#why are my actions always under scrutiny

[ionized-angel]

living in this house driving me insanne i want to be aloneee

[vhagarys]

forgive me

aemond x wife!reader

summary: his lady wife summons him to the throne room. the last thing he expected was you sat atop the iron throne.

warnings: as this is a fic written by yours truly, SMUT, oral, masturbation, defiling of iron throne, exhibitionism

MDNI

“well, what do we have here, hm?” aemond couldn’t believe the sight before him.

his deep green riding jacket smothered your small figure. he knew you had on only your sheer, beige night slip underneath. but no, it’s where you sat that directed his attention.

your luscious silver curls and soft features were a stark contrast to the menacing, iron chair you seated yourself.

his wife possessed a teasing nature. it’s one of the reasons he adored you. he always indulged in your jests, delighting in your efforts to provoke a laugh from him.

though, you’d certainly outdone yourself on this night.

the act of anyone besides the king sitting on the throne was highly inappropriate, borderline treasonous.

following his brothers tragic accident, aemond had accepted role as prince regent. he was quite taken with his newfound role as ruler of the realm. the power, the authority he so desperately craved was now in the palm of his hand.

though, such authority didn’t seem to extend to his lady wife.

“warming my seat for me, are you ābrazȳrys?,” (wife) he teased, a smile etched on his face as he admired you from the bottom of the steps.

“pay mind to how you address me, my lord,” your eyes filled with mischief.

you felt his eyes drink in your appearance and you briefly felt a bit sheepish under his scrutiny.

suddenly feeling too exposed, you attempted to subtely adjust his jacket to cover your legs, the action not going unnoticed by your lord husband.

��forgive me, your grace,” he played along, bowing his head as he stood at the foot of the iron throne.

you cleared your throat, determined to maintain your regal persona. “i required your presence immediately. you have committed grave offenses this evening which cannot go unpunished.”

the feeling of sitting atop the icy chair sent a chill up your spine. the heady sensation of claiming yourself on the most coveted seat in the realm clouded your mind.

i can see why he enjoys this, you mused to yourself.

“may I ask which crime I am to answer for, your holiness?” aemond cocked his head, barely containing his smirk.

his bold little wife never failed to keep him on his toes.

“you arrived quite tardy to supper. even more so, you failed to greet me with a proper kiss upon your arrival. tsk, I believe I could have your head for this my lord.”

you felt yourself become more submerged in your role, any trepidations for your actions long gone.

with a bolt of confidence, you held his gaze while you slowly uncrossed your legs, revealing your bare center to him.

his eyes darkened at the sight of you, he could practically smell your arousal from where he stood.

so this is how we’re playing tonight, aemond felt himself stiffen in his breeches as he ascended a step toward you.

you may have started this game, but you both knew he would finish it.

“i’m deeply sorry, your grace. allow me to beg forgiveness for my wrong doings. anything you require.” his mind swirled with thoughts of taking you, perching you on his lap and filling your womb with seed on the throne.

you reveled in the predatory, lustful gaze of your husband. the most powerful man in the seven kingdoms at your mercy. or so you thought.

“i suppose there is a way to repent your crimes,” you reached for the first button and began to slowly release them one by one, revealing your hardened buds poking through your slip.

you might have been worried of someone else entering, but the euphoria of witnessing the effect you had on your husband clouded your better judgement.

unfastening the remaining button, you stood gracefully and let the fabric pool at your feet.

you were no targaryen. however aemond knew the fiery blood of the dragon coursed through your veins. no other lady of the court would play this dangerous game, would speak to him with such boldness.

he craved to taste you. he craved to grab at your soft flesh and indulge in the nectar between your legs.

the coolness of the metal seeped though your thin nightgown as you reclaimed your spot on the throne. your legs spread just wide enough you knew he could see the wetness seeping from your core.

daringly, your fingers floated down to your center. you began to rub circles on your clit, your lips parted as arousal fueled your fingers to continue.

he knew what you wanted, and was more than happy to oblige.

slowly and methodically, aemond approached you. meeting his lustful gaze, you watched as he lowered himself to his knees in front of you.

“may I, your grace?” he whispered, you could do nothing but nod as his fingers slowly ran up your exposed leg. his touch searing into your skin, you unconsciously spread your legs wider.

large hands roughly gripped the back of your knees, a low growl was all you heard before he dragged his warm, wet muscle through your dripping folds.

“gods,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt more arousal drip from your center and onto his devilish tongue.

“fuck you taste heavenly,” he drawled, suckling at your entrance, you gasped.

he set an unforgiving rhythm devouring your cunt.

lost in the throes of pleasure, your hands found purchase in his silver strands, tugging desperately whenever he applied pressure to your pearl.

if you weren’t disoriented by the assault on your cunny, you may have reddened at how quickly you could feel the coil in your belly about to snap.

“p-please my love. i’m close,” you begged, long forgetting the domineering facade you fabricated earlier.

fuck, you sound so pretty when you beg, his member hardened painfully watching your eyes fill with tears.

only sparing a moment away from your cunt, he commanded, “such a good girl for asking. go on, make a mess for me.”

with a final flick of his tongue, you cried out as you came undone. your body spasmed as the waves of your peak flowed through you.

soon, your body went limp and were close to falling back onto the swords behind you before you were scooped up by your husband.

draping his jacket over your frame, he quickly brought you to your shared chambers, making sure no eyes were present in the corridors.

lowering your body onto the bed, you were instantly met with fluffy blankets and you sighed in content.

expecting your husband to join you, you opened your eyes only to find him completely bare, looming over the bed. seeing him in all of his glory always seemed to stir something within you.

“i hope I am forgiven for my misdeeds from earlier?” you nodded.

he grinned and looked down to trace the patterns on the bed sheet, “do you think we are through, little wife? you didn’t think I would punish you for that little stunt you pulled?”

he grabbed your ankle and swiftly dragged you to the foot of the bed.

stunned by his sudden roughness, words escaped you as he grasped you by the chin and whispered “va ry izula, sir.”

(on all fours,now)

another mind dump of aemond, surprise surprise ;)

- alice

[mswritergirl02]

Jealousy Jealousy.

In which y/n is a bit toxic and can't help but feel jealous when Lexi and Fez hangout.

Pairing : Fezco X Female Reader

->Reader advisory: This writing includes explicit language and references to substances. It may not be suitable for all readers.

A/N: I'm now accepting requests

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N was excited for her Friday night plans. She had decided to surprise Fezco, her boyfriend, by bringing over a pepperoni pizza and some of his favorite snacks. She hoped they could watch a movie together and maybe smoke a little. Y/n didn't smoke often but when she did it was usually with Fez. The idea of spending quality time with Fez always made her heart flutter. Y/n knocked twice and waited anxiously.

As she stood in front of Fez's door, balancing the pizza box and snacks in her arms, she couldn't wait to see his smile. But instead of Fezco, it was Lexi Howard, her best friend Cassie's sister who greeted her with wide eyes.

Lexi's heart skipped a beat when she saw Y/N standing there with the pizza and snacks. She knew Y/N well, having witnessed her fiery personality in action many times before. Y/N was fiercely loyal to Cassie, Lexi's sister, and would always stand up for her, no matter what. Lexi had seen Y/N's temper flare in arguments and watched her boldly defend Cassie from anyone who dared to cross her.

Now, facing Y/N's intense gaze, Lexi felt a surge of fear. Not to mention Lexi and Fez had just smoked so she was panicking, scared that Y/N knew she was high.

"Lexi?" Y/N's voice broke through the tense silence, her confusion evident.

Lexi swallowed hard, trying to compose herself. "Hey, Y/N" she managed to say, her voice trembling slightly.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the pizza box suddenly feeling heavier in her arms. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone sharp with suspicion.

Lexi's nerves prickled under Y/N's scrutiny, her mind racing for an explanation.

"-I was just...hanging out with Fezco," she stammered, her voice wavering

Y/N's frustration boiled over, her suspicions pushing her to continue pressing Lexi. "Hanging out, huh?" she scoffed, her tone dripping with skepticism.

"And what exactly were you 'hanging out' doing? Chatting about the weather?

" I was keeping him company ?”

Y/N's voice grew louder at Lexis comment, "Keeping him company?”

“What does that even mean, Lexi?" she demanded. Y/n's face was now bright red, the redness creeping up to her ears, and a nervous twitch now flickering beneath her eye.

"No, um, Fez just invited me because I was nervous about my play, and we ended up watching Stand By Me," Lexi hurriedly clarified, her words slightly rushed.

"And... and smoking a little," she added hesitantly.

Y/N's eyes narrowed at Lexi's response, her suspicions confirmed. "Smoking?" she echoed, her voice filled with anger. "So you're just here to get high with my boyfriend?" Her words were sharp and laced with accusation.

"Get the fuck away from the door, Lexi," Y/N spat.

Lexi glanced back at the empty couch, seeing that Fez was now gone. "He must've gone to the bathroom," she muttered, stepping back reluctantly.

Just as Y/N stepped inside the house, Fez came walking down the hallway, a half-smoked blunt tucked behind his ear. "Yo, Lexi, gonna lock u-" Fez began, before his eyes fell upon Y/N sitting on his couch, legs crossed with pizza box next to her.

Fez recognized the look on Y/N's face and the twitching of her eye having seen her like this many times before. She was mad.

"Hey, ma," Fez greeted Y/N with a smile.

"Explain," Y/N said, jabbing a finger in Lexi's direction.

Fez scratched the back of his buzzed head, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he glanced between Y/N's angry face and Lexi's nervous stance.

"Explain what ma ?" he grunted, his tone thick with confusion. "I was just watching a movie with Lexi, ain't seein' nothin' wrong."

Y/N's eyes narrowed, "Explain why the fuck she's here, Fez.”

Fezco's face scrunched up as he tried to piece things together. "I ain't know you was comin' through, ma,". "Just thought she needed someone to talk to, you feel me?"

Y/N's face tightened with anger. "Why's she in here with you while I'm bringing you food?" She questioned, her voice rising.

Fezco looked unsure. "Again, I ain't know you was comin', ma," he admitted, feeling kinda guilty. "I thought Lexi needed some company to talk about her play and shit"

Suddenly, Ash popped out of his room, the look of annoyance plastered on his face. "What's with all the noise?" he grumbled.

Ash spotted the pizza next to Y/n and grabbed a slice. "Oh, shit, you got pizza"

He then took a second to look between the three figures staring at him and pieced together what was happening.

"Looks like you're gonna get your ass beat by Y/n", Ash smirked.

Fez rolled his eyes, shooting Ash a glare, "Bro shut the fuck up."

"Yo go back to yo room," Fez said noticing that Ash was making himself comfortable on the couch next to Y/n.

Ash grinned mischievously, taking another bite. "Nah, I'm stayin" he replied, enjoying the drama. "This is getting good."

Y/N's frustration grew noticing Fez wasn't paying attention to her. "And what about the smoking'?" she pressed.

"Was that part of your hangout?"

Fez put his fingers to his ears remembering the half-smoked blunt he placed there. "Um, yeah, me and Lex smoked a bit," he confessed, rubbing his neck nervously.

Suddenly, Y/N noticed something that sparked her anger even further. "The fuck did you just call her?" she snapped.

If Y/N wasn’t seeing red before she definitely was now.

Fez blinked, taken aback by Y/N's sudden outburst. "Uh, I..I mean Lexi," he stammered.

Ash, who had been quietly munching on pizza, perked up at the confrontation.

"Ooh, drama," he muttered, taking another bite.

Y/N stood up, her fists clenched at her sides. "What the fuck are you still doing here?" she spat, turning her attention to Lexi, who was shrinking into the corner.

Lexi scrambled nervously to grab her purse, whispering a quick goodbye to Fez as she rushed out of the door.

Y/N walked up to Fez, jabbing her pointer finger harshly into his forehead emphasizing her frustration.

"Lex?" she said mockingly. "Lex?!" she repeated, continuing to shove her finger into his skin.

Ash smirked, sensing the opportunity to exit. "And that's my sign to leave," he declared, grabbing the box of pizza and walking off to his room but not before shooting a smirk at Fez and adding "Good luck, bro", to which Fez flipped him off

Y/n raised her finger to jab Fez's forehead once more, but he caught her wrist firmly, stopping her in her tracks. "I told you to stop that shit long time ago," he grunted, his voice rough.

"I don't give a fuck," she shot back, her tone sharp. "Why the hell are you inviting girls over to smoke and acting all lovey-dovey with them on the couch?"

Fezco was now beginning to get annoyed "You need to chill ma," he stated, his voice rising as he tried to assert his point. He hated when she got like this.

"We just watched 'Stand By Me,' for real. What's your deal?"

Now their argument had escalated into a screaming match, with neither willing to back down. Y/N reached for Fez's pants pocket. "Give me your phone then if you aren't hiding anything," she demanded, her eyes flashing with determination.

Fezco snapped, his patience long gone, he moved her hand away. "Yo, you trippen, chill the fuck out!'

"So no?" she added, raising an eyebrow. "No?!"

"Fine!" she declared, pulling out her phone and began typing a message.

Fezco's eyes narrowed snatching the phone from her hands when he saw her click on Elliot's name.

"What the fuck you doing, Y/N?"

"Yo you fucking for real?" he exclaimed, his anger boiling over as he read the message she was about to send.

From Y/N: Hey Elliot, you wanna watch a movie? We could smoke. I have some weed.

Fez's brows furrowed, "Yo and whose stash we talking 'bout?" he demanded.

Y/N's smirk widened looking to piss him off even more, "Yours baby."

Fezco's eyes narrowed. "Quit playin' games shortie," he growled, his voice taking on a low menacing tone.

He knew she was trying to push his buttons, and it was working like a charm.

"Or what?", she questioned.

"Yo, you tryna get Elliot's ass beat?" he snapped, his voice laced with warning. "Keep saying that shit, I ain't fucking with you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Elliot can handle himself."

He clenched his jaw, "You think this a joke, huh?" he countered. "Trust me, you don't wanna go there."

Fez now towered over her, his piercing blue eyes clouded with anger. "Quit playing these fucking games wit me ma," his voice was low and dangerous as he lifted her chin to fully meet his eyes, giving her a final warning.

His other hand twitched. The urge to hurl her phone against the wall was almost overwhelming. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure before he did something he'd regret. With a heavy sigh, he deleted the message and set her phone down. Deep down, he knew she was just hurt and didn't mean anything by the message. This left him feeling guilty for the tension between them.

Realizing that Y/N had a valid point and knowing he just wanted to de-escalate the argument, Fez softened his tone slightly. "Ma you gotta chill out," he continued, his voice gentler now. "We just watched a movie and smoked, that's it. I wouldn't do you like that."

"Lexi's just a friend, she was hella nervous about a play she's putting on and needed a friend."

Fez handed Y/N his phone, his gesture a sign of trust. "Check it, ma. There's nothing on it," he urged.

I'm sorry, ma," Fez stated.

Fez's apology hung in the air, but Y/N remained stubborn, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glared at the phone he held out to her.

"I'm sorry, ma," Fez repeated, setting his phone on the coffee table next to hers and reaching out to gently touch her arm

Y/N pulled away slightly, her expression still guarded. " I don't know, Fez," she murmured, her tone hesitant.

Fezco sighed, frustration evident in his eyes. "C'mon, baby," he pleaded, using the nickname he knew she couldn't resist.

" I messed up having her here without you knowin, I know. But you gotta believe me, ain't nothing going on with Lexi. You're the only one for me."

Y/N's eyes softened as she looked into his pleading eyes.

"My feelings were hurt, Fez," she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

"But I'm sorry for the way I acted. I might have overreacted."

Fezco pulled her close, landing a kiss on her lips before pressing his forehead against hers. "It's all good ma, he reassured her, his voice filled with affection.

"We all mess up sometimes."

As they pulled apart, Y/N met his gaze, feeling a pang of guilt. "I feel bad for scaring Lexi, I probably ruined her high," she confessed, her voice laced with remorse.

Fezco chuckled, shaking his head. "Hell yeah, yo you scary as fuck when you get like that," he joked, wrapping her into a tight hug and squeezing her ass playfully. "You crazy as fuck ma but that's why I love you”

Masterlist

[seeyalaterinnovator]

The Halocline - Rhett Abbott x Reader

Summary: Reader gets roughed up a bit, Rhett comforts her

Warnings: reader is the victim of violence, descriptions of wounds, descriptions of a panic attack, no spoilers for outer range

Word count: 1.9K

Authors note: My friend sent my a requests with rhett abbott saying "Hey, just look at me. Breathe." ... I shamefully finally got around to it.. so here we are...

Keep reading below the cut

The cool Wyoming night air brushed against your exposed skin, each step carrying you closer to the Abbott house. Certainly someone was here, if not Rhett, since he wasn’t answering his phone. You prayed he was just asleep or his phone had died, and that’s why he wasn’t answering any of your calls. The porch groaned under your feet when you hobbled up the steps, up toward the door. 

You knocked once. No answer. It was late, late enough that most of the house would likely be asleep by now, having to get up early tomorrow for chores around the ranch. Cecilia was a light sleeper though, that you could count on. So you knocked again, this time with a little more force. Still no answer.

“C’mon, Rhett!” You cried, voice hoarse from the sobs that wracked your body earlier, raw from screaming for any kind of help that never came. 

Your fist pounded desperately against the screen door, the tinny noise echoed into the open air and died off in the howling wind. There was always someone in the Abbott house, of course except when you needed them the most. “Shit.” You mutter under your breath.

Goosebumps rose along the flesh of your arms, the reddened welts from earlier burning as you sucked in a deep breath and tried to figure out your next move. Tears welled in your eyes as a hopeless feeling settled deep in your chest, but you refused to let them fall, not until you were somewhere safe again. Trembling, torn up hands reach up to scrub at your face as you turned toward the barn. 

You noticed a faint yellow light flickering through the cracked barn door, likely forgotten by someone earlier. It wasn’t the comforting embrace of Rhett, but it would have to do. The barn was far better than trying to walk back to the pit bar to get your car and risk running into Trevor again. God knows what he would try this time. Maybe if you were lucky one of the Abbotts would find you here in the morning when they started their morning chores around the ranch. 

So with a grunt, you slowly made your way over to the barn where you would hopefully hide out amongst the bails of hay. Your footsteps were heavy, weighed down with exhaustion as you crossed into the barn, the dusty smell of hay and motor oil hitting your nose. To your surprise, a familiar form was hunched over the back workbench, a white cowboy hat hiding a head full of sandy brown hair. You nearly could have collapsed from relief.

“Rhett?” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. 

“Sweetheart- what are you doin’ out here so late?” Rhett inquired, turning as he wiped his oil covered hands on an old rag. 

Stood in place, you couldn’t muster the strength to step any further into the light, to expose yourself to the careful scrutiny of his deep blue gaze. The sweet, lopsided smile that pulled at Rhett’s thin lips was discarded quickly, the tattered rag left on the dirt floor when he noticed the tear stained sheen on your cheeks. “Sweetheart? What happened?” His voice was heavier this time.

“I-..” All the air in your lungs dried up, leaving your chest deflated and empty. Paralyzed, your panicked gaze met his as you tried to choke in a breath. No air came though. Rhett saw your chest spasm with the effort of trying to suck in air. Quick to action, his booted feet carried him over to where you stood, though dread took pooled heavily in his gut.

“Jesus-” He gasped, his warm breath puffing out against your battered face. The first thing he noticed now that he was closer was the gash that marred your forehead, a steady trickle of blood trailed down the side of your temple and down your cheek. The second thing he noticed was the smattering of dark splotches that shadowed your skin, likely to be deep purple bruises by the morning. The third thing he noticed was you were without the sweater you always had on at this time of year. The neckline of your shirt was torn, seams ripped and stained crimson. You trembled in your spot, still frozen in place, skin peaked as shivers wracked your body. 

Rhett was quick to shuck off his jacket and drape it over your shoulders and tuck you into the warm fabric. His large, steady hands ran along the length of your arms, trying to rid you of the constant shivering. “Honey- who did this to you?” He kept his tone level, despite the anger that welled up inside him. 

You tried to answer, mouth opening around the Tillerson boy’s name, but all that came was a strained croak. Hot tears fell down your cheeks, burning as they rolled past the areas of broken skin. Hiccups soon took over, and breathing grew even harder. “Oh god!” You say between cries, grabbing a fist of hair and tugging at it hard enough that pain pricked your scalp. Anything to distract you from this drowning feeling that resided heavy in your chest.

With as much tender care as he could, Rhett grabbed a hold of your wrists and detangled your vice grip from your hair. His warm hands came to rest on your flushed cheeks, careful to avoid any area that looked cracked open. His touch was firm and steady as he squeezed just enough, holding your head steady and in line with his. “Hey..” He loosed a breath, barely a whisper as he searched your eyes.

“Hey, just look at me. Breathe.” He instructed in a collected manner, held you steady in his grasp despite thrashing like a bull against his hold. “Sweetheart, breathe for me. You can do it.” Wild eyes met his, and for the first time that night you finally felt safe. At first, your breaths came in frantic puffs, but you focused on trying to force the air from your lungs and exchange it for new air, inhaling deeply and blowing it out on a steady controlled exhale. 

“That’s it, good job. Keep goin’.”He encouraged, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead, despite the dried blood that flaked against your skin. 

You stayed like that for a while, breathing in and out, until Rhett was satisfied that you weren’t going to pass out on him from a lack of air. Now that the adrenaline had eddied away,  your head throbbed in time with your bounding heartbeat. You winced, shying away from the light once again. “Rhett I-”

“Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, okay?” 

There was no fight left, so you allowed Rhett to guide you into the house and up the rickety steps to the first clearing, where his room was. His hand stayed put on your low back, a calming presence as he pushed you into the threshold of his room and shut the door, careful not to wake anyone as it creaked shut. 

First he pulled off his jacket from your shoulders, blue eyes roaming over your skin. Now that he was in better light, he could see the large welts that covered your arms, and how your shirt was ripped in more than one place. His lips pressed together to keep the questions at bay, now wasn’t the time for an interrogation. He needed to get you patched up and in bed. 

“Come on.” He spoke softly as he took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips before he tugged you toward the bathroom. 

You hovered awkwardly in the doorway, unsure what to do with yourself. That was okay, Rhett knew what to do - probably better than anyone else in this house. His hands peeled away your tattered shirt and tossed it aside. He helped you sit on the countertop before turning on the faucet. The sound of the water filling up the sink was the only noise as you watched him rummage through the closet in search of the well used first aid kit. Rhett made quick work, using a pack of gauze to clean up your forehead so he could assess the damage. He didn’t think you’d need stitches, but he held pressure for good measure. You sucked in a breath, trying to back away from his hand. He muttered a soft sorry while he leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to your forehead. 

“I was at the pit bar.” You mumbled, averting your gaze to your hands which gripped your thighs tightly. “I was just on my way out when Trever Tillerson wouldn’t let me past.” 

The words were heavy on your tongue, like you didn’t quite have the right words to say. Rhett didn’t stop cleaning your wound, needed to keep his hands moving so he didn’t do something stupid like track Trever down and kill him. You knew he was listening though. A muscle in his jaw ticked when you mentioned the name, he knew what kind of reputation Trever had.  “I tried to push past him, told him I wasn’t in the mood for his antics tonight. He didn’t like that.” The tears came softer this time, only rolling down your flushed cheek when you squeezed your eyes shut. “No one else was around, I tried calling out. He-”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it. Not right now.” 

“Thank you.” You sighed. 

Rhett finished cleaning your wound in silence, placing an antibiotic ointment over the open part and smoothed a bandaid over the broken skin. His hands firmly grabbed your hips and helped you off the counter, led you back into the bedroom. He grabbed one of his old t-shirts, knowing how much you liked to sleep in them. 

“Arms up.” He instructed, sliding the tshirt over your head and helped you slide your arms through the holes. He then knelt down before you, sliding off your jeans, his warm hands grazing along your thighs. You grabbed ahold of his shoulder to steady yourself as he helped you step out of the fabric. “There you go.” 

As Rhett stood back up, he looked down at you, his gaze uncertain. A line formed between his brows, his eyes bouncing between your own as if searching through your soul. He whispered a soft ‘c’mere’ and pulled you into his strong embrace. His hands wrapped tightly around your shoulders and tucked you against his chest. You inhaled deeply, smelling the familiar, comforting scent of leather and tobacco he always carried. This was what home felt like. You nuzzled into him, muscles releasing the tension they held onto. 

“I love you.” Those three words felt right, certain even. Despite the night’s events, you knew you would be okay as long as you had Rhett. 

“I love you too, sweetheart.” His pressed another kiss to the top of your head, and then tucked you under his chin. You listened to the steady beat of his heart, slightly faster than it usually was, as it thudded against your ear. 

It would be alright. This was your home. Rhett was your home.

[A/N]- this was inspired by the song The Halocline by Hippo Campus <3

[not-a-space-alien]

Tinytopia Chapter 14: Nest parasitism

Story Masterpost

On AO3

Thanks to my beta reader, @appelsiinilight

In this chapter: Things get heated.

Warnings for this chapter: implied infanticide

***

As Thistle lay there falling asleep that night, all he could think about was how lucky he was.  He had all the love he needed right here.  His new family was expanding, his friends all getting along and helping him build a community. Downstairs, Severa had her egg and was glowing with happiness about her support.  Across the room, Marcy lay cozy in bed, ready to help him with anything he needed.

And beneath him, Moon snoozed comfortably.  The perfect pillow.  Thistle ran his fingers through the fluff on Moon's chest–poking out of his v-neck in a very picturesque way.

Moon cracked open an eye to reveal he had not been sleeping at all.  “Like what you're feeling?”

“Yes.” Thistle pressed his cheek into it. “You smell nice.”

Moon chuckled and drew Thistle closer to him.  “You're not so bad to hang around with yourself.”

“I'm glad you're here.”

“Yeah?”

“It feels good.  All the love in the house.”

“It certainly does.” Moon went for a kiss–aimed for Thistle's mouth, then swerved for his cheek, then second- and third-guessed himself and kissed the top of Thistle's head instead.

Thistle smiled.  “Maybe we should.  Y'know. Kiss more.”

“Whatever you like, my dear.”

“I'm not sure if you're my boyfriend, but I like you and you're really handsome.”

Moon tried not to spiral.  Kissing was moving fast for Thistle, but expressing genuine affection without a costume to protect him from it was moving fast for Moon. Start with the simple, basic, concrete facts. After all, it was refreshing how honest and straightforward Thistle was, right? “You’re an amazing and wonderful person. You're very important to me, and I want to spend a lot of time with you.”

Thistle blushed and hid his face down in Moon’s fluff.  “Do you want to… have sex?” he said, very, very quietly. 

“Uh.”  Moon made a noise before he could even think of a good reaction.  It seemed… wrong, somehow, to think of having sex with Thistle.  Like sex had been his old life, and now he had to hide it from pure, good Thistle, lest he be contaminated.  It was why he’d kept Rosy as far away from Thistle as possible.  “I mean.”

“I thought you would want to.”

“I do, but…”  But what?  Why was he panicking about it now?  “I want it to be at a time when you’re fully ready.”

“I’m not sure if I am.”

“Then you’re not.”  That he knew for sure. Any time he'd seen someone who didn't know if they were ready go through with it, it'd always been a mistake on their part.  Moon stopped thinking about it before he could start feeling guilty about his long history of monstrous actions.  I’m not going to be that person anymore.  For Thistle.  “I will wait for you to initiate, and I will wait for as long as it takes.”

Thistle rubbed his pointer finger on Moon’s chest.  “I want to kiss, though.”

“That we can do.”  That was safer.  They’d done that before.

Thistle crawled up Moon’s chest until they were looking directly into each other’s eyes.  It felt like Thistle was looking into his soul instead of his eyes. Moon felt naked, no costume to protect him from the affection.  No way to not think about the fact that it was his real self under scrutiny here, not something he built up.  He averted his eyes first.

Thistle chuckled and poked his nose.  “You’re silly.”

Moon lifted his leg and gave Thistle a gentle push, bringing him closer.  “You’re silly.”

Thistle leaned in and kissed him.  Moon had done this countless times before, to siphon off magic from unsuspecting victims.  But here… he was just doing it for enjoyment.  And it felt nice. And it felt nice for Thistle, and that was the feeling Moon was chasing now, the high of seeing Thistle feeling good at his hands.

Moon!  There was a psychic shout directly into his brain, in a woman’s voice.  Moon flailed, startled, and Thistle slid off him.

“Eh?” Thistle said.  “Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t hear that?” Moon said.

“Hear what?”

Moon, help!

“Rosy,” Moon said.  He threw the covers back.  “She’s ramming a magical projection directly into my skull to avoid waking anyone else up.”

Help!  She’s going to kill me!

“You didn’t,” Moon said, full of dread. 

“Moon?” Thistle said.

Moon stood and hopped off the desk.  “I’ll be right back, my little wildflower, no cause for alarm.”

Thistle watched him go, then looked over at Marcy, still sleeping.  And he was conflicted, because last time he’d run off to help someone without waking Marcy, he’d gotten his legs broken and left for dead.

But… Rosy hadn’t wanted to wake anyone else in the house up.  Only Moon.

This was different now.  He wouldn’t leave the house.  He wasn’t alone.

Thistle climbed down the desk using the little rope ladder dangling off the edge.  He skittered out and went down the stairs one at a time, using his one-and-a-half wings to modulate his fall.

And when he peeked through the banister rail, Severa was out in the living room with Rosy wrapped up in her coils.  Moon had his hands out placatingly.  “Stop!  Wait, Severa, let’s talk about this!”

“This wretched bitch was trying to steal my egg,” Severa hissed, coils rolling, and Rosy let out a squeak.  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t break every bone in her body!”

“Moon?” Thistle said.  “What’s happening?”

Moon looked between them, hesitant.  Then burst out:  “I told you, Rosy, I told you the house is off-limits!”

A pit formed in Thistle’s stomach.  He dropped down and jogged the rest of the way over to the confrontation.  “Severa–please.  Let her go and let’s talk.”

At the suggestion from him, Severa dropped Rosy instantly.  The succubus fell to all fours coughing raggedly.  “Ah, Moon, my dear, just in time-”

“Don’t my dear me, you Jezebel,” Moon seethed.  “You knew what a stupid move this would be, yet you did it anyway.”

“Why were you touching Severa’s egg?” Thistle cried.

This was it.  There was no way to hide it any longer.  “Thistle, there’s something you should know about us,” Moon said heavily.  “My kind are… cradle-robbers.  Rosy was trying to swap our baby out for Severa’s egg, to trick her into raising it.”

Thistle looked sadly at Severa and Rosy.  “Rosy.  Rosy.  No.”

“I told her,” Moon said, panicked tears pooling in his eyes.  “Rosy, I told you over and over not to do it.”

Rosy hauled herself to her feet.  “Well, you left me to do all the work myself!”

“What work?  All you had to do was not swap the baby out with anyone in the house!”

“It’s not like there are many other options!  And it was hard enough to sneak into the nest with everyone around watching!  You can’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if you’d been stuck with the larva.”

Thistle stood watching the two argue, feeling numb.  “Moon.  Your kind steals babies?”

Moon looked from Thistle to Rosy, panicking.  He grabbed her by her fluff.  “I was serious when I said do not mess this up for me, Rosy.  Get out.  Get out right now.  Don’t ever contact me again.”

Rosy offendedly ripped her fur out of Moon’s hands.  “Fine, I’ll just take the larva and go.”

Thistle looked over into Severa’s nest and saw two identical eggs.

Oh no.

Oh no.

“Now which one is mine again?” Rosy said.

Severa hissed and blocked the door with her good arm.  “Leave them both.  I won’t risk you taking my egg.”

Rosy sneered and held up her hands.  “Fine, I guess I'll just leave, then.”

“Hold on.”  Severa’s eyes bounced between Rosy and Moon.  The enchanted lights on the porch, which has been glowing soft yellow this whole time, turned dangerous red.  “Cradle-robbers you say?”

“Not the sires, usually,” Moon raced to answer, seeing all too clearly where this was going.

“Now hold on a minute!” Rosy said.

“What have you been doing with the children you’ve stolen?” Severa said, sides heaving with dangerous hissing.

“What do you think I’ve been doing with them, raising them as my own?”

Severa let out an enraged hiss and lunged towards Rosy, her hand ghosting against Rosy’s wings as the succubus leapt up and out of range.  Severa threw herself to follow, lunging again, but Rosy used a bit of magic to teleport up and onto the windowsill.

She paused just long enough to toss over her shoulder: “Moon, don’t come crawling back to me when you realize what you’re missing.”

“Go, woman!” Moon shouted.  “For fuck’s sake!”

She vanished.

Moon turned to Severa with some visible trepidation.  “I’m sorry, Severa.  I’m very, very sorry.  I told her in no uncertain terms not to touch your egg.”  He spread his hands and bowed.  “I know how much it means to you, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that, whether purposefully or through carelessness.”

Severa was in his face in an instant, angry eyes drilling into him.  “I had no idea we had a baby-killer in the house.”

He grimaced and lowered the dip of his bow even further, shrinking away.

“Hold on!” Thistle said, dashing over and waving his hands in between them.  “Hold on, Severa!”

“I haven’t,” Moon said.  “I never once laid a hand on a child.  I barely ever see children, not even my own.”

“There, you see?” Thistle said.  “It was all Rosy.”

“He is an accomplice,” Severa spat.  “Just because his biology excuses him from giving birth does not mean he is innocent when his mate commits such crimes for his children, with his full knowledge.”

Moon sunk to the ground, all hope of maintaining his dignity lost.  “It’s true,” he said.  “I knew what she was doing, and I never thought to stop it.  It’s monstrous, I know.”

“But he never did anything,” Thistle argued.  “It was entirely up to Rosy!”

“You are just telling yourself that to feel better about the situation!” Severa accused.  “Because you want to accept this creature into the house!”

Thistle looked away, uncomfortable.  

Severa tensely crawled back into her nest, hackles raised.  “I was careless to leave my egg for even an instant.”

“I’ll help,” Moon rushed to offer.  “I’ll get you whatever you need so you don’t have to leave the nest.”

“You will go nowhere near my egg.”  Severa pulled her door shut.

“I can help you figure out which egg is the changeling,” Moon offered desperately.

A pause. Then, Severa cracked the door open. “Will the changeling harm my baby?”

“...No, I suppose it won’t.  Not any moreso than a typical baby would its sibling.”

“Then I have two eggs now. Let it be a surprise which is which.” She shut the door. “Now leave.” 

***

Moon excused himself to brood, hastily making his exit before Thistle could initiate a conversation about what had just happened.

Just when it’d seemed like things were going well. 

He sat in the moonlight, thinking.  About his own parents–or rather, the borrowers that raised him.  About how they must have felt.  What they must have thought about him.  Even though they were long dead by now.  About how Severa had simply kept the egg.

About what they might have done if he’d stayed.  If he’d asked them to still love him knowing what he was.  To knowingly have an incubus in their home, giving it affection freely, the way Thistle had been doing until now.

Would they have done it, like Severa did?

Would Moon have killed Summer the borrower, if it'd been necessary to sneak his own larva into his parent's nest?  Would he have smashed Severa's egg, killed Petunia? Would he have smothered Thistle as a baby if he hadn't been excused from the chore by his biology?

The answer he doesn't want to face is that he probably wouldn't have, but only because he didn't want to get his hands dirty. He was both spineless and completely amoral. And he'd been fine with that, until he saw what being something else could get you.

Those two borrowers that had raised him, did he even have the right to call them his parents?

He sat on the roof under the moonlight and set up his wardrobe so he could use the mirror.  He shrunk himself down, crushing his bones into a borrower's skeleton. He pulled his fur out into a chestnut brown. He pulled his ears out.  He sculpted a tail.

He looked at himself very carefully in the mirror, judging his appearance. Unlike every other time he'd done this, he wasn’t trying to make himself as attractive as possible. He was trying to make himself look like someone very specific. The grown up version of a child he'd seen in the mirror long ago, a lifetime ago.

He uses a finger to dot some freckles on his face.  There.  That was just about right.

He left his eyes red. Both because eye color was hard to change, and because he wanted Thistle to be able to guess it was him. To spare him from having to say it. To just allow him some sort of buffer.

He put on his borrower clothes, then shrunk his wardrobe down to put it back in his pocket.  He scampered back to the house, ducking in through the window.

Thistle was asleep in Marcy’s hand.

Moon rappelled down the wall and jogged over to Marcy’s bed.  “Hello?” he called up.

Thistle rolled over, peering down over the edge of the bed.  “Hello?” he answered quietly.

Moon’s luminous red eyes disappeared and reappeared in the dark as he blinked.  “My name is Summer.  I’m a little lost. I was hoping you'd be kind enough to let me take shelter in your nest. It looks like it's about to rain out.”

Thistle stared at him.  Just for a moment.  Then, he climbed off Marcy and jumped down, sitting down next to Moon so they could look eye-to-eye.  “Hi, Summer.  I’m Thistle.  You’re welcome here.  You can stay for as long as you want to.”

“That’s very kind of you.”  Moon wrapped his tail around his feet.  “It seems like you welcome all kinds here.”

“That’s right.  We even have predators here.  But only if they agree to work for a better life with us.  One where everyone has to suffer as little as possible.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah.  It is.  It’s not without its challenges, though.  Some people here have done some pretty bad stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  I have this one friend, and he’s spent his whole life being selfish and evil.  But you know what?  All it took was him deciding to be better to make him fit in here.  That’s what we all have in common, is that we work together to make things better for all of us.”

“What about justice?”

“Justice is… sort of a human concept.  It’s not without merits.  But my kind just sort of… doesn’t operate that way, you know.”

Moon drew his knees up to his chest, feeling smaller than ever.  “I bet your friend isn’t used to being shown that kind of understanding.  I bet he doesn’t know how to handle it. I bet he yearns so much for a better life that he panics when anything threatens to take it away.”

“That’s okay.  I’m patient with him.”

“I bet he's not used to people doing things like that for him after he's told them who he really is. I bet he doesn't know how to handle people liking the real him."

“I think you’re probably right.  But you know what?  I know the real him can be a really good person, if he just decides to be better.  That’s what we’re all doing.  Just working to be better every day.”

Moon wiped his eye on the back of his paw, horrified to find that he couldn't stop himself from crying. "Maybe he doesn't even know who he is. Maybe he's spent so long pretending to be other people that he doesn't know who he is when he's alone."

“Well, maybe he has room to figure that out now.  Maybe he doesn’t have to let the past dictate his future.  Hm?”

Moon wanted it so bad it hurt.  His old wounds from forever ago, the man he used to be, have been being reopened more and more recently, and it hurt. The possibility of a better life with genuine love has been within his reach, and it was so fucking scary thinking about how it could be yanked away again if he loosens his grip on it.

When had he become so foolish?

"I want to believe that," he says, scarcely above a whisper. "But it's so dangerous to hope.  It’s hard.”

“It’s hard, but… I know you can do it.  You’ve done some amazing things.”

Moon let out a strangulated sigh.  “This is who I was born as, you know.  Summer the borrower.”

Thistle put his arm around Moon’s shoulders and gave him a gentle shake.  “Summer the borrower is nice, but I know this really cool guy named Moon who's even better.”

Moon laughed sadly.  “I bet Summer’s parents didn’t feel that way when they found out their baby was gone.”

“You were literally a baby when that happened.  And they raised you, didn’t they?  They were your parents.”

“I stole their love, Thistle.  That was a century ago, but I bet if they were still alive to ask, they would resent me.”

“Well… kind of a moot point now, isn’t it?”  He poked Moon’s chest.  “Maybe now we can think about our actions now and how we can take responsibility for things going on, huh?”

Moon sighed, ashamed.  “I’ve always just avoided thinking about what she was doing with the babies she’d swapped out.  I never asked, but I could have imagined.  I’d just chosen to ignore it.”

“And why was that?”

“Thistle, I… I don't have any excuses. I knew full well what Rosy was doing with the larva I sired for her, and I didn't think it my problem. It was a careless, foolish, and selfish way to live my life. And I understand now the kinds of values that would drive someone to acknowledge the problem and do something to put a stop to it, and I've seen what it can do. Here, with you. And I want to be part of that.”

“You can be.  You already are.  You’ll always have a place here, as long as you want to be part of it like that.”

Moon stood, trying to regain some of his dignity.  “I suspect I'll just forever be on Severa's naughty list now. Not that I blame her. I just doubt I will be able to do anything to redeem myself to her.”

“Well… she’s got a bonus baby now, because of you.”

“I doubt I really get credit for that.”  Moon wiped his eyes.  “I guess I can take off the costume now.  Haha…embarrassing that I had to use it as a crutch to talk about my feelings, but it was certainly therapeutic."  

Thistle giggled.  “I’m glad.  Hey.”  He tugged on Moon’s sleeve.  “Why don’t you try sleeping in Marcy’s hand with me?”

Oh, that was the thing Moon had been avoiding until now.  Despite how inconvenient it was for Thistle to have to choose between sleeping with Moon and sleeping with Marcy.  Marcy had been doing very well at easing Moon into being around humans while respecting his boundaries, but he was still… hesitant. He’d been on the desk for now, and no closer.

But it seemed less scary now.  He smiled.  “All right, Thistle.  I’ll give it a try. For you.”

***

Taglist

@sunandshards @cheeseybeans8 @whumpsday @gt-brainrot @imberbitez

@bittykimmy13 @gt-daboss @honeycollectswhump @corvidat @vagueturkey

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[saintstars]

Endurance and Survival @russingon-week day seven!

thank you so much for creating and running this event, even though i went a little feral with it and now have these three bouncing around in my head forever it was a pleasure and reading everyone's gorgeous works has been a delight!

Gen fic below the cut in which Maedhros reckons with fatherhood

F.A 545 (7 years after the Kinslaying at Sirion)

Gil-Galad comes to the camp not as a High King, nor as a warrior, but in common clothing with a small escort he leaves outside. Even so, his brilliance is undeniable in the midst of the bedraggled, threadbare Feanorians that tend the scraps of their company.

He is well named. There is gold threaded through his twists of black hair but he has abandoned the hoops he wore in his nose and ears as a rebellious youth. A sharp pain blooms in Maedhros’ chest as he regards the stranger of an adult over his pockmarked table.

Gil-Galad fixes sorrowful sea-coloured eyes upon him in return.

‘I do not expect you to join the war. But you are not safe here any longer.’ He says, always ready with the counter argument he expects and already answering it.

‘So you claim to offer me and mine shelter after all our crimes?’ Maedhros asks bitterly, knowing the king has none of his father’s forgiveness in him, knowing he would not deserve it if it were there.

Pityless, Gil-Galad all but confirms his thought.

‘The boys should be with their own people.’

Maedhros leans back, affecting a casualness he lacks under Gil-Galad’s scrutiny.

‘Kano has grown fond of them, and they of him.’

He smiles just as Fingon did, bright and a little too brilliant to look at for long.

‘How many times did you tell me war was no place for a child?’

Maedhros also remembers how he raged at being kept from the action at the tender age of fifty, hardly fitting his newly adult body, still carrying the softness of his childhood, so ready to accompany his father into battle and so angry to be exiled to Falas.

‘These Peredhil are not alike to any children I have known.’

‘Yet they might die like any child in conflict if you do not shelter them from it.’

Maedhros traces the whirls in the table with a fingertip more whorled than the wood.

‘What would you have me do?’

‘Give them over into my protection, I will bring them to Balor, where they may be among the people you sundered them from at the mouth of Sirion.’

‘And my brother and I? Would you cast us to the wilds?’

‘You have mastered the skill of your own survival where others fall before you.’ It is a harsh reprimand, but not unearned.

‘Why did you not come for them sooner?’

‘I trusted them safe enough with you and though few believed me I had the benefit of experience as proof.’

‘How like your father you are, Artanáro.’

‘Few call me that these days.’ He says, smiling again, and explains, ‘I have found lies cause more harm than an inconvenient truth faced head-on.’

Maedhros almost chuckles.

‘You are wise indeed.’

‘I was well taught, atya.’

‘Atya?’ A new voice gasps, drawing their eyes to the two youths that linger, unheard by elvish ears, in the doorway. Behind them, Maglor sulks in the shadowed hallway.

‘Russo here has rather a habit of kidnapping Elven children.’

Maedhros swallows hard at the old moniker, his voice weaker and rasping when he responds:

‘I seem to remember you being foisted upon me.’

Gil-Galad raises an eyebrow in an expression so exasperated and familiar it slices right through his chest.

‘I seem to remember you begging my father to bring me to Himring.’

With his calm demeanour and stories of a younger, different Maedhros, Gil-Galad quickly wins Elrond and Elros to his side. But in turn he observes them and seems to find something comforting in their bearing.

Gil-Galad agrees the boys may stay with them, so long as their protection is promised, and he might visit when war allows. He promises to keep them informed of movements so they may avoid the worst of the war.

‘They are a good influence upon you.’ He tells Maedhros, and the pattern of it, the way that Ereinion carries so much past happiness with him, makes Maedhros want to go to his knees and scream until all feeling pours from him.

As ever, he does not allow it show and instead nods ruefully at his once-son.

———

F.A 417 (during the Long Peace)

High King Fingolfin acts strangely when Maedhros arrives at Hithlum, weary from the road and not in the mood for his uncle’s judgment.

‘Is all well, uncle? No news of concern passed us on the road.’

‘No, no, no news, Maedhros. Only, you were not expected at court.’

‘I don’t wish to intrude.’ He says, aware that things have never been easy between them but never feeling so unwelcome among his kin, even when he was a ranting thrall freshly freed from Morgoth’s clutches.

‘No intrusion at all, nephew.’

Thankfully he does not have to pry or wait long for an answer to Fingolfin’s strange demeanour as Prince Fingon’s entrance is announced, along with his son.

‘A son.’ He says when they are alone later.

Fingon, who has never been quiet a day in his life, is silent.

It has been ten years since they last spoke in person. Maedhros had not detected anything odd in his letters, any withholding, which he now curses himself for.

‘Does he have a mother-name?’

Fingon shakes his head. His eyes are shadowed.

‘There is no one but me to name him.’

‘In Sindarin, then?’

‘Ereinion.’

Scion of kings; the plural does not escape Maedhros.

He brings news from the house of Beor for the House of Hador, who have settled in these western lands. An innocuous connection that becomes suspicious.

Fingolfin’s house has been close with the second born, even granting Fingon’s own land to their lords, lords who might even be called kings. But Fingon laughs at Maedhros when he alludes to it.

‘I am hardly ever in Dor-lómin these days, I’m either at court or chasing the Easterlings and Orcs out of Ard-galen. Why I think I’ve spent more time reinforcing you at Himring, than in my own supposed bed the last few centuries!’

He conjures fond memories with his choice of words, too fond for resentment to hold between them, and besides the child does not seem strange and unnatural as those children of mixed races are.

‘You have not been East in a decade or so, you should bring your son to visit; he might enjoy the mountain hunting.’

Fingon sobers at the suggestion. He looks away suddenly.

‘When he is old enough for the journey.’

So Maedhros returns alone to Himring and seeks out Curufin rather than break the unspoken thing between himself and Fingon.

‘Brother, when you… created Celegorm, how aware… how considered was the… begetting?’

‘I was married; it was simply natural.’

‘But you consciously made the choice to…reproduce?’

‘I hardly had the greatest part in his becoming, Nelyo, what is it you’re asking me?’ Curufin snaps, unhappy to be distracted from his etching work. He looks up at the silence and a more thoughtful look comes upon him, ‘You think the boy, Fingon’s boy, is yours.’

‘There is a distinct lack of further parentage.’

‘I can ask around.’ Cunning creases his smile.

But despite his many spies and his reputation for always ferreting out the truth from hiding, his prying reveals a mire of deeper confusion. It seems Prince Fingon deserted his company while rousting orcs along the Sirion river and vanished mysteriously, only to reappear with a young son several years later and living in Minas Tirith. A son that Lord Orodreth’s own daughter calls her heart-brother. A son raised outside of the main court at Hithlum, and only brought back on official summons of the High King. It is perplexing.

Fingon visits, without his son, leaving him in Nargothrond for Finrod to spoil rotten. And confesses that he hopes to use the goodwill of that kingdom to win a visit to Doriath for the boy.

Maedhros teases Fingon that he is trying to make Ereinon’s name hold true; winning over the lord of every kingdom with his childish charms.

‘Can you blame me? An heir of the crown needs all the alliances he can manage.’ Fingon smiles, but there is a worried cast to it.

Maedhros considers him, thinks that perhaps while Fingon is forgiving enough for himself, he is not forgiving enough to allow his son, perhaps even their son, near his influence.

He brings Ereinion to Himring at last when the boy is twenty, and sharp as a blade though his body is still childish. Maedhros finds himself rusty as an old blade around children, so long have his brothers been adults, and so far has war kept him from households and raising. And the boy is strangely quiet and thoughtful for one so young.

Fingon watches anxiously on as they play a game of simple strategy to break the unfamiliarity between them.

‘Finno, I begin to wonder if you kept us from each other this long because you could not bear two vast intellects in one room.’ Maedhros laughs, ’What do you think, boy?

‘I think my father spared your ego; rather than witness a child outwit you.’ Ereinion says, no smile on his lips, but a fierce pride in his eyes. It is uncannily like Fëanor’s own look was.

Ereinion makes advantage of Maedhros’ lack of caution and wins their set.

Over the next few decades of peace he wins a place in Maedhros’ heart, where he suspected none remained, too.

Despite that, Maedhros is not convinced he wins the boy over in return. His manner is often cool with him, guarded.

He expresses as much to Fingon, who laughs sleepily, curling closer to his side.

‘You do better than you think.’ He rests head on Maedhros’ chest, his finger poking at the scarred side of his mouth. ‘Besides, he is a good influence on you; I haven’t seen you truly smile so often since Aman.’

If that is enough for Fingon, Maedhros decides it enough for him too.

[dumbass-smolgayitalian]

The star wars live action curse

every time star wars comes out with a new live action anything it roles a die to find out what will go wrong. AND IT'S NEVER THE ACTOR'S FAULT PEOPLE NEED TO STOP HARRASING THEM IT'S ALWAYS THE WRITING!!

The original trilogy

Episodes 4,5,&6 don't have any large looming problems like the rest. The only thing I would say could be part of the curse in these movies is the passing but that's really nit picky on my part that these movies feel very long and like a lot of shit is happening all at once but its not detrimental to the movies. So overall, they rolled really high on the saving throw and bypassed the curse. (on a more serious level I think a part of why these movies worked was because they where drawing a lot of inspiration from previously fleshed out genres to have a lot more to work with already laid out nicely)

The prequels

So there are just a few problems here not quite a nat one but very close there is of course the pod racing, jin gambling for Anakins life, the age gap between Anakin and Padame, but mostly the dialogue. The problem with the dialogue is that this was supposed to be a Shakespearean tragedy and Gorge Lukas doesn't know how to do Shakespeare and from there this is just a bad Shakespeare adeptaion but in space and with wizerds.

The sequels

this is a nat one to the point that I feel like I shouldn't even have to explain.... (if I even try this will be far too long)

Rouge one

nat 20 no curse only problem no starwar rolling beginning

Solo

a few problems haven't seen it in a while, the way they try to fix the parsect problem, how they treat the main droid character and her storyline, but also how they make it so Han isn't actually a good flyer the ship is now sentiant

Mandolorian

seasion one great seasion 2 is manly a way to hype up Boba Fett and Ashoka show aswell as constantly trying to bring in big name characters not for the narrative but for the fan service

Boba Fett

haven't seen it in a while and am not familiar with Bobas character to know if it was done well feel free to tell me your own thought on the matter

Ashoka

I refuse to watch this on principle on part because of how they completely change how the force works with sabines storyline, how they treat everyone's storylines and characters, but mostly the main reason is how they completely butcher Ashoka as a character from where she was in at the end of rebels and to who she is as a character

Andor

really good but dose have a slow pacing

Acolite

fun but the story donst hold up under scrutiny very much but not in the matter of jedi corruption or the sith seeming like a good option though there is a problem with how the sith are shown as the victims while ignoring any killing they but the bigger problem is that the show in blended on the shoulders of the sisters but cant decide how they want to characterized

[darcytaylor]

There is a pattern to these fandom freakouts that's quite frankly become exhausting. Every time L hasn't posted in a while, trolls come out of the woodwork, posting shit affecting his loved ones, hoping to spur him into action. This is what happened last time with the HBS likes. Every time there's info or even so much as a hint that he's still with A, a smear campaign against him is launched, without fail. But if he posts something about Bton, all is forgotten in seconds, he's suddenly uwu babygurl Lukey Newts, perfect boy. Every. Fucking. Time. This is what happens whenever a celebrity isn't doing a little monkey dance for the fandom. And it's such a weird thing - if they're obsessed with someone, it doesn't necessarily mean that they love or even like them. In which case, I would like to kindly ask - why are they even here? Like, what are they hoping to get out of this experience?

Personally, I'm tired of going into any Bton fandom space at this point, hoping to see what's new and hopefully have a good time, and getting bombarded with literal nonsense that will be disproven within hours yet will somehow linger in the collective fandom memory and become a building block of increasingly unfounded theories that have diverged completely from reality, yet get regurgitated as fact every time new info emerges. They always find a way to contort even the most benign piece of info into intractable timelines of things that have been given meaning that they simply don't bear. Literally if you were to pull a thread, the whole thing would fall apart. Yet, these same things get resuscitated every time the fandom is mad at L or N or whoever for not doing whatever it is they think they should be doing.

The entitlement is mind-blowing and the rinse-repeat cycle of chicken-littling over the minutest thing is sucking every bit of joy out of being in this fandom anymore. It has become more time-consuming just trying to curate my experience than actually consuming content I'd like to see. What is even the point anymore, folks, huh? Would your own lives withstand the same kind of scrutiny you're putting these people under? They're just trying to make entertainment and a living out of it, what's the point of ruining everything? Whence even the urge? None of this is that deep. Is everyone just a miserable fuck anymore? I'm sorry for ranting, but it's become not worth it for me anymore when May was such a blessed time. Why can't we all stay in that energy? What good could possibly come of this? Thank you for listening and take care of yourselves, everyone.

I totally get where you're coming from. Fandoms can become overwhelming, and it sounds like you're feeling really drained by all the drama and negativity. It’s hard when a space you used to enjoy turns into a battleground of speculation, entitlement, and frustration. Your feelings about how fans treat celebrities and the constant cycle of drama are completely valid. I've noticed this pattern as well. It’s disheartening when every action or inaction of a public figure is scrutinized and twisted into something negative. Luke might not have handled everything perfectly, but the extreme reactions often reflect a lack of empathy and misplaced expectations.

It’s also frustrating when fandom spaces are overwhelmed with misinformation and sensationalism. This is why I found myself rolling my eyes at the information coming out yesterday. People should be more mindful about the sources of their information and why it’s being spread. The effort to sift through and debunk myths can be more exhausting than just enjoying the content. Constantly having to defend yourself or distance from the negativity to keep your enjoyment intact is disheartening.

It’s tough when people criticize you for trying to view the situation from a different perspective and not just join in the attack without knowing all the facts (or at least a good portion of them). It’s definitely tiring. I was feeling this yesterday because of the asks I was getting.

Remember, it's perfectly okay to step back if the environment is no longer enjoyable or is affecting your well-being. Fandoms should be a place for sharing enthusiasm and connecting with others who feel the same way, not a source of constant stress and conflict. I hope you find a way to rekindle your enjoyment of the fandom or at least find some peace with it. Take care of yourself and focus on what makes you happy. ❤️

[veal-exe]

people were nitpicking your language in a server I'm in where we discuss trans rights and I was sitting on my hands trying not to lash out because you were using the language correctly they were just uncomfortable because it wasn't perfect or how they would have used it!!! I did point out that there was nothing actually wrong with what you were saying and that got them to back off but like. AUGH. I just want you to know that as someone who has been ripped to shreds for simple miswordings due to autism and related difficulties, even though english is my first language, you have people in your corner!!!!!!!!

I genuinely appreciate this message, more than I think I can fully express. I try to operate under the assumption that no one online has my back (not even my friends, because they are not my attack dogs), not because I think people are cruel, but because I know I can’t and shouldn’t rely on others to defend me. My words and actions are my own, and in the end, it’s on me to stand by them or stand up for them.

But.

It does not feel good.

It never feels good. And in a space where I’m already weighing every word, trying to make myself as clear as I can across cultural and linguistic gaps, it does carry real weight when someone takes the time to say, “I saw what they were doing, and I stood up for you.”

That matters.

That stays with me.

Thank you.

Because this kind of language policing, especially in conversations about lived oppression, rarely comes from a place of curiosity or care. More often, it’s a performance of correctness, a desire to be seen as more precise, more aligned, more ideologically clean. And that instinct can lead people to treat the language of others as suspect or even dangerous simply because it’s not exactly what they would have said. Which becomes even more frustrating when the language in question isn’t incorrect, it’s just not theirs.

It’s exhausting. Especially when, as you pointed out, this kind of behavior disproportionately targets people with language processing differences, or people for whom English is not a first language (or a second or a third). That scrutiny isn’t neutral. It’s not just about "clarity." It’s about power, about who is allowed to speak messily, passionately, imperfectly, and still be treated as worthy of being listened to.

And Anon, I hope your friends can eventually take a step back and ask themselves: Why are they comfortable talking behind the back of someone who was speaking about their own oppression? Why are they comfortable nitpicking the phrasing of someone they know does not come from an English-speaking background?

(I know I mention this constantly, but it's relevant here: English is my fourth language. That’s not a side note, it’s the context.)

I hope they ask themselves whether this is what they believe solidarity, praxis, and compassion look like. Or whether, in truth, they’re using the idea of ideological purity as a justification for exclusionary behavior, gatekeeping cloaked in progressive language. Oppression disguised as “precision.” Xenophobia in the shape of a grammar lesson.

I’m not always going to say everything perfectly. I probably never will. Sometimes it's so exhausting that frankly I don't even try because I have to choose between silence or saying something important imperfectly. But if people choose to treat my imperfect English as more important than the actual content of what I’m saying, I have to wonder, did they ever agree with the core point at all?

Thank you again, truly. You didn’t have to say anything. But you did. And it means the world.

[baradorable]

The Grand Unifying Wind Dancer Theory

Okay, remember when I talked about Prodigy possibly being the mastermind behind the Quiet Council? Well that theory is trash, because I have a much more fun theory in mind.

Wind Dancer is behind the Quiet Council. Not only that, she's also behind Mr. Friend/Mojo. And through him, she's been manipulating things behind the scenes in a major way.

Sofia vs Mojo

Hey, so you remember how Sofia was put in charge of Mojoworld back in the Krakoa era's X-Factor book? But in later appearances, this is never mentioned again and Mojo is back in control?

Prodigy was part of X-Factor at the time. He'd KNOW Sofia is supposed to be in charge of it. Yet he doesn't even acknowledge that Mojo apparently took it back, despite running into Mojo and knowing him as a threat. No mention of how weird that is. No concern about Sofia, or any thought about her being put into danger or eliminated. Something would have had to happen.

Sure, maybe Sofia could have just texted him and said, "lol I lost control of Mojoworld, my b 🙇🏽‍♀️" But let's be real: X-Factor and the X-Men would have just gone back and beat Mojo's ass as they always do, and Sofia could reclaim her position at any time. Or literally anyone else could take the job. There's no way Mojo would be left alone.

But what if Sofia never lost her role? What if she's still in charge, and is just letting Mojo manage? Or maybe he's a pawn? Mojo might be up for it; Sofia would be in charge on paper, but if she's letting him do whatever he wants and command everyone like normal, it's not a big deal. In fact, he'd feel like he's getting one over the X-Men.

All Mojo has to do is... what he's been doing before. Which is torturing mutants and broadcasting their suffering. Business as usual.

Now, this only makes sense if Sofia wants mutants to suffer, and for their suffering to be seen. But why would she want that? It doesn't make sense! The only mutants who would approve of it are the Quiet Council.

The Quiet Council

The new Quiet Council are a group of mutants who are trying to create a new Krakoa, which they will rule over as leaders. Notably, they are purposely sabotaging mutants, are having them targetted, and are subtly ensuring that they are oppressed by humans. Their ultimate goal is to drive a wedge between humans and mutants further, to the point where mutants will have no choice but to come together in order to survive. Their bad actions are okay, but it's for the greater good: a home where mutants will have sanctuary. It would be way better for mutants than what they have now, which is... Nothing, basically.

But Sofia has a good heart. Would she really let other mutants be sacrificed for the greater good? Well, recall 15 or so years ago, when Wither was arrested. Hellion was able to convince her of the importance of mutants sticking together. (*cough cough Krakoa cough*) She was willing to do what she thought was right - freeing Wither - even though she knew it was illegal and would put the rest of the school under serious scrutiny.

Sofia herself was separated from her friends, until Krakoa came along. It saved her and repowered her. She, of all people, would have a vested interest in Krakoa.

You know who helped get Sofia on that train of thought? On the Wither Wagon? Hellion. The love of her life.

And oh, huh. So the love of her life just so happens to be part of the Quiet Council's leadership. How queer.

If you believe my Prodigy theory, about him also being involved, then that means Sofia's boyfriend AND one of her best friends are controlling things. Funny how that works.

Suddenly, Sofia being part of the Council doesn't seem so out of place. And with her power and influence, she can do a lot of the heavy lifting.

Let's circle back to Mojo. If he's part of the Quiet Council's plans, why is he fighting against Prodigy in NYX #6?

Mr. Friend

Mr. Friend is Mojo's other identity. He uses it to find homeless mutants and refugees from the original Krakoa. Without a home or anyone else to turn to, he takes them in. In exchange, he takes a bit of their DNA to make a drug called MGH - Mutant Growth Hormone.

Mutants under Mr. Friend's care are presumably cared for. They're potential allies for the Quiet Council, as they are Krakoan refugees. They'd want another Krakoa.

But what about the mutants who don't trust Mr. Friend? Well, they would need to ally with other mutants to fight a common enemy, a threat to all mutants. Which is what the Quiet Council want.

Which is what Laura does. She goes to her friends for help. Friends, including Prodigy and Sophie. IE, she's unknowingly going to the Quiet Council.

So you either join Mr. Friend and become part of Krakoa. Or you reject him and turn to the Quiet Council for help, thus becoming part of Krakoa. Or you go to other mutants for help, only for them to be part of the Quiet Council, leading you to become part of Krakoa.

No matter what, mutants joining together is the answer. Krakoa is the only way to survive.

Now what if I told you that the plan goes deeper than that? Because lets look at what MGH does: it makes humans powered and crazy. If people see this and mistake them for mutants (which will be easy, given the mutant DNA in their systems), that makes mutants look bad. So Mojo basically getting people to pay to make his job easier.

MGH is also a steroid for mutants, because it will (at least temporarily) boost their powers. And if you want to protect your nation, you need to be as strong as possible.

You know who used to sell MGH? Vanisher. A mutant who is now working with the government, as he helped them break into Scott's Alaska base. Maybe he's in on the deal and advising Mojo on how to make the drug, while helping the government bust mutants.

Why would he do that? Well, he was killed before. And then he was revived on Krakoa and gladly helped their S.W.O.R.D. team. It'd be very reasonable to assume that he'd want to enjoy the life he once had on Krakoa.

Okay, so this is all making sense. But what about Local, Mojo's minion? He's dragging Wolverine: Woman Edition into the mix, but Sofia's wouldn't want Laura messing up her plans.

Or would she?

Local: Shipping is a Feature, not a Bug

But wouldn't your pawn falling in love with the enemy complicate things? We already saw him trying to rebel against Mojo for Laura's sake. Surely this is a bad thing, right? Who would benefit from this?

Someone who wants to keep Laura away from Julian, that's who. Can't risk the cat-clawed temptress swaying Julian to the side of morality. If anyone can do it, it's Laura. But that becomes harder if she's dating another guy.

Oh, and Local just so happens to have a resemblance to Gambit. AKA, someone Hellion hates, and believes was trying to creep on Laura. Hellion would be furious to know Laura's dating a Gambit clone. If he saw that, he'd think all of his criticisms about Gambit and Laura were completely valid.

Local is there to recruit Laura. Tempt her. If that fails, dating her and complicating things also helps the Quiet Council. His very existence is to either get Laura on their side or, failing that, drive a wedge between Julian and Laura. Not only does this ensure Julian's loyalty to Sofia, but it torpedoes the Helix ship.

Also, in NYX #6, Mojo takes a pot-shot at Laura. This becomes a lot funnier if you think Sofia's behind it.

Not notice how Mojo let her live twice, despite being able to kill her. He chose to let her live. Sofia might be merciful. Or she sees Laura as a future asset. Or she knows that Hellion would never forgive her if she killed Laura. But if Laura is the one who's drifting away from Hellion, then there's no problem.

Of course, this works best if Hellion doesn't know about all this. Nobody tell our boy.

Conclusion: If Local is Sofia's pawn (via Mojo), then him becoming Laura's love interest is mighty suspicious at best, and outright manipulation at worst.

But isn't there another girl? Didn't Hellion also have another love interest a few years back? Shark-Girl, right? There's no point in going after her, she's no big deal. In fact, how would Sofia and Iara even meet?

Oh, they're both part of Dazzler's group in the Dazzler mini. Isn't that a coincidence?

Dazzler: Sinking Ships

We're told how good Wind Dancer is at public relations. She wants to create peace between mutants and humans, but she's always been one to stand up for the little guy. So why would she compromise her morals and encourage Shark-Girl to hide her powers?

Pettiness. She knows Hellion is into her, and he's into her shark form. Sofia, seeing Shark-Girl as a possible obstacle to keeping Hellion, is sabotaging her and making her feel like shit.

This also has the added bonus of making mutants look and feel oppressed. If non-passing mutants see the pressure to conform to human standards, they'll be disillusioned and be more inclined to side with the mutants who accept them. AKA, the Quiet Council.

Also, Dazzler's show was attacked by Mojo in NYX #6. He wanted to use her music to brainwash people onto his side. Brainwashing people to their side would suuuuure go a long way in helping the Quiet Council, wouldn't it?

Sofia is nowhere to be seen, despite Mojo being her minion and the people he's attacking are her friends. How convenient. She knew her friends were coming, yet she never even bothered to interact with them, much less bother to look for them.

Come to think of it, the whole Dazzler tour has been disaster after disaster. They're constantly being sabotaged by outside forces. Dazzler's reputation is in the pits and people are growing to hate mutants more and more. Which is especially sad when you consider that Dazzler's whole goal with the concert was to create peace between human and mutants.

Sure helps the Quiet Council, huh?

Okay, okay. So that's two girlfriends down. Mojo failed to brainwash people, but at least the world tour has gone down in flames. That's all pretty cool and all. We support women succeeding in the work force, even if that work is forcing innocent people to suffer.

But what if Sofia's wicked plan is bigger than that? Media is a world-wide phenomenon, after all. But first, a detour.

X-Force: Don't Shock the Boat

This idea is less concrete, but no less fun.

There's one dangling string: Surge. Though she never dated Hellion, she did kiss him. It was a plot to help Prodigy, but it was still a kiss. And Surge and Hellion were growing to respect each other.

She can break up David and Tommy, but she can't get Prodigy to get back with her if he's already dating Dante. As much as Sofia loved her friend, she had to go. She poses a risk to Sofia's dominion over Hellion. She needs her boyfriend/powerful weapon/pawn.

By teaming up with La Diabla, the one behind all the disasters in the X-Factor book, she can ensure her enemies are eliminated. She can ensure mutants are put under more pressure to work together.

Hey, didn't La Diabla interact with Forge and Surge through security footage? That's magical and mysterious.

But manipulating footage, abusing surveillance and interacting with your audience through the media they watch? Just so happens to be Mojo's kind of thing.

They're working together. She's boosting his surveillance.

And so, Sofia funds La Diabla with her millions of Mojobucks. Grants her all the super-technology she has to offer, which could help her advance her alchemy to insane levels.

Oh, and the first fracture just so happens to be exactly where Surge is. How convenient.

Of course, the world ending would not further Wind Dancer's plans... Unless she and the new Krakoa stop them, thus looking like heroes and getting other mutants to trust them. It's a risk, but Sofia would know all about La Diabla's capabilities and weaknesses. And she could sabotage her at any time, by taking away her resources.

Sofia has been backing La Diabla so she can help the Council, AND secretly take out Surge without anyone finding out about it. X-Factor is fine because they can stop La Diabla once she outlives her usefulness to Sofia. Saves Sofia the trouble of doing it herself.

Is it likely? It's not impossible. But let's look at something that's very much likely-erer.

X-Factor

I mean, X-Factor is social media driven. The US government created them as their own personal heroes, under the guise of helping mutant-relations. Really, they wanted their own goverment-sanctioned military force.

Oh, look. The government-run X-Factor is debating on taking more mutant rights away. Sounds similar to NYX.

So the US has a team of mutants they're abusing to make themselves look good and protect their country.

But that's just a coincidence! Surely the government can be corrupt, even without the Quiet Council manipulating them. The QC were busy manipulating laws in New York.

Or Empath, Prodigy, Hellion and the Cuckoos were. Mojo is more powerful than them all, and NYX #6 showed that he has brainwashing tech. It'd make the most sense to have Mojo subtly working behind the scenes on bigger projects, while the others work on achieving smaller, more reasonable goals. Otherwise, the Council could have just gone for the government heads right away.

Okay, so the Quiet Council's control extends to the higher levels of the American government. At least, enough to get the ball rolling. With this in mind, it's reasonable to think Sofia is masterminding the government-run X-Factor team. Or at least influencing it.

Why is she fighting the Mutant Underground? Well, they clearly aren't aligned with the Quiet Council. They're fighting the government's injustices. And Sofia doesn't want that. So she's trying to get laws passed in order to not only oppress mutants, but to flush out this possible thorn in her side.

Wow. So Sofia's manipulating things in the Dazzler mini, NYX, AND X-Factor? What's next, is she also behind X-Men?

Yes. Remember how X-Men vol 7, issue 1 teased a new enemy force called 3K? They're making more mutants, AND they reference a word that's very important to Krakoa: Crucible. They want the world to be born anew. All of that just so happens to mesh well with the new Quiet Council.

Now look at the 3K's Chairman. Doesn't his helmet look familiar?

Sofia installed Julian as the leader of 3K, trusting him to enact her will. They're making more mutants to bolster the new Krakoa's forces.

Conclusion

After Krakoa's fall, Hellion, Prodigy and Wind Dancer teamed up to form the Quiet Council and manipulate Empath who, in turn, is purposely sabotaging mutant rights in order to drive mutants together. Using old media, social media, music and Mojo, they're creating a propaganda machine that will make mutants have no choice but to stick to their kind, as everyone else hates them.

Meanwhile, Mojo is also gathering mutants. He's harvesting their DNA to make MGH - not only to make money, but to power up mutants should they ever need to fight.

While all of this is happening, she's removing any obstacles that threaten her control over her boyfriend. She loves him and wants to be with him, I'm sure. But keeping him under her thumb has a lot of benefits, too.

How likely is all of this? Extremely likely. Sofia Mantega is 100% going to be the main villain of the new era. Don't even try to argue with me, it's happening.

But wait, it gets better.

Why is FtA happening? Well, it's no coincidence that it's starting at the exact same time the MCU has begun focusing on mutants. We knew the first Krakoa era was going to end. But they ended it earlier than planned (hence Fall of X rushing in places) so Brevoort can slip into the role and steer the ship. In order to make the line more recognizable with what people are familiar with, in preparation for MCU synergy. The MCU is a major driving factor.

So why get the line ready for MCU synergy, but then make so much of it revolve around Wind Dancer? It only makes sense if she's, say, going to be in a movie.

Wind Dancer will be in a movie. Which is great! ... Until you consider how she's been manipulating media and brainwashing people to get her way.

Conclusion: Sofia is not only assisting the Quiet Council, but she's also trying to take over our world. This is confirmed.

[quinloki]

My brain is very alive rn thinking of mean Marco/nice Sabo

And I just

Fuck dude

That’s so hot

And that led me to the thought of brat tamer Marco and I just…. Also thought of brat Sabo/brat reader….

FUCK

He’d be so patient and so calm about it, and his flames can soothe anything too hard… but later of course, once the brattiness is gone

I’m literally blue screening rn thinking about this Quin

I always go down such a rabbit hole whenever you say something about him T-T

>.>

<.<

Ahem.

cw: gender of reader not mentioned, bondage, edging, voyeurism, biting, use of talons >.> , mdni, 18+

Marco ignores you at first, well, it's not a cruel kind of ignoring you. His gaze finds yours a few times, eyes shifting over your tied up and exposed body, shivering under the scrutiny. You swear you can feel that gaze lingering over your skin.

Most of his attention, however, is on Sabo. The younger blonde has defiance in his eyes and fire on his lips, and Marco begins wordlessly touching and caressing him. Teasing him until his feisty voice is quivering almost imperceptibly with pleasure.

It's a show for you as well, able to see everything of Sabo, trussed up and exposed as you are. You can see the flush of blood under his fair skin, the soft sheen of sweat as he struggles against Marco's touch. The fire in his lips turns snarky as he tries to maintain his brattiness.

Marco grabs his hair, pulling his head back and forcing his gaze to the ceiling. Sabo grumbles, but he doesn't have the leverage to contest the move.

"Only good boys get to cum, yoi." Marco warns. "Are you a good boy, Sabo?"

"Why would I want to be?" Sabo huffs. His cock is throbbing, you can see it, flushed deep red and dribbling with precum. Marco gets him a little closer and then stops. Sabo's body jerks, but he doesn't complain.

"I'm not going to break for a little edging, old ma-aaaahnnngh!" Marco's talons bite into the inside of Sabo's thigh. The sudden pain in the soft part of his thigh has the younger man gasping, and before he can complain Marco's hand is back around his hard shaft, bringing him to the edge again.

Sabo swears, bucking against the mount he's tied to.

You can feel pleasure curling in your own body, just from the show. Marco's eyes keep finding you and you realize he's killing two birds with one stone. When he stops just before Sabo could cum again you open your mouth, letting out a soft sigh of of need you can't hold back.

Marco doesn't let Sabo cool off, jerking his cock in quick, random motions, making him twitch and growl in frustration. Sabo tries to buck his hips, to push himself over with Marco's hand, but the older blond tightens his grip and Sabo swears louder.

"Are you going to be a good boy, yoi?"

"I'm - hngh - not going to... break for you tonight... da-damn pineapple." Sabo growls as Marco lets go of his hair.

He settles himself between Sabo's thighs, kissing the marks from his talons and soothing the wounds with his fire. Sabo's body twitches from the actions, but he's trying to steady his breathing and stand his ground.

Marco's lips move to Sabo's shaft, and he pauses for a second before you hear worried words fall from the younger man's lips.

"Marco, Marco those're your teeth, Marco." Sabo's voice is caught between trust, curiosity, and fear, and if you wonder if the two of them hadn't talked about things before hand.

"Well?" Marco prompts.

Sabo, to his credit, swallows hard, and then the bratty demeanor returns to his face. "Do your best, old timer." He taunts and you see flames flicker along Marco's shoulders.

You can see Sabo's body tense, his eyes fixed on Marco, and the clenched whimper that escapes him when all Marco does at first is lick along his twitching member. Sabo throws his head back, swearing, fighting the growing pleasure he just knows is going to be denied again.

Worried sounds escape his lips and you imagine Marco's dragging his teeth against the sensitive flesh. Sabo's entire body go rigid and he sucks in a breath, eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling. There's fire coming from Marco's face, his tongue turned to flames and soothing the bite he left on Sabo's dick.

The younger blonde breathes out, swearing, sweating and shivering as Marco soothes him and checks in on him. You can see Sabo nod, and you're glad he's okay - it was hot. Wild, and a little scary, but so hot.

"I think you've been a good boy." Marco says, brushing sweaty hair away from Sabo's face as he nods in agreement. "So here's your reward." He releases Sabo from the mount, helping him to his feet before motioning toward you.

"Cum all you want, our sweet little bird is at just the right height for you."

[bestworstcase]

something interesting that popped into my head re: maiden talk. objectively between winter, weiss, and jaune, winter is the one most committed to atlas the nation; her line to ironwood, "I have never wavered in fighting the enemies of this kingdom, and I won't start now" has always stood out to me and I find it... interesting. Winter has the winter maiden powers and is probably the most high-ranking Atlas official to survive the fall. Raven, in committing to her tribe, places herself squarely in Mistral. Cinder steals Amber's powers in Vale, a country historically against Atlas (notably in the Great War), therefore aligning with her own sentiments. I doubt there is actually anything to this, but it feels like more reason to believe the Summer maiden will be in and associated with Vacuo. also as I rewatch the ironwood fight, he says that he never expected Winter to betray him... I have to wonder if he groomed Winter into joining the Atlesian military, or planted the seed in her mind, thinking that if he could mold someone into the lieutenant he needed that he'd never have to worry because he would have been totally responsible for them. (as in, taught them everything and shaped their morals and scruples). we know that as head of atlas he is the headmaster of the atlas academy but what better way to make sure that your protege never gets any "ideas" by picking someone who is isolated and desperate to escape, who wants to be cared for and about by someone and especially someone like him? if they never go to the academy they won't have the distraction of "friends" and "teams" and "allegiances." this could in part explain why her sword and rapier (?) are like ironwood's bfg and due process- she modelled them after him. also of course must be mentioned that when James realized Winter had inherited the maiden powers, he says that the destiny he chose for her had arrived. he must have known that it means penny is dead, but that doesn't matter to him at all. i think that's part of why winter is so pissed when she says "you chose nothing. this was a gift." she has to grieve her friend and a man who stands before her claiming he feels betrayed doesn't even seem surprised or sad about the death.

…hm yeah. throws that on the "gillian asturias is the summer maiden" pile

the WOR episode on huntsmen implies this pretty overtly, as ozpin notes that atlas academy has been under increasing scrutiny for "indoctrinating" its students into the military and pressuring graduates to enlist as special operatives, and…

ironwood also personally invites weiss to enroll at atlas in V4, and he knows jacques personally--prior to the fall of beacon it's implied they were political allies even, so he certainly knows what kind of person jacques is and how he treats his children. and then the way he talks to the kids when he gives them their licenses in V7 implies an expectation of personal loyalty--he needs huntsmen he can trust at his side.

i think he probably saw it as himself opening doors and taking a personal interest in promising students, much as ozpin does--bc ironwood very much does view himself as ozpin's most important lieutenant and natural successor, based on his unilateral actions after the fall--without necessarily recognizing (or caring) how manipulative and exploitative this sort of behavior is. but 100%, absolutely he was surprised by winter's "betrayal" because he thought she was his perfect protégé, never realizing she could still think for herself.

the funny thing is, projecting absolute obedience and deference while keeping her true thoughts and feelings behind a faultless mask is almost certainly a survival skill winter learned to protect herself from jacques, and she slips seamlessly into doing that the instant ironwood begins to make choices she disagrees with.

ditto her decisions in V8: winter sees ironwood murder a councilman in cold blood, going past "martial law" all the way to "military coup," and she sees the ace-ops brace up and fall in line. so what does she do? quietly stays put and starts doing what she can to sabotage him. she lets JYR go, then--upon realizing that they must have been the ones to blow up the whale, and thus probably survived--immediately turns around and declares they're going back to ironwood, no searching for the hostages, they'll tell him something else blew up the whale in person. jumping in to "arrest" marrow before ironwood shot him wasn't the moment winter "came to her senses"--that happened when she saw ironwood shoot sleet. it was just the moment when she saw she could do more good by leaving than by staying to mitigate ironwood's excesses. & i would bet anything that is exactly how winter was with her siblings when they were children: appeasing jacques and presenting as the perfect obedient child, and using the relative freedom that gave her to make things easier for her siblings in small, quiet ways.

ironwood just never noticed that he'd burned through all of winter's trust and all the chances she was willing to give him.

as for his reaction to penny's death: another moment i think about fucking constantly is this:

the way her focus goes right to penny's sword. the pause before she responds "sir?" to ironwood's greeting because she's so caught up in her worry for penny. (watts being… watts, and silently gloating at her because he can tell how bothered she is. framed between ironwood and harriet, who don't see penny as anything but a weapon to get under control.)

there's a reason winter is such a storm of feelings when she lets JYR go to try to save their friend, and the reason is she's terrified and angry and disgusted by whatever ironwood did to penny while she was being fitted into that brace, unable to intervene or protest.

so a day later, when penny dies and ironwood shrugs? it's not just that he's indifferent. ironwood is directly responsible for penny's death--he made the devil's bargain with watts, he authorized that virus, he is the reason penny was forced to leave her robotic body behind, he made penny vulnerable to cinder--and winter knows that.

[santoschristos]

ASHTAR SHERAN – BE CAREFUL OF FALSE MESSAGES.

Greetings Emanuel and Pastor, this is Commander Ashtar Sheran, Unverential Peace. This afternoon I wanted to clarify this message that is circulating on the networks, announcing events that will happen in 72 hours. Announcement of the Event that will take place in the next few days.

We always told everyone to look inside their own heart, to look there when they see a message. When you read a message on the networks, subject it to the scrutiny of your heart, if you vibrate it, if you feel it. Listen if this message is authentic, or if it's a non vibrating message, it's not true.

I tell you that among the strategies used by the dark forces is also the one to confuse, creating disappointment and fear in the population, in front of the event.

I tell you, my dear ones, that no one should fear, in case it happens. Like they said, it hasn't been 72 hours, we had no information about it. I haven't made any statements about this.

We have always said that, through Emanuel and Pastora, we will give official information about the program and the whole event. I’m saying unto you my beloved, don’t be confused. That's why I tell you, when you read a message, if it calls you to fear or fear, put it through the careful examination of your heart, there will be the truth.

We've always told them they will be informed internally. In the last few days there has been some solar activity. This was already planned. Father Mother had already announced it months ago. Several interlocutors from this side of the veil have also provided information about this. If the event speeds up these days, it’s unlikely.

Yes, there is a very intense solar activity, but not of such an entity to be called and classified as an event. They are previous activities that come gradually to prepare the souls, beings, to raise their vibration, to integrate into their I Am.

Don't take information that makes you afraid. We will warn them, yes, they will hear and their Self will know that it is time and they will hear.

Remember that before the big event there will be the declassification of all the information and the galactic announcement will come, which didn’t happen. All the information will be made public, boats from different families will also be shown and this has not happened yet. So watch the signs, read the signs.

Do not enter that circle in which even the dark forces try to sow fear, because they could not do it with other means. They have abandoned the blessed plan of the supposed Demia plan. All these actions have already taken place, they have tried to bring humanity back to the same situation as years ago, this one has no value anymore. They experienced wars and this one had no impact either. It's not time for war, nor is it time for a demise plan, nor is it a time for any negative activity on humanity.

These forces have already left the planet. We understand that there are still those who remain in human bodies, submerged, attracted, conditioned to act in favor of dark forces. Yet they continue to implant humanity, damaging its auric field, damaging its electromagnetic network, its body, implanting it with microchips to keep them under their control.

They continue to implant prototypes of negative energy that they themselves produce in their laboratories, and this through satellite signals, as we mentioned in the previous messages, through the Internet, 5G mobile phones and all those communication signals on TV, which humanity uses a lot, just as the use of energy is now widespread cell phones, computers, digital TVs, smartphones, everything.

In addition to keeping them monitored, supervised, they also take advantage of it to implement them.

Beloved, as I told you, we are installing the entire infrastructure of the light satellites, so that this way of continuing to control and manipulate humanity ends. They are so desperate that they already know what they have left are these disastrous strategies to continue to oppress humanity.

I tell all beings of light to stay alert and protected, very protected, because they will hear strong echoes as a result of all these strong implants that are made to them, through communication systems.

Fear not, everyone will be warned. It will come when it has to come. Pay attention to Emanuel and Pastora information, they are authorized and have information directly from us, the Hierarchy and the Source.

Remember that even the forces of darkness are looking for many noble conduiters. But they deceive them, they send messages pretending to be us, just to sow fear and terror among all inhabitants, among all beings.

We always tell them: stay connected, stay calm, stay composed. As the Father said, these days of the year are left, and even the next year of your calendar starts with great strength, with great energy.

We’re also waiting, my dears, because we also don’t know the date when this result will take place, but we know that everything is very close. We know because we manage energy at planetary level and solar system level and we understand how it flows, so we know it is very close.

Who gives you a date, who tells you that day, that hour, that date or that month is not correct. There will be situations in which you will know that the great solar flash is coming, which we desperately need for all the children of Father and Mother, so that they can integrate into their divinity.

All this energy that has entered all these portals, the last one since the solstice which has been quite intense, helps with reconfiguration, recalibration of the bodies and DNA of all humans.

Be peace, be love, be calm, because the anxiety of fear is the weapons of the enemy. Dress in light, dress in peace, dress in love and wait tied to your heart, there you will be informed and through our official interlocutors, every news will be transmitted to you by this means. Silence.

I salute you with absolute love. I am commander ashtar sheran.

Inverential peace, blessings to all.

Emanuel and Pastora - ServiUM

Sacred Mount of ERKS

Original Post: Enzo Palomba - Altro Pianeta

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Spring, 2020 - North Island Naval Base

Chapter 5 Part 1 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: Two months. You've been back to work for just about two months now and it feels even more like you're under a microscope than before. It feels like all eyes are on you, all the time and you hate it. You hate more that you haven't seen Bradley even once since that day. Add to that the fact that you haven't been able to go home and the added pressures of possibly being court martialed and you just want this all to be done.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish.

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 3056

A/N: Here’s Chapter 5 of YAMS! We're going to continue to see the far-reaching ripples of Hawk's actions. We're also going to get some cute Macheresin and IceMav because I couldn't help myself. As always, your reblogs and comments make me so happy! Feel free to drop me an ask if you want to chat about this chapter or any of my other works!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

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Tinkerbell

It's been three months since Bradley Bradshaw's accident. You only had your medical leave to prepare yourself for what would unfold once you were back on base. It wasn't enough. You knew the rumors would be floating around, that there would be sharks in the chum infested water, waiting for you to show any sign of weakness, a single cut even, to attack. Hawk's interviews, exposes, and tell-alls exacerbated that. You hadn’t even parked before everyone was looking at you with curious eyes. Everyone seemed to want to know why you’d actually been out for so long and if Hawk was right or just full of shit. But your lips are sealed. Under orders from Admirals Bates, Simpson and Mitchell you couldn’t say a word.

The scrutiny is nothing like you’ve ever faced before and you hate every minute of it. The worst part seems to be how you no longer have any credibility as an AMDO. Your first day back on base, you’d been introduced to Commander Grayson. He’s in charge of your team while you’re under investigation. Everything you do is immediately automatically examined by him, and logically you know why. He’s brilliant - your team is under extremely competent leadership under him. Were it under other circumstances you would love to learn from and work with him. But right now, you hate it. The drone project? That’s out of your hands and right into his. The inspections and adjustments occurring on North Island? Those are out of your hands as well. All you’re trusted to do, it seems, is work on paperwork and avoid the chatter that seems to spring up every time you walk into a room.

But the worst part of it all is how you’ve been blocked from seeing Bradley at every turn. You know he’s awake. Admiral Mitchell had been kind enough to tell you as much, that first day you were back on base, something the bond between you had hinted to as well. But Commander Grayson dogs your every move while you’re on base, even going so far as to have lunch with you, while  Jake and Javy dog your every move off base. You haven’t slept in your own bed once in those three months either. With the paparazzi still camping out on your front lawn, you’re still sleeping in Jake and Javy’s spare room. 

You haven’t had the chance to see how Bradley’s doing at all, and it hurts. The ache in your chest that you’d felt when Bradley’s jet exploded still throbs dully under your skin. That particular pain hasn’t faded even a little. The only time it had was the one night you’d managed to slip out of Jake and Javy’s house under the cover of night and sneak away to the hospital. You’d sweet talked a nurse into letting you up into Bradley’s room by mentioning he was your soulmate and held one of his big hands between your own. That night was the first in which you felt your heart beating in its rhythm again. It had been so easy, to press kisses against his knuckles and pray that he’d be okay, that he’d wake up again. You’d spoken to him until your voice was gone and snuck out at dawn with an exhausted body but a mostly settled mind. That one night felt far too short. Even knowing that Bradley is okay isn't enough. A part of you isn't sure that your mind will be at ease until you speak to him.

Your worry for Bradley is one of the only things fueling you as you trudge through base one bright morning. It's not quite so hot just yet, and you'd normally be ecstatic, making plans to drive out of the city for some fun. But just because the weather is better doesn't mean that your mood is. And then you walk into the AMDO hangar to see Commander Grayson, Admirals Mitchell and Simpson as well as two people in full khakis with JAG insignias pinned to their shoulders and on their chests. They’re introduced to you as Commanders Marks and Greybank.

"Lieutenant Commander, if you'd come with us? We have a few questions about the incidents that happened right here on North Island." It's the female JAG Commander, Marks, who speaks to you first. Her expressionless face rivals Commander Grayson's as he stands at a textbook perfect parade rest with one eyebrow cocked behind her.

You half expect to be locked up in a tiny windowless room with hot lights shining into your face and mercilessly interrogated. But maybe you've been watching too many movies and tv shows recently. What you get instead is a conference room, one of the nice ones where visiting Admirals have their meetings. Through the broad windows, you can see planes taking off from the tarmac. But you feel rather like you have a spotlight shining down on you regardless.

"Tinkerbell?" Lieutenant Marks' voice takes you by surprise. "Can I call you, Tinkerbell?" At her surprisingly gentle question, you nod.

"Alright, then. Tinkerbell," She sips carefully on her coffee before straightening out the notebook and pen in front of her. "What happened this year in Hangar Three during your first AMDO inspection on base?"

You’re more than a little taken aback by the question, expecting all of the questions they have for you to be ones about Bradley’s accident and your collapse during it. It must show on your face as well, since you’re asked to sit and once you do so, are asked the question again. Your voice is nearly too quiet as you start relaying the events of that day, including as many details as you remember, noting how they have your paperwork from that day in front of them. They’re cross referencing everything you say with the accounts in the reports, and it surprises you to see they have more than just your reports in front of them. They have statements from the Dagger Squad, the Admirals and even members of the Top Gun class in front of them. If your theory is right, they seem to want little to do with you at all and instead want all of the information they can get on Hawk. You finally ask why after the recess they allow you for lunch.

“Commanders, if I could ask a question?” Your voice is hesitant. They’ve already taken far too many notes about Bradley’s accident and your own subsequent hospitalization. You’ve had to disclose your suspicions that you’re his soulmate as well. Things already don’t look good for you, but you just have to know.

“Why are you focusing so much on Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor’s movements and actions over the past few months?” The question spills out of you in a deluge of sound. Your ears feel like they’re ringing as the Commanders look at each other before looking at you.

“Lieutenant Commander,” Commander Greybank’s voice sounds incredibly gentle, “Tinkerbell. Did nobody tell you why we were here?”

“No.” You’re quiet, your eyes focused on the way your hands clutch at each other, the knuckles white from the force of your grip.

“We’re your defense team.” Your head jolts up fast, shock parting your lips in disbelief. "Admiral Simpson called us as a special favor."

Marks picks up where her co-counsel leaves off. "Admiral Simpson believes you're innocent. We have evidence of that as well. We have video footage of your hangar, showing exactly who was around Lieutenant Bradshaw's jet while it was supposed to be under repair. We have, of course, footage of the maintenance crew and footage of you, Lieutenants Seresin and Bradshaw early that morning. But we also have footage of Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor lurking about the jet. We have footage of him removing a part from the engines and walking away."

“I knew he didn’t like me, but why would he do that?” You’re reeling, your hands shaking as they drag the laptop forward so you can view the footage. Your chest aches as you try desperately to breathe despite the panic taking over your body.

“He nearly killed my soulmate.” You’re not sure if the Commanders hear you as tears drip down your cheeks. “He made me believe that I’d killed my soulmate.”

“How sure are you that Lieutenant Bradshaw is your soulmate?” It’s a question you should have expected, though it does give you pause.

You swallow harshly, trying to order your flurried thoughts. “I’ve had all my soulmarks fulfilled by him. We have five.” At the shocked look on Commander Marks’ face, you have to grin, the action grim and small. “I’m sure that all five point to him. But I’m even more sure that he doesn’t know, or if he suspects, has convinced himself of something different.”

“We can use this information, if you’d like, to build your defense. We’d keep it as a last resort in case Taylor or his counsel try to bring it up. Does anybody else know your suspicions?” Commander Greybank looks rather overprotective as he spits out Hawk’s last name like it’s poison.

“Yes, my best friend and his soulmate.” It doesn’t surprise you at all that they want Jake and Javy’s contact info. “And there’s a Doctor on base too? Their name should be in my medical file from when I collapsed. Admirals Simpson and Bates are aware as well.”

“And what about Admiral Mitchell?” 

“I’m afraid I’m not sure if he’s aware or not. He wasn’t by my bedside when I collapsed, and I was put on medical leave immediately afterward.” You sip on your water, wetting your parched throat before continuing. “It is possible that either Admiral Simpson or Admiral Bates told Admiral Mitchell about my suspicions.”

“We’ll have to get in touch with Admiral Mitchell and his husband then.” You blink at the words. Since when is Admiral Mitchell married?

“Tink, there is going to be a lot of media attention surrounding this trial. Especially when the reporters come to know that you and Lieutenant Bradshaw are soulmates.” You’re well aware of that fact, sadly. “Is there someplace safe you can go when you’re not on base?”

“With Lieutenants Seresin and Machado. Reporters have been camped out on my front lawn since Taylor’s first interview.” The anger in the Commanders’ faces has you shrinking a little. “And nobody from the Navy has even offered to protect you?” 

At your nod, they share a glance and then dismiss you for the day. Your mind is still reeling as you meet Jake and Javy at their pick-up truck a couple of hours later. They’re content to talk to each other and leave you to your brooding as you glance out of the window. In the reflections on the window, you can see Jake and Javy, the ease in how they act with each other. Their love reminds you of your parents, sitting in the backseat of your family’s station wagon as a small girl and witnessing how they were always together, no matter how difficult life was. It's been far too long since you've called home, you realize, aching suddenly for your mom's home cooking and to hear your dad's terrible jokes.

But you can't call home. Not yet. They don't need to know about the disaster that has been your soulmate search. Not now. And so long as this thing stays out of the national news, you have time to tell them. Time to find the words. But more than your parents you need to talk to Bradley Bradshaw. You need to apologize. You need to hug him close. You need to tell him how sorry you are for not telling him your suspicions before you nearly lost him.

Jake and Javy help you forget your worries, just a little bit once you're home. They make you smile and laugh as Jake whips up dinner and all three of you dig into the sumptuous meal with a glass of red nearby. But your mind keeps straying back to the question of you and Bradley Bradshaw, over and over again. You’re being a bad friend, you’re sure, and an even worse guest, but you can’t seem to get out of your own head.

You come back to yourself lying on the sofa with Jake wrapped around you. 

“Hey Tinky-Tink. You back with us, pretty girl?” You nod robotically, your mind spinning but your voice locked up behind chains that you can’t seem to break even if you tried. 

“What’s going on, pretty girl? You’re scaring us, sweetheart. We’re your family, aren’t we? Then how come you can’t tell us, tell me, what’s going on in your head?” You curl in closer, reveling in the heat of Jake’s embrace, in the knowledge that your brother, though not in blood, will always protect you.

When your mouth opens, long after Javy joins the two of you and settles on the floor by the sofa, it’s to ask a question you’ve never asked of your friends before.

“How did you know, Jake?” It’s a whisper, barely audible over the rustle of your clothing. “How did you know that Javy was your soulmate?”

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Jake sounds bemused, even as he pulls you closer. “You know we met when we were 14 and 15.”

Javy’s baritone picks up the story where Jake leaves off.  “Yeah, pretty girl. I was the new guy in class, the only one who looked different from all the others. And your boy here was the only one who introduced himself and asked for my name. Those are our marks, you know? His name, in that travesty of a chicken scratch that he calls handwriting on my thigh and my cursive over his heart.” 

“You’re right, sweetheart. We found each other early. But we didn’t know what we’d found. Not so easily. Not at all.” The weight of past memories is in Javy’s every word.

“It was Texas in the early two-thousands. Homosexuality was accepted even less than it is today. What choice did we have but to be each other’s best friend? To be like the brother we’ve never had? We couldn’t get too close to each other. We could barely sit in class next to each other without getting harrassed.”

There’s an impotent rage building in Jake’s voice, rumbling in his chest as he continues speaking. “We’ve heard it all you know, sweetheart. All the invectives, the rage just because the universe decided we belonged together.”

“But,” You can almost feel Javy’s gently chiding tone as he covers Jake’s hand on your back with his own. “I wouldn’t change anything in the world. The minute we were at the Naval Academy, I felt like I could finally breathe. Jake was thriving, I was thriving. But we were still too hesitant to take the leap. My mama wouldn’t have cared so long as I was happy. But Jake’s parents.”

“My dad would’ve killed me himself if he knew.” You clutch at Jake tighter, your ears hearing the words but your mind unable to compute a world where you never met Jake. “So we kept hiding it. Ignoring the tug in our chests, pulling us to each other. We kept ignoring how we orbited around each other. I kept ignoring how a single word from Javy would make me light up from within, and how it hurt when I took a girl home.”

“I never would’ve stopped if it wasn’t for that disastrous date we went on, Tinky.” You have to chuckle as you remember, Javy’s words making you smile despite your swirling emotions.

It had been one of your first assignments after fully certifying as an AMDO. You were just an ensign and it was your first time in Mississippi. You’d been introduced to the aviator squadrons on base and Javy had taken your breath away, quite literally. He was hot, you remember thinking, and more telling, he never seemed to go home with any of the girls always swarming around khakis at the bars on base. 

So you’d take a chance and asked him out for dinner. You’re not sure who had been more surprised, you or Javy, when he said yes to your stumbling, stuttered dinner invitation. But you remember how it had made your whole week. That had been at the beginning of your search for your soulmate, and well, Javy flew planes for a living, had brown hair (which was a stretch, since his hair is closer to obsidian than brown, you know), and dark-chocolate colored eyes. With nearly three of your soulmarks covered, what did you have to lose?

As it turns out, not a lot. There wasn’t any chemistry between you and Javy at all. He was easy on the eyes, and equally easy to have fun with, but there just wasn’t any spark between the two of you. And then there was the fact that he never shut up about Jake. You’d made it through the whole night before stopping him as he swooped down to kiss you goodnight and told him, “I don’t think this is going to work between us, Javy. There isn’t any electricity between the two of us. I like you, I do. I just think that the Jake you’ve been talking about? I think he might be who you really love.”

That had been the end of that. You’d opened the door a week later to Jake and Javy holding hands on your doorstep and subsequently been absorbed into their little family.

“Sweetheart, if you find that electricity, that spark with someone, then that’s the universe telling you who your soulmate is.” Javy sounds so in love, and you don’t even have to face him to know by his tone alone that he’s looking at Jake.

That’s when you break down, telling Jake and Javy your suspicions, fears and worries. When your mind finally quiets and your shoulders feel a bit lighter, you’re being held tight - this time, by Javy.

“It’s going to be alright, sweetheart. You’ll get the chance to talk to Bradshaw and get this all straightened out. He loves you, sweetheart. He was meant to love you. It’ll be alright.”

You wish with all your heart that Javy is right. You’re not sure you can handle it if he isn’t.

Taglist:

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[falloutbradreviews]

The Most Vivid Nightmares – Darker Harder Louder

Blood On The Dance Floor is one of the worst bands in existence, but that’s always been my least favorite. I’ve never liked them, whether it was for their bad music, their obscene and awful lyrics, as well as their horrible frontman Dahvie Vanity. The Internet was ablaze with people severely hating them in the early 2010s, especially many Facebook pages. I ran one of those “hate pages” from back in the day, but the plus side of that page is that it gave me some good memes and good friends. That’s not what I wanted to talk about today, though. We need to talk about frontman Dahvie Vanity, and how he is the worst frontman in all of music, especially with the cycle of abuse that he has spread within the alternative scene within the last couple of decades. I’ve been currently going down a rabbit hole on the Dahvie Vanity case, and I’m not sure why, but it’s fascinating. Not for the women and girls involved, of course, but seeing how he has victimized so many people over the years has blown me away. It was an open secret for so long that he was a serial predator and abuser, but his fanbase is a cult that believes he’s innocent. The #MeToo movement has changed a lot of things, especially in regards to abusers and predators in the scene, and I’ve been recontextualizing the Dahvie Vanity case, because we should have handled it a lot differently back then. A lot of the people in those pages, and the fans of those pages, made their memes, ad they goofed on Dahvie Vanity quite a bit, but we needed to make more of an effort to out this guy as a creep. We needed to put more emphasis on how bad he was, as well as understand how we got there. He was able to keep abusing women and girls for years, and it seems like both his fanbase and “fame” kept him from any scrutiny. He’s an “Internet celebrity” that wasn’t famous enough to need accountability taken for his actions, so he could go under the radar.

It's interesting, too, that Blood On The Dance Floor ceased operations in the late 2010s, but Vanity is still releasing music under the name The Most Vivid Nightmares, probably to get away with still releasing music to a cult-like fanbase, and not be associated with the BOTDF name. There’s something disgusting about a guy that’s infamous about assaulting minors still making music under a new name like nothing happened. I’m surprised he hasn’t just disappeared, especially after the HuffPost article that was dropped on him back in 2018, but that wasn’t enough. Instead he dug his heels into the ground, and has denied any wrongdoing. This piece hasn’t been hilarious or humorous, like my usual pieces about bad music, or about BOTDF, like they used to be in the past, but I wanted to talk about the real allegations behind Vanity, at least before I talk about his new project, The Most Vivid Nightmares, because I was wanting to see if he has dropped any new music. Sure enough, he’s been busy, and he just put out an album earlier this year. This time, it’s called Darker Harder Louder, so I figured I’d check it out for goofs and gaffs. I mean, how bad can a new album from Dahvie Vanity be, right?

Oh, it’s bad, folks. I mean, just like Aaron Lewis’ The Hill was my worst album of last year, and there was no question about it, this album is easily going to be my worst album of this year. There’s no way anything will be able to top this piece of garbage for the rest of 2025, because my god, this album is horrible. Here’s the thing, though: I don’t think this will top the worst Blood On The Dance Floor material, both for the hilarity that their early albums and songs gave myself and many others, but The Most Vivid Nightmares kind of sounds lazy and bored of itself. All of these songs sound exactly the same, because they’re badly produced electronic songs, but they’re all obnoxious, annoying, and stupid. They all barely feel like songs. As bad as BOTDF’s stuff was (and still is), it was still catchy for what it’s worth, and it felt like “music.” This sounds like stitched together fragments of songs. Many times throughout this “album,” I’m scratching my head, because Dahvie Vanity doesn’t sound on key, and he isn’t even in tune with the music behind him, but that’s when the music behind him doesn’t sound like random beeps and boops. “Jurassic Rage” is a good point in the album where I’m checked out, because this song makes no sense whatsoever. It's a mess of beeps, boops, Vanity “rapping” with distortion over his voice, but there’s barely a hook or structure whatsoever. Speaking of which, because Vanity is the only person behind this project, we can blame all of its misgivings on him. He’s the reason why this sucks.

His vocals, for starters, are some of the worst things I’ve ever heard, but that’s if you can call what he’s doing “singing.” Even on BOTDF’s early material, he was at least singing a bit, and it sounded like there was some semblance of melody, but this is just nothing. Every song here is some horrible rapping, singing, and talk-singing. It’s just awful. His voice is so annoying, too, I absolutely hate it. You got the lyrics next, and man, these lyrics are a mixture of awful and nonsensical. I keep saying that BOTDF’s early material was bad, but at least it put in more effort than this dreck. The lyrics were some of the worst things I’ve ever heard, especially being more sexual and obscene that children and preteens ate up, but this is just a mixture of nothing and nonsensical and pretentious garbage. There are some sexual lyrics here, but they aren’t as outlandish and awful as his early stuff. It all just falls to the wayside, but don’t get me wrong, it’s still bad. This is still horrendous, but it’s the kind of horrendous that’s not memorable. I don’t remember what I just heard, but it’s bad, nonetheless. At only 11 songs, this album feels like it goes on forever, even with it being 38 minutes. I feel like it never ends, and while I felt as though I was tortured with BOTDF’s material, I could at least laugh at it, because it was so bad, it was funny. This, well, isn’t funny in the slightest, it’s just bad.

My biggest takeaway from this album is wondering who it’s even for, because it’s not as sexual or teen-driven as their early stuff, but it just sounds like a band impression of Nine Inch Nails. There are admittedly a few decent synth lines, but it gets ruined when Vanity starts “singing.” He’s garbage, and the vocals and lyrics are the biggest reason for it. There’s no way that I’d recommend this, not even for the memes. There are no memes to be had here, but instead some of the worst “music” you’ll hear all year. Going back to being serious, like I was for the first bit of the review, maybe this project tanking will be what Dahive Vanity needs to disappear. It’s a shame he has never faced any repercussions for his actions, but that’s what happens when our society is a patriarchy that values men over women, even children that cannot consent. I’ve been watching a lot of interviews that Chris Hansen (of To Catch A Predator fame) conducted about five years ago with a lot of women that were victims of Dahvie all those years ago, and it’s been awful hearing about their cases, because they’re all the same. He takes advantage of his fans, especially those that are already from broken homes / living with trauma, so he uses that to his advantage. He’s an absolute monster, and I’m shocked that he hasn’t been in prison, but he’s been able to skirt by because of his low level celebrity status. I’ve always hated Blood On The Dance Floor for Dahvie Vanity being an awful frontman, but I’ve hated him more and more for the person he is. Truth be told, I didn’t need to talk about this album, because we all know it sucks, but I wanted to bring some light to the Dahvie Vanity cases again. As they’ve been on my mind lately, I’ve wanted to talk about them again in some way, hence why I decided to talk about this garbage album. You know it sucks, though, but we really need to bring this guy to justice.

[superloves4]

The Flame we Held (Fëanor son of Melkor AU) - Chapter 5

Relationships: Melkor/Mairon, Melkor & Fëanor, Mairon & Fëanor, Fëanor/Nerdanel Summary: Miriel made a deal with Melkor, she'd be able to bear children but in return the dark lord asked for her firstborn. When he gets imprisoned she believes herself to be free of her promise but Melkor shall claim his prize. TW: none! A/N: Mairon: Christianity? Near my child?? Are you crazy?!

Masterlist and on Ao3

Fëanor was crying, it was the third time that month. Melkor was looking at him with a shit eating grin and Mairon was doing his best to ignore it.

Perhaps he had taken some measure of pride that the child never cried with him, and perhaps this was far more humiliating than he cared for, and perhaps it was a great pain to the ears. Mairon hated to admit to it, but he had no idea what to do now.

“I’m just waiting for your words, precious,” Melkor said, holding back the laughter.

He bit his tongue but through his teeth he hissed “I need help”

Melkor’s laughter bellowed through the halls of Angband as he clapped his hands in delight, rushing to grab the nearest orc he could find.

The orc came back with one of the elven thralls, a shivering thing who thought their end was nigh, and it would, if they didn’t make Fëanor stop crying. Mairon’s eyes must’ve betrayed his irritation for the thrall stopped dead in their track at the door.

Mairon sighed, honey, not vinegar, he reminded himself.

He beckoned the prisoner closer and the orc dragged them whenever needed “If you are able to solve my problem, you and the others of your company shall receive an additional loaf of bread for a week.”

“Oh, you’re truly desperate.”

Mairon ignored his lover.

The thrall gulped, staring ahead, trying to ignore being under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord himself, noticing then the cries they’d heard came from a crib, a very well made, with very expensive covers, new crib. Was that the Lord of werewolves and the Dark Lord’s child? Had their terrible romance born a new abomination? They took a step forward, only to see a child, a normal child, if it wasn’t for the people presenting him, Sùlben would’ve thought it was elven.

“Have, have you fed him?” they asked, withering under the lord’s glare.

Mairon’s voice echoed in the palace “Do you take me for a fool?! The child has been fed and changed and yet has not stopped crying in days! What is the cause?!”

Sùlben was no healer but there was nothing that they could tell to be wrong with the baby and if all his needs had been met, maybe. They reached towards the baby but their hands were grabbed by the Dark Lord.

“I can kill you faster than you can do anything,”

Sùlben shivered again “N-no! I didn’t want to hurt the child! I just-”

“Let them, love.”

Sùlben thanked all the Valar’s they could think of, watching as the two lords stared at each other instead of them.

“Are you sure?” the Dark Lord looked at his lover, waiting for his permission, it was almost strange to be able to pry as such on their relationship, to see as the Dark Lord acted not so differently from the wolves waiting for their masters command. It was almost normal in a way, Sùlben thought maybe that was why the child was so normal.

Mairon nodded and Melkor let the thrall go.

Sùlben cowered a little but once more reached into the crib, taking the baby into their arms and just rocking him, they would’ve liked to have a child once, alas they’d never found the one for them but it was nice to know that holding one was as soft as they always imagined. Singing a little ditty from the Journey they never finished, choosing to remain for king Thingol instead.

Mairon watched in confusion as the prisoner seemingly stupid actions did, in fact, yield results, Fëanor’s cries diminishing to nothing, and the thrall hadn’t even used songs of power! Mairon didn’t want to use too much power on Fëanor, he had no idea what consequences it could have, but with the constant crying he had, so he could at least have some peace, so why had he been forced to do so but not this lowly thrall?

“What are you doing?”

“You do not hold your child much, do you?” the prisoner asked cheekily, too cheekily, they quickly changed their tune at another glare “All children want to be held by their parents”

Mairon would have disagreed on the parent part, he was merely the overseer of his lord’s prize, but the elf didn’t need to know that much.

“It is unnecessary,” he answered, holding his head higher, ignoring Melkor’s snickering.

The thrall bit their lower lip before continuing “Babies do need to be held, they could die without it, besides,” they hesitated again but Mairon ordered them to continue “Babies want to bond with their parents, do not deny your child as much, lord.”

He scoffed, for all his knowledge, elven children had that kind of weakness? That was something he never took in consideration before, but with elven babies being so helpless, the forming of a strong bond with the caretaker was an advantage to help them survive, yes, it made sense, he had to write it down later. To think the answer was so close all along… did that make him the mother? Mairon shook that image from his mind.

“Give me,” he ordered.

Sùlben gulped and grudgingly handed over the baby.

They then hesitantly said “Do not forget the rocking, it soothes children.”

Fëanor stared at him, not a tear in sight for the first time in a week, Mairon could cry, it was almost funny and it appeared to amuse the child as well, for Fëanor chose than moment to smile for the first time, the screaming little beast finally appeased. He’d gladly fight Manwë’s champion instead.

“Very well,” Mairon proclaimed “You are dismissed.”

Sùlben was quickly approached by the orc that had brought them there and they knew they were expected to run along and not to disturb but they gathered whatever courage they still had to ask “The bread, shall you keep your word, master?”

They squirmed under Mairon flaming look but amidst the pounding of their heart in their ear, they heard:

“So be it, be gone now.”

And gone they were, as quickly as their legs could carry them.

Melkor intently watched the elf leave before leaving to stand closer to Mairon, who seemed more preoccupied with letting Fëanor play with his fingers, it was something he was noticing more and more lately, Mairon would pay more attention to Fëanor than their projects and it displeased him, the child had been his idea but he never meant for that to become a priority.

“Should I kill them?” Melkor asked, taking back Mairon’s gaze.

The lieutenant thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head “No, I see there is still much I don’t understand about the eldar, that prisoner will be good for my studies” his flaming eyes sparkling for the project to come.

“You could just leave Fëanor with them, you won’t have to see to it so,” he shrugged “personally.”

Mairon rolled his eyes while in his arms, Fëanor cooed “And let his elven ideals poison the child? Next you see, he will be worshiping the damned Valar”

Melkor pouted.