#iii is damn cool too

[cherrryem]

Pretty iii (source)

[kasagia]

Dancing with the devil II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem! royal!reader Summary: The Na-Baron's birthday celebration on Giedi Prime at the beginning of the season makes you realise just how much work you'll have to put into becoming Empress—and even more into avoiding Harkonnen, who's showing you way too much attention. This is something that your almost-fiance definitely shouldn't like, and something that he doesn't notice. After all, there's little you can see in the darkness of Giedi Prime. Warning: kind of royal au!; 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; smut; Inspired by: Bridgerton and "Would've, could've, should've" - Taylor Swift Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART I ~•♤♤♤•~ PART III ~•♤♤♤•~

"Smile. And powder yourself. You look pale, as if we were going there for a beheading and not a ball." Your mother says, adjusting the position of the grid of diamonds decorating your head. You flinch as you feel the cool metal of the gems brush against your cheek.

The damn thing was heavy, but nice. You remember perfectly how Lord Luwael's eyes lit up when he saw you wearing a similar ornament in your hair.

"In a way it is. First we will see the fight in the arena." You are sceptical of what comes next when your ship lands on Giedi Prime. You didn't like this place. It was black and white, barren, devoid of life and any moral principles. It was therefore an ideal place for gossip to arise - especially the spicy ones.

Besides, your... last encounter with Na-Baron was still fresh in your memory. Especially in dreams. On those terrible nights, you dreamed about how, in the darkness of your gardens and under the moonlight, you allowed him to do... more wicked things. Things that even husbands and wives shouldn't do behind their chambers' doors. And as much as you felt aroused after every dream like this, you were also disgusted with yourself and hated the Na-Baron even more for your little fantasies.

This helped immensely when it came to increasing motivation to win the emperor's cousin's heart, but no amount of flirting with him helped you forget the touch of a certain Harkonnen. You found it very interesting. And you hoped that after fighting in the arena, your body would adopt the same attitude towards him as your brain. He was dangerous and should have been avoided by you at all costs, and yet, in every fantasy about him, you enjoyed his burning touch more than the previous ones and wanted much more to happen between you two.

"Better for you. Half of these charpies in silks and sparkles will faint and never set foot in a ballroom. Take this opportunity and stick to the arm of the emperor's cousin." She advises you, licking her finger and twisting a lock of your hair so it rests unruly against your temple and falls onto your cheek.

"Lord Luwael wrote to me all summer. Besides, you saw for yourself that he visited our planet several times."

"It does not mean anything. He could only be bored, so he flew around the planets looking for entertainment. You have to charm him, Y/N. Drive him crazy with a... desire for you so great that he will do anything to have you—only then will he propose to you. It's still a miracle that he looked at you, since we come from a worse dynasty than him." He reminds you dryly, and you press your lips into a thin line. He doesn't wait for your answer. She leaves your room, clearly expecting you to follow her, when the ship announces that you are about to land.

You take a shaky breath, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your home-coloured dress hugged your curves perfectly, showing off the best of your figure, and your makeup highlighted your cheekbones and gave your eyes depth. All of this made you an irresistible sight. Lord Luwael would have to be blind not to appreciate your beauty. You will leave Giedi Prime with a ring on your finger or on the ship of the emperor's cousin. You did not see any other possibility, nor did you want to allow something other to happen.

You put on your soft, genuine smile and leave the room to join your mother on the exit ramp. Moments later, the ramp descends, revealing the black sun of Giedi Prime. You frown and squint as you adjust to the atmosphere on the planet. Your mother and you come down to earth. As soon as you can see beyond the patch of land in front of you, you shiver as you notice the Na-Baron waiting near your ship. You feel your anxiety and nervousness rising inside you, but you try your hardest to maintain your polite smile.

"Viscountess Y/L/N. Lady Y/L/N." He greets you, his gravelly voice sending shivers down your spine. You try to control your breathing and heartbeat, as panic is rising within you.

He looks... even more intimidating than on your home planet. That night, his mask had covered practically his entire face, but now you could see him in all his glory. And damn you, because those tempting lips he had weren't the only advantage of his appearance.

His face looked as if thousands of painters had worked on it, as if it had been lifted from ancient paintings depicting beautiful demons tempting people to damnation. And, oh, what a handsome devil he was. If you believed in an afterlife, you would wonder if he escaped from hell to lead people into temptation.

You couldn't help but wonder if he would recognise you. Does he know that it was you who went with him to the garden a few months ago? You try to read some reaction from his face, but he maintains an emotionless, composed demeanour as he looks at you and your mother.

"Na-Baron. It's a great honour to be here to celebrate your birthday. May fate always be in your favour." She greets him kindly. You shiver in relief as he thankfully doesn't pay much attention to you as his gaze comes back to your mother. 

"I hope it will. The maids will show you the way to the guest wing and your chambers. All celebrations will take place tomorrow. I hope that you will soon get used to the atmospheric conditions in Giedi Prime. Until then." He nods at the maids standing behind him. Bald women come up to you and hand you tiny baskets. "Our guests find it quite useful."

You look at the things in the basket; your attention is caught by sunglasses with black lenses and a strange coat. Your mother reaches for her coat and, with practiced skill, slips it gracefully over herself, along with her glasses, as you stare unsteadily at the strange fabric.

"Lady Y/L/N. May I?" Na-Baron asks. However, he doesn't wait for your answer.

He comes closer to you, takes your cloak from the basket, and hands it to your servants. He wraps the coat around you, adjusting it to your figure and making sure to cover all of your exposed skin.

"We Harkonnens have a special pigment in our skin to prevent the carcinogenic effects of sunlight and burns from long-term exposure. You must remember to wear this coat outside to avoid any diseases, Lady Y/L/N." He says, standing behind you and tying the fabric of your coat together. He uncovers your face for a moment and puts on your sunglasses. "Nor your beautiful eyes to be damaged." He whispers, so only you can hear him.

You shiver, staring at him blankly, glad that your sunglasses allow you the convenience of hiding your eyes from him and whatever you're focused on.

Was it possible that he recognised you? Was he giving you a hint that he knew you were his white swan? NO. Impossible. He probably flirted with every single woman who came to Giedi Prime. After all, he was going to find a wife this season. He had to show his softer side and hide Giedi Prime's brutality from the naive noblewomen so that some stupid and naive one would marry him.

"We thank you very much for your kindness, Na-Baron." Your mother speaks for you, obviously angry that you haven't spoken up for yourself. You just nod, shifting your gaze to the castle behind him, trying to escape his watchful, searching gaze for a moment.

"Your welcome." He responds with a nod to your mother.

He takes your hand in his, making you tense slightly as he leans down and presses a short kiss on it. A shiver runs through you as you feel the shape of his lips through your gloves, and your mind automatically recalls the memory of that night. You smile at him politely and quickly join your mother's side, leaving Na-Baron on the ramp as another ship arrives.

"Do not act like that. Don't show that you're afraid of them. And be careful. It's very common for people here to disappear after showing disrespect to the Na-Baron. You know how, right?" She whispers furiously to you as you are led inside the palace by the maids.

"I... I know. I'm sorry." You say this thoughtfully, turning discreetly over your shoulder to watch him greet the other noble families. This time, he doesn't kiss anyone's hand or help anyone put on their protective cloak. You shake your head. He probably saw that you weren't engaged to anyone yet, and that's why you got... special treatment from him.

"Just don't act like a scared mouse. I raised you better."

Right. Your mother raised you better. That's why you shouldn't have disappeared into the garden with this mysterious stranger from the very beginning. It would save you a headache now that wasn't caused by the oppressive atmosphere on Giedi Prime. You just wanted this season to end as soon as possible. Preferably your marriage.

You walk hand in hand with Lady Y/F/N towards the arena, gossiping about what happened since last night. The Giedi Prime sun is somehow more bearable today; you don't know if it's because of the items given by Na-Baron or because the weather was exceptionally not as cruel as the day you arrived, but you feel much better. (Or maybe it was because you didn't see Na-Baron Harkonnen today.)

"I tell you, Princess Irulan was furious. I heard she destroyed her room, and the maids worked all night to get it back in order. Do you think it's possible? That the Emperor wants to marry her off to Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha?"

"Possible. It wouldn't be a stupid move. After all, Irulan cannot become emperor. She may be the firstborn, but she has no right to rule. It is logical that her father wants to marry her off to the second-best possible party, of course, when it comes to financial and political issues."

"Second best? Who's first?" You just smile at her question, watching the other noblewomen and their families walk towards the arena.

"Of course, as a woman in love, I must say that Lord Luwael."

"Has someone talked about me?"

A faint blush appears on your cheeks. You and Y/F/N turn around to see a smug Lord. You give him an equally mischievous smirk and curtsy, grabbing the arm he offered you.

"I do not think so. You must have misheard, Lord Luawel. Maybe it's the sun of Giedi Prime that bothers you so much that you lose your hearing?" You tease him as the three of you enter the arena.

"Lady Y/N, you don't have to worry about me so much, as sweet as that is. Fortunately, I don't need as much protection as you ladies do. However, I must admit that Giedi Prime is a terrible place. It does not allow you to see the natural beauty of certain things, taking away their colours."

"Maybe there's something… positive to be found here?" Y/F/N asks hesitantly as you pass a group of Harkonnens heading to the arena. The men say something in their harsh, unpleasant language that makes you shiver. You are only further insisting that there is nothing good to find on Giedi Prime.

"Positive? With all due respect, Lady Y/F/N, the Harkonnens have destroyed everything beautiful that could be left on this planet. Including their appearance and behavior." You giggle, careful not to let anyone else but the three of you hear you. But you wonder why your friend's attitude is so... sullen. She plays with her glove nervously as her eyes fall on the baron's older nephew, Rabban. "I don't know who is worse, him or his younger psychopathic brother."

"I think both of them are equal in their madness." You comment, agreeing with Lord Luwael.

Your eyes involuntarily land on Na-Baron, who exchanges a few words with one of his servants. You shiver when his eyes find yours—as if he has a special detector that makes him aware every time someone's eyes linger on him for too long.

He nods to you, looking at you carefully and examining your dress. His lips twitch into a smile when he sees you're wearing the coat he helped you adjust to your figure yesterday. You quickly turn your head towards Lord Luwael and give him one of your practiced, beautiful smiles.

"I… I'm sorry. I should join my family. Lord Luwael. Lady Y/N."

You frown, watching her walk away like a beaten puppy. You decide to question her about her strange behavior later in the evening. Now you had to focus on your lord.

"And you, lady? Are your wonderful mother and father with you?" Lord Luwael asks, placing his hand on top of yours after managing to penetrate the layers of material protecting your skin. He acts as if he wants to pull you much closer to him.

You feel the skin of your hand burn where it touches his, but unfortunately, not from... the excitement of this tiny, forbidden contact. Someone's eyes are watching you carefully, but you are too afraid to look towards Na-Baron to confirm that it is his irises that are staring hatefully at your joined hands.

"My mother had a headache, so she staid in her chamber. Unfortunately, my father couldn't show up at all. I hope you won't abandon me and leave me so lonely in this barbaric place, my lord?"

"I wouldn't dare do that. I am a gentleman. After all, someone has to catch you if you faint, my lady."

You smile sweetly at him, ignoring the sudden urge to kick him in the crotch for his words. You must maintain the innocent demeanour of a cute, awkward, and sweet noblewoman. Even though you hated it...

"Oh, you don't know how much I appreciate it, my lord." You say, wondering if you should actually pretend to faint and let him catch you. It would be very romantic if he carried you out of the arena in his arms and took you to the medic. Plus, you wouldn't have to watch... Na-Baron's entire performance.

You take your seat in the guest box. The arena shakes with the screams and applause of people who are truly eager for their Na-Baron to shed blood. Lord Luwael hands you the binoculars and gently removes your cloak as you both notice that you are protected from the sun's rays by a special black glass window.

You shiver as the Harkonnen's war drums sound and the announcer says something in their language, announcing Feyd-Rautha's fight.

A blush involuntarily blooms on your cheeks when you see that Na-Baron has decided to fight without a shirt or any armour protecting his chest. You hungrily stare at his muscular torso as he shows off his warrior body, which is decorated with paint—probably their war symbols, bringing good luck in battle.

"A real poseur and playboy. He only does it to attract attention."

"Probably. But you can't say, that it doesn't work, my lord." You say and nod towards the other ladies, who are also staring at the muscular figure of a warrior that Na-Baron proudly displays.

"Does it work for you?"

"I'm just a woman. But I prefer… slightly more hairy men." Lord Luwael chuckles at your comment, giving you a mischievous look. His attention briefly returns to Na-Baron, who lets out a belligerent cry after the murder of the first prisoner. You see him shiver slightly and his eyebrows furrow before his attention returns to you.

"So would I also gain your attention if I appeared… in a similar condition?"

"My lord, you would then have my complete undivided attention." You respond equally flirtatiously. The man sitting next to you hums in appreciation. His hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he stares at you, entranced.

"You, lady, have my undivided attention at all times and occupy my every thought." Unfortunately, you can't respond to his comment with something as sweet as Na-Baron's angry, painful scream that echoes from the arena.

Your attention returns to the fight. Na-Baron fights the last opponent, who, surprisingly, is not under the influence of drugs. You watch the fight with curiosity, even more so when you see blood pouring from Na-Baron's side.

"He had to distract himself. So far, he hasn't had any problems fighting him." You hear people commenting around you, but your eyes are focused only on Na-Baron.

You shiver as his gaze wanders towards your box, and it feels like he's looking right at you, making sure you're watching him. You put this idea out of your head. He probably didn't even know your name. He couldn't recognise you; he would definitely show it by now if he did.

You shiver as he lets out a menacing scream and charges at his opponent. His movements are quick, well-aimed and aimed as he delivers slashes, perfectly avoiding the blade of the prisoner he is fighting. You hold your breath as he knocks the blade out of your opponent's hands and stabs him in the stomach several times.

Na-Baron whispers something to the warrior and slowly lowers him to the ground as he draws his last breath. You can't take your eyes off his bloody form. His piercing gaze is still directed towards your lodge as he raises his blade. The crowd in the arena screams, people applaud, and you feel Lord Luwael next to you slowly begin to fall to the ground.

"Lord Luwael!" You scream, attracting the attention of the people around you. Several men help you, and they lift the unconscious lord. They carry him outside, and you want to follow them, but unfortunately for you, the second round of Na-Baron's fight begins, so you can't just leave. So you go back to your seat, thinking hard.

Lord Luwael apparently had another negative trait besides being a hopeless romantic—a firm believer in preserving a strictly traditional, patriarchal system. He fainted at the sight of blood and abhorred violence.

You sigh, wondering how the hell you're supposed to cope with a husband and an emperor who's afraid to draw someone's blood and pick up a sword.

Your gaze falls back on the fighting Na-Baron. If only he was less... Harkonnen... You shake your head at the idea that crossed your mind. No. You are going to become the empress. Nothing could change that plan, and certainly not one night of oblivion and pleasure with a brutal, psychopathic future Baron of a dead planet.

But that doesn't stop you from admiring the way Na-Baron's muscular chest ripples with each rapid breath or the way his muscles twitch with his movements. And unfortunately, you can't stop your thoughts from wandering and imagining him moving into a much more... intimate situation.

"Did she watch the fight?" Feyd asks his servant as the medic stitches up his wound.

He finished the fight a few minutes ago. People were probably starting to gather in the ballroom, but he had to clean up and put things in order before he appeared in public. Before he shows himself to you.

"At first, she was a little distracted by this... lord. But he fainted halfway through Na-Baron's fight, so afterwards her attention was entirely on you, my lord."

"He fainted? Weak spawn. Did she enjoy my performance?" Feyd asks, slightly irritated by the way the medic's fingers are shaking with fear as he tends to the wound.

"She was definitely impressed. I think Na-Baron's decision not to wear the breastplate helped, as did the fact that the guards made sure not to let Lord Luwael into the arena again."

"Very good, you did a great job. Keep it up. I'm going to need you to distract that pet of hers for a while. You can do it, right?"

"Of course, my lord Na-Baron."

"Women like flowers. Those outside Giedi Prime." The medic comments as he finishes stitching up his wound. Feyd looks at him for a moment, then nods at his servant.

"This is a wonderful idea. Order a vase of the rarest flower species to be placed in her chambers. I'll give you a note tonight, after the ball."

Before Feyd finishes his sentence, he already holds the medic's arm and plunges a dagger into his stomach. The man groans in shock as he stares in sheer terror at the Na-Baron.

"Because of you, I'll be late for my own ball." He growls and puts on a black shirt, ignoring the blood on his fingers as he walks out of the infirmary.

He walks through the halls of the palace, hurrying to his chambers to change. His thoughts involuntarily go to you, remembering your intoxicating scent and the softness of your skin under his lips. Damn him if he lets some lesser man have the taste of what is his.

You belonged to him from the moment he killed for you the emperor's dog that tried to bite you. If necessary, he will kill another one to make sure that no man will dare to adore you again.

But Feyd couldn't do it; as much as he dreamed of it, he preferred to gain your... feelings rather than force you to marry him. And maybe he enjoyed the thrill of chasing you, but only as long as his claims for you weren't at risk. And this little... lord was hanging around way too close to you.

He didn't know at all what you saw in this weak man. He wasn't handsome, he couldn't fight, and he couldn't defend you. Certainly not before Feyd. You needed someone strong—someone who wasn't afraid of your true nature or unleashing it. You weren't yourself hanging out with that lord. He watched the two of you closely, and countless times he saw you tighten your hand around a glass, a fan, or in a fist when that lord made a remark that irritated you, but instead of snapping back like you did with Feyd, you smiled falsely sweetly and nodded obediently.

His beautiful, brave swan, instead of hissing at the fools around her, only tried harder to attract them. And this annoyed Feyd immensely. You could be so much more than just a pretty face. You had a character that Feyd admired in you, but instead of showing it with pride, you hid it deep inside, afraid of society's opinion.

You would make a wonderful Baroness. With you by his side, he wouldn't worry about anyone seeing him as weak man. And he himself found worthy company in you during that wonderful night on your planet. If only you hadn't run away from him, hadn't believed the rumours so much, and weren't afraid of him, but rather of what he might do to you, you and Feyd would make a wonderful match.

As he approaches his chamber, he hears the ladies giggling. He decides to hide in a side corridor and wait until the gossiping women leave. But he perks up his ear excitedly when he hears what they're talking about—and that you're among them too.

"Na-Baron put on quite a show. Have you seen these muscles?" Feyd can barely keep from giggling. But he can't help but wonder how you assessed his... muscles.

He did it especially for you—to tease you a little with what you could have had that night if you hadn't run away from him like a scared little mouse. How many nights did he spend dreaming about catching you before that frail lord got you...

"Oh please. He's a cruel brute. Psychopath. Did you see how he treated that poor man? Moreover, most of his opponents were under the influence of drugs."

His hairless eyebrows furrow. He feels his rage rising; he wants to come out of his hiding place and show this royal bitch a real fight, but he knows that his uncle will kill him for laying a hand on the emperor's daughter.

"I'm not surprised at him. After all, he's the next Baron, they won't risk his life for some lame arena show."

"What do you think about it, Lady Y/N?"

Feyd licks his lips, eagerly waiting for your opinion on his fight. His heart beats fast as he wonders what you will say. Will you praise his fighting skills? Appearance? Ruthlessness and brutality? Or maybe you loathe it as much as Princess Irulan does?

He waited nervously, his heart beating fast as he waited impatiently for even one word from you.

"I… think we had a rather… interesting fight anyway. Regardless of the circumstances."

His excitement fades when you limit yourself to such a simple, diplomatic, and natural answer. He doesn't want to hear something like that from you. He wants your opinion; he wants to hear the burning heat in your voice as you express your true thoughts and emotions with great conviction, even if they go against what he wants. He wants your passion—the same passion he has experienced the few times he has had the opportunity to be around you.

"But it's not honorable! How dare they treat prisoners like this?" Irulan growls furiously at you.

"And in your country, how are they treated, my princess? They either end up in a noose or have their heads cut off. Here, maybe being under the influence of drugs isn't the best thing, but at least they have a dignified death for warriors—those who don't fight Na-Baron are fighting in the arena for their freedom and are not under the influence of any substance. I don't think this is the case in many countries. Besides, it boosts morale and entertains the people. Two birds with one stone."

Feyd feels a smirk involuntarily form on his lips. He knew that his little, wise swan would think just like he did. However, I regret that you do not praise his skills as a warrior but only focus on the usefulness of such fights. Next time, he will try harder for you. Maybe he will even give you the heart of the strongest warrior?

"Of course you'll flatter him, Lady Y/N. After all, he clearly has his eyes on you. I saw the way he looked at you the day you arrived—it was clearly love at first sight."

"Oh yes! And I saw him looking across the arena towards your box! He got so distracted by looking at you that one of the prisoners stabbed him in the side! It's so sweet, just like a real romance book."

Feyd freezes for a moment. Was it that obvious? He couldn't, right? Maybe he was accidentally looking for you in the crowd of other people, but... he couldn't be that easy to read, right?

"I would never dream of courting Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, not even in your wildest fantasies my ladies. So maybe let's focus on the real, more likely matches that could happen this season."

At your words, Feyd clenches his hands into fists. How dare you so openly reject his possible advances? It was the best match in the empire. In fact, he could be a future emperor, and he'd damn well do it for you if that was all it took to get his hand in marriage. Seething with rage, his hand involuntarily went to the blade attached to his side. He had to find someone; he had to take it out on someone; but then again, he needed to hear more. Why does the thought that he adores you bother you so much? Did he do something to you? Has he offended you in any way? Was it your reluctance and disgust at the idea of having him as a suitor just because he was a Harkonnen?

"You mean your questionable engagement to my cousin?" Princess Irulan mocks you, fueling Feyd's anger both with the way she speaks to you and with your engagement to that weak piece of flesh wasting air in your presence.

"Why questionable, my princess? I think this would be the perfect match. Lady Whistledown herself devoted several of her paragraphs to it."

Feyd rolls his eyes at you. Have you also read the nonsense of some old lady who was bored enough to comment on events in the world of noble families? And here he thought that his swan was too smart for that...

"My cousin may be stupid and be fooled by a few pretty words and eyes, but he doesn't make rash decisions. He knows what kind of marriage will be best for him. He won't marry someone from a lesser family just because some anonymous writer is having fun spreading rumors."

"Do you have someone special for Lord Luwael in your mind, maybe?"

"I think we all know very well who I mean."

Feyd smiles, and for the first time, he is not hating the princess's existence. If she actually took this weak lord from you, the fight for your hand and heart would be much more enjoyable for him; after all, he wouldn't have to worry that you would marry some other man while he was trying his best to get closer to you. It would definitely make courting you easier if Irulan tried to charm your weak little lord...

"Hmm… possible. But tell us, princess, how's your Bene Gesserit training going? Has the Reverend Mother assigned you any task yet?"

"I believe this is none of your business."

Ah, so you knew. You knew that the Bene Gesserit were planning to marry him to Irulan—something he certainly wouldn't allow. But if he lets you believe it, would you fight for him? Would you try to convince him to stop chasing Irulan? You could. After all, you would see it as a threat to your position as empress. Feyd is curious what lengths you would go to if such a situation occurred—how far would you go in trying to seduce him and leave Irulan?

Feyd is no longer eavesdropping on the rest of your conversation. You pass him, and he quickly sneaks back to his chambers, changing his clothes. His mind races as he wonders what he should do now. And he decides to give you one last chance before he puts his plan into action.

The balls at Gieid Prime are… different from those you usually witness. The ballroom is lit by a thousand candles, the room is kept in semi-darkness, and you are more than convinced that some orgy is taking place somewhere in the corners and recesses of this huge hall.

You are just finishing your dance with Lord Luwael when Feyd-Rautha enters the hall. Na-Baron is greeted with loud applause and cheers. He smiles at the crowd of people, showing a row of night-black teeth. You shiver at the sight. You just don't know if it's out of fear or desire. You realise that every time you think he can't make himself a more terrible monster, he comes in like the bane of your existence and proves you dead wrong.

Oh how you wanted to finally leave Giedi Prime.

"Unfortunately, I think we should wish him a happy birthday. Everyone does it."

You nod at his words, seeing the rest of the guests actually gather around Feyd-Rautha. You place your hand in the crook of his arm and let him guide you towards Na-Baron. The alcohol you managed to drink without your companion's attention and the man's mere presence will give you a bit of courage. Although you know, if a real fight broke out between these two men, the candidate for your husband would probably faint from fear when he saw the first blood and lose it. What a pity he had such an annoying condition...

"Na-Baron. Happy birthday." Your companion says as you reach Feyda-Rautha. His blue, ocean-glacial eyes stare at the two of you, ignoring you for a moment to send an appraising glance towards the man whose arm you're holding. You see a strange tension building in the room between these two...

"Thank you very much, lord…"

"Luwael." He finishes for him, angry that he is not properly recognised and acknowledged by the Na-Baron.

"Ah yes. It slipped out of my mind. Wouldn't you be offended if I took the liberty of asking your lovely partner to dance? It's my birthday, after all." Na-Baron's attention is completely on you, and you wish he and Lord Luwael had spent more time on this little alpha male fight. You open your mouth, ready with an excuse to deny him the dance, but the man next to you speaks first.

"Of course. Enjoy yourself." Na-Baron gives him a smug smirk that only widens when Lord Luwael flinches at Feyd's black teeth.

You suppress a grimace and give your hand to the Harkonnen. He takes your hand with incredible gentleness and leads you to the centre of the room, right onto the dance floor. Before the dancing starts, he has the courage to take off your gloves. You give him a confused look, your heart beating faster, as he leans in to press a kiss on your hand. You shiver as the skin of your hand registers the now familiar shape of his plump lips.

He places his hand on your waist and connects your hand with his, leading you to the rhythm of a rather calm song.

"Such fire… and yet your anger does not reach Lord Luwael. What did he do to deserve this special treatment, my lady? Maybe you're worried about him after he fainted in the arena like some weak, little boy?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." You say, turning your gaze away from him, wanting to spend the rest of the dance in silence. You keep your eyes peeled for Lord Luwael, but unfortunately, you can't find him anywhere. As if he had evaporated.

"Is it so, little swan?" A cold chill runs through you as you use the nickname for you that he used that night. You feel your world freeze for a moment. He continues to lead you in the rhythm of the dance, allowing himself to pull you a little closer to inhale the scent of your perfume, but you don't notice, terrified of what he told you he knew.

"I... no." You blurt out, trying to control your emotions, and put on the mask of indifference on your face again.

"Well... I guess you know. Your heart beats so fast, almost as fast as that night when I tasted your wonderful nectar straight from the source. You know there's nothing as sweet as your juices?"

"How dare you speak to me like that?!" You growl furiously, unconsciously digging your nails into his palm.

"So she can still hiss! And she even has claws. I remember how sweetly you scratched my neck with them before you ran away like a scared little bird."

"Shut up." You growl, feeling like you're starting to lose control of this whole conversation. And not just conversation. You noticed that you had somehow found yourself outside the ballroom. The music from there reaches you in the form of a gentle hum as it presses you against the wall of one of the empty corridors. You swallow, realising what a sh*t situation you are in.

"Or what? Watch your tone, little swan. It's my birthday. You should be nicer to me. I didn't actually hear you wish me a happy birthday; your little puppet did it for you."

"Unlike some, he is a real gentleman, not a puppet or monster."

"Ah, but we know very well that you don't want a gentleman. A gentleman wouldn't do to you the things I did to you, and we both know how deliciously you moaned under my touch and how you shuddered as my tongue tasted you. Do you think your weak lord can do to you the things I showed you in the darkness of your house planet? That he can satisfy your desire? That he can free you from your shackles of social conventions as I can free you? You need someone bigger than the lesser man. I've already told you that. You won't settle for a man like that."

"You do not know anything about me. One night—not even the whole night—spent under my skirts won't suddenly make you know my true desires. You have changed, Feyd-Rautha. You're not the same boy from the Lankiveil I used to know." He hums thoughtfully at your worlds, watching you carefully and curiously.

"Hmm… maybe you're right, little swan. I think I need to do more to convince you that I am right."

You sigh as his lips press against yours in a frenzied, passionate kiss. You punch his chest, trying to push him away, but he presses hard against you, pinning you against the wall. You feel the toned muscles of his body as he grinds against you, demanding full access to your mouth.

You bite his lip until it bleeds, but that only turns him on more. His strong, large hand cups your breast, squeezing it tightly. You let out a surprised moan, and his tongue somehow finds a way to slip into your open mouth.

The material of your dress tears under his strength; his hands pull your breasts out of your dress and caress them as if his life depended on it. His fingers graze over your sensitive nipples, and you can only moan into his mouth as he sends a warmth straight to your core that reminds you desperately of how his tongue was working so well to release you that you had denied yourself.

You come to the shameful conclusion that maybe you could have let him bring you to orgasm before you ran away from him.

His lips finally leave yours, but you don't enjoy this freedom for long. They move to your neck, licking and nibbling madly, as if someone were about to tear him away from you. And the worst thing about it all is that you don't really know if that's what you want.

You scream as his black teeth dig into your skin, leaving a mark in the crook of your neck. You hear the click of enamel against metal as he accidentally catches your necklace, but he doesn't move away; he just sinks his teeth into it, as if trying to split a diamond in half.

He pulls away from you; you see the blood on his plump lips—your blood—and it only makes you more aroused. His hand slips under your skirts and reaches to your core, caressing you teasingly. You gasp, closing your eyes and throwing your head back.

"Such a good little whore when she gets fingers and a few hickeys on her neck. Does your lord know what a shrew you are until someone kisses the venom from your lips? Does he know what fire burns inside you? Does he know what a wonderful feast you have between your legs for a thirsty man? Does he know you as well as I do? Has he seen how beautiful you look in the whirlwind of passion?"

His every question is punctuated by the rhythm of the thrusting of his fingers. You moan softly, holding back tears of pleasure, as he slowly brings you to the edge. You dig your nails into his shoulders, holding onto him with all your strength as he plays with your clit and sucks hickeys on your breasts.

"So sweet… so soft… so wet. And it's for me. Just for me. For Harkonnen. Say it. Tell me who fucks that little pussy so well with his fingers. Tell me who's driving you crazy. Tell me whose attention you really want, you wanton little bitch, and maybe I'll let you cum, despite the way you treated me… and on my own birthday…"

"I... you... you..." You gasp in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers.

"Nah. Not like that. My name, beautiful little swan. Scream my name. Exactly the way you should have done that night in the garden." He whispers into your ear, biting the lobe. You moan as his fingers go deeper inside you, and his other hand caresses your breast, playing with your nipple.

"I... ah... Feyd.... Feyd, please..." You cry for him as your hips grind against his hand, seeking the sweet release that only he can give you.

"Yes…just like that…cum for me. Give me my birthday present and shout my name." You can only nod dumbly as you feel him take you over the edge. You bite down hard on his neck, refraining from making any noise as you tighten around his fingers, finally coming.

You gasp, feeling the metallic taste of his black blood on your tongue.

You move away from him as if burned. Your heart beats insanely fast as you stare at him, trying to process what happened. He pulls his finger out of you with a squelch, and you blush furiously. He puts his fingers in his mouth, sucking them. He moans at the taste of you, never breaking eye contact with you.

"Perfect birthday gift. Although I believe I can get more." Just as he moves to kneel between your legs, you hear the voices of the guards patrolling the halls. You push him away from you in panic and run forward, trying to improve your appearance a little.

This time, he's not after you. He didn't make any attempt to chase you. He allows you to traverse the halls of Giedi Prime without the feeling of his breath on your back, but you are very aware that you have miserably lost today's battle against him. He did exactly what he wanted with you and would have gone much further (and unfortunately, you would have let him) if you hadn't sobered up with the possibility of getting caught.

You told yourself that this was what you needed to get over him. After all, forbidden fruit always tasted the best, and once you experienced the Na-Baron's... undoubted skills, you could move on and marry a man who was the absolute opposite of him, a man with whom you didn't have to worry so much about the future, as with Feyd-Rautha.

Yes, this was what you needed—one last affair before the wedding—to make sure you're doing it right. Because what would await you as Na-Baron's wife, or, God forbid, concubine? Nothing good. The Harkonnens were the harbinger of misfortune, suffering, pain, aggression, and, apparently, good sex.

Whatever you and Na-Baron were doing, it had to end now.

"I'm supposed to be his wife?! This barbarian?! You can't do this to me, father! Feyd-Rautha will destroy the empire and plunge us into the blood of war and senseless brutality. He's a psychopath; can't you see it? Surely there must be another way to keep the throne!" Irulan's screams echo throughout the guest wing. Your eyes widen in surprise, the unpleasant pang in your chest only adding to your daze.

So the rumours were true. The emperor wants to give Irulan to Feyd. You don't like this idea very much. If the Harkonnens married into the Corrino family, your right to the throne of Emperor, or rather the right of Lord Luwael, would be in jeopardy. No one stood a chance against them.

You snap out of your daze when you see the door handle to Irulan's chambers begin to move. You quickly run to your room and close the door quietly behind you as you wonder what the hell just happened in these few hours.

You return to your chambers blushing and with a rapidly beating heart. You can still feel Na-Baron's lips vividly on your neck, and you're sure you'll have to cover it tomorrow so no one will see the hickeys that bastard gave you.

How stupid you were again! How could you let him get so close to you again and corner you when you were alone in his territory?! And what's worse, he knew that it was you who went with him to the garden that night; he knew and he wanted more from you...

You shudder as wicked thoughts enter your mind, all because of Na-Baron's tantalisingly absurd whispers. How could you enjoy his attack on you? How could you moan so loudly in a deserted corridor? How could you shout his name and attract the attention of the guards?

You were damn lucky that no one caught you, that Lord Luwael disappeared somewhere, and that he didn't see you giving yourself to this... this monster like a mindless whore. It had to be the alcohol. They must have put something in your drink; you couldn't just... enjoy the touch of a Harkonnen, a Harkonnen who just a few hours ago had slaughtered you in the arena before your eyes and was enjoying it like a little child enjoys a candy... A Harkonnen whose body was ethereal beautifully...

You are snapped out of your thoughts when your mother enters your room in a state of… extreme daze.

"Mother? Have something happened?" You ask her, worried that your little (another) tryst with the Na-Baron might have turned out to be not such a secret at all.

"Lord Luwael just asked for my consent to propose to you. You did very well, Y/N. You will be an empress."

You swallow nervously and smile, nodding your head. Your mother hugs you, and you feel millions of thoughts racing through your head. You will become empress, but only if Irulan and Feyd-Rautha don't marry, and there was only one way to make sure that would happen.

You had to play a game with the devil himself and seduce and deceive him until the day it would be too late for his marriage to Irulan and you and Lord Luwael would take the emperor's throne. But how the hell were you supposed to do that without getting burned?

Taglist: @iloved1lfs0 @heartarianagran

[valsvalentine]

The other woman

·˚ ༘summary. A new student joined the school; seeming pretty friendly you had all decided to befriend the girl and let her in on your fun. However the girl wasn’t as friendly and nice as you thought she was, soon finding out that people can be a bit two faced.

·˚ ༘genre. angst

·˚ ༘warning. not proof read

part I .. part II .. part III .. part IV

Things have been strange ever since your last hang out with Yuji. He’s given the kinds of signals that he might like you but then would act like he only thought of you as a friend. Nobara tried asking him about you, but the responses were typically something along the lines of “She’s cool.” or “She’s fun to be around.” which didn’t help your case.

Weeks passed and you kept hanging out, sometimes even just the two of you which never failed to be anything less then fun. You got along quite well as yourself and even as your anonymous persona, which confused you even more. Would he be dissapointed if he found out it was you?

You walked into the school like usual, only this time you weren’t as cheery or bubbly as you usually were which was strange. Nobara and Maki noticed almost instantly, which got them to interogate you like parents afree you went out with a boy for the first time. ‘Okay you need to sit down and tell us what’s weong cuz this is not our Y/N.” Nobara says sternly and slides over your favourite soda to cheer you up. Maki throws you a candy bar and ruffles up your hair with a concerned look. “Yeah kid you look horrible.” She says in a joking manner but earns a glare from Nobara. You smile lightly at the two girls trying their best to comfort you, sometimes hating how well they know you and that nothing just slides past them so easily. “I don’t know I’ve just been thinking lately.” Nobara lifts a brow and urges you to continue. “About?”

“Yuji.” Maki finishes and you instantly look at her with a taken aback expression. “Eh? How do you know?” You whine, your leg bouncing up and down out of pure habit. “I just know you too well.” Maki said casually and sat down on your right while Nobara sat on your left.

And finally that broke you. You told them everything, showed them all of the messages and how you felt. Everything came pouring out at once and they let you collect your thoughts patiently. Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes yet nothing came out because you were too embarrassed to cry in front of hundreds of students.

Maki glanced at Nobara, and the two exchanged a knowing look before Maki got a ‘bright’ idea; "Why don’t you try being more direct? You’ve got nothing to lose you know?” You looked at her with a ‘seriously’ kind of look before throwing your hands around like crazy as you spoke. “Are you insane? Are you trying to embarrass me?” You said and started rambling on and on about how that was not a good idea and why keeping your anonymous persona would be a hundred times better and that things would get better in no time. Nobara and Maki just sighed, letting you live in your delusions for a little while longer, knowing damn well they’d pull you out of that mess if it meant you were going to get hurt. They cared for you, they truly did and they wouldn’t just sabotage you to make you hurt more.

You all walked to your class after eating lunch, talking about a supposedly new student joining all the way from Osaka. “Why do you guys think she transferred?” Nobara whispered, turning in her seat to face you and Maki who were sitting behind her. But before you could answer the teacher burst in along with the new girl.

You soon learned that the girls name was Emiko. She was tall, with long black hair and an air of confidence that immediately drew everyone's attention. A hoard of whispers started to fill the room before the teacher quieted the class down and introduced her more thoroughly. She looked pretty mature and level headed— maybe having a new classmate wouldn’t be that bad after all?

As the weeks passed Emiko quickly became part of the group, hanging out with everyone at school and soon even outside of school. At first you were ecstatic to have her as a friend since she was always kind and gave everyone food at school or gave them simple compliments; but you noticed she especially did so with Yuji. She’d always be around him and would more so chat with him then with anyone else and always interrupted your conversations whenever you wanted to hang out just the two of you for a while as the group discussed something not so important in your eyes. And soon the nit picking comments, glares, harsh words and fake incidents started. It started off pretty normal; she’d always have something to say about what you did, how you did it, what you wore that day or even what and how much you ate.

“Oh Y/N your hairs a bit messy, do you not have a brush at home? Here let me give you one, okay?”

“Aren’t those jeans from [shop name]? Heard those are pretty cheap. Are they good quality? You know you can always borrow something odd mine though I’m not sure if they’ll fit you since you’ve gotten such an appetite lately!”

“That looks wrong let me help you! It’s okay some people are just pretty slow at this. Maybe try considering a tutor? Can you afford that?”

It was like she had a problem with just you and Nobara seemed to notice first. Maki soon became suspicious of the girls behaviour and would sometimes snap back to shut her up. “Maybe she doesn’t find those expensive rags you wear as likeable as you do?” “Why shouldn’t she be able to afford it?” “Her hair is just fine like what are you even talking about?” Yet she’d always find a way to make it sound like she’s only helping out a friend.

Then came the gaslighting and manipulation. She’d pry information out of you to later use against you, even getting you to tell her about your little crush on Yuji and how you’ve been dealing with it; that being the anonymous texting. What could go wrong? She’s someone you can trust, right?

Soon winter came and everyone was gettinf ready to celebrate the upcoming holidays; the school organizing a kind of winter dance. You wanted to ask Yuji to go with you, planning out the whole day and how your ‘proposal’ would go. Little did you know someone had already asked the pink haired boy; Emiko had asked him the day before you without you knowing and Yuji had agreed, thinking nothing of it since he thought it would only be as friends. He kindly declined your proposal, apologising profusely for letting you down and you could do nothing more but just walk away and find your friends to plan that special say with them.

You all went shopping for dresses and suits, you getting a nice winter themed dress while the others bought something on theme as well. You all had a lot of fun that day, even Emiko seemed especially kind that day which was nee but welcome. Nobara found it a bit suspicious, you, Maki and Nobara calling later that day to discuss the matter. “Don’t you think she was a bit off today?” Nobara said as she put on a face mask. You shrugged, brushing your wet hair and getting some of the jewellery you wanted to wear ready for tomorrow. “Don’t know, she was pretty cool today which is a nice change.” “N/N people don’t just change overnight, I don’t know it just seems pretty weird.” Maki said and Nobara nodded; “Yeah and especially not after praying on your down fall for the whole time she’s been here!” You chuckles a bit at the statement, shaking your head. “Maybe she had a change of heart?”

The day of the dance you all got ready and met up half an hour sooner to get a ride to school. It was hosted to be at 6pm and would be ending at around 9 which was long enough for you all to have fun together. You danced, sang along to songs and ate to your hearts content; the school doing an exceptionally great job with the food and drinks. Your night couldn’t have been better until you went out for fresh air; accidentally hearing Emiko’s and Yuji’s conversation.

“I’m the one that has been messaging you anonymously for a while now, and I thought today would be the best time to finally confess!” She said and tucked a peace of her hair behind her ear.

“But you joined our school just a few months ago? How did you get my number?” He asked suspiciously and backed away from the girl, clearly quite uncomfortbale.

“Well I came here during the sport event to see what your school was like and.. I saw you! I asked around, one thing lead to another and I got your number!” She said enthusiastically and if you weren’t the one that was behind this, you would’ve believed her.

Yuji looked shocked to say the least, well shocked enough that he didn’t care to ask for proof and believed her, not looking as happy as he thought he would be. Would he be more upset if it was you? Maybe it was good she took the credit, she saved you from the embarrassment that could’ve came with you confessing. Yeah.. everything would be fine.

That day you left the dance early without a word, waking up the next day to hundreds of texts and missed calls from Nobara, Maki and a few others. You typed a quick message into your groupchat on instagram and put your phone away. Finally the holidays were here but everything felt different then usual. It wasn’t as relaxing or exciting to be free of school for a few days like it usually was, now it just felt empty. There were no emotions left for you to pour out, there were no more tears able to fall from your red puffy eyes, no more screams and hateful words were able to fall out from your sore throat so you just layed there in your own misery that you’ve created.

taglist: @cookiemunches @slut-for-fictional-men @thejadeazalea

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Congrats & happy 2nd birthday! For the bday x Seams sleepover 💬

Joel back home…after seeing Pin in the jeans. Spicy/crack pls!

Buck

Seams sleepover micro drabble request | 490 words | warnings: explicit masturbation (m) and cumshot | immediately follows Part III: Edgestitch, but can be read independently of the series

Joel stares at the ceiling, which is nothing new. He’s spent many sleepless nights in the exact same position.

What is new is the raging hard on rudely jutting out between his thighs.

It’s hours after the party, hours after he had his first taste of you in his brother’s house. His erection bobs against his stomach when he recalls the soft give of your lips on his, the way his damn breath caught in his throat. He’d wanted to do so much more, with his hands, with his mouth -

A scratchy groan grates in his windpipe, and Joel swipes a hand over his tired eyes, but it doesn’t erase you from his mind. Your wide eyes, the cream cheese on your neck, fuck, why didn’t he just lick it clean off your skin? Suck it right off your throat?

He wants to hear you gasp when his lips land on the side of your neck. Wants to lave your racing pulse point with his tongue. Wants to feel you shudder when he kisses his way down to your collarbone and lower. Much, much lower.

He thinks about the jeans you wore for him. Your playful retort that it was the only thing you didn’t have in the wash, which turned him on probably more than anything else. He lets his mind linger over how the denim clung to your hips, how they felt between his palms when he held you in place. How he wanted to reach down and squeeze the swell of your ass, wanted you to rub against him and feel how hard he was for you -

Joel arches off the bed at the thought, his cock leaking needily into his boxers.

Shoving them down his hips, he groans when his hand wraps around his throbbing length, hissing at the unfamiliar contact - fuck how long has it been since he’s touched himself - eyes screwed shut at the bursts of sensation that threaten to knock him out. It’s been too long, he’s too wound up. He’s barely touching himself, it’s too much, but still his hips buck upwards, erratically, chasing friction. 

Seared on the back of his eyelids is you, looking up at him through hooded eyes, lips swollen and breath short, wanting him - him! - so openly and honestly -

If he had the presence of mind, he’d be embarrassed that he’s already cumming, a painful whimper caught in his throat as he bites down hard on his bottom lip, needing to be quiet in the dead of night.

It feels like his stomach is caving in, ribs collapsing, as he spurts thick and white all over himself. Sticky tendrils web between his fingers, sweat on his sternum quickly cooling in the midnight air and soaking the mattress under his back, the smell of his cum thick with every panting breath.

Turning his face into the pillow, he burrows into the softness - wishing it was you he was curling into.

Notes: Thank you @thatesqcrush for this request, I'm sorry it took so long to get to, life got in the way, as usual! I think this is my first time writing a scene like this, and I had a blast ❤️

[rosewaterandivy]

iii. starlit night

summary: it's either fate or a cosmic joke.

pairing: s.h. x werewolf!reader

w.c.: 5.3K

warnings: blood, bloodlust, blood drinking, guts, gore, possessiveness, supernatural elements, quasi-mating rituals, exhausted best friend!eddie, no a/b/o, angst, mild dubious consent, amateur wound care, power dynamics

a/n: consider this my warm welcome to spooky season, happy autumnal equinox y’all! monsters need love too 🐺

m.list | playlist

prev | next

Eddie gave nothing away, and neither did you which was more than a little infuriating for Steve.

After the incident with the impromptu dog sitting and tire tracks on his lawn, he hadn’t seen hind nor hair of you. No daily runs in the woods, or in the crowd at Corroded’s Tuesday night shows, and certainly not frequenting Family Video.

The balm of summer has settled upon Hawkins, humidity sticking like dew to his skin no matter how long he lingers beneath the spray of the showerhead. He’s sweated through his shirt and vest by the time he clocks out to leave for the day, muttering his goodbyes to Robin as she reminds him to pick her up at closing tonight.

For as much as Steve loves the languid drip of summer days, he positively loathes the heat. Can’t stand feeling sticky and damp with no reprieve. So it’s really a no-brainer that he elects to waste the afternoon in the swimming pool, waiting for the a/c to cool the house to a respectable 68 degrees, utility bill be damned.

He’s driving back from Family Video, Robin in tow, as night falls. The streetlamps had a dull and ineffective glow which only partially illuminated the edges of the road. Steve took the back roads to Robin’s house, one of his many shortcuts through a town in which nothing ever happened.

“Steve!”

Robin’s gasp, and spastic pointing are enough to startle him from fiddling with the radio. Eyes slicing to the road, he sees an animal darting across the pavement, and swerves to miss them. The front corner of the car wings left as it grazes the animal with a loud thud, following by the shrill screech of wheels skidding to a stop.

His right hand splays against Robin’s collarbone and chest, pressing her back into the seat. He can feel her frantic breaths heaving from her lungs as she sucks in paltry breaths.

“Are you alright?”

She nods, fingers fumbling to release the seatbelt. She’s shaking a little from the shock of it all— Steve hitting an animal with his car on the edge of the greenbelt. Her mind is spinning and she can only imagine how he’s feeling, if the slight tremor in his hand still affixed to her chest is anything to go by.

“Is it—?”

He clears his throat and unbuckles his seat belt and opens his door quickly. “Just stay here, I’ll check it out.” The hazard lights click on as Steve steps out to approach the animal.

It’s lying at the center of the road, the poor thing’s chest rising and falling in slow succession. It’s still moving, hazily coming to in the still summer evening. Head turning toward him and eyes blinking away the fear in a flash of milk glass.

Oh fuck. Oh shit.

Suddenly spurned into action, Steve moves with a speed that even Robin finds shocking. It’s a moment she’ll never forget. In an instant he heaves the large dog into his arms, shouting at her to open the back door in a panicked voice.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”

She wonders why her best friend is profusely apologizing to an animal that seems, at first glance, none the worse for wear. Steve slides it into the back and jumps into the driver’s seat, peeling out so fast that she barely has time to get into the vehicle herself.

“Steve, what the ever loving fuck is going on?”

Turning to him for the first time since the slapdash animal rescue, Robin’s mouth falls open in thinly veiled terror. Steve is drenched in blood and debris, remnants of fur and skin stuck to his gray shirt, slowly staining itself maroon and perfuming the air with a metallic tang. It’s too much blood to be from the accident, right? The animal was already injured when they clipped it; it had to be.

He doesn’t reply, electing to simply speed back to his house and run a bloodied hand through his hair frantically.

Robin faces forward and blinks.

She catches a flicker of something in the rearview mirror.

Wrong noises are coming from the backseat, terrible growls and low whines. The sound of joints popping in and out of place, muscles shifting and pulling taut beneath skin. Teeth scraping and grinding against one another.

It’s the pain that brings you to consciousness— knifing through your skull and making you want to vomit. Swallowing back bile and blood in your mouth, you want to rip yourself apart and keep ripping until there’s nothing left. Your jaw is moving unnaturally so, everything is wrong and you want to scream. Piping hot and burning, you’re sure you’ll spontaneously combust any second now when a hysterical shriek rends the air.

But not from you.

Steve is wholly unequipped to deal with his best friend’s nervous breakdown and a very naked what he can only assume werewolf dipping in and out of consciousness and bleeding out on the tile of his bathroom.

Between Robin’s blubbering and your soft murmurs, he can really only think to do one thing:

Call Eddie.

And that seemed like a good plan half an hour ago when he laid you in the bathtub and swaddled Robin in a smattering of blankets on the sofa downstairs.

But now, he’s not so sure.

Because Eddie strides into his house like god sent him to settle a score, wearing fury on his face in a way that could be considered cuttingly alluring, if not for the broken glass bottle digging into the skin of Steve’s neck as his back hits the wall.

“Give me one reason not to spill you guts all over your Nikes, Harrington.”

It’s more of a snarl than a request.

And what is there to say, really?

Sorry, I hit your werewolf best friend with my car after snooping around because for some ungodly reason I’m drawn to her and unable to control myself.

His hands and temples are covered in dried blood, dark and foreboding, crusted on his skin and hair and nails. To say nothing of his shirt, plastered to his chest and emanating a startingly metallic odor.

As if suddenly realizing this, Eddie blinks and loosens his grip on Steve’s shirt, palm coming away tinged in blood.

“What did you do?”

And, to be frank, Steve preferred Eddie’s rage to whatever this was, dread, he supposed.

“It was an accident.”

They both turn to the pile of blankets on the couch that is Robin. Only her face is visible, pale and dazed.

Eddie turns back to Steve with a look that could turn most people to stone, and yanks him up the stairs to the bathroom.

Greeted by a warm wall of steam, Eddie shoves Steve toward the sink with gruff instructions to find a first-aid kit. He crouches in front of you and murmurs in a soft voice. Languorously, you turn your head toward him with an easy smile, lips bloody.

“Hiya pal.”

Your voice is a croak, rough and jagged as it edges up your throat.

Eddie says nothing, rolling his lips between his teeth as his hands close in around your face turning it this way and that as gently as he can. The spray of the hot water has matted your hair impossibly at the back of your skull, rivulets coming back a translucent red on his palm. A large bruise blooms burgundy against your hip, splotchy and livid.

He leans you forward to survey your back, brushing away the rocks and dirt embedded into your skin and mindful of the raised red road rash. But none of that goes to explain the blood swirling down the drain— where is it coming from?

Steve stands awkwardly behind, red and white box in hand.

Elbows resting on your knees as Eddie continues his perusal of wounds, you shoot him a sleepy smile before your head falls to your forearms. The mad fluttering of your eyelashes as you battle to stay awake.

“She can sleep damn near anywhere,” Eddie mutters as your body goes lax in his arms, “Long as she knows she’s the deadliest thing in the room.”

“Is that, uh, safe?” Steve asks, handing the kit over as Eddie extends his hand.

“Safe enough. Help me turn her on her side, will ya?”

Both men let out a jarring gasp at the sight of the bite to your side. A festering and weeping thing, blood almost black as it skitters down your stomach and back. Steve’s mouth fills with saliva as he steps back and vomits. Eddie’s nostrils flare as he breathes steadily in and out, trying to piece out who or what could’ve done such a thing to you.

Steve spits a few times for good measure before gargling some mouthwash.

“I told you not to go in the woods.”

It’s about as subtle as a grenade, Eddie’s pointed accusation.

But that doesn’t make it any less true. If Steve would have just minded his own business, heeded Munson’s warnings, you wouldn’t be bleeding out in his bathtub right now.

“I-I know. I’m sorry.”

He leans back on his heels, a ringed hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as Eddie methodically begins setting out bandages, antiseptic, and gauze.

“Can you thread a needle?” He asks around a wisp of silver clenched between his teeth and hands the needle and spool of thread to Steve.

“Yeah, sure.”

“And find her some clothes.”

“Uh huh.”

He hands the threaded needle back to Eddie with trembling hands, absolutely terrified at the gray pallor of your skin. The surface wounds stitching themselves closed, as blood seeps from mangled flesh curving along your side.

Steve haphazardly grabs a shirt and shorts, tossing them to the side as he’s hauled back toward the bathtub. In the few minutes of his absence, Eddie has worked quickly. Your wounds are scrubbed clean and bandaged, and he’s angled the showerhead to hit just beneath your wound having cleaned it prior.

“Okay Harrington,” Eddie begins, grabbing a switchblade from his pocket and pouring the antiseptic over the blade as it flicks open. “Here’s how it’s gonna go: the wound is too severe for a simple bandage and she’d bleed through it anyway. The only shot in hell we have is you staying close and using your blood to jumpstart her system. We’ll have to be quick—”

“Wait, what?”

“Because I’ll have to disinfect the bite before her were instincts kick in and she starts healing on her own. S’like jumping a car, no big deal.”

Stupidly, Steve doesn’t pull back his palm from Eddie in time, as the wet slice of the blade pierces his skin. It burns as the blood wells up from the cut, bright red and cascading down his hand. Eddie yanks Steve’s hand toward your partially open mouth, eyelids fluttering in your uneasy sleep.

He presses the heel of Steve’s palm to your lips until you subconsciously latch, the tips of your fangs grazing his skin. It’s horrifying, Steve thinks, how easily your tongue laps at the ruby red rivulets weeping from his broken skin. You hum contentedly, swallowing over and over again until he realizes that he’s gone all slack and whimpering.

Well, now that is just embarrassing.

“All right, champ,” Eddie says, pulling you off of Steve and he mourns the loss of the warmth of your lips.

You tip back against the porcelain and howl as Eddie pours antiseptic onto the wound that is rapidly stitching itself together on your side.

Steve falls with a thud against the wall, cradling his cut palm to his chest as he watches in holy terror as you magically revive before his very eyes.

“Blood of your blood.”

Eddie says this as if it could possibly explain anything.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Steve can see the blood— his blood— as it warms your cheeks and lips, pumps life back into your muscles and arteries. And you must be a living nightmare torn straight from the depths of his mind, more wild than the wilderness skirting the edges of town, a cursed thing surely there to kill them all.

“She’ll be weak for a few days,” Eddie says, leaning back against the wall after he cuts off the water. “We’ll just keep her hydrated and fed and she’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Delirium must be setting in, because Steve finds himself nodding along to Eddie’s instructions. Allows himself to be tugged forward by the lanky man as he slices a near-identical cut into your palm.

“Drink, it’ll close up soon and you need your strength.”

Steve doesn’t even think twice about it, sinking his teeth into the meat of your palm and sucking. Every time your body tried to stitch itself back together, he draws forth another pull of garnet blood, precious droplets cascading down his jaw and neck, failing to stifle the noise trying to break free from his throat.

The room doesn’t so much as spin as it shifts, blurring out in haze and lights bursting like stars behind his eyelids. He tongues at your lifeline, gasping, slurping, and moaning until—

“Okay Romeo, slow it down there.”

Eddie grips the scruff of his neck like he’s an overexcited puppy and jerks him backward onto the cold tile floor.

“‘Kay,” He blinks lazily, mouth slick and painted a violent shade of red as he slumps to the floor.

Eddie eyes him warily, “Ya with us, Harrington?”

“Feel high,” Steve replies, still woozy and buzzing.

Before he can reply, you shake yourself awake and shudder in the cool air. You look around, everything too bright and smelling like you’d huffed the entire contents of a janitor’s closet. Someone tosses a shirt and shorts your way, and you slowly worm your way into the clothes. Skin feeling too tight and something smarting at your hip.

“Fuck,” A dazed voice says, sending a shiver down your spine. A hand gently touching the side of your face, blood smearing against your cheekbone as he turns your head. “Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”

Eddie scoffs from somewhere near, as your lips kick up in a smile. His thumb grazes the full of your lips, skirting against the pearly white of your fangs. And it’s only when you take in a lungful of Harrington that it all falls together.

Tearing yourself from the surging desire to nuzzle into his open palm, you bare your teeth and train your eyes on Eddie. Snarling to say:

“The fuck did you do.”

Because there was absolutely no way this human was somehow halfway to being your mate.

Not when you’d told your Guardian, who was smirking down at you now, that under no circumstances would that be happening.

He barks a laugh and shrugs as if to say, you were dying, what could I do?

You shakily stand, ignoring the crestfallen expression on Steve’s face, and amble out of the bathroom.

Life must have been some cruel joke, only to serve Steve Harrington, of all people, up on a plate and wave him in your face as something you could ever afford to keep.

A cutting slice of tragedy to give him some kind of forever, when you couldn’t even take care of yourself, much less a pack.

The words of the only father figure you’d ever known pounded in your skull as you hurried down the stairs and out into the balmy night:

This is a gift, it comes with a price.

You’re gone for what feels like days.

A span of time that finds Steve shaky and pale, nearly biting off the heads of everyone currently invading his house instead of answering their inane questions, until a voice in his head warns, Easy now.

Robin’s somewhat functioning, though not entirely recovered from the shock of the century; the revelation that werewolves exist. And that her best friend is fated to be with one.

She just about lost her mind when Eddie sat the pair of them down to explain things.

“Mates. What does that mean?”

She’d done most of the talking, since Steve hadn’t said a word since you left.

Eddie sighs and his eyes dart back and forth, as if he’s second guessing himself in sharing this information outside the pack, as ramshackle as it was.

“It’s like, having partner, I guess. But it’s predetermined biologically? We don’t really know how or why it happens, and it’s rare when it does.”

“So… not every werewolf gets a mate.”

“Well, I mean they can date and be with whoever they want, just like us. But if there’s a mate and the circumstances align just so…” He trails off and glances at Steve, guilt etched on his face. “It makes being with anyone besides your mate difficult.”

“How so?”

“Kind of like a bad break-up, but you both want to be together? There’s no physical ailment, but you just feel—”

“Abandoned.”

Eddie swallows and nods.

“And she just—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” He cautions Robin. “She could come back, we don’t know. But, to be fair, I did kind of fuck it up.”

“Wait, hold on.” Robin extricates an arm from her swaddle of blankets and grabs Steve’s hand, “So you’re saying that she didn’t reject this whole thing?! She just ran out of here like a bat outta hell! How is that not a rejection?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Okay,” she drawls, “And?”

Eddie sharks his head, “I really can’t say more than I already have.”

She scoffs, “That’s a fuckin’ lie and you know it.”

Eddie’s eyes cut back to Steve as he lets Robin run his thumb across his bandaged hand. His eyes almost looking through Eddie, far off and distant. It’s spooky, how quickly the light left him as you slipped out of the front door that night. How Steve could tell the instant it happened, jerking upright on the tile floor and Eddie watched as his body tensed, muscles coiling with adrenaline and no way to rid himself of it.

He scrubs a hand down the tired plane of his face, letting loose a beleaguered sigh.

“Look, I’m a Guardian, not a Scrivener alright?”

“Like we’re supposed to know what that means!” Robin hisses in reply, thumb worrying across Steve’s lax palm.

“I just gotta make a call, okay?” He says, rising to stand and roll his neck. “Stay with him until I get back.”

“Yeah,” She calls as he walks to the phone in the kitchen, fingers punching in the familiar set of numbers. “No shit, Sherlock!”

Eddie drums his fingers against the wall and hopes to God she picks up, because if he has to talk to her mother one more time—

“Hello, Wheeler residence,” She chirps down the line.

Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, his forehead resting on the cool wood paneling as he says, “Hey Nance, we’ve got a bit of a situation. Can you make it to Harrington’s place?”

It takes all of ten minutes for Nancy Wheeler to come barrelling in, her arms laden with books and giving Eddie a look that would strike lesser men dead on the spot.

“I could kill you Munson.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He says with a lazy wave of his hand, “Join the club Wheels.”

“I get first dibs,” Robin pipes up with her first smile of the evening.

“Guess I’ll settle for sloppy seconds then,” Nancy huffs, dropping the books on an ottoman. “I can’t believe you did this, going against not only her express wishes but Steve’s as well? Bet you didn’t even tell him what all this entailed and now look at him!”

Steve, for all the talk about him, says nothing. His face radiating heat and steadily becoming a vibrant pink.

“Is he,” Eddie begins, stepping closer. “Blushing?”

“Nah,” Robin says knowing best and laying a cool palm to his forehead, “That’s no blush, that’s a fever.”

The thing about Steve is that he rarely, if ever, gets sick. Had perfect attendance all through school, until he got caught skipping, because he’d never gotten the crud. So when he emits a full body shiver, Robin has no choice but to act.

His teeth are still chattering even after being hauled upstairs and smothered beneath blankets. And saying that Steve feels ill, or under the weather or even is inching toward death is a massive understatement.

He grunts beneath the sheets and blankets, socked feet sliding against the rumpled fabric. He aches from the top of his head to the toes of his feet, somehow his fingernails hurt. What is up with that bullshit?

And yeah, he’s supposed to stay in bed, he knows that. But he can’t see the door from up here and what if you come back, what then? What if you and Eddie get into it again and you storm out?

He’s not warming up any more up here than he would down there. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he thrashes beneath the covers and hobbles down the hall.

What Steve is not anticipating however, is to find his living room filled with the likes of Chief Hopper and his daughter El, a lanky older man that he doesn’t recognize, the Byers family, Lucas, Dustin, Mike, Max, Billy fucking Hargrove, and finally, you.

So, it’s not all that surprising when he slumps to a heap on the landing of the stairs.

Alright, okay, he passed out a little bit. What gives?

Well, in your opinion (which really is the only one that matters at present), Steve fucked up is what.

Not only did he get out of bed and drop like a sack of potatoes at the sight of what can only be described as a pack of people? Werwolves, who knows—in his house, but on the way down, he managed to knock his head on the banister and come to with someone half-shouting at him and half-shouting at everyone else in the room.

“If anything, this is Munson’s fault.”

“Shut the fuck up Hargrove,” Eddie sulks, “No one asked for the opinion of a drop-out meat-head.”

“That’s rich coming from you, super senior.”

“I swear to god—”

“Boy, you better settle down!”

“C’mon Wayne, I’m just—”

A low, warning growl cuts through the room.

Everyone has the common sense to look abashed, tail between their legs, and even Hargrove stubs out his cigarette.

“Cut that shit out.”

Angry eyes greet Steve as he groggily comes to. Irises bleeding milky white as you struggle to contain your baser nature.

“Are you alright?”

Each word is bitten and harsh, your teeth set in a tidy row against your plump lips.

He nods, wincing at the pain blooming in his temple. You continue to glare as you sit him upright, “You.”

Steve flinches, pain thudding dully in his skull, all too aware that there will be an audience at his execution if your expression is anything to go by. He opens his mouth to apologize, the sibilant ‘s’ on the tip of his tongue, until your eyes slice to his and stun him into silence.

“Don’t you even start.” With a sigh, you join him leaning back against the railing, hand falling uselessly between you. “This is all my fault. You wouldn't be in this mess if I had any lick of sense.”

It startles a laugh from him, how quickly you rush to accept the blame.

“Well, I did hit you with my car.”

“Oh, right,” You snort, “That.”

“Can I um,” He says haltingly, “What happened?”

Your head knocks once against the wood banister, “You were supposed to stay in bed.” Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you shrug. “Best I can guess is you were worried and got up. Only to be greeted with the shock of a lifetime by having a buncha weres in your living room.”

His lips form a silent ‘oh.’

“We’re not a pack,” You’re quick to clarify, “At least, not officially. And they’re not all weres, just most of ‘em.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, and Steve is placated, for now.

“Hey, boss?”

Though, he still can’t get over that Billy motherfucking Hargrove is in his living room and deferring to you. You merely turn your head before he says something about some vital information being left out of the welcome packets for tonight, and you sigh with a roll of your eyes.

“Sure Hargrove, lemme get Steve settled and we’ll get into it.”

You stand up pulling Steve with you, and he sees Billy nod before lighting up another cigarette and turning toward the window.

He’s insistent that he doesn’t need a babysitter, but that does nothing to stop Dustin from inviting himself into Steve’s room when you go down to sort things out with the not-pack. He feels marginally better, and maybe Eddie was right when he said proximity helps. He doesn’t feel as wrecked as he was earlier, and if anything, it’s getting a bit hot underneath all the covers on his bed.

“Don’t smother him, Henderson,” You grunt, sticking out your chin as you lean on the doorjamb an hour or so later, while Dustin continues piling blankets on Steve. “This isn’t Mommy Dearest, kid.”

Steve thinks it’s cute, the slight drawl in your voice as you scold him. It’s probably your not-pack voice, the lower register, and gruffness of it. Packmaster-mode, Dustin had called it, even though the title is technically Alpha. But no one calls you that to your face, something about not liking the moniker or responsibility of it.

“Alright punk, scram.”

Dustin does as he’s told, begrudgingly so.

“Y’know,” He says, pausing at the door, “You’ve got to work on your people skills.”

Flicking the hat off of his head and shutting the door in response, you turn back to Steve looking ready to throttle the pipsqueak.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” You sigh, slumping down on the bed.

“It’s his ego, right?”

You blow a raspberry and let out a humorless laugh, “Eddie says it’s his tone.”

“Hmm, yeah. That too.”

Steve shuffled over to make room on the bed and peeled the covers back in a huff. You’d kicked off your sneakers and snuck one leg under the sheets next to his, the other propped with your foot resting on the mattress.

“Oh my god, you’re so warm.”

“Yeah, we run hot. It’s a were thing.”

Steve doesn’t sag against you exactly—it wouldn’t make any sort of physical sense—but he feels like he does it metaphorically.

“Ugh, that must be brutal in the summer.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” You give him a small smile and let your arm graze his thigh. “But it’s not all bad.”

Steve picks idly at the fraying hem of his shorts, fingers itching for something, anything to do. He’s not mad, well, not exactly, but he is kinda keyed up.

“Can hear you thinkin’ in there.”

You crack an eye open, and he turns back, a blush dusting his cheekbones.

“It’s just—” He starts to say, falling silent as you sit up beside him, the legs of your shorts, which are unfortunately boxers he grabbed without looking, rise up to reveal the soft skin of your thighs. And your skin is the only thing soft about you, from what Steve can tell.

“You didn’t even give me a choice.”

The light in your eyes snuffs itself out. Your face falls as you take in what he’s just said.

You clear your throat, “It’s not much of a choice,” Voice soft and small, “Not really.”

Steve nods, rolling his shoulder and chewing on his lip.

“Look, I’m really sorry Steve, truly. And if there was a way I could go back and undo all of this, I would.”

A momentarily panic flares up in his chest. No, that's not what he— he didn’t mean it in that way. He frustratedly runs a hand through his hair, recalling how Nancy pointed out that communication had never been his strong suit.

“No, hold on. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all fucked up now,” You admit, “Eddie knew how I felt about it and he went and did it, anyway. He claims it was done in my best interest, but he’s a smarmy motherfucker when he wants to be.” It all rushes out of you in the span of a breath, but now you’re on a roll and can’t stop, no matter the defeated expression on Steve’s face.

“He just like, dove straight in and started the Blood Rite without either of our consent, and now we’re stuck in this labyrinthian limbo from hell because you’ve had my blood and I’ve had yours. So how are we ever gonna know if any of this,” You wave frantically between your bodies as if it’s somehow proof, “Is a legitimate and purposeful choice or the result of fucking werewolf nonsense?!”

Well, Steve certainly wasn’t expecting any of that.

He looks at you, so directly it’s almost a challenge, the muscle in his jaw working steadily and you have to will your need to dominate deep down like the slumbering beast it is. But he’d look so pretty laid out and begging underneath you.

Ahem, another time maybe.

“You don’t wanna do this.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant.”

“Steve, no—”

“Heavily implied.” He spits, turning toward you and shifting up on his knees. “I’m not stupid, y’know.” Steve says, and seeing you caught off-guard like this has set something into motion that he just can’t get the precise nature of yet.

You swallow and drag your hand down your face, letting it settle across your lips as you study him. Keen eyes, a predator’s eyes following every movement as he spreads his legs wide, nearly straddling you but not quite.

“A part of you wants me.”

You're staring at the ceiling fan now, but your face has gone tight with frustration and something else.

“More than you should.”

One hand distractedly pushes the hair from your face, your mouth falling open to argue.

“Well?”

You swallow, pushing yourself up straighter. “I should go,” You say carefully, eyes rapt on Steve’s face. Responding more to the tone in his voice than anything else, and you chafe under the ease with which he wields it.

He doesn’t back down, which only stokes your ire. Steve’s close enough to touch, but remaining just out of reach, taunting that part of you that howls for him.

Well, two can play at that game.

Desire uncoils in your gut at a lazy pace, taking its time to pool beneath your navel. It shakes you alive, prompting you to disentangle yourself from the sheets wrapped about your ankles. Rising to your haunches as if readying yourself for a chase, Steve feels himself prickle hot all over just at the sight of it.

He licks his lips, and he’s so close that you can feel rather than see the slight shudder of his body. If you pushed just a bit harder, took in a little more atmosphere he’d fall like a house of cards.

And then, to the victor go the spoils.

Steve shakes his head and sighs, it’s such an infuriatingly him gesture that you’re nearly taken aback. But his gaze remains steady, just as his hands and heart do, the comforting da-dum, da-dum, da-dum of it drawing you closer and closer.

Normally, you’d find it endearing. So familiar that you can paint it with your eyes shut, but not tonight, not when you have the moon and him singing in your veins, emotions a bit fraught and not entirely your own.

Walking on your knees across the bed as if it’s a desert, and you’d spent hundreds of miles repenting, Steve stills.

Baring your teeth to smile wide and wild, “C’mere honey,” You croon, saccharine sweet. “I’ll play nice.”

He breathes your name, there’s no other word in his head.

Some things are fated, destined, and mapped in the stars, but nowhere is it said that these things need to be kind.

[darkestspring]

Prompt for when you need it: reader is rhaenyra's only daughter and jacaerys' twin and in order to make things easier for her mother and her pregnancy she takes charge of caring and entertaining her younger siblings while they are staying at Kings Landing.

Cue Aemond having a hard time keeping it cool when seeing her playing and doting on little white-haired children and his mind going wild at the idea of her playing with their future babies. Gods help him if he doesn't end up doing something drastic by the end of the damn week

You take it from there, and feel free to disregard it if it's too silly. I just couldn't get the idea out of my head, and now I'm making it a WE problem

Thanks for listening to me anyways! ❤️

IT IS A WE PROBLEM BUT ITS ONE THAT I LIKE <3333

You knew this pregnancy was taking it's toll on your mother, even with your stepfather's help. With your twin brother, jace, taking care of looking after Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, you had taken the role of looking after your younger brothers, Aegon III, and Viserys II.

You were carrying Aegon in your arms as Viserys held your hand gently as you guided him down the hall.

Aemond was watching from a short distance and he could feel his cock throb at the sight. He couldn't help but imagine that it was your children with him and not your younger siblings.

It was not a very well hidden secret that he had craved you since you were both younger. His pretty bastard, his alone.

His pretty brown haired wife-to-be.

A shiver went down his spine at the thought of you bearing his children, he'd give you so many white haired babies, true targaryens.

He cornered you later, after the dinner in which he insulted your brothers, yet again.

"What is it that you want, Aemond?" You had hissed at him, eyes narrowed at him. "There is nothing for you here."

"You're wrong about that." He purred at you, your anger only made his lust grow. "You're here. What better way to get even. Will you not settle your brother's debts by giving yourself to me?"

That made you stop, staring at him in confusion. You thought he hated you, loathed you the same as your brothers, you were a bastard, the same as them.

"What?"

"Are you already dumb before i've even inserted my cock into you?" He retorted, walking closer as you moved back until your back hit the wall. "I'm going to settle my debt with your body, and once I do, I will marry you in our tradition and give you so many babies to occupy your time."

The logic was a little twisted but you understood it. Despite not having the features, there was no denying that you were of valyrian descent. You had bonded with the most dangerous dragon, the cannibal.

You stared at him impassively. "And if I refuse? Will you take me by force, dear prince?"

Aemond looked at you through his lone purple eye a minute longer before laughing. "No, you'll beg me for it. I have always seen it. Your kindness towards me, the lust in your eyes as you gaze towards me, even now."

His hand drifted down to touch your clit gently under your nightgown adn your hips jolted forwards at the touch.

"Tell me to stop. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this, and I will stop, sweet girl." Aemond spoke neutrally as he watched your reactions.

You couldn't say that. a part of you hated him but a larger part loved him, wanted him.

"That's what I thought." Aemond chuckled before pulling your nightgown up further.

"Wait," you spoke softly, hands on his chest. "Not here. On the bed." You look over towards the neat bed. "I want... our first time to be on a bed, not against the wall." You spoke almost bashfully and his eye softened before nodding and pulling away.

You stepped out from your spot before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the bed. "I want you..." You murmured softly before starting to unbuckle his shirt. "I want this." You assured him in a soft tone.

"Sweet girl." Aemond groaned before starting to pull your nightgown up and over your head as you stood bare before him.

Aemond shrugged his shirt off as you finished and started focusing on his pants. Your hand pressed against his bulge and he hissed, grabbing your wrist. "Don't test my patience, niece."

You smiled at that before going back to pulling his pants down. "But I enjoy it so, seeing you strain to control yourself."

Aemond growled down at you, sounding all too much like the dragon he was before he pushed you onto the bed and crawling on top of you, his bare cock pressing against your thigh. "Brat." He commented before slapping your thigh, making you squirm.

"Hurry up." You whined, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him forwards and hissing as his cock kissed the entrance of your cunt.

Aemond was torn between wanting to go slow and wanting to absolutely ruin you.

"No need to be nice." Your sly smile told him a different story. "I open myself at the thought of you many nights." You taunted him, smiling as you saw his self control fade as he sunk into you.

A loud gasp left you as his hips pressed against yours. He smelled so familiar, like smoke and ink. "Oh, aemond."

"Don't quit on me now, darling. We're just getting started." His first thrust took the air out of you as your heels dig into his ass and pressed him deeper inside of you. "Shit, you really test me, you fucking brat."

The smile that earned him was entirely too smug and his response was to start thrusting earnestly inside you as your bedframe started to hit the wall. "I want you to scream for me."

"Oh gods!" You sobbed out as you held onto him. You could feel him so deep inside you, his cock making its home inside you.

"There's no gods here, just me." Aemond groaned out as you clenched around him yet again. "So don't call for the gods, call for me."

[brostateexam]

Have not been saying much for a while because everything is hard.

I. My BiL has had c diff three times now and after the third time the oncologist decided to take a damn the torpedoes approach because they were wasting weeks that should have been devoted to chemo because he was too sick and too weak to withstand outpatient treatment. I haven't seen him irl since December but my mom says he looks rough and if his immune system is so messed up that he keeps getting c diff idk that I really want to visit him. What if I get him sick?

All of this is background to me, though, because mostly I'm invested in my sister. She wants to divorce him. He needs to be better enough that she won't face ostracization for doing so. I am invested in him getting better enough for that to proceed for her sake.

II. Something about my relationship with my mom has been bothering me and I finally figured out what it is: everything is equally important to her. She doesn't prioritize anything. If I am having a tough time and ask for help she'll say "well I'm busy every day this week but I can come over next week in Thursday for ninety minutes" and then when she comes over I ask her what she was up to, both to make conversation and because I'm nosy, and it's like... she volunteered for a clothing drive at the synagogue. She went grocery shopping. She went to a farmer's market. Thanks for fitting me into your schedule, I guess! Glad to know I am on the same level as farm fresh tomatoes.

III. I have been having a really tough time of it for the last few months. The vacation in Mexico was... Not restful. Shane had a seizure on the plane and I spent the first two days managing logistics related to that (and navigating the extra ~$2k I spent covering his medical costs while on the trip). His back is still fucked up almost two months later and so I get to do extra housework and chores because he can't lift or bend without being in pain.

IV. Resultant to III, I had a really awful period of about a month with an online friend who started being super short and terse with me because I've been around online less. It was really clear he felt like I was ditching him to go hang out with my cool friends or something, instead of the reality of the situation: I'm cleaning litter boxes and doing yard work and changing the sheets on the bed aka #livingthedream. I told him about all the stuff that was going on but it was clear he didn't believe me or resented my absence nevertheless. This came to a head with me basically texting him an essay about why he was being a bad friend. In a turn of good news, he listened, and apologized, and we mended fences. That was nice because I just don't know how much more bad news I can take right now.

V. I've been struggling with work but really it's just. My boss. My coworkers like me. My project sponsors like me. My skip level likes me. My exec likes me. It's just him. We don't have a good relationship and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know that it is fixable. This is a problem because this is the guy I need in my corner to advance my career and I don't know that he'll do that for me. The alternative is leaving my company, which sounds attractive on paper but in practice the job market is so so bad and it's just so discouraging. The idea of a new job sounds incredible. I wish I could do that. Maybe even a career change.

VI. Unfortunately, that's not gonna happen because of financial pressures. NGL, as much as I like my house (and I do -- I love its little windows, I love my pink dining nook and green bedroom, I love the mature fruit trees and pretty backyard full of wildflowers), I wish i had the cash in hand, instead. I feel trapped here, and like I'm making the most of it. That's a shit feeling to have.

VII. I've started regaining weight. Not a lot. Fifteen pounds since October. But it's scaring me. It's making me wonder if this whole surgery thing was pointless because I can't seem to stop myself from wanting to eat myself to death. So I'm trying to beat it back without resorting to "diet culture behaviors" (read: disordered eating) and that's tough.

There could be a separate post for things that are going well perhaps, but this is what's going not so well and it feels like a lot. Sometimes it feels like too much.

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Yandere Dick Grayson x GN Reader

❥ Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: This is basically just Dick metronoming between overly-coddling, emotionally distant, cool older brother, and scary. And also everyone collectively shaving 30 years off of Alfred’s life.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: platonic sibling yandere content, older brother Dick Grayson, younger sibling reader, non-vigilante reader, adopted reader, slow burn yandere(?), the pacing is very a-day-in-the-life-esque, overbearing Dick Grayson, lowkey-infantilism, flu-shot/needles (barely mentioned), emotionally constipated Bruce, estranged father Bruce, Dick is a liar (his pants are indeed on fire), Dick just knows shit somehow, Dick’s lowkey a dick, scary Dick Grayson.

“It’ll just be a little poke, kid. You’ll be fine.”

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes at the man’s babying, you couldn’t find the courage to do so. It had nothing to do with the upcoming needle (well, thinking about it may or may not have made you the tiniest bit apprehensive, but that’s besides the point). Rather, for the past 30 minutes or so, you’ve been haunted by the words of the lady at the front desk.

“A walk-in for flu shots today?”

A walk-in.

Dick said this was an appointment.

The whole reason why you were missing school today was because of this appointment. Dick scheduled it under the pretense that it was a Saturday rather than a Friday, and that’s why you were running around doing errands with him all morning instead of making up that damn world history test. So why the hell did she call it a walk-in instead of an appointment?

Of course, while you so desperately wanted an answer, there’s no way in hell you were asking; not after whatever… that… was earlier.

The absence of your response must’ve been translated as nervousness. “Hey,” Dick softly began, “it’ll be okay. I’ll be right here, alright?”

Before you could even think of what to respond with, the doctor walked in with a trey of needed utensils. When it was set down on the counter, you spotted the needle and packet of alcohol wipes, and you couldn’t help but quirk a brow at the array of different bandaids. There was the typical neutral type, but there was also ones with fun patterns, like rocket ships or flowers. The one with a classic comic book style caught your eye as the doctor began to talk.

“Sorry for the small wait,” she said, ripping open the packet of alcohol wipes. “Lots of people coming in for the flu shot.”

“‘Tis the season,” Dick chimed next to you.

You fought the urge to scoff at the doctor’s polite chuckle. Don’t validate his ego…

After instructing you to roll up your sleeve, she gently swabbed your upper arm with the cold alcohol wipe, the strong stench hitting your nose like a truck. Once that was done, she turned towards the counter to prep the needed, and you let out a small sigh. Once this was over with, you could finally go home and hide in your room for the rest of the day. It would finally grant you refuge from a whole day spent running around with Dick (he could be a fun guy, sure, but the awkward air of the morning was still lingering in the back of your brain, and you wanted some time to yourself to actually figure out what the hell the deal was).

A warm hand suddenly engulfed yours, causing you to flinch from surprise.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Dick assured, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “You can always squeeze my hand if you need to.”

Your teeth aggressively bit down on the inside of your cheek. There were many things you wanted to say — “dude, I’m not a baby,” “the coddling is so weird,” “what the hell is up with you” — but you held them back the best you could, barely even registering the small prick in your arm until the needle was being pulled out.

“All done,” the doctor announced. You watched her put down the syringe on the tray as she picked up the different assortment of bandaids. “Hope you’re not too old for fun patterns. I’ve got tiger stripes, flowers, stars, butterflies…”

You obviously picked the comic book one, which you immediately regretted after hearing Dick’s small chortle (was he seriously making fun of you for choosing the objectively coolest looking bandaid?). As soon as the bandaid flaps were carefully rolled onto your upper arm, the doctor told you that the soreness should last for a couple of days, and before you knew it, you were hopping off of the chair and ready to go.

“Told ya you’d be fine,” Dick cooed, one of his hands coming up to pat your head. As if that wasn’t enough to rub you the wrong way, the doctor had the nerve to giggle at you two. Why was she endorsing this bastard’s behavior?!

And it gets worse. Because of course it does. After her little schoolgirl giggle, she let out a humored awww. Like she found your torment adorable in some sick way. You weren’t even worried about this to begin with, so what’s with all the infantilism, huh?!

God, I just wanna go home…

He was out for the night; you had to double, triple check just to make sure. Hell, you even looked up the Nightwing-sightings Twitter account to confirm that he was, in fact, out of the house (fortunately, a video of him grappling to Bludhäven’s Orthodox Cathedral was posted 7 minutes ago, which meant he was on the other side of the city). When you were 100% absolutely certain that — beyond a shadow of a doubt — he wasn’t hiding somewhere in the apartment for whatever reason, you took a few deep breaths and conjured up the bravery to hit the “call” button on your phone.

… Beeeeeeeeep…

… Beeeeeeeeep…

“Master (Y/N), is everything alright?”

A small sigh of relief left your lips. Alfred’s voice sounded fully awake, and you could even hear the clinking of dishes in the background of the call. Not even questioning why the butler was doing dishes at midnight, you tried to make your voice sound casual. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just wanted to check up on the manor.”

“It’s a rather rare night, here. For once, Master Bruce is asleep upstairs at this hour.” His tone then shifted to something more pointed. “Much like you should be.”

“And you,” you shot back. “Why are you awake if Bruce isn’t?”

“I’ve found myself working on The Batman’s schedule,” the old man explained, speaking over the squeak of a cabinet. “I usually don’t sleep for another couple of hours, when Master Bruce returns from his nightly activities.”

Well, that explains why breakfast is closer to lunch in Wayne Manor. Before he could return the question, you decided to cut to the chase. “Do you think it’d be okay if I tried to call him sometime? Or sent him a text?”

“I believe a call would be an excellent idea.” You could’ve sworn you heard a chortle on the other end. “A text would give him the leeway to procrastinate, and possibly never answer. It’s better to catch him off-guard.”

Something about having to surprise-attack your own adoptive father with a conversation made your chest feel heavy. While you figured out very early on he didn’t like socializing (must suck to be a playboy billionaire CEO and an introvert at the same time), did he really want to avoid talking to you that badly? Ouch…

“Well,” you awkwardly shifted on your bed, “when’s the best time to call him, then?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that,” replied Alfred. “But I’ll be sure to let you know when the opportunity arises. It’s about time the two of you actually talked, after all. Even if it’s just a simple hello.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. If you were reading in between the lines correctly, Alfred was suggesting that a call with Bruce at this rate would be a simple, “hi, how are you, how’s it going,” exchange. Which, okay, makes sense, considering your adoptive father may as well be a stranger at this point (you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you had to reintroduce yourself to him), but that meant it was going to take a while before you could even consider asking him if you could move back into the manor.

Which meant you were stuck in Blüdhaven for an indefinite amount of time.

Okay, it’s not like living with Dick is the worst thing ever. He’s starting to get weird, sure, but all of your basic needs are met, and you’ve got the added benefit of having Nightwing as your older brother, probably making you the safest kid in Blüdhaven right now. If anything, you were being totally ridiculous right now; trying to get in touch with your reclusive adoptive father — who obviously wants nothing to do with you at the moment — just because you didn’t want to talk to Dick about his weird behaviors.

(In other words, you’re opting to avoid the problem altogether instead of addressing it. Why does that sound eerily familiar…)

But nevertheless, even before Dick started to get weird, you’ve been extremely anxious about your relationship with Bruce (or lack thereof). It’d be nice to put your best foot forward and try to make up for being a burden to him.

“I’ll take what I can get,” you sadly admitted. “I just hope I don’t make him upset.”

“I can assure you, Master Bruce would be more than thrilled that you’re reaching out to him.” Ah. So now Alfred’s reverted to lying to you. “Now, it’s about time you get some sleep, don’t you think? Master Dick would be most displeased that you’re taking up The Batman schedule yourself.”

You tried to ignore the way your stomach churned at the mention of Dick. “I guess so… goodnight, Alfred.”

“Good night, Master (Y/N). I hope your next call is at a more reasonable hour for the sake of your sleep cycle.”

And, with that, the call ended.

Just in time to hear the window in the living room open.

“The Flash.”

“Fortnite.”

“Superman.”

“Wordscapes.”

“Green Lantern.”

“Which one?”

“Uh… the one with the brown swoopy hair.”

“Halo.”

“Wonder Woman.”

“Minecraft.”

The sputter you let out almost made you lose your focus. “Wonder Woman plays Minecraft?!”

“Not often,” Dick elaborated, “she only started playing because she saw Donna has it.”

You spared him a glance, though quickly returned your attention back to the computer screen on your lap. “Who’s Donna?”

“Well, you might’ve known her as Wondergirl…” the way that Dick referred to her in the past tense made your heart drop, “but she’s been bouncing between Darkstar and Troia recently. Lots of people still call her Wondergirl.”

Oh, thank god. She’s not dead. “Didn’t take Wondergirl for a Minecraft player.”

“She wanted to play with the rest of the Titans,” was Dick’s simple reply. “We’re hoping she doesn’t check in with the server, though, cuz Wally accidentally blew up part of her house and I don’t think any of us have fixed it yet.”

“And Wally’s Kid Flash,” you presumed, barely registering Dick’s hum of approval after you watched your character get knocked off the track. “Should’ve known the Titans are a bunch of gamers.”

Dick chuckled. “I don’t know about all that. We don’t get to play with each other often, with how busy our lives are, but it’s a nice way to goof around during the holidays.”

“What do you guys play?” You had to fight the urge to let out a curse upon seeing you got 1st place stolen from you. Total bullshit. “Besides Minecraft and, y’know, Garfield Kart.”

“Okay, to set the record straight, I’ve only played Garfield Kart once.”

“Mhm.”

“And Wally thought it would be funny.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I figured it was fine to only spend 5 dollars on a game I knew I’d play once.”

“Why’s it still in your library, then?”

“Because I still spent money on it,” Dick retorted, his arms gesturing wildly in the air. “Might as well keep it just in case Wally wants us to play it again!”

“You’re getting oddly defensive about this.”

“Cuz it’s the truth!”

“Alright, then. Let’s see.” You dragged the mouse down to his dock and clicked on Steam, pulling up his library tab. “You have a total of 5 hours in Garfield Kart.”

“All from one night,” Dick tried to justify.

“You guys were playing Garfield Kart for 5 hours straight?”

“Roy was having connection issues!!”

“There’s no— I’m calling bullshit!!”

“I’m not making this up, I swear it’s the truth!!”

“Nah, man,” you were fighting through your giggling fits as best as you could. “I don’t believe it. 5 hours in Garfield Kart over connection issues??”

“I have witnesses!!” Dick started to fish into the pocket of his sweatpants for his phone. “I’m calling Wally right now. He’s gonna tell you the exact same shit, and you gonna formally apologize to me with a third party present to…”

Something on his phone screen made him trail off.

You at first thought it was because he couldn’t multitask between pulling up Wally’s contact information and talking. But his fingers weren’t doing anything, instead stagnantly clutching his phone. He looked to be reading something, like a notification on his lock screen. You watched in real time as his humored smile (a genuine smile, not a Richard Grayson smile), dropped into a deep frown. The switch up was enough to kill your own smile, brows knitting together as you asked, “what is it?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he muttered a curse under his breath and abruptly stood from his seat on the couch to make a b-line for his room. The door slamming shut caused your shoulders to jerk upwards, the sound echoing through your brain as you quickly put the pieces together; Nightwing was needed.

Low muttering came from his room — probably a phone call, though you weren’t a hundred percent certain on that — making you wonder just what the hell was going on. Was this a Gotham emergency? Titans emergency? Hell, even a Justice League emergency (if that’s the case, it’s a bit weird to think that Leaguers just text each other when they need back-up, but then again, you’re not entire sure what else they would do… there’s probably a whole system to it that you wouldn’t understand).

Dick’s bedroom door swinging up snapped you out of your thoughts, your pseudo brother now dressed in his Nightwing costume with his phone up to his ear. “I’ll call you back over comms. Just give me a minute, okay?” He then hung up, tossing his phone onto the couch and making his way to the window. “Duty calls, kid.” The pane of glass automatically slid open at his touch. “Leftovers are in the fridge if I come back late.” Before you could even ask what was going on, he jabbed a finger at you in an accusatory manner. “Stay put. You hear me?”

You thickly swallowed. “Try not to cause any explosions this time.”

A ghost of a smile danced on his features, and, within a blink of an eye, he was gone.

The apartment was eerily quiet now. Just a few minutes prior, you were laughing and carrying on about what games each Leaguer played, and now this happened. God, the vigilante lifestyle is one hell of a rollercoaster.

You’ve long forgotten about Garfield Kart, setting the laptop right next to where Dick’s phone landed on the couch. Instead, you tried to focus on taking deep breaths to keep your anxiety at bay. Dick was going to be fine. He’s always come home before, this time should be no different, right?

“I bet this is what Alfred thinks about Bruce,” you humorously thought out loud.

It’s probably what he thought about Jason, too.

… Not helping.

Taking another deep breath, you wrapped your arms around yourself and sank further into the couch. He’s going to be fine. If he’s coming in as backup, then that means he won’t be alone. Other heroes will have his back and make sure nothing bad happens.

“He’ll be fine,” you had to reassure yourself.

Everything’s fine.

Thunkthunk…

…

Thunkthunkthunkthunk…

…

Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk…

Okay, either a giant bug was trying to get into your room in the middle of the night, or someone was at your window.

Your first thought was to ignore it. What if it was a murderer or a robber? There’s no way in hell you’re about to find out when Dick still hasn’t returned. That’s when you remembered, oh yeah, Dick still hasn’t returned, and that very well could’ve been him. Why was he trying to get into your room instead of the easy-access, less conspicuous window in the living room? No idea. But you decided to risk it anyway, rolling out of bed to face the window.

Sure enough, sticking outside of the building like an overgrown spider was Blüdhaven’s very own Nightwing, his blue stripes shimmering under the full moon. You could slightly make out the sheepish expression on his face as he asked, “could you let me in?”

If your brain wasn’t still foggy with sleep, you probably would’ve been an asshole and toyed with him for a bit, but it was too late for that. Flipping the window’s switch, the locking mechanism came undone with a resonate click, and you pathetically struggled to slide the glass upwards (in your defense, Bat-certified security windows are kinda heavy). Sparing you from further embarrassment, Dick helped out on his end. You found it unfair that he was able to make it look easy with one hand.

“You’re home,” you tiredly noted, allowing relief to flood your senses. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s alright.” As soon as he took a couple steps forward, you realized that everything was not alright. He seemed to be favoring his left leg over his right, limping towards your bed and sitting himself down on it as gracefully as he could. “Just some business in Gotham, is all.”

Your brows furrowed at how dismissive he was. “What happened to your leg?”

He didn’t answer for a few moments, instead working on tearing his domino mask off (there was an inky black substance left around his eyes, and you wondered if it was some sort of adhesive for his mask or something like that). “Uh… nothing too bad. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Nothing too bad,” you flatly echoed. “What does that mean?”

“Minor scratch,” he half-heartedly replied.

“… Right.” You didn’t believe him, but you couldn’t see any sort of obvious dents or deformities to his leg, so at least there was that. “So, is the living room window broken, or…?”

“Jammed,” was his curt answer.

For whatever reason, his total vagueness was starting to get on your nerves. Not only is he keeping you in the dark about what happened in Gotham, but he’s obviously lying about his leg and now reverting to giving you one-word answers. You also didn’t like how nonchalant he was being, like this has been scripted and rehearsed several times (god, he must’ve been a menace for Bruce and Alfred back in the day).

“Probably should get that fixed, then,” you said through a yawn.

“Yup.” He even popped the p. What a jackass. “Was everything fine while I was away?”

Christ. Even when asking a how were things question he sounds so dismissive. Maybe it was just because he was so tired after a long day. You should probably stop assuming he does everything out of pure condescending intent and general assholery. “Yeah, every—”

The sound of your phone ringing cut your answer short. Before you could make a move, Dick leaned across your bed to inspect your device picking it up and reading the caller ID. “It’s Alfred,” he chirped. Now, you would think he would hand the phone over to you (you know, cuz you’re the actual owner of the device), but you were grimly reminded that Dick was still the biggest bastard you know when he answered the call himself, bringing it up to his ear and greeting Alfred with a simple, “yo.”

“Dick, what the fuck are you doing,” you whispered, hoping that Alfred couldn’t hear you curse from the other end. You reached for your device, but he easily caught your hand with his free one.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said over the line. He continued to talk with that stupid nonchalant tone, and from how Alfred’s voice bellowed out of your phone, you could tell the butler wasn’t having it. Attempted to obtain the device again, you swiped at it with your freehand, only for Dick to catch you off guard by pulling you towards his chest. You barely had time to start squirming before he locked you in place under his arm. “I’m fine, Alfred,” he said after he managed to finagle you onto his uninjured leg. “Honest. I am.”

Now that you were at a closer proximity, you could vaguely make out what Alfred was saying. “You had me scared to death, boy!! The least you could’ve done was answer your communicator, you know!!”

“Didn’t hear you trying to contact me,” he sheepishly replied, an almost chuckle spilling from his lips. “My comm must be jammed after the impact. Sorry, Alfred.”

First the window’s jammed, now his comm’s jammed. Why is everything jammed tonight?

… Also, what’s this about an impact?

“You’ve outgrown the manor and yet you’re still fixed on giving us heart attacks,” Alfred exasperatedly sighed. “Master Bruce was worried you were—”

“Hey, hey,” Dick reassured. “I’m okay, alright?”

You took this as an opportunity to speak up. “No, he’s not!! He did someth—gmgfhfmhm!!”

Dick partially stopped constricting your body to slam your face into his chest, muffling the rest of your sentence.

“… Master Dick, are you hurt?”

“No, Alfred.” A bit of venom laced Dick’s words, but he was quick to recover. “I’m fine. (Y/N)’s just being a little brat again.”

From the small beat of silence, you 100% knew Alfred was not buying Dick’s bullshit. But there wasn’t much the old man could do to call him out for it over the phone. “Well, then, how is Master (Y/N)? You seemed very worried over how they were—”

Dick didn’t even let Alfred finish. “They’re fine, but up way past their bedtime.”

… Wait a minute.

“Master (Y/N),” Alfred chided, this time directly talking to you. “What did I tell you about getting your proper rest?”

This. Mother. Fucker.

You tried to swivel your head out of his chest to A.) breathe again, and B.) give him a deadly glare. Why the fuck was he throwing you under the bus when he was the one that woke you up in the first place?! God, as soon as he lets you loose, you were gonna let him have it.

“It’sh no’muy fauh,” you defended, your words distorted from your cheek being smushed against Dick’s body. Unfortunately, Alfred still allowed his disapproval to shine through with yet another sigh, mumbling something about how everyone in this family is a hazard.

“Don’t worry, Alfred.” Dick shifted you on his lap so you were no longer being manhandled like a teddy bear. “I’ll get them to bed right now. Tell Bruce I’m fine, alright?”

“You should tell him yourself, boy!! He’s been trying to call you non—”

Dick then did the unthinkable; hang up on Alfred.

Oh, hell no. Absolutely not. You do not hang up on Alfred while he’s mid-chastising. Even if he’s a massive douche, Dick should know better than this, especially considering he was practically raised by the man.

So, as soon as he unceremoniously tossed your phone back onto your bedside table, you got vengeance on behalf of the butler.

CHOMP.

“OW!!” Dick unraveled his arm from your form, trying to rip his hand out of your mouth. “You little brat!! What the hell?!”

“Urr fveeinn uh pphrickhh!!”

Be some miracle, he managed to pry your teeth off of him, wiping the saliva off of his glove. “Care to repeat that, you vile creature?”

Spitting the taste of latex out of your mouth, you tried again. “You’re being a prick!! Why are you lying to everyone, huh?! I was worried, Alfred’s worried, Bruce is worried, and here you are, waving everyone off like it’s nothing?! What the hell even happened out there, huh?!”

Dick’s expression hardened. “(Y/N), it’s way too late for this.”

“No!! Don’t even do that!!” You shoved jabbed a finger into his chest. “You can’t come in here waking me up at… whatever the fuck hour it is right now and brush everything to the side!! You’re obviously hurt, dipped out on everyone over in Gotham without a word, have Alfred and apparently Bruce try to get in touch with you cuz they didn’t know what the fuck happened to you, and you expect me to not want any answers?! What’s your problem?!”

“My problem is that I have a high schooler yelling in my face like a 3rd grader,” Dick bitterly snapped. “People are trying to sleep right now, (Y/N)! What if you wake the one of the neighbors and they file a noise complaint?!”

“Wha— don’t try to change the—”

He grabbed your forearms tightly, catching you off guard and killing your sentence then and there. His tone got dangerously low as he pulled you closer to him. “I’m serious, (Y/N). Cut it out. Now’s not the time for this. Can’t you just listen to me for once?!”

… This was unfair. He’s trying to pull some intimidating authority bullshit on you, all to avoid actually answering you. It was so painfully obvious that’s what he was doing.

And yet, despite knowing that…

That look was back in his eyes.

It was the same coldness that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, vocal cords constricting as though your very subconscious was warning your brain to shut the fuck up as a self-preservation tactic. A ghost hand was creeping up your spine, sending electric signals of unease through your shoulders and into your skin.

Something was wrong again.

Something was so wrong again.

Even if you know this was all just some cheap intimidation tactic, it sure as hell was working.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning your head away so you didn’t have to continue eye contact with him. “But this isn’t over, okay?”

Dick didn’t have anything to say to that. Rather, he picked you up from his lap gently, setting you back down on your bed. “Get some sleep. Okay, kiddo? It’s been a long night.”

You merely hummed, watching him carefully. His calculating gaze — which still held that weird edge — scanned over your form before a certified Richard Grayson smile tugged at the corner of his lips. After a few seconds of just staring at you, he turned towards the door and began to limp out the room.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“… ‘Night, Dick.”

Your door squeaked open, then softly clicked shut.

After he was gone, it dawned upon you that you were holding in your breath. Allowing yourself the gift of oxygen, you flopped back down on your bed, mulling over the timeline of the day. Hours prior, Dick left for a Gotham emergency, must’ve done something to fuck up his leg (you recall him saying something about an impact to Alfred), left for Blüdhaven without telling anyone, ignored comms because they were jammed, woke you up because the Bat Door (the living room window) was also jammed, and then the phone call with Alfred.

And also him being weird again (the scary weird this time, not the coddling weird), but you didn’t really wanna think about that right now.

In fact, if you were being honest, you realized you were too tired to think about everything else, as well. It really has been a long day, and you weren’t even the one dealing with Gotham bullshit (no, your job was to deal with Bat bullshit… batshit). All this dismissive lying shit really tuckers a kid out.

So, as your eyelids began to flutter shut, you could only mutter one last thing;

“… What the fuck is happening.”

[the-chessboard-is-personal]

ii s3 liveblog

I'm a bit sad rn so sorry if my reactions are bad this time

1 - I'm not supposed to relate to Balloon am I. y'know. the guy that did something bad in the recent past and now everyone hates them even though they're trying to change.. sigh. wHAT? h. how is he here?? HOW IS SHE HERE??? ...does MePhone look different from how he was in the first half of s2? it's been a bit since I watched that but I swear there's something different about him. oh, new intrthe island is alive. warp pipe.

2 - yup sure :) 👍 right okay BOW is glitching now. something to do with chairs and maybe she lost her memories? she was obsessed with chairs before she died, so..oh fuck I'm taking as many notes as Cabby huh

3 - oh I thought I had something to say about this one. sorry

4 - if the floor gets eliminated, how will that work? .yo WHAT is going on with candleMUMBO JUMBO CATCHPHRASE ... I. I don't think that's what polishing a screen does.?

5 - what if Box wins lol ..oh. wait there was no formal elimination, I guess that got replaced with Box being pulled this episode

6 - them ,,,,,they,both of them,, the cool(s) -> ☯

7 - well call me a camera because [screenshots the auras file]. . . . . . . . . . a. ..nobody knows about this joke yet but if I had a- uh. nickel. for every time a series I know about had a character named Bow with trigger words, I would have two nickels. which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice what is going on with Bow and chairs. HEY MARSHMALLOW TOO?? yes I will keep doing this strikethrough bit

8 - oh fuck I just realized. "iii" as in Inanimate Insanity Invitational but also as in 3 (roman numeral) because it's season 3. also just based on the title I have a bad feeling about this episode (<-half-right??) wait WHAT. MePhone what the fuck does that rnean. whhaaAAAA- oh. agdjhk s ghdclod damn it the commercial is pLOT RELEVANT. hhhhey quick question. how uh. how do we know that everyone's back in the right body..? like. there were some characters who weren't onscreen after they all died again. uhh

9 - th. this episode is probably not like. actually worse than the other ones or anything. but, with the bias I had already formed because I distrust people with the name of the one this episode is a collab with, some stress I was already feeling today before even starting this liveblog, something Balloon said at around 9:14, said pre-liveblog stress making me associate the whole "animation machine" thing (which is seen as bad) with something I like but everyone else hates, I personally have nothing good to say about it.

10 - why is Cabby gold. oh it's whoever has the Immunity Cookie. wait did Cabby forget about TBD because her file was burned??

11 - bat? pokemon. the game you're thinking of is pokemon. wait did he say backstab HOW DOES HE KNOW CANDLE SAW BETRAYAL?? ..yeah I was wondering how that would work

12 - I knew it. I knew Cabby would forget stuff that isn't in a file! urghhh can they Please vote out silver spoon already. he's not gonna WIN, right?? sorry. but I don't like him.

13 - oh the intro reflected Bot's change in appearance. neat! nononoononoNONOONNO GAUhokay. listen I know it's probably not going to happen but I really want YinYang to win. and holy shit that "for the rest of your life" was foreshadowing.

14 - okay off to a start that makes me want to punch something. okay. okay. it's not a real ad. good. HUH HE GLITCHED holy shit, damn uzumaki lookin rooms what is this /positive(?) ☯ 👈 GRIAN INSTINCT (which. to be fair, mood). p u r p l e . PURPLE ACKNOWLEDGED. WHAT WAS THAT! ohhh what the hell. you fuck off this INSTANT you silver shitface. ohh I hate him. I hate him more than I hate Cobs. ..does Cabby not have parents? SPLRINGY IS FAKE. SPRINGY IS A ROBOT OR SOMETHING MADE BY COBS I'M CALLING IT NOW. please please please kill the spoon kill the spoon plEASE- ARRGHHH

15 - seeing as the next episode has Blueberry in the thumbnail and is called The Great Bluish Bake Off, I have a slight prediction on who will win the rejoin. wait what. yeah I'm gonna be honest I don't think it was murder. NO NONONOONO DON'T NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WAUGHHH,,,,,

16 - why....why am I finding Nickel so relatable. w h a t . now I've never had oatmeal raisin cookies, but I don't think they're the Number One Cause of global warming. I know it's a cartoon and awHAT THE HELL HE JUST DIED

(between 16 and 17) m. MePhone knows. MePhone knows what's going to happen when the season ends, doesn't he? that's why he doesn't want it to. that's why he's desperate. but the question remains, what does he know that the viewers don't?

17 - wait this episode is from 10 months ago. is- is the series not over? damn it! I prefer to binge watch stuff so I don't forget while waiting for new episodes. oh don't even fucking go there. 14:01 FUCK OFF.

(between 17 and 18) y'know I was trying to watch this to ESCAPE all the drama and discourse everyone hates me for. this just feels personal at this point. but hey, who cares about me, right? onto the next damn episode!

18 - there's another 4 under that 4. are they all 4s. ohhh noooo, what an inteeense moooooment. wow it's really fucking difficult to care right now.

19 - again final episode so I'll break this into sections. kinda

..,.Cabby..I think I understand a bit more about my own..situation because of Cabby. wait wait. "built" to? BUILT to?? HMMMMMM 4S is still here?? what ??? ? well at least the one that YinYang wanted to win won..!

and that's season 3 huh.

well. that was kinda filler? tbh?

and the message in episode 17 sucked- ..eh. hold on. I'm getting too angry over some discourse. I need a break from typing this.

okay after like half an hour I realized something. they were trying to win an award. I like AI art, but I don't think it should ever win any awards in competition with human art. the two are fundamentally different. I don't think there should be any competitions that have both, especially high prestige ones. that line at 14:0whatever was too far though.

my opinion is that human art and AI art are both art. but they're VERY different forms of art, and should probably be kept that way.

overall I liked the season. sure, YinYang didn't win and episodes 9 and 17 are...like that. but it's not that bad tbh.

probably gonna watch the rest of s2 tomorrow, but for now I just want to play minecraft.

[pxgeturner]

Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

before you follow. m.list. Iron Fist gfx library. series m.list. tag list.

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. Epilogue.

wc. 1.5k

an. hi. its me! Giselle, or gi, or gigi to few (not to be confused w gg, that is one of my moots. she makes really cool art.) n e ways here is the awaited Prologue for Iron Fist. Oh goodness I'm so nervous. I just want to make a few things clear. the reader is an author (obvs). She's recently graduated uni and is Latina! I write with a woc!r in mind always. I try to be as inclusive as possible, pero porque soy Mexicana, r might lean towards being more Mexican but I'll try to keep her Spanish standard and not be too specific to my family's culture. much love! hope you enjoy <3

please don't forget to reblog! likes do nothing to boost engagement.

Your foot taps against the floor. The damn blank document stares back at you. Mocking you is what it’s really doing. Fuck you, you think, I achieved my goal. I published a book and it is a damn bestseller! Only problem is that the readers want more. It’s been… some time since your first book. And sure, Jess said you can take a break before starting a new project. But you also know that it’s good to ride on existing publicity. At least be able to make an announcement that you’re writing something while all this excitement lasts. Maybe you should write something about vampires. You love vampires and how they fit into romance and how them drinking blood is a euphemism just a bit away from, the whole cannibalism-equals-all-consuming-love trope and how when a vampire attacks it’s often an allegory for rape and— but you have nothing to add to the conversation. You have nothing new to say, no new perspective or hot take, or twist. You have nothing. No ideas.

Not a single word on the page.

You have an idea, leaning forward to peck the keyboard. “F-u-c-k. T-h-i-s!” You highlight the text and italicize it.

Fuck this. At least it’s words on the page.

You reach for your cup and take a sip. “If all else fails I can ride on the rest of the signing bonus and royalties for a bit since the book is doing good, and once that dries up, I can apply to be circulation assistant at a library or something.” You sigh and take another sip. “But nobody has to know for now.” You get up, searching for your phone. You find it resting on the arm of the couch, you grab it, sliding onto the cushions, resting your head where your phone just was. “God, don’t make me a one hit wonder, I wanna be a star. I wanna be the one to push that bitch Colleen Hoover into obsoletion. Please God. Please.”

You open your phone and look for your mother on speed dial.

“Hola, nena!” Your mama’s voice is happy, she must be having a good day. You move into the kitchen. You need a snack.

“Hey, mama, how are you?” You hold the cell with your shoulder as you look through your pantry.

“Good, good,” you find a pack of roasted seaweed snacks and grab it.

“I went on a date anoche.” Your shoulder drops and the pack of seaweed slips out of your grasp.

Mi mami fue a una cita. Con un man! You stand there, trying to process that she is actually back on the dating scene.

“How did it—” you aren’t holding your phone anymore. You use the wall as support to lower yourself to pick up your phone and snack.

“—ay, mami, lo siento, mi cellular se cayo de mi mano.”

“Todo bien, hija! I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, I’m ok. Anyways— how was the date? What’s he like? Am I going to have a stepfather soon?” you joke.

“My time for marriage is gone, muñeca, I’m just looking for companionship, pero, tu lo sabes.” You hear some subtle clinking in the background of the call, she must be stirring her coffee. You open your snack and park yourself on the couch. “Are you writing?” Ugh. Not you, too.

“I was, just finished for a bit before I called you.”

“You called me to procrastinate.” You choke on your seaweed from the accusation.

You clear your throat, “I called to check in with you. I call you practically every day.”

“But right now you called me to check up on me as an excuse to not write. Nena, I know you.”

“Okay, fine. I might be having some writer’s block,” you admit, sighing.

“And that’s okay, nena, but then you need to get out, get some inspiration. Allow the world to give you a story.” There’s mama, with her easier-said-than-done advice. But, maybe you should get out of the house.

“Alright, I’ll go out soon.”

“Tonight,”

“—I will go out to the Chinese place across the street and nothing more. I’ll talk with Hobie when he gets back to see if he has any ideas.” You hear your mama make a noise in her throat.

“You still live with that boy?” Here it comes. You’ve lived with Hobie Brown for three years and have known him for five. She’s always been apprehensive of him, since he’s radical and looks like he’s been in jail, with all the metal in his face, and why does his hair look like that? But Hobie is the one who’s kept you sane all these years. He’s held you while you cried and pushed out of your comfort zone when you were getting too stuck into your routines, most likely by dragging you to a concert or a protest. You help him thrift and flip clothes and ever since that one time his stylist had an emergency and canceled, you now help him tighten his wicks every so often. On days like that the two of you stay in, watching nostalgic movies and listening to any demos he’s recorded recently. He’s like a brother to you at this point.

“Yes, mama, I still live with Hobie. Nothing’s changed.” You move the phone down to your chest and take a deep breath.

“I didn’t like him when I first met him,” you clench your jaw as she continues— “…and although he’s one of those kids, I can tell he is a good boy. I’m glad he takes care of you.” You relax. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone you could kiss.” “It would be nice, but right now it’s not happening.” “Alright, muñeca. I’ll leave you alone for now, but keep your eyes open for a nice man.”

“I will, con cuidado, mami, besitos.” You make a kissing noise into the phone, and she responds with a goodbye of her own, and you wait for her to hang up the call.

You sigh, and look at the coffee table. Hobie left his song book at home, weird. It’s open to the song he was working on the other day. It’s a slower song, you can still hear the melody. You drum your fingers to the tune. He’s on an unfinished verse. You pick up a pen from the little catch-all dish and scribble down a line or two.

…

Hobie weaves through the roar of chattering, anticipating fans and into the tunnel, and walks past employees and into Miguel's prep room to see him tying his shoes. “Hey,” Miguel looks up. “Hey.”

“Are you excited?” He moves to sit by the boxer, shimmying up against his shoulder.

“Haven’t really been excited for one of these in a while.” Miguel breathes.

“Well, one step closer to retirement!” Hobie bounces out of his seat. He turns to face his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, you big fuckin’ bear of a man.” He ruffle’s Miguel’s hair.

Miguel gives a half-ass hum in response.

“Well then, I’ll be out there, mate, cheerin’ you on.” He puts his hands in his vest pockets and walks out the room.

As he reaches the empty doorframe, Miguel speaks up. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Anything for you, mate.” Hobie nods and goes to join the audience. Miguel fastens his gloves and puts on his robe. He warms up waiting for his coach.

“Ready, O’Hara?”

Miguel turns around. “Always ready for a fight.” He clenches his jaw. Walking down that hallway, the festive colors lighting up his path and the music blaring, he does his little bit, the movements molded into muscle memory.

This is it. This is his last year fighting. If he gets world champ again, he’s free.

Soon, he gets to fight his last fight. And dammit, the world championship will be his last match. Then, he’s never gonna have to come back.

He weaves under the ropes, entering the ring. Sitting on the stool, he shrugs off the robe and lets Carlos put the mouthguard in.

“You are going to show this guy exactly why people call you el oso!” Miguel beats his gloves together and nods. He might not like his job right now, but he really wants to hit something and goddammit if his opponent doesn’t look so beatable right now.

Coach Carlos steps out of the way, and Miguel stands to walk to the ref as he calls for him to center.

“We went over the rules in the dressing room.” Right before Hobie got here. “I want to remind you to protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands.” Ring the damn bell already. “God bless you both,” I don’t need it but this kid might. “Touch up,” here we go. He touches gloves with his newbie opponent and each goes back to their respective corners.

Miguel takes an orthodox stance.

The bell rings.

Miguel lands the first punch. He also lands the last.

[y3nze1]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | c.5

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: I / II / III / IV / V / VI

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Tw! Mention of Blood, Cuts, Gun and Violence! Interact at your own risk, darlings! anyways, short continuation chapter. Fic based on This! happy readings my darlings!

You stood, staring by the balcony, scratching your forehead softly, sighing to yourself as you wonder what you got yourself into. you stared up the sky, watching the clouds clump by, surrounding the moon as it shimmers down you.

You stood at the balcony, staring up at the moon as it graced the clear night sky. You felt a sense of calm wash over you, like everything was okay for the moment. A gentle breeze blew past you and you took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, crisp night air.

'If there's a prize for rotten judgement

I guess I've already won that

No man is worth the aggravation

That's ancient history, been there, done that!'

But despite the serene environment around you, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of uncertainty.

You began to wonder if you actually had feelings for Alastor or if it was just a passing fancy. The thought of possibly being in love with someone so powerful and intimidating both thrilled and scared you.

'Who'd'ya think you're kiddin'

He's the Earth and heaven to you

Try to keep it hidden

Honey, we can see right through you

Girl, ya can't conceal it

We know how ya feel and

Who you're thinking of'

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of your own emotions bearing down on you. You wished you had someone to talk to about this, someone who could help you sort out your feelings. But who could you turn to? And what would they think of you if they knew how you felt?

'No chance, no way

I won't say it, no, no'

Despite these thoughts, you couldn't help but smile as you watched the moon glow brighter against the dark sky. It was a reminder of the beauty and mystery of the world, and it made you feel a sense of wonder and possibility.

'It's too cliche

I won't say I'm in love'

"damn it!" you bang your fist on the railings, "damn you.." you run your hand through your hair, sighing softly. "damn me.." you turned around, your back facing railings slowly breaking down, sitting on the cold tile. "damn you daisy.." chuckling, you leaned back, sighing.

As you sat on the cold tile, you felt a sense of melancholy wash over you. The thoughts of Alastor and your feelings for him kept creeping into your mind, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of loss and confusion. You rested your head against the cool stone of the balcony, letting out a deep sigh.

'I thought my heart had learned its lesson

It feels so good when you start out

My head is screaming get a grip, girl

Unless you're dying to cry your heart out

Oh'

Despite the pain, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace. The cold tile felt soothing against your skin, and the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees below seemed to calm your racing thoughts.

'You keep on denying

Who you are and how you're feeling

Baby, we're not buying

Hon, we saw ya hit the ceiling

Face it like a grown-up

When ya gonna own up

That ya got, got, got it bad'

You close your eyes and let out a long, deep breath, trying to clear your mind of all the noise. For a moment, you felt like everything was going to be okay. That you could figure this out and come out on the other side.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, you felt a sense of serenity wash over you. It was as if the world around you was slowly coming back into focus, and you felt a sense of hope and possibility for the first time in what felt like forever.

'No chance, now way

I won't say it, no, no'

you clutched your chest, slowly feeling flustered at the thought of him, his smile, his soft voice, his cute goddamn laugh. you curled into a ball, internally screaming at you picture him in every way.

'Give up, give in

Check the grin you're in love'

You sat there, lost in your thoughts, thinking about Alastor's smile, his soft voice, his cute laugh. You felt a sense of love and desire wash over you, and you clutched your chest, feeling your heart racing.

'This scene won't play,

I won't say I'm in love'

You thought about all the times you had spent together and how he had made you feel. You remembered the way he looked at you, how he had always made you feel loved and special. You thought about the times he had supported you and been there for you, how he made you laugh and feel alive. you shook your head, cupping your cheeks as you formed a small smile.

'You're doin flips read our lips

You're in love

You're way off base

I won't say it

Get off my case

I won't say it

Girl, don't be proud

It's O.K. you're in love'

You realized that you were in love with Alastor, and it felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You felt a sense of peace wash over you, and you smiled to yourself, feeling happy and content for the first time in a long time.

'Oh

At least out loud,

I won't say I'm in love'

you stood up looking into the light of the city, blushing immensely as you stared into the busy streets. scratching your forehead once again, you decided to sleep the feeling off, you headed for your room, laying down on the soft mattress as you fiddled your hair softly. you closed your eyes, drifting off to sleep.

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

"Alastor, my guy, come on.. d-don't be like that. we can work it out some way" the man cowered, backing away as he dragged his cut arm from the cold concrete, blood trailing on the ground as he grit his teeth in pain, eyes staring up at alastor with fear.

"I've been patient enough, pal. I don't like it when someone-" he swung his knife, cutting through the man's leg as the guy writhed in pain. "provokes.. me.."

Alastor's expression darkened as he watched the man writhe in pain. He held the knife firmly in his hand, not even blinking as he looked down at the man, still backed against the wall. "Now you see," he said coldly, letting his words hang in the air as he tilted his head slightly to the side. "That's what happens to people like you."

"you are given the privilege of.. someone's goodness" he kicked the man face, keeping the same sinister smile on. "you take that kindness.." he gripped the man's hair, smashing it onto the wall. "and. you. abuse. IT" with every word, he slammed, watching the blood trickle down the man's forehead.

"alastor.. p-please i-i told you I'd pay.. give me some more time.. i-i promise.." the man stuttered, "you said that six months ago." alastor grits his teeth, pulling out a gun from his pocket. pointing at the guy's forehead.

"send my regards to the devil." he laughed. the bullet bursting through the man's skull, parts of his brain spewing out as the blood drains out from his head, his body going limp, parts of his fingers still moving yet his eyes were in an upward gaze. skin pale like flour.

Alastor remained sat back in his chair, the light from the candles casting his shadow over the blood-stained walls. He lit another cigarette, taking a deep drag, his eyes on the limp body lying on the ground. He took another drag, then tossed the cigarette onto the body, watching as it smoldered and died out.

His eyes closed as he let out a deep breath, his head lowering from the weight of the world around him. For a moment, it felt as though time itself had frozen in place, and he was the only living thing in that moment.

After a few more minutes, he opened his eyes, and with a heavy sigh, he stood from his chair, walking towards the body and kneeling down next to it. He looked at the gun in his hand, and with a slight shake of his head, he placed it on the table beside the candles, the shadows cast by the dancing flames illuminating his features.

He closed his eyes and held his hands over the body, his palms slightly angled towards the light. he hummed. His voice is soft, yet powerful, holding a strange and alluring quality to it, as though it was the voice of the universe itself..

[keydekyie]

The Summer Road

❈ The Moth and the Bear III ❈

Prologue

7416 words, no content warnings

Lera groaned. She’d been the healer’s apprentice for a year now and expected to be woken before sunrise on occasion, but expectation didn’t make the experience any easier. The sky was still mostly black when her mother came into the bedroom and lit the lantern.

“Artem is here,” Lera’s mother whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “He says Emiliya needs you right away.”

Lera swatted at her mother’s hand. Why did she still insist on waking her up so sweetly, like she was a baby? She was turning fourteen soon. It was undignified. She rolled over and crammed her face into her pillow, but nevertheless grunted an acknowledgement.

As soon as her mother left the room, Lera dragged herself out of bed and got dressed. If the healer had sent a messenger to get her rather than coming herself, that meant she was busy with something important. Maybe an emergency? Lera’s stomach twisted in excitement and anxiety. She hoped it wasn’t anything too gruesome… but perhaps just a little bit gruesome? 

Maybe someone had stepped in a snapjaw trap again? Or been attacked by direroden? Or what if they had some sort of horrible boil? Or a foot twisted the wrong way around?

Lera shook her head and tried to banish the guilty thoughts. 

Her hair was already in two black braids from the night before, so she was able to dress herself quickly and get going. Imagination still running a bit wild, she bade a quick farewell to her mother and stumbled out onto the porch into the cool, crisp morning air. She was wide awake and all prepared to launch herself off the porch in the direction of the healer’s hut, but Artem was there to stop her short with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Whoa, hold it, Lera,” he grunted. The middle-aged messor was twitching in agitation, and his voice was strained. “I’ll explain on the way. There’s no need to be so hasty.”

Lera threw a glance over her shoulder to the doorway, where her mother and father were watching with attentive concern. Artem gave them a respectful wave before turning to lead Lera down the steps and onto the street. 

The smell of spring blossoms and dew drifted up from the scattered village gardens as they made their way towards the healer’s hut on the edge of town. Artem didn’t speak to Lera again until they were out of her parents’ earshot, and even then, his voice was nothing but a low, troubled hiss. “Did you hear what happened to the ferry?”

Lera’s heart flipped again. “I heard the line broke as it was crossing, but… wasn’t that days ago? Did something else happen?” Another accident already? What has that damned unreliable ferry done this time? Capsized? Caught fire?

Artem shook his head. “What else did you hear?”

“Well, I… at the inn, they were saying when the line broke, they were rescued by a, uh…” Lera stumbled over her words. This was the part she’d dismissed as a tall tale when she heard it, some kind of prank the village jokester Yuri had convinced all his fellow ferry-goers to play on the rest of the village.

“Any excuse for a party,” Lera’s mother had sighed indulgently, rolling her eyes as Lera and her passed by the inn days ago. Inside, half the village had been celebrating the rescue of the ferry from certain doom.

Lera had laughed about it. It was so like Yuri to orchestrate an elaborate thing just to stir up revelry. As Lera was smiling to herself, she’d heard Yuri belt out joyfully: “Mead for the Medved’ Beis!”

So silly. Haha.

But Artem wasn’t laughing. The messor’s face was drawn taut, jaw clenched and eyes darting this way and that like a frightened cave rat. “Rescued by a what, Lera?”

Lera didn’t reply. She felt suddenly small and exposed walking down the road like this. She glanced around at the village, but nothing looked amiss. There were no toppled trees, no crushed houses. Not yet, anyway.

“I don’t know how much choice any of us have here,” Artem went on once it became clear Lera wasn’t going to answer, “but I’m sure Emiliya will understand if you’re too afraid-”

“I’m not afraid,” Lera blurted, like a liar.

Artem didn’t look convinced, but he kept moving.

They were nearing the healer’s hut, but Artem shifted into a wary hunch, quietly leading Lera on a roundabout path that took them behind a storehouse. Lera was surprised to find several other people hiding there, some of them huddled on the ground with huge eyes, and others peeking around the corner of the storehouse to watch the healer’s hut like eavesdroppers.

Artem put a finger to his lips as he joined those crouching down in the cover of the storehouse, then gestured for Lera to look.

Heart in her throat, Lera inched towards the corner of the storehouse, quietly stepped up behind a fisher’s son, and leaned out.

What she saw confused her, at first. From this distance and in the dim pre-dawn light, she couldn’t be certain what the shadows meant. There was the healer’s hut, which looked perfectly normal, and there was Emiliya the healer, standing on the porch in her nightgown, silver hair glowing in the lamplight thrown from the nearby window. She hadn’t dressed yet, having just been woken moments ago. Woken by what?

There was something wrong with the scene, something surreal about it, like a wavering image in a pool of water. A huge dark mass, the color and shape of inconsequence, lay there in the middle of the road. Lera didn’t remember there being a bush that big in front of the healer’s hut. The top of the thing was taller than the hut's thatched roof.

The mass shifted, and suddenly the illusion broke. It was no bush at all, but a creature, an enormous, furry creature the size and bulk of a house. It was laying down with its back to the storehouse and had its face hidden in the crook of its arm.

The healer was reaching for the creature as though to reassure it somehow, but had stopped herself. Concerned, but unsure.

Then the creature raised its huge head.

All anyone ever said to Lera about Medved’ Beis was that it was bad luck to mention them. No one had ever explained how big they were, or how their shoulders bore a hump like the top of a mountain. No one had ever mentioned the subtleness of their presence, the way the eye wanted to slide off of them as if they were nothing more than foliage. 

And no one ever mentioned anything about them being able to speak.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” it asked the healer, in a voice like the creaking timbers of a riverboat in a storm. Everyone watching from behind the storehouse corner flinched at the sound.

“Um…” The healer looked amused, somehow. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”

Lera was dizzy. This was so bizarre. 

“Do you see it?” Artem whispered to her.

Lera almost laughed at him. Do I see it?! There was a gigantic monster laying in the road not forty feet away, and Artem was wondering if she’d seen it. 

The creature’s big round ears twitched, and then it turned to look at them, and Lera had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming in surprise.

It was looking at them, with enormous human eyes on a human face.

She and the rest of the eavesdroppers all threw themselves back behind the meager shelter of the storehouse, as though the ramshackle building would do anything to stop that beast. Lera and the fisher’s son crouched down beside each other against the splintery boards of the storehouse walls, holding their breath.

Artem was glancing between Lera and the healer’s hut in alarm, but as the seconds passed, nothing happened. In fact, it was Emiliya’s voice Lera next heard.

“Well,” the healer chuckled, “perhaps you could help by moving a little? It seems my apprentice has arrived, and she’s a little skittish.”

The Medved’ Beis grumbled, “Right…” as though this were such a normal thing, such a reasonable thing to be asked. There were a series of low thumps that sounded more like trees being felled than footsteps, and then silence again.

Lera looked at Artem, who nodded to her, and she steeled herself to peek around the corner again.

The Medved’ Beis had moved around to the side of the healer’s hut and was sitting there on its haunches like a great hulking guard-rodi, staring with its flinty black eyes. Staring at Lera.

Lera’s knees were wobbling. Emiliya, who was waiting patiently for her on the stoop, waved encouragingly to Lera with one hand.

Between the corner of the storehouse and the hut’s stoop lay about forty feet of empty gravel road with absolutely nothing to sneak around or hide behind. Lera was going to have to either stride right out there in the open or not go at all. Not going at all definitely seemed like the more prudent option.

But there was Emiliya, the healer, Lera’s master, waving for her to come forward. So despite all orders from instinct and intelligence screaming for her to do otherwise, Lera took a deep breath and strode out.

As a child, Lera had once spent an afternoon watching a shiny green beetle crawl across her kitchen floor. The beetle was acutely aware of her and of its need to flee, but Lera entertained herself by cutting off its escape routes with her feet and hands. At the time, she’d laughed at the beetle’s impotent attempts at escape. She’d enjoyed the game at the beetle’s expense.

Luckily for Lera, the Medved’ Beis didn’t seem interested in tormenting her as she had the helpless beetle. It just sat and stared. Even so, the creature’s cold, suspicious glare was menacing enough. As she made for the hut’s stoop, doing her very best not to look up at the giant creature watching her approach, Lera suddenly felt for that beetle.

Without meaning to, Lera was running by the time she got to the stairs. She clambered up and past the healer into the hut with less grace than a newborn weglet.

“That’s my girl,” Emiliya murmured to her as she passed, patting her on the back with a wizened hand, and underneath all the astonishment and nerves, Lera did feel a flourish of satisfaction.

The healer closed the door behind her as Lera looked around the familiar hut. There were two other people present: the healer’s husband Serhiy, who was stoking the stove in the corner, and a stranger Lera didn’t recognize, a young woman who was sprawled on her side on the sickbed like a drunkard asleep in a gutter.

“Lera, get her a blanket, just a light one,” the healer ordered, gesturing to the young woman’s unconscious form. “We need to bring down her fever and get the air in here medicated as quickly as possible.”

Accustomed to being put to work as soon as she stepped into the hut, Lera had no trouble springing into action. She took a quilt out of the bedding cabinet and draped it over the girl, then went to help Serhiy prepare the stove to boil water. Meanwhile, the healer was gathering the ingredients for a fever tincture from the shelves on the north wall.

It all felt quite natural. There was a sick patient, and they were going to help her. Lera almost forgot that there was anything amiss. She tried to pretend there wasn’t.

Once the fire in the stove was roaring happily, Lera helped Serhiy lift the big cauldron of water on top. The healer was finishing up the tincture and waddled over to the sickbed, swirling the cup with one hand. Her hair ran in a silver river down her crooked back, an odd sight. Usually the healer was much more put-together and had her hair up in a bun by the time Lera got to the hut.

“Put a handful of chamiweed in the water, Lera,” said the healer. “There’ll be more we need to add, but that will be a good start.”

Lera opened a nearby cabinet and found the big brown pot of dried chamiweed. She took a generous fistful and sprinkled it into the cauldron. The cold, spicy scent clung to her hand.

“Serhiy, please go outside and collect some fresh huilgrass. Lera, I need you to help her sit up.” The healer’s voice was calm and even as she gave orders. Perhaps that was why Serhiy didn’t hesitate as he nodded and went out the front door.

Lera came around to the head of the bed and prepared to haul the young woman into a sitting position. Her hands shook as she rolled the woman onto her back. She’d had to do this many times before (Emiliya insisted you should never, ever give a sick person something to drink while they were laying down) so it wasn’t the action itself that made her so nervous, it was keeping herself from looking out the window above the bed.

Lera positioned her arms under the woman’s shoulders and heaved her up into a sitting position. She was much heavier than she looked, with hard, well-muscled arms and shoulders, and her skin was piping hot to the touch. Her breath came shallow and rapid, and she shifted slightly in Lera’s arms, too weak to hold herself up. She felt strange, inhuman, but Lera told herself it was just because of the context.

Context being: There was a gigantic monster thing right outside.

The healer carefully poured the tincture into the girl’s mouth, and when it was done, she nodded to Lera and stepped back. Lera let the girl back down onto the bed, perhaps a little roughly. She was just so heavy. Lean and muscular and tough.

“What’s wrong with her?” Lera asked.

The healer put the cup down in the dish basin. “Let’s see if we can’t find that out, shall we?”

With Serhiy still excused, Lera helped the healer undress the woman to give her a proper examination. With the quick, desperate way the woman was breathing, Lera expected to find some sort of horrible sucking wound to her ribs or chest, but there was nothing wrong with her anywhere, save a few odd scars and some missing toes. The most notable thing was a scar on her upper calf, a gash several inches long and likely a ghastly thing when it was fresh, but even that looked like it was more than a year old and well healed.

“She’s a smith, I’ll bet,” Emiliya said. “They always end up with a thousand little scars. It’s a wonder they don’t all die of lockjaw.”

“Is that what’s wrong with her? Lockjaw?” 

Emiliya gave Lera a wry look. “You tell me.”

Oh great, Lera thought. She’d walked right into that one. With a nervous sigh, she looked down at the girl again. “She has a fever.”

“Well I told you that,” the healer snorted. “Look carefully. Ask more questions. I’m sure you’re full of them.” The healer’s voice turned down a touch, growing more solemn than Lera was used to, as she murmured, “I certainly hope you are. I know I am.”

While Lera considered this, they dressed the sick woman in a soft nightgown and set her clothes aside. The healer took a rag from a drawer and dipped it in the nearby washbasin, wrung it out firmly, then handed the rag to Lera, who draped it over the sick woman’s forehead.

“Any thoughts?” urged the healer.

Lera watched a bead of sweat drip down the woman’s face, then looked up. “She helped rescue the ferry?”

The healer nodded.

“Yuri said she fell in the river,” Lera continued. “But that was days ago. Didn’t she come to the party at the inn?”

“Indeed. I met her there, and she seemed healthy at the time, but these things sometimes take days to develop.”

“Could she… have caught something? From the river?”

“In a way. Do you remember what karaerien means?”

“Vengeful water.” Lera stiffened, heart dropping. “It’s lung-fever, from inhaling water.”

“That’s right. Tell me what you know about lung-fever.”

“I know it isn’t good. Many die from it.”

“Who dies from it?”

“Um… mostly elders and children and babies, but-”

“How old do you think this woman is?”

Lera looked at the woman’s face. She was twitching in her sleep, turning weakly this way and that. She had a long face, the sort of face that makes a person look rather solemn and older than their years, but she didn’t look old. “I’d say… twenty?”

“Young, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think she’ll live?”

Being asked so bluntly made Lera squirm, but that was just how things were with Emiliya. “Yes, she seems strong. I think she’ll live, if we treat the lung-fever.”

The healer nodded slowly. “What’s the treatment for lung-fever?”

“Bedrest and humid air. Plenty to drink. Um… keeping the fever down.”

“Yes, good.” The healer smiled. “The fever should go down in the next day or so now that we’re treating it, and when it does, she will wake up and start coughing enough to bring the roof down. What then?”

“Same as before, really. Warm drinks will help, but the coughing will clear the infection out. We shouldn’t try to stop it.”

“Perfect,” said the healer, “but now comes the tricky part, my dear. There’s no guarantee she will live. She may be young and strong, but the fever is very bad and coughing has sapped all her strength. If she dies, what should we do?”

Lera opened her mouth to give an automatic answer, then snapped it shut again. Usually when someone died in the healer’s care, the family would be told first and invited in to say their goodbyes. It was always such a slow, upsetting process, but it was something Lera was familiar with, at least.

But where was this woman’s family? Her friends? She was a traveler. As far as they knew, she had no one.

No one but the Medved’ Beis.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Lera said.

The healer fixed her with a keen stare, and her yellow-green eyes flashed as she asked, “What do you think that creature outside will do if his friend dies in our care, Lera?”

Lera whispered, “I don’t know.”

The woman on the sickbed murmured wordlessly, her voice small and wavering. Lera turned the wet rag on her forehead over. 

“Neither do I,” said the healer. “Hopefully we won’t find out.”

Boots tromped up the steps outside, and the healer called out, “Come in!” 

Serhiy had returned with an armful of silvery huilgrass. He set the bundle down on the worktable and turned to them with a hearty sigh.

“Well,” he chuckled, “it’s been quite a morning.”

✧

The sun had risen, the air was thick with medicated steam, and everything was quiet. Lera was busy grinding up huilgrass into a mash at the worktable across from Serhiy. 

The healer was sat in a chair beside the sickbed, stripping the leaves from a sprig of tansy. Just when Lera was starting to relax and let her mind wander, the healer turned to her apprentice with a knowing smirk and said, “Someone needs to fetch more water.”

Someone. Lera glanced hopefully over at Serhiy working across from her, but he just pursed his lips and kept his eyes on the knife he was chopping huilgrass with.

Lera was always the one to fetch water. It wasn’t proper for the elderly healer or her husband to have to carry the heavy buckets. Besides, it wasn’t far. It wouldn’t be hard.

The stone pestle Lera had been using clattered to the tabletop, and Lera jumped at the sound. She’d dropped it. Her hands were shaking.

“Well?” Serhiy grunted, not looking up.

“I-I’ll go,” Lera said. She got to her feet and ambled to the door. It had been a few hours, after all. Maybe the creature outside had gone away?

Lera crept out the door as quietly as possible, trying not to let it or the floor of the porch creak. Tentative as a field mouse, she peeked around the corner of the hut.

She was met with two giant black eyes watching her from yards away. Lera yelped and scrambled back inside.

Serhiy and Emiliya were staring at her with sardonic expressions.

“It’s still out there,” Lera explained, heart pounding as she leaned her back on the door.

Serhiy laughed. “Oh, you don’t say?” 

Lera went beet red, gaping at him. Had the old man forgotten what a Medved’ Beis was? 

The healer said, “We need more water, Lera.”

“Wh-what should I do?”

“Try to pretend he isn’t there,” Serhiy replied, as nonchalant as if they were discussing one of the steward’s nosy cronies.

“But, what if…“ What if it grabs me, or stomps on me? What if it chases me? What if it’s hungry? Lera fidgeted as her imagination went a bit out of control.

The healer’s face changed, a little concerned, as though she could see the things in Lera’s head. “Perhaps you should go with her, Serhiy.”

“Or perhaps you two should go out there and talk to him yourselves, eh?” Serhiy grumbled, and at that moment, Lera remembered something: 

Serhiy had been on the ferry when it was rescued.

That creature outside had rescued him, rescued the charming Yuri, Jessa the messor’s wife and their five year old daughter Chaya, Lera’s aunt and uncle and their daughter Roza, and half a dozen others. Roza was a year younger than Lera and her best friend. Lera hadn’t even asked her about the incident yet, so sure was she that it was merely one of Yuri’s wild tales. Guilt and confusion twisted up in Lera’s throat.

With her hand on the door handle, Lera swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She was going to get that damned water. The door creaked when she threw it open this time.

Lera kept her eyes down as she marched back out onto the porch and around the other side of the hut where the buckets and carrying pole were kept. She lifted the pole to her shoulders and was all prepared to stride right down the road past the Medved’ Beis and not even look at him, as Serhiy had suggested, but she stumbled to a stop in the shadow of the stoop.

Tension gathered in Lera’s chest and started to escape as an involuntary whine, like the squealing lid on a pot of boiling water. She rallied herself, then stepped out.

Lera meant to walk calmly with her head held high, but as before, she found herself running, squealing all the way. She did her best not to look at the creature that was most definitely watching her as she scurried past.

Finally, she made it to the turn in the road where a big hedge of marshlion blocked line of sight again. She stopped to catch her breath, readjusting the carrying pole, then peeked out from behind the bush.

The Medved’ Beis looked… rather a lot like Emiliya and Serhiy had just looked when she’d run back into the hut. He was staring at her with one round eyebrow raised and a mocking smirk on his lips.

Oh great. Lera blushed again and hid behind the marshlion bush. She was making such a fool of herself today. Well, this fool has a job to do.

Lera made the rest of the short trek to the well and filled the buckets. By the time she finished and made her way back to the marshlion bush to peek out from behind its hairy green leaves, the Medved’ Beis had laid down and wasn’t watching for her anymore. He was curled around the rear corner of the healer’s hut and was resting his chin on one arm, staring into the middle distance. His bulk made the hut look miniature.

With full buckets, Lera knew she wouldn’t be able to run this time. It took her a moment to gather her nerve, but when she got going again, the Medved’ Beis didn’t look at her. As she walked past him, he kept his gaze fixed on some meaningless spot on the ground, pretending to ignore her.

Despite herself, Lera slowed to a stop in front of him, looking him over. His eyes flicked to hers.

It was quite a lot of creature to be scrutinized by, but there was something about his face that captured Lera’s attention. Perhaps it was just because every minute movement was magnified by his size, but his face seemed so open and unguarded; hopeful, somehow, despite a somber cast that was scrunching up his eyes. He seemed young, likely the same age as the woman in the sickbed. Even though Lera’s knees felt weak, she couldn’t help but be captivated.

“Has she woken up yet?” the Beis asked, voice low and rumbling and quiet like distant thunder.

Lera shook her head, and then she saw something very interesting.

Many times since beginning her apprenticeship, Lera had witnessed the healer give people bad news. Lera always watched their faces carefully, and every time she saw something a little different, and a little the same: grief, anger, frustration, hopelessness, despair, and every combination thereof.

And on the Medved’ Beis’ huge face, Lera saw the same.

He blinked and looked at the ground, and his whole countenance dimmed, like a flame turned down in a lantern. He looked… sad. So indescribably sad. So sad that for a moment Lera felt almost like she was tipping forward and being sucked down into the gloom with him.

She leaned over to set the waterbuckets down, and suddenly the Beis’ bear-like ears flipped back. He shook his head as though to clear the expression off of his face, and just like that, all the sadness Lera had just seen was replaced with a cobbled-together mask of vague annoyance.

And Lera had seen that before as well. She smiled sympathetically at him.

“Try not to worry,” Lera said. “She’s young and strong.”

“That’s what the healer said, but death doesn’t care if you’re young and strong,” the Beis grumbled, looking down at his claws. “It takes what it wants, with whatever tools it has.”

“Death can’t want anything, it’s not a person, it’s just the absence of life.” It was something Lera had heard her mother say, but she flinched internally as she quoted it. Her master held a very different opinion.

The Beis smirked at her darkly. “You think that makes it any better?”

“I uh…” Lera stammered, terrified she’d said something to offend him. “I don’t- I mean, I guess not.”

The Beis stared at her for a second, a touch of disdain in the turn of his mouth, then he looked down again and dug at the grass with one shovel-sized claw. “Maybe giving desire to death makes losing to it sting a little less.”

Lera let out the breath she was holding, happy she hadn’t irritated him too much. She almost leaned down to pick the water buckets back up, but hesitated when she glanced up at the Medved’ Beis again. He was still digging idly at the grass, but the mask was slipping and the look of despair was peeking through. Lera couldn’t help herself.

“What will you do?” she asked quietly, “if she dies?”

“Go home, I guess…” he sighed.

Lera knew she ought to be thankful he hadn’t said, “I’ll destroy this tiny village and everyone in it.” Going home didn’t sound like all that bad a thing to Lera. The words were benign, but the way the Beis said them made it seem like the very last thing he wanted to do. Alongside the resignation on his face, there was something more urgent, more weighty. Fear? What did he have waiting at home for him that was so terrible?

Just then, the sound of approaching feet down the gravel path caught their attention. Lera turned to see a group of people making their way down the road, shoulders squared and footsteps heavy with conviction. They were coming down from the opposite side of the hut from the Beis, so they couldn’t have seen him laying there.

“Oh, bother…” Lera grumbled.

“What? Who is it?” asked the Beis.

“It’s the steward. Just a moment, I’ll take care of it.” Lera left the buckets where she’d put them and went to meet the group.

“‘Scuse me,” Lera said loudly. 

The steward and his three assistants tried to ignore Lera and made to go straight into the hut, but Lera quickly shuffled over to stand at the base of the stairs, blocking their path with her arms out. 

The steward rocked back in surprise, gaping down at Lera as if she’d just materialized out of thin air.

“Did you need to see the healer?” Lera asked.

The steward wrinkled his nose at her, indignation taking the place of surprise. “Yes, I must see her right away.”

“Is someone sick?”

“No.” The steward started to step around Lera, but Lera grabbed the stair banister to block him.

“You can’t go in. If you need to speak to the healer, I’ll get her.”

“And who are you to stop me?”

“I’m her apprentice.”

The steward’s face twitched with annoyance, but he stepped back. “Fine. Fetch her, quickly.”

“What shall I tell her is the reason?”

“Just get her already, child!”

Lera bit her lip, trying to maintain her grip on her manners. “If I can’t give her the reason for your visit, she’s just going to send me back out here to get one.”

The steward scoffed and looked to one of his helpers, a brick wall of a man who blinked dully back at him like a frog. The steward stared at him a moment, as one would stare out a window to gather one’s thoughts, then turned back to Lera with a pout under his trimmed beard.

“We’re going to move the stranger from the healer’s sickbed to the inn,” the steward explained. 

Lera frowned. “Why?”

“We cannot have the sickbed taken up by a… by a…” The steward waved his hand around contemptuously in the air. “What if someone else needs it? One of our own?”

“Does someone else need it?”

“Not yet, but-”

“Then that sounds like a stupid idea,” Lera huffed, then started, surprised at herself. She resisted the urge to clap a hand over her mouth and hurriedly said, “But I’ll tell the healer what you want. Give me just a moment, please.”

The steward straightened his long robes with a scornful flourish. “Very well.”

Lera first went to fetch the water buckets. The Beis was watching her with a worried frown, so Lera put a covert finger to her lips as she took the buckets off the carrying pole. The steward hadn’t noticed him yet, but it would certainly be hard to miss the Beis’s rumbling voice.

“I’ll be right back, sir. Thank you for your patience,” Lera mumbled to the steward as she passed him again to carry the buckets inside.

Healer Emilyia was still sitting beside the sickbed with the tansy in her hands. She didn’t look up from her work as Lera hauled the buckets over to the stove.

“Was that Maxim outside?” Emiliya asked.

“Yes,” Lera grunted as Serhiy helped her lift one bucket up to pour carefully into the pot. “He wants us to move her to the inn.”

“We aren’t moving her,” Emiliya said firmly. 

“Right…” The first bucket was enough to fill the pot, so Lera left the second in the corner for later and prepared to take the empty one back outside. “Why would he want to move her, anyway? We have spare cots if someone else comes ill.”

“I doubt Maxim’s concerned with that,” said Emiliya. “He’s just throwing his weight around again.”

“He may be attempting to head off rumors,” Serhiy suggested. “You know how Lord Arseni is about Medved’ Beis tales, and this has become rather more material than most tales he ventures to quash.”

Lera sighed, “So, what should I tell him?”

Emiliya growled, “Tell him to go suck up a lungful of river water.”

Lera went back outside with the empty bucket, to find the steward and his gang waiting where she’d left them in various poses of impatience.

“She said we can’t move her. She��s too sick.” Lera set the bucket down beside the door and came to stand at the top of the steps.

“Wegshit,” the steward grumbled, and started to come up the stairs. “Let me speak to her.”

“No!” Lera barred the way. Standing on the topmost step put her eye-to-eye with the steward, which contributed to her boldness. “You aren’t in need of healing. There’s no reason for you to be here. Good day.”

The steward drew himself up, practically vibrating with frustration. “Why you insubordinate-”

“Good day!” Lera said again, louder. Her legs felt wobbly, but she held steady.

The steward opened his mouth to say something else, then seemed to reconsider. He glanced down the road, where several neighbors were now watching the conversation with barely respectful interest.

The steward twitched, then without another word, turned and marched back down the steps and up the street the way he’d come. His helpers scrambled after him.

Lera let out a tense breath through her nose, watching the steward vanish around a corner, then ran down the steps to fetch the carrying pole she’d left in the grass.

The Beis’s eyes were wide as he watched her.

“It’s alright,” Lera assured him. “I got him to leave, for now.”

“You sounded like you knew what you were doing. I worry he won’t give up easily, though.”

Lera planted the carrying pole on the ground like a walking stick, satisfaction warming her chest at the compliment. “He’s always meddling with the healer’s business, we’re quite used to it. He wants to be the boss of everyone.”

“Yeah…” the Beis grumbled. “I figured that.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t let him bother her.”

The Beis nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely assured.

Lera found herself staring at his face again. It was surprising how absorbing his expressions were, how human. “You don’t seem… you’re not what I expected a Medved’ Beis to be like.”

The Beis exhaled heavily and rolled his eyes. “And you mean that as a compliment?”

“O-oh, I just meant you’re, uh…” Lera gripped the carrying pole in front of her chest. “You’re… more nice than I expected you’d be?”

“‘Nice…’” Shaking his head, the Beis scoffed and kept his eyes on the sky. 

“Well fine. I’ll take it back,” Lera snickered. “You’re a grouch.”

Pursing his lips, the Beis glanced at her again, but he looked amused. “Don’t you have work you’re supposed to be doing? Or something?”

Lera started. The healer was probably wondering what was going on. She fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, wondering what the conventions for leaving a Medved’ Beis’s presence were. Should she bow? Salute? Wave? 

“Right. Uh, bye then,” she said quickly, and hurried on her way.

✧

Lera had only returned to her work grinding herbs for a few short moments before voices outside the hut brought her back out. The steward and his men had returned, dragging with them a young man who seemed quite reluctant to be there.

“Sirs, really, I’m fine! The healer said I should just stay off it!” the young man pleaded, trying in vain to wriggle out of the grips of the men who were hauling him. He was holding one foot up, and his lack of balance made it impossible to get enough traction to stop himself.

“No, you’re very ill,” the steward said dramatically. “Does he not look ill, friends?”

“Pallid as a corpse, he looks,” grumbled one of the helpers.

“Deathly ill,” said another.

The young man whimpered, eyes bulging as they dragged him. Evidently he knew better what was lurking around the healer’s hut than the steward did, or perhaps simply believed what he’d heard.

Lera sighed. She knew this young man, a worker who often took odd jobs around the village. Several days before, he’d tripped on an old plow left in the grass, and his toe had swollen up like a ripe plum. The healer had said it was merely bruised, but that it was healing fine and needed not to be aggravated; for example, by the steward’s cronies forcing him to walk around pointlessly on it.

The group had arrived before the hut, and Lera crossed her arms as she took her place at the top of the steps.

“Can I help you, misters?” she said.

“This man needs to be seen by the healer right away!” said the steward, head held high.

“Does he, though?” Lera grumbled.

“He does!”

“I don’t think he does…”

The steward gasped, “You would turn away a sick man? You would leave him to die?”

“He’s not going to die. He has a stubbed toe.”

“Look at him! He can hardly stand!”

The worker stammered, “I can stand-”

“No you can’t, you need help,” the steward snapped, then turned back to Lera. “Can’t you see he needs help?”

Lera sighed, shuffling her feet. The steward was right; she couldn’t turn the worker away, but neither could she let the steward in. She turned for the door. “Let me ask-”

“He needs to see the healer right away!” the steward said, and then waved for his helpers. “Help him inside, men.”

“Wait, hold on-”

The steward’s men lifted the worker by his armpits and made for the stairs, holding him up like a battering ram. 

Something moved in Lera’s peripheral vision. In the excitement she’d almost forgotten about the creature hanging around the side of the hut. By the steward and his group’s sudden stillness and wide eyes, they hadn’t expected it at all.

The Beis had gotten to his feet and was hunched beside the porch, glaring stiffly down at the steward with a look of pure loathing.

The air crackled with tension, but no one moved. The steward’s assistants were slowly letting the young worker’s arms slip through their grips until he hung awkwardly by his elbows, though he made no attempt to escape.

“You’re not going in there,” the Beis finally rumbled.

The steward twitched, then shook himself off and straightened up, chin in the air. 

“You’ve no authority over me,” he said, voice hitching as he tried to maintain his poise. “His High Excellency Lord Marko Arseni himself has granted me stewardship of Nadporatzhe and its commonality, and the power to order it as I see fit. Your kind has no jurisdiction here.”

The Beis blinked and wrinkled his nose in confusion. “What does… what?”

“This is none of your business!” the steward squawked, puffing out his chest.

The Beis just stared at the steward in stunned bewilderment, huge fluffy ears going eschew. The steward nodded sharply, taking the Beis’s silence to mean he’d won, and started to move towards the stairs again.

The Beis shook off his confusion, pinned his ears, and snarled.

It was a thick, raw sound, heavy with a genuine threat of violence. Bared fangs held the same implication as bared knives: that they were ready and able to bury themselves somewhere painful and inconvenient if something about the current situation didn’t change immediately.

The steward went stiff and ashen. His helpers stumbled backwards, dropping the young worker onto his backside in the dirt.

Lera realized she was now watching the confrontation from between the slats of the porch banister. Somehow, she’d crouched down without noticing.

The steward attempted to gather his nerve again, stammering out barely understandable contentions as he took unconscious steps backwards. “To be… of all the schemes and… and stunts,” he blurted, puffing himself up like an affronted magpie.

His helpers’ eyes darted between him and the creature staring them all down. This was definitely more than they’d signed up for.

The steward babbled on, “To have a haksa in our healer’s care, it’s unconscionable. It’s preposterous. And to then have her pet demon bar the way-”

The Beis jerked forward with another snarl. The porch railings Lera was gripping vibrated with the sound.

Apparently, that was enough for the steward. With an undignified yelp he turned on his heel and trotted away with his robes held up. His helpers scrambled after him, leaving the stricken worker sitting forgotten in the road.

The Beis shook out his mane with a disgruntled snort and sat back, watching the steward’s retreat. 

“He’d better not be back,” the Beis grumbled, “unless he fancies getting flattened.”

Lera straightened up from behind the banister and made her way down to the worker, who was cautiously trying to get to his feet without taking his eyes off the irritated creature sitting just a few steps away.

“Come on, now,” Lera grunted, hauling the worker up by one elbow. “Did you want to see the healer? Or shall I help you back to your house?”

“Uh… ”

The Beis looked at him, black eyes narrowing.

“Home. Home please,” the worker whimpered, trying to hobble away without Lera’s help. 

“Ah, alright alright. Hold on.” 

Lera helped the worker back along the road, but it wasn’t long before several others came out from behind cover to take over. The young man thanked her quietly as Artem the messor came over to take Lera’s place.

“Good job, Lera,” Artem whispered, patting her shoulder.

Lera stopped and stood in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips, watching the group help the worker limp slowly home, and all at once, she felt much older than she had when she woke up that morning.

When she turned back to the healer’s cottage, the Beis had retreated back out of sight on the other side of the hut. Lera hurried over, coming to find him laying with his shoulder pressed to the cottage wall. His eyes were downcast and round ears tucked back. He looked worried again, but this time seemed almost ashamed, as though expecting reproach for his behavior. 

“What’s wrong, now?” Lera sighed. Moody thing.

“Nothing, I just…” he mumbled, wincing, “I probably should have let you handle that.”

“No!” Lera barked. “Oh, no no. What you did was great! Gods of the pines, I just wish my master had seen it.” Lera put a hand to her forehead and laughed. “Oh, the look on his face. I hope I remember that always.”

“I just hope I’m not stirring up too much trouble.”

“Oh please, stir up all the trouble you want. Storm blows rain through the door and troubles out the window, that’s what my mother always says.”

The Beis chuckled under his breath, then his eyes unfocused and he leaned his head wistfully against the hut wall.

“My name’s Lera, by the way. I should have introduced myself earlier. What is your name?”

The Beis replied without looking at her, “I’m Ruyak.”

“What’s it mean?”

This question surprised him. Ruyak blinked and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve never heard such a name before, and it reminds me of the language my master sometimes uses. She’s taught me many words, but that one I don’t remember.”

Ruyak considered that for a moment, eyes cautious, and Lera opted to change the subject. “Is there anything you need?”

“No. But… when Kaelin wakes up, will you tell me?”

“Of course.”

Ruyak closed his eyes. “Thank you, Lera.”

Lera nodded, then turned and made her way back up to the porch. She ran her hand along the dry, splintery banister, momentarily swept up in a vision of the future, of a time decades from that moment. 

Lera would tell this story to her children. She would call them over and gather them ‘round, smiling in the playful way her mother did when telling stories. She would kneel down and look into their eyes importantly.I met a Medved’ Beis once, Lera would say to them. He was nice.

The Summer Road ebook preorders are available now! 

kindle and everywhere else

Paperbacks are coming soon!

[rynnthefangirl]

Honestly, I do rather like Aegon III x Jaehaera. There's just so much potential to explore in that ship, and while I think in canon it would have never had worked (and Aegon III x Daenaera is excellent), it's interesting to think of an alternate world where Jaehaera lives and they genuinely come to care for each other.

And just like... the aesthetic (that pic of the two kids getting married that so Aegon x Jaehaera coded <3), the angst, the coming together of rival factions, the trauma but also the potential for healing. "All that was left of the mighty House Targaryen, two scared children spouting oaths they didn't understand". Like damn y'all.

If only the content about them weren't so heavily from Team Green stans who like it because it's a "win" for Alicent's bloodline. Like Aegon III x Jaehaera is cool, but I swear if I see ONE indication that Aegon disavows his mother or forgives any of the Greens, I'm noping out of there SO fast. My boy loves his mom and despises the Greens and he damn well should. Jaehaera can be the exception because she is genuinely innocent, but that's IT. And honestly the same with the reverse, it would make no sense for Jaehaera to sympathize with or agree with the Blacks. Which is why I think the ship ultimately would never work, both of them are just way too attached to the family they lost and would never see eye to eye about the war AKA the most sensitive and critical subject to them. The best they could do is just ignore any Green v Black talk and simply support each other through their trauma, but could either of them ever be with someone who believes the person who destroyed their life and forever traumatized them was justified?

I think a portrayal of their relationship (to me at least) would really need to delve into the complexity of their feelings towards one another. The knowledge that the other is innocent of wrongdoing warring with the fact that they will eternally be a walking reminder of their trauma and losses. Wanting to put the past behind them and find peace, but being so wholly unable to do so. Any portrayal where they just easily bond and love each other, and have a happy relationship of healing just feels... disingenuous to their characters.

Idk, I'm rambling. Anyway, keep making your fanart Aegon III x Jaehaera shippers, because it slays.

[fairyniceyeah]

💎 I love my team, I love my crew (Part 5/7)

Title from Super (SEVENTEEN)

ILMTILMC Part I ILMTILMC Part II ILMTILMC Part III ILMTILMC Part IV

Summary: Jun receives bad news.

CW: emeto, high fevers, IVs

Sickies: Joshua + Seungkwan + S.Coups/Seungcheol + Vernon + Woozi/Jihoon + Minghao Caretakers: Jun + DK/Seokmin + Dino/Chan + Wonwoo + Mingyu + Hoshi/Soonyoung + Jeonghan

💎😸

“You probably know better than me who we should check on first, Jun-ssi”, the medic said kindly. 

Jun sighed and mentally went through the list of members. 

Seungcheol? Vomiting and fever, Vernon and Dino were with him

Jeonghan? Fine

Joshua? Bad headache and vomiting, under Seokmin’s care

Jun? Fine

Hoshi? Fine

Wonwoo? Fine

Woozi? Vomiting but he seemed better and had Jeonghan and Hoshi with him

Minghao? Sick from both ends but finally asleep and on medication

Mingyu? Fine

Seokmin? Fine

Seungkwan? Vomiting but was with Vernon and Dino

Vernon? Fine, probably grossed out, but fine

Dino? Fine

At least there were still more members who were fine than those who were not.

“Let’s go see how Joshua-hyung is doing”, he decided. He hadn’t seen Joshua himself yet and he knew that Seokmin would probably start bouncing off the wall if he was alone for much longer. Jun could sympathize. He couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to just stay with a sick member alone cooped up in a cabin all day - and then be a social butterfly like Seokmin.

Knowing that even knocking on the door could be hurtful to Joshua’s ears, Jun just carefully pushed down the doorknob and peeked inside. It was completely dark inside, not an ounce of light spilling inside except for from the opened door. 

Once his eyes were adjusted, Jun was able to spot Joshua asleep on one bed. He seemed peaceful enough. Yet his breath caught in his throat when he spotted Seokmin laying on the other bed, completely undisturbed by the new arrivals. Was he sick too?

Jun rushed over, trying to keep quiet as much as possible but also be there as fast as he could. Seokmin didn’t stir. Placing his hand on Seokmin’s brow he found it blessedly cool. At least he wasn’t running a fever.

At the touch, Seokmin did wake up, starting to squirm under Jun’s hand and sighing. His eyes blinked open. “Junnie-hyung? What are you doing?”

“Are you sick too? We found you here asleep…”

Seokmin laughed softly, a huff of warm air, and sat up. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and said: “Nah, I’m good. I must have fallen asleep. It’s pretty boring in here. Shua-hyung’s been asleep for a few hours.”

Relief flooded Jun’s whole being. One worry less.

“Oh, good. That’s actually really good.”

“Hm, yeah.” Seokmin didn’t sound that convinced. “I think hyung’s body is so exhausted and in pain that he can’t do anything but sleep. He’s either vomiting from the headache or in so much pain he’s crying when awake.”

Damn. Jun had just been hopeful.

“Can you give him an IV?”, Jun asked, turning to the medic. “If it’s like his migraines he won’t be able to keep anything inside.”

The medic nodded but said: “I need light for that…”

Yeah, that would be a catastrophe. If it was only half as bad as a migraine then Joshua would not be able to tolerate any light. But Jun couldn’t also not just decide for him if he wanted to abstain from medication for momentary awful discomfort.

“Let me wake him”, Jun suggested, “we’ll ask him if he wants the IV and then we’ll see how to make it as comfortable for him as possible.”

The other two nodded in agreement and Jun approached the sleeping member carefully. He gently shook Joshua’s shoulder and whispered his name. After a few seconds he was rewarded with a groan.

“Shua-hyung, you awake?”, Jun whispered. 

The older member gave another groan, then his breathing took on an irregular pattern and hitched. Uh oh. Jun held his breath in turn, hoping that nothing would come of it but then Joshua gagged and both Jun and the medic hurried to turn Joshua on his side, so he wouldn't choke. Just in time. 

Vomit spilled from Joshua’s lips onto the bed, soaking the sheets instantly. At least he wasn’t choking. But the pained whimpers Joshua gave with every retch were heartwrenching. There really wasn’t any way to get him to lean over the side of the bed to get sick in the trash can, considering there was vomit all around him and he wouldn’t be able to hold himself up over it. 

So Jun just held his hand, letting Joshua squeezed it to combat the pain. 

Finally it seemed to be over and Jun was barely able to stop Joshua from rolling over into the puddle as his body gave into weakness. 

“Shua-hyung?”, Jun whispered, “can you hear me?”

“Junnie?”, Joshua rasped. “What? My head … it hurts so bad.”

“I know, hyungie. Do you think we can lift you onto the clean bed and then the medic can give you an IV to stop the pain? Is that okay?”

Joshua didn’t even hesitate to agree. “Please.”

“If you lift him, I can look in the meantime where I put my sleeping mask”, Seokmin whispered. 

“Good idea.” It would likely be the only way they could make this comfortable for the vocalist.

Gently maneuvering around the vomit, Jun and the medic lifted Joshua to the clean bed on which Seokmin had slept previously. The movement seemed to hurt Joshua and make him more queasy again but he didn’t throw up again. 

Once they had settled the vocalist under the covers, Jun sat down by his head, gently massaging his forehead. It seemed to help at least a little bit by the way Joshua relaxed. 

“Hyung?”, Jun whispered as Seokmin approached, holding the promised sleeping mask, “I know that sounds like an awful idea right now but to put in the IV the medic needs to see. We need to turn on the lights for the moment but Seokminnie has got a sleeping mask for you so you can cover your eyes, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Careful to not hurt him further, Jun placed his hands under Joshua’s neck - the older whined at the loss of the massage - and lifted his head so it was resting against his forearms. It gave Seokmin enough room to place the mask over Joshua’s eyes. 

Then the medic turned on the light. Joshua didn’t seem to notice. Good. Jun continued the forehead massage as much as he could without moving the mask and watched as the medic started preparing Joshua’s arm to put the needle in. 

Unable to see, Joshua flinched when the cool alcoholic spray came in contact with his skin. 

“Sorry”, the medic whispered, “do you want me to tell you before I poke you or not?”

“Tell me.” Joshua’s voice was shaking. It was clear he was afraid. He had never been the biggest fan of needles and would prefer oral medication over the intravenous ones and the fact that he had so easily agreed was a big tell on how he was feeling. 

“Okay, just breathe normally”, the medic advised, “I’ll count to three. On three I want you to breathe in. I’ll be careful, okay?”

Joshua hummed his agreement. But as the medic started counting he suddenly whispered: “Stop. Stop. I…”

He coughed and for a moment Jun was scared he would throw up again. Joshua didn’t but his voice was tiny when he asked: “Can somebody hold my hand?”

He was likely scared of accidentally moving when poked. It had happened before - was the reason actually why he didn’t like needles.

“Of course I will, hyung”, Seokmin said softly before Jun could answer and managed to worm himself close enough to gently hold Joshua’s hand in both of his, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of Joshua’s hand. 

“‘Thanks, Seokminnie. I think I can do it now.”

The medic started counting again and as instructed Joshua breathed in on the count, just as the doctor slid the needle in. There was no flinch, no movement. It seemed like Joshua hadn’t even noticed it happening.

“You did well, Joshua-ssi”, the medic praised and, proud of his hyung, Jun leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You did it, hyung.”

“It’s in?”, Joshua rasped. 

“Yeah, it’s in. I’ll connect the fluids, the painkillers and the antiemetic now. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

It seemed like Joshua didn’t need to be told twice. His breathing evened out nearly immediately. 

“Will you stay here with him?” Jun now turned his attention to Seokmin. He would love to send the younger just back to sleep - it probably was good to have at least one well rested member considering that the night would likely be long for him and Jeonghan at least - but there was still vomit on the bed sheets. “I’ll ask somebody to help you with … that.”

Seokmin grimaced. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

In the hallway they passed Wonwoo, Mingyu and a noona, all of them carrying thermos cans. With a weak smile the three members high-fived each other, some of the last ones standing.

“Maybe some of them can keep some nutrition down”, Mingyu explained the containers, Wonwoo nodding along. “What are the room contributions? How are they?”

It was good thinking. Jun hoped that the medication would soon help and the sick ones might be able to keep some nutrition down - especially Minghao. 

The rapper-duo seemed happy enough, mostly burden-free if not necessarily worry-free. Jun hated to burst their bubble. “Hoshi and Jeonghan-hyung are with Jihoon and Minghao. Minghao got an IV and Jihoon was confident he’ll be able to keep down some meds. Dino and Vernon are with Seungcheol and Seungkwan. I’m not quite up to date, but both have fevers and keep vomiting. Seokmin is with Joshua-hyung. Actually, can one of you go to him? Shua threw up on his bedding and someone needs to stay with him while somebody goes to the laundry room.”

Wonwoo sighed, handed his container to Mingyu and saluted half-heartedly. “Can’t slack off my room-cleaning services now.”

Mingyu laughed a bit and Jun cracked a grin too. Maybe everything would work out in the end.

Yeah, he was wrong.

Neither Seungcheol nor Seungkwan were still asleep when Jun and the medic entered the bedroom. In fact the room was in chaos. Jun knew they shouldn’t have let the maknaes alone - it wasn’t that he trusted them, he would with his life, but both of them were not very used to dealing with sick members. 

Seungcheol was leaning over the side of the bed, throwing up into a trash can but not managing to hit it every time he retched. The leader seemed weak, feverish and barely awake. Dino was struggling to hold him up. It must have happened very suddenly from how it looked, like Dino had managed to hold Seungcheol up just before he would have toppled off the bed. Now he was unable to adjust his hold on the general leader without risking dropping him. Abandoned ice packs were melting into the sheets.

From the bathroom there came the sound of gagging as well and Vernon and Seungkwan were missing. 

The first thing Jun did was rush over to help Dino hold the leader in a position where he didn’t threaten to fall off the bed. Just from touching Seungcheol’s t-shirt Jun could tell that their mat-hyung was boiling hot. Every wave of vomit pouring out of him seemed to seep his strength and once he was done, he just slumped onto the bed, eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. 

“Cheollie?”, Jun asked timidly, for the first time today, scared. He could handle crying and vomiting hyungs and dongsaengs. Mat-hyungs passing out from high fevers were not in the cards. 

Seungcheol just trembled, his breath coming in heavy puffs. It was clear he wasn’t really in the room.

“How high is his fever?” Jun turned to the maknae to ask the dreaded question. Dino looked like he was about to break into tears and Jun pulled him into his arms, shushing him as the tears actually fell.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s gonna be okay”, he whispered, patting Dino’s waist. “Did you manage to take his temperature?”

But that only caused Dino to cry harder. 

“I … I tried to”, the maknae sobbed out, at times interrupted by hiccoughs, “but that must have triggered him and he started vomiting. Vernon had said earlier he didn’t feel good either but he … he said he didn’t want to make your jobs even harder though I knew he was terrified. When Cheollie-hyung started vomiting, he ran to the bathroom and started throwing up too. Kwan-ah went to check on him despite being sick himself.” 

No wonder Dino was this distraught. Jun was getting overwhelmed from just listening. So he just rocked the crying dancer from side to side, hoping it would calm him down. 

“Jun-ssi?”, the medic called out and reluctantly the older dancer let go of his dongsaeng to turn around. Dino let him but clutched his hand instead, wiping his eyes with the other wrist. 

The medic was lowering a shaking Seungkwan to the ground, who immediately flung himself at Vernon who was pale and even from afar the terror in his eyes was visible. They both must have gotten sick. Jun stepped closer, hoping that Seungcheol could hold out a minute or two without attention. 

“I’m sorry, Kwan-ah”, Vernon whispered, holding onto his best friend tightly, “I didn’t mean to set you off too.”

“It’s not your fault, Nonie”, Seungkwan mumbled back, hanging his head in exhaustion. “I was already feeling pretty sick again. I love cuddling but Cheollie-hyung is so overwhelmingly warm…” He trailed off.

“We’ll get some fever reducers into him”, the medic said, “don’t worry.”

He rummaged in his bag for something, then suddenly he frowned. He took out one of the fluid bags and turned it around. Put it back and did the same with the next one. Once he had checked them all over, he looked up at Jun with an unreadable expression. 

“Jun-ssi, can I talk with you outside?”

This could not be good. 

“Do you have a thermometer that is not oral?”, Jun asked, hoping that the medic understood his intention. To emphasize his point he slightly nodded his head towards the still sniffing and hiccoughing Dino. 

“Yeah”, the medic said and handed a thermometer gun to Jun. 

“Take their temperatures, okay, Dino-yah?”, Jun instructed, hoping it would sufficiently distract the three maknaes from the fact that two of them were sick and their leader was basically passed out on his bed.

Dino nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Jun followed the medic into the hallway. 

“What’s wrong?” His heart was beating in his chest and his pulse was racing. He wasn’t sure how to deal with anything else bad happening.

“I don’t know how to say this”, the medic stuttered out, now looking more and more freaked out.

“What is it?” Jun knew his voice sounded sharp but he feared he would combust if he didn’t soon find out what was going on.

“I took the standard medicine bag my company provided with me. Somebody must have made a mistake when checking them. Uhm, well, most of the medications are expired.” Jun’s expression must have been one of absolute horror, if it was anything close to how he felt internally and the medic reacted to. “I checked the dates on the medication I administered to Minghao-ssi and Joshua-ssi. But I just noticed that I only have one bag of antiemetics left, no saline solution and no fever reducers. I’m so sorry, Jun-ssi.”

For a moment Jun didn’t know what to say. He wanted to yell at the medic. He wanted to sue his company. But it didn’t help now. Not with so many members fighting for their health and some that would surely get sick in the future too.

“Can’t they be used even after expired?”, Jun asked desperately, feeling close to tears.

“No. They might be only less effective but they could also have bacterial growths or might have changed their chemical composition”, the medic replied, sounding heartfeltly sorry.

Jun nodded slightly, trembling all over. “Okay. Thank you anyways.”

“I’m really sorry, Jun-ssi. Let me know what I can do for you?”

“I am too. For now … why don’t you go check on the sick staff? If the medications are limited and somebody is in desperate need…”

“Okay. Think about who might need the medication the most and let me know.”

Jun watched the medic scurry away. An angry, frustrated tear rolled down his face but he wiped it away. He needed to pull himself together. He didn’t want to make the decision on his own. As soon as he could, he would speak with Jeonghan.

But first he had to check on Vernon, Dino, Seungkwan and Seungcheol.

💎🐢

Vernon wanted to cry. Actually he wasn’t sure if his face was covered in sweat or tears. 

He hated being sick and vomiting scared him. He had only barely managed to push through for Seungkwan’s sake but now that he was reduced to a queasy, slightly feverish puddle of human on the tiny bathroom floor he regretted everything. 

He hadn’t been able to hide how he felt from Chan, constantly stifling nauseous burps into his fist until the younger had asked him how he felt. Vernon hadn’t been strong enough to keep lying but when Dino had wanted to go get a hyung Vernon didn’t want to burden them even more. There was too much going on.

He was just glad that unlike Minghao he was just nauseous though he might have even preferred the other direction. 

Now that he had thrown up - feeling sick and seeing the leader throw up had been too much and he had thrown up into his mouth before he had even made it to the toilet - he felt wretched. Back when he was just queasy he had told himself that it was maybe just sympathy and his fear but now he couldn’t deny he was sick and he would vomit again. 

So, no matter how embarrassing it was to fall apart in front of three of his members and a staff member, he couldn’t help but cry into Seungkwan’s chest. His best friend held him close, not caring about the fact that they were on the bathroom floor and that Vernon could technically throw up all over him. He didn’t have the best record with making it to the bathroom. 

Even apologizing for setting Seungkwan off was met with gentle care. Vernon didn’t know what he would do without the vocalist. He was vaguely aware of Jun leaving with the medic but he was more concerned with trying to stop crying and trying not to be sick again.

“Nonie”, Seungkwan whispered, pressing his lips to Vernon’s forehead. “Breathe. You’re going to be okay. We’ll take care of you.”

Vernon sniffed and nodded, trying to regulate his breathing.

“Vernonie-hyung? Can you look at me?”, Chan asked and Vernon did as asked. The maknae quickly took his temperature, reading out the reading. The numbers didn’t really make sense to him, no matter that he had grown up in Korea, his family had still often used the Fahrenheit system for body temperatures so he had no idea what that meant.

Seungkwan translated: “Medium fever.”

“Okay.”

Once it was revealed that Seungkwan too had a medium fever, Chan went to check on their mat-hyung. Vernon didn’t like to admit it but he was terrified. Seeing the older member this sick made Vernon want to cry. Maybe it was the fever making him emotional. He didn’t know.

What he did know was that his stomach was suddenly not feeling good again.

“Kwan”, he gasped out and before he knew it, his head was in the toilet again with the first wave of throw up painting the water murky. He gagged again and brown sprayed against the porcelain. Tears dripped down his face and mixed with the sick below him. 

“It’s okay, let it out, I got you”, Seungkwan mumbled, though his voice sounded a bit stifled. 

Suddenly Jun was there too. “Oh, babies. Kwan-ah, go lie back down if you can, it’s okay, I got Nonie.”

Seungkwan let go of Vernon, causing the younger to sob and consequently throw up again. Jun patiently sat with him, not leaving in all the time Vernon gagged and cried hovering over the toilet.

Finally his stomach seemed to grant him mercy and he bonelessly fell back into his hyung who kissed the top of his head, helped him wash out his mouth, didn’t care that Vernon used him as a human tissue and even half-carried him back to bed. As soon as he was in reach, Vernon fell down onto it, burying his burning face in Seungkwan’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I couldn't be there for you, love”, Seungkwan mumbled, his voice shaking.

“Don’t … it’s okay. Junnie-hyung took good care of me.”

A knock came on the door and Jun conversed with whoever had entered. Vernon didn’t have the strength to turn and look or try to figure it out with just hearing.

“Kwan-ah? Nonie?”, Jun suddenly said, “Mingyu made some juk. Let’s try to eat a bit, okay?”

Vernon wanted anything but eat and Seungkwan seemed to feel the same way. Despite everything they soon were upright, with Dino helping Seungkwan eat while Vernon was leaning back against Mingyu’s broad chest, getting fed by the older rapper. 

Across from them Jun tried to feed the feverish and sick leader but it was a slow process. It seemed like Seungcheol’s brain wasn’t even online enough to chew and swallow. He coughed a few times as something got stuck in his throat and Vernon pressed himself back against Mingyu, trying to block out the disgusting sounds.

Neither of them managed much, but apparently enough for Jun to decide they should try some medication. Mingyu and Dino managed to get the two 98-liners to take them, both of them clutching each other's hand. Vernon was not very confident he’d be able to keep it down but the cool motion sickness patch, as well as a cool cloth on his brow lulled him back to sleep before the nausea could boil over.

💎🍚

Jihoon cursed his past confidence. Shouldn’t he have learned earlier that he couldn’t keep anything down? The antiemetic staying down must have been a fluke. He had been tricked into false beliefs by his empty stomach and now he was paying the price. 

He woke up only shortly after he had fallen asleep again. His stomach was cramping even worse than earlier and nausea filled every part of his being. Still, he pretended to be asleep, taking deep, measured breaths. 

It only helped enough that he didn’t start gagging but just barely. He hoped if he just laid like this, he would just fall back asleep. Somewhere close by he could hear Jeonghan and Soonyoung talking to each other, a comforting buzz in his ears. A hand was running through his hair. But sleep wouldn’t come.

Another sharp cramp tore through his stomach and this time he couldn’t stop the pained cry from escaping his lips. He clamped his mouth shut just in time to stop a new gag.

“Jihoonie?”, Jeonghan’s voice asked and the hand stopped. 

Caught, Jihoon opened his eyes to find both older members leaning over him, both with a worried expression on their face. Jihoon tried to smile but the corners of his mouth would barely lift.

“Baby?”, Soonyoung asked when Jihoon didn’t answer. “Do you feel sick again?”

Jihoon nodded. There was no use in denying it.

Jeonghan cooed. Normally Jihoon would have hit him for that. Now even the thought of moving was nauseating. The worst was the pain, however.

“It hurts”, he whispered, curling into himself and pressing his hands against the churning organ.

The older vocalist sat down next to Jihoon on the bed and rubbed his back in comforting circles. “Try to breathe normally, okay? Can we try to stretch out your legs? I think that might help with the pain as well.”

Jihoon trusted his hyung enough that he let Jeonghan and Soonyoung carefully move him, despite the fact that his brain screamed at him that moving was bad and the nausea that was threatening to make him vomit again. And moving hurt, a lot. No matter how careful they were.

Tears were running down Jihoon’s cheeks when he was finally straight on his back, legs stretched out. Surprisingly, it did feel better. It still hurt, of course, but it wasn’t as debilitating as before. Soonyoung was rubbing his calf through the blanket, which was calming him down too.

“You probably shouldn’t have taken the medication on an empty and already very upset stomach”, Jeonghan pointed out, “I’m sorry, I should have paid more attention.”

“It’s okay, hyung”, Jihoon whispered. 

The door opened to admit Mingyu carrying two thermos bottles as far as Jihoon could see. 

“Haneul-noona and I made some juk”, Mingyu announced cheerfully, “do we have some patients who want a taste?” 

Oh hell no.

“You’re just in time, Mingyu-yah. We just decided that Jihoonie needs to eat.” Soonyoung sounded much more happy than he had any right to be.

“We did?”, Jihoon asked, feeling his stomach churn at the thought. No, eating was not his plan. 

“You should try to eat, baby”, Jeonghan said with a nod and a gentle smile, “the pain and the nausea might just come from an empty stomach and taking meds on said empty stomach.”

As much as Jihoon wanted to do anything but eat, he had to admit they had a point. And Mingyu looked awfully proud of himself. 

“Okay”, he agreed quietly.

“What about Minghao?”, Soonyoung asked. “Should we wake him?”

Jeonghan nodded. “He needs fluids too. I’ll wake him, okay? You take Jihoonie?”

It seemed like one second he was laying down, the next Jihoon was leaning against Soonyoung’s side with the older holding a bowl and a spoon in his hands. Across from them Jeonghan was softly whispering to a teary Minghao, who looked unhappy to be awake and uncomfortable with the IV.

“Eat, baby”, Soonyoung encouraged and lifted the spoon to Jihoon’s lips. Against his better judgment Jihoon took it in his mouth. The rice porridge with an aftertaste of chicken was tasty, yes, but Jihoon had to fight against the urge to spit it out again. Soonyoung seemed happy he was eating and Mingyu was proud and maybe Jeonghan was right that it would help.

Despite every bite and swallow being an inner struggle, Jihoon managed to finish the food in record time. Tasting it made it worse, so he tried to get it down quickly. 

“Thanks, hyung”, Minghao said, smiling softly at Mingyu, “it’s really good.”

The young dancer seemed to have overcome his struggles with being awake and now even seemed a bit hungry. Maybe Jihoon should have just swallowed his pride and just let the medic place the IV. It might have made him feel more comfortable, he could have been happily eating too.

“Yeah, thanks”, Jihoon pressed out, feeling sweat break out on his brow. His stomach was somersaulting and aching so badly. He felt overly full even if he portion had been pretty small and before he had been empty. He dropped his head on Soonyoungi’s shoulder and took deep breaths.

Mingyu and the noona quickly said their goodbyes, hoping to distribute more food to the other sick members. 

That was when Jun knocked on the door, nervously entering. 

“Is everything in here okay?”, he asked, stumbling a bit over his words. 

“Yeah, we’re good”, Jeonghan confirmed. Oh, how Jihoon wished those words were true. But Jeonghan was already helping a sleepy Minghao back under his covers and now mustered Jun in concern. The least Jihoon could do was try to wait to puke again until Jun was calmed down. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Hyung, can we speak outside?”

“Go, hyung”, Hoshi said when Jeonghan seemed to hesitate. 

“Come on, Junnie.”

The two disappeared out the door and left Jihoon and Soonyoung alone, considering that Minghao was already snoring a bit.

“You wanna lie back down too?”, the dancer leader asked.

“I think I want to stay upright a bit.”

There was no way Jihoon could lie down without puking all over the two of them.

ILMTILMC Part VI

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Masterlist - SEVENTEEN

[avelera]

Some missed opportunities for Norse Mythology references in the Loki S2 Finale

I want to quickly preface this by saying the Loki show never claimed to be about or even incorporate more than passing nods to Norse mythology, so the following "missed opportunities" are more things that I think could have been cool and were perhaps within reach as references, but that even at my most wildly optimistic I didn't and still don't really expect because the show has been so very clear on this front. It's not fair to say these are flaws because the show never pretended to be about Norse mythology. NEVERTHELESS, because I'm a big nerd:

1) Ragnarok - All respect to Waititi and Thor III, it was a great interpretation of the myth, but I've always longed for something a little closer to the doom and mysticism of the mythology and the Loki S2 finale came tantalizingly close to invoking it, but fell short of actually using the word. Because Ragnarok isn't just about the fall of the gods, it's about the destruction and rebirth of the world. "After [the events of Ragnarok], the world will rise again, cleansed and fertile, the surviving and returning gods will meet, and the world will be repopulated by two human survivors." 

Gee does that sound familiar! Almost like destroying all of the timelines to create them anew! Almost like that's what Sylvie was invoking by telling him it's better to accept destruction rather than accept imprisonment, and to build something new out of the ashes.

That's Ragnarok. That's literally Ragnarok and they invoked it in so many ways there short of actually using the damn word.

Loki, the god destined to bring about Ragnarok, proceeding to directly bring down the current timeline by destroying and then renewing it with a male and female survivor to help rebuild (visualized with Mobius and Sylvie's little chat at the end, even if it's the TVA they helped rebuild not the human population) sure does sound astonishingly close to invoking the story of Ragnarok.

And even though I'm bummed they never called it Ragnarok, I completely understand why! Ragnarok has kinda already happened in the MCU (never mind that Ragnarok itself is cyclical and will come again, but I digress)! I'd even go so far as to guess that earlier drafts probably did make it clearer but the thread, except for its bones and outline, were abandoned or left unnamed explicitly because it would be confusing for those not familiar with the myth or who would conflate Ragnarok with its Thor III invocation. Alas.

2) Loki bound - Already sort of invoked in Thor II with Loki imprisoned, which is why I don't think any more overt reference was made, but Loki was rather famously bound up in mythology. In this case, in a cave with a snake's poison dripping into his mouth. Not saying Loki bound to his throne of time needed to be conflated with how he was imprisoned until Ragnarok in the myhology, but the imprisonment parallel is there.

3) Loki becomes the new Odin, sacrificed upon Yggrasil - "The generally accepted meaning of Old Norse Yggdrasill is "Odin's horse", meaning "gallows". This interpretation comes about because drasill means "horse" and Ygg(r) is one of Odin's many names. The Poetic Edda poem Hávamál describes how Odin sacrificed himself by hanging from a tree, making this tree Odin's gallows. This tree may have been Yggdrasil." (source)

IE, Loki has sacrificed himself upon the world tree for power and knowledge and for the sake of the world. In this, unlike in the mythology where Loki is not Odin's son, Loki ascends to a parallel of his father's throne to follow in his legacy, having finally learned his father's lessons about rulership and self-sacrifice. Perhaps like the mythological Odin, we will learn that in making this self-sacrifice, Loki too has gained phenomenal knowledge and power?

4) Ratatoskr - This is more foward-looking and I don't in a million years think they'll do it but it would be so cool - so cool - if at some later point Loki has a friend or a servant or a squirrel form or idk, something that invokes Ratatoskr, the squirrel that lives in the World Tree and freely travels up and down its branches delivering messages. Please, MCU, give Loki a little squirrel friend??

[dailyfgmusic]

7-12-2024

Crowded Street - Action Movie Edit

Street Fighter III: 2nd Impact - Giant Attack

Composed by Yuki Iwai, arranged by Hideki Okugawa.

This is honestly the best version of Yun's theme. I don't much care for the New Gen version, the 3rd Strike version is too mellow to compensate for it being both Yun and Yang's theme, and his SF4 theme is awesome but goes a little too hard and fast.

Yes, this theme sounds not only like a crowded street in Hong Kong, but also like a kung fu action movie, and like the theme of getting absolutely styled on by a angsty teen that was somehow allowed to learn Bajiquan. It sounds like the theme of getting launched high into the air with a fatass tetsuzanko, getting neutral skipped by lunge punch, command grabbed into genei jin, it goes just hard enough. After the main melody it does so much extra shit. I don't know shit about music but god damn this theme sounds fucking amazing. Fuck. Yun is so fucking cool.