#iii is damn cool too

[chaosandchaos]

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

[stargirllanaa]

Death Grips. III - R.C

Dark!Frat!Rafe Cameron x f!reader

Warnings: Dv( physical abuse),NONCON, Mentions of Dv, Cheating, mentions of cheating, abusive relationship, gaslighting, manipulation, frat!rafe, blackmail, emotional abuse, underage drinking, he’s an asshole guys

Summary: inspired by ‘death grips’ by Etta Marcus/ After a messy break up with Rafe Cameron your freshman year of college, he can’t seem to leave you alone. Whether you’re awake or asleep

Series Masterlist

A/n: hey guys, I just got back from out of the country so this took me a little longer than I wanted it to but hope u enjoy and pls leave feedback and lmk how u like it whether it’s an anonymous ask, reblog or comment I do read all feedback and try to incorporate what you guys suggest!

Part: III

…….

The beach was alive with noise and chaos. Voices carried across the sand, blending with the pounding of the waves and the crackle of the bonfire. The night should have felt carefree and fun even, but as soon as you saw Rafe leaning against a log near the fire, his easy laugh cutting through the hum of the crowd, it was like every muscle in your body locked up.

You froze, but Mia nudged you forward, oblivious—or maybe just willfully blind. “Come on,” she said with a grin, already scanning the crowd for Topper. “He’s not going to do anything. Just stick with me.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes stayed locked on Rafe as he glanced up and noticed you. His reaction was immediate—his laugh froze mid-sound, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly before he recovered. He raised his beer in a lazy toast, smirking in your direction.

Mia didn’t notice. “See? He’s being chill. You’re fine,” she said breezily, dragging you toward the fire.

But you didn’t feel fine.

At first, you stayed on the outskirts, keeping your distance and nursing the drink someone shoved into your hand. You told yourself you were just being paranoid, that Rafe wasn’t paying any attention to you. But it was impossible to shake the feeling of his eyes brushing over you whenever you moved too close to the firelight.

It wasn’t long before he was beside you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual, almost soft.

You didn’t look at him. “What do you want?”

“I’m not trying to bother you,” he said quickly, hands raised as if to show he meant no harm. “I just—look, I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stiffened. “What?”

“I mean it,” Rafe said, his voice dropping. “I know I messed up. I’ve been… I don’t know. Trying to figure my shit out.” He took a step closer, his gaze steady. “I just want us to be cool. That’s all.”

“Cool,” you repeated flatly. “Right. Sure.”

You wanted to walk away, to shut him down and make it clear he wasn’t welcome. But something in his tone—his softness, his willingness to admit fault made you hesitate. It wasn’t like him.

“I mean it,” he said again, holding your gaze. “You don’t have to forgive me, but I don’t want things to be like this. It doesn’t have to be so… heavy.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t trust him. He’d proven that over and over. But he didn’t press. He just lingered, staying close but not too close, offering you drinks every time your cup got low.

You didn’t realize how much you’d had to drink until you were laughing at something—God knows what—with a girl you barely knew. The firelight blurred, the edges of the world softening as the alcohol worked its way through your system.

Rafe wasn’t far, leaning against a log a few feet away, his eyes on you.

“You’re finally relaxing,” he said, his voice light as he moved closer.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

He smirked, holding his hands up in surrender. “Not trying to. Just saying it’s nice to see you like this. You’re always so tense around me.”

“Damn, I wonder why,” you shot back, though your words were starting to slur.

He laughed, low and warm. “Fair point.”

Before you could respond, he tilted his head toward the darker stretch of beach beyond the fire. “Let’s go for a walk. Too loud here.”

“No thanks,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

“Come on,” he pressed, his tone light but insistent. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to talk. No bullshit, I promise.”

You hesitated. Part of you screamed to stay by the fire, to not let him pull you away from the safety of the crowd. But the alcohol muffled your thoughts, loosening your grip on the fear that always kept you guarded around him.

Against your better judgment, you nodded.

The sound of the party faded as you walked, the waves swallowing the noise until it was just the two of you under the moonlight. You stumbled slightly, the uneven sand throwing you off balance, but Rafe’s hand steadied you.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice closer than you realized.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, shrugging off his hand.

He didn’t let go immediately, his fingers lingering on your arm for a moment too long before he finally stepped back.

When you stopped walking, he turned to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I miss you,” he said softly.

You blinked, the words not quite registering at first. “What?”

“I miss us,” he said, his voice low and almost vulnerable. “I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you. But I want to fix it.”

You stared at him, the alcohol dulling your initial burst of anger. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not asking you to forget everything,” he said quickly. “I just—I want another chance. I can be better. I know I can.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter. “Another chance? Are you insane?”

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve been working on myself. I’ve been trying—”

“You’re fucking delusional,” you snapped, cutting him off. The alcohol loosened the words, pulling them out of you before you could stop. “You cheated on me. You hit me. You made me feel like I was nothing. And now you want me to just… what? Forget all of that and give you another chance?”

Rafe flinched, the softness in his expression hardening into something sharper. “I was messed up back then. I didn’t know how to—”

“No,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You always knew. And you loved it.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have a part in it,” he said, his voice rising. “You knew how to push my buttons. You knew how to make me lose my shit.”

You took a step back, your body trembling. “You’re disgusting.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, that he’d grab your arm or raise his voice. But instead, he smiled—cold and sharp, the boyish charm replaced by something cruel.

“You’re drunk,” he said simply, stepping closer. “I’ll give you a pass. But you’re not over me. You never will be.”

You turned and walked away, the sound of his laughter following you as you stumbled back toward the fire. You didn’t care if you looked unsteady or ridiculous; all you cared about was putting as much distance between you and him as possible.

When you reached the edge of the crowd, Mia was nowhere to be seen. Your stomach twisted, a fresh wave of anger rising as you realized she’d probably disappeared with Topper again, leaving you to fend for yourself.

Your hands shook as you grabbed your bag, your breaths coming in uneven gasps. You didn’t look back toward the dark stretch of beach where Rafe still stood, watching you.

~~~~~~

You slammed the door of your dorm shut, the sound echoing through the small space. Your clothes still smelled faintly of bonfire smoke, your hair damp from the salt air, but none of that mattered. The only thing you could focus on was the lingering sensation of Rafe’s smirk, his words still ringing in your ears.

“You’re not over me. You never will be.”

The audacity made your stomach churn, and as you tossed your bag onto your bed, you couldn’t stop your hands from trembling. You needed to talk to someone to make sense of everything that had happened at the beach. But when Mia walked through the door minutes later, her laughter bubbling over as she scrolled through her phone, something inside you snapped.

She looked up, startled. “Whoa. What’s with the death glare?”

“Where the hell were you?” you snapped, unable to hold it anymore.

The smile on her face faded instantly. “What?”

“At the beach,” you said, your voice shaking. “You said we’d stick together, that you wouldn’t leave me alone, and then you disappeared with Topper like it was nothing.”

Mia’s brow furrowed, her confusion quickly morphing into defensiveness. “Hold on, what happened? Did Rafe—”

“What do you think happened?” you snapped, cutting her off. “He cornered me, got me drunk, and then tried to tell me he wants me back. And you weren’t there, Mia. You left me alone with him.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Okay, but nothing actually happened, right? I mean, you’re here, you’re fine—”

“Fine?” The word came out sharp, almost bitter. “Are you kidding me? You know what he’s like, Mia. You know how much he’s put me through, and you still dragged me there like it didn’t matter. You’re literally fucking his best friend.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, like she wasn’t sure how to respond. “It’s not like that,” she said finally. “Topper’s not Rafe, and I thought—”

“You thought what?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “That I’d just magically be okay? That I’d be fine hanging out with my abusive ex at a party while you played house with his best friend?”

“Abusive?” she repeated, her eyes widening slightly.

You froze, realizing the word had slipped out before you could stop it. But there was no taking it back now. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter now. “He was abusive, Mia. And you still keep putting me in situations where I have to see him. Do you even care how that feels for me?”

Her expression shifted, guilt flickering across her face before she crossed her arms defensively. “Of course, I care,” she said. “But it’s not like I’m dragging you into this on purpose. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Ghost Topper because you and Rafe had a shitty relationship?”

The words hit you like a slap, your anger twisting into something deeper—something closer to hurt. “I’m not asking you to break things off with him,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’m asking you to have some fucking empathy. You’re supposed to be my friend, Mia.”

“I am your friend,” she shot back. “But maybe you need to stop blaming me for everything. I didn’t make you date him, and I didn’t make you stay with him when things got bad. That was your choice.”

You flinched, the accusation cutting deeper than you expected. For a second, you thought about yelling, about telling her to leave and never come back. But instead, you turned away, your chest tight with something between anger and sadness.

“Just… go, Mia,” you said quietly. “I can’t do this right now.”

She hesitated, her arms still crossed. “Fine,” she said after a moment, her voice tight. “But don’t expect me to keep putting up with this shit forever.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone in the silence of the room.

~~~~~

You were sitting on your bed, the faint glow of your desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The air felt heavy, the silence broken only by the sound of Rafe pacing in front of you.

“Let me see your phone,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

You froze, clutching the device tighter. “Why?”

“Because,” he snapped, facing you with a sharp glare. “I saw Bella texting you earlier. What did she say?”

“Nothing important,” you said quickly, your stomach twisting.

He didn’t believe you. “Show me.”

You hesitated, your fingers trembling as you unlocked your phone and handed it over. He snatched it from your grasp, scrolling through your messages with a storm brewing in his eyes.

His jaw clenched as he stopped on Bella’s most recent text:

“r u ok? im rlly worried about u and rafe. u don’t have to stay with him yk. u deserve sm better. <3”

“Worried about us?” Rafe said, his voice dripping with mockery. “What’s she so worried about, huh? Did you tell her we had a fight? That’s cute.”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” you said quickly, your chest tightening. “She’s just… she’s just being a good friend.”

“She’s not your friend,” he said sharply, tossing the phone onto the bed. “She’s trying to break us up. You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t see what’s going on?”

“She’s not trying to break us up,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “She’s just—”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, his tone cold and final. “You’re done talking to her. Do you hear me? You’re going to block her, and you’re not going to say another word to her. She’s gone.”

“No,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. “You’ve already made me cut off everyone else. Bella’s the only friend I have left.”

“You still have me... you have Mia,” Rafe said, stepping closer, his shadow looming over you. “That should be enough for you. You don’t need anyone else.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. “This isn’t protection, Rafe. This is fucking control-”

The words barely left your mouth before his hand slammed against the wall beside your head, making you flinch.

“What did you just say?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

You didn’t answer.

~~~~~~~~

You woke with a gasp, your heart pounding as you sat up in bed. The room was dark, the faint glow of your phone the only source of light. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the weight of the dream pressing down on your chest.

Even now, after everything, he still had a hold on you.

~~~~~~~~

It was late when you found yourself outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You hadn’t meant to leave the dorm, but sitting in that room, surrounded by memories and silence, felt unbearable.

You ended up at the campus library steps, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was quiet and peaceful in a way that almost felt foreign.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You turned, startled, to see Cam leaning against the railing, a book in one hand and a thermos in the other. His smile was easy, and his presence grounding, making you feel like you could finally take a breath.

“Something like that,” you admitted, sitting down beside him.

He didn’t press or ask why your eyes were rimmed with exhaustion or why you were out so late. Instead, he offered you the thermos, the warmth of it seeping into your palms as you held it.

“I saw you at the beach,” he said after a moment, his tone careful.

You stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “You okay?”

You thought about lying, about brushing it off like you always did. But the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“No.”

He nodded like he’d expected that, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “If you ever want to talk…”

“I don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. Then, softer: “Not yet.”

“That’s fine,” he said easily, leaning back against the steps. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t respond, but for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Enjoyed my fic? Leave feedback! Comment/reblog!

Wanna see more? Check out my fic ‘i don’t smoke’

[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 ❤️

[xlatrina]

(Pt. II.2) Friends to Lovers HCs w/Homicipher x GN!Reader

Tags: Platonic + Romantic HCs, Friends to Lovers trope for basically every LI, Likely OOC for some LIs*, Mini Scenarios (so HCs are kinda plot-driven), *Multi-Part Series, entirely SFW

Also, changing tenses in some cases + not proofread again... sorry!

*Some of the LIs are likely written OOC (Out Of Character) mainly due to a lack of substantial in-game appearances (at least in my opinion!). 

*Split into multiple parts because I’ve come to realize that these HCs are muuucccchhh too long 😅 BUT!! I’m too lazy to shorten them sooo… YEAH lol

Part I (Big 🙆‍♂️)

Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓)

Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)

$$$

Mr. Chopped (First Half/Second Half)

Cont.

Mr. Chopped is the type to get super lost in his stories. So lost that his face often morphs accordingly based on whatever he’s babbling about.

When he tells you about the state of his missing body, you watch his face morph from shock to sadness, to confusion, to an adorable pout, and then to excitement.

When he tries to explain his first few encounters with Mr. Silvair (which were rough, since Mr. Silvair appears to be the one who separated Mr. Chopped from his body in the first place), Mr. Chopped’s face morphs from fear to distrust to shock to joy.

This little man is just so darn expressive!

His feelings for you grow as you open up to him more and more.

You tell him about your experiences at work, and you tell him about an internship you finished some time ago (relative to whenever you ended up trapped in the Apartments).

You then tell him about some of your hobbies.

When you suggest doing one or two with him, he beams up at you with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on him!

He’s probably blushing so baadddd at the thought of it lol

One-on-one personal time for an even longer period of time than usual???

An activity you enjoy that you choose to only ever share with him and him alone??

Even though he’s just a head and you have literally so many other options who all possess bodies and can get around on their own to at least some extent??!

WHAOXOANALXNDLFLDBAHAGVSBSKCKFLDM

At some point, he convinces you to follow his directions to a particular room. 

When you get there, you find yourself feeling a little uncomfortable.

“Here darkness,” you say. “We together go find light?”

“Is okay,” Mr. Chopped says. “Go that way! Hurry! Fast!”

You listen and approach a small square in the wall.

Briefly, you wonder if Mr. Gap might be in there, but it seems like the hole is empty.

“Enter! Enter!” Mr. Chopped bounces in your grasp excitedly.

You enter the crawl space and pull yourself through.

Soon, the darkness morphs into a faint whitish color.

Your heart jumps at the senses being triggered as you approach.

You finally come across a small hole, and through it, you peer at a sight you haven’t seen in a long time, your mouth agape as Mr. Chopped watches you excitedly.

The sound of clicking on stones draws your eyes to the heeled shoes strutting back and forth past the hole.

There’s the sound of chatter, laughter, shouting, horns, music…

Something smells good. Sooooo good…

Fresh food. Something’s being grilled…

Damn! Your mouth is starting to water!

“This place where?” You ask, pressing Mr. Chopped closer to your face. It was a super small space, after all.

“This place go to other area! Not know where area is, but if possible, me want to go!” Mr. Chopped grins at you, and you can’t help grinning back.

“Wow…” you say. “This is so cool. I wonder if those people will notice me if I reach out to them, though?”

Mentally, you waved the thought away just as quickly as you thought it.

After all, you promised your friends here some weeks ago that you’d stay. And while you could certainly always change your mind, well…

At the moment, you don’t really have a desire to leave.

“I’m happy you decided to share this with me, Mr. Chopped.” You smile sweetly at him.

“What you say? You happy?” He asks. You giggle at him.

“Am happy together we come here. Am grateful you bring me here. Am lots happy!” You say.

Mr. Chopped's face grows into a deep purplish color.

Mr. Chopped lets out a happy sound, his eyes pressing up into a cute squint.

“You happy!! Me lots happy to see you happy!! This place here for you and me now. We come together here now! You understand??” Mr. Chopped asks.

You giggle, and say “Okay, me understand now.”

…

I think I got carried away there LMAO

Anyway, I feel like with all of that being said, after hanging around you for a while and developing a mutual crush, there will eventually come a time when Mr. Chopped gets tired of this long period of unknowing…

Like, you two are OBVIOUSLY super close to each other —much closer than either of you are to anybody else there!

Y’all are at a point where y'all hesitate to even call each other friends!!

And to be so real with you, my guy…

Mr. Chopped has just straight up stopped calling you his friend!!

And it’s kinda awkward for others…

Cuz like… what exactly are you two???

At some point, Mr. Chopped will probably more or less ask you.

“You enjoy me, and me enjoy you. But together we not friends. You and me together what??”

Because you didn’t immediately answer in like 0.02 seconds, he immediately became fussy and demanded to be taken to Mr. Silvair.

And once you take him there, Mr. Chopped dismisses you, so… yeah…

A few days pass and you start to really miss Mr. Chopped.

I mean, he can’t possibly be that mad, right?? What even happened back then anyway to get him so mad in the first place??

You decide to go see him.

You don’t plan on apologizing because, like… what exactly would you be apologizing for??

But!! You want to get to the bottom of your sudden dismissal that day!!

And if come to find out you did offend him somehow, then you’ll apologize—because it most certainly wasn’t your intention.

Anyway, he wasn’t hard to find, thankfully. He was chilling in the lounge next to the infirmary room, which means Mr. Silvair was likely in the operating room doing… Silvair things in there.

He’s nodding off, going in and out of sleep.

It’s literally soooo adorable to look at.

But you’re here on a mission, so no getting distracted!!

Anywho, you startle Mr. Chopped, and he fusses at you accordingly.

But you cut to the chase, demanding to know why he was so upset the other day and dismissed you like that.

He pouts and says something like, “Me give question, and you not answer!” 

Suddenly, he smiles at you. “But is okay, I give answer for you!!”

“Huh?? What you mean?” You ask.

Joyfully, he responds, “You and me together now! You understand?”

OH WOW.

Erm…

Well.

You now have a boyfriend, and that’s just what it is. 

But hey!!

At least your boyfriend is super cute!! And fun!! And connected to a pretty smart, innovative guy like Silvair!

And!! Mr. Chopped absolutely adores EVERYTHING about you!!

You and Silvair are the closest people to him.

But, between you and him…

You’re obviously a little more special to him than Mr. Silvair!

[Part I (Mr. Big 🙆‍♂️) | Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓, First Half/Second Half), Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)]

[teamchasezwrites]

Second Chance (1/3)

Word Count: 3,724

Characters: Damian Priest

Genre: Romance

Summary: Some people are worth a second chance. (A Wrestlemania XL Night Two fic)

Author’s Note: This was initially supposed to be a simple one shot. Then it morphed into a second part in Damian’s POV. Then finally a 3rd part. An error on my part with writing Damian not involved in night 1, but I had already written part 1 and most of part 2 before I realized and liked it too much to change. I did watch Damian’s doc but any errors in his road to WWE timeline are on me and creative licensing. This is written with an unnamed female lead as I tried to make it x reader, but I’m not very good at writing in the first person.

Part II Part III

The atmosphere was electric. Lincoln Financial Field held over sixty seven thousand screaming Eagle fans weekly during the fall. Usually she was one of those Eagle fans screaming herself horse from way up in section 243 at the coach to run the damn ball. She was still smarting over their epic collapse five months later when she thought they were Super Bowl bound finally ready to take the Chiefs down but alas…

She shut down that anger like she had earlier when she felt the need to raise her finger at the stadium as she was walking in. Of course across the parking lot, Citizen’s Bank Park loomed where the Phillies went down with a whimper in the playoffs. In order to save her sanity, she didn’t even look toward the Wells Fargo Center. She did however stop to take a photo with the Nick Foles statue.

Thank God for St Nick.

Or Big Dick Nick.

Tonight wasn’t about sports teams and their ability to continuously raise your hopes only to dash them in the end.

No.

Tonight was about a different hope. Though her heart still had the ability to be broken into pieces like in playoff ball.

With sports, there was always next year.

With love you tried to catch that flame and ride the magic. Hopefully forever. When the magic ended with love, hearts moved on to someone else.

With sports teams you went down with them to the bitter end.

“Jesus Christ I hope it’s warmer tonight.”

She looked to the seat next to her where her sister stood in front of the steel folding chair with the Wrestlemania XL logo. She held her phone in the air, taking a video of the crowd, the music, and the atmosphere.

“If it’s like it was last night, I’m leaving.”

“The fuck you will!” Her sister snapped at her as her fingers tapped over the phone screen. No doubt posting the video to her Instagram. “Do you know how much Bill spent on these tickets?”

Bill, her sister’s second husband. Bill, who was nearly twenty years older than her sister. Bill, who worked in the financial district in New York City and made it his mission to spoil her sister. She was sure her sister loved him in a safe, older man kind of way. He provided for her, gave her security. Random trips to Italy. After her disaster of a marriage to her first husband, she deserved it.

“I nearly lost a toe last night!”

The stadium wasn’t covered like most NFL teams seem to be learning toward when trying to get their cities to foot the bill for a new one. The Linc was open aired as they came. It provided views of beautiful sunsets and planes coming into land at the airport just down 95. Depending on the side you sat on and the time, the sun roasted you alive. It also rained on you if you weren’t lucky enough to have a seat under a cover. It also provided no shelter from the cool temperatures April always brought to the Northeast. Where winter liked to hang on as long as possible before it released its grips to spring and the blistering summer.

“I think I saw some Cody Rhodes socks at the merch tent.”

She side eyed her sister not finding the comment funny. She made sure to bring a pair of gloves and a toboggan. She almost brought a throw as well, but decided not to. If the second night was anything like the previous night, she would be spending more time on her feet than huddled in her chair.

“Probably just as well,” her sister grinned. “You shouldn’t be wearing someone else’s merchandise.”

She was saved at having to reply when the opening festivities started. As the National Anthem was performed, she barely heard the words, mouthing in reflex with her hand over her heart. The crowd cheered at the conclusion as music hit the speakers. Inside the ring, a pretty black woman smiled over the crowd as she announced the special guest, Stephanie McMahon.

Nerves built in her stomach and continued to roll and twist into knots as the first wrestler, Drew McIntyre made his entrance with bagpipe players lining the stage. Their sound echoed through the stadium. It wasn’t until the stage filled with members of the Philadelphia String Association members and their instruments and outlandish outfits did she lean over to her sister.

“I think this was a bad idea.”

She was nearly drowned out by the music on stage and the crowd singing rolling “ohs”. She learned last night it was just what they did with the next wrestler.

“What?” Her sister’s head snapped toward her as she looked away from the stage.

“I said,” she paused as the crowd roared with cheers. Looking up at the big video screen above the ring, she saw Seth Rollins made his appearance. Dressed outlandishly in an outfit that fit right in with the Mummers surrounding him. “This was a bad idea.”

“I heard that. I was just giving you time to change it.” Her sister pursed her lips in annoyance. Or disappointment. She wasn’t sure which. Being ten years younger, she was used to receiving those looks throughout her life from her sister.

“Be real.” She sighed.

“I am.” Her sister turned away from the ramp Seth was currently making his way down. “You were excited when I told you I got tickets.”

“I was. I am…” She insisted.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Look around Sis,” she waved her hand around her acknowledging the thousands of people packed inside the stadium, the cheers, the lights. “You think with all this, he’ll notice me? Let alone recognize me? It’s been so long…”

Ten years.

Ten years since the man she thought she’d marry, create a family with, would love forever, up and left her.

‘This isn’t working anymore.’

The words crumbled her heart and stole her breath. She’d been imagining her future with him and he was leaving her behind.

“You never know.” Her sister shrugged. “You caught his eye before. Who’s to say you won’t catch it again? Besides, I’m tired of listening to you wallow after another failed date with yet another guy who failed to measure up to Luis.”

Well…

She turned away from her sister to stare at the ring where Seth and Drew were currently locked together in their match for the championship belt Seth currently held. From the rumors she read online from various social media sites, Luis – Damian Priest – was going to cash in his Money in the Bank briefcase that assured him a title match.

“It has to work.”

She turned her attention back to her sister. “Why’s that?”

“These tickets were cheaper than getting that tattoo removed.”

Ignoring her smirk, she looked down at her left hand. There, on the inside of her ring finger over the second knuckle toward the third, stood Luis’s name written in a delicate script font. The tail of the s making a small heart.

“Can’t imagine any man wanting to slide a ring over another man’s name,” her sister said dryly.

The tattoo had been part of a drunken night nearly three years after their break up. Her roommate at the time was an aspiring tattoo artist. She wasn’t sure what led to the tattoo – the night remained a black hole in her memory. She woke up the next morning on the living room floor with the kind of hangover she hadn’t experienced since her first year of college. The pain in her head matched that on the pain on her hand where a fresh tattoo sat on redden skin.

Concealer became her friend. She carried it around like chapstick. One in her purse. Another in her car. The desk at her old job. A tube in the drawer of her bedside table. Even one laying on the coffee table in her apartment. All to hide the name of the man she never got over. Even now, the ink was hidden beneath a layer of classic concealer.

Her mind wandered during the match thinking about Luis and how long it’s been since they shared the same space. How different he looked in his appearance now compared to then. The cut of his hair. The trimmed facial hair covering his cheeks. The numerous tattoos covering his arms, chest, and back. His muscles more defined and cut. The added muscle weight making him appear bigger than before.

The ringing of the bell drew her attention back to the match. Drew McIntyre was standing victorious in the ring with the gold championship belt hoisted high in the air with one hand. The crowd roared in celebration. She could see a dejected and limping Seth Rollins making his way back up the ramp sans the belt he wore to the ring not that long ago.

She couldn’t help but feel letdown, a sagging feeling of sorrow eclipsing her body while thousands cheered in happiness around her.

This was supposed to be when Damian cashed that briefcase in. But he never appeared. Did all the articles and tweets she read get it wrong? How could Damian make an appearance now? The match was over. Drew won. In a second or two, Drew would leave the ring and make his own way back up the ramp. The show would continue. The window to see Damian gone.

Her thumb unconsciously rubbed over the inside of her finger, right over Luis’s hidden name.

Disappointment set in. She knew it was a chance nothing would happen. Even if Damian came out, there was no guarantee he would see her anyway. Though she would be terrified standing in the ring with thousands of people staring at her, she imagined for him the people all blurred together. Seeing them but without seeing them.

“Oh Damian is definitely cashing in!”

She tuned an ear to the conversation behind her. It took everything she had to not turn around and pepper the person with questions. How did he know!

“Oh yeah!” Came a laughing response. “He’s spending way too much time fucking with Punk.”

The video screen above the ring showed Drew now standing on the announce table. She couldn’t make out the words, but she bet it was trash talking a guy sitting in the office chair wearing a headset. She didn’t know who he was. Her deep dive into the briefcase and Damian didn’t include other wrestlers and whatever beef they may have with each other.

The Scottish music cut off as Drew was knocked off his feet. The crowd went wild as they stared chanting “CM Punk” as the wrestler continued his beatdown of the new champion.

The lights on the housing area, lining the ramp, and at the top of the ramp switched from green to purple at the same time music blared. The crowd lost their minds and she swore she felt the ground moving.

“I told you!” Her sister grabbed her arm, her fingers squeezing tightly.

A blur of purple and black ran down the ramp in the midst of cheers. She found it hard to see with everyone standing, dancing around, and their arms in the air. She looked up at the screen and her heart stopped.

Damian.

She watched the whole sequence without breathing. Jamming the briefcase into Drew’s head. Handing off the briefcase to the referee. Picking up a beat down Drew from the ringside floor and tossing him into the ring. Him climbing into the ring and the ref ringing the bell.

It felt like it lasted hours.

Damian lifted Drew high above him with one arm and slammed him to the mat before falling over him in a pin.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rang and crowd’s roar strengthened once again.

“And here is your winner! And NEEEEEEW world heavyweight champion… Daamienn Preeeist!”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched Damian on the TV high above the ring. Holding the title in one hand with both hands above his head in victory. He then flexed his arms down and let out a roar, the sound buried by the fans cheering.

“I told you!” Her sister shouted again, her hand still gripped her arm and she shook her with excitement. “Get over here!”

She was practically thrown into the fencing that created a barrier between the seats and the ramp. It moved slightly but she was able to regain her footing. Fans around her all stormed to the fence as Damian rolled from the ring. They screamed and shouted his name.

He appeared at the bottom of the ramp and she got her first unobscured view of him. He looked larger than life. The black leather gear he wore molded to his body like a layer of skin. His hair – much fuller than photos she’d seen of him – hung all over his shoulders in thick braided dreads, complete with purple and red scattered throughout.

Her heart thumped wildly but she was frozen. This was different. This was Damian. Not Luis. She didn’t know Damian. How could she expect him to react at seeing her? It’s been ten years… she looked different just like he did. He was a whole new person! He broke up with her for a reason.

This isn’t working out…

“What the fuck…”

She heard her sister mumble, but she was struck mute, she could only watch as he stalked up the ramp. The confidence she never knew he had exuding off him in waves.

“Damian I love you!”

Her eyes widened at the scream next to her. Her face grew warm against the coldness in the air. She could only watch as Damian’s eyes drifted from the top of the ramp toward the side… in her direction.

She could tell he was about to smile or wink in the direction of the proclamation. He’d probably done it hundreds of times. When their eyes met, his face morphed into shock. Recognition dawned in his eyes. She watched as his steps faltered.

“Smile you fucking idiot,” her sister elbowed her sharply.

She smiled.

At least she hoped.

It didn’t appear she had any control over any of her muscles at the moment. Screams grew louder around her and bodies jostled one another. She blinked and Damian was right there in front of her. His chest heaved with heavy breaths from the exertion and complete pandemonium. A slick sheen covered his bare arms. Taller than she remembered. Though his dark eyes – popping from the thin line of eyeliner outlining them – were the same. They stared directly into her eyes and deep into her soul. The crowd noise faded – muted in the background. The people around them blurred. It was just him.

“Luis…” she whispered and she wasn’t sure he heard until his eyes flared.

Then she was in his arms wrapped up tight. The corner of the belt dug into her shoulder where he still clutched it in his hands. The other end brushed against the back of her thigh. She loved being in his arms. His hold so tight offering a sense of security and protection. A feeling of home washed over her. Warmth radiated from him and she pressed her hands against the satiny spandex of the top of his ring gear. With a shuddering sigh, she relaxed into him.

“Fuck…” his deep voice reverberated through her body. She felt him tuck his head down, hiding his face from view. “I gotta go…” the words caused her arms to tighten as if she could keep him there forever. “Please stay. I’ll…fuck…just don’t go.”

She nodded her head and felt the squeeze of his arms one more time before he slowly pulled away. Her eyes met his, swirling with emotions. The dull roar of the crowd around them threatened their bubble.

In a quick movement, his hands cupped her face. His fingers were still curled around the black leather of the belt strap. The back of his fingers pressed into her check. His head lowered and he kissed her firmly and quickly. His lips disappeared in a flash and with a soft caress of his thumb over her cheek, he was gone leaving her breathless.

She watched as he stalked up the stage, the belt in hand to a group of people at the top. She recognized them from photos as part of the group Damian was in. He met them with his arms stretched wide. Two members dressed in black hugged him from either side, while another in bright white shoes jumped up from the front. Finally, a woman joined the foray. They bounced up and down as they all hugged. A moment later they turned to face the crowd, Damian standing tall in the middle. He raised his championship belt up high above him in both hands while the others raised their hands in victory. The crowd roared in celebration.

Then they were gone.

“So…”

She turned her attention from the empty ramp to her sister. Her sister had her arms crossed with a smirk on her face. One eyebrow arched and her head tilted as if to say ‘told you so’.

Her checks flushed with embarrassment as she took in the faces of the people around her. She ducked her head and moved back to her seat stuffing her hands in her coat pocket to hide the shaking. This time it wasn’t from the cold. She wasn’t feeling the low temperatures anymore. A warmness wrapped around her from the moment her eyes met Luis’s. She licked her lips, drawing his taste.

“Here,” a wipe came into view. She looked up to see her sister holding out a white towelette with one hand while the other was pressing the flap down to close the travel package of make-up remover wipes.

“What’s this for?” She stared at it questioningly.

“You’re obviously not gonna be needing that concealer anymore.” Her sister smirked and pressed the towelette in her hand.

She clutched the damp wipe in her hand. Her skin still tingled where he touched. She could still taste him on her lips from even the quick kiss they shared. She tucked the wipe into her coat pocket not making the move to reveal the finger tattoo.

“Chicken,” her sister murmured as the crowd jumped to their feet as the music for the next match started. “What did he say?”

She looked around, but the attention had diverted back to the ring. She still leaned closer to her sister just in case. “He told me to stay. Not to go.”

“Like stay here?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess?”

As the night grew longer, nerves settled in her belly. The voice in her head grew louder.

‘He’s not coming.’

‘He was just being nice.’

‘You caught him off guard.’

‘He doesn’t want you anymore.’

It took everything she had to keep herself planted in her seat. Not to beg her sister to leave. To go back to the hotel and remember how his lips felt against hers. The memory of his arms around her.

“Miss?”

She almost missed the call, zoned out watching Logan Paul, who she recognized from YouTube, wrestle in the ring. Next time she couldn’t sleep, she would Google how a YouTube star not only ended up in a wrestling match, but was a champion.

Her sister nudge her breaking the zone she was in. Catching her eye, she followed the nod toward the barricade where a man stood motioning for her. Dumbfounded she pointed to herself. At the man’s emphatic nod, she stood and slid past her sister to the barricade.

“Yes?”

“You with Damian?”

“Well…I….” She stuttered until a kick to her foot caused her to blurt, “yes!”

“Here.”

The man handed her a folded up piece of paper ripped from a note pad. Before she could question, he was gone. Sneaking along the barricades ducking out of view.

“What is it?”

“A piece of paper.” She answered sitting back in her chair. The paper pressed tightly in her fingers.

“No shit,” her sister rolled her eyes. “What the fuck does it say?”

“I…I don’t know.” She stared at the white paper. Void of anything on the outside. Schrödinger’s cat stared her in the face. The words on the inside of the paper could be everything or nothing at all.

“Want me to read it?” Her sister offered.

“No. Just…” She pulled her closer to her as she turned her body toward her sister. Their knees touched and their bodies hunched to create a makeshift wall to block prying eyes.

She took a breath and slid her finger in between the flap and pressed it open. Slanted chicken scratch she knew so well greeted her.

I can’t get away. Meet me at Embassy Suites tonight??

The note ended with his phone number and was signed with just an L.

“The cost of these tickets were worth it after all.” Her sister elbowed her in a teasing manner.

“You don’t know that.” She read the note again, memorizing the number; different than she remembered. “He might just want to catch up.”

Her sister sent her a look. “Right. The kiss he planted on you was just to catch up.”

She blushed as a smile toyed with her lips. She folded the paper back along the crease and stuffed it in her coat pocket keeping it in her grasp.

“Are you gonna go?”

“How? We’re heading in the opposite direction.”

“I can drop you off.”

“Then I’ll be stuck there.”

“Would that be so bad?” Her sister wiggled her eyebrows.

No. Being stuck with Luis at a hotel wouldn’t be bad. Not at all.

“Who cares about logistics,” her sister continued. “I will drop you off after we leave here or you can take me back to your place and come back down. It doesn’t matter. Text him right now and tell him you’ll be there.”

She mulled over her sister’s words. She was right of course, not that she’d share that tidbit of information with her. Being able to be in the same space as Luis again? She couldn’t turn it down.

As the music hit for the final match of the night, she pulled out her phone.

‘I’ll be there.’

[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.

[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.

[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! 

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Paperbacks are coming soon!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi Cal!! I hope you’re doing well! I’m super loving all your stories right now (and always of course :p) here’s lots of emojis to prompt your brilliant mind!

First theme this week is the stories that actively made me think of other works of yours (key word being actively because, let’s be real, I’m consistently thinking about all your stories)

🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️����️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️ (this one obviously makes me think of the whole Nico-verse. I’m still so happy that he’s back!! I ended up rereading hold me like a grudge the other day because these snippets made me want to revisit Nico. I’m really loving both seeing the beautiful future life of established Buddie and watching current Buddie respond to that life! It’s so much fun!)

⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️(now this one is giving me BBAB vibes! AND I LOVE IT! Such a legendary work I love any reminder of it! Buck’s life and purpose being upended by a powerful magical entity forcing him to act in ways that contradict who he is, but he accepts it for the sake of protecting the people he loves. That’s that good stuff I love! At least in this one though he’s able to confide in Eddie so it’s feeling just a bit less angsty. How long are you planning on having this one be?)

- PCA <3

AHH THIS IS A COOL THEME THANK YOU!

96 for 🌤️ (AH YAY! THANK YOU FOR REREADING! And I am glad that you're looking forward to this one)

---

“Chris said I’m gay, and that he’s, like, surprised I don’t know yet because… Because apparently we’re going to get together soon, in his version of history.”

Buck goes very still. 

“So I was looking through my phone for… I don’t know?” Eddie huffs. “Evidence?”

“Evidence that you’re gay?” Buck asks. 

“Yeah,” Eddie confirms quietly. 

“Did you find any?” Buck ask. 

“Well, the nudes,” Eddie says. “They are… Not something two friends would do.”

Buck lets out a little whistle. 

“Damn.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie exhales. “There are, uh… There are other albums… Some are just, uh, romantic.”

Buck swallows. “So, uh… Then, what do you think? About what Chris said?”

There’s an edge to his voice. Eddie can’t quite place it. But he’s nervous about Eddie’s answer. Maybe he doesn’t want Eddie to have any sort of feelings or revelation. That would be fair, right? He and Tommy just broke up. A break up Buck did not want. Buck probably doesn’t have the bandwidth for anything else right now. Or maybe he just wouldn’t want… Eddie’s stomach twists. He feels preemptively heartbroken. Why? He’s not even… He doesn’t even really want…

Unless maybe he does? 

Oh, god. Does he?

“I, uh… I’m confused,” Eddie admits. 

“Confused?” Buck asks. 

Eddie nods. “My brain is kind of spinning. I don’t know what I’m feeling… Or if I’m feeling it because he said I should.”

“Uh, well… Well, what are you feeling?” Buck asks. 

Yeah, fair question. 

“I feel uncertain about things I always thought were one way… Maybe they’re not.”

Buck inhales heavily. 

“You mean, you think you could be?” 

Shit. 

“Uh, I don’t know,” Eddie says. “I don’t have enough information.”

Wait. Wrong thing to say. Buck’s going to…

“We could fix that,” Buck says, voice a little raspy. 

Yep. That. That is what Eddie feared. Feared, because he’s not sure he can say no. But he’s not sure he should say yes. 

“Buck…” He replies, hands shaking a little. His stomach is in a knot. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Buck says. “To help you… Figure things out.”

Eddie’s going to pass out. He is both exhilarated and terrified.

“What if it’s a no?” He asks quietly. 

“That’s okay,” Buck says, just as gently. “No expectations here, Eddie. I’m not sure any of this is real, either.”

“Why not?” Eddie asks. 

Buck heaves an unhappy breath. 

“It’s a little too good to be true, isn’t it?” He asks. 

Look, just being totally real with you… I never felt like you were really happy until you and Buck were together, okay?

Stop punishing yourself.

“But what if it’s not?” Eddie asks. “What if it is the future?”

---

96 for ⚖️ (OHH yes I guess it sort of is like that! And honestly, not sure how long it'll turn out. This is one of my least outlined ones in a while. Four-ish chapters maybe?)

---

“Okay, maybe,” Buck sighs. “So why not fix it?”

Eddie thinks. 

“Is that going against his wishes?” He asks. “I mean, he wants to be there, right?”

Buck thinks. “I don’t know. I don’t know what the options are. I can’t fabricate them.”

Eddie’s eyebrows twitch upwards. “So… So you could only choose something that’s good for him?”

Which is exactly what being home with Eddie is.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “I could choose the best option for Christoppher.”

“That’s what I want,” Eddie says. “Don’t fix it for me. Fix it for him. Whatever that looks like.”

And Eddie thinks he deserves punishment. God.

“Okay,” Buck agrees. “I can do that, Eddie.”

“Then what do we do?” Eddie asks. 

“I need to figure out how to do whatever it is I do to regular people,” Buck says. “And then we go to El Paso.” 

Eddie exhales through his mouth. Like he’s releasing a breath of smoke. There’s a new sort of hope in his eyes. 

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Uh, learn quick?”

Buck frowns. “She did not leave me with a guidebook.”

“Damn,” Eddie replies. “Also, uh, what are you going to do about Tommy?”

“Oh, that.” Buck scowls. “Nothing!”

“Nothing?” Eddie asks, skeptical. 

“Yep,” Buck nods. 

“You’ve never done nothing n your life,” Eddie says flatly.

“You haven’t known me my whole life,” Buck reminds him.

“Still willing to put money on it,” Eddie says. 

“Ugh,” Buck rolls his eyes. “What else can I do, Eddie? If I never do anything, including ever seeing him again, I don’t have to know what he did or punish him for it.”

“I don’t think that’s a good way to approach it,” Eddie argues.

“Uh, hello. Eddie? You just were going to run away from me because you thought you deserved punishment. How is it different?”

“Because that was… I mean…” Eddie huffs. “I didn’t think I was as evil as your fucked up pervert neighbor. But Tommy might be! We don’t know!”

Buck groans. That’s true. 

“Eddie, this isn’t fair,” Buck complains. “It’s hard enough with strangers, to see the badness.” 

Eddie frowns. 

“It’s not like I’m going to keep seeing him!” Buck continues. “I actually plan on never being in the same room as him again.”

“And you can guarantee that?” Eddie asks. 

“Well, no, but-”

“Then, come on. Buck,” Eddie really levels with him. “This is you we’re talking about. If something bad is happening, and you can stop it, I think you will.”

“We don’t know anything bad is happening,” Buck mumbles. 

“Then why the red?” Eddie asks. 

“Maybe something bad has already happened,” Buck says. “And he hasn’t made up for it?”

“Then, maybe he doesn’t need the worst punishment or whatever,” Eddie says. “But I doubt you’re going to let it go, Buck. I know you.”

He does, is the problem. And deep down, Buck knows Eddie is right. Deep, deep down. 

“No way, man,” Buck says. “I’m not enacting cosmic revenge on Tommy or any ex.”

iii. 

Over the next handful of days, Buck tries to figure out how this gift works. Not very giftlike, to be this dysfunctional, really. First of all, he cannot do it to anyone who isn’t glowing red. Second, he has no way to know where those people are. Wouldn’t it be good if he had, like, a tracker or something. Something that guided him towards those people, so he could practice? Not that he wants to see more horrible things, but he needs to figure out how to do this to get Christopher home. Because no matter what Eddie believes, Christopher should be home. It’s getting sort of ridiculous. 

But in three days after Larry - all spent ignoring Tommy - he doesn’t see another red aura. Not one. So he gets no practice. 

[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.