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fanaticsnail · 6 months

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You Kissed the Clown? Part 15 (CONCLUSION)

It's over. It's finished: the one-shot that turned into a 15 part mini-series. I have enjoyed this journey so much with you all. Thank you for taking the time to read my work and give me pointers on navigating Tumblr formatting. It's been fun.

Part 14 here, Masterlist here.

Word Count: 4,671

Damp clothes clutched to every crevasse of your body as you lay on the warm sand beneath the rising sun. You continued to laugh at yourself as you caught your breath upon the shore; the waves lapping at your toes as the tide continued to fall away into the sea.

You hoisted yourself up onto your elbows, gazing into the retreating form of Nezumi’s mouse-like figure head as it continued to vanish into the open ocean. A sigh escaped your lips as you checked over your completely soaked clothes and begun to feel overwhelmed with the coastal breeze against the weight of the material.

“Clearly, I didn’t think this through very well,” you thought to yourself, chastising your actions as the consequences now cling against your skin and weigh you down, “where did I put my satchel? Which tree was it again?”

You rose to a sitting position before attempting to bring yourself to your feet, under the weighted material. Brushing your damp hair from your face, you rose to your feet and began to search for the tree you placed your equipment from the Going Merry against as you rigged the explosive on Nezumi’s ship. The material of your skirts slapped against your thighs and calves, beginning to fall slightly at your hips under the weight; your tinkering tool-belt only offering a small amount of support to keep it upright against your waist.

Huffing out a breath again at your prior actions, you hoisted the bottom of the skirt into your hands; picking up a sprint on the dampened sands below your feet. As your feet staggered against the forever moving grit of the beach, you stumbled a little as you continued on towards the tree you left your equipment against.

The tree swayed within the breeze as your bag lay secure and waiting for your return. You sighed in relief and began to shed the many damp layers from your body, remaining in your undergarments, and draping them against one of the horizontal branches protruding from the tree. Squinting your eyes, you looked towards the yellow, rising sun and nodded your head at the indication of the time.

You huffed out a breath to collect yourself while bracing your arms against your chest to warm your ribs, whispering to yourself; “where did I put that talc rock again?”

You heard a loud explosion as if a large building had been toppled inland, your eyes widening at the reverberations. Your gaze drifted back to the road leading towards the town where you sprinted down after docking the Going Merry.

“I hope they’re alright,” you uttered in a small voice, allowing your thoughts to trail off into what would’ve happened should you had remained with your crew. Continuing to trail your arms over your torso, you began to contemplate whether it would be a wise choice to redress yourself over your semi-damp clothes or allow them to dry naturally in the breeze.

Given the indication of the explosion inland, you began to sift through your bag for something loose and appropriate; unaware of the approaching presence behind you.

“Where are you, Baby?” Buggy murmured franticly to himself from the small pillar of sand as he reached the coast; the peer off to the left. As his eyes met with the ship docked against it, his eyes bulged at the sight. He clutched his chest to catch his breath up with the rest of him, overexerting his body in its sprint from Arlong Park to the coastline.

“Marines,” he hissed in shock, maneuvering his gaze around the dunes in search for any indication you were alive and close by. From the corner of his eye, he spots a small flutter of material draped against a tree. “Your skirt?”, he thought to himself, his body propelled forward by his will; not allowing him to fully catch his breath against the trees surrounding him.

“Don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead,” he repeated in his mind over and over again. The look from the swordsman and the expression on the cook’s face had no indication on why you had separated from them, leaving him with very little to work with in his constant state of overthought.

Heavy footsteps trailed against the sand, the weight shifting the coarse substance beneath his feet, prompting him to stumble clumsily over in his stride. Using his hands, knees and feet to drive him forward, limbs continually succumbing under the unstable sand from the dunes below, he spies your body rising from a hunched position; a towel clutched in your grasp.

“There she is. There’s my girl,” he cooed in his mind; reminiscent of the time he finally confessed his affections for you with Cabaji. Cheeks flushed from exhaustion, he became overwhelmed with relief as he raked his eyes over your body in search of affliction or injury. He then realised how exposed you were, eyes bulging for the second time in the span of five minutes.

You began to dab at your face with the plush towel you found within your satchel, sighing as the sand managed to be rid from your body since locating and using the talc-powder you made for Buggy a few days prior. You wrung your hair out over your right shoulder and watched the droplets fall onto the sand as you felt something warm falling over your shoulders. Flinching at the unknown presence, you began to panic and shrug at the material; only to find two strong arms circle around your shoulders and hold you against a warm torso.

“Easy, sweets,” a voice whispered against your left ear as you felt lips kiss your upper helix, “just trying to get you warm.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your voice managing to whisper a soft; “Buggy?”

“Here in the flesh,” he chuckled against your wet hair, moving his lips against your hairline, “with all my parts accounted for.”

You turned around in his arms to face him, gaze trailing from his mustard-coloured cravat hanging loosely from his throat; noting no lines indicating a prior severance of his head from atop his shoulders. Your eyes trailed up to meet with the blue-green hues you had come to adore, laying half-lidded behind his large, red nose.

He placed his gloved hands atop your shoulders as he bore his gaze down against your own irises. Reaching his left hand up to your hair, he flicked the damp ends away from your face and righthand side of your neck to trail down the back of his camel-coloured jacket, away from your face.

“How long do we have?” he asked, flittering his gaze between your two eyes and triangulating his gaze down to meet with your parted lips, “I just want to hold you one last time before you go.”

You furrowed your brows and shook your head slightly; “Buggy-.”

“-I just want you-,” he cut you off, bringing his gloved right hand to smooth over the back of your redrying hair, “-for as long as I can before you go back to them.”

“Buggy-,” you said a little more firmly, hoping to break him away from his intrusive thoughts and dialogue to inform him of your choice. You were met with no such hope of explanation before he stooped his neck low to meet your face.

Without allowing you to complete your sentence, your lips were met with the red-tint of the clown you so adored, noting his eyes immediately closed upon impact with a subtle glisten of a whispering tear at the corner of his eyes as he held you in his arms.

His kiss was soft, loving: gentle. All of those things you were not anticipating as he laid his desires out to you a few days prior. You began slowly closing your eyes and relaxing in his arms, lacing your hands around his waist; dragging slightly from his ribs before they settled around his back. You felt his breath hitch as he melted into your touch, a soft whimper escaping his lips as you held him against yourself. Pressing open mouthed kisses against his lips, you began to sooth him by rubbing soft circles against his lower back with your hands in reassurance.

“Please,” he whispered against your lips as he trailed his gloved hand over your hair to rest on either side of your cheeks, “please stay with me.” He whimpered a small noise from between his lips as his grasps and kisses became desperate; trying to pull you against him with more force to brace his body with yours: “I can’t live without you.”

His voice was muffled against your lips, but you felt his sob all the same. You began to giggle at his words against his mouth, noting he stiffened against you at your reaction. He broke from your lips and bore a frown at you, his eyes glaring deeply into your own at your reaction.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he whispered, trailing his right hand down to grasp your chin, pulling your gaze up to meet his, “I’m not going for comedy right now, honey.”

Although his ferocity was laced with subtle sarcasm, you couldn’t help but find his words humorous, another giggle erupting from within your chest and halting in your mouth. Your eyes softened, a broad smile appearing upon your freshly red-tinted lips under the earlier ministrations.

“Buggy-,” you began, unlacing your right, bandage-wrapped hand from his waist and bringing the semi-damp material up to rest on his cheek, “-I’m not going with the Straw-Hat crew. I’m going with you.”

You traced his stubble-adorned cheek with your hand, noting the way his expression moved from sorrowful, to enraged to settling on complete shock. Silence fell between the two of you, the genius jester’s jaw falling slack as he failed to grasp the threshold-concept of your confession within his mind. He dropped his hands from your chin and cheek to fall again to your shoulders as his eyes glazed over, bulging slightly at the sockets as he processed the words you had spoken. You took this moment to study him; his eyes having a small trail of fallen tears against his painted cheeks, partially dried in the sea air.

“W-what?” he stuttered out, his eyes then darting back from their overthinking lapse and falling back to your own. You giggled and brought your left hand up to his right cheek and soothed them with gentle movements to not disturb his paint, the navy stubble prickling the skin against your palms.

“You, Buggy,” you uttered, brushing your nose lightly against his own, affectionately; “I chose you.”

His eyes continued to flitter between yours as he attempted to pass through the threshold of understanding the words you were speaking, as if the concept and words coming from your lips were completely foreign to him. “Y-you what-?” he stuttered again, searching your eyes for any hint of dishonestly; to which he found none.

“-If you’ll have me, of course,” you giggled, pressing a small, chaste kiss against his lips before adding “I’m not sure what use a tinkerer would be in something as eccentric as a-.”

Your words were halted as the Clown-Captain laced his hands below your arms and hoisted you upwards, his lips once again finding your own as he spun you within the air, circling you as he laughed against your lips in pure joy. Lacing your own hands around his neck, you allowed yourself to be twirled within his arms. The smile he held against your lips was contagious, prompting a large smile to catch against your own lips.

The taste of the sea, the feel of his arms effortlessly lifting your body as he twirled you completely overwhelmed your heart as you experienced the bittersweet union with him, dampened only by the sorrow of removing yourself from the Straw-Hat crew. The sorrow was short lived as he brought his lips away from your own and triumphantly declared: “You chose me!” with a roar of infectious laughter following.

As he placed you down, he immediately cowered as a large, booming explosion resounded throughout the ocean. Your eyes both sprung to the sea to meet with a large, tan cloud; littered with golden glitter and a slightly red-hue. The profile of the Straw-Hat’s Jolly Roger thrust against the tan smoke, an indication of your prior loyalty within the skull-like reverberation of colour: a straw hat littering the top with gold glitter cascading down into the smoke.

“What the fuck was that?” Buggy uttered in shock, looking from the shroud back to meet with your semi-dressed body.

“Going out with a bang, sweetheart,” you teased him, pulling him into you by his cravat, “a fitting conclusion to end my prior loyalty.”

You again teased him with a small peck-like caress against his lips, breaking away only to reassure him: “my loyalty and my heart now belong to you.” You stroked his cheek once again, bringing his gaze back to settle on your own, reassuring him with a simple; “only you.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, sitting high in his chest as he was overwhelmed by a sense of pride at your declaration, choosing to relax into your touch with his eyes closed before unceremoniously dropping to the ground on his knees in front of you.

Placing his gloved hands around the backs of your thighs, he laced his bare arms within the large, camel-coloured cloak he had draped upon your shoulders; you felt the soft touch of his arm hair brush against your legs at this action. He pulled his face in to rest against your stomach and breathed in against your bare skin.

“Marry me,” he uttered into your stomach, pressing feather-light kisses against your skin as he smoothed his gloved hands against the back of your thighs. You laughed, bringing your left hand down to his chin to bring his gaze to look up at you. His eyes were wide and full of adoration as he gazed lovingly at you.

“Ask me properly one day when we’re not surrounded by death and destruction and fully safe,” you teetered off your laughter into a soft giggle, using your index finger to affectionately tap his red nose, “and I’ll think about it.”

“I mean it” he said, stuttering and falling over his words, “I really do, baby.”

He rose to his feet, removing his hands from your thighs and trailing his way up to lace his glove-clad hands within your own; “I want you to rule at my side as queen when I claim the One-Piece, ruling as King of the Pirates.”

You shook your head with a small smile, reminiscing in your mind about your prior oath to serve under Luffy as king, vowing to create a piece for him and him alone as ruler. You unlaced your left hand from his and caressed his cheek, prompting him to press a chaste kiss against your palm.

“Marry me,” he uttered against your left palm, “let me truly make you mine.” He removed his left hand from your right and circled it around your waist, beneath his great tanned cloak that he so thoughtfully lay upon your shoulders.

“Buggy,” you sighed, teetering a soft giggle at the end of his name, “can I at least get dressed first before you proposition me? I’m a tad bare, love.”

“Bare, clothed, completely naked,” he groaned as he pulled you flush against his torso, “I don’t care so long as you tell me you’re mine-.” His breath hitched in his throat at this declaration, as his eyes grew wide with inspiration; “-and I’ll be yours. Truly, completely, yours. All of me.”

He pulled away from your embrace, prompting you to furrow your brows at him. His foot leapt from its position against his calf as it lay down at you unclothed feet – severed from his body. It was then followed by the other foot, then his calves, knees and thighs joining alongside them laying down before you.

“All of me, baby,” he uttered before he completely fell apart and lay himself at your feet. You chuckled at his action and shook your head, reaching your arms down to reclaim his decapitated head from the pile of askew body parts.

“Oh, Buggy,” you chastised him, lifting his head from the pile to meet with your face, “pull yourself together, love.” He furrowed his brows at you before his body leapt to life once more, all of the pieces pulling together below him to form the completed body of the clown you had come to adore.

“You have my heart,” he said, bringing his hands to clutch at his chest; removing a portion of his torso and presenting it to you. You shrieked, noting the piece that became untethered from him to be the beating organ located between his lungs, behind his ribcage.

“Buggy! You put that back in your body right now!” you ordered him, a smile breaking onto your face at his foolishness as you chastised him

“But it belongs to you!” he whined, “please hold onto it for me and keep it safe-.”

You immediately shook your head and placed the object within your fingertips into his chest to be received within his cavity. He immediately reached out his gloved hands to grasp your wrists as you placed the organ within his chest once again.

“And if you fall into sea water?” you asked him, bringing your eyes back up to meet with his, noting his eyes were littered with sorrow, “what then? You can’t live without that organ in your chest.”

He thought on it for a moment, a whisper of clarity eclipsed his mind as he released your hands from his grasp. He reached down into his lefthand side and removed another internal organ and placed it into your hands close to his chest.

“What is this?” you asked him, furrowing your brows and looking slightly uneasy at another body part being thrust upon you. He chuckled and looked down at the small organ.

“My appendix,” he uttered, “something I can survive without if I call into the ocean, but equally a part of me as my heart is.”

“Buggy,” you warned him after inhaling a deep breath, “I want all of you. All of you. With everything as intact as you are now.” You reached the organ down into his lefthand side and allowed his stomach to detach slightly to reclaim the object.

“Is that a yes?” he whispered, keeping his eyes fixed on your hands, watching as they soothed over the skin beneath his waistcoat.

“A yes to what, love?” you asked him, bringing your own gaze from the flesh on his side up to look into his eyes.

“Marry me,” he again demanded, bringing his gaze up to your own, his lips parted a little as he shakily inhaled and exhaled his breath, “I’ve got it bad, sweetheart. You have no idea.” You shook your head at him before trailing in to nuzzle your nose against his own.

“Again,” you reiterated, “ask me properly one day and I’ll truly think about it.”

He growled a little, playfully and with a smile, as he brought your left hand up to his cheek again and nipped his teeth at your palm.

“Fine,” he relinquished his line of questioning in a low tone, “but when I ask you properly, I expect a serious answer.”

“And you shall have it, my love,” you smiled at him, reaching your lips up to press a small kiss against his cheek, “now I have a question for you.”

“Name it, my queen, and I shall bring the world on its knees before you,” he growled, eyes narrowing in both seriousness and complete playfulness.

“That’s not necessary right now, love,” you chuckled at him warmly. You looked about the peer, noting only the large marine ship be docked against it; the Going Merry on the other side of the Conomi Islands, “what is; is a way off this island.”

“You know,” Buggy broke from his intense gaze held against you and began scratching his chin in thought, “that’s a good point. Any ideas?”

You laughed whole heartedly before flinging yourself into the arms of your love, seeking his lips out with your own and claiming them as yours for a long, drawn out kiss. He chuckled against your lips, trailing his gloved hands over your body; accidentally removing his large coat from your shoulders in the process. He clutched you against himself as he groaned against your lips, your hands pulling at the flesh beneath his waistcoat, taking his hips within them and pulling them into your own body.

Finding a way off Conomi Island was secondary to your needs right now, and what you needed was your Captain, cradled against you and whimpering into your lips as you held him within your arms.

Walking over to the wall, Buggy withdrew a large sheet of parchment paper that lay pinned against it and moved to take a seat against a solitary dining table; chuckling sinisterly as he read over the words.

“30,000,000?” he uttered in between giggles before all humour fled from his face as he shook the paper straight and growled darkly, “I’ll kill the little shit myself.”

“If you don’t, I will,” a woman with dark hair spoke from the other side of the room, raising her tankard upwards as to solidify her words spoken. Buggy turned, an unnerving smile finding itself upon his face in response.

“You will,” you commanded the two other occupants in the small tavern, raising your chin up into the air as you held two goblets of wine within your index and middle fingers, “do no such thing.”

You made your way over to the side table where Buggy was sitting at, placing the parchment down on the table in front of you. Placing the wine down on the table in front of him before raising one of the goblets to your lips and claimed the paper within your fingertips.

“You don’t owe him any more loyalty, my queen,” your beloved captain sighed, allowing a softness to befall over his eyes while his tone remained harsh. Your gaze softened as you looked at the ‘Wanted’ poster of your former captain, brushing over the figure of his smiling face with fondness.

“That may be true, my love,” you smiled at him, returning your gaze to him reaching your freshly healed right hand up to his cheek and caressing it after releasing the wanted poster from your grasp, “but he remains my friend and I will cherish him always.”

Buggy growled against your palm, placing a chaste kiss against it before reaching his gloved left hand up to grasp your right and maneuvered your knuckles to lay before his freshly painted lips.

“The things I do, or don’t do, for you, sweetheart,” he whispered his warm breath against your knuckles, pressing a long kiss against them before trailing his lips upwards over your wrist and atop your forearm, littering the skin with small kisses along the way. Your eyes became half-lidded as you watched his lips trail upwards your arm with passion and vigour. The only cause for pause of this affection being the other occupant of the small tavern.

“And what’s stopping me from killing him, sweetheart?” the woman asked in a jesting tone, an eyebrow arched at your public actions. You softened your eyes as you broke them away from your love, gazing into her dark irises and moved to speak; only to have your words halt as Buggy spoke for you.

“Bribery,” you uttered playfully, continuing your gaze to remain unmoving from Buggy’s as he gazed hungrily into your own eyes, “anything you desire-.”

“-Careful,” Buggy playfully warned; speaking over your charm, breaking away from littering your arm with kisses to address the dark-haired woman, “This one goes in lips first.”

You snapped your eyes into a grimace scowling at him, watching how his eyes glinted a charming playfulness behind them.

“For fucks sake, not you too,” you groaned, attempting to withdraw your hand from within his grasp only to have it firmly remain within his clutches; chuckling as he placed more kisses against your skin to satiate your fury.

“Yes, me too,” he chuckled at you in teasing, picking up his wine and draining the contents within with haste, “now drink up, we set sail in ten.”

“Where to, Captain?” you asked him, raising the goblet to your lips and taking a small sip, smirking while maintaining eye contact.

“We’ve got a crew, we’ve got a ship,” he listed, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he continued to watch you slowly drink the contents of your goblet, “wherever the wind, and gold, takes us.”

You finished the contents within your goblet and placed the object down against the tabletop, reclaiming the wanted poster from the surface and folded it up, placing it in your tinkerers bag. Your captain stood before you, reaching his gloved left hand down to reach for your own to aid you to your feet.

“Where are you taking that?” he murmured to you, nodding down to the ‘Wanted’ poster in your satchel.

“I’ll be writing to my brother to settle an account,” you nodded your head, smiling at your Captain as you spoke, “he’ll need to know who will be coming to him.”

Buggy thought on this for a moment before speaking, “why don’t we go there? To your brother, I mean.”

“Why would you want to do that?” you asked him, furrowing your brows in curiosity with a small smile propping up your lips.

“I want to meet them all, baby,” he cooed at you, “the fourteen, your Dad; everyone.”

You shook your head at him before adding; “that sounds wonderful, my love. They’re going to adore you. Maybe you could bring your show into town? Put on a performance, charge a bit at the gate?”

He sighed in complete adoration; “and this is why I love you.”

You laughed at him as he brought your cheek up to his lips and placed a warm, wet kiss against it while grasping your chin to keep you steady.

“Is that all?” you giggled.

“That,” he uttered against your ear, “and I am dying to know what sounds will be so absolutely illicit, my crew would need to seek exorcism to rid their souls from the memories and images conjured to them every time they close their eyes.”

A warm tinge rose to your cheeks at this comment, starting at your chest and climbing its way up to your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

“I also,” he continued, kissing your cheek once more before releasing you from his grasp, “want you to see your former crew again. Catch up for old times sake; especially the swordsman: Cabaji permitting.”

The warmth of his prior words calmed themselves to rest in a pink, love-struck tinge across your cheeks as you smiled at his intentions.

“And that,” you whispered to him, stroking his cheek fondly, “is why I chose you.”

He sighed into your hand before shaking himself free and looking to the other occupant in the tavern.

“You coming, Alvida?” he asked her over his shoulder, “we set sail immediately.”

“Aye, Captain,” she smirked, placing down her schooner atop the table once she drained it, “although I fear I’ll regret that choice.”

You chuckled lightly at her comment, lacing your right arm with Buggy’s left and allowing him to lead you on to set sail on his ship toward the familiar coast of your home; from there, who knows? Adventure awaits, and you’re more than happy to tinker alongside your captain to create objects of fantastical nature with precious metals, shimmering stones and intricate cog pieces: a gift to present as prize to the king of the pirates once they claimed the One-Piece.

Your King: Buggy D. Clown; with you ruling with your heart as Queen by his side.

The End

Tag List:

@thesadvampire @a-phan-of-youtube @multifandombtch @plan3t-plut0 @tiredemomama @tfamidoingwithmylife @bimboshaggy @plan3t-plut0 @vixnicknacks @tesha-i-guess@glitteryblizzardsalad @hellbaby237 @shuujin @nevaeh-jasso @hellbaby237 @gingernut1314 @sl00tty-v @redpool @lostfirefly @knightsfavoriteprincess @valen-yamyam16 @potatodaddy @luckyprincesswasteland @str4wberrydreams @misadventures0fdes @sordidmusings

(thank you for investing so much to be added to the tag list. It's been wonderful writing for both myself and you all)

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #buggy #captain buggy #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #buggy fic

319 notes · View notes

simonalkenmayer · 2 years

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I want to show you something interesting that was done recently. Something you can show your Trump supporting relatives.

Yale did a study with death stats that shows that prior to and during the pandemic, Republicans and Democrats were largely dying at the same rate. However once vaccines came out, Democratic deaths dropped at a staggering rate, while republicans continued to (and still are) die at a much higher rate.

The study looks at “excess death”—as in deaths occurring outside the normal death rates. It does not, however, tie into COVID related death tolls via the CDC, because there’s no real way to correlate that data without knowing individual medical history. So the study approaches the idea as best as it can.

You can see from the graph that death rates seem very even among the two groups, until you get to the moment the vaccines became available.

The vertical line is vaccine roll out. Horizontal line is zero. The spikes follow alao v with the waves of spread that the CDC tracks, when variants make rounds and spread. The stats deviate from one another prior to the introduction of the vaccine, when republican disinformation began telling people to return to normal life and participate in events. However, you can see the sharp divergence clearly, when vaccines became available. They continued to diverge as months went on. Currently, Republicans have an abnormally high excess death rate, at nearly double the Democratic death toll. Even with interaction between the two groups in uncontrolled settings, Republican death rates are higher than Democratic death rates., because of vaccine efficacy. I’m sure future studies will be done to further illuminate this phenomenon, but this is an excellent first glimpse.

This is memetic selection. They chose not to be vaccinated. They chose to have less protection. And so…they cease to exist. However, because this type of selection doesn’t act as strongly on younger people who are breeding, it doesn’t drastically shift future rates of potential Republican indoctrination. It does, however, drastically change the current electorate.

Whoops.

This is the GOP platform: no plan, take away equality, bodily autonomy, privacy, social security, medical care, benefits. No rule of law, lower wages, higher aggregation of wealth in top .1%, and a destitute dependent, undereducated populace. Disposable people who die when they’re no longer useful as misinformation spreaders to facilitate their control.

This is the consequence of compassionless governance, in mathematical, quantifiable terms.

TL;DR COVID kills more Republicans than Democrats, at rates twice as high, because the party engaged in stupid misinformation on a communicable disease for the sake of retaining power.

#covid #covid vaccine #politics #selection

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ghoulodont · 5 months

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β-Lactam

Getting sick on the road is a well known phenomenon in the touring world, but only a folktale for the newly summoned ghouls — up to this point. Dewdrop gets hit particularly hard by whatever illness the roadies are passing around, but the show must go on. Rain considers the nature of his relationship with his bandmate in light of subsequent events.

Relationship: Raindrop Characters: Dewdrop, Rain, Aether Words: 6846

Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Prequelle Era, Pre-relationship, warning for vomit and needles

Read below or on AO3

A plague is spreading among the production’s cast and crew.

For the more experienced members, it’s to be expected. Having that many people in close proximity for enough time is bound to encourage contagion, and they know from experience that it will. For many of the musicians — the ones who are freshly summoned from Hell, tailor-made to fill that role — it’s something they’ve only been warned about. Their ability to perform is the top priority, and they are expected to take care of themselves.

So illness prevention becomes part of their daily routine. Immune fortifiers and remedies of all kinds start showing up on the bus and at the venues, added to the hospitality rider, fetched by staff on errands, picked out themselves during their downtime.

Understandably, the vocalists are all extra concerned about how this situation might impact them. Copia keeps his distance from anyone he deems a potential disease vector, usually squirreling away to his dressing room before and after the show. Cumulus swears by a tea that purports throat soothing properties. Swiss eats cough drops nonstop, though it’s later determined that he just thinks they taste good.

Mountain hands out tiny bottles of vibrant yellow-orange juice one afternoon before the concert. The blurb on the label is packed with scientific-sounding words about vitamins and antioxidants. Rain reads the ingredients — he doesn’t recognize any other than lemon and ginger — and knocks his bottle back all at once like a shot of alcohol, as suggested. The back of his nose burns for the next two hours. Upon searching the internet he learns that “cayenne” is a type of pepper. Several other ghouls fall victim to this as well, excluding Dewdrop, who sneaks away with the bottle and passes it off to an unsuspecting roadie, and Aether, who drinks the juice but seems to genuinely enjoy the taste.

But, otherwise, it’s business as usual. As showtime approaches everyone focuses on the task at hand. They’re warmed up, soundchecked, costumed, ready to go.

And after the performance, the ghouls can relax again, for the time being. Most of them usually end up in the green room while the crew is tearing down, and tonight is no different. At some point they’ll all head to their dressing rooms and get ready to get back on the bus, and then the cycle will repeat. For now, they can revel in this brief low tide in their ebbing and flowing responsibilities.

It’s nearing the time that the party inevitably dies down when things go awry.

Dewdrop has been subdued since coming offstage. He’s always more reserved day-to-day than he is in front of a crowd, but his behavior tonight, by Rain’s assessment, is uncharacteristic. He had gone straight to a couch near the corner of the green room and barely interacted with anyone, even when Swiss pelted him with a grape from the catering table, something that on any other day would have warranted a ruthless counterattack.

At one point over the course of the evening he ventures away from his outpost to retrieve a bottle of water, but he brings it right back to where he had been sitting.

Later, out of nowhere, he drags himself up from the couch and staggers to the big commercial-grade plastic trash bin next to the door. He grabs the edge of it with enough horizontal momentum that it hits the wall with a hollow thunk before he leans his whole body over it and retches. This sudden series of actions makes everyone still in the green room pause. The sound of whatever was in his stomach — just water, presumably — hitting whatever else is in the trash can is stark in the now quiet space.

Rain is the first to react; he stands from his seat and promptly freezes in place. Aether is the first to actually get up and walk over towards the door. It snaps Rain out of his daze, and he follows behind.

Before they can get there, Dew is already on his way back to his spot on the couch. Aether recalibrates their trajectory to meet him there. Dew flops back onto the seat, his head tipped back against the top of the backrest, legs extended out in front of him, arms limp at his sides.

“What’s going on, you okay?” Aether stands over Dew, and Rain stands next to Aether. Dew doesn’t respond. His eyes are unfocused.

From this distance Dew is visibly shaking, his entire body inundated by a fine vibration that itself pulses in intensity, like a modulated wave.

“Hey,” Aether tries again, “you okay?”

Dew groans and puts his hands over his eyes. Then he jolts upright, the soles of his costume shoes squeaking against the laminate tile floor. He takes short, hitching breaths.

Aether immediately anticipates what is about to happen and drags over the trash bin. Dew leans over it, gripping the edge, and releases a tendril of saliva. He gags.

Swiss runs out of the room, hands over his ears.

The trash bin is so large compared to Dew’s seated form that it looks like he could fall into it and disappear. Rain finds a small plastic-lined wastebasket by one of the other seating areas and swaps it with the big bin. Dew relinquishes his grasp on its folded rim as Rain pulls it away. He relaxes somewhat, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees and the wastebasket between his ankles.

He heaves again, unproductive. Aether and Rain hover over him like if they look at him long enough the power of their concern could will him to be better somehow.

After a few more dry heaves, Aether prompts again, “What’s going on?”

Dew responds this time. “My throat hurts so much.”

“Your throat? Are you sick?” Aether puts the back of his hand against Dew’s forehead. Dew tries to lean away from him as he approaches, but his dodge is ineffective and Aether makes contact anyway. His gesture is so maternal, but as far as Rain knows, Aether is just as experienced with this kind of situation as he is, which is to say not at all.

“For how long?” Rain asks.

“Just today.” Dew pauses, amends his statement. “Just since the show.”

“Maybe he has what all the roadies had?” Aether wonders out loud.

"It hasn’t been this bad for anyone else, though, right?" Rain mentally tallies the casualties so far. It’s only been crew members, none of the musicians, and none of them have had to take any time off.

Aether's brow furrows. "Do you think he needs a doctor? We probably have enough time to get one here before bus call."

"Why are you asking him? I'm right here." Dew directs this comment to the wastebasket.

"Do you think you need a doctor?"

"No."

"And you're going to be better for the show tomorrow?"

"I was fine for the show tonight."

"Sure, but it seems like you're not fine now."

Rain isn’t sure whether Dew's tight-lipped expression is indicative of the nausea or the denial. Dew might not be sure himself, either.

"I think you should let a doctor look at you, at least, just in case," Rain suggests. He’s never seen Dew this sick before, or anyone else, for that matter, and it’s scaring him a little.

Dew actually always seems to be the most likely ghoul to throw up — repeatedly, even — when they're all hung over on a day off. He’s prone to motion sickness as well; Rain wasn’t there, but he’s been told it gets bad enough that on Dew’s first tour he had to swap bunks because the top one swayed too much whenever the bus took an exit on the highway. But he never really seemed bothered about any of those incidents. He certainly wasn’t trembling like a newborn fawn. So this feels different.

“Fine.”

Aether nods. “Okay, I’m going to go find someone who can help.” He briefly places his hand on Dew’s hunched shoulder before leaving.

—

Rain leans against a nearby table for a few minutes while Dew drools occasionally into the wastebasket. He’s stopped outright dry heaving over it at this point, but he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to part with it. Then he suddenly moves to get up.

“I need to go shower.” Dew has to brace against the couch with his hands as he stands.

He sways in place as he rearranges his feet to avoid kicking over the wastebasket. Rain steadies him with a hand on his upper arm.

“Okay, yeah, let me walk you there.”

Dew is already walking toward the door. Rain keeps his hand on his arm and follows, letting him lead the way to his dressing room. At some point in the hallway Rain adjusts his steadying hand to hook around Dew’s waist instead. He isn’t supporting any of Dew’s weight, and only applies any pressure at all when the two of them start to veer from their intended bearing.

Dressing room situations varied between tour stops, depending on what the venue offered and what the management requested. Usually the ghouls ended up sharing them, in groups of two or three. The worst so far was actually when they had individual rooms — each room was so small that Rain could almost touch both sides at the same time if he extended his arms all the way. By the time they were all on the bus that night, there was at least one dent in the drywall that hadn’t been there before.

This time, Dew is sharing a dressing room with Aether. When they get there, it’s empty and quiet. Dew rifles through his bag for clothes and toiletries and heads for the ensuite bathroom, closing the painted steel door behind him.

Now Rain is alone in a dressing room that isn’t his. He checks the time on his phone. There’s still plenty of time before bus call. He should shower too. His shoes are glued to the worn low-pile carpet. He listens to the shower turning on in the bathroom.

Aether shows up a couple minutes later.

“Oh! Hey,” he greets, looking a little surprised to see Rain there. “I explained what happened and they’re calling a doctor to come out.”

Rain nods. “Here?”

“Yeah, and then hopefully he can be on the bus in time.”

Rain nods again, checks his phone. Aether stands there.

“You should go shower,” Aether offers.

“Yeah.” Rain doesn’t move.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s okay in there.”

This finally unglues Rain’s feet. He nods, thanks Aether, and heads for his own dressing room.

He ends up pacing around the room, and later up and down a segment of the hallway, while he waits an eternity for Swiss to finish showering. He takes his own shower as quickly as possible — normally he would be in there at least as long as Swiss was, if not longer — and finds himself drawn back to Dew and Aether’s dressing room when he’s done.

When he gets there, the door is propped open. Aether isn’t there, but Rain can hear the shower running. Dew is slouched in an armchair, curled up with his feet on the seat. He’s changed from his costume into jeans and a hoodie, and his hair is damp. As Rain steps through the door, he’s in the process of forcing down a minuscule sip of water. Dew looks up at him and offers what he thinks is supposed to be a polite smile but ends up more like a tight-lipped grimace.

“Are you feeling any better?” Rain leans against the makeup counter along one wall of the room.

Dew shrugs.

The two of them sit in relative silence for a few minutes, Rain tapping his fingers rhythmically on the laminate countertop and Dew fiddling with the lid of his plastic water bottle, before Dew leans over a strategically placed wastebasket — if Rain hadn’t walked him here himself he would have assumed Dew brought this one from the green room — and throws up the tiny mouthful of water from earlier. He sighs, quietly, turbulent air rushing out through his nose, and leans his head back against the chair.

Eventually a member of the venue staff arrives outside the room, knocking politely on the doorframe. She explains she’s here to escort Dew to where the doctor is set up. Rain hovers next to him as he stands, ready to steady him if he needs it.

The three of them zigzag through the backstage hallways. The trip isn’t far, but Dew is moving slowly, still wobbly. The staff member, seemingly stuck in a state of haste, has to stop and wait at each intersection for Dew and Rain to catch up.

Their journey ends at a door propped open by the tour manager. He waves them into a dressing room, the larger kind that might be used by an ensemble cast. It is devoid of everything but furniture, clearly not intended to be occupied tonight. There is a couch against one wall; two others are lined with makeup counters and mirrors. The doctor stands at one end of the counter, picking through a hefty bag of supplies.

They walk single file through the doorway, Dew first and then Rain. The doctor glances up at them through the mirror, then turns and introduces herself. She’s wearing inconspicuous, casual clothes, nothing that would explicitly indicate she’s a medical professional.

“Please have a seat.” She gestures toward the couch.

Dew settles onto one end of the couch, but doesn’t relax. He folds his arms loosely around himself. Rain considers his own seating options and decides to perch next to him on the couch’s padded arm in a pose somewhere between sitting and leaning.

At the counter, the doctor drapes a stethoscope around her neck and picks up a small collection of equipment.

“I’d like to start by checking your vitals,” she says.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” says the tour manager, taking a step toward the hallway while holding the door open. Rain realizes it’s a cue for him, that he is expected to leave as well.

He suddenly also realizes there was no real reason for him to have followed Dew here in the first place. The venue management had been considerate enough to find him a private room, and Rain had invaded that privacy without even thinking. He stands up from the couch arm, turning back towards Dew to tell him he’ll see him on the bus and —

Dew is looking back with his eyes wide and his shoulders tense. One of his arms is extended toward Rain from where it had been wrapped around his body, his hand resting limp on the couch in a noncommittal, minimal energy version of physically reaching out to him.

Dew has his mouth slightly open like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t.

“Should I stay?” Rain finally asks.

“If you want to,” Dew counters, not ready to admit that he’s the one who wants it.

“I don’t mind.” Rain settles back down on the arm of the couch.

Dew looks away from him and deflates, compressing back in against himself.

The tour manager just nods and waves goodbye, then lets the door swing closed.

—

The doctor crosses the room from the counter to the couch and hands Dew a digital thermometer. “Hold this under your tongue, please.”

Dew complies, holding it in place with one hand. She clips a pulse oximeter on the other.

The shrill beep of the thermometer breaks the silence in the room. Dew removes it from his mouth and hands it back to the doctor without looking at it.

She takes it and reads the glowing screen. “You have a fever. Are you having body aches? Chills?” She reaches to collect the pulse oximeter as well.

Dew lifts his hand slightly so she can unclip it from his finger, the minor exertion causing it to tremor. He shakes his head. Rain thinks about how he looked when he was flopped on the green room couch and wonders if they have different definitions of those words.

The doctor checks the measurement, hums quietly, then places the device on the couch and picks up a blood pressure cuff. She wraps it around Dew’s upper arm and then squats next to him, donning her stethoscope. She takes his forearm and flips it so his hand rests supine on his knee.

The room is quiet except for the rush of air as she inflates the cuff, then lets it slowly deflate again. The sound of the velcro ripping apart when she unwraps it echoes in the still room. Dew tucks his relinquished arm back around himself. The doctor stands and removes the stethoscope from her ears and drapes it over her shoulders again. She replaces her other equipment in her bag.

When she returns, she sits down next to Dew on the couch, perched close to the edge so she can turn to face him.

“Can you tell me more about your symptoms? The sore throat started tonight, after your performance?”

Dew nods. “I felt fine during the show. But then it was like I noticed…” He pauses, considering, as if he’s trying to string together the events. “My throat hurt a lot and I tried to drink water and I threw up.”

“Your body is full of adrenaline when you’re performing. It masks your symptoms and gives you energy, and then when it wears off you suddenly feel worse.”

Rain nods at this. It makes sense. He’s accustomed to that feeling after every show — being hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion when the excitement of the situation finally falls away. It’s absolutely never been this dramatic before, for any of them.

“Have you been drinking water since then?”

“Trying to,” Dew answers. When she raises her eyebrows, he elaborates, “It keeps coming back up.”

The doctor nods. She holds out her hand toward Dew’s. “Can I see your hand for just a minute?”

Dew offers her the hand that’s closer to her, which because of the way he’s folding his arms is actually the one from the other side of his body. She takes it and gently pinches his skin, then presses on his fingernail and watches it change color.

“You don’t seem too dehydrated right now, but it’s something to watch out for.” She releases his hand and he tucks it back against his side.

“I need to look at the inside of your throat.” She picks up a tiny flashlight.

Dew unwraps his arms from around himself, resting them in his lap instead. He sits up a little straighter, tilts his head back slightly, and opens his mouth.

She shines the light into Dew’s mouth. Rain can’t see what she sees because Dew is facing away from him. Whatever it is, her face doesn’t reveal anything. She doesn’t look for very long. Seconds later, she clicks off the light and places it on the couch. Dew closes his mouth and drops his shoulders.

“I’d like to feel the outside of your neck.” She’s paused halfway though the motion of reaching out to touch him. Her hands are palm-up, fingers curled loosely, nonthreatening. The gesture reminds Rain of someone holding their hand out for a cat to sniff before petting it.

Dew nods, staring over her shoulder at nothing.

She presses her fingers into both sides of his neck where it connects to the underside of his jaw. She walks them forward from beneath his ears towards his chin. As she feels, she asks, “Is that sore?”

“A little.” His brow is creased slightly and his mouth is drawn into a straight line.

She lowers her hands to her lap. “Have you been coughing at all?”

Dew shakes his head.

“Still nauseous?”

He pauses, then nods.

“Alright.” She sits back slightly. “Based on your symptoms it sounds like you have strep throat, but I want to run a test to confirm. It takes about ten minutes, and if it comes back positive I’ll give you an antibiotic which should have you feeling better within a day or two and also prevent you from spreading this to anyone else. Regardless, I can give you something for your symptoms so you get through your performance tomorrow night.”

She pauses. Her unasked question hangs in the air — is that okay? She’s giving Dew a chance to say no, or request another option, or do anything other than drift through this situation like an unmoored boat.

“Okay.”

“Great.” She stands up from the couch and returns to her bag on the counter. As she comes back to the couch, she peels open the paper package of a sterile cotton swab. She sits back down next to Dew, facing him like before.

“I’m going to take a sample from your throat. I need you to open your mouth and stay as still as you can.”

Dew sits up and opens his mouth again. This time, he closes his eyes.

The doctor pulls the swab from its packaging and inserts it through his open mouth and all the way to the other side of his head, rubbing it against the back of his throat. He gags, but doesn’t close his mouth. He reflexively lifts one hand from his lap like he’s going to grab her arm; it hovers for a moment before he pulls it back down.

“I know.” She keeps rubbing.

Dew lets out a tiny sound, a round, open-mouthed “ah,” and squeezes his eyes tighter shut. The flush in his cheeks spreads.

“Done, I’m sorry for that.” She stands and returns to her supplies, holding the swab upright like a lit match.

Dew slouches forward. His eyes are still closed. He sniffs once, quietly.

Rain rubs his hand back and forth along Dew’s shoulder blade. He feels the tension in his muscles ease just a little under his touch. His breaths are slow and intentional.

Rain pulls back his hand when Dew leans back on the couch, pulling his feet up in front of him. The two of them watch the doctor performing some alchemical ritual with the swab, combining reagents and swirling them in a plastic tube. When it’s complete, she pulls a laptop from her bag and types on it, which is less interesting. Rain lets his eyes drift shut.

He opens them again when Dew speaks.

“I’m sorry for making you stay. You didn’t have to.” His voice is quiet. He’s curled up now, with his arms draped loosely around his knees, leaning one side of his body against the back of the couch so he faces Rain.

Dew, in fact, didn’t make Rain do anything. He didn’t even ask him to do anything, really. But Rain knows what he’s trying to say.

“It’s okay, I wanted to,” is how Rain decides to respond. He cringes inside at the implication. He did want to stay, but it feels creepy to say it outright like that, like he had been selfish to intrude on Dew’s vulnerable situation, even though Dew just claimed he had asked him to. They’re both talking about an imaginary interaction instead of what actually happened.

If Dew hadn’t stopped him like that when he went to leave, if he had wanted privacy, Rain would have understood. He probably would have gone back to his dressing room and paced around, or made himself busy doing something useless. He would have been worried, but he would rather be worried than make Dew uncomfortable.

And if Dew hadn’t stopped him despite actually wanting him to stay, hadn’t been able to ask for what he needed in even the most subtle, minimal way — it makes Rain’s chest ache. He imagines Dew sitting in this unfamiliar room being touched by a stranger, wishing he was there with him.

But Dew looks almost comfortable now, all things considered. He’s resting the side of his head against the back of the couch, eyes closed. His face is relaxed except for a single crease between his eyebrows. Rain is nearly overpowered by a sudden instinctive desire to reach out and touch him again, to feel his forehead like Aether did, to press his hand against his flushed cheek, to tuck a strand of mostly-dry hair behind his ear. But he doesn’t want to violate the trust Dew is putting in him by simply allowing him to be here. Instead, he counts Dew’s steady breaths.

—

Rain shifts his attention to the doctor when she closes her laptop and moves back to her makeshift alchemy lab. She barely glances at the test before she’s on her way back towards the couch.

She sits next to Dew again. He pivots so he’s facing forward, but leaves his legs tucked up in front of him.

“The test is positive for strep,” she explains, “which is treatable with antibiotics.”

Dew nods.

“Because of the vomiting I would recommend an antibiotic injection. Given your schedule, I think it’s the most reliable choice. The other option is pills, but if you can’t keep them down you won’t see any benefit.”

Dew is staring at the carpet somewhere near the middle of the room. He nods again, slowly, like he’s on autopilot.

“It’s just one dose and it will start working right away. I really do think it would be the best way to ensure you’re feeling better by tomorrow night.”

Dew glances at her and nods again, a little more present this time.

“Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I can also give you a corticosteroid to help with the inflammation in your throat until the antibiotic starts working.”

“Okay.”

She nods. “I’ll be right back.”

She stands and crosses the room once again to the counter. She picks an assortment of sterile packages and medicine vials out of her bag. She unwraps empty syringes and plastic-capped needles.

Rain has gotten shots before — each of the ghouls had been vaccinated against earthly diseases soon after being summoned. He didn’t mind them. They hadn’t really hurt, though his arms were sore afterwards. The idea of something being injected into him makes his stomach turn, but he had made sure not to look when it was happening and the actual experience ended up being uneventful.

These syringes are significantly larger than any he’s seen before, though. He watches the doctor fill one of them at least two thirds of the way full in a single motion. It makes his stomach drop.

Dew, on the other hand, has never been squeamish about anything. Blood, gore, and other stuff like that doesn’t phase him whatsoever. He isn’t really averse to pain either. Rain wouldn’t expect needles to be an issue for him. Looking at him now, Rain can’t place the expression on his face. It’s not one he would have imagined.

Dew is watching the doctor closely. He looks exhausted, which is expected. His eyes are lidded and rimmed with dark circles. He still has that single crease between his eyebrows. He’s frowning, just barely, a slight deviation from his usual neutral expression that you might not notice if you didn’t know him. There’s something else in his face that, if Rain had to put a word to it, he would guess it was nervousness, or apprehension. It’s visible in the way he tracks the doctor’s every move despite his eyes clearly wanting to be closed. He seems to be carrying more tension than he can afford to right now.

The doctor has gone back to searching for something in her bag. “Okay,” she instructs, “can you lower your pants a couple inches and lie facing down on the couch for me please?”

Dew’s eyes widen just a bit, just for a moment. But he stands, unbuttons his jeans, and slides the waistband down slightly. Then he lowers himself back onto the couch.

He doesn't actually lie all the way down; his hips and legs are flat against the couch, but his head and shoulders are propped up with his elbows. Rain imagines he's ready to fling himself up from the couch and scuttle away. It’s at odds with how sluggish his movements have been since he came offstage tonight.

Dew turns his head to watch the doctor cross the room but looks down at the couch when she gets close. She squats next to the couch and places her supplies on the seat near his leg: two prepared syringes, two adhesive bandages, a few alcohol swab packets and some small gauze pads.

She pushes the edge of his hoodie up to expose the bare skin of his hip. She tears open the wrapper of an alcohol swab, saturating the air with its sharp smell.

“I’m going to start with the steroid.”

Dew nods without looking at her, plucking at a loose thread on the edge of the couch seat cushion. He flinches slightly when she wipes the back of one hip with alcohol. She picks up one of the syringes, pulls the cap off the needle.

Dew glances up at Rain with that same inscrutable expression — tired, apprehensive. He’s blushing, or maybe it’s just because he’s feverish. Rain smiles, tries his best to look reassuring. Dew’s flush deepens. He breaks away from the eye contact.

The doctor places one gloved hand on Dew’s sanitized hip. “Try to relax your leg as much as possible.” She taps her fingers against his skin a few times. Dew’s body is lean and wiry, but this is one of his softer places.

Dew wiggles his feet a bit to loosen the muscles in his legs.

“Good. Here we go.”

She sticks the needle in quickly like an animal striking its prey. Dew doesn’t react to this, but the sudden motion makes Rain flinch.

She presses down on the plunger of the syringe painstakingly slowly. Rain decides he can’t watch this part. He watches Dew’s face instead. His eyes are closed but he looks mostly the same as before. A muscle in his jaw flexes.

When the doctor withdraws the needle she immediately flips an attached plastic cover over it. She presses a folded square of gauze over the tiny puncture wound on Dew’s hip.

“Well done. One more.” She’s praising Dew for doing absolutely nothing, but Rain supposes that must be the point. He still looks like he’s considering in the back of his mind that he could get up and run away.

She removes the gauze and smooths a band-aid over the puncture. She selects another alcohol swab and unwraps it, renewing the lingering smell in the room.

“Relax,” she reminds him, rubbing his other hip with the swab.

She picks up the other syringe and removes the cap from the needle. This one seems bigger. Not the needle, but the contents of the syringe are greater. Rain is trying not to think too much about details like that.

She repeats the same procedure — hand on his hip, needle through his skin like a predator, slow pressure on the plunger. Rain looks away from it again.

Dew’s eyes are closed again, and his jaw is still tense. His fingers curl slightly against the flat surface of the couch seat cushion. He cranes his neck to look behind him at what the doctor is doing. The plunger has barely moved. He turns himself back around and lets his head hang forward between his shoulders. He pushes a slow breath out through his nose.

Rain watches Dew's hands close fully into fists.

Rain offers his hand to hold instead. He’s not sure if Dew would accept it. His understanding is that affectionate touch is a gray area for Dew. It’s more likely to be okay when it’s playful and unserious. And onstage, anything goes; it’s all a game. Rain would place hand holding firmly in mushy, lovey-dovey, serious territory, completely off limits. But his other supportive and even comforting touches tonight had been uncharacteristically tolerated, and it's not like anyone else is here to see them besides this doctor — who he's pretty sure they will never encounter again. Plus, it’s not necessarily romantic at all. He would do this for anyone, he tells himself.

Dew grasps his hand immediately, without looking up. He doesn't squeeze it tightly, but his grip is firm. Rain presses back with just as much force. He glances up at the doctor, unintentionally making eye contact. She looks away, back to her task, without saying anything. Rain looks back to his and Dew’s hands.

Dew is still looking down, motionless. It makes Rain think of the way a sick wild animal will shut down and hide from predators in some secluded place. Or, more broadly, the instinct of fight or flight. He already observed Dew’s desire to flee in his body language, and there’s clearly no fight in him right now. All that’s left for him to do is accept what’s happening.

Rain ventures a glance to the syringe again. It’s probably about halfway emptied. Which means half of what was in it is now deposited inside Dew’s flesh. He snaps his gaze away from it and tightens his grip on Dew’s hand — just sympathetically, he justifies, not because that makes him feel queasy.

Dew squeezes back a little tighter too.

“Keep breathing slowly,” the doctor encourages. “You’re doing great.”

This first comment makes Rain notice his breathing sped up just now, and he has to glance up at her to see if it was actually directed at him. It doesn’t seem to be — she’s looking at Dew — but he realizes that Dew’s breathing has been mirroring his. So maybe it was, in a roundabout way, an instruction for him. He focuses on setting a good example.

He counts eight measured breaths before it’s over.

“Good job,” the doctor says as she removes the needle. “You’re all done.”

Dew’s shoulders droop. Rain releases his hand. The doctor continues with the rest of the procedure from before — needle cover, gauze, band-aid. Then she gathers her discarded items and returns to the counter.

Dew rolls himself onto his side and gingerly sits up. He runs his hands over his face, pausing for a few seconds with both palms cupping his jaw, eyes unfocused. Then he stands and shimmies up his pants and fastens the button. Rain stands too, ready to support him if necessary.

The doctor is digging in her bag again.“You’ll be contagious for the next day or so, so try to avoid close contact as much as possible.” She returns to the ghouls with a small stack of disposable face masks and offers them to Dew. “You should wear a mask at least until your performance tomorrow.”

Dew nods, taking them and putting one on right there. The pastel yellow contrasts with his otherwise all-black outfit.

“Try to keep drinking fluids and get as much rest as you can. The steroid will give you a bit of a boost, so don’t overdo it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Anything else I can do for you?”

Dew shakes his head.

“Well, if you think of anything, you can have your tour manager get in contact with me. I won’t be able to see you again but I can answer questions or consult with any other providers you see."

Dew nods. He’s thumbing through the stack of masks like the world’s most boring flipbook.

“Alright, take care. Feel better.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks,” Rain echoes.

—

With that, the two of them wordlessly split to their separate dressing rooms to retrieve their bags.

After packing, Rain backtracks down the hall to Dew’s dressing room instead of heading straight to the bus. He checks the time on his phone. He’s cutting it much closer than he would ever consider doing on any other day. Their schedule is usually strict — the shows are the top priority, of course, and everything surrounding them is carefully arranged maximize their success — but maybe illness would be an extenuating circumstance. Regardless, he’s already decided he won’t let Dew risk getting left behind alone. If the bus leaves without Dew, it will leave without Rain as well.

In his dressing room, Dew is haphazardly throwing items into his bag. He startles slightly when he notices Rain through the mirror, but goes right back to packing his luggage. When he’s done, the two of them head for the bus.

Thankfully, the bus is still there when they get outside, parked just past the back door of the venue. Dew wobbles on the first step of the steep staircase, and Rain steadies him with a hand on the middle of his back. They proceed up into the warmly lit front lounge.

Everyone else is already there, and so everyone’s eyes are on them as they get to the top of the stairs. Swiss is the first to greet them.

“Hey, look who made it!”

Dew glares at him. “Back off, I’m contagious.”

“I see how it is,” Swiss says, looking pointedly at Rain, who is still following Dew closely.

Dew tugs at the top of his mask like he’s going to pull it down. Swiss raises his hands in surrender.

Dew and Rain continue through the tight space of the lounge into the aisle between the two rows of bunks. Rain lets the door swing closed behind them. It’s quiet, and darker than the front lounge.

Dew hurls his bag at the closed curtains of his bunk. It ends up halfway on the mattress, halfway on the floor of the aisle. He nudges it with his foot, to no effect, wobbling as he tries to balance on one leg. He grips the platform of the middle bunk to steady himself and kicks at it again. It remains stubbornly on the ground. He crouches and shoves it all the way inside.

He groans quietly as he stands back up, one hand against his hip and the other clenched into a fist. The sound makes Rain pause where he’s stowing items in his own bunk. He watches Dew stand there, unmoving except for the heaving rise and fall of his chest.

Then Dew moves the hand on his hip to one belt loop of his jeans and yanks the waistband down slightly. He hitches up the hem of his hoodie with the other hand, exposing the band-aid there from earlier. He cranes his neck so he can look at it. Rain isn’t sure what Dew was expecting to see, but it’s just a plain, unmarred band-aid, looking like it could be covering up nothing at all.

Dew prods at the flesh of his hip with one finger, pressing into a spot an inch above the band-aid. Facing away, masked, head tucked behind his shoulder, it’s the only part of him Rain can see.

Rain isn’t sure what comes over him, but this image of Dew metaphorically licking his wounds, with his frustration simmering over, pulls at his heart. He reaches out and places his hand over the band-aid.

Dew’s sharp inhale hisses through his teeth.

“Sorry.” Rain snatches his hand back.

“It’s okay. It actually feels nice. Your hands are cold.”

Rain lays his fingers over the spot again, touching as lightly as possible. Dew exhales, almost a sigh.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s okay,” he answers, too quickly, a question Rain wasn’t asking. “But yeah, more than I expected. Feels like I pulled a muscle.”

Dew turns around so they’re facing each other, but doesn’t make eye contact. Instead he looks down at the hem of Rain’s shirt, pinches at it, worries it between his fingers, not actually touching him but bridging an indirect connection between their bodies.

Rain lets his hand fall away when Dew moves, but puts them back, both of them this time, on Dew’s hips. He strokes his fingers up to his waist under his shirt, then back down again. The skin there is so warm.

“It’s not that bad. Everything is just, a lot. Right now.” Dew’s voice is so small. “My brain is frying.”

It sort of is, in a literal way. Dew leans forward and rests his forehead against Rain’s shoulder. Rain can feel the heat radiating through his shirt.

“And my throat really fucking hurts and now my ass hurts too and I still feel like I’m going to throw up everywhere.”

Rain thinks his chest might crack open and swallow him up.

“Oh,” is what he manages to say to express this feeling. “Can I get you something? Water? Tea, maybe?” He thinks. “An ice pack?”

Dew chuckles, or maybe scoffs.

“I don’t know,” Rain backpedals. “I’ll get you anything on this bus. Or I’ll make the driver stop somewhere before we get on the highway if you want.”

“I mostly just want to sleep right now.”

“Okay, well, text me if you need anything.”

Dew pulls back from his shoulder to look up at him. He’s smiling; the mask is covering his mouth but Rain can tell by the way his cheeks are raised near the corners of his eyes.

“Maybe an ice pack would be nice.”

#ghost band fanfic #raindrop ghost #fic i wrote #sorry this is an old fic again but i just need it on my blog #i almost made one single-word edit but i kept it as is #and did i change my fic posting format again? yes i did

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anonymouspuzzler · 11 months

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catching feelings

[full image IDs/transcripts under cut!]

A six-page, black-and-white digital comic based on Puzz's "Cally o'Pia" Psychonauts AU. Page-by-page descriptions and text transcripts are below.

PAGE 1: An inset panel shows a detail shot of several cans and bottles of beer, then a full-page spread shows Oleander (looking normal but sans facial scar, wearing boots, simple pants and a t-shirt with rolled-up sleeves) and Cal (who has both arms, shoulder-length hair, and glasses like his childhood self; he is wearing a sleeveless sweater, a wrap skirt with several patches, two fanny packs, several necklaces and bracelets similar to Cassie's, ribbed socks and sandals) drinking together. Oleander is sitting on a couch, chugging a bottle, while Cal sits on the floor leaning back against the couch, holding a bottle in one hand and grinning. There are various bottles and cans scattered around the floor. There are several blank speech bubbles around them, implying they are having an animated but unheard conversation.

PAGE 2: There are three panels arranged in a straight horizontal row. The first shows Cal grinning and leaning over to elbow Oleander, who is sitting on the couch behind him, grinning back. The second cuts in closer as Oleander suddenly puts an arm around Cal and kisses him on the mouth; Cal reacts with visible surprise. The final panel cuts in even closer as Cal leans into the kiss, working an arm around Oleander's back, while Oleander holds him tighter with one arm around his shoulders and the other coming to rest on his arm.

PAGE 3: The first panel is a large detail shot close on Oleander and Cal, with a sparkly background behind them. They have broken the kiss but still have their arms around each other, both blushing and grinning. Oleander, with hearts in his speech bubbles, says "Heh. Gimme a sec. I'll be back~". The second and third panels are arranged next to each other. The second panel shows an over-the-shoulder shot of Cal sitting in front of the couch, watching Oleander stagger over to an open doorway to the outside, which has drapery and beads hanging from the archway. The third panel shows the same shot, but Oleander is now outside, doubled over and retching. The fourth and final panel is underneath these two, showing Oleander - grinning but looking slightly haggard - walking back in with a thumbs-up and saying "OK I'm back in it". Cal, with a forced, tense grin, responds, "I'm gonna go find you some mouthwash."

PAGE 4: The first panel shows Cal with a look of concentration and one hand raised near his temple, using his psychic powers to hover around various toiletries. He says to himself, "Ughhh c'mon. I know I have some around here somewhere". The next, smaller panel to the right shows him holding up a bottle of mouthwash with a triumphant grin, saying, "A-HA!! Awright, here we--" He interrupts himself as the third panel - a larger full-page spread - reveals him staring at Oleander, who has passed out face-down on the couch, visibly snoring. A final, small inset panel shows him sighing and grinning, apparently fondly.

PAGE 5: The first panel, a full-page spread, shows Cal grinning and raising a hand to his temple as he psychically carries a sleeping Oleander, who has one arm folded on his chest and the other dangling limply to his side. Cal has removed his wrap skirt and has it hanging from one arm like a blanket, revealing the flower-pattern capri pants he's wearing; his two fanny packs are also dangling from his other arm. The second panel shows Cal having placed the sleeping Oleander on a mattress, tucking him in with the wrap-skirt blanket. Oleander lies with one arm above him on the mattress and the other over his stomach. Wall drapery hangs behind the mattress. A few of Cal's necklaces and bracelets are on the floor next to the mattress, implying he's in the middle of removing them. The third and fourth panels are underneath; in the third, Cal, having removed his jewelry, lies down next to Oleander with his arms crossed and a nervous expression. In the fourth, Oleander rolls over, putting an arm around Cal, visibly surprising him.

PAGE 6: There is a single, small, borderless panel in the center of the page, showing Cal and Oleander lying together on the mattress, with Cal lying on top of the blanket. Oleander is turned with his face nestled into Cal's shoulder and his arm around him, sound asleep and snoring. Cal carefully places his arms around Oleander while staring straight ahead, visibly blushing and flustered. A thought bubble above his head, with hearts floating all around it, reads simply "Oh no."

#anonymous puzzler art #long post /#tw alcohol #tw vomit #apologies if you simply Do Not Care about cally o'pia AU we are gonna ride this hyperfocus train out together okay? okay.#for those of you who ARE enjoying cally o'pia AU: come get y'all food #psychonauts #caligosto loboto #morceau oleander #these men are doing So normal they would sooner die than admit how bad they have it.

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helix-studios117 · 2 days

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Halo Reloaded: A Star-Spangled Man...

John emerged from the confines of a nondescript closet—not exactly the noble entry befitting a supersoldier of his caliber.

As he surveyed the penthouse, his HUD flickered like a confused tourist. Sleek, minimalist furniture met his gaze, betraying a taste for luxury that would make even a Covenant Elite's eyes widen with envy. But outside the glass walls, New York City sprawled in an architectural time capsule—buildings squatting lower than he recalled, the skyline an awkward teenager compared to the mature metropolis he knew.

The Spartan's reverie was cut short by a projectile hurtling toward his visor—a shield, star-spangled and as patriotic as apple pie. Catching it was reflex; the man who'd thrown it, however, was anything but predictable. Dressed in a combat suit that screamed 'America!', complete with helmet, he launched into a drop kick that even professional wrestlers might applaud.

John staggered, an uncharacteristic "oof" escaping him. The two squared off, sizing each other up. John’s opponent smirked, his suit a walking flagpole.

"Planning on dropping more surprises, or is the shield your only party trick?" John's tone was dry, the kind of dry you'd need a gallon of water to recover from.

"Just warming up. Let's dance, Tin Man," the flag-man retorted, his voice dripping with Brooklyn bravado.

The Star-Spangled Man charged, his sprint more a blur than a run. The penthouse's luxurious floor tiles seemed to quake under the force of his super-soldier speed. As he neared John, he leaped high, his body horizontal to the ground, twisting mid-air to deliver a roundhouse kick. The kick was a blur of red, white, and blue—a patriotic whirlwind.

John, his reactions honed by countless battles, swung the shield upward in a sweeping arc, intercepting the kick with a metallic clang that resonated like a gong. The impact sent a shockwave that rattled the nearby furniture, a crystal vase teetering perilously on the edge of a table.

Undeterred, The Patriotic Stranger rolled backward on landing, regaining his stance with feline agility. He then dashed forward again, this time pulling a series of rapid punches, each blow a thunderous crack breaking the air. John deflected each with the shield, the rhythm of their impacts a deadly drumbeat.

Seeing an opening, John thrust the shield forward like a battering ram. The other soldier, anticipating the move, ducked under the swing and swept a leg toward John's ankles in a sweeping arc meant to topple giants. John leapt over the sweep, a graceful arc in his own trajectory, landing with the floor cracking slightly under his armored weight.

Not missing a beat, John delivered a spinning back kick, aimed with precision at his adversary's midsection. The flag-man caught the kick with his hands, grunting under the force, his feet sliding back, carving grooves into the wooden floor. With a Herculean effort, the old-soldier twisted, redirecting the momentum to hurl John over his shoulder. John flipped mid-air, landing on his feet.

The penthouse now resembled a battlefield, the sound of their conflict a symphony of destruction. The red-white-&-blue combatant retrieved his shield, slinging it with explosive speed. John caught it again, using it to bash forward in a powerful charge. He met the charge with his own body, the collision a thunderclap of force that blew out the penthouse windows, showering the streets below with sparkling debris.

Locked in a grapple, the soldier-in-stars-'n-stripes whispered through gritted teeth, "Not bad for an old-timer, huh?"John, his grip iron-tight, managed a smirk. "You're not the only one out of time."

With a surge of strength, John pushed forward, breaking the grapple. He spun, wielding the shield in a sweeping, circular motion. John's opponent mirrored the movement, and for a moment, they were two cyclones colliding, their strikes a blur of motion and power that seemed to distort the very air around them.

As the duel reached its climax, John feinted with the shield, a deceptive move that the flag-man had anticipated, but it was a ruse. With a sudden drop, John swept the soldier's legs, sending him crashing to the ground. The Spartan quickly pinned him down, the shield at the ready.

Breathing heavily, the flag-man looked up, a grin spreading across his face.

"This isn't your usual sock-hop. Stand down and talk," John commanded, easing off as his sensors confirmed no further threats—just a very stubborn super-soldier beneath his boot.

Catching his breath, Rogers managed a grin. "You're not bad... for a walking tank. Steve Rogers, Captain America. And you are?"

"Master Chief Petty Officer John Downes. What year is this?"

"1943. Guess you took a wrong turn at Albuquerque, huh?" John deactivated his weapon, processing the anachronistic nightmare he’d stumbled into. "Seems like it. I need a way back to my time. Not sure how much help World War II tech will be."

Steve shrugged, accepting John’s hand and rising to his feet. "Well, we might not have fancy lasers or AI, but we've got grit and a whole lot of stubborn. Plus, I know a guy."

"Is he also a man out of time?" John inquired, a hint of amusement in his voice."Something like that. You ready to roll, Chief?"John nodded, his demeanor softening into what might pass for a smile under his helmet. "Lead the way, Captain."

As they exited the penthouse, John couldn’t help but think how absurdly out of place he looked—a futuristic warrior strolling through a historical chapter, guided by a man dressed as a flag. But then again, time travel was bound to have its quirks. And with Captain America at his side, maybe the 1940s wouldn’t be so bad. After all, they had the best music.

#halo #halo fanfic #halo fanfiction #john 117 #master chief #master chief fanfiction #master chief fanfic #halo au #halo headcanon #halo reloaded #ultimate halo #crossover #crack fic

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thepastisalreadywritten · 7 months

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Oldest Bronze Doors (115 AD) still in use in Pantheon, Rome, Italy.

These doors cast in bronze for Emperor Hadrian (76-138 AD) rebuilding, dated about 115 AD.

These large bronze doors serve as an entrance to the cella, measuring 4.45m wide by 7.53m high, yet so well balanced they can be pushed or pulled open easily by one person.

Each half of the double door weighs 8.5 tonnes. It rotates on pins set into floor and architrave above.

—

The bronze doors in the Pantheon of Rome are indeed a remarkable testament to the engineering and craftsmanship of the Roman Empire during the reign of Emperor Hadrian.

Here are some fascinating details about these historic doors:

1. Age and Origin:

The bronze doors in the Pantheon are estimated to date back to around 115 AD, making them over 1,900 years old.

They were commissioned and cast during the reign of Emperor Hadrian, who is renowned for his architectural contributions to Rome.

2. Purpose:

These doors serve as the entrance to the cella, the inner sanctuary or main chamber of the Pantheon.

The Pantheon itself is a well-preserved ancient Roman temple dedicated to all the gods (hence the name "Pantheon").

3. Size and Dimensions:

The bronze doors are sizable, measuring approximately 4.45 meters (14.6 feet) in width and 7.53 meters (24.7 feet) in height.

What is particularly impressive is that despite their substantial size, they are perfectly balanced and can be effortlessly opened or closed by a single person.

4. Weight:

Each half of the double door weighs a staggering 8.5 tonnes, adding up to a total weight of 17 tonnes for the entire set.

This speaks to the advanced metallurgy and engineering skills of the Romans in handling and crafting large bronze structures.

5. Rotating Mechanism:

The doors are mounted on pins that are set into the floor and the architrave (the lintel or horizontal beam) above the entrance.

This ingenious design allows for the doors to pivot smoothly, enabling them to be moved with relative ease despite their immense weight.

6. Historical Significance:

The Pantheon, with its iconic dome and these bronze doors, is an enduring symbol of Roman architectural innovation and grandeur.

The fact that these doors are still in use after nearly two millennia is a testament to the durability and quality of their construction.

The Pantheon's bronze doors are not only a functional part of this historic structure but also a tangible link to the past, offering a glimpse into the architectural and engineering achievements of ancient Rome.

They continue to awe and inspire visitors from around the world with their sheer size and remarkable craftsmanship.

Credit: Statistics (X)

#The Pantheon #bronze doors #Emperor Hadrian #Roman Empire #ancient Roman temple #temple #Roman architectural innovation #Roman engineering skills #Ancient Rome #doors #ancient civilizations #Rome #Italy

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 1 year

Text

I Told You So

pairing: Fanon!Aemond Targaryen x Female OC

summary: Elaena is ready to face Aemond in sword fight, is he though?

Word count: 7,2K

Warnings: Fluff? Falling in love?, incest, Sword fighting, cursing, smut, P in V, Oral (both m and f receiving), fingering, first time writing smut

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Elaena felt a little nervous as she braided her hair in one singular braid, it started from the middle of her head down to the end of her roots and she made sure that it was firm so it would not bother her or fall out as she trained. Her handmaiden had already helped her into her leather training trousers and a thin white shirt followed by a leather vest with the belt of her sword.

Aemond had accepted her challenge and they were going to be sparring in front of their entire family, even King Viserys insisted on being there during the match. Elaena did not want to disappoint her father, she knew of his dislike towards her cousin and her gratest desire was to win this match.

She gave herself a quick pep talk in the mirror before leaving her rooms with her head held high with pride. The ladies of the court whispered among each other at her attire. Elaena grew used to them and ignored them as the training yard came into view where everyone was already there waiting for her.

"Finally you show your face cousin, thought you fleed" Aemond teased when they came face to face. She heard Aegon snicker behind letting some of the wine in his goblet to spill over the side.

"I am no coward, cousin" Elaena snapped back matching his smirk. He pulled out his sword preparing for the match. She pulled out her newly polished sword and held it in a perfect grip, strong and irony.

"Last chance to back up before humiliation" Aemond teased, twirling his sword easily. Elaena's laugh echoed around them in the yard much to Aemond's amusement, he wished to keep hearing it forever.

"I am no coward, cousin" Elaena repeated glaring at him, she was getting irritated, he underestimated her already.

Aemond was the first to launch at her but she blocked his hit and used her other hand to punch him in the gut. He staggered back breathless for a second from shock, she did not use all of her strength yet, she was smarter than that. She would never use all of her energy only seconds into the match.

She moved next tricking him and making him think she was going to hit him from below but he was quick enough to dodge her hit from above. Alicent let out a loud gasp seeing the blade so close to her precious son's head. Even Aegon put aside his wine wanting to watch sober.

Aemond swirled his blade and circled around Elaena before lunging at her with a frustrated huff leaving his lips. His blade came striking from above but she moved her blade horizontal, knowing she could not match his strength she fell to her knees and slid below the touching blades and to Aemond's side. She raised a foot before he could turn and kicked him behind his knee and retrieved her sword closer to her body again and used his moment of shock to hit him with the butt of the sword on his shoulder.

She got off the floor first and faster and circled around him as her regained his composure and stood up with a thundering glare on his face.

"Playing dirty now, cousin?" Aemond asked tilting his head as he used his knee for support to stand up. He swirled his sword in a show off manner.

"You never placed any rules, cousin" Elaena replied with a smirk as she mimicked the twirl of his sword.

Aemond let out a deep 'Mmh' from his chest and slashed his blade from the side however Elaena dodged it expertly. She hit him on the back with the flat side of her sword not wanting to inflict any real injuries on him. Aemond saw an opportunity when she was so close and raised a leg looking like he opened them very wide and swiped it hitting her. Elaena fell on her back with a quiet 'umph', her sword fell from hand to the side.

Aemond stood above her with a foot on each side of her waist and his sword at her neck. He had a shit eating grin on his face that Elaena wanted to wipe so bad and she did when her fist made contact with his most sensitive parts.

"Fuck" Aemond's knees gave up on him when the pain flashed through his groin. Elaena raised her knees to her chest as his weight fell on her and pushed him rolling him on his back. She climbed on top of him and held her dagger that she hid in her boot at his neck.

"Yield" Elaena whispered glaring down at him. Aemond glared back panting heavily still feeling exceeding amount of pain in his lower half. However his brain was working and he leaned his head back for a second before it came crashing against Elaena's forehead.

Elaena fell back, letting her dagger fall from her hand leaving her weaponless. Her vision disappeared a little as she laid back with her eyes closed and face scrunched. Aemond limped a little as he stood up and pulled out his own dagger from his belt and straddled her hips with it on her neck while his other hand was on the ground holding his weight and making sure he does not touch her with his throbbing groin, her punch was powerful and he was sure his great-grandchildren felt it for a hundred years forward in time.

"Yield" He taunted her words. Elaena's eyes opened feeling vomit raise in her throat but she swallowed it down, she will definitely have a concussion from his headbutt.

"You dick" She tried raising a hand to shield her face from the sun that was now too bright for her eyes but found them tightly held by her side by his knees. He smirked down at her seeing her wiggle under him.

"Such a foul mouth for a Princess" Aemond whispered leaning down so their faces were inches away from each other.

"A Princess who will humiliate you" She whispered back. She planted her palms against the ground and raised her midsection meeting his with a harsh thrust much to his surprise. He rolled forward, barely able to lean his head down to roll over and fall on his back. Now they were head to head, the top of their head almost touching. Aemond's free of a dagger hand moved to his groin, it was sore and she had hit it again with a different part of her body he wished to meet in a less painful way.

Elaena ignored her dizziness and scrambled to her sword and back over to Aemond straddling him with not problem of touching his stomach with her private parts since they were nowhere near as sore as his was.

"Give up yet or do you want me to kill the rest of your children?" Elaena asked. Her eyes were a little hazy but refused to show him that she was minutes from passing out.

"Never" Aemond raised his hands and wrapped them around her neck in a choking manner, yet still allowed her some air yet in that move he had to let go of his dagger.

Elaena smirked and moved her knee from her side to press it to his chest and against his ribs. She did not hit him but placed it calmly and pressed down making him lose his breath. His fingers grew weaker against her neck before they fell back and pushed her knee away from his chest. She fell froward not expecting this move and nicked both of their necks with her sword that was still against his neck.

"Shit" "Fuck" They cursed together. She raised her head from almost hitting the ground, well her forehead touched the ground beside his head which did not help the throbbing in it, and looked at him. They were both out of breath, bruised and bleeding.

"Do you yield?" She asked, making sure not to press the sword deeper into his cut neck. Aemond noticed a beginning of a bruise forming just above her eyebrow with a small cut as well from the force of the hit.

"I yield" Aemond yelped when she moved her body back and placed her weight on his sore lower part. Elaena smirked and got off him and Aemond almost wished that she had not done that. Elaena threw her sword to the side and held out her hand for him to take.

A slapping sound echoed when their palms met with the force Aemond used feeling ashamed at his loss. Elaena giggled a little not caring for the stinging in her palm and helped him up with their hands intertwined and her other under his elbow.

"Are you still strong, cousin?" Elaena asked not looking at Aemond but behind him with a dazed gaze.

"I have some strength still" Aemond answered. Elaena looked at her father who was clapping along with Rhaenyra, Viserys and her siblings both by blood and her step-siblings while Otto and Alicent gave small touches to the palm, not enough to cause sound. Aegon whooped and screamed as Halaena clapped elegantly beside him.

"Good" She looked back Aemond for a second before her eyes rolled back and she came crashing into his arms. Aemond let out a surprised yell but caught her nonetheless. He moved to his knees so he could turn her face up, she looked like she was sleeping.

"Elaena" He called tapping her cheeks but she was not responsive. He grunted as he stood up with an arm under her shoulders and the other under her knee. Daemon was about to leap over to his nephew and rip him to shreds but there was no need as he approached them. Daemon almost felt tears pick his eyes when Elaena's arm fell down her stomach and dangled beside her swinging in rhythm with Aemond's steps.

"What are you waiting for? Call a Maester" Aemond hissed glaring at them from a small distance. It was Luce who was snapped first and ran into the palace followed by Jace. Aemond followed them silently.

Elaena's head was throbbing still when she regained her consciousness. She was in her bedchambers all alone. She turned to the window and saw that there were rays of sunshine seeping through meaning it was either dusk or dawn, she either slept from morning to night or from morning to morning.

The doors to her room opened making her turn and found her father step into the room followed by her handmaiden with a tray in her arms. Elaena pushed herself up into a sitting position wincing a little from the soreness in her body.

"You gave us quite a scare back there, Princess" Daemon sat at her side. He took her hand into his and raised it up to place a small kiss to it. Daemon may not have been the best parent in the world but he was the best parent he could be and that was all Elaena needed.

"I am alright, it was mere a concussion" Elaena rolled her eyes and regretted it immediately as it made the throbbing worse. She flinched a little making Daemon chuckle a little and raised her darker hand up to place another kiss on it.

"Eat your breakfast, you will need it" Daemon stood up from the bed and placed a kiss on her forehead where it was not bruised before leaving the room.

"Here you go princess" Her handmaiden placed the tray on Elaena's lap. Elaena thanked her with a nod before digging in. She felt something itch at her neck and raised her hand to scratch it find it wrapped with a bandages, she almost forgot about the cut she got. Her heart picked up in pace at the reminder of how close her and Aemond were to one another.

"Are you okay, princess? Do you feel feverish?" The innocent handmaiden asked noticing the reddening of Elaena's cheeks. Elaena cleared her throat embarrassed. She stuffed a whole boiled egg in her mouth and shook her head. She looked out of the window as she chewed the huge piece of food. Her eyes lit up as Vēzos passed by her window, probably trying to check up on her dragon. Elaena shoved the tray off her lap and on the bed before scrambling over to the window, limping a little, she must have pulled a muscle without knowing during her sparring with Aemond.

"Vēzos" Elaena called out of the window. The dragon let out a loud roar happily flapping her wings to rise higher to meet Elaena's gaze.

"Ñuha sȳz riña! istia emagon issare olvie worried" My good girl, you must have been very worried. Elaena called waving her hand a little knowing the dragon could not fly any closer without accidentally destroying part of the Red Keep.

"Iksan sȳz, ñuha jorrāelagon" I am fine, my dear. Elaena called again. Vēzos replied with a roar of her own before flying away to eat something.

"Princess, you must stay in bed" The handmaiden walked over to help Elaena back over to the bed. Elaena waved her off and leaned against the window ledge.

"Prepare me a bath before I throw myself out of this window, I smell so bad" Elaena groaned swatting the handmaiden's hands that tried prying her off the window at mentioning her suicidal thoughts if she had to smell herself for much longer.

"As you wish, Princess. Do not deprive me of yourself in my absence" The handmaiden joked. Elaena chuckled watching the handmaiden take the tray and leave to fetch buckets of water for Elaena to bathe.

In less than half an hour Elaena leaned down relaxing in the water, smelling the oils in her water. Much better than the sweat and blood she hand to endure the entire time she was awake. She had dismissed all the handmaidens sent to her by her father and Rhaenyra to help her wanting to be alone.

Elaena took a deep breath before sliding down and under the water with her eyes closed. She counted in her head up until seventy eight, a practice she did all the time training herself to hold her breath longer in case she ever was at sea and fell into the water, before emerging again.

"Aemond!" She screamed shocked seeing him standing only a small distance away from the tub. He smirked for a second. She noticed that he had the exact same bandage around his neck matching her. His forehead had a much smaller bruise from the harsh contact the day before.

"I came to check on you only to find you trying to kill yourself" He spoke as he walked over to the tub. She lowered herself even more so the water was against the soaked bandage.

"I was not trying to kill myself, it is relaxing. You should do some of that" Elaena bit back. Aemond let out a small chuckle before crouching down at the edge of the tub.

"You should not do that" Aemond's fingers met the wet bandage and undid it slowly, eyes never leaving each other for a second, as he pulled it off and threw it to the side. Elaena hissed as the cold air hit her cut.

"I am a little saddened that I did not cause that cut myself" Aemond whispered. Elaena glared at him, seeing the Aemond she sparred with her instead of the Aemond that danced with he only last night.

"Has anyone informed you of how much of a dick you are?" Elaena asked. She leaned her head back against the wooden tub edge and closed her eyes as if she was trying to ignore his existence.

"No but speaking of dick, you hurt mine yesterday and I wan repayment for that" Aemond smirked smugly. One of his hands slid under the water to touch the middle of Elaena's stomach. She gasped and jumped up into a sitting position wide eyed.

"What are you doing?" Elaena asked. Her hand wrapped around his wrist holding it in place. Her eyes darted towards the door but she did not know if she was afraid someone would see them like this, or if she was afraid of someone interrupting them or she was begging for someone to come and save her from Aemond.

"Getting my payment" Aemond whispered. He shook her hand off and let his hand journey down to her lower belly causing shivers to run down Elaena's body. Her mouth fell open when his fingers touched her pearl and her hand snapped to hold his wrist again.

"Has no one touched you there?" Aemond asked, noticing her body shake from a simple touch. Elaena shook her head. Aemond moved his other hand to wrap around her jaw and swerve her head in his direction so they were looking into each other's eyes.

"Kessa ao sagon iā sȳz riña syt nyke iā gaomagon ao jaelagon nyke naejot henujagon?" you be a good girl for me or do you wish me to leave?. Aemond asked using their mother tongue. He knew she understood, they spoke it to one another during Laena's funeral. Elaena whimpered when his finger flicked her pearl again.

"Kesan sagon iā sȳz riña, Aemond" I will be a good girl, Aemond. Elaena whined as her grip loosened around his wrist with each new flick he did to her pearl.

"Sȳz riña" Aemoned leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek and whispered the word Good Girl in her ear. Elaene leaned her head on the edge near his shoulder letting go of his wrist to place it as a fist in her mouth and the other one grabbed the other edge of the tub, her knuckled were turning white. Aemond slid a finger over her opening causing another whine from her lips, she was so sensitive, she was new to all of this and knew nothing of this world other than what she had heard.

He fastened his rubbing of her pearl much to her relief. She sighed in content only for her eyes to flash open in shock Aemond slid a finger inside of her opening. Aemond shushed her with a kiss to the forehead moving his singular finger in and out slowly not wanting to hurt her. He curled it a little making her jerk slightly.

"Shhh, sȳz riña, I got you" He whispered leaning his forehead on hers as he slid in a second finger. It was getting painful for Elaena with never having done something anywhere near this before.

"Hurts" Elaena whispered lips touching his with each letter. Aemond moved his palm to rub against her clit again. She whimpered burying her face into his shoulder. She did not know why she was letting him so close to her, why she was letting him touch her like.

"Shhh, it will go away, sȳz riña" Aemond whispered back, neither dared to raise their voices too high. Elaena gasped when she felt some kind of pressure in her lower belly the faster he moved his fingers and palm. She closed her legs around his hand wanting him to stop fearing the end.

"I need to piss" She cried lowly. Aemond chuckled and pulled away from her body to open her legs again with his free hand and continued the movement of his hand between her legs.

"No" She cried feeling tears prick her eyes. Se grabbed his forearm trying to stop him, nails digging into his leather sleeve. Aemond moved his fingers even faster making sure to keep rubbing her pearl to ease her pleasure and make it less painful with two of his fingers inside of her cunt. She felt euphoric, she did not know another way to describe what she felt in that moment.

"Let go for me, Ñuha sȳz zaldrīzes" My good dragon. Elaena whined at the new nickname. She threw her head back against the edge of the tub cursing her legs for opening even more on their own accord. Aemond leaned down to place a kiss to the column of her neck. He moved his kissed to the side of her neck ignoring the ache in his back from the awkward position he was in and the wet patch growing on his chest from the water. He bit into the side of her neck, on vein pumping with blood making her cry out his name before licking a small stripe over the skin knowing a bruise will grow there soon.

The second his teeth bit into her ear Elaena felt like she crashed into the unknown. A rush she has never felt before as if she had just jumped of Vēzos and was rushing down the sky with speed. She thrashed in the tub causing water to spill over the sides even in Aemond's lap who was too busy whispering in her ear to notice.

"Konir sagon iā sȳz riña. Ñuha sȳz riña iksis doing sīr sȳrī" That is a good girl. My good girl is doing so well. Elaena wrapped her arms around his forearm still moving as he rubbed her pearl with the tips of his finger easing her through her orgasm.

"My good princess" Aemond placed a kiss to the crown of her head. He removed his hand from between her legs and moved them to his mouth. He moaned as he wrapped his finger around his digits and despite the water the tub making contact with his fingers he could still taste her release on his tongue.

"What was that?" Elaena asked panting still. Her eyes were dazed in a different way than the day before. She was looking at him watching him shocked as he sucked on his fingers noting wanting to waste the drops on his fingers.

"That was your peak, sweet girl and now I need to taste you" Aemond stood up from the floor. Elaena looked up at him confused.

"Taste me?" She questioned. Aemoned leaned down and wrapped an arm around her waist and another under her knees, he was wet anyways so a little more was no bother, he stood up straight with her in his arms.

"Aemond!" She squeaked wrapping her arms around his neck wide eyed. Water splashed around the tub at the sudden movement of her flesh and drizzled down back into the tub. Aemond smirked and moved over to her bed and placed her down on back.

"What are you going to do, Aemond?" Elaena asked watching him with cautious eyes.

"First I am going to kiss you then I am going to ravish my breakfast" He responded. He climbed on top of her and leaned his head down. He leaned his forehead on her own not making the first move, he wanted her consent first. Elaena raised her lips and touched his turning into a blushing mess. Aemond's lips curled before pushing into her. He opened them and sucked on her lower lip. She gasped a little as his finger touched the top of her breast and he slid his tongue inside of her mouth and began his treasure hunt.

"Aemond" She moaned against his lips as his hand moved down to grope her soft breast. She knew they were sensitive, she would need bigger sized dressed during her monthly bleeding and the week after as well. His finger flicked her erect nipple. Unconsciously she rolled her hips up to meet his own wanting to feel that relief again. Aemond groaned at the friction through his trousers, her cunt against his clothed half hard erection felt heavenly.

"Allow me to taste you" He begged against her lips. Finger still flicking her nipple before groping the entire ball of flesh. Elaena bit her lip to prevent a moan from leaving her lips.

"Please" She begged rolling her hips again. Aemond closed his eyes to compose himself, he could not just fuck her like this, he needed to prepare her so would not hurt.

He leaned his head down mouthing at her neck. His heart skipped a beat as her hand wandered into his hair grabbing at the long strands. Her hand moved up the more he bit and licked at her neck. She arched her back as he bit into her throat before kissing the area. Her finger gripped the piece of leather keeping his hair tied back and pulled at it letting it fall beside her on the bed.

"Aemond please" She pleaded. He chuckled and moved lower to her breasts. He paused when her fingers wrapped around the back of his eyepatch. He looked up at her to find already looking at him with pleading eyes asking for his permission to proceed. He nodded slightly afraid of her reaction. She slipped the piece of leather keeping the truth of what her step-brother had done him. Her lips curled down at the sight of the scar before gasping at the sight of the sapphire in place of his eye.

"Gevie" She whimpered as she threw the eyepatch on her pillow. Aemond sighed relieved before finally wrapping his lips around her right nipple. She gasped head falling back on the mattress. His other hand played with her other breast so it would be getting the same attention until it was time for it to be a victim of his mouth.

He sucked on the nipple making her cry out hands grabbing his head either to keep him there or to move him away she did not know. He grinned and bit it lightly and pulled at the darker skin eyes never leaving her face as it scrunched in pleasure.

"Aemond, help me" She pleaded. Her eyes looked down at him. He sucked again on her nipple making her forget all about her please. He moved to the other breast and gave it the same attention. He teased her for a while moving from one breast to the other sucking, bitting and pinching. She squirmed and begged him, hands in his hair and running down his shoulder and the top half of his back. He finally let go of her left nipple with a pop after stimulating it for the fifth time. He got off the bed earning Elaena's attention.

"Aemond?" She asked panting still. Aemond smirked as he unbuttoned his leather jerkin and stripped it off followed by his tunic and threw them at the foot of the bed. He wrapped his hands on each side of her hip and tugged her to the edge as he fell on his knees.

"Aemond!" She gasped shocked. He smirked seeing that all her reactions involved her saying his name and that is what he intended for her to do until the sunset and again until it rose again.

"I told you I wanted to taste you, Ñuha sȳz zaldrīzes" Aemond replied to her surprise as he fixed the posture of her legs on his shoulders. She was about to protest but shut her mouth when his lips wrapped around her pearl. Her finger gripped his hair again much to his pleasure.

"Oh, please" She moaned rolling her hips. Aemond use her arousal to slid his tongue into her cunt. His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head from how sweet she tasted. He curled his tongue touching the walls of her cunt making her cry and try to pull away feeling this overwhelming sensation but he immediately placed his palm on her lower belly and kept her in place.

He moved his tongue in a circler motion touching all sides of her walls before deciding to move it out and back in before she could protest the loss. Her other hand fisted the sheets almost as tightly as his hair but a new idea struck her, his fingers and hands felt so good on her breasts so her hand slid up to touch her own breast feeling ashamed for touching herself like that but soon she could careless as her pleasure heightened with a single flick of her finger to her sensitive numb.

Aemond's eyes watched her hungrily though his lashes feeling his cock throbbing in his tightened pants, it was fully hard the second he tasted her sweet cunt. His tongue flicked over her bundle of nerves making her cry out his name. He smirked a little and started placing open mouth kisses to the inside of her thighs deciding to ignore where she needed him most halfway through her orgasm. She rolled her hips trying to meet his lips and when that did not work and he kept jerking his head away she tried pulling his hair in her fist but he was stronger and ignore the pain in his scalp and resumed sucking on her thigh to create a bruise only for him to see.

"Aemond please touch me" Elaena pleaded having had enough of his teasing. Aemond raised his head up and rested his chin on her lower belly watching her reaction as his chest rubbed a little against her perked pearl.

"Where, Ñuha sȳz zaldrīzes?" Aemond asked teasingly. Elaena let go of her breast and held out her hand to him, he handed her his hand and she guided it down to her dripping cunt.

"Here?" He flicked a finger over her clit. She back arched off the bed moaning his name and it sounded so sweet and addicting and he needed to hear more.

"Please...please" She begged feeling tears fill her eyes. Aemond tok pity on her and leaned his head back down and plunged his tongue into her hole and kept flicking her clit with his thumb.

"Yes!" She cried groping both of her breasts and rolled her hips. Aemond chuckled against her cunt causing vibrations to roll into her body causing her even more pleasure.

"Please...please...please" She kept begging. Aemond held her hips in a death grip the more she tried to move. His tongue not stopping for a second rolling in and out, up and down trying to touch whatever spot inside her he could find and keep her sweet taste in his mouth. His finger ached as he rolled it in an eight figure faster and faster.

A new kind of pressure build up in Elaena's stomach leaving breathless with small whispers of 'yeses' coming out of her lips. Her legs were shaking over his shoulder and arms feeling like lead. She bit into her lip not caring for the cut she created or the copper taste as she neared the edge. The rush was so strong she crashed on the bed with a scream of his name hips stilling in fear of the pleasure leaving her. Eyes rolling the back of her head while one of her hands was frozen pinching her right nipple and the other clutching the sheets in a death grip of her own. Unknown to her Aemond's eyes rolled back for a different reason, she squirted and her taste was so good he almost fell unconscious from it. Still lapping at her cunt not wanting one drop to go to waste.

Elaena panted falling back to reality and looked down at Aemond to find him drenched from his nose to his chest and the sheets were soaked through. She gasped shocked and looked at the mess confused while Aemond only smirked at her.

"That came from me?" She asked. Aemond stood up from the bed showing off his erection proudly.

"Go up" Aemond nodded at the pillows. Elaena hesitated for a second which made a flash of worry go through Aemond for a second but it was gone faster than it came as she crawled back on her shaky elbows until her back was against the pillows.

"It is my turn now" Aemond's fingers worked on undoing his belt before sliding his trousers down followed by his undergarments. Elaena's eyes trailed down his happy trail to his cock, standing priudly against his stomach and she wondered, how was that going to fit inside of her?

"Jaelagon nyke naejot henujagon, Laena?" Want me to leave, Laena?Elaena's head shook side to side before she registered his words. He smirked and crawled up her body until they were chest to chest, forehead to forehead.

"Stay, please" She whispered against his lips. He leaned down and captured her lips with her own. She tasted herself on his lips and that caused a new feeling, hotter than fire, rise in her belly. Her hands moved up his chest and pushed him on his back on the bed.

"I want to do that to you" She whispered. Her finger pointed to his mouth that curled into what many believed to be a cruel smirk but to her it was the sexiest sight in the world.

"You want to suck me off?" Aemond asked. He had to prevent his hand from giving him pleasure as she bobbed her head innocently. The girl in the training yard yesterday was all gone and a new Elaena was in her place and he did not know who he liked more.

"Come on then" He wrapped his fingers through her gold-white locks and pushed her head down. She moved onto her knees beside him and leaned down until she was faced with his erection.

"Slowly" He whispered. She leaned over and placed a light kiss on the red top of his cock. He wanted to push her head down until he was fully wedged into her throat but held himself back. She wrapped her lips around his reddened tip and sucked.

"Shhit, gentler" His hips thrusted up a little. Elaena pulled away and looked up at him seeing his face scrunched in pleasure. She hated to admit it but he tasted delicious on her tongue, his precum was the only lubrication she had other than her spit. She wrapped her lips around his tip again and gave a small suck earning a moan from the male bellow her. She opened her mouth wider and started leaning down taking more of him her mouth. The hand in her hair pulled stopping when she was halfway through. She was running out of breath and Aemond could feel her that.

"Breathe through your nose" He instructed with a strained voice. Elaena complied finding it a little exhausting having him in her mouth and breathing through her nose at the same time. She bobbed her head up and down with the guidance of his hand in her hair. His other hand grabbed her own and moved it to the part she could not fit in her mouth.

"They are not useless, Princess" He whispered voice hoarse from straining his moans. Elaena moved her hand up and down before trailing them to his balls feeling curiosity win her over. She squeezed them tightly earning a loud moan and he pulled her off his dick with a pull of her hair with fire in his eyes. He needed her and now.

"On your back, Ñuha sȳz zaldrīzes" He ordered. She obeyed excited for what he would do to her. She laid back and watched as he fisted his cock to the sight of her so eager and excited for him. Her cunt glistened in the sunlight and he wanted to taste her again. He moved down the bed and wrapped his lips around her clit again sucking harshly. She cried out at the suddenness of his actions and the pleasure coursing through her body again.

He climbed up leaving her cunt with her taste in his mouth again. He claimed her lips with his own making her taste herself again. She moaned as his chest rubbed against her own.

"Please make me peak again" She begged. His mouthed at her ear which affected her speech for a second.

"It will be uncomfortable though, princess" He whispered in her ear.

"It is alright, I have to for comfort" She answered. He groaned as she grindded her hips against his own. He grabbed his shaft and lined it up with her pussy. He rolled the tip against her clit rendering her speechless for a second before a moan left her lips as he repeated the action then he moved to tease her opening.

"Are you sure?" He asked. He would be taking her maidenhead, something she would be shamed for loosing if she were to marry someone else but he would not allow that, the second he spills his seed in her she will become his if she were not already.

"Yes" She whispered. He leaned his forehead against hers to show some sort of comfort. He pushed the tip inside slowly not wanting to hurt her. She let out a gasp at the stretch.

"Shh, it will be alright" He promised. She panted wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

"I am here, my love" He mumbled. He pushed a little bit more inside of her. He just wanted to fuck her into the mattress so hard she would not be able to leave it for a week but he knew he had to be gentle for her first time.

"Please" She begged because she wanted him to push more in and at the same time to pull out. Aemond placed a comforting kiss on her forehead before pushing his cock all the way inside of her tight and snug cunt.

"Oh gods, so tight" He whimpered against her hairline. She felt tears build up in her and at the pain she felt. His cock was long and lean, hitting all the places she will come to love soon.

"Hurts so bad" She leaned her head back on the pillows. Aemond pulled away from her hair and leaned down to kiss the tears streaming down her eyes and onto the pillow.

"I am here, my love, I will not leave you like this" He whispered kissing both of her eyes and then the tip of her nose. The pain slowly morphed into pleasure, a new kind of pleasure unlike the ones he gave her with his fingers and tongue. She rolled her hips urging him to move.

"See darling" He mumbled. He rolled his hips slowly before pulling out all of his cock. She whimpered tightening her hold on his shoulders not wanting him to leave. He shushed her before pushing back in bottoming out.

"Aemond" She moaned against his ear driving him crazy. He took a deep breath before quickening his pace. He knew she would not last long with no experience and orgasm control.

"Please more" Elaena cried. She did not know if the pressure in her belly was coming in too fast or not but it was there, lurking around the corner but it did not seem want to come just yet.

"I got you" He groaned leaning his back to watch her every reaction. He rolled his hips trying to find that sweet spongy spot inside her. He rolled his hips in a lefty angle and that is when her back arched off the bed and her hips started rolling against his and her lips opened moaning his name over and over again like a note in a song repeating.

"Is that it, my dragon?" He questioned hitting that spot over and over again. She cried out words he did not understand but sounded like 'please' and 'yes there'. He kept rolling his hips faster and faster. He could not help himself but lean down and take one of her bouncing breasts into his mouth.

"Please do not stop" She cried. Aemond rolled his hips in a different direction for a second to tease her before resuming his abuse on that one spot.

Elaena's breath got stolen away as her eyes rolled and her body trembled, she could not feel her legs anymore, in fact she could not feel any part of her body except her core. This new peak was different and she wanted it to last forever and Aemond was helping, he did not stop his thrusts even as she came back down, cock drunk. Aemond had to stop himself from spilling in her witht he way her walls were squeezing him so tight and delicious.

"Thank you...thank you...thank you" She cried pulling his face against her chest where he continued littering bruises on her breast. Plump and good enough breakfast for Aemond.

"My pretty, dragon" He whimpered raising his head to look at her. She looked very blissed out and on the verge of passing out.

"Can you give me one more?" He asked. He wanted to feel her clench around his cock as he spilled his seed inside of her, hoping it would take root too.

"No more" She cried. She was exhausted and Aemond was impressed she had given him three orgasms on her first time.

"Just one" He begged feeling his orgasm nearing. He moved one of his hands from the pillow bellow and moved it to draw circles on her clit. She cried out from the overstimulation. His other hand wrapped around her own intertwining their fingers together.

"Too much" She whimpered trying to roll from under him but it was no use and her fourth orgasm came crashing down before she could even register it. She was a quick orgasmar still but Aemond will teach haer control in due time.

"So beautiful" Aemond moaned as he spilled his seed inside of her pulsing with need for it to take root in her womb and for her to swell with his child, bastard or legitimate. She cried out as he continued rolling both his hips and his fingers trying to ride out their orgasms.

"Aemond" She sighed when he stopped. His eyes never left her own during the entire ordeal. He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"You did so good for me, my love" He praised out of breath. She smiled shyly at him. He pulled out with a groan and watched with amazed eyes as his seed spilled out of her cuntmixed with the blood of her maidenhead. She whined at the loss of his cock inside of her and as her walls closed down again, she wanted him to stay inside longer.

"Where are you going?" She asked reaching out to him. He grinned at her neediness and kissed her knuckles before replying.

"I am right here"

He picked up the rag she cleaned herself with before he came in and dipped it in the oiled water of her back before squeezing the extra water and walking back over to her.

"Open those pretty legs for me" He ordered. Seeing no lust in his eyes anymore and only love she obeyed trusting him not to hurt her. He dipped the rag down and wiped the blood and mixed off her pussy and thighs. She whimpered a little as the rag made contact with her swollen clit. Aemond leaned down and placed a comforting kiss to it before moving up and kissing her lips too. He threw the rag to the side and helped her climb under the blankets and slid in beside her.

"Do not leave me alone" She whispered. Tears pricked her eyes as the realisation of what just happened dawned on her. She let him sully her, seed her and they were not wed. This felt like a huge step, this was her first time ever.

"I would not dream of it" He reassured her. He rubbed up and down her back to comfort her. He kissed her tears away and only moved away twice from her that day, to bar the doors and light the candles as the night fell.

#aemond imagine #aemond fluff #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #elaena targaryen #daemon x oc #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon imagine #house targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon smut #hotd

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pokemonshelterstories · 7 months

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What's a good height and/or layout for a nymble enclosure?

honestly, the best enclosure for a nymble is a covered backyard! sort of like some people do for their meowth. you can also get a large "catio" type enclosure. these guys need plenty of room for both verticle and horizontal movement. because they can leap as high as 30 feet, they need the covering to both protect them from predators and keep them from getting out! they like to have some elevated platforms to jump from, but make sure to stagger them like a staircase so your nymble can safely get down, since they don't have wings to ease their falls.

fun fact- nymble can get the "zoomies" and start bouncing all over the place. it's adorable.

#charlietalks #pokemon irl #pkmn irl #pokemon care #nymble

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allkurin · 7 days

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IDs for Limbus

SO i have just had a funny idea cross my mind basically we all know that Xiao ID will come someday, right? much like Yan, much like Kali, yada yada yada and we know these three all have their 'cool awakening' skill that PM will integrate in game (i will personally ensure they will) so what if we tie their awakenings to sp and conditions say kali id, upon reaching 45 SP and killing X guys can use her defensive skill to manifest Red Mist. this changes her skills, replaces ZAYIN ego with Great Split: Horizontal or something, and to represent the original passive, upon failing to inflict X damage with her skills her stagger threshold rises a bit Xiao ID -- basically the same thing, upon reaching 45 SP she manifests Iron Lotus and burns down the house but Yan? imagine if they did the opposite. he starts as a perfectly normal Proxy unit, discarding his skills, benefiting from Singleton (somehow), but upon reaching -45 SP he DISTORTS and changes his passives, skills, speed, resistances and everything to that of a DISTORTED YAN BOSS. like IMAGINE THAT. and because he doesn't give a single fuck about what people tell him and follows prescripts only, he gains 'indiscriminate' on every skill. and to deal with him he has a passive that's called 'The Weaving Word' or something that basically acts similarly to Pluto's contract his teammates have to follow the 'prescript' which is given to them at the beginning of each turn if they carry out their prescript Yan ID cannot target them if the fail, however, there is a chance he will attack them and he has his AOE attack replace his ZAYIN ego too obv

and dont get me started on Ensemble IDs who all imo should have their double-down distorted modes built into them. Macrosis' Ensemble Rework is canon and i simply do not care. let my boy Blue Reverberation blast his theme for everyone to groove. LIKE IMAGINE THAT

#limbus #limbus company #i think im getting the hang of tumblr #if i feel funny i might even try to make this an id card #like that one guy from lc reddit makes yknow #the quality ones #love them #rant #GIVE AHABMAEL AN OPTION TO MANIFEST HER OWN GASHARPOON AS UPTIE V UPGRADE

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isnovelman · 11 months

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Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? Novel Chapter 183

Like a goat's, Mia's pupils stretched horizontally and narrowed in a moment, as if she was quite surprised by my question of waiting for the Bloody Door.

'So… it was Mia, not the 4th Empress.'

“I don’t know what the Princess is talking about.”

Mia acted even more sadly as if she couldn't detect the change that took place in her eyes.

All this time she continued to keep up her pretense, dropping tears that aroused the sympathy of others.

“Mia, you know what?”

I called her silently.

“You are excellent at acting in tears, but you are not good at hiding your feelings from your eyes. Your repertoire is no different from the time when you deliberately slipped and fell in front of Philap Montez, so it's boring.”

“You might think that with the rise of the Red Moon, the creation of chaos by connecting the demon world to this world is a great achievement for you, but you're so boring…every time it's the same thing with you, don't you think?”

As the emotions of the devil and Mia were stimulated at the same time, the hands that I was touching began to tremble.

“If you lie and squeeze tears while everything is exposed, you think you won't be defeated?”

I put in my grasp some divine power so strong that it was unparalleled.

As we were facing each other, threads burst in her eyes and the whites turned red.

Looking at her arm that was turning black because of the divine power, her lips trembled as I saw how Mia decided that she couldn't hide it anymore.

“To stop acting and lying… do you think I'm suicidal?”

Suddenly, she stopped crying and exposed her eyes that changed and looked like a goat's.

“Actually, I think it’s fun.”

As her attitude suddenly changed strangely, the crowd and the investigating team murmured, it was only then that they got a strange feeling.

“Deborah Seymour, if only you wouldn't have been the one who interfered with me.”

“!!”

“It would have been much more fun.”

Suddenly, a hot pain like a harsh whipping came from my hand.

Strong magic flowed from her skin that touched me, and my hand that was holding her wrist got so red as if it had been burned.

However, even if I wanted to remove my hand from her darkening skin, this time Mia was grabbing my arm like she had claws.

“Yes, as you said, I was waiting for the Red Moon to rise.”

I still remember Nyla trembling in fear when the monsters poured out like rain from the bloody night sky.

As soon as Mia's words were over, a faint voice broke through our eardrums.

“Hah, you are Nyla… ? You, who lived as you pleased, are the real incarnation of a Saint. Isn't that funny?”

The voices of Mia and the devil were touching our eardrums in succession, and then gradually they overlapped into one.

“But even if I don't have that Red Moon, your future of only death won't change.”

It could not be distinguished whether they were Mia's words or whether it was the curse poured out by the devil who had been banished before the foundation of the empire by Nyla.

I talked to the being in front of me who showed sharp profane intentions.

“I'm sorry, but I'll live a long time…until my purple hair becomes gray.”

Swallowing my flesh-burning pain, with my strength on the tip of my toes, I kicked her shin-bone hard and stepped on the backbone of her foot.

“Now!!”

Mia's body staggered as if she hadn't expected this kind of warfare, then laughed again like before.

“I'll just do this earlier.”

“… Uh, what is that!”

"Oh my gosh. Lord, Lord... "

People who sympathized with Mia had astonished faces at her appearance.

'Is it alchemy?'

This is because the powder that changed her hair color to flowery pink was crumbling and gradually changed back to its original color.

“That's the devil! A really strong devil, even the Archbishop was deceived!”

At the same time, goat-like horns sprang up on Mia's temples, and then with the new crown she screamed loudly with a vile face.

'You even dyed your hair. You played the reincarnation of the Saint very carefully.'

Suddenly, a feeling of embarrassment rose.

In the past, Nyla saved the world by sacrificing her life so she couldn't properly enjoy any honor or wealth, she was poisoned by a strong Magi and died after living a short life.

“Lord, save us from the devil.”

The priest, who was trembling with his hands together, opened his mouth.

“There, my God!”

I created thousands of white arrows in the air and poured them down towards Mia, who quickly assimilated the devil, and my father took advantage of the distraction gap and gave some orders.

“Right away, use all your abilities to attack Mia Vinoche, who is now turning into a devil!”

“Stop, my Lord! Look over there... "

Suddenly, with the sound of thunder and lightning cracks appeared in the dark gray sky.

Through the cracks in the open sky, a group of demon dragons appeared, and monsters with various strange shapes poured down to the ground.

‘But it’s a group of monsters that are significantly smaller than when the Red Moon rose… '

It's much better than the terrible sight that made me scared from my dreams where the whole sky turned red.

'Should I say we got some luck among all these misfortunes?"

We've stopped getting to the worst scenario, but the cracks happening all over the place will eventually dissipate the power here.

'Besides, with the darkness from Mia's body... I don’t feel well.’

Despite my healing power, I swallowed dry saliva while looking at my hands still tingly swollen.

The darkness spewing out from the direction where Mia was laying on her stomach was thick enough to choke my breath.

“You're hurt.”

Isidor, who had come to my side, said with a firm face.

“Princess, if you feel it's dangerous, run away. I told you the other day, you should not have any sense of duty to save them all.”

Again, thinking that he was quick to notice, I swallowed a bitter smile.

“His goal is me anyway.”

And there's no way I can run away and leave Isidor and my family.

'In the end, I ended up confronting that devil even in this life. Damn it.'

“Isidor..this...”

"Yeah, Princess?”

“Tell me that everything will go well, that me and you and all of our dear ones will live happily for a long time.”

His beautiful emerald-colored eyes wandered for a moment.

He felt that it wasn't like me, who meticulously weighed the efficiency and economics of everything, to ask for an unexpectedly emotional speech at an urgent time.

“Isidor, surprisingly, there is a strong power in the language of your distant ancestors.”

“Originally, the Golden Visconti was the Golden Dragon Visconti. The dragon is a supreme animal that symbolizes the emperor, so the name of the family has been changed due to political issues.”

“It means you are a descendant of a dragon. And there existed a power of speech of the Imperial Dragon.”

“Don't you believe it? So in this moment of desperate anguish will you reveal your dragon words?”

He might have thought it was absurd, but Isidor spoke how I told him to do it with his blind eyes.

I can't believe that a man who is faithful like a large dog is the descendant of a dragon who is selfish and greedily covets only gold.

“It will all work out.”

"Oooh..Huh!"

“Was there even a single thing we've been doing that has failed?”

“No, not even one.”

“It will always be you and me.”

The moment he drew out a lucky coin on both sides, and concluded with a peculiar relaxed and confident tone, I was convinced that everything was going to work out.

'Because Isidor would be the protagonist even if he would ride on the KTX train.'

And with good timing, those who were on my side appeared one by one.

“I'm late. I'm sorry, Princess.”

The powerful flames shot by the 5th Princess instantly annihilated a swarm of monsters that squirmed like worms.

The Crown Prince, the sword master, also took the vanguard and quickly cut down the vital spot of a demon dragon.

Rosad's squadron of battle mages enchanted powerful high-level magic in a rapid succession. And thanks to Thierry and the Duchess of Orgo, who owed me her life, the Orgo family also participated in the fight against the devil.

Besides them was even my reliable escort, knight Oryx, who shows the power of a hundred per day.

In spite of the sudden commotion, my side quickly cleared the line and responded well to the hellish mess of the devil.

It was completely different from the one-sided and cruel massacre that took place under the Red Moon in Nyla's memory.

'Yeah, didn't you get hit once or twice?'

-Did you think this would be the end? However you are not succeeding.

At that time, the eerie voice of the devil spread out into the air as a strong blizzard.

Pang!

Two more cracks broke out with a loud bursting sound, and a demon dragon, which might be their leader, popped out from the gap that was wide open.

But at the same time, what I had been waiting for appeared: an ancient weapon that I asked Belreck to find just in case.

It was a golem.

“Well, what the hell is that?!”

“This time is it a monster attacking another monster?”

"No. Sir Belreck is standing up there!”

Mirzu Seymour's twin brother had been experimenting with the same power as Belreck, so I thought Belreck could also operate that thing.

'Because of mass-producing massage machines, Belreck is faster than anyone else when it comes to figuring out the structure of any machine. If it's a simple mechanism like a golem, he'll make it work.'

“Wait a minute, father, Deborah!”

Belreck shouted from above the golem's head.

The giant demon dragon, believed to be the leader, flapped wildly its wings, but as Belreck swung the golem's huge and hard arms, it fell like a lizard in no time.

-Great…

As if in resentment, the devil trembled wildly, and a darkness, strong enough to shake the ground, rose.

'Please just a little more… '

As I licked my dry lips, I prayed that the devil would keep being distracted from making cracks.

As far as I knew, I was on the verge of completing the divine magic, which is the strongest and most threatening to evil spirits.

It was then.

—You, what are you doing?

Suddenly, the demon with his hand outstretched to the sky summoned a long black spear and threw it in my direction.

#Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better?#Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? novel #Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? chapter 183 #Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? chapter 193 #novel #light novel #novel translate #The Perks Of Being A Villainess #What's Wrong with Being the Villainess?#Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? chapter 194

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ghost-party · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Shinji Hirako x F!Reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: hurt/comfort, sadness, medical issues, parental illness, chronic pain, mention of opioids, wheelchair use, anger, panic attacks, discussion of suicide

A/N: This is something deeply personal that’s been living in my drafts for almost a month now. But I’m a big believer in cathartic writing, especially when things feel too difficult to talk about. 🖤

It’s mid-afternoon, bright and unseasonably warm for early April. Sunlight filters through the horizontal blinds, and not for the first time, you remind yourself that you still need to buy curtains for the window directly facing your bed.

For now, you settle for burrowing beneath the covers, two plush comforters layered on top of you. Your head is nearly hidden, and it feels good to rest your eyes after crying.

You doze for a little while, unsure how much time has passed when you hear the bedroom door open.

Your boyfriend is unusually quiet as he enters. The opposite side of the bed dips as he lifts the covers and slides in to join you. As he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, you exhale shakily, relaxing against his rangy figure.

“Baby,” Shinji murmurs, nosing at your hair. “You tryin’ to hide from me?”

A small huff of a laugh escapes you. “If I were, I’d try harder.”

When he hesitates, you know he can hear it in your voice, the way it cracks a little, how it wavers, thick with emotion. Even now, you’re trying to keep more tears at bay. It seems you have an endless supply.

Blinking several times, you focus on the familiar scent of his shampoo, the feel of his narrow hips pressed against you, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and the softness of his words nearly breaks you. You rarely see this side of him, and only ever when you’re alone.

His breath warms your neck as he gently implores, “C’mon, sweet girl… Tell me.”

That’s all it takes for your walls to come down.

Your mother’s had health problems for as long as you can remember. But in recent months, her level of pain has severely escalated, to the point where even strong opioids like fentanyl aren’t giving her enough relief.

“It doesn’t make sense that you’re in so much pain,” she’s been told. Never mind that her back is a mess — so much so, that she can’t even lie down anymore. She sleeps sitting up. Your father pushes her around the house in a wheelchair.

It’s inoperable. It’s just a matter of figuring out how to mitigate the pain. But no one can even seem to do that, and every test leads to another and another, her calendar full of appointments that leave her in tears.

By now, you’ve rolled over onto your other side so that you can face Shinji, and you’re frustrated that you’re crying so hard, your hands fisted in the back of his shirt as you hug him tight.

You hate feeling so helpless. You want to scream at someone. Beg them to figure it out. Make it stop. Fix this. Fix her.

“Look at me, baby… There you go, I’ve got you.”

Distantly, as if every sensation has been dulled just a little, you feel Shinji’s hand on your cheek, his thumb tucked under your chin as he tips your head up.

“Take a deep breath, okay?” He inhales exaggeratedly, and you might think it funny if you weren’t nearly hyperventilating, on the verge of a panic attack.

It’s not the first one you’ve had today. That probably explains how it came on without you consciously noticing. Having it happen here, with him, is better than what you struggled through earlier, hunched down in your car after brunch with friends.

You had picked at your food and done your best to pretend, smiling at jokes and stories, contributing when necessary. Because you were afraid of ruining the fun — and you knew you would cry, just like this — you kept quiet and bottled it all up.

Slowly, you do as he says, your breaths staggered and rough at first, small hiccuping sobs escaping you now and then. But after a few minutes, your light-headedness begins to ease, and your heartbeat feels less frantic.

Shinji smooths his hand over your hair, looking at you with concern.

“You didn’t want to worry me.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you immediately feel guilty.

“I’m sorry.”

His mouth twists into a grimace. “I get it, I do. But you can’t not talk about things like this. It’s only hurting you more.”

Taking another deep, shaky breath, you nod. “I think I just… didn’t know how to say it. Any of it. It’s too much, and there’s — and I — I d-didn’t —”

“Shh, it’s okay.”

Holding the back of your head, his fingers splayed wide, he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not mad. I just want to be here for you.”

Your hands have moved to his chest now, grasping at the front of his shirt like an anchor. You need to feel something — to feel grounded in this moment.

“I’m so angry. And heartbroken. And scared — so fucking scared. I don’t know what to do with it all.”

He nods, and there’s a glimpse of pain in his gaze as he recalls what that feels like, to be full to the brim with a feeling so devastating, you wonder if it might burn you from the inside out.

“You want to be in control of things, to figure out how to make it all better,” he says, as if he’s cracked you open and read you like a book.

“And I wish you could,” he whispers, pulling you back into his embrace. This time, your head nestles beneath his chin, and one of his long legs tangles with yours, as if he needs to be as close as possible.

“It’s not fair.” Another sob wracks your body as you speak, your chest aching so badly, you wonder if you’ve strained something.

“It’s always one thing after another, and she c-can’t keep going like this. How is she supposed to live? It’s like no one cares, and everything takes so l-long, and I…” You swallow hard, his shirt growing wet with your tears.

“I know she’s not their mom, but she’s my mom, and I don’t understand why everyone’s just waiting around while she’s in agony — so much that she… she might…”

Out of everything your dad told you over the phone, what made you feel cold, sick to your stomach, devastated in a horrible, hollow way, was that your mother has told him more than once that death must be better than existing like this.

When you explain as much, you feel Shinji stiffen with shock before he pulls you in even closer, his own shoulders hunched as he struggles to keep his composure.

“You’re doing everything you can,” he finally says, his words spoken with a firm certainty. “All we can do is take it day by day.”

Before you can protest, he gently shushes you, kissing the top of your head.

“It’s shit, I know… A fucking cliché. And you’re right. It’s not fair. Not at all. But you don’t have to go through this alone. I won’t let you.”

You’re grateful that he doesn’t tell you everything will be okay. While the optimism of the sentiment seems like a kindness, it ultimately feels empty, as if the impossibility of it is too much to ignore.

Shinji’s never been one to sugarcoat things or make promises he couldn’t keep. You’re grateful he isn’t starting now.

She might spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair. She might spend the rest of her life in debilitating pain. As much as it pains you to think about, you can’t hide from any of this.

“You should rest tonight. Give yourself the space to feel what you’re feeling, as much as I know you don’t want to.

“We’ll drive over first thing tomorrow. Knowing your dad, he’s not eating a hell of a lot. We can pick something up on the way — stock their fridge, cook a few meals. Help out with the cleaning, all that stuff.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, a swell of love making your chest ache. To anyone else, he might look pissed off, wearing a frown as he continues to mutter to himself, thinking out loud — something about blankets and finding a good pillow for her lower back and a book he could maybe read to her while you and your dad talk through any recent developments.

He makes a startled noise when you bury your face in his chest, feeling overwhelmed by gratitude.

“Don’t go cryin’ again,” he teases, ruffling your hair. “My shirt’s already soaked.”

“It’s ugly anyway,” you mumble, knowing that he knows you’re only kidding.

“Hey.”

You stay like that for a long time, until the sun has sunk lower in the sky and your breathing has finally evened out, your eyes growing heavy. When you whisper that you love him, Shinji squeezes you a little tighter.

“I love you, too.”

#reeeeally gonna try not to delete this later 🙃#shinji hirako x reader #tw medical issues #tw chronic pain #tw suicide

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