#marvel rising: playing with fire

[movies-to-add-to-your-tbw]

Title: Marvel Rising

Rating: NR

Director: Alfred Gimeno

Cast: Kim Raver, Chloe Bennet, Milana Vayntrub, Kathreen Khavari, Cierra Ramirez, Ming-Na Wen, Tyler Posey, Booboo Stewart, Kamil McFadden, Dee Bradley Baker, Roger Craig Smith, Andrew Kishino, Meera Rohit Kumbhani, Catherine Taber

Release year: 2018

Genres: family, comedy, action, science fiction, adventure

Blurb: When a threat no one could have expected bears down on the Marvel Universe, a ragtag, untrained band of teens has no choice but to rise together and prove to the world that sometimes, the difference between a hero and a misfit is just in the name.

[free-cursed-frogurt]

Does it bother anyone else when people extrapolate "these characters are gay" from canonically hetero characters who are given intentional/unintentional homoerotic subtext? Like aside from the fact you should just make your characters gay, if feels like it's damaging to heterosexual friendships when you have a character going "oh you two must be gay together" because 2 characters are involved in each others lives. And I mean this mostly applies to two men because it isn't frequently done to female friendships, though that does come with the unique challenge that when it IS done it's usually more for titillation.

And I know there are people thinking "well maybe the author did intend for them to be gay" but like, typically you don't hear anyone really tried very hard to get it done. And like, it CAN be done successfully, noted X-men writer Chris Clairemont did it by having a character call Destiny Mystique's "leman", which is an archaic word for lover, back when the Comics Code Authority would have shut anything stronger than "good friend" down. And standards have gotten more lax since then so you could probably slip in something that's not archaic Middle English. Even Legend of Korra managed to get it in under the wire (and the novels have prominent gay characters).

Anyways yes this is about Supernatural/House/Sherlock/the MCU

[christianconvery]

Christian Convery’s Height: How Tall is the Young Actor?

Christian Convery, the young actor recognized widely for his role as Gus in Netflix’s "Sweet Tooth", has quickly risen to fame thanks to his remarkable talent and captivating on-screen presence. With his increasing popularity, many fans are curious about various aspects of his life, including his height, which is an especially common question given his youthful appearance and roles. In this article, we delve into Christian Convery’s height, his growth over the years, and how his stature complements his acting career.

Christian Convery’s Height: How Tall is the Young Actor?

As of the latest information, Christian Convery stands at around 5 feet 0 inches (152 cm). Given his age—he was born on November 10, 2009—this height is typical for someone in their early teens and suggests that he is still growing. Like many actors who start their careers at a young age, Christian’s height has been evolving as he matures, which means that fans can expect him to grow even taller in the coming years.

READ ALSO👉 Meet Christian Convery’s Family: Background and More

Height and Age: Christian Convery’s Growth

Christian Convery is still in his adolescence, which is a significant period for growth and development. Children and teenagers experience growth spurts during these years, typically between ages 10 and 15 for boys. Since Christian is in this age range, it’s likely that his height will continue to change as he progresses through his teenage years.

Growth patterns can vary widely, but most adolescents reach their full adult height by around age 18. Christian’s height of 5 feet 0 inches may increase steadily over the next few years, influenced by genetics, nutrition, and overall health. His fans may notice subtle changes in his height as he continues to take on new roles in television and film.

How Christian Convery’s Height Affects His Roles

Christian’s height and youthful appearance have contributed to his casting in roles that require a young, innocent look. In "Sweet Tooth," he plays Gus, a hybrid boy with antlers, whose character is meant to embody innocence and vulnerability. Christian’s shorter stature enhances this portrayal, making him believable as a young, curious child navigating a post-apocalyptic world.

Casting directors often consider physical characteristics like height when choosing actors for specific roles. Christian’s height allows him to convincingly play younger characters, even as he continues to mature. His natural look, combined with his talent, has given him an edge in securing roles that require an expressive and relatable young actor.

READ ASLO👉 How Old is Christian Convery? Discover His Age and More

Christian Convery’s Height in Comparison to Other Young Actors

Christian’s height is quite typical for his age group. In Hollywood, many young actors vary in height, especially those within the adolescent age range. For instance, actors who start young, like Jacob Tremblay or Mckenna Grace, may experience significant changes in their height as they grow, which influences the types of roles they can play.

For Christian, being 5 feet 0 inches aligns well with his current roles and projects. As he continues to grow, his height will naturally open up new opportunities, allowing him to play older or more mature characters. This growth transition is common for young actors who establish their careers early on and move into more complex roles as they age.

What to Expect as Christian Convery Grows Taller

As Christian Convery continues to mature, his height will undoubtedly change, which might influence his career in interesting ways. Young actors who go through growth spurts often find themselves taking on a broader range of roles. Christian’s talent, combined with his developing stature, means that he can easily adapt to different roles that fit his evolving appearance.

In the next few years, fans may see Christian Convery cast in roles suited for teenagers or young adults, as his physical appearance matures along with his acting abilities. His height will likely give him more flexibility in his career, as casting directors consider him for characters of various ages.

How Christian Embraces His Height and Natural Talent

One of the most admirable qualities about Christian Convery is his confidence on and off the screen. Regardless of his height, he approaches each role with dedication and professionalism, proving that talent is the most important asset in the entertainment industry. His impressive acting skills, combined with his charm and stage presence, have made him a standout performer, earning praise from audiences and critics alike.

Height can sometimes be a focus in the entertainment industry, especially for actors who are still growing. However, Christian’s ability to captivate audiences with his performances demonstrates that true talent transcends physical characteristics. He has already proven himself to be a skilled actor who can take on diverse roles, and his height is just one part of his unique presence.

Conclusion

Christian Convery’s current height of approximately 5 feet 0 inches adds to his appeal as a young actor, allowing him to embody the innocence and curiosity required for roles like Gus in "Sweet Tooth." As he grows taller, his career will likely expand, presenting him with new and exciting opportunities in the entertainment industry. His height may change over the coming years, but his dedication and passion for acting remain constant, ensuring a bright future for this talented young star.

READ ALSO👉 Christian Convery Biography, Age, Height, Awards, Lifestyle

[g4zdtechtv]

THE PILE PRESENTS: Xplay 2.0 - The First Episode | 11/18/21

"Chewie… we’re home."

(WATCH THE FIRST LIVE SHOW HERE)

(OR HERE)

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ distractions

x FEM!SWEETHEART!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: +4.4k

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: /

the fire crackled softly as the pogues gathered around the pit, their faces illuminated by the faint orange glow. tension hung heavy in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. jj was pacing, his hands flying in exaggerated gestures as he spoke.

“i’m just saying, maybe if we’d all been there, groff wouldn’t have gotten away with it,” pope said, his tone sharper than usual.

jj stopped mid-step and whirled around to face him, his expression fierce. “oh, so now it’s my fault? we didn’t exactly plan on groff showing up out of nowhere with a knife, by the way!”

pope rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “it just feels like we’re always one step behind because we’re not thinking ahead.”

jj’s jaw clenched, and kie jumped to his defense. “you don’t know what it was like, bro. groff was—is crazy! he cornered us—we didn’t have a choice.”

“enough, guys,” sarah tried to interject, but the bickering continued to escalate.

“yeah? maybe if you’d handled it differently, we’d still have the crown!” pope shot back, ignoring her.

jj took a step closer, his voice rising. “oh, so you think you could’ve done better? fine, next time you can take a knife to the gut for the team!”

Kiara nodded emphatically. “exactly, i didn’t see you volunteering to take a knife to the gut.”

“that’s not what i—”

kie nodded, her arms crossed defensively. “next time we’ll fight him off with my flip-flop.”

pope rolled his eyes annoyed, “you’re not even wearing flip-flops, bro!”

the argument was heating up, voices overlapping as frustration spilled out into the night.

you sat on a rock near the fire, watching the scene unfold with a growing sense of unease. everyone’s emotions were valid, but the bickering wasn’t helping anyone—not with groff still out there with the crown.

“guys,” you said softly, but no one heard you over the escalating voices.

jj threw his hands in the air. “so, what? now we’re just gonna sit here and play the blame game? is that the big plan, man? you wanna lead with that?”

“calm down, man!” cleo’s voice intervened through the argument.

sarah’s voice rose above the others’. “okay, enough—”

“GUYS!” you said, louder this time, standing up. the force of your voice cut through the noise, and everyone turned to look at you, startled.

“this isn’t helping,” you said, looking around the circle. “we’re all upset about losing the crown, but blaming each other isn’t going to bring it back.”

“groff’s got the crown, and we need to focus on getting it back—not tearing each other apart.”

jj’s shoulders relaxed slightly, his defensive stance softening as he gave you a grateful nod. kiara looked away, fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist, clearly relieved someone had stepped in.

pope sighed, running a hand over his face. “you’re right,” he admitted grudgingly. “sorry, guys.”

“yeah, me too,” jj muttered, though his tone was still a little prickly.

“okay, good,” you said gently, your voice losing its firmness and returning to its usual warmth. “we’ve gotten out of worse situations than this, and we’ll figure it out.”

for a moment, the group was quiet, the only sound the soft crackling of the fire. then cleo nodded, her voice calm but determined.

“she’s right. let’s focus on how we’re going to get the crown back.”

rafe, leaning against a nearby tree, crossed his arms but didn’t say anything, his gaze lingering on you with a flicker of something unreadable. while the others dove back into planning, he couldn’t help but marvel at how easily you diffused the situation. you had a way of bringing people together, and for a group like this, it was exactly what they needed.

the pogues gathered around a weathered map of lisbon spread across the dining table in their cramped apartment. john b marked potential locations where groff might stash the crown, the group buzzing with nervous energy as they pieced together their plan.

“we’re gonna have to split up,” pope said, tapping a pen against the map. “groff’s got too much ground covered. we’ll need pairs to check out these locations.”

“alright,” sarah said quickly, glancing at her brother. “i’ll go with rafe.”

“absolutely not,” john b interrupted before she could say another word, his voice sharp. he leaned forward, his jaw tight as he stared at her. “you’re staying with me.”

sarah rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “oh, come on, john b. it’s not like he’s going to—”

“that’s not the point,” he shot back, his tone sharp. “if something happens to you while you’re with him—” he trailed off, shaking his head. “no. you’re staying with me.”

“he’s right,” you cut in gently, giving her a small smile. “you should stick with john b, especially with your situation. he’s just looking out for you.”

sarah looked at you, frowning, but she could see the logic in your words. “then who’s going with rafe?”

the room went quiet for a beat, everyone glancing at you. “i’ll go with him,” you added, your tone calm and confident.

jj’s eyes darted to you, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “you sure about that?”

before you could answer, rafe scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “bro, i’m standing like right here,” he said, gesturing toward himself with both hands. “it’s not like i’m gonna hurt her. relax.”

“better not,” cleo muttered darkly, flipping her pocket knife open with a loud snick. she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and gave rafe a look so sharp it could’ve sliced through steel. “i swear to God, cameron, if you so much as—”

“okay, okay,” rafe interrupted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “message received. loud and clear.”

kiara, sitting cross-legged on the couch, nodded in agreement with cleo. “yeah, seriously. don’t even think about pulling any of your usual crap, rafe.”

“usual crap?” rafe echoed, clearly offended. He gestured toward you again. “she’s literally the nicest one here. you think i’m gonna risk her hating me? hell nah.”

you couldn’t help but smile softly, cutting through some of the tension. “thanks for the vote of confidence, rafe,” you said, earning a smirk from him.

jj still looked unconvinced, “alright, but if he so much as looks at you funny, i’m punching him.”

“alright, that’s settled,” pope said, quickly trying to steer the group back on track. “john b and sarah will cover the docks, jj and kie will hit the market district, and cleo and me can handle the high-end galleries and auction houses, y/n and rafe, you’ll be checking out groffs’ villa in lisbon.”

JJ and Kie take the east wing, John B and Sarah cover the main entrance, Cleo and I will handle the courtyard, and Rafe and Y/N will take the west wing.”

“fine,” jj said reluctantly, pointing at rafe. “but just know if anything goes wrong—”

“yeah, yeah,” Rafe muttered, brushing him off. “cleo and kie will hunt me down and end me. Got it.”

“good boy,” cleo said, flipping her knife closed with a snap.

as the group dispersed, jj pulled you aside, his face etched with concern. “hey, just... be careful, okay? i know you think rafe’s all mellow now, but he’s still, you know, rafe.”

you smiled at him, your voice light. “i’ll be fine, jj. he’s not as bad as you think.”

jj gave you a skeptical look but let it go, clapping you on the shoulder before heading off with kie.

across the room, rafe leaned against the doorframe, watching the exchange with a faint smirk. “i’m starting to think jj’s got a crush on you.”

you rolled your eyes as you walked over. “ew, or he just doesn’t trust you.”

“fair,” rafe nodded, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “but for what it’s worth, you’re probably the only one here who doesn’t look at me like i’m a ticking time bomb, besides sarah. so thanks for that.”

you gave him a small smile. “let’s just get that crown back tomorrow. then we can all go back to bickering about smaller stuff.”

rafe chuckled. “deal.”

you arrived in lisbon just as the sun began to set, the golden light glinting off the red rooftops and the sprawling tagus river. the city was alive with activity—tourists crowding cobblestone streets, locals enjoying evening drinks at cafés, and street performers entertaining passersby. it was a stark contrast to the tension simmering among the group as they piled out of the old van they had borrowed back in morocco.

rafe stretched as he stepped onto the street, glancing up at the colorful buildings around them. “well, at least we’re moving up in the world. this is way better than that thing.”

cleo rolled her eyes, muttering, “don’t get comfortable, cameron. we’re here to work, not sightsee.”

john b stood at the front of the group, holding a crumpled map of the city and motioning for everyone to gather around. “alright, listen up. we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and not much time to do it. groff’s probably already making moves to offload the crown, so we’ve got to move fast.”

pope unfolded his notebook, scanning his notes as he spoke. “here’s the breakdown: john b and sarah, you’re covering the docks. there’s a chance groff’s smuggling the crown out of lisbon by boat, and we need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“got it,” sarah said, looping her arm through john b’s.

pope continued. “jj and kie, you’re hitting the market district. if groff’s trying to keep a low profile, he might use the black market to sell it off quickly.”

jj grinned, nudging kiara. “our specialty. ready to haggle, kie?”

kiara smirked. “always, jayj.”

pope glanced at cleo, who was leaning against the van with her arms crossed. “you and i will handle the high-end galleries and auction houses. groff’s ego is big enough that he might try to make a spectacle of selling the crown.”

cleo gave a nod, flipping her pocket knife open and closed with a practiced motion. “high-end, low-end, doesn’t matter. we’ll find him.”

finally, pope turned to you and rafe. “y/n and rafe, you’re checking out groff’s villa in lisbon. it’s risky, but if the crown is still there, it’s our best shot at getting it back.”

“of course,” rafe muttered, shaking his head. “send me to the guy’s front door.”

jj let out a laugh. “oh, stop whining, man. you’re perfect for this. you’ve got the whole rich guy vibe—you’ll fit right in.”

“yeah, because blending in with criminals is exactly what i want to do right now,” rafe shot back.

before the banter could escalate, you stepped in. “we’ll manage. let’s just focus on the goal, okay?”

jj glanced at you, then back at rafe. “just making sure you’re good with this, y/n. if he screws this up—”

“i’m right here,” rafe interjected, throwing his arms up. “it’s not like i’m gonna sabotage us, i need groff for the money—”

“you better not, cameron. because if you do…” cleo gave him a sharp look, flipping her knife one last time before tucking it into her pocket.

rafe raised his hands in mock surrender. “message received.”

sarag, standing beside john b, gave rafe a soft smile. “just, be careful here. and no funny business, rafe.”

you sighed, “guys, relax. we’ve got this.”

john b clapped his hands, eager to move things along. “alright, that’s settled. we meet back here tomorrow morning to regroup. let’s go.”

the group quickly dispersed, each pair heading in different directions. john b and sarah headed toward the docks, hand-in-hand, already deep in discussion about their strategy. pope and cleo took the map, navigating toward the wealthier part of the city with a determined air. jj and kie walked off toward the market district, jj’s voice animated as he joked about their chances of running into trouble.

you and rafe lingered for a moment, watching as the others disappeared into the bustling streets.

“well,” rafe said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “looks like it’s just you and me.”

you shot him a small smile. “guess so. ready to check out groff’s villa?”

rafe hesitated for a beat, then nodded. “yeah. let’s get this over with.”

the two of you turned toward the direction of the villa, the noise of the city fading behind you as you made your way toward what could be the most dangerous part of the mission.

as you and rafe walked through the bustling streets of Lisbon, the golden glow of the city slowly giving way to the neon lights of the evening, he suddenly stopped in front of a boutique hotel. its grand facade was adorned with ivy, and the warm light spilling out of the windows gave it a welcoming, upscale charm.

“alright,” rafe said, turning to you. “before we go to that villa, we need to clean up.”

you raised an eyebrow, glancing at the hotel. “erm, this place looks... expensive.”

he shrugged, already pushing open the door. “and? i’m literally rich. stop stressing.”

you hesitated, glancing up at the elegant sign above the door. “still, isn’t it overkill? we could just—”

“look,” rafe interrupted, motioning for you to follow him. “we can’t show up looking like we just rolled out of a dirt van. a villa isn’t exactly a campsite. you want to blend in, right?”

you sighed, knowing he had a point. with a reluctant nod, you followed him into the hotel, the cool air and faint scent of lavender immediately hitting you. the lobby was all polished marble and tasteful decor, and you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place in your slightly dusty clothes and sneakers.

rafe walked up to the desk and, with an easy smile, slid his black card across the counter. “one room, please.”

the receptionist’s polite demeanor faltered for just a second when she saw the card, but she quickly recovered, handing over the key. “of course, sir. enjoy your stay.”

you followed rafe to the elevator, still feeling a bit uneasy. “i feel like i should apologize to your bank account.”

he smirked, pressing the button for the top floor. “don’t. this is nothing.”

the room was as lavish as you’d expected—plush bedding, a balcony overlooking the city, and a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a spa. as soon as you stepped inside, rafe tossed his bag onto the couch and stretched.

“alright,” he said, pointing toward the bathroom. “shower’s all yours. ladies first.”

you hesitated, glancing around. “you sure?”

he gave you a look. “y/n, just go. i’m not a caveman.”

you smiled faintly and gathered your things, disappearing into the bathroom. the water was a welcome relief after days of travel, and by the time you emerged, wrapped in a soft robe provided by the hotel, you felt more human than you had in ages.

rafe disappeared into the bathroom next, and soon the sound of running water filled the room. while he showered, you stepped out onto the balcony, taking in the breathtaking view of lisbon at evening. the city sparkled below, a mix of history and modernity that felt almost magical.

when rafe reappeared, his damp hair tousled and a fresh shirt thrown on, he looked more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. “alright,” he said, grabbing his wallet. “next step—shopping.”

you blinked, surprised. “shopping?”

“yeah.” he motioned to your clothes, then to his own. “we need something a little... classier. groff’s villa is basically a playground for rich criminals. we can’t show up looking like backpackers.”

he led you through the streets to a high-end shopping district, the kind of place where the window displays featured items that probably cost more than your monthly rent back home. you hesitated as he guided you into a sleek boutique.

“rafe, i don’t think i can afford anything in here,” you said quietly, eyeing the price tags.

“good thing you’re not paying,” he said easily, already browsing the racks. “pick something you like.”

“i can’t let you—”

“you can, and you will,” he interrupted, handing you a dress that looked stunning but way out of your comfort zone. “just try it on. trust me.”

you sighed, reluctantly taking the dress. the fitting room was just as luxurious as the store, and when you stepped out wearing the outfit, rafe froze. his usual confident smirk softened into something almost unreadable as he looked you over.

“damn,” he muttered under his breath, before quickly recovering. “see? told you it’d look good.”

you rolled your eyes, trying not to blush under his gaze. “alright, fine. you were right.”

“obviously,” he said with a grin, tossing a sleek blazer onto the counter for himself. “now let’s get some shoes, and we’re set.”

by the time you both finished, you felt like you’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. rafe gave you an approving once-over as you walked back toward the hotel to drop your old clothes off.

“now we’ll fit right in,” he said, his voice almost teasing. “that old man won’t know what hit him.”

you smiled, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up. “let’s hope so.”

you couldn't help but tug at the hem of the dress, trying to stretch it a bit. the fabric was sleek and tight—way shorter and more fitted than anything you’d ever worn before. you weren’t used to the way it clung to your body, feeling self-conscious as the evening breeze brushed against your bare legs.

“rafe, this is—” you gave the dress another pull, trying to make it feel less tight. “i don’t know, i feel like i’m about to—”

before you could finish, rafe’s hand came out, slapping yours away gently but firmly. “stop.” his voice was more teasing than serious, but there was an edge of reassurance. “you look good. seriously. it’s just a dress. you should wear it with confidence.”

you blinked up at him, feeling your face flush as you glanced down at the dress again. “i probably look so weird,” you muttered, uncomfortable in the way it felt too... much.

he raised an eyebrow, stepping closer so he was standing just beside you. rafe didn’t seem at all bothered by the change in your outfit; in fact, he seemed completely unfazed. “no,”he said, his voice quiet but firm. “you look beautiful. and you need to stop second-guessing yourself.”

you swallowed, your heart fluttering a little at his words. there was something in the way he said it—so sure, so direct—that made you feel… seen. beautiful, even.

but you still weren’t sure about the whole thing. you tugged at the hem of the dress once more, trying to give yourself a little more space, feeling out of your comfort zone.

rafe sighed, his expression softening as he watched you. “y/n...” he took your hand, gently slapping it away from the fabric one last time, this time more insistently. “you look perfect. don't mess with it. just... own it.”

your heart raced, his words hitting you in a way that made you feel more exposed than the dress ever could. but there was no time to dwell on it. rafe seemed to have made up his mind.

he took your hand in his, his fingers curling around yours with a surprising amount of gentleness, and for a moment, the city around you felt like it slowed down. the noise of the busy streets faded, and all you could focus on was the warmth of his hand around yours, how natural it felt, how right.

before you could say or do anything, rafe slid his arm around yours, pulling you gently into his side. his arm settled around your shoulders, a protective and easy gesture that made your heart skip. “better,” he said with a small grin, his voice softer now. “let’s get going, yeah?”

you didn’t have it in you to argue. all the nervous tension had melted away, leaving something warm in its place. you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so... at ease with someone.

“okay,” you whispered, glancing up at him, trying to steady your breath. “thanks, rafe.”

he smiled down at you, his grip tightening slightly around your hand as you both walked through the streets of lisbon, side by side.

the glowing lights of groff’s sprawling villa came into view as you and rafe followed the directions on his phone. the estate was perched on a hill overlooking the city, its elegant architecture and manicured gardens screaming wealth. by the time you arrived, the clock read 10 p.m., and the sound of music and chatter drifted through the warm night air.

“there’s a party,” you observed, stopping to take in the sight. groups of elegantly dressed people mingled on the grand patio, glasses of champagne in hand, while staff moved efficiently among them.

“yeah,” rafe muttered, glancing around. “makes sense. groff probably thinks he’s untouchable. let’s see about that.”

instead of heading toward the front entrance, rafe motioned for you to follow him along the side of the villa, where the shadows were deeper. the two of you crouched low as you crept through the back garden, carefully avoiding the pool of light cast by the garden lanterns.

when you reached a quiet corner, he pointed to a narrow pathway leading toward an open window on the second floor. “that’s where we need to go. his office is up there.”

“okay,” you whispered. “but how do we get in?”

rafe leaned against the wall, assessing the situation. “we’ve got a problem. there’s a guard standing right in front of the door to groff’s office.”

you peeked around the corner, spotting the tall, burly man in a black suit. he stood with his arms crossed, scanning the area, clearly on high alert.

“great,” you muttered. “what now?”

rafe smirked, his gaze flickering to you. “you’re going to distract him.”

your eyes widened. “me?”

“you,” he said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “i’ll climb up to the window outside while you keep him busy.”

“and how exactly am i supposed to do that?”

he grinned, leaning in a little closer. “seduction.”

you blinked at him, incredulous. “are you serious?”

“dead serious,” he said, clearly enjoying your reaction. “look, all you have to do is keep his attention on you. talk to him, flirt a little—whatever it takes. the more distracted he is, the easier it’ll be for me to slip in and grab my contract so i get my money back.”

you crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. “and how do you suggest i do that, exactly?”

“you know…” rafe trailed off, looking vaguely uncomfortable as he gestured vaguely. “just... talk to him. flirt a little. keep him busy.”

“flirt?” you hissed, feeling your face heat. “rafe, i don’t know how to—”

rafe tilted his head, clearly relishing the opportunity to give advice. “okay, first—stand up straight. confidence is key.”

you rolled your eyes but straightened your posture nonetheless.

“good. now, make eye contact. guys like him eat that up.”

you gave him a skeptical look. “anything else, coach?”

“yeah,” he said, stepping closer and gesturing toward your outfit. “you’re already dressed the part, so just lean into it. smile, maybe touch his arm while you’re talking to him. compliment him on something—his suit, his job, whatever.”

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “that’s your big advice? laugh and look amazing?”

“this is so not my thing.”

“you’ll be fine,” rafe assured you with a grin. then his voice softened, his teasing edge fading slightly. “you’re way more charming than you think.”

his words caught you off guard, and you felt a warm flush creep up your neck. “fine. but if this goes south—”

“it won’t,” he said quickly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you’ve got this. and if he tries anything, i’ll be there in two seconds, alright?”

you nodded reluctantly, squaring your shoulders as you approached the guard. rafe gave you a reassuring nod before disappearing into the shadows, heading for the side of the villa.

as rafe slipped away toward the window, you approached the guard, your heart pounding. he noticed you immediately, his gaze narrowing slightly as you stepped into the light.

“hi,” you said, mustering your best smile. “i think i might be lost.”

the guard frowned. “this area’s restricted. guests are supposed to stay near the party.”

“oh, i know,” you said quickly, stepping a little closer. “i just… i saw you standing here, and i thought maybe you could help me.” you let your fingers brush lightly against his arm, just as rafe had suggested.

the guard’s expression softened slightly, his posture relaxing. “help you with what?”

you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “well, you look like you know your way around here. and you’ve got that whole… strong and serious vibe going on.”

the guard chuckled, his chest puffing out slightly. “it’s part of the job.”

as the guard became more engrossed in the conversation, you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye. rafe was climbing through the window, his movements quick and silent.

you kept talking, your nerves barely under control. “so, do you work these parties often? it must be exhausting, keeping everything under control.”

the guard leaned in a little, clearly buying into your act. “it’s not so bad. but i can’t say i’ve had anyone as pretty as you come over to talk to me before.”

you forced a laugh, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as he stepped even closer.

just then, rafe appeared, stepping out from the shadows behind the guard with pieces of paper in hand. his blue eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, his jaw tightening when he saw how close the guard had gotten.

“alright, back off,” rafe said sharply, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade.

the guard turned, startled, but rafe was already stepping between you and him, his expression dark. “she’s with me.”

the guard raised his hands defensively, stepping back. “hey, no problem, man. i didn’t know.”

“yeah, well, now you do,” rafe said, his tone cold. he turned to you, his hand finding yours instinctively. “let’s go.”

you followed him quickly, your heart still racing. as the two of you disappeared into the shadows, you glanced at rafe, feeling a strange mix of emotions—gratitude, relief, and something deeper you couldn’t quite name.

“thanks,” you whispered as you walked away.

rafe glanced at you, his grip on your hand firm. “don’t mention it. no one messes with my gi—you.”

your breath hitched at his words, but before you could respond, he gave you a small smile and pulled you along, the tension of the moment fading into the cool lisbon night.

[jinjeriffic]

Dan Phantom vs. the Justice League

Most DCxDP fanworks gloss over how Dark Danny/Phantom kills the JL, or argue that TUE wouldn't play out the same way in the DC universe, since there are tons of superheroes and some would have a way of beating Dan. So let us dig into this with a shovel!

I would like to point out that we have seen plenty of apocalyptic/dark futures in DC. Even without Dan, that superhero multiverse is constantly teetering on the knife's edge of catastrophe! It feels like every couple of months someone has to stop the end of the world. Dan is just one more possible future to avert.

Dan is not a mindless monster, he is capable of planning, subterfuge and working with/coercing others to work with him (i.e. Fright Knight). He has both Danny and Vlad's memories, so in a crossover setting there is no way he wouldn't know about the public superheroes and villains at least.

Speaking of, DC is obviously crawling with supervillains and world destroying entities. Nobody said Dan had to conquer the world alone! I can totally see him working with and manipulating other villains to achieve his goals, only to stab them in the back later (ho-ho).

Dan's powers of invisibility, intangibility, duplication, overshadowing etc. make him an ideal candidate for infiltration, espionage and sabotage. Unless a person or location is specifically shielded against ghosts with tech or magic, he can get in and out without anybody noticing. Sure, someone like Batman probably had his home proofed against supernatural attacks, but surely not most of them! I envision him taking down Earth's heroes by extensively spying on them first.

Consider: Dan causes a major disaster that requires superhero intervention (runaway train, high-rise fire, sinking oil tanker etc.) and waits for someone to show up. When they do, Dan uses his duplicates to follow the hero(es) home/to work etc. Learn their identity, their weaknesses, their loved ones etc.

Dan could strategically leak hero identities to villains with a grudge who have no problem going after their civilian lives. This could also act as a smoke screen so the heroes don't immediately realize someone is targeting all of them.

Overshadow a loved one and use them to kill the hero - "Oh, Hero X got in an argument with their SO and their SO shot them in a fit of passion? Their SO claims having blacked out just before they picked up the gun? Trauma will do that."

Use intangibility to plant bombs, nerve gas, radioactive materials, etc. in the homes of various heroes and set them off in a coordinated strike.

Probably the biggest threat to Dan would be magic based heroes or supernatural entities (Captain Marvel, Doctor Fate, the JLD, etc.). They would also be the most likely to have countermeasures in place against ghosts, or a way to detect him. But they're also mostly suited for fighting the supernatural. I admittedly don't know enough about a lot of these characters - would say, Zatanna think to have a shield in place against sudden sniper attacks? Dan could steal some money and hire Deathstroke/Deadshot etc to blow their head off when they're out in the open.

Have I mentioned what a nightmare Dan would be in terms of security? I can totally see him say, breaking into the CDC and unleashing smallpox, ebola and any number of virulent diseases on the world. Cause some nuclear meltdowns. Knock down a dam. Steal some highly radioactive isotopes! Would the magic heroes be protected against something that can give you a lethal dose of radiation within minutes?

What I'm saying is, a clever and ruthless villain like Dan could unleash enough chaos with his OP powerset to overwhelm the heroes and then pick a lot of them off. He's pretty much the definition of someone who just wants to see the world burn!

[pucksandpower]

Use Your Words

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Lando Norris

Summary: in which your boyfriends show you that there’s no shame in using your safeword

Warnings: 18+ content and use of a safeword

Based on @uramakimochi’s request

Note: the fact that I literally manifested the Charlando podium while writing this? I wish team orders didn’t play such a big role during the race but I will take the results and not look a gift horse in the mouth 🫶

Charles and Lando are both rummaging through their suitcases, looking for neckties as you wait on the bed. After their double podium finish earlier today, the three of you decided to have a little private celebration back at the hotel.

“Found one!” Charles holds up a red silk tie with a mischievous grin.

Lando chuckles, pulling out a striped tie in shades of blue. “This’ll do the trick.”

You bite your lip in anticipation as they approach you with the neckties. Charles slips behind you, gently gathering your wrists and using the tie to secure them together. You shiver at his warm breath on your neck as he works.

“Too tight?” He whispers. You shake your head slightly, unable to hide your smile.

Lando kneels in front of you, looping his tie into a makeshift blindfold and carefully covering your eyes. “Can you see anything?”

“No,” you murmur, plunged into comforting darkness. Your senses sharpen, focused on the sounds of their movements and the occasional brush of fingers against your skin.

“Perfect,” Lando’s voice is low. You feel the bed shift as he rises. “We’re going to take such good care of you tonight, princess.”

A thrill runs through you. The three of you agreed on a safeword when you first started seeing each other, a sure fire way to get any driver’s attention and slow things down. But tonight you have zero intention of using it.

Charles’ lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear. “You looked so gorgeous standing below the podium, vibrating with pride. I could hardly keep my hands off you.”

You let out a shaky breath as his mouth blazes a trail down the side of your neck. “Ch-Charles ...”

“Shhh,” he soothes, nipping at your pulse point. “No need for words yet.”

Lando’s hands glide over your thighs, pushing them gently apart. You automatically part your lips in a soft gasp. Fingertips tease along your inner thighs, drawing maddeningly close before retreating.

“So responsive,” Lando marvels. You can’t see him but you know he’s grinning. “I haven’t even properly touched you yet and you’re already squirming.”

Your cheeks flush hot. You want to retort but all that comes out is a quiet whine as Lando’s fingers finally make contact. He chuckles darkly at your reaction.

Charles slips one hand beneath the loose hem of your top, palm skating over your ribs and up to cup your breast. You arch into his touch with a small moan. His thumb brushes over your nipple, adding delicious friction through the thin fabric of your bra.

“So beautiful,” he rumbles in approval. “The way your body sings for us ...”

His mouth finds yours, tongue instantly seeking entrance that you grant with a whimper. The kiss is deep and hungry, leaving you dizzy and panting when he finally releases your lips.

Lando’s long fingers have been steadily working between your thighs, stroking and teasing your increasingly slick folds. You buck your hips without meaning to, desperate for more substantial contact.

“Please,” you finally manage to beg. Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Patience, darling,” Lando tuts, though his own breathing is growing ragged. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder for better access, leaning in to lick a broad stripe right through your heated center.

You cry out sharply, tugging instinctively at the tie binding your wrists. The heat of Lando’s mouth and the soft lap of his tongue are glorious torment. Charles smothers your keening noises with another searing kiss.

Lando groans his appreciation against your tender flesh, lapping and sucking insistently. “You taste so fucking good,” he growls. “Been dreaming about this all day ...”

Arousal is throbbing through you like a second heartbeat. Charles’ lips abandon yours to trail down your throat, his other hand cupping your breast and rolling the nipple between his fingertips. Every nerve is exquisitely alive, buzzing beneath their skilled touches.

Lando’s tongue flicks over your throbbing clit and your back arches off the bed. Your loud mewl is half pleasure, half plea. He grants you no reprieve, mouth working enthusiastically to take you apart piece by piece. Charles captures your lips again, stealing the cries from your throat.

You’re quickly soaring higher, spiraling toward that glorious precipice. Their murmured praises and scorching caresses urge you ever onward. But just when you think you’re about to tumble over the edge, Lando’s mouth abandons you entirely.

You nearly sob at the loss, hips frantically chasing that delicious friction. Charles soothes you with gentler kisses, murmuring praise against your swollen lips. “So good for us, mon ange. You’re doing beautifully.”

You dimly feel the bed shift again, and then there’s a warm mouth trailing kisses up your inner thigh. Charles, blessing you with more delicious stimulation. But just when you think he’s going to grant you relief, Lando’s seeking lips find your other thigh.

“No, no please,” you beg between panting breaths. If they keep denying you for much longer, you’ll go mad. There’s a soft tsking noise and you feel Lando’s fingers combing through your hair. Charles continues lavishing attention on your shuddering flesh.

“Use your words,” Lando murmurs huskily. “What do you need, love?”

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry. “Please just … I need ...”

“Tell us, mon amour,” Charles prompts, lips brushing your hipbone.

There’s really only one way to circumvent this maddening tease. You suck in a breath, steadying yourself.

“Box,” you force out. “Box box box.”

All movement instantly stills. Your heart is thundering a rapid staccato, waiting with bated breath for them to respond to the agreed safeword. You bite your lip, instantly second guessing your decision.

Fingers stroke along your cheeks, Lando’s touch infinitely gentle. “Sweetheart,” his normally playful voice is low and soothing, all traces of teasing vanished. “Are you hurting? Do you need to stop?”

You shake your head minutely, abruptly blinking back unexpected tears of frustration behind the blindfold. “No no, I just … please can I just ...”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Lando hushes you. His lips lightly brush your forehead. “Take a deep breath, pretty girl.”

You obey, inhaling shakily through your nose. Charles presses a reassuring kiss to your cheek.

“Talk to us,” he urges softly. “Don’t be afraid to voice your needs.”

“I w-want ...” you stammer, toes curling. “I need you both so badly, please. No more teasing. I just want you to make me come.”

There’s a pause, and for a heart-stopping moment you fear you’ve ruined the mood entirely. But then Lando lets out a low groan of relief.

“Look at you using your words so prettily,” he praises. Charles chuckles softly beside you, nuzzling against your jaw. You feel the bed shift again as Lando moves into position.

“We would never deny you, love,” he murmurs. “Not when you ask so sweetly.”

His long fingers slide home, curling and plunging into your dripping heat. You cry out at the sudden stretch and glorious pressure. Charles lays claim to your mouth again, greedily swallowing your moans.

Lando’s palm fits perfectly against your bundle of nerves, grinding in time with the thrust of his fingers. The spark of pleasure races through you, building and spiraling rapidly higher. Distantly you hear your own broken whimpers bleeding into Charles’ mouth.

“That’s it, ma belle,” he growls, lips trailing over your cheeks and throat. “Let us hear how good we make you feel.”

Lando curls his fingers, nailing that sublime spot inside you over and over until you begin to shake apart. Your cries rise to a sobbing keen, back arched taut as a bowstring.

“Come for us, darling.” Lando’s command is heated, fingers sinking deep. “Let go.”

You shatter with a high wail, rapture cascading through you in scorching waves. Lando strokes you through it, coaxing every last spasm of bliss with his touch until you finally slump boneless against the mattress.

Strong arms envelop you, tucking you securely against dual heartbeats. Gentle fingers trace your features, brushing away the dampness beneath your blindfold. You’re surrounded with warmth and adoration, coddled by their praise.

“Belle fille,” Charles murmurs, lips finding your temple.

“So perfect,” Lando echoes, stroking back sweat-dampened strands of hair. “Our good girl ...”

You sigh in utter contentment, letting their cherished words soak into your very bones. No matter what heights you reach, they’ll always be there to catch you in their arms.

[novaursa]

Ashes of the Faithful

- Summary: After Faith of the Seven has sent an assassin to kill you, Maegor declares war against the gods.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: This story is part of Fire and Blood series, and it happens right after Fragile Hope. The masterlist is pinned to the top of my blog.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The flickering light of torches casts an eerie glow over the Great Hall, illuminating the black banners emblazoned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The air buzzes with the voices of lords and ladies gathered to celebrate Maegor’s victories and his long-sought return to the Iron Throne. A bitter smile plays across your lips as you shift your hand to rest protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft, burgeoning weight there—the promise of Maegor’s heir. After years of separation, of exile and whispered prayers in the cold halls of Dragonstone, you’ve finally returned to his side, bound by his unbreakable will. Maegor’s unwavering gaze follows you as you rise to mingle with the guests, his expression one of fierce pride and possessiveness.

The evening wears on, and you share fleeting glances with your husband from across the hall, silently marveling at the sheer force he exudes even from a distance. Though your union remains contested by the Faith, and many openly despise him, none would dare deny the power Maegor wields. The hall quiets as he rises to make a toast, raising a goblet of wine.

"To House Targaryen, unbroken and bound by blood and fire," he declares, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that commands attention. "And to my queen, who carries our future within her.”

The guests raise their goblets, voices mingling in a chorus, though you can see the apprehension in some eyes, the covert glances exchanged by certain highborn lords and pious knights, wary of the Faith's condemnation.

As the applause fades, you make your way toward the shadows for a brief respite from the crowd, grateful for a moment to gather your breath. But in the next heartbeat, the chill of steel presses against your throat, and you realize—too late—what is happening. The assailant’s voice is a venomous hiss in your ear, dripping with fervent conviction.

“Your unholy union will end here, for the gods do not suffer blasphemy.”

You struggle, reaching instinctively to shield the precious life growing within you, but the assassin’s grip is unyielding. A muffled shout erupts somewhere in the hall, and the clash of steel on steel fills the air. In the chaos, you’re suddenly yanked backward as Maegor’s knights descend upon the attacker. The glint of Maegor’s own sword, Blackfyre, catches the torchlight as he strides forward, his face a mask of pure, unrestrained fury.

His voice is a low snarl. “Who sent you?”

The assassin glares defiantly, his eyes bright with fanatical zeal as he spits, "The Faith will never bless your bastard line."

The words are met with the brutal swipe of Maegor’s fist, sending the man sprawling. Maegor’s rage is unmistakable, a tempest waiting to be unleashed. He barely spares a glance for the blood pooling beneath the assassin as his gaze shifts to you, his voice softening, though the raw intensity remains.

"Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, reaching a trembling hand toward him. "Our child… I feared…"

He clasps your hand in his, grounding you with the weight of his presence. “No one will dare harm you again,” he promises, his tone as unyielding as iron. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a rare display of tenderness that only you are allowed to see, and in his eyes, you catch a glimpse of the lengths he would go to keep that vow.

The assassin, barely conscious, is dragged upright by Maegor’s guards. Without hesitation, Maegor approaches, towering over the man like an avenging shadow. “Tell me the names of those who sent you,” he demands.

When the man remains silent, defiance flickering in his gaze, Maegor lifts his sword. Blackfyre’s blade gleams ominously in the torchlight, and his words are laced with icy finality. “If the Faith dares to send another of your kind, I will burn their septs to the ground. And you will be the first to watch.”

A ripple of fear passes through the onlookers, their expressions a mix of awe and terror as they watch their king take vengeance. Maegor turns to you, his voice softer. "Return to your chambers, Y/N. I will handle this."

Though you hesitate, knowing the bloodshed to come, you nod. "I trust you, my king," you whisper, pressing a hand to his cheek before leaving.

In your chambers, guarded on all sides, you try to steady your breathing. The shadows outside flicker, signaling the torches carried by men as they move through the halls. Soon, shouts echo from the square below, where you know Maegor has gathered his court to witness the assassin’s fate, a display meant to instill fear in any who would challenge his claim—or threaten his family.

As you sit, the quiet hum of life within you reassures you. Whatever comes, you and your child are shielded by the relentless force of Maegor’s love, a love bound in fire and forged through blood.

Hours later, he returns, smelling faintly of smoke and steel, his eyes softening when they meet yours. "It is done," he murmurs, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and conviction.

You reach for him, pulling him close, and whisper, "Thank you, Maegor. For us… and for our child."

He presses his lips to your forehead, a rare, almost reverent gesture. "No one will take you from me, Y/N. Not the Faith, not the realm. None can come between us."

And in that moment, beneath the pale moonlight, you believe him.

The dawn breaks in a haze of gray clouds, but for you, the morning feels no less ominous. You watch from a high window in Maegor’s hall as Balerion, the Black Dread, spreads his wings wide across the sky, casting an enormous shadow over the land. Maegor’s resolve is unshakable, and he has vowed that the Faith will answer for their transgressions. He has given orders, brief and absolute, his voice carrying the weight of his fury. None could miss the look in his eyes—the wildfire rage that demanded to be sated.

As he prepares to mount Balerion, he approaches you, his gloved hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and relentless, seem to devour you.

“This realm has mocked me for the last time, Y/N,” he says, his tone simmering with a quiet rage that sends a chill through you. “They do not know loyalty or respect; they only know fear. I will make them remember it.”

You rest a hand over your belly protectively, feeling the faint stir within you, as if the child growing there senses the dread. “And the Starry Sept?” you ask quietly, knowing all too well what its destruction would mean, not only for the Faith but also for the Hightower family—his late wife’s kin.

His lips twist into a cruel smile. “That den of false gods and hypocrites? It shall be the first to burn. None will dare to insult my queen again.”

You nod, feeling an odd mixture of fear and awe as you stand beside him. The Maegor before you is no longer just a man—he is a storm incarnate, a maelstrom of fury bound to a creature of fire and shadow. “They will see Balerion’s flame from miles away,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

He leans in, his hand settling over yours on your stomach, where his heir grows. “I do this for you and for our child. So you will live without fear. So our child will not know a world that questions his right.”

You swallow, feeling the intensity of his words and knowing that, in his twisted way, Maegor does love you deeply—perhaps as much as he can love anything. “Come back to me,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his. “Return to us, Maegor.”

He gives you a rare, almost tender smile, before pulling away, the steel in his eyes returning. “Wait for me, Y/N,” he says, his voice firm. “By the time the moon rises, the Faith will feel the fire of House Targaryen.”

With that, he mounts Balerion, and you watch as they rise into the sky, becoming a dark silhouette against the dawn. The moment they disappear over the horizon, you turn back into the hall, nerves tingling with the knowledge of the destruction to come.

The Starry Sept in Oldtown stands proud as it always has, a beacon of the Faith’s ancient power. Its towering walls, adorned with stars and golden trimmings, seem almost untouched by the passage of time, a testament to its sanctity. The Faith Militant, dressed in their glinting silver armor, stand guard outside, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.

And then, a shadow falls over Oldtown.

The people in the streets look up, gasping, children screaming as they behold the black shape in the sky, his massive wings blotting out the sun. The bells of the Starry Sept toll, signaling a warning, but it is already too late. Balerion lands with a bone-rattling impact, his claws digging into the earth just outside the grand doors of the sept. Dust and debris fly as the ground trembles beneath his weight. The Faith Militant immediately raise their shields and swords, but they are little more than ants to the dragon that towers over them.

Maegor, seated upon Balerion’s back, calls out, his voice echoing like thunder through the city. “I am Maegor Targaryen, your rightful king! And I declare the Faith Militant enemies of the realm!”

There is a murmur of defiance from the knights below, and one of the septons dares to raise his voice. “You blaspheme, Maegor! The gods themselves deny your union. You will face judgment!”

Maegor lets out a short, humorless laugh, glancing down at the man with disdain. “Then let your gods protect you from my wrath.” He raises his arm, signaling to Balerion.

With a rumbling growl that reverberates through the stone walls, Balerion opens his jaws, and a torrent of fire bursts forth, consuming the sept’s doors in an instant. The flame spreads with terrifying speed, licking up the stone walls and turning them to blackened, smoking ruin. The Faith Militant try to flee, but Balerion’s fire is relentless, consuming them as they run, their silver armor melting, the flesh beneath charring to bone.

The people of Oldtown watch in horror from the streets and rooftops, their faces pale, their voices strangled with fear. Maegor’s voice rises above the roar of the flames, clear and unyielding.

“This is what happens to those who defy the Crown,” he shouts, his voice filled with the fury of a man wronged for too long. “To those who think they can take my queen from me.”

The sept’s grand structure crumbles as the fire sears through wood, stone, and glass alike. The stained glass windows, depicting scenes of saints and the Seven, shatter in the intense heat, raining shards upon the Faith Militant and those unfortunate enough to be nearby. Balerion’s fire leaves no sanctuary, no corner of the sept untouched. Statues of the gods melt under the flames, the Seven themselves reduced to ash and rubble, as if even they cannot withstand Maegor’s wrath.

From his perch atop Balerion, Maegor watches with an unsettling satisfaction. His expression is grim, merciless, as he surveys the destruction below. The High Septon himself, garbed in his white and gold robes, flees the Starry Sept, clutching a holy tome to his chest as though it might shield him from the flames. Maegor’s gaze locks onto him, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

“You, who claim to be closest to the gods, will not escape their punishment,” Maegor calls, his voice carrying across the square.

The High Septon falls to his knees, raising his trembling hands in a plea. “Spare me, Your Grace! I have served the gods faithfully—I am but their humble servant!”

Maegor’s face hardens, the glint in his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Your Faith sent assassins after my queen, my child,” he growls. “You will burn for that.”

With another signal, Balerion releases another torrent of fire, engulfing the High Septon in a scorching blaze. His screams echo through Oldtown, a terrible symphony of agony that seems to reach even the highest towers of the Hightower itself. The onlookers, paralyzed by fear, watch as the flames consume the last remnants of the Starry Sept and those who served within it. The High Septon’s cries fall silent, leaving only the crackling of fire and the distant sobbing of townsfolk horrified by the display of power.

As the Starry Sept collapses in a smoldering heap, Maegor directs Balerion to soar higher, circling the ruined city below. His gaze sweeps over the Hightower, a place where he once lived when he took a wife from among their daughters—a wife who dared to defy his queen, to question the place of Y/N at his side. Her blood, like that of the septons below, was shed without hesitation. Maegor has always ensured that no voice rises above his own, not even those of the gods.

But now, his voice rings out again across Oldtown, a decree that none can ignore.

“Let it be known throughout the realm,” he declares, “that the Faith Militant and any who align themselves with the false righteousness of the gods shall face the same fate. No man, no god, no Septon shall question the rule of House Targaryen or my right to claim my queen.”

The words echo in the silence, seared into the minds of all who listen, the weight of them settling upon the city like a brand. And then, with a final glance down at the burning ruin below, Maegor commands Balerion to rise, leaving a trail of smoke and ash in their wake.

Hours later, Maegor returns to the capital, his armor and cloak singed, his face streaked with soot but unbowed. You wait for him at the entrance, heart pounding, watching as he dismounts Balerion and strides toward you, his gaze hard and impenetrable. Yet, as he nears, that hardness softens, if only slightly, as his eyes meet yours.

Without a word, you reach for him, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the heat still radiating from his armor. “You’ve done it, then,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

He nods, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his grip firm but protective. “No one will dare threaten you again. They have seen what becomes of those who defy us.”

You meet his gaze, searching for the man beneath the rage, the one who has risked everything for you, who will stop at nothing to secure the life of the child growing within you. “And the Faith? Will they stop?”

His jaw tightens, and his voice lowers, almost gentle but carrying a fierce undercurrent. “If they don’t, I will burn every sept in the Seven Kingdoms until not a single one remains.” His hand slips to your belly, resting there possessively. “They will never again come close to you or our child.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his promise, the depth of his wrath. Maegor may be feared, hated even, but in his own brutal, unyielding way, he is yours, and he will keep you safe no matter the cost.

He steps back, exhaling, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tonight, let the realm know that House Targaryen’s fire is boundless,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a murmur. “I will destroy all who oppose us. And in time, they will kneel, knowing they have no choice.”

In that moment, you feel a surge of fierce pride, not only in Maegor’s power but in his loyalty, however ruthless. With him, you will carve a place in this unforgiving world for your child, even if it must be forged in flame and blood.

“Then let them see,” you reply, matching his intensity, feeling the strength of his determination coursing through you. “We will stand together, and the realm will learn to fear us.”

Maegor’s hand tightens over yours, a silent vow exchanged between the two of you. And as he pulls you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, you know that whatever comes next, you will face it together—bound by blood, fire, and an unbreakable loyalty that no god or mortal can shatter.

[littlest-w01f]

Sleepy

Eris Vanserra x Reader

For @erisweekofficial

Eris week 2024 Masterlist

Day 7: Free Day

Summary: Eris wakes up in the middle of the night aroused from his newly accepted mating bond with Reader.

Cw: M!Masturbation, consensual somonophilia, F!Fingering, Dom!Eris, MxF, Kinda lesser fae reader based on phrasing, Smut 18+ MDNI

The night was at its peak, the moonlight streaming through the red silk curtains illuminated the room with a soft, ethereal glow. You lay nestled within the warm embrace of Eris, his strong arms cradling you close as if you were the most precious thing in his world. His body pressed intimately against yours, radiated heat from his fire, providing a comforting contrast to the coolness of the sheets beneath you.

Eris' heart pounded steadily against your back, each beat a silent declaration of his affection for you. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he savoured this moment.

Eris watched you, curled with your legs pressed to your stomach, your back against his chest, purring in your sleep, you looked beautiful asleep, his little bunny, wearing his tunic to sleep because you liked how warm it was after he wore it all day.

His gaze traced the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slumbered peacefully in his arms. He couldn't help but marvel at your beauty even in your sleep, your face peaceful and relaxed, your skin glowing under the soft moonlight.

His heart clenched, seeing how vulnerable you looked, how trusting you were of him, to keep you safe in your deep cat nap that Eris was sure not even a hurricane or harsh thunderstorm could wake you up from, you'd wake up from sleep only whenever you wanted.

Eris groaned slightly, feeling himself harden at the sight of you, like he had almost every night. The bond the two of you shared kept him in a constant state of arousal around you. Before tonight he used to sneak away to take care of himself if he ever woke up with the need for release, as to not disturb you, but last night, you had worked up to his absence, a pretty frown on your plump lips, claiming you got cold while he was away.

Eris had laughed softly cuddling you again, admitting to what he had been up to, he hardened further at the memory of you shyly telling him you didn't mind if he used you while you slept, not wanting him to be away from you.

With one hand still holding you, Eris used his other to move his sleep pants down until his hard cock sprung free, soon kicking it off from his legs, your words playing in his mind, he pushed his arousal down the bond to you, making you whine.

He slowly moved his tunic up your body till your ass and cunt were exposed to him, breath hitching at the scent of your arousal that he caused by your shared mating bond.

He could feel your arousal spike as soon as he touched you, and he let out a low growl, his cock twitching with need. Slowly, he slid his hand down between your thighs, his fingers finding your slick entrance. He gently rubbed your slit, teasing you as his other hand continued to hold you close. He pushed his arousal down the mating bond once more, watching as you squirmed in his grasp, your cute mewls echoing in the otherwise quiet room, twitching in your sleep.

Eris gave a satisfied grunt as he moved his hand to stroke himself, his hand wet with your arousal moving up and down his cock in a steady rhythm. He let out a low moan as he imagined thrusting into you, filling you up over and over again. He loved the way you would tighten around him, gripping his cock so deliciously. The thought alone made him moan loudly.

As he continued to pleasure himself, he sent wave after wave of arousal down the mating bond, tugging at it, feeling how hot it burned between you, watching as your sleep became increasingly restless. Your hips twitched, your legs pressing together as if trying to ease the ache between them, your toes curling in arousal. He wanted to have you dripping for him before he filled you up to the hilt with his cock.

With a smirk, Eris pulled you closer, nuzzling your neck as he continued to stroke himself. He could feel the power he held over you, the ability to make you squirm and whimper in your sleep. He loved the control, the dominance, the way you surrendered yourself to him completely. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You're mine, my sweet bunny. My mate. And I'll never let you go." His voice was husky, laced with desire and domination. He knew you heard him, felt him, in your sleep and it only heightened his arousal.

The fire in his blood was undeniable, coursing through his veins like liquid lust. His heart hammered in his chest, pounding with need and desire for you. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself deep inside you, to feel you squeeze him tightly as he spilt his seed within you. His mind swam with thoughts of you, your body writhing underneath him, taking every inch of his cock.

Beads of sweat precipitated on his forehead, on his pale body, "I'm going to fuck you so hard," he murmured, his hot breath ghosting over your skin as he aligned his cock to your cunt, the urge to get off using you making his ears ring.

Your body was still warm and wet from the passionate lovemaking session earlier, he had been so sweet then, he didn't want to be now. Every inch of you called out to him, begging for more. His thick cock slid easily into your cunt, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure coursing through his body.

"You're so fucking tight," He groaned, his grip tightening on your waist as he began to thrust into you. His balls slapped against your thighs with each forceful push.

With a growl, Eris gripped your hips tightly, dominating your body with his powerful thrusts. Each movement was forceful, leaving no room for resistance or escape. His cock buried deep within you, hitting all the right spots as he fucked you senseless. "Mine," he grunted, his hands roaming over your body possessively. He owned you, he knew it, body and soul, and he wasn't afraid to show it.

Eris pinned you beneath him, thrusting deeper, his movements rougher, faster, asserting his dominance over her smaller, drowsy body. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed in the room along with her desperate cries and mewls.

With a start, you woke up, mind still clouded by sleep, and your body instinctively thrusting back into his. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you realized where you were, and who was on top of you. But instead of pushing him away, your body welcomed his intrusion, craving more.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, "Who do you belong to, my sweet bunny?" He waited for an answer, knowing she'd say his name but wanting to hear it all the same.

"Mmm... You, Eris..." You purred, moving your hand back to grip the triceps he had around you, holding you still.

A pleased rumble resonated from Eris as he heard your response, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. He liked how easily you submitted to him, how easily you loved him, how quickly you had accepted your place as his mate.

His hand moved inside the tunic you wore, from your waist to your breast, squeezing roughly as he continued to fuck you. His other hand moved to your hair, pulling it slightly as he drove himself deeper into your welcoming cunt.

With a soft cry, you arched into his touch, your moans growing louder with each thrust of his cock. Your cunt clamped down on him, milking his throbbing cock. Legs curling under your stomach, you spread them further apart, presenting yourself for his pleasure, rutting against his thrusting cock.

Your hips ground into his lap, riding his thick cock as he pounded into you relentlessly. He watched as your breasts bounced and shook with every harsh push under his tunic, his hand groping one while the other pinched and rolled your nipples from under the tunic.

With each thrust, you found yourself waking up more, your body responding to his touch and movements. You moaned loudly, your cries echoing throughout the room as he used you. Your cunt clenched tighter around his cock, milking him as he pounded into you. The feeling of his hands on your body, touching and groping you, sent shivers down your spine. You felt desired, wanted, and needed by him. And you loved every second of it.

"I'm close, bunny," He groaned. Eris was close, so very close. His balls tightened, his thrusts became erratic as he fucked you senseless. His cock throbbed inside you, ready to explode. "Tak me, take all of me!"

He could feel the pressure building, the impending release just moments away. With a final, powerful thrust, he came, filling you with his hot release. His roar of pleasure filled the room as he emptied himself into you.

"High Lord-" You whined, feeling his hot cum deep inside you, panting softly, a line of sweat on you both. Eris panted, breathing heavily as his fire calmed down.

As the last waves of pleasure washed over him, Eris collapsed onto you, panting heavily. His fire slowly receded, leaving behind a satisfied smile on his face as he watched you twitch from his warm cum inside you. He stroked your cheek gently, his fingers tracing your features lovingly.

"You're amazing," He murmured, kissing your forehead before rolling off you. He pulled you close, tucking you safely against his chest as he lay there, spent but content.

He pulled you on his chest, "Thank you, sweet bunny... I needed that." He sighed, his fingers going down your body, finding your core to stroke softly, "Now, let me help you cum."

A low chuckle rumbled from Eris' chest as he felt you squirm above him. His fingers found their way to your sensitive clit, beginning to stroke it gently. He knew just how to touch you, how to pleasure you, how to make you release. "I'll take good care of you, my sweet bunny," he whispered, nipping at your earlobe as his fingers continued their delicious assault on your clit.

"Er... Eris..." You moaned his name, arching into his touch as his fingers pressed into you, filling your cunt, his cum forming a white ring around his fingers. His fingers were skilled, knowing exactly how to tease and please you. They delved deeper into your cunt, curling to hit that sweet spot inside you. "Please... Please..."

"Does my bunny like this?" He asked, his voice husky with desire. He continued, his thumb circling your clit as he drove you closer to the edge as you nodded and begged for more.

Eris continued to finger your dripping cunt, his movements steady and sure. His thumb circled your swollen clit, the stimulation driving you wild. Every thrust of his fingers brought you closer to the edge, your walls clenching around him as you neared your climax.

"Come for me, my sweet bunny," he cooed, his breath warm against your neck. He quickened his pace, driving you towards your orgasm.

You came hard, your whines echoing through the room as your cunt spasmed around his fingers. Your walls clenched tightly as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Your hips bucked against his hand, chasing the intense sensations. "Good girl," he murmured, kissing your neck as he withdrew his fingers from your quivering cunt.

Eris kissed your cheek gently, "Why don't you relax and prepare to rest up, huh, bunny?" He chuckled deeply, seeing your dropping eyes, watching you yawn softly, "I'll clean you up. You shouldn't be up at this hour." He cooed, massaging your shoulder with his clean hand, kissing your nose softly before making his way to your shared bathroom.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo}

{Eris Taglist- @fxckmiup @slut4acotar @secret-third-thing @shadowsingers-mate @fieldofdaisiies @st4r-girl-official}

[theguywithaplan]

List of Games Turning Twenty (20) Years Old in 2025

Advance Wars: Dual Strike

Advent Rising (they started planning the trilogy before the first game was out lmao)

Age of Empires III

Animal Crossing: Wild World (the DS one)

Arc the Lad: End of Darkness

Area 51 (the FPS that was low-key kinda creepy)

Banjo Pilot (the Banjo-Kazooie racing game on GBA).

Battalion Wars (the spin-off of Advance Wars).

Battlefield 2

Brothers in Arms: Road to Hill 30

Brothers in Arms: Earned in Blood (yep, they released two mainline games in one year).

Burnout Revenge (this cleared Burnout 3, and I will fight you on that).

Call of Cthulhu: Dark Corners of the Earth

Call of Duty 2

Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrow (go play the Castlevania Dominus collection. It has this game and a few others and it's GREAT).

Castlevania: Curse of Darkness

Civilization IV

Cold Fear (answering the age old question: what if Resident Evil 4 was on a boat and not as good?)

Condemned: Criminal Origins (a launch title for the Xbox 360 and a pretty solid horror game).

Conker: Live & Reloaded (maybe a controversial opinion, but this is WAY better than the original).

Crash Tag Team Racing

Dead or Alive 4 (aka, the one with not Master Chief in it).

Destroy All Humans!

Devil Kings (all the sequels would be under it's non-translated title: Sengoku Basara).

Devil May Cry 3: Dante's Awakening (let's rock, baybeeeeee)

Donkey Kong: Jungle Beat

Dragon Ball Z: Sagas (I saw a stream of this game a few months back, and oh my god, this looks so shitty/funny).

Dragon Quest VIII: Journey of the Cursed King

Dynasty Warriors 5 (who's excited for Origins???)

Far Cry Instincts (a console version of the PC exclusive original game)

Fatal Frame III: The Tormented

F.E.A.R. (if you haven't played this before, change that. it's fantastic)

Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones

Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance (the one with Ike the Bisexual in it).

Forza Motorsport (the very first one).

Gauntlet: Seven Sorrows

Geist (the rare M-rated Nintendo game).

The Getaway: Black Monday

God of War (the very first one).

Gran Turismo 4 (one of the few PS2 games that could be played in HD, along with... Jackass: The Game...)

Guild Wars

Guitar Hero (the very first one).

Haunting Ground (a very rare PS2 horror game from Capcom).

Hot Shots Golf: Open Tee

The Incredible Hulk: Ultimate Destruction

The Incredibles: Rise of the Underminer (since the second movie came out, this game is now considered non-canon).

Indigo Prophecy/Fahrenheit (the second game from known hack/fraud David Cage).

Jade Empire (the last game that BioWare made before they got acquired by EA).

Jak X: Combat Racing

Judge Dredd: Dredd vs. Death (there was a for real-ass Judge Dredd game on the GameCube).

Kameo: Elements of Power (another Xbox 360 launch title, this one made by a post-acquisition Rare. It's pretty fun).

Killer7 (from the greatest to ever do it, Suda51)

Peter Jackson's King Kong: The Official Game of the Movie (you guys think it's based on the movie or what...?)

Kirby: Canvas Curse (a really fun DS game that only used the stylus)

Klonoa 2: Dream Champ Tournament (i think klonoa would get along really well with sonic)

The Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap (the one where Link gets really small)

Lego Star Wars: The Video Game

Lunar: Dragon Song (one of the worst RPGs I've ever played. Don't play it).

Mario & Luigi: Partners in Time (the one with the Baby Mario Bros.)

Mario Kart DS (the first one with online play).

Mario Party Advance

Mario Party 7 (my personal favorite)

Mario Superstar Baseball (we didn't get a Mario Baseball game on the Switch. Because they're saving it for the Switch 2).

Mario Tennis: Power Tour (so many Mario games...)

Dance Dance Revolution: Mario Mix

Marvel Nemesis: Rise of the Imperfects

The Matrix Online (an official continuation from the movies)

The Matrix: Path of Neo

Medal of Honor: European Assault

MediEvil: Resurrection

Mega Man Battle Network 5 (the only one in the series to have a DS version)

Mega Man Zero 4

Mercenaries: Playground of Destruction

Metal Gear Acid (a launch title for the PSP, and a card game set in the Metal Gear universe. It works better than you might think).

Meteos (a puzzle game made by Masahiro Sakurai, the Smash Bros. guy)

Metroid Prime Pinball

Mortal Kombat: Shaolin Monks

Myst V: End of Ages (the final Myst game)

Need for Speed: Most Wanted (did you know that this game outsold the entire Halo series?)

Neopets: The Darkest Faerie (is Neopets still a thing?)

Nicktoons Unite! (a crossover between Spongebob, Fairly Oddparents, Jimmy Neutron, and Danny Phantom).

The Nightmare Before Christmas: Oogie's Revenge (an honest to god sequel to the movie that plays like Devil May Cry).

Ninja Gaiden Black

Nintendogs

Oddworld: Stranger's Wrath

Pac-Man World 3

Perfect Dark Zero (yet another Xbox 360 launch title, also made by Rare, and a sequel to one of the best FPS games ever made. It was fine).

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney (it had been out in Japan for a few years, but us Yankees got this four years after it came out).

Pokemon Dash (a Pokemon racing game. It was not very good).

Pokemon Emerald Version (I sunk like 500 hours into this game).

Pokemon XD: Gale of Darkness (a sequel to Pokemon Colosseum where you could capture other people's Pokemon).

Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones

Psychonauts

The Punisher

Quake 4

Ratchet: Deadlocked

Resident Evil 4

Serious Sam 2

Shadow of the Colossus (one of the best games ever made. Play it if you haven't yet).

Shadow the Hedgehog (pretty good to be a sonic fan right now).

Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga (parts 1 and 2).

Sly 3: Honor Among Thieves

Sonic Rush

SoulCalibur III (RIP, SoulCalibur. Tekken is just too powerful.)

Splinter Cell: Chaos Theory (RIP, Splinter Cell. Ubisoft just sucks too much to make you anymore).

Spyro: Shadow Legacy

Star Fox Assault

Star Wars: Republic Commando

Star Wars: Battlefront II (this game's story mode is permanently etched into my brain).

Stubbs the Zombie in "Rebel Without a Pulse" (presenting it to you with no context. Look it up. It's hilarious).

Super Mario Strikers

Super Monkey Ball Deluxe

Tak: The Great Juju Challenge

Tekken 5

TimeSplitters: Future Perfect (RIP, TimeSplitters. Embracer Group killed you before you could come back).

Trace Memory (got remade in 2024 as Another Code)

Twisted Metal: Head-On (another PSP launch title)

Ultimate Spider-Man (you could play as Venom in this one)

WarioWare: Touched!

WarioWare: Twisted!

We Love Katamari

Wild Arms: Alter Code F (a remake of the first game)

Xenosaga Episode II

X-Men Legends II: Rise of Apocalypse

[lectern-fullcauldron]

proximity chat has done a lot for hermitcraft. it makes the server feel closer and chattier, that's for sure. but there's a special warmth in pre prox chat silent interactions on the server. something special in the little hello dances and block punch waves. the in game chat becomes a lifeline and it was a delight to watch during timelapses.

the vibe of pre prox chat quiet hermitcraft was very much we are apart from each other, but we are here together. the hermit you are watching is alone, but never lonely.

my favourite example of this kind of phenomenon is the interactions between Cleo and TFC during demise in season six. some context: Cleo was still working as a teacher, and TFC was living in a different timezone with shoddy internet. they could never hop into a discord call together, never be online together. and yet they played.

TFC started season six by vanishing underground to build a fallout vault (not a bunker, he was very adamant about that). He rarely surfaced, only occasionally sticking his head above ground to marvel in confusion and what the others had done (and break Sahara). When demise came around, he decided to play, donning iron armour and carrying on as usual, avoiding basic traps placed in his base.

this is where Cleo comes in. Cleo, being Cleo, has announced that demise is a game between hermit and hubris, and has promptly fled anywhere she's been known to frequent (bolt hole strategy). for a while they slip into TFC's walls, just as Joe hides in the statue of Hemitry.

Now TFC is working on a fall out bunker, and Cleo likes fall out, so she slips into the base and begins to add armour stands. With them are puzzles that match the game lore with an accuracy that delights TFC when he finds them. He solves her puzzles and they come back to continue the story in armour stand diorama.

They never speak to each other, just play when they are on, conversing in the hermitcraft love language of pranks. in this time, Cleo dies in demise (falling to the hubris of trusting Keralis and Bdubs). Dead human Cleo rises, ready to kill, and TFC is happily caught up in their game.

Cleo sets another trail in the story that the pair of them are telling with armour stands. It ends with a book on a lectern for TFC to read, writing the demise plotline into the fallout lore of his base.

The vaults were never meant to protect, after all. And TFC falls for it, plummeting into the lava below, inventory full of the things that could save him - fire resist, blocks, water bucket. And yet he sits in the lava and just laughs, tired of demise and happy to give Cleo the kill they've worked so hard for.

The interaction means so much to me. They are never on at the same time, and yet they are playing together. Not having prox chat means that the game is drawn out and it spans episodes, a compilation of hard work and friendship.

And all the while, TFC refers to Cleo as 'everyone's favourite zombie mistress of cthulu' and Cleo delights in building new offerings for her friend

[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʟᴀᴇɴᴀ ʜᴀꜱ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ. ɴᴇᴡ ᴅᴏᴏʀꜱ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴀꜱ ɪᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ.

126 AC

It has been nearly half a year since Rhaella last saw Daemon. Her...father had flown back to Pentos with his family a fortnight after her name day. Most of his time in Kings Landing had been spent trying to gain her attention. Much to his dismay, she had ignored him and only spoken to him no more than four sentences at most. She stared at the dagger he had the blacksmith of the castle make.

"Valyrian steel. It was a gift from my father when I turned 11. I had the smith change the hilt to something more feminine. "

The once black hilt was now inlaid with gleaming sapphires all of different sizes. It had been a marvelous gift, if only the giver had been someone she actually liked. She had quietly murmured her thanks to him and then watched as he walked off to join his wife.

"If you don't like it, I'll take it." Aemond said

"You are mad if you think I'll give my Valyrian steel to you." She said

"I'm just saying...if you decide it is ugly, I will take good care of it." He shrugs

Rhaella sighs. Aemond had been getting rather bold. When she asked Edric he had said it was apart of what boys did when they grew up. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted Aemond to grow up. Sure, she was already a year older than him and his 10th name day had been many weeks ago. All she knew was that once you became old you had responsibilities. Responsibilities that would keep them from seeing each other daily the way they did now.

"I thought you wanted to practice your Valyrian? Isn't that why we are in the Godswood, because it is quiet?" Aemond asked

"We are in the Godswood because you complained my room was boring and yours too stuffy for studying." She reminded him

"Iykirī." Aemond says to her rising tone

Calm down

"I am calm, kirimvose." She says, a mocking tone dripping at the end of her sentence

Thank you

Aemond rolls his eyes and goes back to attempting to translate. Rhaella's eyes fall to the bright yellow wildflowers growing next to her. Aemond's hair catches her eye as it practically glitters in the sun. He has elected to leave it out of its normal half-up style and Rhaella has found it mesmerizing.

"You are staring again." He says

"Your hair looks amazing today." She compliments

"I need to cut it. It is annoying me." He says, his ears turning red at her praise

"I quite like long the longer hair on you." She says picking a flower

"You do?" Aemond asks

"Of course. It reminds me of my own. Not to mention I am sure ladies of the court will love it." She says

"I do not care what ladies of the court think of me." Aemond dismisses

"I am a lady of the court. Do you not care what I think?" She teases

"That is entirely different..." Aemond says

"It is not." She laughs

"It is." He says

The days in Kings Landing had grown repetitive for Rhaella. Rhaenrya's family had moved to Dragonstone three moons ago. Rhaella never understood why they had to leave, just that they did. She missed the ever-mischievous Jacaerys and Lucerys and the pranks they'd play on Aemond and even Aegon on occasion.

Now, her days were long, filled with lessons and needlework. After Rhaenrya had left Ser Harwin had returned to his home at Harrenhal after an issue with Ser Criston. Queen Alicent had elected to stop Rhaella's sword training and now she spent her days with Helaena hoping Aemond would come find her after his own training. Of course, the most shocking part of it all was Ser Harwin and his father's death in a terrible fire, Rhaella could hardly believe she'd never be able to see the muscly, curly-headed man again.

"My prince, My lady." A handmaiden interrupted their "studying", "The queen summons both of you to her chamber. It is urgent."

Rhaella was never entirely sure what to think of Queen Alicent. Sure, she was beautiful and graceful, and Rhaella liked her curly hair. But, her countenance had always been a bit drawn to her. Perhaps it was because she was Daemon's child. It was no secret that the queen did not like her husband's brother. Of course, Rhaella didn't even like the kings brother...

Driftmark was beautiful. Even the sadness of Lady Laena's death could not dampen the ocean's beauty. Seagull's voice's drowned out the voice of Vaemond Velaryon as he spoke of salt in Velaryon's blood.

Rhaella looked at Baela and Rhaena who were standing close to their grandmother. She felt a twinge of sadness as she watched her half-sisters cry, life without a mother was hard. She of course had no memories of her own but still, life would have been easier had Lady Rhea lived.

The solemnness of the whole ordeal was broken when Daemon laughed. Rhaella could not understand what might have been funny at this moment. Surely he was sad that his wife had died, along with what would have been their third child together.

Rhaella watched Daemon sip his wine. He was entirely alone, staring at the open water while many congregated and gave condolences to Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys. She supposed she should offer her sorrows to him, Queen Alicent said that it was the proper thing to say to those who have lost a loved one.

"Mother has engaged Aegon and Heleana," Aemond said, suddenly coming up to her

"I am aware. My handmaid told me a week ago." She said

"He does not even want her though." Aemond said

He seemed almost upset. Surely Aemond did not love Heleana like that...Edric had always said husbands and wives had different love than that of siblings.

"You wish to marry her?" Rhaella asked, ignoring the tightening in her stomach at the idea. She wasn't even sure why she felt like this, Aemond was free to marry whoever he wished, he was a prince.

"I would do my duty." Aemond said, " I just do not think Aegon deserves her."

Rhaella had to cover her mouth at his statement. As far as she was concerned Aegon didn't deserve any noble lady as a wife. Whispers of his activities flowed through the Red Keep like water.

"Do you want to walk along the coast line with me? I want to bring seashells home for my room." Aemond said

Rhaella wanted to accept, surely seashell hunting would be more enjoyable. Yet, she felt drawn to staying as he eyes fell on Baela who had an arm around her sister.

"Perhaps later." She said before walking away

"Lady Rhaella." Baela greeted, getting ready to stand

"Do not trouble yourself. I wanted to offer my sorrows and...prayers for your mother." Rhaella said awkwardly, she wished she was better at starting conversations. It had been over a year since she left the isolation of Runestone and yet her social skills were still subpar.

"Thank you," Baela said

Rhaena did not speak but offered a small, sad smile.

Cool wind pushes her hair off her shoulders and stings her skin. Aemond is staring at her from the spot she left him at. His face seems to beg her to come back, to save him from Aegon who is now talking his ears off.

"Have you spoken to our father?" Rhaena asked suddenly

She did not want to, not after the disastrous name day celebration.

"I have not." She said

"Perhaps she does not wish to speak to him, Rhaena." Baela scolded her sister

"I was just asking." Rhaena sighed

"I do not know how to speak to him. Anytime I look at him, it is like my throat closes up." Rhaella said sadly, "I don't think he likes me."

Many hours later, Rhaella is awoken by Baela above her, shaking her shoulders.

"It is the middle of the night." She groaned, scolding her younger half-sister, "We can speak of Daemon tomorrow."

"This isn't about Daemon." Jacaery's voice says

Rhaella wants to bury her head under the blankets and never return. They were only a few years younger than her, why were they all so annoying? All she wants is to sleep.

"Someone has stolen Vhagar!" Baela whispers

Vhagar? Her mother's dragon? Who could steal a beast like that?

She rolls out of bed, nearly tripping on her blankets while her cousins and half-sisters have already dashed out the door. Perhaps they'd be lucky and Vhagar had just chosen to go for a midnight flight, dragons were mysterious creatures to her.

Loud shouts were echoing as she ran after them. What could they possibly be doing? When she finally reaches the long hall where they had stopped her eyes widened. Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena were all kicking and punching Aemond of all people. Her closest friend was on his back with his arms protecting his face.

"What are you all doing?" She yelled, running to pull Jacaerys away

"He stole our mother's dragon!" Baela said pausing her kicking to point at Aemond

"She was mine to claim. Not yours!" Rhaena said

"As I said, you should have claimed her. She is mine now." Aemond said from his spot on the ground

Rhaella isn't sure what to think. She could barely wrap her head around what was happening. Aemond had claimed a dragon, and the biggest living one at that.

"Jace can find you a pig to ride," Aemond says mockingly to Rhaena

"Stop!" Rhaella yells when her half-sisters resume their hitting and Jace wiggles out of her arms to join them and his little brother.

It all happens so fast, Aemond who is bigger than everyone except her quickly overpowers their younger relatives. He throws Rhaena and Baela off him with ease and sends a hard punch to Jacaerys' face. It is only when the smallest, Lucerys has his neck being grasped by Aemond that her feet seem to work again.

"Aemond. Stop this madness," She commanded, pulling at his hand around the little boys neck that refused to budge

Despite her slight height advantage, Aemond was determined and Rhaella found herself unable to move him.

Perhaps it is the adrenaline of it all, claiming a dragon, being beaten by your cousins but, Aemond spares her no more than a hard gaze before taking his spare hand and punching her directly in the nose.

It is like she has forgotten every lesson Ser Hawin ever taught as warm blood flows freely down her face and into the dirt she landed in. Her eyes water from the suddeness of it all and perhaps the pain that came with the impact of his fist.

"You will die screaming in flames just as your father did. Bastards." Aemond says, holding a large rock over Lucery's head.

"My father is alive." He wails

"He doesn't know, does he, Lord Strong?" Aemond mocks, questioning their cousin's birthright.

Rhaella feels her heart drop to her feet when she sees Jace pull a small knife from its scabbard.

"Jace!" Baela calls

Rhaella's head turns as she looks at her half-sisters next to her. She grabs Baela's hand and squeezes tightly, ignoring how her nose bleeds. She wants to get up and stop them yet fear and dizziness from Aemond's hand keep her on the ground.

Aemond uses his size against Jace and raises the rock again, this time, meaning to being it down on his head. A handful of dust is thrown at her friend and a bit of it gets in her own eyes as pained screams fill the air. What has happened?

She rubs the dirt out of her eyes and sees Aemond on the ground clutching at his face. Deep red stains the dirt below him as he yells. Rhaella glances at the blade which is still clutched in Lucery's hand.

"Aemond!" She gasps, abandoning Baela to kneel next to him, "Aemond move your hand I cannot help you if you do not..."

Aemond's blood mixes with hers on her hands as she tries to look at the wound while he continues to wail. She moves his head into her lap and brushes away the silver hair that is sticking to his face and becoming slick with blood. Perhaps she could tear a bit of her night dress off to stop the bleeding. Then, she'd help him back to the castle and find a Maester.

"Cease this at once!" Ser Harrold's voice fills her ears, "Move away."

His arms lift her away from Aemond who is still clutching at his face. She cannot see what the wound looks like from behind Ser Harrold but she can hear his gasp.

"God's be good."

Aemond's eye is gone forever. Rhaella is sure of it as she watches Driftmark's Maester slowly stitch his skin together. Queen Alicent sits next to Aemond, holding his hand while he squirms each time the needle touches his skin.

"The eye is lost, Your Grace." the Maester confirms her suspicions.

"I will have answers as to what happened," Viserys says, clearly angry

Rhaella did not expect everyone to begin speaking at once. Rhaena and Baela are pointing and shouting at Aemond while Jace argues directly with Aemond despite Rhaenrya holding his arms. She isn't sure what to say, or if her voice will even be heard. Instead, she lets her eyes scan the room where they land on Daemon. Her father leans on the door and watches the scene unfold the way she is. His eyes meet hers and she can tell he is taking in her appearance. Surely she is still covered in blood from her nose, which has thankfully stopped its bleeding.

"Enough!" the king's voice silences everyone, "I want the truth."

"What more is there? Your son has been maimed," Alicent says, "Her sons are responsible. Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the fight, he meant to kill my son."

That was a lie, the blade was never Luke's and Rhaella was sure her cousins didn't mean to kill.

"My sons were attacked and forced to defend themselves." Rhaenrya says, stepping in front of her sons, "Vile insults were said about them."

"What insults?" Viserys tiredly asked

"The legitimacy of their birth," Rhaenrya said

The room fell silent as Rhaenrya addressed the rumors that had swirled around her family for so many years. Rhaella remembered the first time she had heard people muttering that Jace and Luke were bastards. Perhaps it was true, they looked nothing like Ser Laenor yet Rhaella did not see why it mattered. Laenor had always seemed like a wonderful father to them.

"He called us bastards," Jace said, stepping from behind Rhaenrya to address the king.

Rhaella peers around Alicent who is blocking her view of Aemond. She is surprised to see a small smirk on his lips.

"This is treason. My sons are in line for the Iron Throne. Aemond must be questioned to learn where he heard these words." Rhaenrya says.

"My son has lost an eye." Alicent says

"Aemond. Where did you hear these lies?" Viserys asks

A long pause ensues and her friend does not speak.

Only the crackle of the fire is heard as Aemond opens his mouth.

"It was Aegon."

Rhaella along with everyone else turns to stare at the older boy.

"Me?" He breathes, clearly not expecting to be involved in it all.

"Where did you hear of them?" Viserys asks, walking to him.

Aegon avoids eye contact with his father and stares ahead, a decision that didn't seem smart to Rhaella.

"Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!" Viserys suddenly yells making Rhaella jump

"We know father. Everyone knows...Just look at them." Aegon says slowly glancing over.

Rhaella looks at her younger cousins whose brown hair looks even darker than normal in the poorly lit room. The lack of the Valyrian features on their faces was plain as day.

"And you?"

Rhaella suddenly feels eyes on her.

"What did you see?" Viserys asks, walking towards her, cane thumping being the only noise.

"I...was a few moments behind Baela and Rhaena. When I arrived they were kicking and punching Prince Aemond who was on the ground." Rhaella says, trying not to stutter, "He pushed them all off and then insulted Jace and Luke, while holding a rock above their heads."

She glances around the room and finds Daemon staring at her, a look of interest is on his face as she continues.

"I tried to stop him from strangling Luke but, Aemond hit me and then the blade was brought out and he...was cut by one of my cousins." Rhaella says

"Lucerys cut him. He took my son's eye, Viserys." Alicent says

Viserys looks down at Rhaella who meets his eyes.

"This interminable fighting must cease! All of you!" Viserys suddenly yells, turning to face everyone once more, "We are family...make your apologies and show goodwill towards one another."

Surely that cannot be it? Rhaella cannot belive what is happening. She expected more, an insult like the one Aemond said was surely worth a punishment, not that she wanted to see him punished...she just knew what he said had been wrong, even if his eye was gone because of it.

"There is a debt to be paid." Alicent says

Rhaella looks at the queen. Tears are in her eyes yet Rhaella does not detect any sadness on her face.

"Do not allow temper to cloud your vision," Viserys says to his wife

The king begins to walk away as Alicent speaks again.

"If the king does not seek justice the queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velyaron, he may choose which eye he can keep, a pleasure he did not give my son."

"You will do no such thing," Rhaenrya sharply says

Rhaella can feel her heart begin to race. The tension in the room is enough to drive anyone mad as the king turns around.

"Stay your hand." He orders

"You're sworn to me!" Alicent suddenly yells

"As your protector." Ser Criston reminds her.

"This matter is finished." Viserys says, "Anyone whose tongue questions Princess Rhaenrya's sons legitimacy shall have it removed."

Rhaella looks at Aemond who avoids her gaze, in turn looking at his hands which are caked in his own blood.

Chaos is the only word she could use to describe what happened next. In a flash, Alicent had grabbed the king's dagger and was grappling with Rhaenrya, all for Lucery's eye.

Rhaella stumbles back as Ser Harold rushes into the fray, barking orders at Ser Criston. Lucerys' loud screams are what reach her ears as Rhaenrya and Alicent have their exchange.

"Exhausting isn't it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness?" Rhaenrya's voice sends a chill down Rhaella's spine, "But now they see you as you are."

The blade makes a cut, swift and unforgiving, as Alicent and Rhaenrya quickly move away from each other. Rhaella gasps when she sees Rhaenrya's blood trickle onto the floor.

Aemond finally rises from his spot and he looks at her for just a second. His single eye is unreadable to her as he goes to his mother.

"It was a fair exchange." He says, "I may have lost an eye...but I gained a dragon."

Three days later:

Packing is never something she has enjoyed. Her handmaid helps her fold her clothes neatly as if the ship will not mess them up in their journey back to Kings Landing.

"Rhaella?" A voice calls followed by a knock

"Yes?" She answers "Come in."

Rhaena and Baela push her door open and enter her chamber.

"Our grandmother told us to come find you. She said we ought to ask and not her." Rhaena said

"Ask me what?" She asks

"Say it." Baela whispers

"You do it! I opened the door!" Rhaena said, jabbing an elbow at her twin

"That is hardly a reason-"

Baela is cut off by Rhaena speaking again and Rhaella wants to laugh at them, they are truly siblings. They quarrel the same way Jace and Luke do over food and toys.

"We wish for you to live with us. Our grandmother will be raising us and we want to know you, as a sister, not just a story our mother tells us before bedtime." Rhaena says

Rhaella is stunned. She never imagined having a real relationship with them, let alone living with them. It is truly all she has ever dreamed of, they are the closest kin she has, besides Daemon himself of course.

"What about our father...is he going to remain here?"

Rhaella does not want to interact with him regularly. How could she accept if he was always lurking in the halls?

"Our father will not remain here. We are unsure of his next move but he has already talked to us of staying here, at Driftmark." Baela says

"He may visit at times but...I believe he will be letting our grandmother raise us most of the time." Rhaena says

Rhaella cannot tell if they are sad by this prospect. Perhaps they are not close to Daemon either. Is anyone actually close to him?

"I would have to return to Kings Landing. Most of my things are there. And my...friend, Maester Edric. I want him to live with me. He has raised me as his own." Rhaella says

"Our grandparents have already set aside a room for him. Yours is next to his." Baela smiles

"You are both very kind, as are Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. Could you tell them I wish to think about it?" Rhaella asks

Baela and Rhaena leave with a nod of their heads, off to tell their grandparents.

"Should I continue packing, Lady Rhaella?" Her handmaid asks

"No, I will finish it myself. Thank you." Rhaella dismisses her, she has much to think about.

Aemond's face burns. Earlier, the Maester had given him milk of the poppy and rubbed strange-smelling cream where his eye once was. His awareness has dropped, he has bumped into countless things today and it was not even noon yet. They were set to return to Kings Landing today and he was going to get to fly home on Vhagar, instead of sitting next to his mother on the ship.

He hasn't seen Rhaella since the night he lost his eye, he refuesed her visits despite all that has happened. He feels guilty about how he struck her, after all her nose had bled so much. Aemond is still unsure of why he struck her. Was it the heat of the moment? Or had he truly meant it?

No. He'd never intentionally punch her, hurting his one friend in this world was not like him. He decides to write it off as an accident in his mind as his door opens.

"Mother."

"How are you feeling? Has the Measter given you milk of the poppy yet?" She asks

"I am fine." He says, deciding not to tell her how it feels

"Rhaella is going to remain here, at Driftmark." She says suddenly

"What?" He asks, stunned.

" I wanted her to return to her true home but your father would not have it. I asked Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys if they would look after her until she is of age to take Runestone and be married. They are already taking in your cousins. I believe it best that-"

"No!" Aemond shouts the chair toppled over as he quickly stands, "She is my friend. I want her to return with us to the Red Keep."

"I knew this attachment would be hard to break. I told your father that it was best to keep you separate and now look what it has done. You have only known her for a year and a half Aemond. And now, you have been maimed and will never be whole again." His mother says, her eyes fixed on his missing one.

"It was not her fault my eye is gone. She wasn't the one holding the blade!" Aemond argues, thinking back to Lucery's face as the blade cut him and how he struck her so that she was unable to get back up.

"Not her fault? Then why is it gone?" His mother stands to tower over him, "If it wasn't her fault she would have stopped Lucerys. Instead, she sat there while you were injured, permanently. "

The firmness of his mother's normally soft-spoken voice scares him, as does the firm grip she takes on his arms, slightly shaking him as she speaks again.

"She will never be on your side, on your brothers. The way she looks at Rhaenrya's bastards and Daemon, she has chosen where she belongs, even if she does not realize it yet. She will turn on you if you keep her close to your side. I am doing you a favor by removing her from your life."

Aemond shakes his head, unwilling to imagine what his mothers words are trying to create in his mind.

"Leave her here. Let the tides wash her away and your memories of her with them. One day, you will help your brother take his throne, and all will be right. She will become a problem if she remains at court with you.

Aemond looks upon his mother's face which is hardened with determination that he see what she has said to him. His face burns as he opens his mouth and turns his eye to look directly at her.

"You are wrong."

Sorry for the lack of a chapter yesterday. I went out to dinner and then completely forgot to post...oops. I will say, the cheeseburger I had was amazing.

My tumblr is acting weird as well and not letting me edit things. I'm going to fight my computer soon.

Next Part

Comment below to join the taglist. (The taglist is not by chapter, once added, you will remain there unless you ask to be removed.)

Taglist:

@caspianobsessed

@starryhiraeth

@franzelt

@holymusicalmothman

@koobratzy

@schelfinser

[tj-dragonblade]

[Connect 4 FIC] Mementos

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 1243 Tags: fluff, pre-relationship, future fic, photography

Notes: For the @sandman-connect4 prompts Goldfish and Photography

Summary: Hob waxes nostalgic about an old hobby that's also his newest career.

On AO3

"Photography is such an amazing innovation, yeah?" Hob snaps another photo as he speaks, capturing the elegant swish of orange and white fins just breaking the pond's surface. "Still marvel over it, sometimes, used to it as I am."

"Indeed." Dream is drifting along at Hob's side, interested and attentive, and Hob knows by now that no one nearby will pay any attention to his ramblings so long as Dream is here with his notice-me-not aura. He's free to speak of whatever he likes without fear of being overheard.

"Couldn't imagine, first I heard of it—a device to take your portrait, without having to sit for a painter? Unthinkable! But it was true!" He snaps another pic as a particularly elegant fantail wriggles past a lily pad. "Couldn't wait to get a daguerreotype taken; I still have it, stored away for safekeeping, along with every other portrait I had done in the nineteenth century. They just kept refining and improving on the process—it was amazing, y'know? How marvelous, this ability to capture an image exactly as seen, and it just kept getting better. Had plans to show you the latest I'd had done at our meeting in 1889, if I hadn't put my foot in it first." He snaps another photo, two fish swimming past one another in a graceful floating of fins, and keeps right on talking before Dream can offer any commentary on that particular phase of their friendship. It's water under the bridge, done and gone and forgiven and he doesn't need an apology every time it comes up.

"And then personal-use cameras became a thing, and the tech just kept improving. It was so exciting to have the ability—I could just, y'know, pick up a camera and take pictures of whatever I liked! Any time! People I'd eventually have to leave behind, I could keep pictures now, if I wanted. Don't always, y'know, I've gotten very good at picking up and moving on when needed and not pulling a bunch of baggage after me, but it's nice sometimes to have those photos there to look back on when the memory starts to fade."

Dream makes a soft sound of agreement as Hob crouches by the edge of the pond, snapping a few rapid-fire shots from the new lower angle.

"And then Polaroids! Didn't even have to send those out, just wait a few minutes and wave it about a bit. Instant pictures. Fantastic. And then digital cameras? Phone cameras? Video, of course? Nowadays everybody's got hundreds of photos in their pocket at any given second, everyone can record or commemorate anything in their life that they want at a moment's notice, and I think that's just brilliant." He grunts as he rises back to his feet, steps away from the perimeter of the pond to capture a wider shot.

"Spent a lot of time on photography as a hobby, middle of last century," he continues as he works. "Amazing how accessible it was. Learned how to develop my own film, which lenses could do what, played with anything I could get my hands on. It was just so cool."

"It was this time as a hobbyist that led you to your current career choice, then," Dream says, in a tone of dawning understanding.

"Yeah, more or less." Teaching had lasted him another decade and a half after Dream's return before he'd needed to pull up roots and reinvent himself, and his old hobby had called to him. "With the trending interest in reviving analog photography it seemed a decent choice after retiring 'Professor Gadling'. Wasn't hard to get hired; most of what I shoot for the magazine's still digital—most of their subscription distribution is digital—but they've got an analog branch catering to collectors and enthusiasts and lucky for me I'm proficient in all of it."

"The luck perhaps belongs to your employer, in securing your skills," Dream offers, with one of those little smiles that Hob so loves to collect. He offers a grin of his own.

"I'll be sure to tell them you said so in my next appraisal."

"And do all of your assignments involve photographing fish?"

Hob laughs. "Nah, course not—it's a lifestyle-and-interest publication; I wind up shooting all sorts of things. This guy's been maintaining his ponds here for decades—probably knew that already, didn't you—and they wanted to do a feature on it. I was chuffed to get the assignment; I've been fascinated by pond building and maintenance for a few years now and I'm pleased to see this fabulous setup in person."

Dream says nothing, studying the pond in uncanny stillness as Hob takes a few more photos.

"Lovely creatures," he says at last.

"Aren't they?"

"They remind me of my sister."

"The one who—?" Hob makes a sweeping gesture with one hand meant to indicate himself and his whole still-alive thing.

"No; the youngest." Dream crouches, dangles fingertips in the water. "They often feature in the way that perception alters around her."

Hob waits to see if anything further is forthcoming, then tucks that small piece of information away to hopefully be expanded upon at a later date. He's learned much about Dream in the last couple decades by paying attention when these little dribs and drabs of personal information are offered and waiting patiently for the next.

He pauses in his photographing, glances sideways down at his friend. "What do their dreams look like, then? Do fish even sleep?"

"Not as such. Not as humans do." Dream wriggles his fingers, once, the surface rippling gently in their wake. "Their dreams are fleeting, gossamer; ephemeral wisps of comfortable waters, of safety, of plenty." There are fish approaching to nibble at Dream's fingertips, orandas and comets and ryukins; Hob watches for a moment then pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, for himself.

Dream catches the change of equipment, glances up with another of those little smiles—indulgent. Hob snaps again, pleased to have proof of that smile, pleased that Dream is present enough in the Waking today to be captured by the camera.

"Oh, look at this fellow," he says, motioning to a large black moor that is swimming up to investigate Dream's fingertips, and slips his phone back into his pocket.

"A beautiful specimen," Dream allows, holding perfectly still while the fish mouths at one finger and then another. "His color is exquisite."

Hob grins. "Must sense a fellow goth in you." He lifts his work camera again, snaps a few of the lovely black fish after Dream has reclaimed his hand.

"Perhaps." Dream's still got that little smile, and Hob remains absolutely delighted to see it.

"C'mon. Let's go see what Mr. Goldfish-Enthusiast has got in his koi pond, over here."

The rest of the afternoon passes pleasantly, more fish photographed, more stories of Hob's past told. And in his pocket, safe in his phone, there are two new pictures of Dream to remind him of his friend when absences stretch long, as they sometimes must. It is comforting, after everything and all these centuries, to know that he's allowed these mementos. He's confident by now that Dream will always return; they have met more in the last twenty years than in the six hundred before and Hob is elated that the friendship he'd recklessly claimed in 1889 has blossomed so wonderfully in truth.

But it's nice he's got the pictures to prove it.

= Started: 11/21/24 Drafted: 11/29/24 Posted: 11/30/24

[amethystarachnid]

CLINGING TO CHRISTMAS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Request: Please, "Time Together" with Tony/f!reader, because it's my dream to share a quality time with him! Spend some time in bed in the morning, cook breakfast together, watch movies cuddling on the couch, eat some snacks, visit a coffee shop in the afternoon, walk on the streets admiring the Christmas decorations and of course buy some decorations for their house 💖 you can add all the fluff you want, love! Thank you! 💖 (@little-angel-oc)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.2k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing pure fluff

ᯓ★ Sorry if I'm not posting much, I didn't expect this period of the year to make me so busy :(

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The morning light filters into the penthouse through curtains half-drawn, painting soft, golden streaks across the room. The December chill whispers against the glass, but none of it reaches you. Wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and luxury, you stretch lazily, your toes brushing against the silk sheets and your back pressing into the solid warmth behind you.

Tony Stark, self-proclaimed genius billionaire and undoubtedly the clingiest man alive, has you locked in his arms. His chest rises and falls against your back, his nose buried somewhere near the curve of your neck. It’s a miracle you can breathe at all with how tightly he’s holding you, as though the world might steal you away the second he lets go.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly from sleep but tinged with an unmistakable softness. He doesn’t lift his head, just tightens his hold and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Actually, scratch that. Let’s stay in bed and make it an all-day kind of morning.”

You laugh softly, your breath visible in the cool air of the room. "We both know you can’t stay still for that long."

Tony’s lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Challenge accepted. If you try to move, I’ll just make a counter-play and pull you back.” His hand, warm and strong, splays across your stomach as he shifts to kiss the side of your jaw. “How am I supposed to work when this—” he gestures vaguely, as if encompassing you, the bed, and the whole moment—“exists?”

“You’ll survive,” you tease, but you don’t make any move to escape his embrace.

It’s rare to see him so utterly unguarded, his usual whirlwind of energy and rapid-fire wit replaced by this tender, sleepy version of himself. You suppose that’s what the holidays do to him—or maybe it’s just what you do to him.

The penthouse feels different this time of year. Warmer. Cozier. The massive space, which you used to think was too cold and impersonal when you first moved in, has been transformed by the simplest of touches. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner of the living room, its branches adorned with lights and ornaments you picked out together last week. Tony had grumbled through most of it, claiming he could’ve just hired someone to do the decorating, but the way his face lit up when you found the perfect star for the top told you he didn’t regret a second of it.

“You know,” he says, his voice interrupting your thoughts, “I don’t think I’ve ever really done Christmas right. Not like this.”

“Not like what?”

“This.” He props himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes meeting yours. “With you. The tree. The... not-hiring-a-company part. It’s new, and I like it.” He leans down, his nose brushing yours. “But you’ve ruined me, you know that? Stark Industries is going to fall apart because I can’t focus on anything except this face.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks flush at his compliment. “I’m sure Pepper would argue that you’ve been distracted long before I came along.”

“True. But now it’s your fault, so congrats.” He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and you melt into him, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his already-messy hair. The taste of coffee lingers faintly on his lips, even though he hasn’t left the bed yet—an early morning habit, courtesy of the automated coffee machine he designed to deliver a steaming cup to his bedside at 7:00 AM sharp.

When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, his grin boyish and carefree. “So, what’s the plan today? More holiday cheer? Gingerbread houses? Are we making a wreath? Stringing popcorn on a garland?”

“None of those things, because you don’t have the patience for them,” you tease, laughing when he huffs in mock offense.

“I’ll have you know, I’m an incredibly patient man when it comes to—” He pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Actually, never mind. You’re right. But I’ll be an excellent assistant. You’re the boss of Christmas around here.”

You sit up slightly, the sheets pooling around your waist, and raise an eyebrow. “That’s a dangerous thing to say. I could put you to work.”

Tony smirks, his hands trailing down to your waist. “Put me to work. I dare you. I’m excellent at manual labor. By which I mean supervising while you do all the hard stuff.”

“Exactly what I thought,” you reply, poking him in the chest. “Lazy.”

He grabs your hand before you can pull it back, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “Not lazy. Just very efficient at conserving energy for important tasks—like keeping you warm.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” You laugh as he pulls you back down into his arms, burying his face in your neck again. The scratch of his stubble makes you squirm, but you don’t mind.

Outside, the snow begins to fall in lazy flurries, dusting the balcony and the tops of skyscrapers. Inside, the world feels smaller, quieter, and infinitely more perfect. Wrapped in Tony’s arms, the chaos of the world seems a million miles away, and for once, neither of you is in any rush to bring it back.

“Alright, Mr. Efficient,” you murmur, breaking the comfortable silence as Tony’s thumb lazily traces patterns on your hip. “Time to get up.”

He groans dramatically, tightening his arms around you like a human bear trap. “Nope. Hard pass. The bed is warm, you’re here, and there’s no world-ending emergency—why would I leave this paradise?”

“Because you need to eat,” you counter, trying to wiggle free. “And I’m starving.”

“I have protein bars for that,” he says, burying his face further into your neck. “Energy-efficient, calorie-packed, no mess.”

“Tony,” you scold, though you’re laughing. “That’s not breakfast.”

“It can be if you eat it in the morning,” he retorts, smug as ever, and you can feel his grin against your skin.

You twist around to face him, your hands braced against his chest. “What if I promise pancakes? You love pancakes.”

Tony’s eyes crack open, a flicker of interest sparking to life. “You’re not wrong. Pancakes are a pretty compelling argument.”

“And we can make them together,” you add, your voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “It’ll be fun.”

He narrows his eyes at you like you’ve just proposed an evil plot. “Fun, or me getting roped into some sort of ‘domestic bonding experience’ that ends with me covered in flour and you laughing at me?”

“Both,” you admit shamelessly. “But there will be pancakes.”

Tony sighs like a martyr but sits up, the sheets falling from his shoulders. “Fine. But if I’m going to embarrass myself, I reserve the right to wear the apron. The manly apron.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “The one that says ‘Genius at Work’?”

“It’s the only acceptable choice,” he declares, climbing out of bed with a dramatic stretch before extending a hand to you. “Let’s go make the kitchen regret its existence.”

The kitchen, with its sleek, state-of-the-art design, looks more like a high-tech laboratory than a place where anyone actually cooks. You rummage through the cabinets, pulling out ingredients, while Tony stands by the island, watching you with an amused expression.

“You’re really going to make me do this, huh?” he asks, leaning on the counter.

“It’s just pancakes, Tony. Flour, eggs, milk—basic stuff. Even you can’t mess this up.”

“First of all, rude,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Second, I don’t see you factoring in my wild card genius. You might end up with... I don’t know, a soufflé by accident.”

“Pretty sure pancakes aren’t supposed to turn into soufflés,” you reply, laughing as you hand him a mixing bowl.

Tony takes it with exaggerated caution, as though it might explode. “Alright, boss. Tell me what to do.”

You start instructing him step by step, trying to keep it as simple as possible. Crack the eggs. Add the flour. Measure the milk. It seems to go well at first—until Tony decides to get creative.

“Shouldn’t we add something extra?” he asks, glancing at the spice rack. “Cinnamon? Nutmeg? A splash of whiskey?”

“Whiskey? It’s eight in the morning,” you say, snatching the bottle out of his hand before he can pour it into the batter.

“Never too early for innovation,” he argues, grinning as he sets the whiskey down. “Alright, no booze. But we’re definitely adding chocolate chips.”

You roll your eyes but let him sprinkle a handful of chocolate chips into the batter, which he does with far too much enthusiasm. His “help” becomes increasingly questionable as you move to mix everything together, his hands finding more excuses to end up on your waist, your shoulders, or brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Tony,” you warn as his arms snake around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. “If you don’t let me stir this, you’re not getting pancakes.”

“But you’re doing so well without me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “I’m supervising.”

“Your supervision is going to make me spill this everywhere,” you say, laughing as you try to keep the bowl steady.

“I’d argue that’s part of the fun,” he counters, but he relents, stepping back just enough to let you finish mixing.

When it’s finally time to cook, you heat the griddle and ladle the batter onto it, the sizzle filling the air. Tony insists on flipping the pancakes, despite your skepticism.

“Just watch,” he says confidently, spatula in hand. “I’ve seen a hundred YouTube videos on this. I’ve got the wrist action down.”

You cross your arms, watching as he slides the spatula under a pancake and attempts to flip it with a flourish. The pancake arcs through the air—almost gracefully—before landing halfway on the griddle and halfway on the counter.

Tony stares at it for a moment, then turns to you with an unapologetic grin. “See? Perfect.”

“Perfectly disastrous,” you correct, grabbing a paper towel to clean up the mess. “Let me handle the flipping.”

“Fine,” he says, stepping back. “But only because I don’t want to overshadow your skills.”

By the time you’ve finished, the kitchen looks like a flour bomb exploded. There’s batter smudged on the counter, chocolate chips scattered across the floor, and Tony has somehow managed to get a streak of flour across his cheek.

“You’re a menace,” you say, laughing as you reach up to wipe the flour from his face.

“I’m adorable,” he counters, catching your wrist and pulling you closer. “And you love me.”

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it, especially when he leans in to kiss you. His lips taste faintly of chocolate, and his stubble tickles your skin. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you forget the mess, the pancakes, and everything else except the two of you.

When you finally pull away, you’re both grinning like idiots.

“Alright,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s see if we actually made something edible.”

The pancakes are far from perfect—slightly misshapen and a little unevenly cooked—but they taste good enough, especially with a generous drizzle of syrup. You sit together at the island, plates in hand, as snow falls softly outside the windows.

Tony nudges you with his elbow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “See? I told you we’d make a good team.”

“You mean I made the pancakes and you got in the way?” you tease.

“Semantics,” he says, taking another bite. “The important thing is, we survived. And the pancakes are edible. Mostly.”

You laugh, shaking your head as he leans over to steal a kiss, syrup and all. It’s messy and chaotic and far from perfect, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Because with Tony, even the simplest moments—like making pancakes on a snowy December morning—feel like magic.

“Alright, genius,” you say, stacking the plates in the sink and turning to face Tony, who’s leaning casually against the counter, his coffee mug in one hand. “Breakfast mission accomplished. What’s next?”

He sets the mug down with exaggerated importance, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “My turn to pick. Pancakes were your idea; now I get to call the shots.”

You raise an eyebrow, already suspicious. “That’s fair. But if you’re about to suggest working in the lab or something involving an explosion—”

“Relax,” he interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No gadgets. No explosions. Just a simple, low-tech activity that even you’ll approve of.”

You cross your arms, trying not to smile. “I’m listening.”

Tony steps closer, his grin widening. “We’re going to cuddle on the couch and watch one of those absolutely atrocious, cliché Christmas movies that are so bad they’re good.”

“Tony Stark wants to watch a cheesy Christmas movie?” you ask, feigning disbelief. “Who are you, and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“Hey, I have layers,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Besides, the movies aren’t for me. They’re for you. I’m just the selfless guy who’ll hold you through the ridiculous love triangles, improbable snowstorms, and overacting.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly. Blankets, snacks, and no interruptions.”

Tony salutes you. “Yes, ma’am.”

True to his word, Tony transforms the living room into a cozy oasis. He grabs every blanket he can find, piling them onto the couch with dramatic flair, while you raid the kitchen for snacks. When you return with a bowl of popcorn and a tin of Christmas cookies, Tony is already sprawled out on the couch, patting the spot beside him.

“Get over here,” he says, his tone playfully demanding. “I’m sacrificing my cool reputation for this. You owe me cuddles.”

“Sacrificing your cool reputation?” you tease, settling in beside him. “Pretty sure that went out the window the moment you flipped a pancake onto the counter.”

He narrows his eyes at you but doesn’t argue, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “Pick your poison,” he says, handing you the remote.

You scroll through the seemingly endless options of holiday movies until you find one with a laughably predictable title. “How about Snowed In for Christmas?”

Tony groans theatrically. “Do you try to find the most ridiculous ones, or is it just a gift?”

“You said cheesy,” you remind him, pressing play before he can protest further.

The movie is every bit as absurd as you’d hoped. The plot revolves around a big-city journalist who gets stranded in a small, snow-covered town, where she falls in love with the ruggedly handsome owner of a struggling Christmas tree farm. Every trope in the book is present: the meddling townsfolk, the magical snowstorm, and, of course, the inevitable misunderstanding that threatens to ruin everything right before Christmas Eve.

Tony provides running commentary throughout, his dry humor making you laugh so hard you nearly spill the popcorn.

“Wait, wait,” he says, sitting up slightly. “Did she just quit her high-paying job in New York to stay in the town she’s been in for, what, a week? Who does that? Do people not have bills in these movies?”

“It’s called romance, Tony,” you reply, nudging him with your elbow. “Suspend your disbelief.”

“Fine,” he says, leaning back again. “But I’m just saying, if you ever ditch me for a lumberjack with a secret heart of gold, I’m suing Hallmark for emotional damages.”

“Noted,” you reply, laughing as he pulls you closer, his hand resting on your knee.

By the time the credits roll, you’re both in stitches, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. “That was… something,” Tony says, shaking his head. “If my A.I. ever wrote a script like that, I’d have to reprogram it.”

“You loved it,” you counter, snuggling into his side. “Admit it.”

“I loved you laughing at it,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “But the movie? Eh, I’d give it two out of five stars. One of those stars is for the accidental comedy.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can argue, Tony grabs the remote and starts scrolling again. “Alright, my turn. Let’s find another one.”

“Another Christmas movie?” you ask, surprised.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he says, smirking. “I’ve got the spirit now. I’m all in.”

The next movie is somehow even cheesier, involving a magical ornament that grants wishes and an overworked single dad who learns the true meaning of Christmas. Tony is relentless with his commentary, but somewhere around the halfway mark, his snarky remarks grow quieter. His hand strokes lazy circles on your back, and his head tilts until his cheek rests against the top of your head.

“Getting sleepy?” you ask softly.

“Not sleepy,” he mumbles, his voice low and warm. “Just... comfy. You make everything feel... easy.”

Your heart melts a little at his honesty. For all his bravado, Tony has a way of surprising you with these moments of unguarded vulnerability. You turn your head to kiss his jaw, your fingers curling around his.

“Love you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles, his lips brushing your forehead. “Love you more.”

The movie plays on in the background, but neither of you is paying attention anymore. The world outside the penthouse fades away as you bask in the quiet intimacy of the moment—just you, Tony, and the flickering glow of the Christmas tree lights.

Hours later, when the snow outside has turned the city into a winter wonderland, you wake to find Tony still holding you, his breathing slow and even. The credits of the third movie you didn’t realize you started are rolling, and the room is bathed in a soft, golden glow.

You shift slightly, and Tony stirs, blinking sleepily. “Mmm. Did we win Christmas yet?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

“You fell asleep during the movie,” you tease, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“Only because you’re too comfortable,” he says, pulling you back down into his arms. “Don’t think you’re going anywhere. I’m holding you hostage for the rest of the day.”

You smile, resting your head on his chest and letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you into contentment. If this is what being held hostage by Tony Stark feels like, you’re more than happy to surrender.

And as the snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the city in quiet magic, you can’t think of a single place you’d rather be.

When you finally stir from your cozy spot on the couch, the afternoon sunlight is already streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The snowy city below looks like a scene straight out of a Christmas card, and the twinkling lights of the decorated streets are just beginning to glow as dusk approaches.

“Alright,” you say, stretching as you stand. “We’ve been lazy long enough. Let’s go out.”

Tony, still sprawled out on the couch like a contented house cat, raises an eyebrow. “Out? In this weather? Have you seen what’s happening out there? There’s snow, Y/N. Cold, wet snow.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “It’s December, Tony. Snow is kind of the whole point. Besides, you owe me.”

“For what?”

“For all the Christmas cheer you’ve been soaking up without lifting a finger,” you tease, pulling on his hand to get him to sit up. “Come on. We’ll stop by that coffee shop you like. They’ve got peppermint mochas.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously, but you can see the faint flicker of temptation. “You’re using coffee as bait.”

“And it’s working,” you counter, grinning as you toss him his coat. “Get dressed, Stark. We’re going.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re walking hand-in-hand through the snowy streets of Manhattan, the air crisp and cold but not unpleasant. True to your promise, you stop at Tony’s favorite coffee shop, where the barista greets him with a starstruck smile and immediately starts preparing his usual order.

“I have to admit,” Tony says as he takes a sip of his peppermint mocha, “this is a solid bribe.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, your own cup warming your hands as you lead him down the street.

But as you take a turn onto a quieter, festively lit avenue, Tony slows down, his eyes narrowing. “Wait a second. This isn’t the way home.”

“No, it’s not,” you say, your voice innocently cheerful.

He stops in his tracks, glancing up at the string lights crisscrossing above the cobblestone path ahead. The street is lined with rows of wooden stalls, each one festooned with garlands and wreaths. The scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of Christmas carols being played by a nearby quartet.

Tony looks at you, a mix of amusement and betrayal in his expression. “You tricked me.”

“I prefer to think of it as gently guiding you toward holiday spirit,” you say with a grin. “Come on. It’s just a Christmas market. Think of all the overpriced, handmade trinkets we can buy.”

“I’m not carrying bags,” he warns, even as he lets you tug him forward into the bustling market.

Despite his initial protests, Tony doesn’t seem to mind as you wander from stall to stall. The two of you weave through the crowd, pausing occasionally to admire the glittering ornaments, intricately carved wooden figurines, and colorful knitted scarves on display.

Tony keeps a protective hand on your back, steering you gently through the throng of people. Every so often, someone stops to ask for a selfie with him, and he obliges with surprising patience, though not without a few snarky comments.

“See?” you whisper after the third fan walks away, beaming from their encounter. “The Christmas market isn’t so bad, is it?”

Tony gives you a sideways glance, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “It’s tolerable. Mostly because of you.”

You beam at him, squeezing his hand. “I’ll take it.”

As the sky darkens and the market’s lights grow brighter, the atmosphere becomes even more magical. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, landing softly on Tony’s dark hair and your scarf. You stop at a stall selling mulled wine, and Tony buys you a steaming cup, his free hand still intertwined with yours.

“This is suspiciously romantic,” he remarks, his voice teasing as you take a sip of the warm, spiced drink.

“Suspiciously?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” he says, smirking. “It’s almost like you planned it.”

“Almost?” you tease back. “Tony Stark, are you implying that I orchestrated an entire romantic outing just to make you enjoy Christmas?”

“I’m saying it’s diabolical,” he replies, leaning in to kiss the tip of your cold nose. “And I’m impressed.”

As you continue strolling, you stop in front of a stall selling Christmas decorations. The display is dazzling, filled with glass ornaments, sparkling tinsel, and miniature wreaths. You let go of Tony’s hand to pick up a delicate, hand-painted ornament shaped like a snowflake.

“This one’s pretty,” you say, holding it up to show him.

Tony eyes it, then glances back at you. “We already have a tree. We don’t need more decorations.”

You put the ornament back with a sigh, turning to face him. “Tony, the tree is literally the only festive thing in the entire penthouse. It’s sad. Like, single-guy-who-forgets-it’s-Christmas sad.”

“I was a single guy who forgot it was Christmas,” he points out.

“Exactly!” you exclaim, grabbing his arm. “But you’re not anymore. We live there together now, and I want it to feel like home—not just for me, but for you too.”

Tony hesitates, his expression softening as he watches you. Finally, he sighs in mock defeat. “Alright, you win. But I’m not carrying boxes of decorations.”

“That’s what delivery services are for,” you reply, grinning as you pull him toward the stall.

An hour later, the two of you are laden with bags containing everything from garlands to fairy lights to an assortment of quirky ornaments you couldn’t resist. Tony insists on buying a ridiculous set of baubles shaped like miniature Iron Man helmets, claiming they’re “for balance.”

As you make your way back home, you can’t help but smile at the sight of him carrying one of the bags, his usual swagger intact despite the snow and the festive chaos around him.

“You’re smiling,” he notes, glancing down at you.

“You let me drag you to a Christmas market and convinced you to buy decorations,” you say, leaning into his side. “I think I’ve earned a smile.”

Tony chuckles, slipping an arm around your shoulders. “Fair enough. But just so you know, this doesn’t mean I’ve gone full holiday enthusiast. I’m still the same, cool, non-cheesy Tony Stark.”

“Sure you are,” you reply, smirking.

When you finally reach the penthouse, the two of you dump your bags on the living room floor and collapse onto the couch. Tony kicks off his shoes and stretches out, pulling you down beside him.

“You know,” he says, his voice soft as he glances at the tree in the corner, “you were right. The tree looked a little lonely.”

You smile, resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s going to look perfect once we put everything up.”

Tony kisses the top of your head, his arm tightening around you. “If it makes you happy, then it’s worth it.”

As the snow continues to fall outside, you sit together, the glow of the tree lights casting a warm, golden hue over the room. For all his grumbling and sarcasm, Tony Stark has embraced the holiday spirit in his own way—and you couldn’t love him more for it.

[rootedinrevisions]

Oh Shut Up

SUMMARY: Jey Uso finds himself drawn back into the Bloodline’s chaos to protect his family’s legacy. But his girlfriend isn’t afraid to call him out, challenging his decision and testing the boundaries of their relationship. Tension rises, tempers flare, and sparks fly as Jey proves he’s always in control—even when the lines between passion and power blur.

A/N: Thanks to @miss-kuki-nz who sent the request for this in! Hope you enjoy it!

PROMPT: "Oh, shut up!" "You shut up." "Make me." "Okay, but you might moan a little."

WARNINGS/TAGS: Choking, Slight Dom! Moment

WORD COUNT: 633

TAG LIST: @caramara3 @thedeboniardevistation @missbmc94

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The warm glow of the evening sun bled through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the living room floor. Jey Uso paced back and forth, his brows furrowed, tension radiating from him like heat off the pavement. 

You sat curled up on the couch, watching him with a mix of concern and frustration. He had just dropped the bombshell: after months of building his solo career and proving he didn’t need the Bloodline, Jey had agreed to team up with Jimmy and Roman again.

“Babe, you don’t get it,” he said, his voice laced with a blend of determination and exasperation. “This ain’t about me. This is about our family. Solo’s tryin’ to tear it all apart—what we’ve built, what our ancestors fought for. I can’t let him ruin our legacy.”

You arched a brow, your arms crossing over your chest. “Oh, please, Jey. Don’t act like you’re some kind of martyr. They need you because you’re the only one who can stop Solo. But let’s be real—you don’t need them. You’ve been on fire this year, Jey. You’ve built your name. Why throw it all away for people who turned their backs on you?”

Jey stopped pacing and turned to you, his expression softening just a fraction. 

“It ain’t like that,” he said, shaking his head. “Jimmy’s still my brother. Blood is blood. And Roman—”

“Oh, shut up!” you snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I know you’re not about to say something nice about him after the hell he put you through.”

His eyes widened in surprise before lips narrowed into a smirk. 

“You shut up,” he shot back, his tone low, teasing, yet with a warning edge.

Your pulse quickened as you rose from the couch, stepping into his space. 

“Make me,” you challenged, your voice dripping with defiance.

Jey’s smirk deepened, his tongue running across his bottom lip as he closed the distance between you in two quick strides. Before you could react, his strong hands gripped your hips, backing you up until you felt the cool wall press against your spine. His thigh slid between your legs, adding pressure that sent a jolt of heat through your body.

One hand braced against the wall above your head, while the other wrapped around your throat, his fingers applying just enough pressure to send a shiver down your spine. 

His dark eyes locked onto yours, his lips just a breath away. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice low and full of promise. “But you might moan a little.”

Your breath hitched as his grip tightened slightly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. The tension between you was electric, crackling like the fireworks that always accompanied his entrance music.

“Are you gonna let me do what I need to do?” he asked, his voice low and full of promise.

You tilted your head defiantly, a small, bratty smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “No.”

Jey’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his thigh pressing upward against your center. The friction of his jeans against you elicited a soft, involuntary moan that escaped your lips before you could stop it. Your bravado faltered as heat spread through your body, leaving you breathless.

“Fine,” you muttered, your voice a little weaker now. “Fine. I trust you, okay?”

A triumphant smile spread across his face as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours before pressing into a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands relaxed, and he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours when he pulled away.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his tone soft but laced with that same confidence that had drawn you to him in the first place.

[bylerlipglances]

FIREBALL

this could be the sound of Will shooting fireballs. The same OST plays 'She'll Kill You'

Will doesn't look too thrilled to use the fireballs but he can rise to the occasion when the time demands it. Till then, he'll stick to his wisdom. (possibly due to its adverse reaction, eg: nuclear bombs are potent but come with terrible side effects, irreversible damages). HE USES THEM WISELY. Foreshadowing his restrain.

*FIRE CAUTION*

Note: These might be little far-fetched. This is my failed attempt to understand why dialogues emphasised on color of fireball? i could be way off. i am following Marvel's interpretation since X-Men and Superman have been mentioned by the party.

GREEN LANTERN AND color of his ring theory

Green lantern powers(embedded in his rings) and parallel with will byers. 'Will' POWER is his actual power. Will is at the centre of his power.

Energy Projection: It can emit powerful blasts of energy, create force fields, and provide energy-based attacks for offense and defense. (electromagnetic field & fireballs?)

Data Analysis and Scanning: it can scan for information, detect energy signatures, and provide tactical analysis.(Nina project, IP?)

Teleportation: Some rings have the ability to teleport the wearer across vast distances. (true sight, now memories?)

Environmental Adaptation: It creates a life-support system for the wearer, allowing them to survive in extreme conditions, including the vacuum of space. (upside down?)

Time Travel the ring has been used to manipulate time. Wormholes and Spatial Warps: The power ring grants its wearer access to wormholes in space, enabling the ring wielder to rapidly cut time and distance needed for transport. The Guardians established at least one known wormhole to Oa, which once required the use of a power ring to enter. (Gates)

Weaknesses

Willpower Dependence: The ring’s strength is directly tied to the user’s willpower and emotional focus. If the user doubts themselves or loses concentration, the ring's effectiveness diminishes.

Limited Charge: The ring has a finite charge and must be recharged regularly using a power battery, which connects to the Central Power Battery on Oa. If it runs out of energy, the user becomes powerless. (Dustin's remark "Dead battery". eleven being drained)

speaking of charger, Mike is shown to be directly or indirectly associated with POWER SWITCH & SOCKETS ( source of energy? a charger ? a battery? for will?)

Vulnerability to Fear (Parallax Influence) : Lanterns' weakness to the 'COLOR YELLOW' came from the Fear entity trapped within the Green Lantern Corps' central power battery.

Mental or Emotional Instability: Strong negative emotions (fear, doubt, or anger) can interfere with a Green Lantern's ability to wield their ring effectively.

Mental Instability Protocol: Drug use, neural interference, vertigo or other forms of mental incapacitation can render the wearer unable to use their ring, rendered useless.

“I don’t know who’s been raising you, but I’m gonna get you some new crayons because it looks like he’s shooting cabbages.”

Is Will a Most Powerful 'Failed experiment'? like Madelyne Pryor?

Another green x-men, who is, possibly the most powerful, Goblin Queen (Clone of Jean) , X-Men Goblin Queen, Madelyne Pryor, X-Men's Most Dangerous, anti-hero. She unlocked her latent psychic powers. In addition to those, Madelyne also had the ability to perform sorcery, which she used to summon goblins and demons.

Madelyne eventually learns that she's a clone of Jean created by Mister Sinister. Sinister originally discarded her as a failed experiment, until the Phoenix itself gave Madelyne sentience.

Madelyne's powers are incredible hence the suggestion. might i add, a close parallel to will's alleged powers.

i am a more of a 'will byers is superman' kinda guy. but my personal favourite being will byers 'a divine deity/god' @greenfiend 's theory.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

connecting green lantern with Kryptonite: Green latern's ring can project beams of force powered by the will of the user. The ring can be used to 'produce kryptonite' and kryptonite radiation.

in context of SUPERMAN

Superman is a regular Kryptonian man, He gets his powers from our yellow sun, green kryptonite cancels that.

Uranium fluoresces green under U.V. light (Atomic Bomb theory correlation)

Green Kryptonite : It was a radioactive element composed of pieces of the exploded planet Krypton. Surviving natives of Krypton, Superman is weakened by exposure to Green Kryptonite. Prolonged exposure could result in fatal radiation poisoning.

Red kryptonite :Superman has suffered the following effects upon exposure to various pieces of Red Kryptonite: Transformed into a dragon, Rendered temporarily blind to anything colored green, Loss of power, Gained telepathy, Generated an evil doppelganger , Mental transference, Personality alteration

vecna mind lair is red toned

BLUE-K : most interesting one is Blue-K (Upside down is blue toned)

Blue Kryptonite can reverse the effects of Red Kryptonite and can work wonders on afflicted Kryptonians. Perhaps Will created upside down to save himself & hawkins? (Superman is credited for manufacturing Blue-K, to save fellow Kryptonian see the kryptonite handbook) Effects on Bizarro(Man of steel's doppelganger and a supervillain) Blue Kryptonite weakens Bizarro (does Upside Down weakeans Vecna, hence he needs tentacles to recharge?) in a similar way to how Green Kryptonite weakens Superman. It can also sedate Bizarro, allowing him to be apprehended. Blue Kryptonite can also have a calming effect on Bizarro, removing his rage toward Superman. Blue-k was created by reversing the ionic charge of green kryptonite.