truth he had only recently confessed. She shifted slightly in her chair, the tension in her shoulders tightening. Now, with this small opening, it seemed as good a time as any to explore further.

"And you?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm, as if unsure whether she was crossing a line. Vaegon quirked an eyebrow at her question, his expression neutral but clearly considering her words. He tilted his head, and Maera reworded her inquiry, her own curiosity pushing her to press on. "How did you feel? When you found out she was pregnant?"

The Grand Maester let out a sigh, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I felt relieved," he said after a moment. "There was... less pressure. Less need for the marital duties required of me." His voice was calm, but there was a detachment in it, as though even now he held those memories at arm’s length, viewing them as part of an obligation rather than something emotional.

The Queen’s heart tightened at his words, and without warning, a quick, hot flare of anger surged through her veins. She could feel it boiling just beneath her skin, ignited by the coldness of his reply. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap, and her green eyes flashed sharply.

"Yes. And once you completed your duties," she said, her voice cutting through the space between them, "and your wife died in childbirth, you abandoned your daughters the moment they were born."

Her words were a whip, cracking with the bitterness and disappointment she had long buried. The raw truth of her accusation hung in the air between them, both of them knowing there was no way to soften it.

Vaegon’s face didn’t change much, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a shadow of something deeper than the impassive facade he normally wore. For a long moment, there was only silence, the weight of her accusation settling heavily in the room. Maera waited, her pulse quickened with her frustration, unsure if he would even respond to something so deeply personal.

“You did not like my late grandmother then?” She hissed, narrowing her eyes as they fixed upon his face.

She expected indifference, perhaps even some curt dismissal of the woman who had given birth to her mother, but Vaegon immediately shook his head. “It wasn’t like that,” he replied, his tone firmer than before. “She was not to…my taste.”

The Queen gasped at the sheer disrespect in his words. “How dare you—” she began, her anger flaring up, ready to chastise him for speaking so callously of the woman who had borne his children, who had played a vital role in their family’s lineage.

But before she could unleash her full fury, Vaegon raised his hands in defence. “The fault was with me, not her.”

Maera rolled her eyes, folding her arms tightly across her chest, her frustration with the Grand Maester barely held at bay. He continued, his voice a little quieter now, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Lady Edme,” he began, “wanted more. A loving marriage. A husband who could give her… everything.” His voice wavered for a moment, and Maera noticed the way his fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of his gown, a nervous tic she’d never seen from him before.

He took a shaky breath, one that seemed to catch in his throat before he muttered, almost too quietly for her to hear, “But due to my affliction, I couldn’t give it to her.”

The Queen’s brow furrowed, confusion replacing her anger. “Affliction?” she asked, genuinely puzzled now. Vaegon, though old, had always seemed healthy enough. He still performed his duties as Grand Maester with precision and focus. He had never shown signs of any illness or physical impairment whilst at Dragonstone, and she struggled to understand what he was referring to.

The Grand Maester rose from his seat with a slow, deliberate movement, his hands clasped behind his back. His steps were measured, almost hesitant, as he paced the chamber. “My brothers had died within a few years of each other,” he began, his voice low and distant. “Naturally, my father was concerned for the succession.”

Maera nodded slightly, knowing the tale well. Aemon, King Jaehaerys’s eldest son, had been next in line to the throne. But Aemon had only conceived a daughter, Princess Rhaenys, with his wife before his untimely passing. And then Baelon, Jaehaerys’s next son, had died a few years later, despite fathering two sons with his sister-wife, Alyssa.

The tragedy of their deaths had thrown the Realm into uncertainty. The question of who would succeed King Jaehaerys had ignited fierce debates and created divisions across the Seven Kingdoms. It was a story Maera had heard many times, but this was different. She had never heard Vaegon’s part in it.

“He said that…” Vaegon continued, his voice strained with something more than mere recollection. “He said that my appetites would change if I just married the right woman.” He paused, and his eyes flicked over to Maera, searching her face, as though the words he was trying to find were buried in her expression. “But I knew they never would.”

His words hung in the air, charged with something Maera could not place at first. There was a vulnerability in his tone, something raw and unspoken. His voice, though measured, trembled with a fear laced beneath the surface of his carefully chosen words. The pacing stopped, and Vaegon stood still, staring at the floor as though the weight of his confession pressed down on him.

Maera’s brows furrowed. She felt the same confusion from earlier tightening in her chest. What did he mean? His appetites wouldn’t change? She had always known him to be a distant figure, cold in his marriage, but now there was something more—something deeper that he was confessing.

And then she saw it, the look in his eyes as he glanced up at her. It was familiar. The same guarded, pained look her elder brother Dermot had worn all those years ago when he tried to explain to her, to their closest siblings, why he would never marry, never father children. A realization slowly dawned on her as the pieces began to fall into place.

The Queen watched as Vaegon threw his head back, a sudden burst of frustration replacing the vulnerability he’d shown moments before. His hands trembled slightly as he rubbed them over his face, clearly agitated by the memories. “I begged Jaehaerys,” he muttered, his voice low and biting. “Gods, I begged him to let me join the Citadel, to live a life of study and purpose, one where I could be of use to the Realm without…” His words trailed off, and he shook his head. “But he wouldn’t allow it.”

Maera’s green eyes followed his every movement, watching the tension in his body as he paced before her. His tone was sharp, clipped, every word laced with years of frustration. She could see the weight of his past in the lines etched across his face, the conflict in his violet eyes.

Vaegon rubbed his face again, the sound of his rough skin scratching against his beard filling the silence. His tone softened, almost bitter now. “The old King matched me with a young lady of noble birth, and expected me to produce heirs for the sake of the crown and the succession.”

Maera nodded slightly, allowing him the space to speak, her confusion ebbing, replaced by understanding. Vaegon had never been able to fulfil the expectations his father and the Realm had placed on him—not because of a lack of desire for power or duty, but because he simply wasn’t made for the life they had wanted for him. His detachment, his coldness toward his wife, toward his duties as a husband and father, all stemmed from something more intrinsic, something he had hidden for years.

The Maester’s pacing slowed, and finally, with a deep, exhausted sigh, he approached the table once more, sitting down heavily in the chair beside her. His earlier anger drained away, leaving behind only sorrow. His violet gaze grew distant, as if he were no longer in the room but trapped in some painful memory. “Edme knew,” he said quietly. “She wasn’t a fool, and she was not happy. How could she be? Her marriage was a sham.”

The Queen observed him in silence, giving the elderly man the chance to continue. She could see the sadness pooling in his eyes, the regret that clung to him like a shadow. Vaegon, for all his faults, had been bound by a life he had no control over, his choices made for him by others.

A small, almost wistful smile crept onto his face. “But the Gods took pity on me,” he said softly, as if speaking more to himself than to her. “Jaehaerys, in his final days, knew his death was near, and in those moments of urgency, he finally named Viserys his successor. And when the old King finally died, I did not feel sadness. Only relief.”

The Queen silently empathized with him, feeling the weight of his words settle into her chest. Her thoughts drifted to her own father, Lord Jasper Wylde, whose controlling hand had shaped so much of her youth. How many times had he tried to mold her into something she wasn’t?

He had banned her from sparring with her brothers, insisting it was unbecoming of a lady of noble blood. When her reputation had been tarnished by a scorned suitor, it was she who was blamed, not the man who had slandered her name. Her father’s chastisements had been relentless whenever she spoke out of turn or dared to question his authority.

It was exhausting, the constant weight of his disapproval, the way his gaze would cut her down with every word that slipped from her lips. She had loved him and tried to earn his favor, to be the daughter he wanted her to be, but nothing was ever enough for him. In a twisted way, she too had felt her own sense of relief when he died.

Vaegon’s voice interrupted her thoughts as he continued to share his story. “Edme unfortunately passed away in childbirth, but had given me two daughters. No sons to continue the legacy, no sons for the throne. In the eyes of the Realm, a daughter could not be an heir. And they were therefore disposable.”

Maera felt a pang in her chest at his words, thinking of her own daughter, Aemara, so small and vulnerable. She wondered if her own child was to be viewed the same by the world; not as valuable as a son, her worth determined by her marriage and the children she produced. The Queen shook her head, keeping her worries to herself and said nothing, listening intently as the Grand Maester continued.

“I named them both after my sisters,” Vaegon went on, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles. “Gael and Viserra. I ensured their future, made sure they were safe with their mother’s family. They were better off with their grandparents.” He paused for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table as if he were measuring the weight of his next words. “And after that… I approached the new King.”

Maera watched as the old man grinned at the memory. “I could immediately tell that my nephew didn’t want to be king,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “Not really. He accepted it, of course, but I always knew he’d have been happier with less. We were close in age, you see, and in many ways, I think he understood me more than my own father ever did. After presenting my case, he allowed me to join the Citadel, no questions asked.”

The Queen studied him as he spoke, taking in the details of the old man before her. Vaegon had led a complicated life, one filled with expectations he had never wanted, duties he had fought to escape. And yet, despite running from the responsibilities that had been forced upon him, here he was, at the side of his granddaughter—the daughter of the very daughter he had abandoned all those years ago.

Maera couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods had intervened once more, drawing him back into her life as if to make amends for his past. The same man who had once fled from the burdens of his birthright now served her, the Queen, with quiet loyalty and wisdom. Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps it was the Gods, tying the loose threads of their bloodline back together in this strange, unexpected way.

Vaegon let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his confession. “I know this is probably not what you wish to hear, nor are my reasons excuses.” His violet eyes, usually so composed, flickered with a vulnerability she had never seen in him before.“I only wished to be honest with you.”

The Queen remained silent for a moment, her mind swirling with thoughts. As she looked at the old man before her, common themes began to thread themselves together in her mind like a familiar, haunting pattern on an ancient tapestry. Fathers who could not accept their children for who they were. Men and women forced into roles they never wanted. Daughters discarded, thought of as less than sons. The same stories, repeating through the generations, an endless cycle of pain and rejection. When would it finally end?

She reached out across the table, her fingers brushing against Vaegon’s hand. The old man’s gaze lifted to meet hers, his breath catching in his throat. Maera’s grip was firm but gentle, her green eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him hold his breath. “You speak of an affliction. Like it is an illness. A disease. Something to be disgusted by or to be treated.”

Vaegon’s expression froze, fear and uncertainty swirling in his eyes as he awaited her next words, bracing himself for whatever judgment might follow.

But Maera’s gaze softened, her lips curving into a faint, compassionate smile. “Yet you could not be more wrong,” she told him firmly, squeezing his hand for emphasis. Vaegon exhaled, the breath he had been holding escaping shakily from his lips.

The Queen held his hand tightly, the warmth of her touch reassuring as she continued. “My brother, Dermot, needs no cure,” she said quietly, her voice filled with conviction. “And neither do you. We are how the Gods made us. And the sooner the world stops trying to change us, the better a place it will be.”

The anger Maera had harbored towards her estranged grandfather had lessened, but it hadn’t entirely disappeared. The weight of the pain and betrayal he had caused her family still lingered, and she knew it would take time for her to truly let it go. She watched him carefully, the tension between them easing, yet still present.

"Whilst I don’t excuse your actions towards my aunt and mother," Maera said slowly, her voice steady but softened, "I understand you better now." Her green eyes searched Vaegon’s face, watching as the old man nodded in quiet acceptance. He didn’t attempt to justify himself any further, and Maera could sense that he wasn’t expecting forgiveness, only acknowledgment.

The chamber fell into a comfortable silence, something new and unspoken shifting between them. Maera realized that her relationship with Vaegon had changed—improved, even. The weight of their past wasn’t gone, but it was lighter now, and there was a mutual respect where only resentment had existed before.

Vaegon cleared his throat, breaking the stillness. "Can we keep what I have told you in this room?" he asked, his voice cautious but not pleading. He was asking for her trust.

The Queen nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips, but before fully agreeing, she paused. "On one condition," she added, watching as his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "That you extend me the same courtesy."

The old man tilted his head, unsure of what she was asking. "You mean you don’t wish to tell the King?" His violet eyes, still sharp despite his age, studied her carefully.

Maera hummed softly, the corners of her lips curling into a smile as she glanced down at her stomach. She placed her hand gently over it, feeling the warmth of her body, the quiet stirrings of life within. "Aemond is protective. I do not wish him to worry," she explained, her voice light, though there was an underlying seriousness in her words. She lifted her gaze to meet Vaegon’s again. "I will tell him when the time is right."

Vaegon nodded, understanding the weight of the secret she was choosing to carry. He had spent a lifetime holding onto his own, and though he had never been free of it, he respected her decision. His lips curved into a rare grin, a flash of warmth breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. "It seems," he said, his tone light, "the future just became a bit more hopeful."

Notes: gay grandpa 🏳️‍🌈 pregnant queen 🤰🏻 smut next chapter 🔥

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[xadianglyphs]

The Dragonscale Amulet: Theory

And finally... literally the reason I made this entire blog. Basically, back in March we had this:

Anyway, I dropped literally everything to catalog the entire breadth of writing, runes, glyphs, etc. in the series so far, all in order to figure out what the hell this means. One theory that has evolved in the meantime is that the symbol on the amulet represents an acorn or seed, but I would like to propose another.

First, let's look at the amulet and symbol, themselves.

The amulet is composed of a dragon scale (allegedly, at least... we haven't seen dragon scales separated from dragons anywhere else) that is red, highly reflective (whether naturally or polished after the fact), and about palm-sized. By that scale, it probably comes from a dragon about Pyrrah's size or a little larger, unless it was carved down to a smaller size when crafted into an amulet. The scale is anchored in a gold setting, with a shape and decorations that have a fair amount of similarity to the Staff of Ziard. (Maybe we should have anticipated an Aaravos/Startouch association.)

As for the symbol, accounting for perspective (to the best of my abilities), we have this:

The symbol is etched directly into the scale's surface. Its lines are less smooth than the ones decorating the setting, which could indicate that it was added at another time (earlier/later) with a less precise tool, or just that gouging designs into dragon scales is hard.

In terms of similarity to other symbols we've seen so far, it could come from a similar system as the symbols in Infantis Sanguine. It also has similarities to a primal rune, though the sharp, wide corners are unusual. Either way, I think this is a pictographic symbol representing an item or concept as a whole, not an alphabetic character—this isn't Laurelion personally going around with a blinged-out "L" necklace.

So what could it be? Well, I propose that it's a heart. Like so:

My initial impression had the horizontal top "crossbar" as the pulmonary arteries, and the vertical center line as the aorta/vena cava, but you could also look at the crossing vertical and diagonal lines as dividing the space into the four chambers of the heart. However, I think there's another direction to go with that diagonal, so let's put a pin in that for a moment.

Why a heart? Because there has a sizeable amount of fairly convincing speculation post-s4 that the dark space in Aaravos's chest is either figuratively or literally representing his heart having been removed. @raayllum's are a lot more coherent, but I've also done my share.

I'm sure someone had this thought before I did, if only because I was super late to the fandom. But I had it!

... okay right, back to the amulet.

Aaravos's heart is also a key part of the "Laurelion and Aaravos are the same person" theory, in part because Laurelion's heart is the center of everything we currently know about them.

Laurelion's heart was pierced by either the as-yet-unnamed Novablade itself or a piece of draconic ivory (i.e. a dragon's tooth) that was later forged into the Novablade, after which "immortal Laurelion was no more."

Aside from creating an additional connection between Laurelion and dragons, making the dragon scale of the amulet even more interesting, let's go back to the symbol in light of the whole "pierced" thing.

Now, TDP has a fair amount of Christian symbolism and imagery to it, some purely because of how deeply Christianity is embedded in western culture but some also definitely intentional. Aaravos was initially framed as a Prometheus figure, but it became progressively more clear that he's a Lucifer one—a tempter, a rebel angel, out to destroy creation. They absolutely know what they're doing with things like the *checks watch* 2019 Aaravos birthday post:

So don't think it's completely insane to take that, Laurelion's death[citation needed], and the amulet symbol, and think of this:

Depictions of the Sacred Heart don't seem to usually show the spear, just the wound, but I wasn't raised Catholic so work with me here. (If you want to get even more Catholic, there's also the Immaculate Heart of Mary, which is almost always depicted with a sword piercing it diagonally all the way through because she's... sad? Look, I don't know.) The idea is that it represents the boundless and fervent love of God expressed through the suffering of Jesus, which... whatever.

I do think it's interesting, however, that we are primed to question Laurelion's "death" and concepts of mortality/immortality, death of identity, etc. in the context of Startouch elves because while there's definitely a possibility that an immortal being stripped of their immortality is a punishment, there's also... a lot of cultural precedent for that as a willing gift of love to a mortal/mortals, whether you're looking at Jesus, Castor and Pollux, or Arwen and Aragorn. So we'll see how that plays out.

Anyway, that's my weird fringe theory: the amulet symbol represents Laurelion's pierced heart.

Probably time to worry about Claudia. (As if we weren't, already.)

Bonus:

[longwuzhere]

Here are some cool Easter eggs that I found the newest My Adventures with Superman episode, “Let’s Go to Ivo Tower, You Say”. Links to the easter eggs post:

Episode 1 is here

Episode 2 is here

Episode 3 is here

Episode 5 is here

Episode 6 is here

Episode 7 is here and here

Episode 8 is here

Episode 9 is here

Episode 10 is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

SPOILERS if you have not seen the episode of course:

Perry assigns our intern trio to go get interviews about Anthony Ivo. I previously mentioned Ivo's deal in the comics in this post, but we'll talk more about this version of Ivo later.

Shout out to Lois' hanbok! As a kid in the 90s my first exposure to the DC was through the DC Animated Universe. Because of the way some of the characters like Lois, Clark, Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Terry, were designed, as a kid, I thought they were Asian. Very cool to see this version of Lois be Korean.

Before Lois shows up for their black tie event at Ivo Tower, Jimmy knocks down a stack of papers and magazine and Clark goes to pick it up and stumbles upon the Metropolis Star with a cover that shows him as a kid flying 15 years ago.

The Metropolis star is a rival newspaper to the Daily Planet in the comics. The publisher makes its first appearance in Superman #9 (1987) (W&P: John Byrne, I: Karl Kesel, C: Tony Ziuko, L: John Costanza).

When our intern trio makes it to Ivo Tower, Lois spots some very interesting powerful and political figures of Metropolis, the CEO of Galaxy Communications and Mayor Fleming.

Galaxy Communications makes its first appearance in Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen #133 (1970) where it was headed by Morgan Edge, the then leader of Intergang. In the comics Clark and Lois does work for Galaxy communications thanks to it buying out the Daily Planet forcing Clark to be the evening news anchor. The Galaxy Communications panels here are from Swamp Thing #68 (1988) (W&P: Rick Veitch, I: Alfredo Alcala, C: Tajana Wood, L: John Costanza).

Mayor Fleming makes her first appearance in Action Comics #894 (2010) (W: Nick Spencer, P: R.B. Silva, I: Denis Freitas, C: Dave McCaig, L: Rob Leigh) where she appoints Jimmy Olsen and Sebastien Mallory as a welcoming committee for Dalwythians aliens. Like her MAwS counterpart she is obviously the Mayor of Metropolis.

Later, Lois goes and questions Senator Sackett at the party/event.

In the comics Sackett was a councilman not a senator who makes his first appearance in Superman #130 (1997) (W: Dan Jurgens, P: Norm Breyfogle, I: Joe Rubenstein, C: Glenn Whitmore and Digital Chameleon, L: John Costanza) depicted here in the issue's panel wearing a Superman costume. Sackett in the comics is in Luthor's pocket.

I am like 99.99% sure this is Lex Luthor like who else in Metropolis is named Alex, has red hair (if this is Lex Luthor and he shows up again, I'll talk about him and what I mean by this in another post.), and works in the science and tech field.

We finally meet Ivo and he is as I was hoping he'd be a major techbro tool. The way he acts in his introduction and his meeting with Clark is very much like Lex and Clark's meeting in Batman v Superman. Both Ivo and Lex upon meeting Clark know how strong he is. In MAwS Ivo punches his chest and it hurts him and in BvS you heard an audible thud when Lex knocks on Clark's chest. Very similar vibes between both scenes.

Clark confronts Ivo about one of his deals and name drops one of Metropolis' mob families.

Bobby Gazzo, head of the Gazzo crime family in Metropolis, makes his first appearance in Batman: Dark Victory #1 (W: Jeph Loeb, P&I: Tim Sale, C: Gregory Wright and Heroic Age, L: Richard Starkings). Fantastic sequel to Long Halloween, highly recommend reading both books.

After Clark gets thrown out and Lois offers to repair his jacket, we see Lois mentioning her dad, Sam Lane a military general and if the person at the end of the second part of the first episode is Sam Lane...

...and he shows up again in the show I'll talk more about it in another post. For now this is all just speculation.

Might be reading into this but maybe a subtle nod to how the words "Superman" and "pal" are often used together. Both have been used as a comic book title, "Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen" as I've mentioned in these posts a few times.

The show here did a very clever thing with Ivo. Normally any other media pertaining to Ivo would give the audience his power and weakness stealing robot Amazo, but here the MAwS team was able to combine both Ivo and another villain in Superman's rogues gallery, Parasite.

The first Parasite, Raymond Jensen, makes his first appearance in Action Comics #340 (1966) (Cover Art by Curt Swan, George Klein, and Ira Schnapp). All iterations of Parasite have the ability to temporarily steal away anyone's energy, strength, and their knowledge. As I've said there have been other Parasites that Superman fought, the second and most recurring Parasite is Rudy Jones, the Parasite I'm more familiar with, who makes his first appearance in Firestorm #58 (1987).

Cover Art by Joe Brozowski, Bruce Peterson, and Tom Ziuko Alex and Alexandra Allston the third and fourth Parasite (green Parasite and purple Parasite respectively) first appeared in the Adventures of Superman #633 (2004).

Cover art by Gene Ha and Art Lyon

The latest Parasite, Joshua Allen, makes his first appearance in Superman #23.4 (2013).

Cover art by Aaron Kuder and Dan Brown So yeah there are similarities between the Amazo robot and Parasite and it was smart of the MAwS team to just combine Ivo with Parasite to avoid redundancies. Besides the Amazo robot is more of a Justice League villain anyways.

Near the end of the episode, after the Parasite suit wrecks Ivo's body, he begins to look more like his recent iterations in the comics now. The panel here is from Justice League of America #4 (2013) (W: Geoff Johns, P: Brett Booth, I: Norm Rapmund, C: Andrew Dalhouse, L: Rob Leigh). Hope you all had a wonderful time checking this post out. Like I said at the beginning my other MAwS easter egg posts are:

Episode 1 is here

Episode 2 is here

Episode 3 is here

Episode 5 is here

Episode 6 is here

Episode 7 is here and here

Episode 8 is here

Episode 9 is here

Episode 10 is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A lovely mermaid swims just below the surface of the sea. Bubbles arise around her flowing dark hair. She has brown and gold patterns from crown to tail and wears only kelp. She’s playing with the rope that’s attached to two green glass floats. Text reads, “60, Ukidama ~ The Small God of Bath Toys”]

Like most playthings for children, she began as a tool for adults.

They would build her shrines and drop her anchors where they had planted their crab baskets, where they were planning to dive for oysters, where the fish were particularly plentiful.  She was a goddess of the harvest as much as anything else, and she was skilled at her task.  Yet she was not fulfilled.  She knew that something more was waiting for her, something smaller and greater all at once, something that would span cultures and centuries.

And so when a fisherman’s child reached for one of her sacred chalices, shining in the sunlight and ready for the waters, she whispered in the fisherman’s ear to let the babe have a bit of fun, to let go of one precious, durable orb.  And when, that night, her beacon was placed in the peaceful harbor of a tub rather than the choppy waves of the fishing grounds, she realized that she had never been a goddess of the harvest after all.

She was not made to provide for bellies and bodies.  She was made to provide for the satiation of souls.

And provide she has, in glass and carved wood and plastic, in shells worn smooth by a hundred hands, in rubber ducks and toy boats and pink painted seahorses with brushable manes.  She still follows the fishermen out to sea, for what is a goddess who cannot contain multitudes, but her first love must always be with the children, who laugh at the sight of her, who called her, in many ways, into the being that she is today.

She will be there for you, if you ever reach for her.  Childhood is a state of mind as much as of the calendar, and what bath is not improved by a rubber duckie, or by a shining glass ball bobbing like a bubble that never pops, never floats away, never leaves you?

[reasonsweweresinging]

Dean couldn't believe he was doing this. But it was impossible to resist his kid when his kid was crying, and Chase had been crying for twenty minutes. Chase’s favorite doll, an alien-bird-human hybrid thing drawn up by some kid in another country and created by IKEA that Chase had lost his mind over at the store, was desperately ill according to him and Dean didn't have the credentials to fix it. 

"We have to see Dr. Cas!" Chase cried, beseeching his father to help him get whatever was wrong with Wallace fixed. Dean had no idea where the name Wallace came from, but Chase was insistent that was the damn thing's name. 

It was almost 9 pm on a Sunday night and Dean doubted his pediatrician neighbor two doors down needed an unexpected visit to cure a...Wallace. "Bud, maybe Dr. Cas can't even help fix Wallace. He's not fully human."

"Dr. Cas sweared to me he could fix anything! I know he can fix Wallace, we have to go see him!" Chase’s big hazel eyes, courtesy of his mother and still somehow so similar to Dean's brother, swam with tears that rolled down his cheeks in fat drops. "Please, Dad!"

Dean couldn't resist. He couldn't deny his son. Maybe because he was a pediatrician, Dr. Cas would at least be patient enough to turn them away kindly. His neighbor hating him was a risk Dean was willing to take for his son. So Dean helped Chase bundle Wallace in a blanket, got both he and Chase into their coats, and walked them to Dr. Cas's door two houses over. The front porch light was still on, and through the rectangular frosted glass panel alongside the door, Dean could see other lights were on in the home. Maybe it wasn't too late. While Chase hugged Wallace tightly to his chest, Dean rang the doorbell and hoped once more his neighbor wouldn’t be a jerk for being disturbed so late. 

The lights blurring together behind the glass panel brightened, as if a light near the door turned on. A moment later, the locks on the door turned and Dean took a deep breath. But it was punched out of him the minute Dr. Cas appeared in the doorway. Dean had only caught glimpses of the man in the few months since he'd moved in, but never seen him fully and up close. Chase had talked to him when his mother was dropping him off one evening, as Dr. Cas was returning from a run. Seeing Dr. Cas now, Dean was certain it was because his ex-wife was trying to stop Dr. Cas to hit on him. Dean could not blame her. The dark, wild hair, the bright blue eyes, the full, soft pink lips set against warm skin and dark stubble. He was gorgeous. He was damn near perfect. And he was saying something and Dean was just staring at him.

Dean snapped out of it, just in time to hear the tail end of Dr. Cas asking his son what was wrong in a voice that was too gentle to be so deep and worn. Was Dr. Cas even real?

"Wallace is sick!" Chase cried, shoving the doll in the face of Dr. Cas. "You can fix him, right?"

Dr. Cas looked at the doll, understandably perplexed, then set those incredible blue eyes on Dean. He started to say something but stopped short, staring back at Dean for a long, unnerving moment. Dean felt himself getting lost in those eyes, but Chase crying again beside him kept him anchored to the moment. He cleared his throat, which snapped Dr. Cas back into the present as well. 

"Sorry, Doc," Dean started, "Chase insisted we come see you so you could help cure Wallace." He gave Dr. Cas a small, apologetic smile, ready for Dr. Cas to turn them away with some excuse; it was late and he had any number of things to do, he had a family to tend to, he didn't have whatever tools he needed to help Wallace and they could try again later. Something like that. 

Instead, Dr. Cas gave a small smile and looked back at Chase, taking a gentle hold of the doll. "Well, Chase, you did the right thing. I can help Wallace, but you're going to have to be my nurse, is that okay?"

Chase looked up in awe at Dr. Cas and gave an eager nod. "I can help! I'm a good helper!"

Dr. Cas smiled wide, his gums showing, nose wrinkling, and Dean felt his heart stutter. "I'll bet you are. With your help, I'm sure we'll make Wallace all better. Why don't you do me a favor and take Wallace inside. If you go straight back, you can wait with him on the couch." 

Dr. Cas gingerly handed back Wallace to Chase, and with a loud "Thank you!,” Chase ran into the house and, as Dean noted, peeking around Cas to watch him go, followed the directions and ran straight back. 

"I'm Castiel Novak," Dr. Cas said, extending hand with a little smile. 

Dean took it and gave it a firm shake. "Uh, Dean. Winchester. That's my boy Chase. Sorry to just interrupt your night like this. Please apologize to your wife for me "

Dr. Cas tilted his head to the side, that soft smile still on his face, curious. "No, no wife," he said with a shrug. "Or husband."

Enlightenment dawned on Dean's features and that last little statement had his brain running a mile a minute. "Oh. Sorry, didn't mean to assume."

"It's fine," Dr. Cas assured him. "Please, come in. I'm sure Chase is growing antsy. Has he told you any of Wallace's symptoms?"

Dean, stepping inside, paused at the question, at the genuine way Dr. Cas was regarding him, waiting for a response. He wasn't just humoring Chase, he seemed to be genuinely trying to help fix a weird, stuffed doll. Dean couldn't decide if that made the guy a weirdo or an angel masquerading as a doctor. 

Fully inside, Dean waited for Dr. Cas to close the door and began to follow him back towards Chase. "He said something about Wallace having fireskin and a knotty belly."

"I see, that does sound serious. But I'm sure with Chase's help, we'll get Wallace fixed right up." Though his tone was genuine, there was still a curl of a smile on Dr. Cas's lips. "Does Chase have an active imagination?"

"Crazy active," Dean said with a hint of mirth. Chase was always battling some evil or winning some championship or saving some planet from destruction; usually Dean was the evil, the loser, the destructor that needed defeating, but every now and again he got to be his kid's sidekick, and those were the best times. 

"That should come in very handy," Dr. Cas said as they neared the living room where Chase waited. Seated on the couch, as asked, his doll held close to his chest, Chase watched them both enter, looking earnestly at Dr. Cas as if waiting for a miracle. Dr. Cas approached the couch and knelt down in front of Chase. "Are you ready to assist me?" he asked. "It's going to be hard work, but I know you can do it."

Chase nodded, the bangs of his sandy blonde hair falling over his eyes. He brushed them haphazardly off his forehead and Dean could only shake his head. "I just wanna help Wallace." 

It was decided Dean had to wait in the waiting room (the living room) while Chase and Dr. Cas used the operating room (the kitchen), just to Dean’s left and a few feet above. Dr. Cas helped Chase prepare by cleaning the counter with him and washing their hands, while gently and easily explaining the need for cleanliness, not just in surgery, but in life. They laid Wallace out on the kitchen counter and Chase was just tall enough to help without needing something to boost him up.

Dean did his best to play up his worry, especially when Chase looked over at him. But he was mostly watching Dr. Cas, mesmerized. While he was in control of the happenings, every choice they made was made by Chase through a series of related questions from Dr. Cas. That night, Chase wasn't saving a planet or scoring the final points to win it all, but he was still a hero. 

When it was all said and done, when Wallace's fireskin had been cooled and his knotty belly untangled, both Chase and Dr. Cas came to share the results with Dean. Dean hammed it up a little in his relief, but his effusive praise of his son's ingenuity and quick-thinking was genuine. And he noticed Dr. Cas seemed to be watching him now, much the way he'd been doing with the pediatrician earlier. 

With Wallace bundled back up tightly in his blanket and feeling much better, Chase was in a hurry to leave so they could read a book and get all the rest that Dr. Cas said Wallace would need to help him recover. Dean got both he and his son back into their coats and Chase led the way to the door, Dr. Cas following them all. 

"Thank you," Dean said quietly, so that maybe only Dr. Cas could hear him. "I hope we didn't ruin your night."

Dr. Cas just gave him a smile and shook his head. "On the contrary, you livened it up quite a bit."

Reaching the door, Chase turned and threw his arms around Dr. Cas's waist. "Thank you for helping Wallace."

Though surprised at first, Dr. Cas's face melted into something softer, and he ran a hand over the back of Chase's head. "I could only help because you were such a great nurse. I hope you and Wallace have many happy days together."

"We will!"

With a chuckle, Dr. Cas reached for the door handle and opened the door, and Dean realized very suddenly that even though he had barged in on his poor unsuspecting neighbor with a crying child and a weird doll, he was disappointed they were leaving. 

Following Chase out the door and echoing the same quiet good night Dr. Cas gave them, Dean paused. He turned, looking back at Dr. Cas who had not yet started to close the door. "Is uh, there any way I could maybe take you out for a drink one night? You know, to say thanks." 

The smile that curled onto Dr. Cas's face was slow and maybe even a little shy, but his features were alight, as though maybe he was glowing. "How about you just take me out for a drink, no thanks necessary?"

Dean grinned, nodding. "It's a date."

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Please?

pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader (Elementary-verse)

rating: F (literally just reader and sarah teaming up against this grump, joel builds a birdhouse for career day)

wc: 800

series masterlist

Today was Career Day at school, each class welcoming a few selected parents to come in and give a demonstration for the kids. Sarah had eagerly suggested over dinner that Joel volunteer, something that made you smile just from imagining it.

“What am I supposed to do? Show up with a drill?” Joel chided in between ungraceful bites of his steak.

“You could build a birdhouse or something,” she suggested with a shrug.

“That’s actually a really good idea, Sarah,” you chimed, your foot nudging Joel’s under the table to draw his eyes to yours.

“No,” he shook his head. You poked your bottom lip out dramatically and rounded your eyes as they batted at him.

“Please?”

“Yeah, dad,” Sarah joined in, making your puppy dog eyes look pathetic in comparison to her round, hazel brown stare. “Please?”

“Ain’t fair when y’all gang up on me,” he muttered at his plate before sighing and meeting your eyes again. “Fine. One birdhouse.”

You’d expected Joel to run late, his time management skills only slightly improving since you entered his life a couple months ago, but even you were starting to grow impatient as you watched the clock tick away.

“Miss, what are we waiting for?” Monique, one of your students, groaned.

“Let me go see,” you said, standing from your desk and walking over to the door to poke your head out. Thankfully, you spotted Joel jogging his way across the courtyard from the school office, his tool belt tucked under his left arm.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he muttered to you as he met you outside the class, leaning in to press an apologetic kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you playfully rolled your eyes and opened the door to your class, gesturing him in.

Joel’s hand flexed and tapped nervously on his hip as he walked in, his eyes searching the room of students until he landed on his daughter, Sarah’s smile bright as she waved at him from her seat.

“Alright everyone, I want you all to welcome Sarah’s dad, Mr. Miller,” you said, turning to Joel as the two of you stood in front of the class.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” the class droned in unison, clearly ready for the school day to be over.

“Hey,” he mumbled nervously, his eyes dropping to the table in front of him, the spread of pre-measured pieces of lumber acting as an anchor in the midst of all this anxiety.

“What do you do for a living?” you asked, sensing his nerves.

“Right, uh, I’m a contractor,” he said, more confident this time.

“What does that mean?” a student asked.

“It, uh, it means I build stuff, work on houses, that type’a thing,” Joel replied. “So today I’m gonna show you how to build a birdhouse.”

“Ooo! Can I help?” Breanna, one of your more eager students, raised her hand and squealed.

“Uh,” Joel turned to look at you for permission, earning a shake of your head.

“Sounds like an accident waiting to happen,” you said, earning a collective groan from your students. “Sorry, guys.”

“How ‘bout you come up here and show me what tool you think I’m gonna use to put everything together,” Joel suggested, making both you and Breanna smile.

Joel’s lesson was quick but a hit with the kids, especially after he led all of them outside to go hang the birdhouse outside.

Joel stayed around after his lesson, sitting at your desk patiently as you ran through your end of class routine until all the students had packed up and filed out of the room except for Sarah.

“You got parking lot duty?” Joel asked as you came over to the desk to start packing your own things up.

“Nope, I’m all done for the week,” you smiled. “You two doing anything tonight?”

“No,” Sarah spoke for the two of them.

“Wanna go see a movie?” you asked, watching as Sarah instantly lit up at the idea.

“Uh, yeah! Can we see Bring It On?” she said, turning to Joel and using those same round eyes that got him here in the first place. “Please?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you grinned, watching him roll his eyes at the two of you. “Please?”

“Is this gonna be a thing? Y’all teamin’ up?” he asked, resting his hands on his hips.

“It’s alright,I could just go over to Jesse’s instead,” Sarah said, feigning indifference.

“Yeah, and it’s been a while since I’ve had a night to myself,” you joined in, earning a hearty chuckle from Joel.

“Too good at this,” he shook his head. “Come on, let’s go watch a cheerleading movie, I guess.”

“You’re gonna love it,” Sarah promised, hugging her dads arm as they led you out of the class. “And if you don’t, just pretend you do.”

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

How do you feel about Felix?

Canon hasn't given Felix enough consistency or core elements for me to have feelings about him. Every time he shows up, he's basically a new character, meaning that I have no idea who he's supposed to be which makes it pretty hard to summon any feelings beyond confusion and occasionally annoyance.

I'm not the sort of person who delights in taking a drop of potential and shaping it into a full character in the context of fandom. I save that stuff for my original fiction. While I do a lot of fix it content, my main draw to fandom is still playing with the established characters/lore/world and so on. I want to create stories and takes on these characters that feel genuine to other fans. That's the fun and the writing challenge. I can't really do that with Felix. Canon has given me nothing solid to work with.

Let's quickly contrast him to Nino since I recently discussed how badly canon has handled Nino and how I had to do a lot of redesigning to make Nino work in my stuff. The core of my Nino redesign comes from canon because it's all firmly rooted in the fact that this guy is supposed to be Carapace, The Protector. Add in the fact that he's Adrien's best friend and Alya's boyfriend - two characters with pretty strong core characterizations - and I'm good to go. Those are strong anchors to work with!

If you removed those elements and Nino was just Adrien's best friend, then I'd probably have no idea what to do with Nino because that's a pretty nebulous role. This is Felix's problem. You can go almost anywhere with his character because nothing about him gives him a clear role in the narrative!

Does Felix care about Adrien? No idea! He's done nothing to help Adrien or make his life better, so my guess is no, but Felix is a good guy now so maybe???

Does Felix actually love Kagami? No clue, their romance is based on nothing of substance. As best I can tell, he just decided that all humans save for his mom were worthless and the show is heavily heteronormative, so he obviously wants a girlfriend and Kagami is kind of his only option unless he makes himself a sentigirlfriend. It's a very weird way to write their relationship. If I were writing this, he'd contact Kagami for some greater plan and fall in love as they worked together, but nope! We get deeply confusing insta love that starts with stalking leading to a kidnapping and ending with them together because this show is incapable of showing healthy romance!

Side note, but with how poorly they've handled Marinette and Adrien's crushes, can you imagine theses writers trying to write a setup where the male lead was actively trying to trick the female lead into loving him (which was the set-up when Felix was the lead)? I think that PV Felix would come across even worse than our current heroes do!

Is Felix okay with people using the peacock? I thought that the answer was "no," but he's happy to use the peacock for pretty mundane things, so who knows? I seriously can't tell you what Felix's attitude towards sentimonsters is. I thought that he was a freedom fighter after that moment in Strikeback where he apologized because I thought that he was apologizing to Strikeback, but now I'm thinking that he may have been apologizing to Ladybug because he was about to betray her??? I don't know, my new best guess is that he only wanted the peacock for protection and that he cares about no one outside himself and those he's deemed worthy. Most sentimonsters are just tools to him. He's basically lost all depth in this area because that would mean treating the sentimonster thing seriously and the show isn't going to do that.

Did Felix care if Gabriel destroyed the world? I don't think so. He didn't really help with Gabriel's "defeat". Felix spent the entire season knowing everything, but didn't tell anyone until it would personally benefit him. That benefit had nothing to do with a fear of Gabriel or even a desire to be a hero like one might expect since he's apparently part of the team now. We didn't even get Kagami making Felix want to be a hero who defends the world or even just a hero who helps his cousin. It was Kagami and Felix wanting to be together more openly and nothing else. Who cares about protecting the world or helping friends? We just wanna be able to go on dates and make out a bit, so can you fix that for us, LB? It's not like you've got anything else on your plate right now!

What a deeply selfish and unheroic motivation for both of our supposed heroes. Remind me, what has Kagami done to earn her miraculous? Because - as far as I can tell - she's really not suited to being a hero anymore. Season five made her look like a selfish, gullible fool.

While we're on the topic of how "heroic" Felix is, I'll also point out that, after this big reveal, Felix disappears. He doesn't help with the final fight or anything like that even though he has all the information on what was going on and a god-tier power set that could be used to free the people being controlled by the rings. Not sure if this is supposed to read as him not caring or just the writers pretending that Felix doesn't exist because letting him fight would undermine Marinette's role since Felix's powers are so much stronger than hers.

Is Felix some sort of genius mastermind? The show seems to want me to say, "yes" to this, but they've never actually written him as all that clever. Much like Lila, his plans really only work because the plot makes them work. For example, he didn't get the miraculous due to clever plotting. He got them because of shear dumb luck. Ladybug could have wielded the dog herself and he'd have been screwed. Same goes for her taking the dog back after he was done using it since he was by no means needed after they took down Risk. I still don't understand how Gabriel was able to open her summoned yo-yo or why Felix waited until the train to check if he had the real miraculous. Basically, the writers really had to warp the show's logic to make Felix's win work.

So who is Felix? No idea! The only thing I can say for certain is that he loves his mom and that's really not enough for me to work with if I want to write a Felix that feels true to canon. Almost any take on him feels true to canon at this point because he's a nothing burger. He has all of the substance of unset jello.

I was briefly excited about his character when I thought that his season four role was setting him up for something big in season five, but then he showed up in Emotion and my excitement died. What even was that episode? It's written like a mental breakdown, but it was foreshadowed in Destruction, so was it a mental breakdown or was this seriously the best plan that Felix could come up with after several weeks of plotting?

To put this in perspective, Gabriel came up with and created the Alliance rings faster than Felix came up with and created with Red Moon, a sentimonster that took him all of two seconds to create. I am unimpressed.

[high-priestess-house]

𝕿𝖆𝖗𝖔𝖙 𝕯𝖊𝖈𝖐 𝕭𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌

NOTE: you do not have to do this. however, if you're looking for a tarot deck blessing ritual, this may be for you.

Materials Needed:

• Your tarot deck

• A white candle

• Incense (such as sage, lavender, or frankincense)

• A small dish of salt

• A small dish of water

• A crystal (such as clear quartz or amethyst)

• A piece of cloth or a special box for storing your deck

• Optional: Essential oil (like lavender or frankincense)

Steps:

1. Preparation:

• Find a quiet and clean space where you won’t be disturbed.

• Cleanse the area by lighting the incense and walking around the space, allowing the smoke to purify the environment.

2. Create a Sacred Circle:

• Place the candle, salt, water, and crystal at the four corners of your space to represent the four elements: fire, earth, water, and air.

• Light the candle and place it in front of you. This represents the element of fire and the light of your intention.

3. Center Yourself:

• Sit comfortably and take a few deep breaths to center yourself. Close your eyes and focus on grounding your energy. Imagine roots growing from your feet into the earth, anchoring you.

4. Cleanse Your Deck:

• Pass your tarot deck through the incense smoke, visualizing the smoke removing any negative or stagnant energy.

• Sprinkle a small amount of salt over the deck, symbolizing purification and grounding.

• Dip your fingers in the water and flick a few drops over the deck, representing emotional clarity and cleansing.

5. Invoke the Elements and Spirit:

• Hold the crystal in your hand and place it on top of the deck. Visualize the crystal’s energy infusing the deck with clarity and spiritual insight.

• Say a prayer or invocation to the elements and any deities or spirit guides you work with. For example:

Elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water,

Bless this deck with your strength and clarity.

Spirit guides and guardians, lend your wisdom and protection.

May this deck be a tool of insight, truth, and light.

6. Set Your Intention:

• Hold the deck in your hands and close your eyes. Visualize a bright white light surrounding the deck, filling it with positive energy.

• Speak your intention aloud. For example:

I bless this tarot deck with love, light, and divine guidance.

May it bring clarity, wisdom, and insight to all who seek its counsel.

7. Store Your Deck:

• Wrap your tarot deck in the cloth or place it in the special box. This protects the deck and keeps its energy intact.

• Keep the crystal with the deck to maintain its energy.

8. Close the Ritual:

• Thank the elements, spirits, and guides for their presence and assistance.

• Blow out the candle and allow the incense to burn out naturally.

• Take a moment to ground yourself by touching the earth or a grounding object.

Your tarot deck is now blessed and ready for use. Remember to periodically cleanse and recharge your deck, especially after heavy use or significant readings.

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 11: Present Day With Short Deepground Flashback

NOTE: It's not a time skip in the Deepground section, it's just to frame Nero's physical trauma more. All that story is still going to be told!

Rating: Mature

WARNINGS: torture, captivity, phantom pain, PTSD

NOW WITH @siringadev's beautiful father-son art!

⚰️🕷️

father and son trying to out-edgelord each other but who is winning

it's vincent

After the Restrictor came, and they implanted those chips in everyone, they sedated Nero and carried him to a dark, cavernous place, in the lowest sub-level of Deepground. Industrial power tools whirred and shrieked. He awoke feeling the vibrations in his skull. 

Men were locking heavy shackles onto his wings, at six points. The shackles, they attached to the type of chains that are used for boat anchors; made of iron and as thick as a man’s arm. The chains were hung through huge, steel rings, bolted to a massive support pillar, and hooked up to a construction winch, on the other side. 

The Restrictor turned the winch and drew the chains tighter and tighter, laughing while the teenaged boy screamed in agony, pulling Nero’s wings higher and spreading them wider apart, till his shoulder blades felt like they were about to be dislocated, and his feet couldn’t properly rest on the ground. 

That was the position he was locked in. Splayed against the gigantic support pillar, like a butterfly pinned to a display board. Muzzled and bound in a straitjacket. Chained by his wings, to the literal foundation of Deepground. 

The only way to relieve the pain of bearing his weight on his wings, was to push himself up on tip-toe. He could only do that for so long, before his legs began to tremble with fatigue. Try as he might, his strength would eventually fail, and his legs give out. Then his wings would catch his full weight, and he would scream in agony again. 

The Restrictor often lingered nearby, watching him go through this process, drinking in the boy’s tormented groans and cries of distress, with lascivious glee. But he also observed the boy growing stronger and stronger…and more dangerous.

Nero curled up, as the lightning bolts of pain racked his body again, mouth hanging open, a clear stream drool running out onto the floor. Where was his muzzle? Where was his straitjacket? He’d had some kind of cotton jersey shirt on his top half, but he had clawed and torn it to shreds, and it now lay in a purple pile on the floor.

He heard a noise behind him, but he didn’t have time to work out what it was, before he felt the darkness react to something, like a dog jumping in excitement, when its master walks in the door. Weiss! It must be Weiss! he thought, deliriously. Tears of joy leaked from the sides of his eyes, even as they were squeezed shut against the pain. 

“W—Weiss…” he rasped, as the darkness reached out toward his beloved. His only one.

He was hauled up to a sitting position, and strong arms wrapped around him from behind, like bands of iron, compressing his crossed arms on his chest, in that familiar position. He was pressed tight against a stone-hard body and lifted to his feet, but…something was wrong. The darkness was curling happily around the person, but making no connection. Not Weiss! his mind screamed.

Enraged, Nero gave his lithe torso a sudden twist, like a snake, trying to wrench himself free, but the arms held him fast. “What the fuck!”

“Calm down,” a smooth, deep voice said, right in his ear. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Fuck you! Let me go!” he snarled, thrashing harder, still to no observable effect.

Vincent sighed. “Nero, I know you’re in pain. Let me help—”

“I don’t need your help you bastard!” he roared, kicking his legs, trying to throw this human monolith off balance. He may as well have struggled against the planet itself, for all the man moved. Panting and shaking with fatigue, from even that brief effort, he gave up and hung limply in Vincent’s arms. “I h—I hate you. Fucking die.”

“I can’t.”  

As Vincent said this, the room exploded into a whirling, crimson blur, and suddenly, they were atop the roof of the house. Nero’s bare feet stood on the sandy grit of the roof tiles, and blowing wind brought the scent of rain, from the rolling, grey storm clouds, that were obscuring the moon. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, in real bewilderment. 

“I think I can help, with your pain,” a rasping, resonant, entirely demonic voice answered. “But I can’t try it inside the house. My wings are too big.”

Chaos. The demon’s familiar aura sent shivers of elation up Nero’s spine and made him sick to his stomach, at the same time. He felt bloodthirsty, resentful, filled with rage and grief and underneath it all, a deep, hollow ache. A longing as fathomless as the abyss.

“How do you know I’m in pain?” 

“Sephiroth explained, after you went upstairs.”

“Can he ever mind his own business?” Nero grumbled, under his breath.

Acting entirely without his input, Nero’s darkness tendrils suddenly burst out of the black markings all over his body and plunged directly into Chaos, connecting them, like it was plugging him into a power source. 

Horrified, Nero tried to make them come back, but his knees buckled and his vision went blank, just then, his brain shorted out by the sudden exposure to unfiltered Chaos energy. 

When his vision returned, the demon was still holding him, the same way—Nero’s arms restrained in straitjacket position, and his bare back pressed to its midsection—steadying him on his feet, so he didn’t fall off the roof. 

He was trying work out what the hell Chaos was playing at, when he felt it. A dizzying rush of relief, pouring in through the wing brackets on his shoulder blades and coursing through his body. Lack of pain so potent, it was ten times more intoxicating than the headiest pleasure. 

Involuntarily, Nero’s head dropped back onto Chaos’ chest and he gave a shuddering moan, as he began to unfurl the demon’s huge, membranous wings, slowly and stiffly, spreading them as wide as they could go. 

Tears poured unchecked down his ashen face, weeping openly, as he stretched and folded the wings on the demon’s back, savoring every movement, feeling the contorted phantom segments straightening out, the excruciating knots loosening, the throbbing tautness unwinding. 

Nero’s body now felt relaxed and comfortable, being held tightly in Chaos’ arms. Actually, he hadn’t felt this good since…well, in a long time. Now that they believed everything was back as it was supposed to be, the formerly tormented nerves were humming with vitality. Suddenly, the urge to use the wings he’d missed so sorely, was so strong he could taste it.

Nero’s own wings had nothing to do with his ability to defy gravity, so it was something of a shock to him, when he gave Chaos’ wings an exploratory flap, and the two rocketed into the air. 

He jolted and cried out in alarm, as the ground fell away and the rooftop shrank below them at a dizzying speed. Chaos, however, appeared patently unconcerned, only taking control to give his wings a few beats (to stop them plummeting directly back out of the sky, and to gain some height for safety reasons), then returning control to Nero. 

Nero wasn’t afraid of heights in the least, but he didn’t particularly want to smack into the earth like a meteor, so he scrambled to flap the massive wings. With an effort, he got them under good enough control to keep aloft, then gingerly began to try changing direction. 

He was uncoordinated, and kept going awkwardly off kilter. They tumbled and veered multiple times, before he actually began to get the hang of it. But by the time half an hour had passed, Nero was able to fly in relatively steady circles, above the Valentine-Highwind property.  

All this time, not a single word passed between himself and the ancient demon, whose body he was essentially sharing, at the moment, but at times he could feel its wordless intent, guiding him. Spread. Glide. Tuck. Bank left. More thrust on the right. 

It occurred to him, with a series of complicated emotions, that his father was teaching him to fly. Just like a real father teaching his real son to ride a bicycle. Patiently and calmly, ready to catch him, if he fell. He felt something deep inside him, begin to crack. 

Nero, being Nero, bridled and balked. Furious with himself, for being so soft and stupid, and letting himself be taken in so easily, he sullenly withdrew his control from the wings and let them fall, till Chaos lazily caught them and swooped back upward, with effortless elegance, as if it were no more difficult than breathing. 

That drew Nero right back out of his morose ruminations. He had thought he’d been doing well, but he clearly had no idea what flying even was. Chaos used far fewer wing beats to achieve the same height and speed, and seemed to be exerting ten times less effort. What the hell? How was it that much different to what he’d been doing?

Spinning like a corkscrew, the demon rapidly ascended, higher and higher, till they emerged from the storm cover in the clear, black sky, where the air became thin and icy-cold, and the the moon shone pure and bright over the sea of clouds. 

Nero was staring in undisguised awe at the tens of thousands of glittering stars, when Chaos tucked his wings tightly against his body and dropped abruptly into a freefall. Nero’s stomach flipped and he had to choke down a cry. They fell faster and faster, the wind beating furiously at his face, making his eyes tear up, as they plunged back into the grey clouds, plummeting earthward at terminal velocity.

Just above the treeline, Chaos extended his wings partway and used the downward momentum to shoot forward like a bullet, speeding over the blurred tops of the trees. 

As if on cue, thunder rolled and lighting crackled, as the heavy clouds burst, at last. The cold water droplets lashed Nero’s face and his bare torso, as they flew at that logic-defying speed, but he was actually rather thrilled by it. He wasn’t bothered by cold, and he’d never felt rain before. 

Apparently sensing that the weather didn’t trouble his passenger, Chaos kept going, soaring nonchalantly through blinding sheets of rain, doing spectacular loops and dizzying barrel rolls, throwing off spirals of water as they went. 

Nero had to force down the swell of mirth, that bubbled up in his chest, at the idea of this apocalyptic demon playing around in the rain, to amuse itself. Chaos was having fun, and it showed. If he could have admitted it, without gagging to death, so was Nero.

More than two hours evaporated, and soon they were circling back around toward home—er…toward the Valentine-Highwind house. When they got in close, rather than landing, Chaos did that teleportation thing with the whirling crimson, and they were simply standing in Nero’s room. 

Nero hadn’t got his sea legs yet, and turned around unsteadily to blink up at Chaos, who was Vincent again, in his slashed up black jeans and crimson henley, with that stupid headband, as usual. He was also perfectly dry, as opposed to Nero, who was soaking wet, from head to toe, black hair pasted to his white forehead, and quickly creating a puddle, on the wood floor. 

Conveniently, Sephiroth (because the world had gone thoroughly insane, and the hero of Wutai was now some kind of super-housewife) had left folded bath towels on the dresser, and put the fresh linens on the bed, while they were out.

Before Nero could say anything, Vincent picked up an oversized bath towel and spread it open, holding it up between them, like a privacy screen. Not quite understanding the prudishness of the gesture, Nero peeled off his soaking wet jeans and underwear, then let Vincent wrap the plushy towel around him. 

He still had no idea how to process what happened, tonight. No idea what it meant, or how to react. So he just stood there, dazed, while his father carefully rubbed his long hair, with the other towel. 

Fatigue settled on him, with the warmth and the weight of the gentle touch. Now that the pain was alleviated, he was exhausted, down to his bones. Without realizing it, his eyes drooped shut, and his head began to tip forward, by degrees, till it was resting against Vincent’s chest. 

Darkness tendrils slithered out of the black markings, all over his naked body, and coiled themselves around Vincent’s arms and waist and neck, like affectionate boa constrictors. If they could purr, they would have, fucking embarrassing things.

“Nero.”

“Mm?”

“The next time you’re in pain, don’t wait for it to become unbearable. Come to me, and I’ll help you.”

…

“Mn.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY:

nero the wet cat: *HISSSS GRRR HISSSSS* cat dad vincent: *pats dry with towel* nero the dry cat: …. *purr*

LINK TO NEXT CHAPTER: