Mike Driver
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occasionally subtle
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@theartofmadeline
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@finalforsworn
KICK THE CAN!
Let’s play the biggest game of kick the can on the internet.
To kick the can, reblog it. I wanna see how long this can go on for.
the oldest reblogs for this post that i can find are from january 2nd of 2013. this can has been getting kicked around tumblr for almost 13½ years now
And yet somehow this is my first time kicking it!
ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪᴛ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴡᴀʀᴍ | AERION TARGARYEN
─ summary: Aerion was once a glad child. He liked to go fishing.
─ pairing: Maekar x Wife!Reader, Baby Aerion x Mom!Reader
─ word count: ~800
─ content: Fluff, children
─ a/n: Aerion is a cutie baby who just loves his dad and wants to go fishing. Let me know what you think 🖤 Thank you for comments, reblogs, likes, and messages.
The fire had burned low by the time you heard his boots on the stairs. He came through the door looking every day of the weeks he had been gone, road weary and grey with dust. You went to him without a word, giving him a firm welcoming kiss. He stood with his forehead against yours for a long moment and breathed. You began helping him out of his cloak when you heard it. Small feet in the corridor, quick and purposeful, the particular sound of a child who had been lying in the dark waiting for exactly this.
The door opened.
"Father! Father! You've returned!"
Aerion stood in the doorway in his sleep shirt, silver-gold hair loose and wild about his face, violet eyes enormous and entirely too awake for the hour. He had clearly not slept a moment.
"You should be asleep, my love," you said.
He paid this no attention whatsoever and crossed the room at a run. Maekar caught him and held him at arm's length first, the way he always did when he had been away for long, looking him over with those same violet eyes.
"You have grown," he said.
Aerion stood up very straight, extremely pleased with this assessment. He put up his arms, signaling he wished for his father to lift him, which your husband did.
"I caught two fish!" he said, with the breathless urgency of someone who had been saving this news for weeks. "By myself! Daeron said I would not catch anything at all but I caught two! The second one fought but I did not let go!"
"Good," your husband nodded.
"We ate them!" Aerion fixed his father with a look of great significance. "They were the best fish anyone has ever eaten. Mother said so," he said, looking at you for confirmation. You nodded. "Daeron did not say so but he ate all of his."
The corner of Maekar's mouth moved. "That is confirmation enough."
Aerion nodded, satisfied, then shifted, arriving at the real business of the evening. "I went with Ser Donnel," he said. "He caught five." He looked up at his father with those wide violet eyes, perfectly serious. "Can you catch that many?"
"I expect so," Maekar said.
Aerion's whole face opened up with that grin of his, bright and uncomplicated, and he wound his arms around his father's neck with the total confidence of a child who had never once doubted he would be held. Maekar pulled him close and you watched the road and the weariness and the weeks of it quietly leaving him.
"Will you come with me tomorrow? I know where the good spot is," Aerion said into his father's neck. "Before it gets too warm, that is when they bite."
"Is that so."
"I will wake you," he announced.
"I do not doubt it," Maekar said.
You came to them and pressed a kiss to Aerion's soft cheek. "But tonight you sleep. Go on, little dragon."
A small yawn escaped him then, the kind a child tries very hard to hide and cannot. He turned and reached for you and you gathered him up, holding him against your chest, pressing two more kisses gently into his hair before setting him down on his feet. He stood for a moment, swaying slightly with a tiredness he would never admit to, and looked back at his father one more time as though confirming he was still there and not a dream.
"Before it gets too warm," he said, very seriously.
"I will be ready," Maekar said, ruffling the boy's hair.
Aerion looked at you then, his eyes already going soft at the edges with sleep. "I will catch something for you, mother," he said simply, and padded back down the corridor to his bed.
Maekar stood where his son had left him. You came to his side and leaned your head against his shoulder as he put his arm around you. Neither of you spoke for a moment.
"Two fish," Maekar said quietly. "By himself." Something in his voice that was not quite pride and not quite tenderness and was somehow entirely both. "He did not let go."
"He never does," you said.
His hand was warm at your waist. Outside, Summerhall was still and dark and your children were sleeping and he was home.
"Before it gets too warm," he said, and you felt him almost smile against your hair.
ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʙʏ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ | ᴍᴀᴇᴋᴀʀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ
─ summary: When Maekar agreed to have a baby, he thought it a reasonable undertaking. He was not an old man. You were young and healthy and wanted a child of your own and he loved you, so he said yes. Simple enough. He was a fool. aka: you run your poor husband absolutely ragged in the name of family planning
─ pairing: Maekar Targaryen x Wife!Reader (Second Wife)
─ word count: ~2.8k
─ content: 18+ MDNI | Smut | Semi-public sex | Outdoor sex | Pregnancy | Implied Smut| Age Gap| An exhausted man who cannot have any peace in his house
─ a/n: Me if I ever found myself in Westeros. This man would not rest. Inspired by this gif 🖤 Thank you for comments, reblogs, likes, and messages.
The first sensation you registered was warmth: the solid heat of Maekar's muscular arm draped possessively around your waist. You shifted slightly in sleep; his arm tightened, pulling you flush against the firm plane of his chest. He was already awake, his gaze on you so palpably you felt it on your skin. Then his lips came to you — first a feather-light kiss at your temple, his beard tickling, then another on your cheekbone. He pressed closer; through the thin fabric of your nightgown you felt the hard length of him against your thigh. A low pulse of desire kindled in you. His lips trailed down your throat and you stirred, a soft hum in your chest as you turned toward him.
"Good morning, my love," you murmured, voice thick with sleep and something more.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. He answered with a deeper press of his hips, his erection a hard promise against you. You responded instinctively, lifting your leg and wrapping it around his waist, opening yourself to him. The gesture was an invitation, a surrender, a demand all at once. He shifted, his hand moving from your waist to grip your thigh, lifting it higher over his hip. He ground against you, the thick ridge of his cock sliding through your folds. The friction was exquisite, a slow, deliberate torture that had you arching your back, a silent plea for more. He seemed to understand. With one hand, he impatiently pushed the hem of your gown up to your waist, his knuckles brushing against your sensitized skin. He paused for a moment, his gaze dropping to where your bodies were about to join. Then he guided the blunt head of his cock to your entrance. He didn't thrust in immediately. Instead, he teased you, circling your clit with the tip, spreading your wetness, making you whimper with need.
"Maekar," you breathed, your hands fisting in the sheets.
Then he entered you, inch by thick inch, letting you feel every stretch, until you both sighed together. His rhythm was languid and possessive. He watched your face as he moved, his violet eyes dark with lust and a deep, unwavering affection. One hand remained on your hip, holding you steady, while the other roamed, tracing the curve of your breast, thumbing a pebbled nipple, then moving down to press against your lower belly, as if he could feel himself inside you from there.
You met his gaze, your own eyes wide and pleading. "Harder," you whispered. He obliged, just a little. His thrusts became deeper, faster, the angle changing so that he brushed against that spot inside you with every pass. A gasp tore from your throat. He leaned down, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was just as deep as his fucking. You could feel the orgasm coiling in your core, tight and hot. He must have felt it too — the way your inner walls began to flutter around him.
"That's it, my love," he rasped, his voice a low gravel. "Come for me. Let me feel you."
His words were your undoing. With a sharp cry, you shattered. The pleasure washed over you in waves, intense and all-consuming. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of satisfaction, and thrust into you one last, hard time, burying himself as deep as he could go. You felt the hot pulse of his release as he spilled inside you. He stayed there, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily in the quiet aftermath.
Maekar felt the quiet satisfaction of a man who considered himself more than adequate to the task. He pressed a soft kiss to your sweat-dampened forehead before carefully pulling out of you. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his powerful muscles flexing as he prepared to rise. But before he could stand, you shot out a hand and caught his wrist.
"Where are you going?" Your voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, a new hunger already stirring in the aftermath of your pleasure. He looked back at you, his eyebrow quirking in amusement.
"Again?" he asked, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.
You just smiled, a slow, feline curve of your lips. That was all the invitation he needed. With a groan that was part exasperation and part pure, unadulterated lust, he got back into bed. He didn't bother with gentle this time.
Later that afternoon, you found him in the passage off the eastern corridor. He was speaking with a steward, his expression serious and focused — a stark contrast to the passionate man from your bed that morning. You waited patiently, leaning against the stone archway, until the steward bowed and took his leave.
As Maekar turned to continue down the hall, you appeared at his elbow as if by magic. You didn't say a word, just gave him a look — a look that promised sin and immediate gratification. He stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly. You took his hand, your fingers lacing with his, and steered him toward a section of the wall he had never paid any mind to, drawing him into a narrow passageway.
The space was tiny, dark, and smelled of dust and old stone. You pressed him back against the wall, your body molding to his, a cheerfulness in your eyes that he found both alarming and extremely compelling.
"Someone will hear," he said, his voice a low warning, even as his hands came to rest on your hips.
"Then we had best be quiet," you said pleasantly, before rising onto your toes and crushing your mouth to his.
You were not quiet.
That evening, you came to the solar as the afternoon light went gold, leaning against the doorway and just watching him. He was seated at his large oak desk, a stack of parchment before him, a book open in his hands.
"I am working," he said, without looking up.
"You were staring at the same page when I came in," you replied, your voice soft and teasing.
This was true. He had been. He closed the book with a soft thud, a sigh escaping him. A slow smile touched his lips. He knew why you were here. You walked toward him, your hips swaying slightly, a small, knowing smile on your face. When you reached him, he took your hand and pulled you down onto his lap. He kissed you, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of wine and shared secrets. His hands roamed your body, relearning every curve. This time, he was slow with you.
Later that night, he was already in bed, propped up against the headboard, a book in his lap. He looked tired, but his eyes lit up when he saw you. You were wearing a sheer, almost transparent shift that left little to the imagination. You slid into bed beside him, taking the book from his hands and setting it aside without a word. You straddled his hips, your knees on either side of his powerful thighs. In no time at all, the sound of your bodies meeting filled the quiet room. You collapsed against his chest, boneless and utterly spent.
He fell asleep with you draped over him, your head on his shoulder, your breathing soft and even against his skin. He felt extraordinarily pleased with himself. Five times. He felt not merely capable but frankly impressive. He had satisfied his young, insatiable wife, filled her with his seed again and again. He thought of the child you both wanted, and a deep, primal sense of accomplishment settled over him. He slept the sleep of a satisfied and confident man, his arms wrapped tightly around the woman he adored.
It was the last truly restful night he would have for some time.
ᴅᴀʏ ᴛᴡᴏ
The first thing he was aware of was a wet, insistent heat. A groan rumbled in his chest as consciousness slowly returned, his heavy limbs sinking into the mattress. He blinked his eyes open, the dim morning light filtering through the curtains, and looked down. There you were, your head bobbing over his lap, your mouth wrapped around his rapidly hardening cock. One of his hands instinctively flew to your hair, his fingers tangling in the wild mass of your curls — not to guide you, but simply to anchor himself in the exquisite, overwhelming pleasure. Later, as you lay tangled together, a sweaty, panting mess, he thought he was the most fortunate man in the world. He revised this opinion as the day progressed.
The late morning air was crisp and clean as you rode out together, the sun warming your faces. Maekar was beginning to feel the profound ache of the previous day in his very bones, a deep-seated weariness that clung to him — but the sight of you, laughing freely as your horse trotted alongside his, filled him with a simple, uncomplicated contentment. You pulled your horse up suddenly near a dense stand of trees, where the grass grew long and looked invitingly soft. You turned to him, and he saw that look in your eyes — that delicious, determined glint he was rapidly becoming an expert at reading. He scanned the path. It was empty, the road quiet for now.
"Here?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
"Here," you confirmed, already swinging your leg over your horse and landing gracefully on the ground.
Maekar sat astride his mount for a moment longer, a prince of the realm contemplating his dignity — but the sight of you, already waiting for him with a patient, knowing smile, was a more powerful force. At one point, the distant sound of hoofbeats echoed on the path, and he froze instantly, his body tensing. You just laughed quietly against his throat, the vibrations sending a shiver through him. He decided he had faced down considerably more threatening situations on a battlefield and carried on, the thrilling risk of discovery only making the frantic coupling more intense.
Upon your return to the castle, Maekar all but fled to his chambers, requesting a bath. Hot water. Peace. A single moment to exist without being required to perform. He sank into the steaming water with a sigh of profound relief, letting the heat soothe his aching muscles. He was in it for perhaps four minutes before the door creaked open. You were already unwrapping your robe, your eyes fixed on him. He watched you climb into the large tub with the expression of a man watching an inevitable, beautiful natural disaster.
"You cannot possibly," he said, his voice a low groan of protest.
"I only want to bathe with my husband," you said, your tone entirely too innocent as you settled into his lap.
"You have never simply bathed in your life," he accused — but his hands found your waist regardless, pulling you closer.
In bed that evening, he lay propped against the pillows, watching you in the warm glow of the firelight. He felt the familiar, relentless pull of you — the wanting that had not dimmed one bit, regardless of the state of the rest of him, and he sighed from somewhere very deep in his soul.
"You are going to be the end of me," he said, a statement of fact rather than a complaint.
"Not yet," you said cheerfully, and climbed into bed, your naked body sliding against his.
ᴅᴀʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ
Dawn was a grey suggestion at the windows when you moved over him, a familiar warmth settling over his prone form. Maekar's eyes fluttered open, one eye squinting at the ceiling as a low groan rumbled in his chest. He was exhausted, every muscle in his powerful body aching with a sweet, profound soreness, but you were already awake, your eyes bright and determined in the gloom.
"Fuck me," he muttered, the words a breathless prayer.
You leaned down, your hair creating a wild curtain around his face. A slow, wicked smile curved your lips. "That's what I'm trying to do."
He stared at you. In the dim light, you were a goddess of the dawn, all soft skin and resolute purpose. He thought of the man he had been a mere three days ago. Smug in his strength, confident in his stamina, certain that meeting his young wife's desires was a task he could master with ease. What a fool. He saw it now, the utter, beautiful delusion of his pride. With a sigh that was equal parts defeat and surrender, he placed his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there.
He was a fool, and he was yours.
Somehow, through sheer stubborn will, he made it to his study by afternoon. He slumped in the heavy leather chair behind his desk, the scent of old parchment and wax filling his nostrils. Documents lay strewn before him, the ink blurring into meaningless symbols. He had been staring at the same treaty for an hour when the door creaked open.
"No," he said, his voice rough, not even bothering to look up from the page. He knew the sound of those footsteps. Your soft tread crossed the room, stopping just before his desk. He finally lifted his head, and there it was — that fond, knowing expression, the one you wore when you found him particularly amusing.
"You look weary, husband," you said, your voice laced with a syrupy sympathy that was utterly false.
"I wonder why," he shot back, the edge in his voice blunted by exhaustion.
You gracefully sat in the chair opposite him, arranging your skirts with deliberate slowness. He watched you, a creature of vibrant energy in a room that felt as drained as he did.
"What has gotten into you?" he asked, the question genuine, though he feared he already knew the answer.
"Ideally," you said, your eyes gleaming with playful fire, "a babe."
Silence. The only sound was the birds in the trees. He let his head fall back against the chair, staring at the carved wooden ceiling.
"My well has run dry," he confessed, the words tasting of ash. "I am one man. Three days you have had me at every hour the gods see fit to send, and I have nothing left."
You tilted your head, a picture of concern so transparently false it was almost insulting. "Well," you said, rising from your seat, your voice dripping with exaggerated pity, "if you truly cannot manage. I suppose that is fair. You are not as young as you once—"
That was it. The final straw. He was out of his chair before you could finish the taunt, the heavy wood scraping against the floorboards.
"Sit down," he commanded.
ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ
The world had softened into a gentle rhythm. The frantic, relentless pace of those first days had somewhat subsided. He was asleep in the chair by the fire when you returned from the maester, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the room. You moved silently, sinking to your knees beside him and curling against his side, resting your head on the solid warmth of his chest. He stirred, his arm instinctively wrapping around you, pulling you closer even in his sleep.
"Maekar," you whispered, your heart thrumming against your ribs.
"Mm," he murmured, his voice thick with slumber.
"The maester confirmed it."
He went utterly still. The hand on your back froze. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes. He looked down at you, his gaze searching your face in the flickering firelight. He looked at this woman who had systematically dismantled his pride, worn his body to the very bone, and in doing so, had given him the entire world. A terrifying, exhilarating wave of love and awe moved through his chest. His hand found yours, his thumb moving slowly, reverently, across your knuckles.
"Satisfied?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.
You looked up at him, your eyes bright with tears and entirely, beautifully unrepentant.
"For now," you said.
Maekar closed his eyes, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face.
"Gods help me," he breathed.
This was delicious!! Thank you for sharing!!!!
Source
So the creator titled this "Caveman Cooking," but I have decided that it is Grug the Orc making Peanut Butter Squares. Link to original post.
Sound on. Trust me.
in 2026, remember how GOOD writing feels. remember how satsfying it is to get your characters to the point you have been dying to get to, where they will experience the love, fear, relief or whatever the feeling you want to bring to life may be. let this year be the year of writing, prgress and of satisfactory endings.
Broke ahh Hopping back on procreate. Speedpaint below.
My husband’s job primarily employs adult men but there is one (1) teenage girl and my husband said originally he worried she might be a bit of an outcast but instead every man on the crew was like “huh guess I am a dad/older brother now.”
She was in a car crash on the way to work one morning and called my husband to let him know she’d be late and he was like wtf guess I’m gonna be late too because I’m coming to pick you up and then he told his team and they were like I think you mean WE are coming.
Imagine you are a teenage girl probably rushing to get to work and you crash your probably new car and feel absolutely miserable and now you’ll be late to work but then suddenly in the distance a car full of all the adult men you work with just pulls up and is like “we came all the way here to pick you up” the mental image right now is fr.
Apparently she tried to call her dad but it was 3am and he was obviously sleeping so she called my husband and he not only came to find her but fished her glasses out of the hood of the car (she’d dropped them while looking inside), drove her to the hospital, and told her to take the day off. She insisted on coming back to work so he used his lunch break to watch TV with her to make sure she didn’t doze off (concussion risk).
You’ve heard of the Mom friend but my husband is very much the Dad friend. He said when he answered the phone she said “hey please don’t be mad” and he’s never felt such powerful Fatherhood energy in his life.
Girl: *calls for aid*
Every single dad packed into the car:
This is possibly my favorite response to this post
This girls father: Thanks for helping my daughter out guys
Your husband and all his coworkers:
reading fanfic in bed is one of the best things that could happen to a person
*weeps uncontrollably at 9 o'clock in the morning*
God, I love randos on the internet who just want to be kind.
the new york times has such a great series of elevated butter noodles, if you ever want a super fast easy dinner that still feels grown up and you can emulsify pasta water + butter together basically the sky is your limit
ya got
gochujang butter noodles
peanut butter noodles
chili crisp fettuccine alfredo
miso butter noodles
any one of these + a bag of salad or whatever vegetable side you find easiest/cheapest, and you've got yourself a full meal that tastes far above the effort you put in.
Just gonna drop these here as a starting point :)
How to identify, and then deal with, your emotions
Emotional regulation skills
Conflict resolution skills
Creating and enforcing boundaries
Dialectical Behavioural Therapy skills
Emotional intelligence ideals to aim for
Axes of self-care/wellbeing
Self-care self-evaluation (find out where you’re starting)
How to make a self-care checklist
How to start a self-care habit
Reparenting resources
Crash Course Psychology
KhanAcademy: Understanding the Self and Society (some units more relevant than others)
Emotional education activities for children and teens
Social-Emotional Learning activities for kids (information can be adapted for adults)
little pumpkin thieves
poll test
if my calculations are correct
this is gonna
have an absurd amount of time until it expires
but i don't know if it's repeatable
Choice 5
hehe
we’re almost there (and by almost there i do in fact mean about 427 days left but thats a lot less than 969 so)
it started at 1000 days lol so over halfway there
70 days....
I saw it and was like “about 2 months left that’s pretty long I thought the max was 1 week”
And then I realized this is from years ago
i cannot stress enough how much i did not vote in this poll?????
the world's most decent little princess
writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months
