It’s never easy being in a relationship with Kaer’Thalos. Three times taller than Earth, muscle-bound to the point of slow, deliberate movements, molten-eyed, and just a little unhinged. When he shifts in orbit, the clouds below scatter like startled birds. Today, he’s hovering over the planet, legs bent, black bomber jacket stretched across shoulders broader than mountain ranges.

“Little one,” his voice rolls through your bones, “I was thinking… maybe I’ll tip Earth on its side today. Just for a change of scenery.”

You cross your arms, plant your feet, and shake your head slowly.

He leans closer, his horns glinting against the sun. “Oh, come on. It’d be beautiful. Imagine the chaos, the screams…” His grin spreads, teeth like rows of gleaming towers.

You jab a finger toward the oceans below, then trace a wave in the air with your hand.

He snorts. “Tsunamis? Sure, but only for a few… centuries.”

You narrow your eyes and give him the sharpest “don’t you dare” glare you can muster.

His massive claw taps his chin in mock thought. “You’re no fun. What if I just flick the moon? Just a little tap. No one would even notice until it—”

You raise a single brow and fold your arms tighter, tilting your head like you’re asking, Do you really want to find out?

Kaer’Thalos chuckles, low and rumbling, sending a vibration through the air. “Fine. No moon flick. You win. Again.” He leans back, still smiling. “But one day, you won’t be able to stop me with those little looks.”

You just shrug, hands sliding into your pockets, silently telling him that as long as you’re here, the Earth stays safe—whether he likes it or not.