Tumgik
#our healer: i need 4 strength
fictionalgap · 3 months
Text
Steal my heart (chapter 2)
Tumblr media
Pairing: Kit Thantalos x Thief! Reader
Summary: You woke up somewhere you don't know.
Warnings: Swearing
Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4
Note: I accidentally used spoon feeding here too and have no regrets.
Song Recommendation: Blue Eyes - Elton John
"Dehydration and malnutrition. Honesty Its kind of a miracle for her to be able to carry herself, let your higness to the castle ." The healer was reporting to the Queen.
"Your majesty, our two guards just let us know that she was a part of a criminal activity. That-that she's a thief! "
"I don't care who she is. She saved my daughter's life. I owe to her."
You were able to hear the conversations but you couldn't find the strength to open your eyes and move around.
"B-but."
"That's enough. " you heard a familiar voice.
"She saved my life so what I need is, her to be okay." The familiar voice sounded distressed.
"Yes, your highness. "
You felt sleep taking you once again in its world.
~~~
You woke up to sunrays in front of your eyelids. You blinked a couple of times. You were in a bed. You looked around to see the girl who you carried to the castle. She was sitting in a chair next to your bed and polising her sword.
"You are awake! How do you feel? "
You blinked a couple of times. You wanted to answer but your throat was too dry to make a proper sound. You licked your lips and before you knew she came closer to you with a glass of water.
"Let me help. " You nodded as you looked in her blue eyes. She put her hand to the back of your head and raised it so you could drink from the glass. You sipped the water first then you grabbed the glass and finished it in a second.
You were thirsty.
She took the carafe and filled your glass with more water.
You chugged it in a second again.
"Thanks." You managed to say to the princess next to you as you looked up and down to take her in more.
She smiled and it rushed your heart.
"No problem...wait." She said and went to get a healer to check on you.
She came with a middle aged woman who first checked your temperature with the back of her hand.
"How do you feel? " th woman frowned worried.
"I feel better. Thank you."
Your stomach grumbled in a desperate way.
The princess nodded to herself "I am going to bring some food."
You tried to hide your red face.
"She needs soft food, your highness like soup. Something easy to digest but I can make someone go get her you don't have to-"
The princess already vanished to get you something to eat.
'Are princesses really that helpful?' You thought to yourself than you remembered what happened in detail.
She was bit by a large snake but she looked pretty good now.
You cleared your throat.
"How is your highness? She was bit. "
Woman who was busy with things you didn't know turned to you and her gaze soften.
" Yes, she was but thanks to you she is alive now. We are so grateful for that. Your highness's mother, Queen Sorsha wanted to see you when you got better."
"Oh... uhm. Sure and I'm glad I could make it in time. "
"Your highness is fine right now. Don't worry about that. You on the other hand had been sleeping for two days."
Your eyes widen to woman's words.
"What? Two days? I -I..."
The princess came into your sight with a tray in her hands with a dedicated expression on her face. She put the tray to the table next to you.
You tried to sit on your bed but you hissed when your back shivered in pain.
The princess and the healer tried to help you to sit properly on your back.
The princess was very close to you right now which made you blush. She took the bread and started to make it into small pieces and d put them in the soup.
You could feel her breath when she sighed as she grabbed the bowl. You looked at her face. 'She is really pretty." you thought and you might have looked at her more than appropriate cause the woman cleared her throat and you turned your head to her direction.
She smiled knowingly.
"Your highness I shall feed h-"
" I want to." She took a spoon of soup blew it to make it a comfortable temperature.
"I can eat own my own. "
The healer and the princess shoted a look to you and you found yourself being unsure.
"I- I mean. I really don't want to be a bother." you explained nervously.
The princesses eyes pierced yours.
"How can you say that when you literally saved my life. I couldn't make it without you. Thank you. I owe you. "
You smiled softly.
"You don't owe me anything. It's an honor for me your highness."
"It's Kit. Call me Kit." Her smile met her eyes.
The healer's mouth hang open as Kit's head turned to the healers direction.
"Brenda, did you know she didn't know I was a princess when she took me here?" she smirked at your direction.
"Really? " Her eyes widen with shock.
"Yeah. I told her I was a daughter of a guard in the castle. "
You remembered the earlier conversation.
*Flashback*
Your arms ached with pain as you carry the girl who was becoming more and more pale by each moment.
"You don't know where the castle is? "
"I'm not really from here."
"Where are you from? "
"Not around. "
"That was specific." she chuckled with a groggy voice.
You sighed heavily.
"Why are we going to the castle? Who are you?"
"My dad works there. As a guard. They can help me there. "
"Is that why you dressed up as one? "
She snorted as much as she could a poisoned person can.
"Don't tell me you stole your daddy's sword. That looks too good for you to have."
She smirked tiredly.
"You know about swords? "
"Kind of... " you smirked tiredly.
*end of the flashback*
You understood why she lied.
Many people could kidnap the Princess for their interests.
She put the spoon between your lips. The soup felt delicious and warm. It was like nothing you had for the longest time. You let her feed you as you eagerly took every spoonful of soup down to your stomach.
" Why didn't you eat before, darling? " The healer asked.
Kit cleaned your mouth with a napkin.
"I didn't have time to."
A few minutes passed with silence. You were never spoon fed by a Princess before. It felt weird. In a good way.
Kit's brows raised up.
" I heard things about you. "
She cleaned her throat and looked at the healer. The healer took it as a sigh and left you two alone.
You gulped.
"The guards came here, didn't they? "
You didn't felt like lying to her.
She sighed.
"Yes, they did. They told my mum, the Queen that they were looking for you. They told her that you are a thief. " She stopped and looked at you for an explanation.
You looked down at your lap and fiddled with your fingers.
"If I am going to jail or be executed I-"
She started to laugh "What? "
Her laugh was a song you never heard of.
"I mean, It's true. I am a thief."
"You saved my life. So you're not going anywhere." Her face came closer and it was pretty serious. "I-I mean anywhere bad. " She got back in her chair.
Relief came to you by her words but her being close to you made you nervous.
In a good way.
"Thank you, Kit. "
She put her hand on your leg.
"No, thank you, ...uhm? " her eyes pierced yours again as she smiled.
"Y/N." you smiled.
Her hand warmed your entire leg.
"Thank you, Y/N." She smiled softly.
You never really knew you could ever like blue eyes so much until now...
Taglist: @valenftcrush @elliewilliamsgf69 @hayatistirahati @rubycruzsbitch @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes
155 notes · View notes
infinitydivine · 12 days
Text
THE MAJOR ARCANA (The Beginners series) Tarot Keywords ✨♾️
Tip from personal experience- Before reading the meanings behind the cards, tap into your intuition and listen to what it tells you. You can always interpret your cards even if they don't match the traditional meanings. Make a bond with your decks, it will help you to have a more smooth Tarot journey. Always thank the cards and the Guides/Spirit Team/The Universe after you are done reading. Try to cover your head while doing the readings to prevent any additional info from downloading into your Crown Chakra.
I have also added my own interpretations of the cards based on personal experiences along with the traditional meanings. Do not copy the words and reblog if you want more posts like that :)
WHAT IS THE MAJOR ARCANA?
Tumblr media
(Pic credits to the owner)
They are basically representing our most fundamental issues at the Universal level. They deal with the issues of our own current needs and issues. Each of the Major Arcana represents a distinct principle, law, power, or element in Nature.
There are 22 Major Arcana Cards named below :
0: The Fool- represents the young and a fresh new energy. A New Beginning.
1: The Magician- The Master Manifestor/Someone having the capabilities and all the tools to manifest anything they want.
2: The High Priestess- The healer and The feminine power. Trusting in your inner guide and intuition.
3: The Empress- The Divine Feminine(regardless of gender), Nurturer, and Creative covering all the aspects of the feminine spirit.
4: The Emperor- The Divine Masculine (regardless of gender), Provider, and caretaker covering all the aspects of the masculine spirit.
5: The Hierophant- The teacher figure following traditional rules and ceremonies. Has a keen interest in knowledge and an unfulfilled thirst for information. The one who seeks.
6: The Lovers- Traditional card of Love and physical attraction. Could be inner or outer love. Love, choice, and commitment. Quest for eternal love.
7: The Chariot- The achiever and believer. Being determined to always move forward with both the Yin and Yang energies balanced, sticking to the right path.
8: Strength- Inner strength and courage. Has the self-awareness to deal with every situation. Can tame the inner Devil.
9: The Hermit- The Isolator and seeking for some solitude in silence. Going within to find the answers to every question.
10: The Wheel of Fortune- Completion of a cycle. Destiny and timings at their play. The only constant is change itself. Cycles repeat themselves until the lessons are learned.
11: Justice- Harmony and honesty will be served in the situation. Nature's laws are at play. Learning how to make rational decisions.
12: The Hanged Man- Learning about new perspectives. Looking at everything with a different viewpoint. Changing priorities and doing the opposite of what is expected.
13: Death- Not the literal Death card. It means a Rebirth and Transition. Change is needed. New beginnings could be on the horizon after letting go of the past.
14: Temperance- Learning the art of balancing the emotions in every situation. Practicing self-control and moderation. Only moderation will create balance.
15: The Devil- The illusion controlling the rational mind. The ego is bigger than the higher self's knowledge. Sexual temptations and materialism are blinding. Being utterly obsessed.
16: The Tower- Hitting the rock bottom. Not expecting the sudden changes because of external disruptions. What was built will be broken someday if it is built based on lies and deception.
17: The Star- Ideal love and inspiration. Could also represent your soul tribe and star seeds. Have faith in the future because it is shining bright.
18: The Moon- Mysterious and Illusions. Something is hidden beneath the surface. Trusting the instincts and intuition.
19: The Sun- Joy and positivity. Everything will be fine in the end. By believing in yourself you can achieve anything you want.
20: Judgement- Accept the things as they are and the judgment will be in your favor. Find the truth and take action based on that truth. Creating your own Karma.
21: The World- Completion of a cycle. Ending of the past and new beginnings. Cosmic Love and feeling the whole within and with the Universe. Traveling and accomplishing your goals.
Note- Everyone is free to interpret the cards how their intuition is telling them. \
Thank You
Love, Infinity ❤️
Tumblr media
40 notes · View notes
Note
what do you think of a campaign in the style of games like Left 4 Dead and Vermintide(fighting through hordes of enemies while completing a series of objectives)?
Tumblr media
DM Tip: Against the Horde
Friend, let me tell you the tale of the time I was playing in a game where the DM decided it would be a great idea for us to fight 200 zombies. This wasn't because we were the appropriate level, that many zombies amounted to a challenging encounter for a party twice our strength, 200 just felt like a nice round number that would appropriately communicate the idea of a horde.
That fight (and the five hours it took) was one of the most valuable lessons in dungeonmastering I ever received, because it showed me nearly every problem that emerges from d&d's combat system when you put it under stress.
To set up the stakes, it saddens me to say that there were none: the zombies emerged in a village we had never heard of and would never go to again for no reason what so ever. This was in no way part of or relevant to any plots, before or after. It was purely an excuse for the dm to have us fight 200 zombies and that fight had no bearing on anything. We didn't even get XP for it.
Now let me share what I've learned:
Like all of its other systems, D&D combat is not fundamentally fun or meaningful, it becomes fun and meaningful when the combat is used to tell stories the party already has stakes in. Sure, it's enjoyable to throw some dice around and roll big numbers but if you're going to do that without a story attached you might as well be playing a boardgame with more refined mechanics like Heroquest or Gloomhaven
The base combat system of d&d is fundamentally clumsy, which makes sense given that it's a bastardization of wargame rules from before they invented fun. "roll to hit vs ac, roll damage vs hp" might've been snappy back when creatures and characters tracked hp and damage in 1s and 2s, but as the numbers bloated combat slowed to a crawl. Not only does a player now need to wait 10-40 minutes between their chances to do anything, that chance can be entirely wasted by a bad to-hit or damage roll, especially when you don’t have an ability to buff your damage.   Because d&d operates on the concept of attrition and we were forced to fight so many zombies, our entire party was down to making basic attacks after the first few rounds. Our turns became almost meaningless by the end: whether or not we hit, it generally took 2-4 swings to down a single zombie, and then another shambling corpse would take its place. This is to say nothing of the damage they were doing on us, or the healers desperately trying to keep everyone up when it became inevitable that they’d be downed again before their turn came around.
People who complain about players steamrolling encounters or that modern classes feel like “superheroes” have failed to recognize that cool and borderline overpowered abilities are what save the game from being a slog. Combat lasts about three rounds because that’s about how long it takes for the players to burn through their reserves of cool shit and start having to throw rocks at their opponents. Fighting on an empty tank can be poignant once or twice a campaign, but if it happens every time you roll initiative people are going to start tuning out. This is why the professional games have big fights sparingly and generally reserve entire episodes for them.
It is likewise the DM’s job to set up cool and borderline overpowered opportunities within the combat space to supplement the party’s own, just like it’s their job to come up with interesting challenges for the party to overcome. That’s just a standard of good combat design, and while smaller fights can be simpler, it should be equally mandatory for big fights to have just as much thought put into the party’s options as the enemy team’s composition.  
My most important lesson that campaign taught me is this: No d&d is better than bad d&d. I could have skipped that session and spent five hours doing anything else and i’d have been better off... I likewise could have skipped that campaign and have been spared the grand finale where the DM pulled that sort of shit again, running an “epic” multi-unit fantasy LOTR style battle where we got to watch as they spent 95% of the time smashing different armies together like single player warhammer.
I want to say sorry to the Asker for stumbling into one of my old war stories. Figured it’d be a good baseline to have while I circle back to the more specific advice: It’s fine to have a setting where enemies are everywhere, but prolonged combat vs overwhelming numbers of foes simply breaks the game. L4D and Vermintide are game systems that are mechanically built to feel good engaging with that many foes (and have the benefit of computer processing powers) where as D&D works best on small scale skirmishes.
Art
242 notes · View notes
goddness-lunafreya · 3 months
Text
Baldur's Gate 3 Characters' Pokémon Team (Part 2)
—Halsin, the (ex)Archdruid—
Read the other parts at the end of the post.
Hello everyone, let's go to part 2 of this little game I'm doing to think about a Pokémon team for the characters from Baldur's Gate, based on their personalities and backstory.
The only rules are: 1 Starter, 4 common Pokémon and 1 Legendary or Mythical. The team also needs a Gigantamax or a Mega Evolution.
Today we will see the (ex)Archdruid of Emerald Grove, Halsin, our beloved elf, bear, daddy and healer. Let's try to imagine the Pokémon he would use on his team!
Tumblr media
Its starter was complicated, practically any Grass-type Pokémon would be perfect! However, I wanted to not be too cliché, so I thought of another Pokémon for this.
You know that line of his about ducks? Halsin loves ducks. So why not an energetic and joyful duck?
This is Quaxly! Paldea's Water starter!
Tumblr media
Quaxly is a lively duckling with a cheerful personality. Motivates allies, but is full of active spirit! So active that its evolution becomes a Fighting-type Pokémon!
Tumblr media
Quaquaval is a duck that dances and fights! With a willpower that makes him deal with challenges head on. We all know that Halsin dances in the epilogue and has enormous willpower, I think this grown duck would be a great companion for him!
Not to mention that water helps nature, so Halsin would be happy to make Quaquaval water any dry plants they had lying around.
Then that's it! Quaquaval would be Halsin's first Pokémon! They would dance(Specifically Samba) around while destroying those who threaten the nature!
But the second Pokémon needs to represent Halsin! And nothing better than a bear... There are several bear pokemon. But I would vote for Bewear as a Halsin signature pokemon!
Tumblr media
This big bear is of the Normal/Fighting type, being a bear that loves to hug, but has such great physical strength that it hurts others when hugging.
But he doesn't do anything bad! Bewear has a huge heart... They are caring, gentle, protective and very soft! Fluffy is actually their ability...
They are big bears that represent Halsin as a whole. Strong, but loving. Gigantic, but with a big heart.
The third Pokémon continues this path of large Pokémon with a careful personality. And that's why I thought of Kangaskhan as Halsin's Pokémon!
Tumblr media
This purely Normal-type Pokémon is a mother. Protects your child in its pouch with its life, lives in community and is kind to those who are good people.
Halsin loves children, that's no secret to anyone. So he would love a Pokémon that exalts all the beauty of motherhood and care.
And the best! Kangaskhan can Mega evolve!
Tumblr media
Your Mega Evolution doesn't change anything, just the fact that your child is now grown up! And they can both fight together!
Halsin would love to see this little one grow up strong and healthy enough to help his mother with works.
Halsin's fourth Pokémon is to represent the change in nature. The seasons of the year. The beauty of change. This Pokémon is Sawsbuck.
Tumblr media
Sawsbuck is a Grass/Normal deer that changes its antlers based on seasons. They are protective of their flock, linked to nature in an intimate way. Beautiful, graceful, like nature itself.
This Pokémon would be perfect for Halsin, he would admire the foliage of his antlers and recognize the state of the seasons at that moment.
Okay, but something is missing from this team, a medical Pokémon, a healer. A Pokémon that demonstrates the care that Halsin has for the injured and the sick. And no one better than Blissey, Halsin's fifth Pokémon.
Tumblr media
Blissey is a doctor pokemon, who takes care of others, worried about everyone. They even offers her egg, full of nutrients, to those who are sick! They are by nature careful and affectionate. With an instinct to care and protect, as Halsin has at different times.
This Pokémon would help Halsin care for the sick and injured, as if it were an assistant. Blissey would be a great addition to his team.
And don't underestimate the power of Blissey! They can be powerful even if they are only Normal types. They can be very useful in combat.
Finally, Halsin's last pokemon is his Legendary. We have several options, but I will go with the protector of nature, Tapu Bulu!
Tumblr media
This powerful Pokémon that protects Alola and nature is a Grass/Fairy type. Fairy itself is a type very linked to nature, to its power, to the natural.
Tapu Bulu is dedicated, focused, but also playful. They loves humans and cares for those who take care of nature. They is responsible for making vegetation grow, taking care of nature and plants.
It's almost as if he was sent by Silvanus for such a task. To care for and protect everything He created.
Furthermore, Tapu Bulu is inspired by one of the Hawaiian Gods and Totems (as well as the other Tapus), which are carved with wood. And well, we know that Halsin likes to carve wood.
And now, we have the conclusion, where based on what was analyzed, I say that Halsin favorite type is:
Normal type!
The Normal type is underrated, but it is an extremely interesting type. They have almost no weaknesses or advantages, but they have a unique quality of moves.
The Normal type represents, well, normality. Everything that is closest to our real world has the Normal type in the Pokémon world. Everything that is neutral or natural is of the normal type.
See how many animal Pokémon are normal types, or how many Pokémon you care for are normal types. The normal type also represents music, the nature, the change and the ability to change.
Halsin would love the normal type for its simplicity, for representing the beauty of life and nature in a simple way. Not everything needs to be very magical or powerful, and Halsin sees the beauty of this in Normal-type pocket monsters!
And I hope you enjoyed the analysis! I really want to team up with the other characters.
Other parts:
—Part 1 (Astarion)
Replots and reblogs are always welcome. Support the artist by giving a follow and like. Feel free to give suggestions for Pokémon and teams. 🌙 —Goddness Lunafreya
29 notes · View notes
tamurilofrivendell · 1 year
Text
Beauty and the Beast | Chapter 12
Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11]
Read on AO3 [x]
Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Beauty and the Beast inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking and a human reader from a nearby village Taglist: @captainchrisstan​​, @rebleforkicks​​, @yjrevolution​​, @majahu​​​, @honey-wine​​, @accio-boys​​, @achromaticerebus​​, @solomonssimp
Tumblr media
You’d found Myleth on your way down the corridor and she had greeted you like an old friend, linking her arm through your own and walking with you towards the dining hall. The way she talked and her mere presence had a way of putting you instantly at ease. She was quite possibly your favourite elf here, the prince a close second. The king, of course, was right down at the bottom of the list.
Myleth steered you to the table where Tauriel and Legolas were sitting, Elros drifting over to join the group soon after and there was a comfortable buzz of conversation as you all ate. You picked at the food, not feeling entirely hungry, though you knew that you had to keep your strength up the best you could.
Legolas watched you quietly for a few moments, studying your movements and your expression. He thought back to his father, the way you stood up to him, the way you’d brought him back from the forest seriously injured even though it meant forfeiting your freedom, the way you’d insisted on tending his wounds when the stubborn king had refused a healer. You hadn’t had to do any of that and Legolas thought you to be a woman of real integrity.
“So.” He said your name, gaining your attention. “What sort of things do you do? Back in your village?”
Everyone turned their attention on you, gazes shining with interest as they waited for your answer. You were a little taken aback by the genuine expressions you saw looking back at you. Did they truly want to know the answer? Why? You were almost as confused by their interest of you as you had been by their concern and worry for the King.
“Well.” You began, having a sip of water before continuing on. “My father and I ran our farm. Most of all, I liked to read.” You spoke in the past tense, telling them what you did, whereas Legolas had asked you what you do.
“You like reading?” Legolas smiled brightly. “Would you like me to get some books brought to your room? I am sure you would like more things to pass your time with while you are here.”
Eagerly, you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. Books?! You had been going slightly stir crazy shut up in that room all the time with absolutely nothing but your thoughts to entertain you. You had been missing your books so much. Your stories and your knowledge. “Yes please!”
“Consider it done.” Legolas grinned, nodding at you before he moved to stand. Tauriel followed suit, nudging Elros who had whispered something in her ear that you assumed was a joke of some kind. “I will see you later.” Legolas took his leave, the redhead following him. Eventually, Myleth stood and took her leave as well, needing to go and get some work done and Elros drifted away soon after, leaving you alone. You felt quite awkward about this because you were a prisoner so why hadn’t anyone escorted you back to your room? Still, you reminded yourself that the guard hadn’t jumped on you when you left and Legolas hadn’t seemed eager to chase you back. You wondered when the King would wake up and these small freedoms would once again be taken away.
You entertained yourself walking through the twisting hallways, taking in the wonder of the Woodland Realm. It truly was breathtaking, you could never have dreamed up anything so intricate and beautiful in your wildest dreams. Such a shame it was so shrouded in darkness. Eventually, you headed off in the direction of your room, slipping inside with a sigh. Your gaze landed on the little pile of books on the table and your face brightened. Legolas had been true to his word and you moved over, picking up the one at the top of the pile, and opening it. It was a book of poetry and you began devouring it page by page, eventually drifting back off into the most peaceful slumber you’d experienced since arriving in this accursed forest.
Tumblr media
When you opened your eyes again, it was incredibly dark, and you figured that it must be late in the night by this point. The book you had been reading had fallen closed beside you, in the process of falling off the bed. You rescued it from its precarious position and swung your legs off the bed, sitting up and looking around the room. There was a tray of bread, cheese, and fruit on the table by the door which told you that Myleth had probably come along while you were sleeping. Standing, you moved over to the food, nibbling gratefully as you fully woke up.
A short time later, you were going stir crazy again. You wanted to read a little more but you found that you wanted a change of scenery. Venturing to the door, book in hand, you eased it open and peeked out. A guard was standing there still and your heart jumped into your throat, but they made no move to stop you as you took tentative steps out into the hall, gathering the courage to keep moving. You breathed a sigh of relief as you rounded the corner, shoulders relaxing a little.
Your sense of direction in this place was still not perfect, though you were sure it wasn’t supposed to be even slightly decent considering you were meant to be shut away and not allowed to wander. You wondered if Legolas had said something to the guard when his father had gotten injured but you couldn’t figure out why he would have bothered. You let your feet carry you, noting how quiet it was, as you took in the architecture and decoration of the place.
When you finally blinked yourself back fully to the present moment, you realised you recognised the hallway you had found yourself in... and the door you were now standing outside of. This was the King’s room. You immediately turned, panicking as you realised where you had ended up, desperate to be away but then something caused you to hesitate. You eyed the door, curious to actually see how he was recovering. You hadn’t seen him or asked about him since you heard the news he’d fallen unconscious due to poison.
Hesitating briefly before deciding to just do it, you reached for the handle and eased the door open. A healer inside the room who was checking on the King looked up in shock but for some reason didn’t say anything, recognising you. They finished up and eventually left you there, for some reason moving to take a seat in the chair next to the bed.
Staring at Thranduil, you shook your head. He was such an idiot for getting himself into this position. Sighing, your fingers opened the book and flicked through the pages. You told yourself that you would stay here for another minute and then you would leave, maybe find somewhere pretty to sit and finish reading, but you ended up perched there for a while.
When Legolas came to check on his father later, he found you still sitting there, now actually reading aloud from the book. He was stunned as he stood there watching you, gaze flickering to his father just briefly before he eased the door closed again before you ever knew he was even there, walking off with a smile on his face.
“--and over Middle Earth he passed and heard at last the weeping sore--”
“...of women and of elven-maids in Elder days, in years of yore...”
Your head shot up at the voice which had joined yours, finishing the next line from the Song of Eärendil which you had been reading out loud. The book nearly dropped out of your hands altogether as you looked over at the bed, finding Thranduil’s eyes now open and fixed on you.
156 notes · View notes
raspberryfingers · 10 months
Text
A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 4)
Tumblr media
WARNINGS: Mentions of rape/SA, Blood
Word Count: 8.5k
—————
Loras was the first person I saw upon waking up, which was reassuring because nothing else about the room I was in was familiar. I was lying back in bed, and for a moment I thought I was dreaming.
“Sister?”
I raised my eyebrows at my younger brother, yawning and lifting my arms so that I might rub my tired eyes. Doing this made me realize that I most certainly was not dreaming, for it sent a sharp pain up my side. Suddenly, memories of the previously forgotten battle came flooding back to me. Some were certainly clearer than others, but it did not take much concentration to recall the fact that Tywin Lannister had carried me across the battlefield and saved my life. Even if I did not want to give him that credit, it was what he was owed for doing such a thing. 
“Loras?”
“You’re finally awake, thank the gods. You’ve been out for three days now, much to all our concern. Though I suppose that was better than being awake for any of it. From what I’m told you gave the healers and maesters quite the job,” he said, motioning to my wound. I presumed it had been both cleaned and stitched, and decided that he was right; it was a good thing I had been unconscious for it.
“Are we in the Red Keep?” I questioned, looking around. I could hear waves crashing against rocks somewhere nearby, which made me think that the answer to my question was yes. 
“Yes, we are. Tywin Lannister chose your room, I believe. Perhaps he’s trying to appease you, because it’s certainly quite nice,” Loras suggested with a grin, joining me in my observation of the space. He was correct in his statement about the quality of it, as I’d been given a rather large bed and plenty of space. There was also a circular table with some food set out, and I thought it might be good to eat something. I doubted that I’d enjoyed anything of real substance in the last several days. 
“Tywin Lannister does not know what the word appeasement means, Loras. Is your room this large?” I asked, though not without taking the chance to remind my brother that the Lord of the Rock was still my sworn enemy. He had probably just put me wherever was most convenient, or perhaps most inconvenient for me. 
“No, but this one’s most likely been chosen due to its relative lack of stairs. My bedroom is higher up, and unfortunately requires many more steps. It’s somewhere near the tower of the hand, I believe,” Loras complained, looking around with a sigh. Scratch that idea about inconvenience, then. 
I suddenly felt the need to sit up, for my back was rather stiff. I motioned for my brother and reached out with a sort of desperation. Loras understood, moving forward to help me sit up. I was successfully able to, but not without hissing in pain. I tried not to consider how long it would take this damned wound to heal.
“I don’t know which part is worse, the stairs or having to be closer to Tywin Lannister. Both of those thoughts make me want to die,” I joked with a groan, to which Loras smiled and shook his head at me. I reached out toward the nightstand beside the bed, wanting the cup full of wine that was set down there. I needed something to dull this pain.
“Most definitely the stairs, I promise you that.”
I thought about my memories from that night some more, and recalled the way Lord Tywin had practically carried me across the entire battlefield. He hadn’t let me die; he wouldn’t let me. I remembered his words of encouragement, and the way that he had kept me pressed against his chest with every ounce of strength in his body. He was miles stronger than most men his age, it seemed. I found myself wondering why he had gone to so much effort to save my life. I mean, seven hells, I had begged the man to let me die.
“But, (Y/N), there’s something else I should tell you. At least, Margaery thought I should,” Loras said after a moment, breaking me from my thoughts. 
“Hm?”
“It’s about Margaery. We were discussing the subject and- well, there’s to be a sort of ceremony at the end of this week. It’s generally expected that King Joffrey will do House Tyrell some sort of honor. Our sister would like for me to request their betrothal,” Loras said, though his words were cautious for some reason. That was generally what we had already planned for at Highgarden. Had something changed in the last several days?
“This was what we agreed upon before I accepted Baelish’s offer, yes? How is this news?” I questioned, sighing out as I took several gulps of wine. Gods, it felt good to have something to numb this indescribable pain. It somehow made me angry that the man who’d given it to me was afforded death. I’d much rather he have lived in pain.
“There have been rumors. Grandmother has noted that when people speak of Joffrey… well, it’s either very false or somewhat unpleasant. She wants to find out more, but both her and Margaery agreed that I ought to inform you about it once you woke up. Just so you aren’t surprised,” Loras explained, pouring me more wine once I’d finished the modest amount in my cup. He gave me a condescending look to suggest that I ought to slow down, but poured more anyway. I couldn’t resist a small grin.
“I see. If Joffrey does turn out to be rather cruel, it would be regrettable. Gods know that all Margaery wants is to be queen, and it would be quite frustrating to have some boy ruin half of the reason I agreed to this damned alliance in the first place,” I noted with a sigh, shaking my head at the very thought of it. All I currently knew was that Joffrey had called for Ned Stark to be beheaded, but I supposed he had that coming. This new information made me wonder if there was perhaps more to that situation than mere treason.
“That’s the other reason I wanted to talk to you about it. Even if Joffrey does end up being cruel, Margaery still wants to go through with it anyways. You know her, with her seductive abilities,” my brother scoffed, pouring himself a cup as well. It seemed that this conversation warranted it.
“If anybody can ‘tame’ a cruel man, I’d leave it to Margaery. If she doesn’t manage to, however, I’m not afraid to show the king a thousand times more wrath than I’ve bestowed upon his grandfather.”
“Ha! When being queen comes naturally to her and she gets bored, perhaps she can take a crack at the Old Lion himself.”
“And if she somehow managed to, it would be the hardest thing she ever did. I’m afraid even her talent has limits.”
Loras and I both laughed rather heartily, so much so that I was instantly grabbing at my side and hissing with pain. Even then, it took quite a lot of willpower to subdue my laughter over the thought. If Margaery herself couldn’t make Tywin Lannister a better man—which I knew for a fact wasn’t possible—I highly doubted that anybody could. 
I sighed out, leaning back against the pillows as I waited for the sharp, stabbing feeling to dissipate. I wished that I could be given more milk of the poppy without it being dangerous. 
“I know I can’t make the pain go away, but is there anything I can do?”
“Will you help me dress? I don’t trust any of the maids here just yet, and I’d like to go sit in the gardens for a while. I need fresh air,” I asked my brother, trying to relax as my level of pain went back to something that felt slightly bearable.  
“Certainly, which dress would you like?” Loras questioned in reply, getting up from his seat beside my bed and opening my closet. I was surprised to find various dresses from home already hung and arranged by color. I imagined that perhaps Margaery and my grandmother had put together a trunk for me.
“The pink one. Yes, that one would be best. The sides are open, it won’t irritate the wound as much,” I reasoned, sitting straighter and removing my shift as painlessly as possible. Actually, nothing about it was painless, but I supposed it could’ve been much much worse. By how much I wasn’t certain, but I tried to tell myself that.
Loras came over to the bed again and helped me into my dress, and even that process involved very much pain. I was forced to work my legs and arms into it very awkwardly so that none of the stitches would split, but it was almost as though I could feel the tugging. Thankfully, it was over relatively quickly, and he proceeded to help me into some shoes. 
“Will you be alright walking so soon? It’s only been a few days,” He noted with concern, giving me his arm so I could test out standing up. I was able to do that on my own, but I did have to hold onto him once I decided to take a step forward. 
“Yes, I’m certain it’ll be fine. Also, can you fetch whatever chambermaid they assigned to me? I don’t trust you to do my hair any justice,” I said, gripping his arm while I limped over to the vanity. When I saw myself in the mirror, Loras could no longer hold in his laugh. My hair was quite a mess, and I pretended to scoff at his childishness as I sat on the small stool. It was quite amusing, if I was honest.
“Certainly, sister. If any rats come crawling out of that, just scream and I’m certain the guards outside the door will try their best to find it,” Loras teased, chuckling to himself as he left the room. I merely rolled my eyes, reaching for my brush. I attempted to do my own hair, but the raising of my arms stretched my torso and hurt so horribly that I nearly began to cry. No, I would unfortunately have to burden some poor girl with this mess.
My thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of my door, and I looked over to find a young woman stepping in. She seemed more or less around my age, and she had strawberry blonde hair with a sweet face. Her eyes were hazel, and there was something warm about her. I felt relaxed instantly.
“Hello,” I greeted, giving her a gentle smile. It was all I could muster at the present moment. 
“Hello, my lady. Your brother said you needed assistance with your hair?” She confirmed, closing the door and approaching the vanity. She did not even look shocked at the sight, and treated it like it was any normal task. I supposed it wasn’t the worst thing she could be dealing with, but I still felt bad.
“I would’ve attempted it myself, but well-“
“Your wound, ma’am. I know, they asked for someone with a bit more medical knowledge than usual. I’ve been looking after you these last few days,” she informed, smiling and reaching for my brush. 
“What is your name?” I asked as she raised the tool and carefully began to untangle everything. She was trying her very hardest not to hurt me, and I wanted to explain that as a girl my chambermaid had practically used the thing as a weapon. In contrast, I almost couldn’t even tell that this girl was brushing my hair. 
“Cerella, my lady,” she replied softly, smiling at me through the mirror. It matched her face perfectly, and I gave her a satisfied nod.
“That’s quite pretty.”
“Thank you, how would you like your hair?”
“Nothing too much, just a braid or two that meet in the back,” I said, not caring to give myself a headache, or her too much to do. Neither my sister nor I cared for the somewhat elaborate styles that Queen Cersei was known for. I doubted I could sit still for that long. 
Cerella nodded and promptly got to work, leaving me to my thoughts. I wondered where Margaery was, and the same for my grandmother. I wanted to see them very badly, and I also wanted to inquire about my father. It made me feel like a young girl again, waiting for his judgment of my leadership. I prayed that even despite my wound he would recognize that I had otherwise fought valiantly and made smart choices.
“There you are, my lady. Is that alright?”
“Perfect, Cerella, thank you. That’ll be all.”
She nodded, giving a slight curtsy and then leaving. Once she was gone, I admired the style in the mirror. She had done quite a good job, especially after having to deal with untangling everything as well.
With a sigh, I planted my palms into the wood of the dresser and slowly attempted to stand. It was so painful that every few seconds I would have to stop and take several deep breaths, and I felt certain that perhaps an infant would have an easier time doing it.
Eventually, though, I managed to rise from my seat, and I sighed out with great relief as I did. I began walking towards the door, too, and that was somehow even worse than trying to stand. Each step I took produced pain, but I was far too proud to admit that I needed either a cane or assistance. 
I finally managed to exit the room, though it had been quite a taxing experience and I was somewhat wary about actually being able to make it to the gardens. Nevertheless, I would at least try to get there. 
As I was making my way to the gardens, however, I discovered a grassy courtyard near my chambers that was full of flowers and various other kinds of plants. I could smell its sweet scent from the hallway, and deciding that the pain of walking was becoming far too unbearable, I instead opted to sit in this flowery courtyard.
I managed to find a stone bench hidden among the greenery, and I found that beads of sweat had formed on my forehead when I sat down. A headache had also formed due to my exertion, and so I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed that all of my pain would simply go away. 
When I felt relaxed enough, I opened my eyes and decided to admire all the plants in this secluded garden. There were vibrant, beautiful colors of every kind surrounding me, and it reminded me of Highgarden in quite the comforting way. I found myself wishing that I was at Highgarden, and wishing that this dreadful war had never started to begin with. I ought to have been enjoying ripe peaches in the gardens with Margaery and our other relatives, chasing the younger ones through the hedge maze and laughing because I would find them everytime. I wished that I was practicing with Ser Elias and Loras in the courtyard, enjoying the feeling of cold water rushing down my parched throat. I even wished that I was sitting in my bedroom, reading while curled up on the small sofa by my window that overlooked the river. 
No, instead I was here in King's Landing, the worst city in all seven kingdoms, sitting on a random stone bench with nothing to do because I was in so much pain. Unnecessary pain, too. Pain that would’ve been avoided if I hadn’t accepted Littlefinger’s proposal. 
“Lady (Y/N).”
I instantly recognized the voice, but I turned around in surprise. Lord Tywin had managed to find me here, somehow. He approached comfortably, and I swallowed the lump in my throat that had appeared over the thought of being back at Highgarden.
“Lord Tywin,” I found myself replying, unsure of what to say. The last time I’d seen him I’d been slung across his body trying not to die, and that’s not exactly a very conversational topic.
“May I sit with you?” He asked, glancing at the bench for a moment and then back at me. I debated saying no, for I truly had no desire to be in a worse mood, but I figured that he deserved at least a little kindness for helping me.
“Certainly.”
I moved over, giving him enough room to sit beside me, though I was nervous as to whatever he was going to bring up. The act of sitting—to me, at least—suggested a lengthier conversation, and that was not a particularly comforting thought. 
“How did you find me here?” I questioned, looking around. It would certainly be very difficult to spot someone from the halls, for the plants were too high and the bench too secluded. 
“I saw you enter the garden from down the hall, but I was busy speaking to another lord,” he said, holding his hands over the bottom of coat and sitting down beside me. He adjusted himself for a moment, and then finally stilled.
I nodded in response to his answer, and I meant to say something along the lines of ‘I see,’ but it had not come out in time. I suddenly felt awkward, and I did not like that. Trying to be civil to a man that I so despised felt wrong, even if I knew that it was the least I could do. 
“How is your wound?”
I looked over at him and opened my mouth to speak, but figured that it might just be easier to show him. I adjusted the loose silk at the side of my dress, opening the slit wider and moving my arm for him to see it. I could feel the slight stickiness of gauze there, but assumed that at some point they’d removed my bandages to let it breathe.
“In all honesty, I haven’t even looked at it yet. All I know is that it hurts worse than all seven hells. I’ve never felt pain like this,” I admitted, watching as he moved his head back a little bit to see better. Lord Tywin observed it carefully before nodding, his eyes scanning over the entire thing.
“They did a good job with the stitching. I’m… sorry that it hurts,” he noted, watching as I put my dress back into place. I could tell those two words had not fallen from his tongue in many years. Not genuinely, at least. 
“It’ll heal eventually. Though, for the moment it’s awful. I meant to find my way to the actual gardens but… well, I could only make it this far,” I explained with a sigh, folding my hands in my lap while I did. There was something incredibly degrading about not even being able to go where you wanted to.
“Stairs are an unfortunate part of the Red Keep. I put you where there were as few as possible, even if it does not make much of a difference overall.”
“I thank you for that. And I- well, thank you for saving my life, Lord Tywin. Especially after all I’ve said to you,” I told him, raising my eyes so I could meet his. Saying it made my heart pound as though I were revealing some grand secret, and I did not like how insecure it made me feel. I never imagined there would be a day where I said thank you to Tywin Lannister for any reason. 
“You do not have to find me agreeable, Lady (Y/N), for I most certainly do not find you to be so either, but our alliance is important. If you had died, it would have complicated quite a lot of things,” he said, making me remember just how insufferable the man truly was. He just had to mention that he did not like me. Well, it was of little importance, I would do the same later on.
“Would it have? If anything, I should think that me dying would’ve made the Lannister-Tyrell alliance much easier for you to handle. There would be nobody disagreeable for you to deal with, and I’m quite certain that neither my father nor brother would contest you,” I replied, raising both eyebrows with false surprise. I wondered what kind of response he would conjure up to that statement.
“You’re correct, I would certainly have this… thorn removed from my side, but even so, you are vastly more competent than the rest of your family. Your brother would not have had the confidence to make an immediate decision about the wildfire the way that you were prepared to. And your father…” Lord Tywin trailed off, and I could not resist a small smile as I finished his sentence.
“Is a ponderous oaf? In my grandmother’s words, anyway.”
Lord Tywin said nothing, but gave me a look that affirmed what I had said. He then sighed and continued.
“I’ll say this much, I prefer someone that dislikes me to someone utterly stupid. You’re certainly not the latter,” he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling tiredly. I might’ve noted that if I had died, my grandmother would’ve taken on my role, but in all honesty, I knew that she had even less desire to speak with Lord Tywin than I did. She’d spent her whole life around foolish men, I expected it had become quite droll.
“I see. Well, either way, I thank you for it,” I replied, trying my hardest to maintain an unaffected tone despite my deep annoyance. Why would Tywin Lannister ever do a single good thing for someone else unless it benefitted him somehow? I was merely another piece in his chess game, and he did not want to give me up and only be left with pawns. 
“Of course.”
There was a silence between us then, and I expected that he would get up and leave now that we’d had a discussion on the subject, but instead he cleared his throat and began again.
“I was worried about you,” he admitted suddenly, glancing at me and then glancing away as if he was embarrassed to experience emotions. I wasn’t surprised by his pride, but I was certainly surprised by his sentiment. 
“How do you mean?”
“You kept fainting, I was worried you’d die in my arms,” he said, shaking his head and glancing at my wound again. He had an odd look in his eyes, almost as if he was thinking about a distant memory. Either way, he was clearly being genuine, and I had not expected it. Especially when moments ago he’d noted that the only reason he’d bothered to help me was so he would not be left with only my brother and father to deal with.
Though, I considered his sentiment more, and my heart sank as I pondered the fact that his fear had been entirely plausible. 
“I thought I would. I was trying so hard to hold on but I truly thought I would die… it was an odd feeling. It was both frightening and comforting.”
“Well, you lived. That’s all that matters…” he trailed off for a moment, and then I saw a sort of mischievous spark in his eyes. It caught me somewhat off guard. “You would have died in the arms of an insufferable cunt, wouldn’t that have been sad?”
I had not expected him to say such a thing, and so naturally I couldn’t help laughing. Lord Tywin flashed a rare smile in response to my giggling, and I wondered if perhaps the maesters had given me too much milk of the poppy. I quickly realized they hadn’t though, because the pain in my side that laughter caused forced me to quickly compose myself. I resorted to simply smiling instead. Tywin Lannister making me smile, who would’ve thought? I supposed he’d done the same when I was a girl, before he’d revealed himself to be an insufferable cunt at any rate. Though, that led to another thought.
“I suppose, out of the kindness of my heart, I can remove one part of that title. As a reward, let’s say, for saving my life. Would you prefer to remain insufferable or a cunt?” I asked, grinning even wider. Even despite my hatred for the man, there was something invigorating about our current banter.
Lord Tywin, much to my surprise, let out a rather loud ‘ha!’ and shook his head as he began to contemplate. After a moment, he turned to me with a clever look on his face.
“I’d prefer to be a cunt, but I wouldn’t have saved your life if I was one, so I suppose you ought to pick the more fitting title.”
“Very well, you shall remain insufferable,” I announced, to which he simply raised an eyebrow. Though I had said it in a partially humorous tone, there was also a glare in my eyes to remind him that nothing had really changed. I meant it, he was still insufferable. 
“A curious sentiment given that I offered House Tyrell an alliance, showed you much more respect than you deserved, and saved your life.”
“Which is precisely why I will always find you insufferable, Lord Tywin. No matter how long I live. You seem to believe that you are owed something because you have done a decent act, but that is the farthest thing from the truth. Your offer was a benefit to you, just as you noted a few minutes ago. It’s the same reason you saved my life, correct?” 
Lord Tywin stared at me quietly, and I saw the annoyance starting to develop on his face. I continued.
“I may be grateful that you saved my life, Lord Tywin, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m not going to get down on my knees and worship you just because you practiced self control and behaved closer to how a man ought to than usual. No, nothing in the seven hells could ever make me civil towards you for as long as I live,” I said firmly, making sure he understood that his supposed ‘decency’ was still not nearly enough, and how the fact that he thought it was something miraculous was telling in itself. Who did he think he was?
“If I was ever truly cruel to you, Lady (Y/N), then I would understand the root of your hatred, possibly even be amused by it, but I don’t understand what I’ve done to make you hate me so passionately. No, I’m certainly not as kind as other men, I’m quite aware of that fact. But your contempt is based entirely on a single conversation that we had 11 years ago. Is it truly possible that you are so angry simply because you couldn’t handle being told you weren’t as smart as you believed?” he questioned, voice low and filled with malice. There was fire in his eyes, and I found myself wondering if he wished to strike me. I certainly wished to strike him.
“You say that as if you would tolerate it! All it took was one mention of imperfection to set you off, don’t you remember? But to answer your question, no, Lord Tywin, that is not the only reason I hate you so much. It may have sparked the fire, but I assure you plenty more has kept it going. Because even if you’ve never been ‘cruel’ to me, you’ve been cruel to plenty of others, don’t think I’m unaware. I could sit here and list through all your atrocities but I fear you’d already be buried in the Sept of Baelor by the time I was finished. To put it simply, you have no compassion for those around you, Lord Tywin. You don’t care how they feel about anything, or if others have to suffer. It is all about you, all about House Lannister. And from the first moment I met you, you made that abundantly clear,” I scowled, gripping my skirts to prevent my fury from becoming utterly explosive. Genuine anger had begun to make me shake, and my head hurt so bad it was making it even worse.
Lord Tywin and I stared each other down, and I’m sure if anybody had been there to see our conversation, they would’ve believed us about to kill each other. We bore no blades, but our tongues were weapons enough it seemed.
“You’re quite bold, Lady (Y/N), I must give you that. Most men would have their throats slit for saying such a thing to a lord,” he noted, tone deep and aggressive. I knew it was not just a statement, nor was it a direct threat. It was a warning. 
“Do you do it yourself, Lord Tywin?” 
His eyes seemed to darken further, and I knew I was pushing limits, but I didn’t care. It was addicting to infuriate the man, to know that I had the power to make him so angry. Plus, it was telling that my statement made him so upset. Where Ned Stark had believed that the man who passes the sentence ought to swing the sword, Tywin Lannister was the very opposite in his beliefs. At least, that was what he practiced, anyway.
“Be careful, woman.”
Ah, so it was woman now. Perhaps that was better than girl, for this was at least amusing to me.
“Isn’t it convenient, Lord Tywin? You slit mens throats for offending you, and yet here I am, a woman,” I pointed out, tilting my head in a challenging manner. I was luring him right into a trap.
“If you keep testing me, Lady (Y/N), it won’t matter.”
“I suppose I should be grateful I’m at least receiving warnings. Elia Martell certainly didn’t.”
That did it, and I watched with satisfaction as anger consumed the man beside me. Or rather, in front of me, because he stood up to try and assert some sort of conversational dominance. As he scowled at me, I had to hold back a smile. It was too easy to make him break this way.
“That was war! She and her children were a threat to Robert Baratheon’s claim, and they never would’ve been allowed to live, I only commanded the inevitable. And whatever else Gregor Clegane did to her was not under my command,” he yelled, eyebrows knitted with his fury. His chest had begun to heave a bit, and I found it curious that he was so easily moved to this level of emotion. It was not very ‘lord-like’ of him.
“Then should I remind you of what you did to the woman your son married? Because that was under your command,” I shot back, having heard plenty of stories. My initial dislike toward the Lord of the Rock had fueled an immense interest in his various wrongdoings, and this story in particular had always quite irked me.
“Do not speak of something you have no involvement nor knowledge of,” he snarled, voice firm. His eye twitched for a few seconds.
“You ordered that 50 men rape an innocent girl. So even if Elia Martell’s rape did not happen on your order—which I would like to contest because you have always been aware of Gregor Clegane’s tendencies, and yet had no qualms whatsoever sending him to deal with her—another woman’s has. To you, and to men like you, the rape and murder of women is nothing significant, as demonstrated by the Sack of King’s Landing and your constant pillaging of the Riverlands. The only problem men have with the rape of women is that it is ‘their’ women, and you cannot stand the thought of someone else taking your ‘property’. I can guarantee, Lord Tywin, that you have never once in your life considered the amount of pain that women experience from rape and similar assaults. I can also guarantee that you have directly caused hundreds of these rapes and assaults in your lifetime, and so forgive me if I still hate you despite the fact that you aren’t cruel to me!” I fumed, tears welling in my eyes while I yelled. Even if I hadn’t hated him, the thought of anyone being able to stomach the rape of innocent women made me sick.
 I felt myself involuntarily beginning to cry, because although my skills with blades had prevented me from being raped, I wasn’t unfamiliar with assaults of the same nature. One of the first men I’d ever felt any affection for had done such a thing, and since then I had become even more vehemently opposed to marriage. If I was honest, it had made me hesitant to love a man at all, and it had certainly made me hesitant toward any kind of sexual interaction for quite some time. Though I would not admit it, it was one of the reasons I remained a maiden. How could I ever trust another that way?
“Lady (Y/N)…”
I wiped my lower palms against my cheeks and glared at the man before me with blurred vision. He was silent now, and something in his disposition had changed. His face had softened. There was a sort of questioning in his eyes, and I suddenly realized that he could see right through me. He did not know how it had happened, or how extreme it had been, but he could see in my eyes that something had happened to me. I felt deeply ashamed, and I had to look away from him. I couldn’t stomach his pitiful stare, because that was what it was. 
“I- I have not been raped, Lord Tywin… though not for a lack of trying. I’m certain you noticed the placement of my blade on the man who was attempting to kill me during the Battle of Blackwater. I would rather- I would rather he had killed me than gotten his wish, and men may not understand that feeling, but I guarantee that many women hold the same sentiment. And you… you have facilitated that pain…” I trailed off, unable to hold back even more tears. They did not want to stop, and I had to choke back a sob. There was a sudden consideration in the man before me, along with an air of guilt. I hoped he was considering my words, because the fear of rape and assault was so shattering that if a man could ever even understand its existence, that was plenty. It would never be enough, but it was plenty.
“You’ve not been raped, but you’ve…” Lord Tywin trailed off as the realization came to him, and it was just a whisper. He had not entirely meant it as a question, it was more like he was processing it. I found myself looking away once more, because I detested this feeling of utter vulnerability. It made me feel weak, it made me feel exposed. Those were two things I never wanted to feel, and especially in front of Tywin Lannister. Gods, why did it have to be in front of him? I found myself pinching the skin of my wrist so I would not break down entirely. 
“I apologize, Lady (Y/N)… I… I apologize,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes away from me. For once, a criticism had not made him angry, but had instead made him realize something. And I had been the one to point it out. I could only meet his eyes for a few seconds.
“I am… I am not the one who needs an apology, Lord Tywin. I just- please leave. Please leave before I- before I say or do something that I’ll regret deeply,” I choked out, looking down and shaking my head. There was utter silence in reply, and after a moment I saw his boots shuffle away.
I let out a sigh, finally permitting myself to rub my eyes and properly cry. I had gotten to a point where I did not think about the subject—or my own memory—very often, but it would always be just as painful. And that it had taken this long for Lord Tywin to even consider such a thing made me angry once again. He had the audacity to ask me why I hated him so much as if he had not caused tremendous pain throughout his life. Not only to women, but to all manners of people. And I knew war was war, I knew that all highborn would force the smallfolk to suffer at one point or another, but gods, he had truly never even cared.
It had needed to come from me to make him understand. How was that possible? It was almost laughable, the thought of Tywin Lannister learning decency and compassion from me. Well, that was a stretch. Men like him do not change, not entirely. I supposed all I could hope for was that he would perhaps take it into consideration the next time he wished to employ the Mountain. 
 At that moment, I was so caught up in my anger and frustration that I had forgotten about the large wound along my side, and therefore decided to stand up rather quickly. I had merely desired to go back to my room, and instead found myself falling straight into the grass.
The pain was so bad that I screamed, and it was almost as if the Baratheon soldier was slicing through me all over again. I desperately gripped my side, hoping to soothe the pain with pressure. When it did not help, I pulled away and observed my hand, finding a tremendous amount of blood there. The stitches had split, giving an explanation for the unbearable amounts of pain I was in. 
I suddenly heard quick footsteps coming toward me, and when I looked up I found Tywin Lannister standing there. I knew that he had already been nearby, but gods why couldn’t anybody else have been around? I scowled at him despite my pain.
“No. Leave me, Lord Tywin, I don’t- I don’t want to see you,” I cried out angrily, tears streaming down my face from the god awful pain. The look of concern on his face transitioned to one of subtle annoyance.
“Lady (Y/N), stop it. You need help, you’re bleeding again,” he lectured, kneeling beside me and extending his arms. The last thing I would do was accept his help, especially after the conversation we’d just had. I didn’t need to give him another excuse to think that he was ‘owed’ something.
“I-I’m quite fine, and I don’t need your assistance, Lord Tywin,” I seethed, teeth grinding against each other because I felt like my entire torso was on fire. More than anything, I just wanted him to go away and I wanted the pain to stop.
Lord Tywin sighed, lowering his arms to his sides and glaring for a moment. His annoyance only grew as he watched my blood begin to drip into the grass beneath me. 
“Go on then, get up and walk,” he suddenly challenged, annoyed by my stubborn behavior and knowing that I would most assuredly not be able to. And even though I knew he was right, my own pride prevented me from admitting that I could not. It was sort of ironic, really, that I constantly criticized him for his pride and yet had quite a lot. Not that I would ever admit to such a thing, of course. 
I tried to lift myself from the ground, but my attempts were fruitless. Instead, I only experienced an even more extreme pain and came straight back down into the grass.
“Fuck!” I gasped out, hot tears now streaming down my cheeks. I could not sob, for sobbing made it hurt even more. It was all just an elaborate cycle of pain, it seemed. 
“Ahuh, that’s what I thought. Come on, I’ll help you back to your room and call for the maester,” he said, moving closer and extending his arms once more. 
“I’ll get blood all over your jacket.”
“I’ll buy a new one. Now stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you.”
No longer able to deny my pain and my inability to help myself, I let out a little laugh and reached out for Lord Tywin. He wrapped his arms around me ever so carefully, and I found myself clinging to his neck for the second time in far too small of a timespan. 
He lifted both of us up slowly, helping me stand first and making sure I was alright. Well, as alright as I could be anyways.
“There you are, good girl. Can you walk?” He questioned, licking his lips apprehensively as he noticed the wound on my side without the stitches intact. I assumed it was quite a gruesome sight. I nodded in response to his question, however, and he took a deep breath as though preparing himself for however painful this walk might be. I supposed I was quite a burden when I was hurt or angry, and currently I was a bit of both.
We slowly moved forward together, and I suddenly discovered that I could in fact not walk. Tears continued to stream down my cheeks, and he sighed. There was a look of utter defeat on his face for just a few seconds.
“Oh hush now, come on.”
Lord Tywin reached down and placed one arm under my knees, lifting me into his arms completely. I had been surprised to feel him lifting me that way, but I kept my arms around his neck regardless. As he navigated out of the garden, I once again considered that he was in rather good shape for a man of his age. He was what, 66 now? It was very impressive. 
My eyes were still watering, and my breath was shaking, but I felt secure in Lord Tywin’s arms like this. He was not even struggling to hold me this way, and I supposed it helped that he was so much larger than I was overall. I felt my anger disappearing somehow, and I wondered how that was possible. 
“T-Thank you, Lord Tywin” I whispered, burying my face in his neck to avoid the embarrassment of people seeing me cry. There were not many around, but still, I did not want to risk it. I could feel his stubble pricking at my face, especially when he spoke.
“You’re welcome, Lady (Y/N).”
He made his way up the stairs to my chambers, and the first maid he saw faced his wrath. It had almost surprised me, because he’d been quite level headed the entire time.
“Go fetch a maester, now!” he scowled, causing the young girl to scurry off. Even despite my pain I felt rather bad for her.
“Don’t yell at the maids, Lord Tywin, they didn’t do anything.”
“You can lecture me about my lack of compassion, Lady (Y/N), but I’ll yell at whoever I please. You’re in pain and you’re bleeding. Urgency is crucial,” he scoffed, adjusting his grip on me ever so slightly. It was the first time he had needed to.
As we got to my room, the guard quickly opened my door and Lord Tywin rushed me inside. My tears were finally beginning to slow, but I did groan out as he set me down on the bed. The sheets and mattress could easily be changed if I bled through.
“Are you feeling alright? Lightheaded?” He asked, shifting his shoulders as he adjusted to not having my weight in his arms. He looked around, grabbing the handkerchief from off my nightstand and going to dip it in my water bowl. He quickly returned to my side and pressed it to my forehead.
“I’m alright for now. How much is it bleeding?” I questioned, not particularly wanting to look at it. The pain was enough without the visuals. 
“Not nearly as much as it was when you received it,” he answered calmly, giving me the impression that perhaps it wasn’t really as bad as it felt. I sighed and nodded, resting my head for just a moment. When I looked at him again though, I noticed that his jacket was absolutely covered in blood. I swallowed, realizing that his answer to my question had merely been a work around of having to tell me that I was bleeding quite a lot. But he was not lying either, because it had certainly bled quite a lot more during the battle.
“Thank you for helping me back, Lord Tywin,” I said, knowing that even if I hadn’t wanted to say it, he did deserve it. I certainly wouldn’t have made it back on my own. 
“I wasn’t going to let you sit there in pain, bleeding and unable to walk,” he noted, scoffing and sitting down beside me on the bed. He reached up and turned the wet cloth over, and even if it was utterly useless, it did at least help me focus on something other than the pain.
“Such a chivalrous gentleman,” I teased him, laughing softly. I couldn’t help it, Lord Tywin simply made it too easy. His eyes softened, which was probably the closest thing to a smile he usually allowed. Although I supposed he had actually smiled earlier in the garden. 
“My first compassionate act, hm?”
“It must be. Good job, Lord Tywin, you’re improving.”
He looked down so I wouldn’t see, but I could tell he was smiling ever so faintly. It faded after a moment though, and he looked grave when I met his eyes again. I suddenly knew what topic he was going to bring up again.
“As I left, I was considering what you’d said. You’re right, I’d never considered that… perspective of war before. I cannot revoke the things I’ve ordered in the past, Lady (Y/N), nor would I. Throughout my life, I have always done what is best for House Lannister, and I will continue to do so. However, I am fully capable of minimizing the damage that is done when I give orders. The next time that I do instruct Gregor Clegane, or anybody else, to do something for me I will explicitly note that they are not to rape. And those who decide to ignore my command will face consequences, rest assured,” he explained, very much testing my emotions as he did so. Lord Tywin came to his point, however, and I supposed it was satisfactory enough. Death was always inevitable, but rape did not have to be. If he was willing to make efforts, then perhaps I could feel content in knowing that my words had at least had some impact.
“And I’m glad that you’re going to do so, Lord Tywin. I’m glad that you’ve considered my sentiment. But I also feel that I must ask, what about the girl your son married?” I questioned, knowing that even though Elia Martell was dead, that girl might not be. And of course, gold would never fix what she was put through, but it was the very least that Lord Tywin could do.
“I’ll speak to Varys about finding her,” he replied, looking me in the eyes as he did so I would know he was being genuine. I only nodded then, taking a deep breath and looking over at my nightstand.
“Would you pour me a cup, my lord? I need something to soothe the pain until the maester comes,” I requested, still feeling myself shake despite the fact that I was merely lying in bed. Lord Tywin did not say anything, but wasted no time doing as I asked. He also helped me sit up a bit so I could drink, and I was extremely grateful. When I laid back down, he blinked at me a few times and then cleared his throat.
“And I would not presume to know what has happened to you personally, Lady (Y/N), nor do I expect to. But I want you to know that I will see to your safety in King’s Landing. If a man ever touches you, or even looks at you, tell me. I’ll have his hands cut off and his eyes ripped from his skull,” he said, to which I raised an eyebrow. If it hadn’t come from him, I would’ve appreciated the sentiment. And maybe I still would, but I had to be cautious. 
“If you are attempting to use that as some sort of bargaining tactic, Lord Tywin, I warn you-”
“No, of course not. I’m being genuine.”
I stared at the man in front of me, my eyebrows furrowed with a sort of distrust. Why did he care about my safety? What about my hatred and constant disrespect gave him any desire to expend energy looking after me? 
“Why do you care so much, Lord Tywin?” I questioned, wondering if perhaps it was for the same reason he’d saved my life during the battle. Perhaps helping me in the garden and telling me this right now were simply intended to pacify me. To make me forget my hatred and make me easier to work with. Well, that was certainly not going to be the case.
“I don’t know.”
Lord Tywin and I stared at each other for nearly a minute, neither knowing quite what to say. My lips parted, and I had to force myself to swallow. During that minute, I had practically forgotten all about my pain. All I could focus on was his blue eyes, and the look on his face. He’d never worn this expression before.
Just as I had opened my mouth to conjure up a reply, the maester rushed in. We both looked over at the man, and Lord Tywin stood up. He wouldn’t want to have been seen sitting beside me in bed, even if he hadn’t hated me. It was very important to keep up appearances in King’s Landing, so full of spiders and mockingbirds.
“Her stitches came undone, Maester,” he explained to the man, motioning for me to lift my arm. I did so very carefully, and Lord Tywin moved the bloodied fabric of my dress aside to show him..
“Easy to fix, but it will be painful. Would you like milk of the poppy, my lady?” The maester asked, to which I instantly nodded. Gods, milk of the poppy was all I had been wanting since I’d woken up this morning. 
“Would you like me to send for your grandmother?” Lord Tywin offered, letting go of the fabric and rather smoothly wiping his hand on his coat. I might not have even noticed him do it if I wasn’t paying so much attention.
“Yes please, my lord. Thank you.”
He nodded, looking at the maester and then back at me. He looked as though he was hesitating to say something, inhaling and narrowing his eyes for just a moment. He then opened his mouth.
“You’re certain she’ll be alright, Maester?”“Yes, my lord. All will be well,” he reassured Lord Tywin, setting out all his tools. I was instantly filled with dread, and I almost considered asking Lord Tywin to stay. It would be nice to have someone to curse at. But no, I knew that I would much rather prefer my grandmother to be here when I had to deal with the stiching. Lord Tywin nodded at the maester and then afforded me a final glance. His eyes were soft, but only for a moment. He left the room in the next few seconds, off to call for my grandmother. That was the last I saw of him before the ceremony.
TAGLIST:
@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady 
@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter
@prettykinkysoul 
@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8 
@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws @girlonfireice 
@muscari-fae @lostgirllulu 
@abigfanofgameofthrones @smalltownbigheart 
@frombloodandflesh @supernaturalismyreligion666
@thanyatargaryen @rey26 @hexandale @pkawaiidesu5394 @aimsro @gbatesx
112 notes · View notes
verybadatwriting · 9 months
Text
The Healer 4
Summary: Reader is captured by Hydra again. 
Warnings: Blood, torture, needles, gore, angsty stuff. Major character death (temporary)
Notes: Writing this has helped get me out of a stretch of writer’s block. I hope to be more active going forward. If y’all have any requests, be they new stories entirely, or continuations of existing ones, don’t hesitate to send an ask!
Gn!reader
Words: 4,336
You were just starting to get a feel for how this team operated. Learning how to triage and when to conserve your strength. Dr. Cho was interested to learn more, so you often hung out in the medbay with her. She taught you how to operate almost all the medical equipment, and together you had healed a whole range of injuries. Gunshots were common, but they caused a lot of blood loss, making them hard to fix. Burns were surprisingly difficult, seeing as the damaged tissue was unlikely to comply with the process. 
On most missions, you’d sit on the jet with a com in one ear, and the injured would be brought to you. This worked really well for large-scale stuff, where there were SHIELD agents working in tandem with the Avengers. Today, you were paired with an Avenger to go inside the area.
“Now, Y/n,” Natasha said when the plan was proposed, “If you don’t feel comfortable being back in a HYDRA base, we can sort something else out.”
“Nobody’s going to force you to go,” Steve added.
“But?” You prompted.
“But it’s the best way to ensure everyone comes back from the mission.”
There was a moment where they seemed to hold their breath, and you realized that they were more worried than you. 
“Yeah,” You said, “I’m fine with going in with one of y’all.”
“Thank you so much.” Nat said. Their fears were unfounded. You knew you could operate just fine with the rest of them. The funny thing is, none of them could heal as fast as you, so the worry should have been reversed.
Today was your fifth mission with them, the first time you went in with them. They were tipped off about a small new base, in a strategically compromising place. Their plan was to wipe it out before it became too much of a problem.
You and Natasha were dropped off near the southern entrance, and instructed to wait till Steve drew attention at the western one. It was only the three of you on this mission, as it wasn’t that high-stakes.
Not too long after, the order was sent out, and Natasha cracked open the vault-like door. She took a few steps inside and waved for you to follow her. She took you through a descending maze of tunnels. You kept going, even after Steve’s com went silent. Even through the seemingly endless waves of HYDRA agents. 
As the tunnels kept twisting and turning, a realization dawned on you. The maps were wrong, this place was much larger than anyone had thought.
“Y/n?” Natasha turned to you. Her voice was strained. It felt strange to hear someone speak in such a place, especially after hours of silence broken only by footsteps, water dripping down the damp walls, and an occasional scuffle.
“Yes?” You replied.
“I’m afraid that we must now shift our priorities to getting ourselves out.”
“But what about Steve?” You asked. 
“I’m sorry, kid.” She said, “But we have to leave him.”
“No… No, we have to go find him! He wouldn't just leave us if we were missing! He could be alive out there. If they caught him-”
“Stop!” Her voice ricocheted around the hall, ripping you out of your spiraling thoughts. For a second the word hung in the air, waiting to be followed up.
“Stop.” She repeated, her voice much quieter now, almost pleading. “I know you were close with Steve, and this can’t be easy for you, but we have to assume he is dead. We are both worn out. Even if we were to find him, we would be of no help. I need you to focus on right here, right now.”
“Okay.” You wiped your eyes. Natasha knelt down next to you to get to eye level.
“I’m sorry for yelling,” She said.
“It’s okay.” You murmured, avoiding eye contact. “It’s not easy for you, either.”
“It’s not, no, but that doesn’t mean I can yell at you.” She said, “Do you think we can keep going or do you need a hug first?”
One hug later, you were retracing your steps along the cold tunnel. It was now oddly quiet. Like the walls dampened any sound, or the darkness swallowed it.
“Natasha Romanoff, put your weapon down.” Natasha tightened her grip as a man emerged from the shadows. He was a sharply-dressed, impossibly smug, older man. Obviously HYDRA. 
“Nope.” She aimed it at his head. “You're gonna stay right there, and tell me how you're still alive."
“Miss Romanoff, I suggest you drop the pistol.” Dozens more HYDRA agents materialized out of the darkness in front of and behind you. 
“Half of my men have their aim set for them,” He gestured to you, “You and I both know even they can’t heal a shot through the skull.” He was right, and she was worn out after walking and fighting for hours. Finally she relented and dropped the gun. Immediately, an agent with dark hair stepped forward and wrangled her into handcuffs. She resisted a little, but one reminder that your life was hanging in the balance put that to an end.
The dark haired agent then opened a small briefcase, and removed a syringe and vial. He filled it slowly and injected it into Natasha’s inner arm. She winced for a moment, then her eyes rolled back and she lost consciousness.
You gasped.
“Not to worry.” The smug agent said, “This is simply a precaution. She will wake up shortly after we relocate her.” 
“Who are you?” Your voice wavered. 
“I am Alexander Pierce.” He said, “But you will only need to address me as 'sir.' Rumlow here is going to sedate you as well.”
“No!” You managed to scramble a few feet back before someone grabbed you by your shoulder, and dragged you towards Rumlow, who had now filled another syringe. 
As you lost consciousness, Pierce spoke to you.
“It seems we have quite a bit of re-training to do.”
Once again, you found yourself waking up in a cold, dark cell. You opened your eyes, and the room spun violently. You curled and uncurled your fingers as you slowly started getting your senses back. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, they all seemed to be back, though the room still spun.
A man was walking down the hall. When he peered in and saw you were awake, he swung the cell door open, and grabbed you by your forearm. 
“Up.” He said bluntly, “This way.”
You tried your best to walk, but despite your efforts, your legs refused to cooperate, and you ended up being dragged behind him. The cold floor was almost a relief. It was a jarring start back to reality, and helped you to fully regain consciousness. By the time you reached your destination, you were walking behind the man. 
“Sit here.” He ordered. “And wait.”
The room was blank, only a small drain in the center, and a wooden chair bolted to the floor to the right of it, and a rolling cart filled with shining tools to the left. You quickly slipped back into the familiar routine of following commands, and sat. Instinctively, you attempted to make yourself as small as possible, shrinking down as much as the chair would allow.
Not a minute ticked by before the door swung open again. In walked Alexander Pierce, followed closely by Rumlow. 
“Ah, Y/n.” Pierce said, “I was beginning to think that we’d given you a little too much sedative. I need you to tell me about the Avengers.”
“But they’re my friends,” You meekly replied, “They loved me.”
With one swift movement he snatched a knife from the cart and plunged it straight through the palm of your hand. Your eyes widened in surprise and more than a little pain, but you didn’t make a noise.
“Y/n,” He sighed, “This was all a test. And I’m sorry to say that you failed. You betrayed HYDRA the very first chance you got.”
Blood dripped down the arm of the chair. Your hand started to heal around the knife, and Pierce noticed this. 
“For your betrayal, you must be punished.” He wrenched the knife out of your hand, and stabbed it back through. The skin was fresh and tender, which made it hurt all the more. Still, you choked back any reaction.
“Sir,” Another HYDRA agent entered the room, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the Captain is awake.”
“I’ll go speak with him.” Pierce sighed and turned to Rumlow, “Rumlow, could you take over here? It seems I have more important matters to deal with.”
“Happily, sir.” 
Before he left, Pierce yanked the knife from your palm. You held pressure on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. A moment later, you removed your hand, and saw the skin knitting itself back together. 
“That’s a neat trick.” Rumlow said. “Hope you’re good at it. When I’m done, a small scratch will be the least of your concern.”
He pulled his arm back and landed a blow to the side of your head.
Hours later, even with your increased healing, you were bloody and broken. Ribs cracked, probably a concussion, four fingernails ripped off, and Rumlow had done something to your arm which made it bend the wrong way. Blood and vomit trickled into the drain. Sweat beaded down your face. All you wanted to do was slip into the darkness, but you still fought to keep your eyes open. 
“Bring them back to their cell.” Rumlow ordered.
“But sir, shouldn’t the medic–?” He protested.
“They’ll be fine.” Rumlow cut him off. And so you were dragged back through the halls, and thrown into the cell once more. Now that the drugs were mostly out of your system, you could take a look around the room. It had a cot pushed against one wall, and a joint toilet/sink combo on the other. The concrete walls were rough, and the only light came from a yellow bulb down the hall.
You lugged yourself to the cot and wrapped the thin blanket around your shoulders before flopping over. The coarse fabric was like a potato sack, but it was better than lying directly on the hard bunk. Most of your injuries had stopped bleeding by now, and the rest of them could be dealt with in the morning. For now, resting was the most important thing you could do.
It felt like your eyes had just drifted closed, when a uniformed man rattled the bars, waking you up. As you opened your eyes, familiar pain washed over you. You walked over to the cell door, only a little groggy and off-balance. The agent guided you across the hall and up a staircase. He led you into a room, with an unconscious Natasha, tied to a chair. Alexander Pierce was waiting patiently beside her. 
“Here we have Ms. Romanoff.” Pierce said to you, “She used to work for HYDRA, but she decided to turn her back on us in favor of the Avengers.”
You nodded. You already knew that Nat had escaped the Red Room, having bonded with her over shared stories of HYDRA’s brutality. 
“I need you to know what happens when someone betrays HYDRA.” He motioned to the man who escorted you there. He was now holding a gun to the back of Nat’s head. Pierce crouched down in front of you, taking your hands in his. He was now at eye level, and you could see the pure evil in his eyes.
“She will not wake up.” Pierce said, looking you straight in the eye, “Ever.”
Hearing that, something snapped. Something deep inside you gave way. Years of pain came bubbling to the surface, along with something new. A novel emotion, one you hadn't felt before.
Anger.
It coursed through your veins and even a decade of HYDRA’s conditioning couldn’t hold it back. The energy you felt, the glow when you healed someone prickled at your skin, but it was colder, more painful.
Suddenly, Pierce recoiled, clutching his hand. A hole went straight through his palm, an identical wound to the one he gave you earlier. You lunged towards the man threatening Nat, and snatched his weapon. Without any hesitation, you shot him. He crumpled to the floor. 
Then you turned to Pierce.
“Pierce,” You said, pointedly not calling him ‘sir.’ 
“There has been something I’ve been dying to try. Turns out it works. Can you guess what it is?”
Pierce scrambled backwards, still holding his hand, trying to stop the bleeding.
“That’s right,” You said through gritted teeth, “I gave you back the injury you so graciously gifted me. Except, I don’t need a weapon.” With that, you crouched next to him, mirroring the movement he had done just moments before. You closed your eyes, recalling an extra-painful gunshot wound you’d healed, you touched Pierce’s arm. The cold flash of pain only lasted a split second for you, but as you opened your eyes, you saw the pain and terror on his face, and knew it worked.
You had successfully transferred an injury to someone. Standing, you looked at his shirt, which blood was starting to stain. 
“Pierce,” You said, “You still have a few seconds to do something good in your life before you bleed out. I just need to know two things. How do I wake Natasha up, and where is Steve?”
“I’ll…” He sputtered, “I-I’ll never t-tell.”
“That’s too bad. I guess I’ll just have to figure it out myself.” 
A moment passed, then Pierce wheezed two final words.
“Hail HYDRA.” Then he slumped back against the wall. Just to be sure, you unloaded the rest of the clip into his head before walking back to Nat’s chair. 
Finally, you had a moment to take in the room, you saw she was hooked up to an IV of what you assumed was a sedative. You carefully removed the needle, and took a quick assessment of her state. 
She was bloody and bruised, with a nasty laceration on her calf, which was probably going to make walking hard, but ultimately not anything she couldn’t handle. You desperately wanted to take it from her, but decided against it since you were already overloaded with healing your own injuries.
It felt so strange. She was the person who came and rescued you from HYDRA, and now she was tied up in one of their bases. Every day, Nat was so strong. Always protecting you, making sure you felt welcome and safe, and helping you through the memories of HYDRA.
The adrenaline from discovering part of your powers was still flowing through you, and you managed to push the spiraling anxiety down. After all, you had to get Nat out of here. 
She stirred slightly.
“Hey Nat. Can you hear me?” You asked, undoing the cuffs holding her wrists to the chair, “You’re gonna be fine. We’re getting out of here.”
“Mhm…” She murmured, “Pierce?”
“Don’t worry. He can’t hurt you, me, or anyone else ever again.” 
“Steve?” She asked, opening her eyes, but quickly shutting them again.
“I don’t know where he is, sorry.”
“We’ll find him…” She sighed. Natasha opened her eyes – slowly this time – and looked at you. 
“Oh, little зайчик [bunny], when did you get this?” She reached out and touched the side of your face, which you realized still had dried blood on it from yesterday. 
“You’ve been asleep for a long time.” You replied, “If I had to guess, a whole day has passed since we got here.”
“That’s good,” She said. You looked at her, and the confusion on your face was clear, so she explained.
“If we don’t get back today, the others will know something went wrong…”
“And they’ll come get us!” You filled in the rest.
“Exactly.” 
The two of you stayed there for a few more minutes as Natasha fully regained consciousness. You filled her in on the few events between being caught and now.
“Yesterday really sucked, but I did overhear something good.” You said, “Pierce was going to interrogate me or something, but he had to leave when one of his goons came in and told him ‘the Captain’ was awake. So – as of yesterday at least – Cap’s alive! Isn’t that awesome?”
Nat started to nod, but stopped.
“Dizzy, right?” You asked.
“Whatever that stuff was,” She said, “It was strong. How long did you say I was out for, a whole day?”
“Yeah.” You nodded, “I think they dosed you with way more than Steve and I. They didn’t really care if they gave you too much, since they were planning on killing you right here, just a few minutes ago.”
“How’d you stop them? No offense, you’re not too good at hand-to-hand combat.”
“I…” You started, not exactly sure how to explain, “So… I can take injuries from people, you know that, and I was thinking about that a lot, and I thought ‘Hey, I can take them, what if I can give injuries to people?’ I had no way of testing this, because I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Today I finally got a chance to try it out.”
“I’m impressed,” She said, looking around the room at both Pierce and the unnamed guard’s bodies. 
“I bet someone’s gonna get worried about Pierce disappearing.” You said, “We should get moving.”
“Mhm,” Nat agreed, “Help me stand up.”
At first, she was a bit wobbly, but she was fine so long as she could lean on you.
“See if either of them have weapons.” Nat said.
“I already snagged his,” You motioned to the guard. You had pocketed Pierce’s pistol, which you passed to Nat. She probably wouldn’t be very helpful, since she was half-draped across your shoulders. It was better than nothing, though. Her being armed made you feel a little safer.
Just as you were starting towards the door, you heard the muted sounds of raised voices and fighting.
“Stay here,” You said.
“Are you sure?” Nat questioned.
“I can handle this.” You reassured her, and she lowered herself back into the chair. You poked your head out of the room quietly. All the way down the hall, you could see half a dozen men fighting Cap. His movements were sloppy, so he was probably still under some form of sedative. 
Rushing down the hall, you got there just as the HYDRA agents started to get the upper hand. Once again channeling your anger, you extended a hand to the arm of a tall agent, and conjured an injury you’d healed before: a broken arm. For a split second you felt a flash of pain in your own arm, then you felt the bones of the agent’s arm splinter and snap, as if they were tearing themselves apart from the inside.
He yelled and turned, swinging at you with this other arm. You ducked and swiped at his torso, transferring another injury. This time red quickly started seeping through his shirt and he collapsed.
By now the other HYDRA agents had noticed, and one approached you with a knife. This might have posed a bit of a problem, seeing as you had to touch him to utilize your powers.
“Hey kid,” He said, smiling strangely, “I don’t wanna hurt you. If you just–” Before he could say any more you lunged towards him, and threw all your weight into it, knocking him over. Your hands touched either side of his head as you recalled a nasty head injury Stark had once needed help healing.
As you were inflicting brain damage, he stabbed you. While he did manage to puncture a lung, it was a futile attempt at escape. You simply transferred the knife wound to him. His breath sputtered, and he gasped for breath. 
Rolling off of the agent, you saw Steve was able to take out three of the others. You walked through the hall – now littered with bodies – towards Steve. He still looked off-balance, although not that bad now that adrenaline was pumping through his veins. Super soldier serum was helping with the sedative.
“Thank God you’re alright, Y/n.” He said, “Is Nat oka–”
A gunshot reverberated through the hall, and a HYDRA agent that had slipped behind Steve unnoticed fell to the ground. Both you and Steve’s attention quickly snapped to where the shot had come from. Leaning against the door frame, gun in hand, was Nat.
“You missed one,” She said.
“Thanks,” You said, “Now, does anyone know how to get out of here?”
“I remember the path I came in through,” Said Steve, “But there’s quite a few HYDRA agents that route.” 
“I’ll be okay,” Nat said, still more than a little loopy. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah,” You said, the concern slipping into your voice, “How about you two sit down? I’ll grab these guy’s weapons, while you rest a bit.” 
They put up a little resistance, but ultimately slid down the wall to rest. Your mind raced as you took inventory of the supplies you had. How were you meant to get two semi-sedated adults and yourself out of here with only a few handguns, a pocket knife, and a whole base of HYDRA agents after you?
You glanced at the two woozy fighters slumped against the wall. Even in their doped-up state, they were bandaging each other up.
“Hey Cap,” You said, walking over, “Are you just about ready?”
“Yeah.” He said, “Right after I finish dealing with this.” He gestured towards Nat’s lower leg. Steve was almost done wrapping it up using a torn strip of a HYDRA uniform.
“Can you support Nat while we move?” You asked.
“I could, but then it would be up to you to fight anyone we encounter.”
“Don’t you worry about that.” Nat laughed.
You simply shrugged him off, “Just show me the way, and we’ll be out in no time.”
You helped Steve up, and he helped Natasha to her feet. Nat was still rather wobbly, but Steve adapted quickly. The three of you hobbled along, with Steve occasionally stopping to readjust his hold on Nat or to give directions. 
The first time HYDRA agents stumbled across your trio, it was at a junction between two tunnels. Steve nearly dropped Nat in an attempt to throw himself between you and them. By the time he got into position, you had already killed them.
“How did…?” He started.
“I discovered some new aspects of my powers.” You replied. Making a mental note to check up with you back at the Tower, Steve nodded towards the left hallway. 
“It’s this way.” He said. Onwards you went, only encountering a few more groups, and you dealt with them as swiftly as the first. Gradually the walls became less moldy, and the air less musty.
“We’re coming up on the exit,” Steve said, rounding a corner. 
“Be careful, we should expect some–” Nat started, but was cut off by the sound of gunfire. Quickly you smushed back around the corner, against the wall, but not quick enough. Steve wasn’t hit. Neither were you. 
But Nat.
Nat didn’t look good.
A bullet had ripped through the left side of her chest. Her skin was growing paler by the second. She didn’t even get to finish her sentence.
Not thinking in the slightest, you immediately started healing her. Steve tried to push you away, you’d never healed someone this far gone. Even your healing capabilities had limits. Your rage fueled you, blinding you to the pain and stupidity of trying to heal someone who was already dead. 
Life slowly came back to Natasha. Her eyes flickered open, filling with horror at seeing blood now seeping through your shirt.
“Y/n,” Steve said, dread dripping from his words, “What did you do?”
“I took the injury.” You gasped, coughing up blood, “There wasn’t anything else I could do.” You stood up, and turned the corner straight into the sights of countless HYDRA agents.
You were at death’s door, and only rage kept you on your feet. Only anger allowed you to extend your powers over the hall full of cruel, evil people. Only wrath fueled the transfer of this horrible pain from your chest to them instead. 
With a sickening thunk, everyone in the hall fell to the floor, bearing identical wounds across their chests. A moment later, you lost balance. Pain radiated from where your head hit the concrete beneath you, but at least you had gotten rid of the hole in your chest. Distantly, you saw Steve rush towards you, but you blacked out before he reached you.
A dull ache.
That’s all it was.
Distant and floating in an endless void, the only thing tethering you to your body was a dull ache in your head.
Well, that and you could hear voices.
They weren’t talking to you, but still you listened. They were worried. Then the rumble of an engine covered what little you could hear, and you slipped back into the endless void.
You opened your eyes, more than a little confused as to how you got here. You knew where you were, it was obviously the medbay. Moonlight filtered through the windows over the machines that beeped around you. Annoying wires and tubes poked into the skin of your arm. 
You disconnected the machines from you, carefully following the proper protocols so as to not set off any blaring alarms. It was night, after all. Nobody wanted to wake up to the thought of a medical emergency. 
Next to you there was another bed and an armchair. Both of them were occupied by familiar faces. Nat was in the bed, while Steve seemed to have fallen asleep while reading. A smile grew across your face.
You padded over to Natasha, and curled up beside her. 
She was in for a surprise when she woke up. A welcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. 
Part 3, Hair (Medium/Long), Hair (Buzzed)
69 notes · View notes
Text
The Other Side Of The Apocalypse
What would you trade the pain for?
Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.
Note: DID YOU MISS US? @separatist-apologist and I return to humbly offer you 11k more words of Rhys being dumb
Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter
Chapter 4/10: Summer Falling Through Our Fingers
Tumblr media
Rhysand could handle Wyverns and dragons and enraged High Lord beasts. But Eris Vanserra—that was an opponent he was not equipped to take on. Not today.
Especially not once Eris’s attention skipped dismissively over Rhysand in favor of assessing Feyre. Rhys raised his sword, surprised he still possessed the strength to do so.
“Not another step,” he warned.
Light glinted off the silver blade, causing him to marvel, momentarily, that it was hardly past mid afternoon. He’d imagined they’d been in that manor for centuries, that when they emerged, bloodied and covered in ash, the world would have aged with them. Yet the only thing that had changed was the slight position of the sun and the crown that stood proudly atop Eris’s half-braided hair.
It, too, caught in the sunlight as Eris stepped towards Rhys. As the High Lord examined the stained metal, the corner of his lips quirked—though at Rhysand’s warning, or the evidence of Beron’s slaughter, it was difficult to tell. The male reached forward, swiping a ring-adorned finger across the flat side of the blade.
“Planning on killing another High Lord so soon?”
His voice was crisp and unfeeling as the autumn wind that brushed by, trailing its cool touch along Rhysand’s cheek. The High Lord offered him an abrasive smirk—very much unlike the wind, which at least was soothing against Rhysand’s burns.
“I’d save that stamina for summer,” Eris added, withdrawing his hand to peer at the blood now smeared against his fingertip. “You’re going to need it.”
Then, with that unhelpful assessment, Eris stepped forward to wipe his father’s blood away on the shoulder of Rhysand’s tunic. The exhaustion from the battle must have slowed Rhysand’s reflexes, because by the time he recoiled from the touch and thrust his sword towards the male, the space Eris had occupied was vacant. Rhys turned to see him standing next to Feyre, amber eyes nothing short of goading.
“Eris,” Feyre said, with far more patience than she ever reserved for Rhys. “We’ve done your dirty work. It’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain.”
“Straight to business, are you? Not a moment to rest, enjoy the fruits of your labor?”
“We’re not staying,” Rhys interrupted, not trusting that Feyre wouldn’t agree, if just to get under his skin.
They both ignored him. Feyre hardly looked his way, her cool blue eyes fixed on the crowned Lord. Rhys stiffened as the male’s dark gaze swept over Feyre’s injuries. He watched how Eris carefully wrapped his hands around her elbow—how Feyre let him.
“In terms of my assistance, why don’t I get one of my healers to treat these wounds?”
Before Rhys could say no, Eris was trailing his fingers up Feyre’s forearm, tracing the edges of a bloody gash that began mending itself. Magic cloyed the air, thick and sweet and insufferable. Rhysand clenched his jaw, reminding himself that it was a good thing Feyre was getting healed, even if it was coming from him. But, from the way Eris was staring into Feyre’s eyes, some silent conversation passing between them, Rhysand could guess what Eris wanted in return.
The coppery blood in the back of his mouth suddenly tasted all the more bitter. Rhys leaned over to spit it out, purposefully interrupting their moment with his retching.
He’d had enough of being left out of their secrets.
Rhys wiped his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve, indifferent to the way Eris’s lips twisted with disgust. Ferye, at least, was looking at him again. Those big blue eyes were filled with reproach, practically screaming don’t you dare open your mouth.
“The deal was you take us to Night,” Rhys said, repaying the way she had ignored him earlier.
“Oh, that’s right,” Eris crooned, like he’d forgotten. “You intend to take on the Night Court’s cruel, dark ruler. And tell me brave human warrior—” there was nothing but mockery in his voice, and Rhys caught the way Feyre hid her smile— “Do you think you’d be a worthy opponent, in your state?”
Eris gestured to his ruined clothes. Stained and torn and burnt from battle. Rhys could feel the open air against the blisters on his back, where the beast’s breath had burned through the gaps in his armor when he’d thrown himself in front of Feyre.
“I think that you made a bargain,” Rhys answered through gritted teeth. “And that the magic of these lands dictate you uphold it. You offered magical assistance to the Night Court—”
Rhys cut himself off when the Autumn Lord seized him by the collar of his tunic. Rhysand bellowed—closer to a fae snarl than he’d ever admit—as Eris lifted him, easily, with one hand. His other sought Feyre’s, who again let a faerie Lord touch her. Let him hold her hand.
Then the world vanished to shadow—so dark that for a moment, Rhys believed the dragon had returned to reduce them all to ash. But then the rushing smoke cleared, revealing that the three of them now stood in a familiar hollow before a large, circular wooden door. Rhys recognized it as the one they had walked through just a day before, the entrance—and now, he supposed, the exit—to the Autumn Court.
“Consider yourselves magically assisted,” Eris crooned, releasing Rhysand roughly. “Have fun in Summer.”
Magic twisted in the air again, their bargain truly unraveled by simply whisking them back to precisely where they’d agreed to the damn thing in the first place.
“You didn’t take us to the Night Court,” Rhys argued, his anger so sharp that he again tasted its bitter copper in the back of his throat. “This wasn’t the deal.”
“The borders of the other courts are closed,” Eris said with a shrug. There was a note to his voice, a certain flatness, that piqued Rhysand’s interest. Sorrow, he almost thought. But from what he knew of Eris, it was likely just irritation. “When you killed Tamlin, you opened the borders to Autumn. Now that you’ve killed Beron—”
“We can make passage to Summer,” Feyre filled in. Rhys had the infuriating sense that she’d already known.
“That means this is as far as my assistance can take you. And if you say thank you for your generosity, High Lord, I’ll consider healing you as a gesture of my kindness.”
Feyre sighed. “Thank you for your generosity, High Lord,” she said dryly. Hardly any trace of the woman who had held a dagger to his throat for being condescending.
“I want that one to say it,” Eris said smugly, tipping his chin towards Rhys.
He choked on a laugh. “I’d sooner throw myself at the mercy of another dragon.”
Eris clicked his tongue. “Ungrateful creatures, you humans,” he said, as if he wasn’t wearing a crown won off their blood and sweat. Eris turned to Feyre. “Sorry, pretty one. Hope you enjoy the salt water against those nasty burns.”
“Rhysand,” Feyre snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. That familiar contempt returned solely for his benefit, it seemed. “Can’t you swallow your pride for one second?”
How could he? How could she? To grovel to a faerie noble, the very breed that had ravaged and enslaved their people. They were the reason many of their kingdoms had collapsed, why their villages were left to rot in squalor. And after they had both risked their lives—had nearly died—in the interest of giving Eris Vanserra his throne, he was the one demanding gratitude?
How could she stand it? Why was Rhys the one who couldn’t swallow his pride?
He wanted to spit in Eris’s face, to drive his sword through his chest and let some other miserable creature be kinged. But his eyes flickered to Feyre, from her burning stare, to the abrasions in her leathers that exposed red, angry skin.
At least Rhys could prove that he was a better male than Eris.
“Thank you for your generosity, High Lord,” he said, chewing on every word.
Eris’s smile became a smug, vicious thing. “Now bow.”
“Eris,” Feyre cut in, but the High Lord simply pointed towards the ground, raising his brows at Rhysand in challenge.
Swallowing so much more than his pride, Rhysand forced himself to bow at the waist.
“Lower,” Eris hummed, far too pleased with his humiliation.
Rhsyand could have drowned in his resentment.
“That’s enough.”
Rhys tilted his head to see Feyre was scowling now, her arms crossed disapprovingly. Eris raised his brows, clearly amused to see she had come to Rhysand’s defense.
“Very well,” he said, before snapping his fingers.
Just like that, the remaining wounds decorating Feyre’s skin began mending. Rhys could feel the pain of his own burns ebbing, and his body did not protest when he straightened to his full height.
“Enjoy the Summer Court,” Eris said dismissively. With a wave of his hand, the wooden door pushed open, revealing the dark mouth of the tunnels they’d come through. “I hear the Adriatic sea is lovely this time of year.”
What time of year, Rhysand wanted to demand. Just how it was perpetually autumn in this court, he assumed the same for Summer. He wouldn’t give Eris the satisfaction of asking, when he would find out soon enough.
“Wait,” Eris called, as they stepped into the dark.
Rhysand kept walking, possessing no interest in whatever else the male had to say. Feyre, of course, paused at the entrance, pulling Rhys to a stop through the infernal chains that bound them together. He turned reluctantly towards the Autumn Court.
Eris nearly blended in where he stood at the front of the woods, gold and auburn leaves rising like a cape above his shoulders. He was twisting a ring on his finger, an odd look across his face. He said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “If you see Azriel, send him my regards.”
Feyre nodded, like that meant something to her, then shut the door to Autumn.
For a moment, neither of them moved, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. He hated that it immediately evoked the memory of waking in this very cavern to Feyre’s head in his lap, and how quickly it turned to the fantasy of Feyre on her knees before him. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about—particularly not after she had been so friendly with Eris.
He wished, desperately, that he could get away from her for just a moment to clear his head. It was her proximity that was influencing his thoughts. Her beauty wasn’t profound, it was simply inescapable. And if navigating through the enclosed tunnels with her was making it hard to breathe, well. It was simply because he was tired of sharing breath with her. His body, rejecting Feyre like a toxin.
Rhys didn’t know what to say to fill the silence, so he said nothing at all. Maybe before Eris, he would have said something kind. Like he was thankful that they didn’t die. But that moment where their eyes met outside the palace, that brief exaltation where they had realized they’d survived together. That they’d kept each other alive, worked as a team—that illusion was shattered that moment Eris Vanserra arrived, and Rhysand was reminded that the only team Feyre would ever be on was her own.
The chain reminded him of that, too. The only light source in the tunnel, taunt and glimmering between them as he strode through the dark.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” She asked.
“And I assume you do?”
Silence. Then, “You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad,” Rhys said shortly, but Feyre had stopped. And the stupid chain forced him to stop, too.
“Bruised pride?” Feyre asked, tilting her head. “That’s surprisingly fragile, for a man who’s killed two High Lords.”
“Has it occurred to you that I might be tired?” He snapped. “Since knowing you, I’ve nearly died in every possible way I can imagine. And all I have to show for it is an ugly tattoo and a vile captor that won’t allow me a shred of peace.”
Feyre went quiet in the wake of his outburst. There wasn’t enough light to read her expression, but he nearly considered apologizing anyway. Until he remembered her hiding a smile at Eris’s joke, laughing at his expense.
“It’s this way,” he said, tugging her forward on the chain as he followed the smell of ocean brine.
He wondered what awaited them in Summer. Presumably, another beastly High Lord and a Court in ruin. He found the idea so wearisome that he paused when they came to a smoothly carved door, its surface gleaming with various colors that rippled and changed each time the glowing chain moved. Pearl, he thought, placing a hand against its cool surface in awe.
“Do you want to stop for the night?” He asked Feyre, finally breaking the silence. “We have no idea what’s waiting for us beyond this door.”
She brushed past him in answer, throwing the door open without a glance in his direction. He supposed a cold shoulder was preferable to another knife at his throat. Rhysand followed behind her, grimacing at the invasion of heat and sunlight. The air was so thick, so hot, that he had to duck his head into his elbow to smother a cough. It was like drowning on land, and the only reprieve was the cool breeze that swept off the glittering turquoise sea before them.
They were standing on a small island, only just larger than the mouth of the cave. The edge was close enough that Feyre could have pushed him off it, and likely only refrained from doing so because the chain would have taken her with. It was a long drop, Rhys noticed, peering over the edge to stare into the deep, crystal water. Before them was a suspended bridge, stretching across the sea to a large mountain-island, where he could see a sprawl of colorful buildings spread around and below a palace of tan-stone, with spires and turrets that climbed towards the sky.
The bridge had no other anchor points besides where it mounted to either island and its wood—though appearing in good condition—sloped in the center. He grabbed hold of one of the cables and shook it, hard, to observe the way it shuddered across the bridge.
“Hope you’re not afraid of heights,” he said.
Feyre offered him an icy glare, which irritated him enough that Rhys gestured towards the rickety bridge.
“Ladies first.”
The bridge bounced and swayed beneath her weight, but held. In other circumstances, he would have insisted they take it one at a time to ensure it didn’t collapse. But soon that golden chain materialized, tugging him right after Feyre. She jumped when Rhys stepped onto the first wrung, scrambling for the cable as the bridge jostled beneath her.
“You’re okay,” he found himself murmuring, taking careful, steady steps. “This bridge has been here a long time, I imagine it will take more than two humans to bring it down.”
Feyre stayed where she was, clutching tightly to the rope like she worried the boards would drop beneath her. He wasn’t certain why he was compelled to offer her comfort, when he was certain she would take none from him, but when he came up behind her, he found himself touching her hand, gently.
“Take it,” he said. “We’ll go together.”
He expected her to resist, like she always did. But surprisingly, Feyre let him pry her hand from the rope, quickly replacing her death grip around his fingers. His other hand found her hip, guiding her slowly forward almost as though they were dancing. To forget himself and the rattling chains and the creaking wood, he let himself imagine, very briefly, what it might have been like to dance with Feyre at a ball. His father might even have approved of her, before the Archerons had lost their fortune. Rhysand almost smiled at the idea of returning to the mortal lands to tell his father that he had managed to shackle himself to a woman. Though the temptation to smile eased when a thought crept, unwelcome, through the back of his mind: if he returned home.
You will not survive this.
The dragon’s warning prodded at him, like an arrowhead under his skin. Stabbing when he moved, reminding him that they were crossing this bridge to find a new monster.
Or, more likely, it would find them.
Rhysand was watching the water. Absently at first, letting his mind wander as he and Feyre ambled across the bridge. But then as his thoughts curbed towards the threat, he began examining their surroundings more intently, sweeping over the smooth surface to study the half-moon bay. It was curious to him that he didn’t spy a single ship in the harbor. Perhaps the city had been abandoned, though at this distance the buildings didn’t appear in ruins.
Feyre stiffened. “Rhysand.”
At first, he thought it was only the swaying bridge that caused panic to rattle through her voice. He nearly whispered more comforts to her, until he spied the ripples in the water—far enough away that he didn’t see the great, dark body that was causing them until it was headed, quickly, in their direction.
His heart leapt into his throat. “Fuck,” he said, trying to move Feyre faster. She stumbled forward, her lack of confidence slowing down their precious seconds. A fin raised from the water, nearly the size of a ship’s sail.
Swearing again, Rhysand swept Feyre into his arms. She screamed in protest, but he was no longer listening. He just ran, trusting his feet not to slip through the gaps in the aging wooden planks as he pulled Feyre tightly against his chest, trying not to drop her in the bob and sway of their motions. The island was fast approaching, but so was the beast.
“Rhysand, I swear to the Mother if you drop me—”
Her voice was so shrill in his ear, he flinched.
“I’ll spare myself a thousand headaches?” He joked, because humor was easier to manage than the fear crippling his chest for every wooden panel that still stood between them and the harbor. “You’re too pretty to be fish food, Feyre.” His words, like his breath, came out ragged. “You deserve a noble death, like poison or a beheading or—”
“For Cauldron-fucking-sake Rhys. For once in your life, shut up and run.”
But it was too late for running, The beast’s massive body surged out of the water, a tidal wave of blue scales rising up, up, up. There was no time to feel disgusted by its dead, beady eyes like swallowings pits of darkness, or its snarling open mouth, exposing teeth as large as a child.
It snagged on the bridge behind them, creating a downward slope towards the island. It would be a far, painful jump, but Rhysand took it anyway, gritting his teeth against Feyre’s screams as they plummeted towards the unforgiving earth. Wood and rope splintered behind them as the bridge collapsed towards the center, ripped away by the creature like they were merely cobwebs.
Rhysand and Feyre hit the sandy ground hard, tumbling from the momentum. He tried to curl his body around her, shouldering the brunt of the impact as they rolled to a stop across the mossy rock. Droplets of water rained down as the beast fell back into the sea. He wanted to get up, pull them away from the cliff’s edge in case it decided they were close enough to try again. But the wind had been punched out of him and his body was stiff, denying any movement until he remembered how to breathe again. Feyre was sprawled over him, gasping against his chest. She held tightly to both of his biceps, effectively pinning him to the ground, though he had no complaints.
“Still considering a bath in the water?” She asked, raising her head just enough to expose her eyes, wide and glowing brighter than the ocean below.
Rhys gave a hoarse, breathless laugh. “Do you still consider it a preferable option to sharing a tub with me?”
“Yes,” she said, but the shake in her voice gave the truth away.
“Well,” said a deep, male voice. “That was impressive.”
Footsteps sounded over their heads. Rhysand tipped his head back to see a pair of amused turquoise eyes staring down at them, the brown skin around them crinkled with silent laughter. The next thing Rhys noticed was the pointed ears, peeking out through long locks of coral-white hair. A faerie, with his dark lips spread into a smile.
“Tarquin,” Feyre breathed, pushing up against Rhysand’s chest. Rhys groaned—not just from the weight, but from the surprising affection in her voice. He’d had enough of Feyre’s fae companions.
“Cursebreaker,” the male greeted. “Causing trouble as usual.”
“Don’t tell me,” Rhys mocked. “That was your High Lord, and you need us to kill him.”
The male raised a white brow. “I’m the High Lord. If you’re here to kill me, you’re welcome to try.”
Despite his words, he reached out a board hand to help Feyre rise to her feet. Rhys tried not to feel bitter about the way he’d been so readily forgotten in the dirt. It wasn’t like Tarquin had just saved her from a massive beast—again.
“We’re trying to get to the Night Court,” Feyre said, remembering that Rhys existed long enough to spare a glance towards him while he delicately stood up.
“Ah. That’s been made difficult, with recent events.” Tarquin frowned towards the water, eyes unreadable. “As I’m sure you well know, the borders to the other courts are closed. And that creature prevents us from sailing to new harbors.”
“Can’t you just kill it?”
Tarquin and Feyre both cut their glances towards Rhysand. Their judgment was silent, but still felt as if they’d verbally lashed at him. Rhys clenched his jaw, saying defensively, “As the High Lord, that seems like something you should be equipped to handle.”
“We don’t need to kill it,” Tarquin said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The creature is aggrieved. We need only tame it.” The male eyed their battle worn clothes, and Rhysand didn’t miss the way Tarquin’s gaze lingered on his tattoo, which now disappeared beneath the rolled up sleeves of his tunic. He wasn’t looking forward to removing the garment and seeing just how far the marks had spread.
“We can discuss this in greater detail later, perhaps after you’ve each had a bath and a meal?”
“That would be lovely,” Feyre said, falling easily into step beside Tarquin as they began walking down the cliff, towards the paved city below.
Rhysand followed behind, silently. He was trying—and failing—not to marvel at the grandeur of the city as they passed, especially when it meant not having to stare at Feyre’s silhouette as she chatted amicably with Tarquin. How her lips curled in just the barest hint of a smile. He never felt so invaluable as when he was reminded that Feyre was capable of being nice, just not to her prisoner. Rhys was just a tool to her, a means of saving her sisters and nothing more. And the fact that she treated faeries better than him—
Yes, it was better to stare out into the city, than simmer in his loathing. The city, at least, was beautiful. Welcoming. It was not at all abandoned, if the shops and markets they passed were any indication. They were run by faeries that looked like Tarquin and Eris—High Fae, Feyre had called them—but there were others, too, with scales and gills and long, spindly webbed fingers. Their heads all turned towards Feyre, then Rhysand, likely finding it odd to see two humans in their court. Had they, too, felt the pulse of power when the High Lords of Autumn and Spring were killed? From the eyes that wandered towards Rhysand’s exposed tattoo, he would wager as much.
The court seemed to be in a healthier state than Autumn and Spring, but Rhys could still see the markings of suffering. Beggars in the streets, faeries with sallow faces and hungry gleams in their eyes. The looks they offered him… they were more than just idle curiosity, and less hostile than he would have expected the fae to regard a human. He swore they looked to him with hope.
“The loss of our oceans has been a great burden on my people,” Tarquin was saying—to Feyre, though he did glance over his shoulder towards Rhysand, as though expecting that would be meaningful to him. Like he should care, if faeries were struggling. “We rely on them for fishing and trading. And now have been left to ration what few fish we can yield from the safety of the shallow waters.”
“And yet you choose to keep the beast alive,” Rhys said, far more concerned with the labor of ascending the steep hill to the palace. With every step, he was reminded of the fall he’d sustained when the beast attacked them on the bridge. As the adrenaline of the moment, and the battle before it, drained from his body, he was left feeling sore and bruised and so, so exhausted.
Tarquin sighed. “The beast is not the cause,” he said, with exaggerated patience. Like Rhys was a child asking after things he could not begin to understand. “It is merely the symptom of a much larger issue.”
“So you all keep saying,” Rhys muttered, thinking it would be nice if someone in Prythian decided to be forthcoming for a change.
The three of them paused before the large Palace steps, where Tarquin immediately waved forward a pair of females that approached them with wide smiles and cautious eyes.
“I’ll leave you to the aid of my servants,” Tarquin said. “Please, take the evening to eat, bathe, and rest. We can meet for breakfast tomorrow to discuss getting you to the Night Court.”
Rhys bit his tongue from demanding what would be asked in return. Part of him was resigned, knowing whatever waited for them was unavoidable. And right now, a meal and a bath were too tempting to pass up. So he followed Feyre and the servants up the palace steps, not missing the way she assessed him, like she couldn’t believe he was obeying without protest.
And, well, that just wouldn’t do.
“Looking forward to another night of bed sharing?” He asked, offering her the same wicked smile he once used on women he actually did want to bed.
“Would it be possible,” Feyre said, speaking to the servants and not to him, “to get a room with two beds? Preferably with drapes, so I can try to forget I need to share a room with a—”
“With a what, darling?” Rhys cut off, before she could say something insulting. “Afraid you wouldn’t be able to control yourself around a roguishly handsome warrior?”
“—a prick,” she finished flatly, eliciting a soft laugh from one of the servants. “I’ll need to be careful. I might forget I need him alive and will try to smother him in the night.”
Rhysand thought it wouldn’t be so terrible to be smothered by Feyre in the night, so long as it was between her legs. Not that he would voice that thought. But for just a moment, to make her slightly more tolerable, Rhysand let himself imagine a world where Feyre did wake him up in that way. How much better they would get along, if he could prove that he could do more than irritate her with his mouth.
He looked over to her, thinking again about her mouth and the ways he would find it less irritating, too. But Feyre was looking away, her arms crossed furiously over her chest, and the anger blooming on her cheeks was effective in curbing his desire. She had meant it when she said she’d kill him in his sleep. She loathed him, a feeling he should very well reciprocate regardless of her lovely features.
He, too, withdrew his gaze, trying his best to forget about her as the servants led them down flight after flight of stone stairs. Rhysand did think it odd that the High Lord would keep guest rooms so deep within the palace, but the fae were strange and he hadn’t truly questioned it until he felt the shift in the air. Denser, cooler. It drifted up from the dim corridor at the bottom of the stairwell, beaconing them with the sound of dripping water.
Soon they emerged into a private cavern, its stone walls decorated with ripples of light that bounced off the surface of a large, seemingly glowing pool of water. The servants nodded graciously to the pool, then disappeared to offer them privacy.
“Looks like we get to bathe together after all,” he mused, though the teasing was half-hearted. He didn’t care so much about winding Feyre up as he did about getting off the sweat and blood that had caked to his skin.
Feyre had gone quiet, studying the pool through narrowed eyes. “We go one at a time,” she suggested.
Rhys didn’t have the energy to argue with her. “I won’t bother sitting and averting my eyes like your obedient pet.” He was already turning away to clip off his armor, letting it drop to the wet stone with a deliberate thunk. The sound echoed off the walls, a small chorus of his defiance. “It will be faster if we go in together.”
Maybe she didn’t have the energy to argue, either. Her clothes didn’t have the same weight as his armor, but they still slapped to the stone just as pointedly. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m taking my knife and if you so much as turn in my direction, it’s going through your gut.”
His gut seemed a better alternative than other places she might have threatened him, especially if he would be naked. Letting his silence speak for him, Rhys pulled his shirt overhead, sighing when it caught on the chain.
Rhysand knew he would likely regret it later, but in that moment he was tired and frustrated and singularly focused on getting clean so he could take a long, well-earned nap. Deciding that mattered more to him than preserving his clothing, Rhysand slid the Illyrian dagger from where it was sheathed at his hip and cut it through the sleeve of his tunic, freeing it from the magic binds. He never imagined he would feel envious of a burnt, torn piece of fabric, yet there he was watching it crumble to the cavern floor, wishing it could be him. Free of Feyre’s burden.
His trousers came next, crumpling in a heap that he also felt he could relate too. He didn’t turn to see if Feyre had finished disrobing before he walked to the water's edge and lowered himself into the crystalline pool.
The water felt—incredible. Cool enough to offer relief from the heat of Summer, without being uncomfortable. He glanced down, watching the blood and ash lift from his skin, diffusing into the water like he had never been touched by the dragon’s breath. Though the tattoo he could now see crawled from his fingertips all the way to the midway point of his bicep was proof otherwise. That, he couldn’t rub off. But he could at least rid himself of the dirt. Holding his breath, he dunked under the water, rubbing his hands through his hair in an effort to scrape away the battle grime. When he broke through the surface, greedily sucking in air, he already felt significantly better. If only he had soap to—
Rhys jolted forward as something thwacked into the back of his head, and dropped into the water with a condescending plop.
“Seriously?” He said, peering down to see the brick of soap Feyre had thrown.
“Did that hit you?” Feyre asked, feigning innocence. “I wasn’t looking.”
Liar, but what else was new? He hoped she at least got a nice view of his ass when she turned to throw it at him.
Rhysand dived beneath the surface to retrieve the soap. He peeled his eyes open, squinting against the burning saltwater to locate it. Fortunately, the water was clear, marbled in light that made it easy to find the slippery brick against the stone floor. He turned after retrieving it, just enough to catch a glimpse of slender ivory legs and the backs of Feyre’s soft thighs. Rhysand quickly screwed his eyes shut, afraid of what kind of a man it would make it if he looked any further. Still, the sight of her bare legs were scalded like a brand behind his eyelids, and all he could envision were the places he would put his hands if he were ever knelt before her.
A ridiculous notion.
“Took you long enough,” Feyre said once he broke through the surface.
Ridiculous, indeed. Why would he ever be on his knees for someone so insufferable?
Teeth clenched, Rhysand did his best to ignore her, allowing himself to focus on the pleasant task of lathering the soap over his body, feeling it break through the grease and ash that the water alone hadn’t quite been able to.
After another long moment, Feyre spoke again. “I’m sorry that Eris made you bow.”
“Are you?” Rhys watched the light glint over the soap in his hand, a myriad of colors that shifted as he moved. “I recall you thinking it was rather amusing. Something about swallowing my fragile pride.”
“Eris wouldn’t have helped us if you didn’t,” she said. “Getting healed was more important than your pride, but I am sorry he embarrassed you. He has a talent for getting under people’s skin.”
Embarrassment. Was that what had bothered him?
Rhys flexed his hands, frowning in thought. “What got under your skin, then?”
“There isn’t a single part of this that isn’t already under my skin, Rhysand. Do you think I’ve been enjoying myself through any of this?” There was pain in her voice, enough to lessen some of his anger. “I’m sorry that it had to be you. No one else in their right minds would have been willing to come with me. No one else would have made it this far. You were the only choice I had, Rhys.”
“And if the next monster kills me,” he mused. “Would you even stop to bury my body before going back to the village to find some other man to chain yourself to?”
Would you weep? Would you even care?
Feyre released a long breath. He had the sense she’d been holding it in since the day they crossed the Wall.
“If you died,” she said, “there would be no one after you. We are on a path there is no turning back on, no restarting. And if you die…” the chain around his wrist glowed to life with a soft tug. “I probably won’t be far behind.”
“How reassuring,” he muttered. Though, in an odd way, it was nice to know that he was not so easily replaced.
Rhysand had always been cautioned his adventures would be the death of him. So much, in fact, that his continued survival had felt exhilarating, like he was proving the naysayers wrong with every beast he slew and brought back to the village to be hailed for his bravery. He had known his luck would run out eventually, if his father didn’t coerce him into marriage first. And Rhysand had always thought he would prefer to die a hero than a miserable married man. He supposed, if death was what waited for them, then he would have gotten his wish. And it was comforting to think that he wouldn’t be facing it alone.
They fell back into silence. Which was likely for the better, given how quickly they dissolved into fighting. But there was something too intimate about being naked in a pool besides Feyre, left to only the soft swish of water and the breaths that bounced off the cavern walls.
“Rhys?”
She hadn’t called him that very often. Usually only when she was panicked, and Rhysand was simply too long to shriek at him. Now her voice was soft. Contemplative.
“Yes, Feyre darling?”
There was a pause where he liked to imagine her scowling at the pet name. Then she asked, voice a little sharper from the jibe, “What were you planning to do in Prythian, if you hadn’t agreed to this bargain?”
“I thought…” He hesitated, uncertain how the truth would be perceived. Feyre was human, but she was clearly friendly with some of the fae. “I wanted to see what had happened to the fae beyond the Wall. Find out why they had suddenly gone quiet. I thought that they might be vulnerable, and if they were…”
Rhys glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Feyre’s smooth shoulder and the wet, long hair sticking to her back. His mouth felt dry.
“If they were vulnerable, then I could use my blade to cut them down. Free our people once and for all.”
He didn’t know why he should care at all about what Feyre Archeron thought. When she didn’t speak, he worried all the same. Did she think he was a monster, some bloodthirsty conqueror—
“Is what we’ve been doing not in pursuit of that goal?” She asked. “Isn’t cutting down beasts and High Lords precisely what you’ve come to do?”
Rhysand thought of that devastated village in the Spring Court. How a faerie had handed him a weapon to destroy her people and when he asked if she was worried he would use it on her, she had called it a mercy.
“I feel more as though we’re liberating these lands.”
“Is it not possible that our oppressors and their oppressors are the same?” She asked, a certain wisdom in her voice that made her seem so much older. “Is it not possible to liberate both our peoples?”
“We have not met one faerie in Prythian that wasn’t acting in their own best interest,” Rhysand argued. “They have been more than happy to stand back and watch us put our lives on the line for them. When they are the ones who are supposedly faster and stronger. Why should we be responsible for liberating them, when no one even cares if we live or die, Feyre?”
“I care,” She said, surprising him. He snuck another glance over his shoulder, surprised to see that she had turned around completely. Their eyes met. “I care if you live or die, Rhysand.”
Rhys didn’t know what compelled him, but he turned, tempting Feyre’s wrath. It turned out she had been bluffing about the knife. Her eyes widened and she quickly moved to cover her breasts—which he had been trying very hard not to look at.
He admired the flush climbing her cheeks, made all the more endearing now that he could see the splotches started beneath her collarbone.
“You only care because if I die, you won’t be able to save your sisters.”
It was a challenge, one he was begging her to rise to. He wanted to hear her admit that she valued him as a companion, if only because he was successful at not getting them killed.
Feyre fingers tightened where they gripped opposite arms. He wouldn’t tell her, but when she crossed her arms like that, it only pushed the swell of her breast higher, making them more pronounced. Rhys regretted that he was standing before her naked, so that there was nothing to hide the way his body reacted to the sight.
Her eyes trailed down, taking notice of the growing appendage between his legs. Rhysand was trying to contain himself, but her attention only caused his cock to stiffen further. Somehow, covering the erection felt more perverse, like he would be touching himself in front of her.
Not that it mattered. Feyre quickly averted her eyes, the flush spreading further along her chest and cheeks. “Exactly,” she snapped.
It was so unconvincing, so clearly spiteful, that he couldn’t resist smirking.
Rhysand ventured forward, purring, “And if I die, you’ll never know how it feels to ride my—”
He was cut off by a face full of water that had him choking.
“Pig,” Feyre snarled, before storming to the edge of the pool and staunchly declaring their bathing time had concluded.
Her wet skin gleamed beneath the soft lighting of the cavern, and Rhysand watched her longer than he should have, admiring the curve of her hips and supple backside, the sleek legs he had seen underwater. She looked delicate like this, delicate in a way that made his chest ache. Rhysand forced himself to tear his eyes back towards the water, well aware his snooping had done nothing to discourage the blood rushing between his legs. Pig seemed aptly put.
The servants returned shortly with warmed towels and new clothes. Rather than the tunics and leathers they had brought with them from the mortal realm, these fabrics were soft and loose, fashioned from a single navy panel that they folded and tied around Rhysands chest, then looped once over his shoulder to create an open, billowing sleeve. The trousers were similarly fashioned, a two panel fabric that they tied once around his abdomen, tucked between his legs—where he’d earned himself a stern look for being at attention—and tied again around his stomach so that they fit surprisingly close to his legs.
Feyre had been dressed similarly in a light blue fabric a similar color to her eyes, though the upper portion had been tied in a halter around her neck, leaving her shoulders bare. He studied the freckles they left exposed and wondered, briefly, if the faeries would be upset that a human woman dared to look so suited to their clothing. They would likely be crawling with envy when they laid eyes on her. Envy, or something else. Something that made Rhys curl his hands at his side and turn away.
They were led back up the stairs, to the main floor of the palace, where they walked through the shell-flecked hallways and passed by countless windows overlooking the bay and churning sea beyond. The sun had gone down, and in the moonlight the water had grown darker, all the more foreboding. There was no sign of the beast they’d encountered, but just the sight of the ocean had been enough to remind Rhysand of what waited for them in the morning.
His stomach twisted and his eyes flitted to Feyre, walking ahead, her golden-brown hair swishing over her back as she walked. She had proved, twice now, that she was capable of holding her own. But that creature had been large enough to swallow them both whole. Tame it, Tarquin had said. It was laughable.
Eventually they stopped before a suite with two connecting rooms. The beds in each were pushed against a shared wall, allowing Feyre and Rhysand the luxury of sleeping separately for the night. And with the magic of their chain, he was even allowed to shut the door. He could have wept at that small gift of privacy.
He couldn’t stray far, of course, couldn’t even walk to the other end of the room. But he could sit at the small table and eat the meal left there in peace. No glaring, no snide comments. No big blue eyes and pretty lips pulled into a smirk.
Rhys couldn’t stop thinking about her fucking lips. It was a welcome distraction from the sea monster, he supposed. And maybe that’s why when he went to bed, he allowed himself to sneak a hand between his legs and think about them again. How they might look wrapped around his— Rhysand groaned, knowing he was wretched for letting himself imagine it, while also knowing that they may not have the luxury of separate bedrooms again. He was on edge. He needed to relieve himself. And maybe if he got it out of his system, it would finally put an end to the intrusive fantasies.
So Rhys went to bed that night, pleasuring himself to thoughts of Feyre Archeron.
-
“Did you sleep well?” Tarquin asked at breakfast the next morning.
Across the table, Feyre stabbed a strawberry too aggressively with her fork. She had been grumpy since the moment they woke, not that she would tell Rhysand what was wrong. She would hardly even look him in the eyes.
“Best night’s sleep in days,” Rhysand answered, when it was apparent Feyre would be giving everyone the cold shoulder this morning.
“Good,” Tarquin said, in a way that told Rhys he’d only asked out of courtesy. He looked to Feyre, to see if she noticed too, but she was staring blankly at her plate. “Since you’re feeling better rested, perhaps we can discuss what you’ll need to do to open the Winter border.”
“Maybe you could start by telling us why it’s closed in the first place,” Rhys said. Then he gestured towards the large window, overlooking the mouth of the sparkling green and cobalt bay. “Or how you ended up with that thing in your water.”
Tarquin glanced towards Feyre, lips pursed. “There is a great deal of history that has led us here,” he said. “I can give you the abridged version.”
That sounded preferable to Rhysand, who was excited at the prospect of finally getting some answers.
“Like most great tales of woe, it began with love,” Tarquin said. “The kind that poisons. When one of our Lords was scorned by his lover, he sought a terrible curse as revenge. A spell so powerful that it required a seal maintained by each of the High Lords. They were given to us disguised as a gift, powerful magical artifacts, and we accepted them unaware of the consequences. Once a seal was placed within each of the Courts, the magical borders between our lands closed.”
Rhysand leaned forward, propping his arms beneath his chin as he marveled over this information.“So the High Lords going mad, that was a consequence of these… seals?”
Tarquin nodded. “They were given to us in different forms. Tamlin’s was a golden rose, of which he brewed into a tea to consume each morning. Beron’s, a horned ruby crown he wore upon his head. I imagine they both merged with the seals and were driven mad by the power. When I received mine, I had it locked in a tomb beneath the water. I believe that decision saved me from a similar fate. Though its magic has caused restlessness in the creatures that lurk in our ocean’s depths.”
That foreboding feeling returned to Rhysand as he gazed out towards that ocean now, thinking of what other creatures might have awakened. “It’s not about killing the High Lords, then,” Rhys said, sounding his thoughts allowed. “It’s about… destroying the seals?”
“Precisely,” Tarquin said. “To get to Winter, you will need to destroy the seal that was given to me.”
Rhysand frowned. He made it sound easy. “And all this time, it’s never occurred to you to destroy the seal?”
The High Lord jerked his chin towards Rhysand’s arm, to the dark tattoo that marred his golden brown skin. “Destroying it requires the magic of the previous seals.”
“I’m…” Rhys stared at the black whorls in newfound horror. “I’m absorbing the magic?”
“It’s the only way it can be undone,” Tarquin said with a shrug, expressing none of the concern—of the dread—cutting through Rhys. Feyre continued staring at her plate, though her expression at least was pinched, her fingers gripping the silverware so hard he could see the whites of her knuckles. The High Lord added, “Every magic has its price. Every lock, its key.”
A key. That’s all he was to these people. A pawn in a game so much larger than helping Feyre save her sisters.
“And when the final seal is destroyed?” Rhys demanded. “What happens to me?”
Feyre jerked her head up at that. To us, he supposed he should have said. But had Feyre known all of this, kept it all a secret because helping the fae was in her best interest? She needed someone to pave the way to Night, afterall.
“The curse will be broken,” Tarquin said, holding his eyes steadily. “And you will be Pyrthian’s savior.”
Savior.
Cursebreaker.
That’s what they’d called Feyre, and just as he was starting to feel the pieces cement together, they slipped out of place. Had whoever bound her sisters put her up to this? Was she made to find someone to break Prythians curse in exchange for their freedom? There was something they weren’t telling him and it made Rhys want to scream.
He set his jaw. “What’s the seal for Summer Court then? Where do we find it?”
Tarquin offered him a wry smile. “It’s a book. And you’ll need to wait until low tide to retrieve it.”
“This feels too easy.”
Feyre raised a brow, which disappeared beneath the small lock of hair that fell over her forehead. The rest of it was braided off her face, ready for battle with her bow and quiver strapped to her back. They had changed out of the loose, airy clothes of the Summer Court, which Rhys thought was a shame. It had been nice to see Feyre look so unrestrained in her unbound hair and flowing clothes. Now she wore leathers, just as he did, though he’d kept the one-shouldered tunic and accepted a shoulder strap and leather cuffs for his exposed arm.
“Would you prefer another dragon?” she asked.
Rhys took a step forward into the squelching mud and winced. “Yes.”
He didn’t care about the mud, though. Not in the sense of getting dirty. But it would be hard to run through, and he was well aware that while the water had receded to open a path towards the stone tomb, the creature from the bridge could still swallow them with a single brave leap from where the water lapped against the shoreline several paces away.
And that was only one of the creatures that the seal had awoken.
They passed rocks crusted in barnacles and seaweed, small creatures scuttling across their surface. Crabs, he told himself to soothe his thundering heart. Hardly a dangerous foe.
“Can you feel it?”
Feyre whispered the words, like she feared she would wake the sleeping artifact. Rhys could feel it. That same foreboding feeling he had sensed every time he stared out towards the ocean, concentrated now, like a clawed hand running down his spine. He could understand why it had woken all manner of beast. If this had been put in his home, he likely would have gone on a rampage, too.
“No wonder it drove the other High Lords mad,” Rhys muttered. He didn’t want to think too carefully about what it would do to him.
In his periphery, Feyre shivered, and he resisted the urge to reach for her. He doubted it would be well received. Besides, it would be a difficult maneuver considering they were knee-deep in muck. They continued forward towards the stone entrance, his apprehension growing for every step they faced unobstructed.
“It’s too easy,” he said again once they stepped into the open doorway.
Feyre was frowning, her narrowed eyes flitting over the slick stone, searching for any hidden threat. Tarquin had warned them before they left that the seal very well could have melded to a creature, or the stone of the tomb itself.
Its magic has a mind of its own, he’d said.
“Stay on guard.”
She’d said it quietly, but it still bounced off the chamber walls, announcing their presence to whatever lived inside. They stared down the stairs that led into an eerie darkness that neither were quite ready to face.
Feyre added, “Whatever’s waiting for us, we need to handle it quickly. If the tide comes in while we’re down there…”
She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. The water was still leaking through the cracks in the stone, wetting their hair as it dripped from the ceiling. It said enough. If the tide came in, they would drown.
Feyre took a shaky breath, then stepped forward. There was so much black, putrid mud covering the stones that Rhysand hadn’t noticed the creeping tendril until Feyre shouted. He drew his sword at the same moment she reached for her bow, but it had already yanked her into the darkness. Her scream echoed off the walls as she slid and bounced over the wet stone and Rhys skidded after her, at first in his urgency to help, but then simply because he was being dragged by their chain. He tumbled forward, gasping as he fell against the unforgiving steps, down, down, down until his momentum was broken by knee-deep water. He fell with a splash onto the flat, slime-covered depths of the tomb. The icy water sliced against his skin, already seeping through his leathers, and his vision spun as he picked himself up, Feyre nowhere to be seen. Great.
The golden chain glimmered before him, its soft glow cutting through the gloom. He followed it carefully through the damp tunnel.
“Feyre?” He called.
It had gone quiet. All he could hear was the stone dripping against the water. Even the echo of his voice, of each wet step as he waded through the water, no longer carried. That deep, creeping feeling at his spine was stronger now, growing heavier as he approached a heavy iron door at the end of the hall. The chain disappeared behind it.
It was a trap, almost certainly.
Rhys sloshed forward until he reached the frigid metal. Behind it, the power coiled, serpentine in the way it hissed. It occurred to him that the seals were likely made to resist being destroyed, to protect the curse so that it may never be broken. But it, or some creature under its compulsion, had taken Feyre. And that prevented him from fleeing, whether he wanted to or not.
He was shivering as he placed his blue-tipped fingers to the door, and he worried suddenly that if they stayed down here too much longer, they would freeze to death long before they’d drown. The iron door hummed beneath his tattooed hand and he cried out as something pulsed through him, causing the dark lines over his skin to pulse with crackling energy. Magic. Rhysand ground his teeth, bracing his hand on the door to keep from falling to his knees as it ransacked him.
There was a click and a groan, then the lead door rolled into the wall. Water spilled out from the chamber on the other side, splashing against his thighs as he stumbled back.
Faelight bobbed in the chamber ahead, illuminating a round dias that held up a pedestal with a lead, filth-covered box atop it. And clinging to the shadows in the back of the chamber was a writhing, tentacled beast with several of its black appendages curled around Feyre. One covered her mouth, muffling the sounds of struggling. Several of her arrows protruded from its limbs—ones Rhys guessed she’d shoved through its rubbery skin with her bare hands before it restrained her wrists and ankles. Her face was twisted in disgust and blood was dripping from a cut above her brow, though there was none of the panic he’d seen her eyes when they’d been under that descending ceiling in the Autumn Court.
A good sign, even if the humming box before them made his adrenaline spike. His tattooed arm was tingling, rising to the magic that called him forward.
But first—Feyre. He ventured a step forward, sword drawn, but paused when she shook her head. It was the slightest motion, barely perceptible, but her eyes were wide and locked on his, saying, tame the beast.
It was shrinking back, hissing at Rhys though it appeared mostly focused on restraining Feyre. Its dead eyes were locked on her, stretching and pulling all while stroking its tentacles over her body, almost reminiscent of a lover. Rhysand was merely a threat to the prize it had won, and he had the sense that if he stayed on this side of the chamber, it would leave him alone.
Tame the beast. Destroy the seal.
The water was flooding back in now, too. Almost to Rhysand’s waist. And now there was the threat of not just the returning tide, but any creature it would bring with it. He would have preferred to move the box, carry it out and destroy the seal where they would be safe from the tide, but he couldn’t leave without Feyre. So instead he took a shaky breath while above, water trickled through the stones.
The metal was biting to the touch. He hissed, feeling that cold pulse of power surge up his arm, the marking constricting like the tentacles of the beast just ahead, wrapping tighter and tighter around his skin. He swore it cut off his circulation, and could feel his fingers going numb against the unforgiving iron.
Saviour, the magic within the box whispered. It’s voice was layered, several people whispering into his mind, serpentine and foreign and strange. Could Feyre hear it, too? Champion. Liberator.
Tell us, expiator. What do you fear most?
“What?”
Rhys cried out, knees buckling from the pain that shot down his arm. The metal gripped him, keeping him upright as he bowed over the pedestal, gasping.
He glanced up, eyes finding Feyre’s. Answer, those eyes begged, before scrunching in pain as the creature pulled harder at her limbs, snaking one of its disgusting tendrils over her abdomen.
Unlock the seal, the box cooed in its ancient, cruel voice. Reveal your greatest weakness. What do you fear?
“Death,” he said.
Wrong.
Rhysand snarled at the second dose of pain that shocked through his bones. The water was at his chest. He was beginning to worry if they would even have enough time to swim to the surface. From the anxiety whirling in his gut, death seemed like a suitable answer. His fingers tightened against the metal, thinking. What did men fear, besides death? It was the only threat he’d encountered that rattled him.
He looked back to Feyre, like she might have the answer, but she was hardly paying attention, caught in her own battle of kicking out against the beast's hold, screaming against the limb curled around her mouth.
His heart rate increased, hammering in his throat. Death did scare him. And not just the threat of his own. Ever since the plague had taken his mother and sister, it had been a shadow over his shoulder. His greatest adversary, one he had made peace with one day surrendering to.
It was better to die a hero than to…
“Marriage,” he said, already knowing it was a stupid answer.
The third lash was the most punishing thus far. His groan bounced off the walls, its sound challenged only by the rushing water.
Do you truly not know? The box asked. Or does it frighten you so greatly that you cannot even confront it now?
A memory flickered through his mind. The plague doctors, pushing him out of his mother’s bedroom. Denying him a final goodbye. He remembered the way the grief had collapsed his chest, how he’d run to scream his anguish to the forest so that his mother didn’t need to hear his sorrow in her final moments. He’d fought and killed his first beast that day, a small feral creature with hatred in its eyes. Naga, they’d called it. He remembered watching its chest heave, bloody beneath his sword, thinking he had balanced the good taken from the world by killing something evil in exchange. And yet, he felt nothing. Was almost disappointed it hadn’t killed him, too.
Why do you resist a relationship with your father? Asked a quiet voice in the back of his mind. Why do you resist a wife? Why is it safer to be a hero, to risk dying?
Rhysand barred his teeth. “I am afraid of the things I love—the people I love—being taken from me.”
The cycle continues, it said. And then the box clicked open.
Rhysand sagged back as the metal released its grip. The muscles in his arms felt worn and weak, like he’d been sustaining an overbearing weight and had finally let it drop.
It wasn’t over yet.
Rhysand flipped open the lid, peering to the book inside. It pulsed with that same terrible magic, and the beast snarled, thrashing its limbs wildly as the power emanated through the chamber. The beast slammed Feyre against the stone with a force that made Rhys feel sick. Watching her body crumble was enough to drive him forward, quickly raising his sword over his head to drive it down over the book, slicing through leather and paper.
The stone pedestal shuddered, rippling the water in the chamber as a great energy pulsed from the ruined book, throwing Rhysand backward into the rising liquid. He inhaled a mouthful of saltwater when he tried to scream, clutching his tattooed arm as a sharp heat coiled through the shifting markings, traveling up his shoulder and over his chest.
More concerning was the rumbling tomb, cracking beneath the tremors and filling rapidly with more and more water. The creature was still holding Feyre in its grip, though it had calmed with the seal now destroyed. Or rather, absorbed.
Rhys tried not to think about that too carefully as he broke back through the surface and stumbled towards Feyre. She had managed to loosen a hand and was using it now to pry the other tentacles away. Rhys sliced through the one still around her mouth, and with that the creature hissed, retreating its limbs to cower in the corner. Rhysand wouldn’t kill it so long as it let them leave.
He hauled a gagging Feyre to her feet, keeping one arm around her waist while he pushed them urgently towards the flooding door, practically swimming against its current.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Rhys was saying as they fought the onslaught.
Feyre’s grip tightened around his shoulder, using it to push him forward with surprising leverage. Then they were through, and the water became easier to navigate once they slammed the iron door shut, disrupting the current. In the hall, Rhysand could see the tomb was indeed cracking. Water burst in not just from the doorway above, but through the walls surrounding them, through the floor beneath.
“Fuck,” he said again.
“How insightful,” Feyre snapped. She strode forward, making towards the stairs at the other end of the hall.
Rhysand grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking her back into his chest.
“Rhys!” She snarled, thrashing her shoulders.
But ahead of them, the crack in the stone was growing, splinting the length of the wall. His heartbeat roared in his ear, saying run, run, run.
“Get back in the chamber,” he said, turning back to the iron door.
What was he thinking? With the rushing water, it would take a superhuman strength to open. He was just a man, and still he pushed uselessly at the metal, willing it to open with the magic of his seals.
But he was just a man.
And there was nothing—nothing—he could do against the tomb’s wall caving in, flooding the hall with water. There was only a moment to take a deep breath before they were pushed beneath the current, pinned to the iron doors.
Rhys screwed his eyes shut. This would be the end, then. Not quite as heroic as he had hoped. But at least he quelled the beasts in Adriata’s harbors so that Tarquin’s people could fish again. Even if they were faeries, it was something.
He turned his head to Feyre, forcing his eyes open to see the way her hair floated up around her. She was ethereal, even with her furious eyes and the lips that were already turning blue.
At least his final vision would be something beautiful.
Rhysand reached out, finding Feyre’s hand to thread their fingers together.
And at least neither of them would die alone.
The current stopped just as Rhysand’s vision blurred, the burning in his throat already unbearable. The faelight was just bright enough that he could see a figure swim through the burst in the wall. A man with rich umber skin made darker in the shadows, and unmistakable white locks of hair that floated gracefully behind him. Tarquin.
The High Lord swam towards them, white brows bunched in concern. Rhysand felt his lungs give way, taking a gasping breath of water just as Tarquin’s hands closed around his tunic.
Everything went dark. Just for a moment. The water slipped away, replaced with rushing wind, and then they were deposited onto a sandy bank. Rhys immediately turned over to cough up water. He dug his fists into the shore while he gagged, turning over and over in his mind that they had survived. But Holy Gods, just barely.
His eyes were still burning as he turned to Feyre. She looked haggard. Soaked to the bone and covered in filth, but otherwise okay. Even if the creature’s slime had left an oily sheen over her leathers, her face.
“Thank you for saving us,” she croaked to Tarquin.
Rhys closed his hands into fists. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”
“No,” Tarquin said. He pressed a heartfelt hand to his chest and bowed his head. “It is I who should be thanking both of you. Because of you, my people will be able to use these waters again. Tell me what you need for preparation in Winter, I shall see it done.”
It was then Rhysand realized, a bit reluctantly, that he liked Tarquin.
He glanced back over to Feyre, offering her a wry smile. “Should we start with another bath?”
71 notes · View notes
dino-fart · 1 year
Text
The Bargain | Chapter 10: Peace
Tumblr media
Pairing: Namor x Female Reader
Genre: Action, Adventure, Romance
Summary: To say you had a complicated relationship history was an understatement. Your ex was well...Not of this world? Yet he seemed to always find his way to you. One day he shows up with his new girlfriend asking for your help. You promise to assist if he never shows his face again. What is it he needs you for? And what are you all going to find when deep diving into the Atlantic Ocean?
Summary | Preview | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 |  Chapter 12 (End) | Sequel
Tumblr media
“Watch the fall of your kingdom.” Namor hissed at Atlas. Atlas was restrained by chains that tied his wrists together. Two guards were on either side of him. Namor swam ahead, he had his feathered helmet on and shoulder plates. His long cape floated in the water as he waited for the troops of Atlantis to approach. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, Sypha headed toward him with the scepter. Namor’s eyes grew wide and he watched the blonde queen stood a few feet from him. 
“Take the scepter, release my husband and leave Atlantis be.” She offered him the scepter. 
Namor took the scepter carefully from her grasp. “Where did you find it?” 
“I didn’t. Our favorite wench...I mean human found it.” Sypha corrected herself. 
Namor twirled the scepter, “Where is she now?” 
Sypha was quiet at his question. 
Namor tilted his head, “Where is she?” 
“She’s...She’s in Atlantis...She’s fatally wounded. I don’t know if she’ll make it...” Sypha said solemnly. 
Namor felt his heart ache hearing her words, “May I see her?” 
“Not now, your majesty, the healers are doing everything they can and prefer to be uninterrupted.” 
Namor made a motion for the guards to remove Atlas’ chains. Atlas swam over to Sypha and embraced her tightly. “I will send a messenger when she is awake.” Sypha said to Namor who just nodded and swam away from the couple. 
Namor held the scepter tightly and for now, he would head back to Talokan and wait for the news.
Tumblr media
It was a few days after and the healers had sealed your wounds. Atlas and Sypha took you back home so you could rest on the surface. Your aunt, Emily, had bumped into him when she was trying to find you. Atlas told him what had happened and while your aunt wasn’t sure if she should believe him, you needed to be taken care of. Your aunt would stop by every day to bring you something to eat and drink. 
You had regained consciousness and were slowly getting your strength back. Emily had called over her friends, one that was a doctor and the other a physical therapist, to examine you. The doctor showed you that the wound on the left side and shoulder had been sealed but it was quite the scar. He said whoever had done it saved your life. You didn’t answer as you knew it would confuse and concern the physician. 
One day, Emily brought over a mirror and scissors to properly trim your hair that you had sliced off in the fight. Your once long hair was now shoulder length. You didn’t seem to mind, after all, you were alive. Over the next week, you continued to recover, getting out of bed every now and then and working with the physical therapist to get your exercise. You were now resting in bed after a long day of being examined again by the doctor and physical therapist. 
They said you would be ready to leave the bed in another week and to continue exercising your legs. You laid back on the bed and sighed, yes this was better than being dead, but you were someone who was always on the move. You sat up when you heard a noise and sighed in relief when Atlas walked through the door of your bedroom. 
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” He smiled. 
“Yeah...Thanks...Sypha saved me.” You smiled back at him. 
Sypha walked into the room and approached you. “I hope that can make up for when I tried to kill you.” 
“Yeah, it does.” You smiled kindly. 
“We made a promise to tell Namor you were awake, I will do that while Sypha keeps you company.” Atlas smiled and left the room. 
“I imagine the war was avoided...Namor...Wants to see me?” You asked. 
“He’s been asking ever since I told him you were wounded.” Sypha nodded. 
“That’s...Sweet. He’s a kind man...He can be scary though.” 
“Most kings are, though I think it was a little dramatic waging war over a scepter.” 
“Agreed.” You chuckled. 
Tumblr media
You and Sypha had a few conversations before you closed your eyes to rest. Sypha turned around at the sound of footsteps. “King Namor.” Sypha bowed her head and moved aside. Namor nodded to her and Sypha walked over to Atlas to give Namor some space. The two left the room and now it was the king and you. 
Namor sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at your sleeping face. Your hair cascaded on the pillow that created almost a halo around your head. “Mi pixamech... (My angel...)” Namor said softly and leaned down to gently stroke your hair back. 
You stirred slightly at his touch and your eyes slowly opened. “Namor...” You said softly. 
Namor smiled softly and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “My brave and clever researcher...” 
“Namor...I’m so sorry about everything...I found the scepter.” You sat up on the bed. 
Namor shook his head and gently ran his fingers through your hair, his other hand moved to take your hand in his. “There is nothing to apologize for...If anything I need to apologize. For doubting you.” Namor leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours. 
You blushed and rested your hands on his chest. “You lost your patience, I don’t blame you.” 
Namor brushed his nose against yours and gently captured your lips with his in a slow and tender kiss. You closed your eyes and slid your hands over his shoulders to deepen the kiss. Namor cupped the back of your head as he continued kissing you. His hands moved down to wrap around your waist and he slowly laid you back on the bed. His lips never left yours when he did this until finally, you needed to breathe. You pulled back and smiled softly at him. 
“I love you.” Namor gazed at you softly. 
“I love you too.” You leaned up and kissed him again. 
Sypha was about to come back into the room when she caught a sneak peek of the two of you kissing. “Let’s go back to Atlantis, darling, she’s in good hands.” Sypha held Atlas’ hand and the two left your house. 
Namor pulled back from the kiss and moved to lay beside you. “I wish to spend this night with you.” He said softly and pulled you close to him. His arms still wrapped around your waist and his lips kissed every inch of your face. You giggle softly at his kisses and moved to nuzzle your head under his chin. “Sleep, my love, I will not leave your side again.” Namor gently stroked your hair, lulling you to sleep. 
You breathed in his scent and enjoyed his touch, you felt safe in his arms, safe in the king’s arms.
Tumblr media
Author’s Note: Namor smooches!
Dividers By: @firefly-graphics​​
Tagging: @bontensbabygirl, @deputy-videogamer, @anthonyedwinstark, @fangirlingbookworm1, @theyluvremi, @bbylime, @redcrayonsforwanda, @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame, @missbeverlyhills, @bluskyy30, @sonadowloverf-blog, @spctorstrnge, @justanotherfanhere, @britty443, @lilithskywalker, @tzurue, @lego0city123, @livingdeadgirl7, @bl6o6dy, @didneyworld13, @bookfrog247, @thicc101q, @angel-bi666, @witchxlove, @omgsuperstarg, @andy-wandy, @queenotaku23, @maripositanoctruna, @ursecondbirthmom, @jupiterclipse, @pauline-s12, @spookymicrowave, @darkfairymoon, @gemini5991, @littleficreccs, @3am-at-a-party, @hotdoglamp, @supernaturallover2002, @natchayaphorn, @sixthgun98, @xwackk, @strvbelities, @internetmultifandomfangirl, @yawny0-0, @girlmythlegend, @lotsoffandomsandsoftpeeps, @ameliabs-world, @dvaine-mercy, @sadslasher13, @jylanlove12, @boxbraidboo, @secretpostts, @fefa-la-printcessa, @queenofangrymoths, @artaxerxesthegreat, @sammisregrets, @imlikefrhungry, @namorwife, @22carolina08, @batfam-sitcom, @ohantonia, @agustdpeach, @ethereal-athalia, @spicydonut25, @historygeekqueen, @em-asian, @stitchattacks, @agustdeeyaa, @sadbutradbarnes, @mynameisbaby9, @thebluehare, @fandom-lover-4, @delsinhunter, @im-a-slut-for-fluff, @asarcasticcaffeinatedslytherin, @theslytherinwriter, @kirrasrkive, @deliciousfestsalad, @violet-19999, @ameliachastain, @raeluvsbloodline, @omega-horus, @namor-is-the-way, @icytrickster17@bontensbabygirl, @deputy-videogamer, @anthonyedwinstark, @fangirlingbookworm1, @theyluvremi, @bbylime, @redcrayonsforwanda, @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame, @missbeverlyhills, @bluskyy30, @sonadowloverf-blog, @spctorstrnge, @justanotherfanhere, @britty443, @lilithskywalker, @tzurue, @lego0city123, @livingdeadgirl7, @bl6o6dy, @didneyworld13, @bookfrog247, @thicc101q, @angel-bi666, @witchxlove, @omgsuperstarg, @andy-wandy, @queenotaku23, @maripositanoctruna, @ursecondbirthmom, @jupiterclipse, @pauline-s12, @spookymicrowave, @darkfairymoon, @gemini5991, @littleficreccs, @3am-at-a-party, @hotdoglamp, @supernaturallover2002, @natchayaphorn, @sixthgun98, @xwackk, @strvbelities, @internetmultifandomfangirl, @yawny0-0, @girlmythlegend, @lotsoffandomsandsoftpeeps, @ameliabs-world, @dvaine-mercy, @sadslasher13, @jylanlove12, @boxbraidboo, @secretpostts, @fefa-la-printcessa, @queenofangrymoths, @artaxerxesthegreat, @sammisregrets, @imlikefrhungry, @namorwife, @22carolina08, @batfam-sitcom, @ohantonia, @agustdpeach, @ethereal-athalia, @spicydonut25, @historygeekqueen, @em-asian, @stitchattacks, @agustdeeyaa, @sadbutradbarnes, @mynameisbaby9, @thebluehare, @fandom-lover-4, @delsinhunter, @im-a-slut-for-fluff, @asarcasticcaffeinatedslytherin, @theslytherinwriter, @kirrasrkive, @deliciousfestsalad, @violet-19999, @ameliachastain, @raeluvsbloodline, @omega-horus, @namor-is-the-way, @icytrickster17@bontensbabygirl, @deputy-videogamer, @anthonyedwinstark, @fangirlingbookworm1, @theyluvremi, @bbylime, @redcrayonsforwanda, @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame, @missbeverlyhills, @bluskyy30, @sonadowloverf-blog, @spctorstrnge, @justanotherfanhere, @britty443, @lilithskywalker, @tzurue, @lego0city123, @livingdeadgirl7, @bl6o6dy, @didneyworld13, @bookfrog247, @thicc101q, @angel-bi666, @witchxlove, @omgsuperstarg, @andy-wandy, @queenotaku23, @maripositanoctruna, @ursecondbirthmom, @jupiterclipse, @pauline-s12, @spookymicrowave, @darkfairymoon, @gemini5991, @littleficreccs, @3am-at-a-party, @hotdoglamp, @supernaturallover2002, @natchayaphorn, @sixthgun98, @xwackk, @strvbelities, @internetmultifandomfangirl, @yawny0-0, @girlmythlegend, @lotsoffandomsandsoftpeeps, @ameliabs-world, @dvaine-mercy, @sadslasher13, @jylanlove12, @boxbraidboo, @secretpostts, @fefa-la-printcessa, @queenofangrymoths, @artaxerxesthegreat, @sammisregrets, @imlikefrhungry, @namorwife, @22carolina08, @batfam-sitcom, @ohantonia, @agustdpeach, @ethereal-athalia, @spicydonut25, @historygeekqueen, @em-asian, @stitchattacks, @agustdeeyaa, @sadbutradbarnes, @mynameisbaby9, @thebluehare, @fandom-lover-4, @delsinhunter, @im-a-slut-for-fluff, @asarcasticcaffeinatedslytherin, @theslytherinwriter, @kirrasrkive, @deliciousfestsalad, @violet-19999, @ameliachastain, @raeluvsbloodline, @omega-horus, @namor-is-the-way, @icytrickster17, @lilikan​
100 notes · View notes
kanohirren · 2 months
Text
How to Make Bdubs in DnD
I’ll go level by level and explain the reasoning behind my decisions and how I think it fits them in character. This build assumes starting at level 8 but includes notes on differences if you start at level 1 and progress to 8. This isn't intended as a guide on how to play dnd, just how to build this character.
Tumblr media
Class: Druid (Circle of Dreams) 7, Cleric (Life Domain) 1
Race: Goblin
Base Ability Scores: 
Str 13 (+1)
Dex 8, (-1)
Con 15 (+2) +1 from race = 16 (+3)
Int 10 (+0)
Wis 15 (+2) +2 from race = 17 (+3)
Cha 10 (+0)
Background: Guild Artisan (builder/carpenter)
As a Wisdom based caster, Bdubs will of course be prioritizing his Wisdom stat. The Strength score is necessary to wear heavy armour, which he gets from his cleric dip. If the whole “druids don’t wear metal” thing is an issue, just flavour it as being made of something else.
I built Bdubs to be an extremely good healer outside of combat, but in combat he will probably struggle to match people in damage (which is okay! That’s the other party member’s job)
Before we get into the class features, we’ll start with the goblin race features:
Darkvision 60ft.
Fey ancestry (advantage on saving throws vs being charmed)
Fury of the Small (pump extra damage equal to proficiency bonus onto attacks or spells) “I AM NOT SHORT I AM VERY TALL”
Nimble Escape: disengage or hide as a bonus action.
And the Guild Artisan background features:
Skill proficiencies: Insight and Persuasion
Guild Membership: The guild has your back
First, we start with a level in Cleric. At level 1, you gain:
Proficiency in light and medium armour and shields.
Proficiency in simple weapons
Proficiency in Wisdom and Charisma saving throws
Skill proficiencies: Religion, Medicine (obvious choices for a cleric)
Three cantrips: Guidance, Light, Toll the Dead
1st lvl Cleric spells: Clerics are prepared casters, you can swap out spells after a long rest, but Life Domain Clerics automatically have Bless and Cure Wounds prepared. Suggested spells would be Healing Word, Sanctuary, Shield of Faith and Guiding Bolt
Subclass: Life Domain
Life Domain grants: 
Disciple of Life feature. Your healing spells heal an extra 2 + the spell’s level HP (the main reason for this 1 lvl dip. The extra healing scales with the spell level, not cleric level, so there’s no need for extra levels in this class)
Proficiency in Heavy Armour (allows you to wear chain mail)
As for his deity, Bdubs of course worships himself as he established himself as a god in the hermitcraft x empires crossover.
We only take one level of Cleric; the rest is now all druid. If you’re worried about level progression, it may be more convenient to start with druid and only dip into cleric after 5 levels. The main difference would be different saving throw proficiencies, but it’s not a big deal. The biggest reason to start Cleric is for the Disciple of Life feature to buff all your healing spells.
Tumblr media
At 2nd level, we begin our journey into Druid.
At level 1, a Druid gains:
Druidic: secret language so that when you go “AUAAUAHGGGHUGETHO” it’s actually words
Two cantrips: Druidcraft, Primal Savagery
1st lvl Druid spells: Druids are also prepared casters like Clerics, but the important spell is to take GOODBERRY. 
Bdubs is a druid because he is of course a moss enjoyer.
Goodberry synergises extremely well with Disciple of Life. Normally, Goodberry creates 10 berries that heal 1 hp each. Disciple of Life boosts the effect of healing spells by 2 + the spell level (goodberry is 1st lvl), so each Goodberry instead heals 4 HP for a total of 40 HP with a 1st lvl spell at lvl 2.
Tumblr media
At 3rd level, we gain a second Druid level, which grants:
Wildshape
Subclass: Circle of Dreams
Circle of dreams grants:
Balm of the Summer Court, grants you a pool of d6s to heal party members with, which is even more healing for your party. (Does not synergise with Disciple of Life as it is not a spell)
At 4th level, we gain a third Druid level, which grants:
2nd level spells. Suggested spells: Healing Spirit (multiple instances of healing, strong synergy with Disciple of Life), Spike Growth (hurty moss)
Additional Cantrip: Anything works, suggested: Infestation
At 5th level, we gain a fourth Druid level, which grants:
Ability Score Improvement OR Feat. If you don’t use feats, add +1 to Wisdom and +1 to Strength.
Feat: Fey Wanderer. Grants a +1 to Wisdom (bumps it up to 18 for a +4 modifier) and the Misty Step spell, which is handy for running away from danger like Bdubs often does (“AAAUHGGHAAGH *disappears in a puff of smoke”). 
Improved wildshape
At 6th level, we gain a fifth Druid level, which grants:
3rd level spells. Suggested spells: Conjure Animals (HORSES!), Plant Growth (MOSS) or Speak with Plants (SENTIENT MOSS)
Tumblr media
At 7th level, we gain a sixth Druid level, which grants:
Subclass feature: Hearth of Moonlight and Shadow. Basically, allows you to obscure an area to make a safe space for your party to take a rest in (gotta shreep!)
At 8th level, we take our seventh Druid level, which grants:
4th level spells. Suggested spells: Polymorph, Confusion
Summary:
Final Stats:
Str 13 (+1)
Dex 8 (-1)
Con 16 (+3)
Int 10 (+0)
Wis 18 (+4)
Cha 10 (+0)
Feat: Fey Wanderer
Cantrips: Druidcraft, Primal Savagery, Guidance, Light, Toll the Dead, Infestation
Wildshape for up to 3 hours
1st to 4th level spells: Prepare up to 5 Cleric spells and 11 Druid spells.
And that’s it! The result is a druid with extremely powerful healing abilities but who may also turn around and bite you or summon a stampede of horses on you. Perfect for Bdubs!
8 notes · View notes
zombryz · 1 year
Text
♡ all my suffering ♡ chapter 3
Tumblr media
˗ˏˋ hello ˎˊ˗    & thx for reading... again :3
Tumblr media
Chapter Three
masterlist | Prev. Chapter 1 | Prev. Chapter 2 | Next Chapter 4  | ao3 | playlists (dabi & shigaraki)
Pairings: Shigaraki x f!reader x Dabi
A/N: This will soon have some season 6 of bnha spoilers! Please read with that in mind :) - This is an ongoing story! Last update 3.18.2023
Warnings: Specific to this chapter - SMUT, like a dirty amount... sorry not sorry, unrequited love, lemon, angst, fluff, Dabi is hot, that’s all
Word Count: 5k
Later that week, Shigaraki went to visit Overhaul at one of his strongholds without telling any of the other league members.
“Not all of our guests have the best intentions,” Overhaul says, looking up at Shigaraki, “and we like our privacy.”
Overhaul is sitting on a dark purple couch opposite Shigaraki, who is standing in front of the couch on his side of the room. His hands are in his pockets, and he is wearing his long black trench coat paired with the pale grey hand that takes its normal place as his mask.
“Why am I really here?” Shigaraki boldly interrupts Overhaul, already done with his antics. He thinks he has every right to kill him right here and now for what he did back at the warehouse. He doesn’t act on his urges, though. Instead, he hears out the leader of the Yakuza stronghold.
The strategy chess game, shogi, sits in front of the two men on top of a small, round coffee table. Overhaul picks up one of the chess pieces before answering the league’s leader. 
“Shogi is an interesting game because you can use the pieces you steal from your opponent,” Overhaul leans forward a bit and raises an eyebrow, smirking at Shigaraki through his plague doctor mask, “I want Toga or Y/N, and maybe even Twice,” he lowers his tone before continuing, “I don’t feel at ease when they’re doing your bidding." He looks back up at Shigaraki to gauge his immediate reaction to wanting to steal his league members.
Shigaraki sighs and finally takes a seat on the matching dark purple couch behind him while propping one foot up on the coffee table, causing the chess pieces to shake on the board. He also leans forward to grab his knee, making himself comfortable. 
“You guys want to capitalize on our reputation, and we want to increase our strength,” Shigaraki leans back into the couch now, appearing aloof, “Our needs seem to coincide at the moment, but we still call the shots here. Either this is a joint partnership or I walk out the door.” Overhaul’s men get closer to Shigaraki, not particularly happy with his threatening undertone.
“So those are your conditions then?” Overhaul sighs, annoyed with the man’s demands.
“The scales are far from even. Need I remind you about Magne,” he pauses, “and Compress’ arm?” Shigaraki hisses out. Overhaul’s eyes are glued to him now; he waits until he’s finished talking before he speaks again. Shigaraki looks up toward the ceiling before continuing, not looking at anything in particular but thinking of you, “You can forget about Y/N; you can’t have her.” 
“Oh?” Overhaul perks up and leans back a little more interested in what has Shigaraki not wanting to give you up, “Is she special or something?” he asks with a sly smile.
“No.” Shigaraki’s face grows warm under his mask. He takes his eyes off the ceiling to look back at Overhaul, “It would just be really dumb of me to give you our healer,” he tsks, narrowing his eyes. Shigaraki hates being questioned this much.
“Surely you can lend her to me just for one week?” he retorts. Overhaul pokes at him a little more. He wants to know just how far he would be willing to fight for you.
Shigaraki thinks for a moment. It would give him the upper hand if he was on good terms with the Yakuza. You have also proved that you could hold your own in a fight against Overhaul, especially since you were the only one to make him bleed. Plus, you would have Toga and Twice with you, and he trusts them.
“Fine, one week.”
The next morning, Shigaraki approached you while you were in the room that Toga and you had decided to share. Toga had already started putting up her posters again and changed out the bed sheets before she left with Twice for the day. You had found an old hero magazine in the closet of the bedroom and hoped to find anything about yourself in there to jog your memory, but sadly, it was about 10 years old and held no information about you or any of the villains you were with. The house must’ve been abandoned for about that long, you thought to yourself. You were in the center of the room atop an old mattress, lying on your stomach and swinging your feet in the air still reading the magazine when Shigaraki entered the bedroom doorway. You were facing the window with your back facing the door, so you couldn’t see who it was. He was quiet and took a moment to watch you as you read all the old hero drama. There it was—that warm feeling returning to his face as he watched you swing your feet happily behind you. He didn’t quite understand the feeling, though. He just knew he hated it. It was about midday, and from the looks of it, you and him were the only two inside the house. 
“Are you just going to stand there and watch me, or are you going to say something?” You felt the presence of someone behind you; after all, you are a trained hero. It didn’t matter how quiet he was being. 
Your heart immediately starts racing the moment he speaks. You were not expecting his voice at all, he never comes to talk to you. He’s usually MIA or will avoid you like the plague. You had really thought he was Dabi, or maybe even Toga or Twice. Why is Shigaraki at your bedroom door? 
“I need to talk to you,” he calmly replies, taking off the hand covering his face. You turn around to face him while sitting up in bed to cross your legs. He must’ve just gotten back from wherever he had been all morning. He looks exhausted, to say the least, like maybe he pulled an all nighter. 
“You don’t look so good, is everything alright?” You express your concern a little too quickly and almost immediately regret asking him that because you didn’t want to annoy him. You frown up at him with wide eyes, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the floor. He can’t bring himself to look at you right now, especially since he can’t calm the warmth in his cheeks.
“I’m fine,” he huffs like a kid in trouble, “I have a job for you, I hope you’re ready.” He states this matter-of-factly. He finally looks up at you to gather your reaction, shaking off the warmth from before.
You excitedly jump up from the bed and cross the room in a dancing manner with your arms behind your back. It had been about a month or so since you joined the league. You were hoping that they would all start trusting you. Plus, you were getting really bored being left behind all the time. “Great! When do I start?” you ask with a big smile that could melt any boy's heart.
Shigaraki stood in the doorway and shifted uncomfortably as you started closing in on him. He stiffened up and straightened his back to his full height, which took up most of the doorway. He hated that you made him so nervous whenever you were in close proximity, but he also hated the idea of handing you over to Overhaul. He’d rather have you close to him, always. 
“I’m giving you to Overhaul,” he grumbles like the words he spoke were poison. “You’ll be with Toga and Twice, so don’t cause any trouble.” He’s looking down at you now, and you are looking up at him. “You will join the Hassaikai tomorrow.” His breath hitched; you were only a couple of inches away from him now, close enough that he could smell your hair. Which coincidentally smelled like strawberries, and he would never admit how much he liked it.
“I hate that guy,” you frown up at him. The corner of his mouth pulled up as he stared at you through heavy-lid eyes. Suddenly you’re the one who is nervous. You avert your eyes and look at the wall, your heart racing again.
“So do I,” he doesn’t take his eyes off of yours. He notices the redness pooling in your cheeks, and his eyes start trailing down to your lips, which were perfectly pouty. He pauses for a moment and realizes you’re nervous too. He can’t believe it. It’s gotta be because you’re intimidated by him, right? There’s no way you’re actually flustered because of him. He wants more than anything to apologize for hurting you. He doesn’t even know where to start though, he’s never apologized for anything. Instead, he soaks in the silence between you two. He doesn’t want to part ways yet because then that would mean leaving this moment forever. Little does he know you don’t want to part ways either, having him in your space is comforting and you didn’t understand why.
“Honey, we’re hommmeeee!” Twice’s voice echoes through the empty house. 
You were much closer to Shigaraki than a moment ago. Twice’s entrance made you jump a bit causing you to join Shigaraki in his personal bubble. You tried clearing your throat to make it less awkward but Shigaraki didn’t seem to care at all. Instead of getting mad at you or telling you it was okay to make you feel better, he immediately fell back into his stern leader persona. He placed the hand back over his face and left your room without saying another word. He left it feeling much colder and emptier than before.
Later that evening, after you had showered, you came back into your room to find Toga laying across the mattress, cutting people out of the magazine you had been reading earlier. She had a sinister smile plastered on her face as she glued them to the floor. You had no idea what was going through her head, so you got dressed without interrupting her. 
“Hey, do you know where Dabi is?” you hesitantly asked her, running your fingers across your lips almost instinctively. You wondered if anyone had told him about you leaving. You hadn’t seen him since he kissed you, and you hoped he was okay. 
“Hmmm,” Toga brings a finger up to her cheek to make her think harder. “I don’t really know; last I saw him he was talking to Shigaraki, and then he took off into the woods while you were in the shower,” Toga hums at you.
"Thanks, Toga, I’ll be back,” you said, finishing putting on an oversized black t-shirt and an old pair of crimson riot pajama pants before brushing back your wet hair. You ran out of the big house to try and catch up to Dabi; he couldn’t have gotten too far. The screen door smacked against the old wood as you walked down the front steps. The sun was setting, and the sun itself was being engulfed by the dark gray sky. There was little sunlight left, so you tried to scan the forest for any sign of where Dabi had gone. There were just miles and miles of trees in front of you, which had you discouraged until you saw blue flames in the distance that caused a disruption to all the birds in the area as you saw them take off flying into the sunset. As soon as you zoned into his location, you took off running towards him. He was only about a quarter of a mile away, and now that you were in the forest, you had hoped that he didn’t leave his current location, or else you had no hope of finding him again. After a few minutes of walking through the dark forest, you noticed a little shed that had a blue campfire out in front of it. You’d recognize those flames anywhere. You stepped closer to the shed and thought it would be fun to try and sneak up on him. You went into stealth mode and stepped slowly and quietly toward the shed when suddenly a large burnt-up hand descended into your peripherals, grabbing a hold of your face to cover your mouth. You didn’t panic, though; instead, you turned to Dabi and punched him playfully in the chest while bursting into a fit of laughter. 
“How do we always end up in this position, darling?” His voice was husky, and his laugh was even deeper. It had been months since he first captured you in the woods that night. You were putting up much more of a fight then, he thought. It's crazy how much he's grown to care about you in that short amount of time.
After your laughter dies down, you give him a more earnest look in the dim blue light. The fire was crackling, and one of the logs cracked before falling apart, and the woods went quiet. “He’s giving me to Overhaul,” your voice came out shaky, and it was the first time you really understood what that meant for you. It meant that you could die under his control. “I don’t want to go.” You feel like you were on the verge of tears.
“I know, he told me.” Dabi remains calm although it feels like he’s being ripped apart inside. He leans back against one of the trees behind him and looks up at the stars as he speaks again, “It’ll be okay. He said it’s only for a week. You’re much stronger than you think you are.” 
As you stand next to the fire, you feel small under his gaze. Dabi was so confident that you were going to be okay that you believed him. You crossed your arms and stared into the dancing blue flames, lost in thought. What were you doing here? Why did you come to see him? Was it because you were worried about him or because he is becoming a comfort for you? All of this was so confusing.
“Hey,” Dabi noticed the worried look on your face and pushed himself off the tree to step closer to you. “You’ll be okay. Shigaraki and I would never let anything bad happen to you,” he said, bending down a little to make sure you were looking at him. 
“Yeah, ok,” you inhaled deeply, “I trust you.” Your voice was above a whisper; you didn’t even mean to leave Shigaraki out. It’s not like you don’t trust him; you’re just still unsure. Dabi, however, felt better about you saying you trust him and not Shigaraki. It meant that he didn’t really stand a chance at winning your heart. “So,” you tried to change the subject to get your mind off of leaving, “what are you doing out here?” You look up at him and realize he’s actually standing pretty close to you now. 
“Come here,” he grabs your hand, and for the first time your palm is in his. His hand was still warm from lighting the fire. You wondered if his flames hurt him. It would explain his scarred skin, but you never wanted to pry. He guided you to the shed that you had noticed earlier. It was also very abandoned and weathered. It looks like it may have been white in the past, like the house, and probably doubled as a small green house. You then wondered about the types of people who lived there before and where they were now. Dabi dove under the broken wooden door frame that looked like it had been slowly falling apart for years. He then reached out and placed a palm on top of your head to guide you into the shed with him, making sure that you wouldn’t hit your head on the wooden plank above. Once you were inside, you moved the damp pieces of your hair that had become disheveled from Dabi out of your face so that you could look around. You were in awe at how many little blue flames you saw surrounding you. Dabi had lit candles atop the shelves and on the small rectangle tables that were in the middle of the shed; there were even some on the floor. The blue lighting was flickering and created a glow-like effect that bounced off the skylights. So it was used for a greenhouse, you thought. Everything was overgrown but so beautiful. There were wildflowers everywhere, and you couldn’t help but smile. You spun around and your eyes landed on Dabi, who was holding out a bright blue nemophila flower that had five petals and a baby blueish-white center. You beamed up at him and happily took the flower. It didn’t really smell like anything, but the liveliness of it made you happy. When you looked behind Dabi, you saw a small mattress on the ground that had a few articles of clothing on it that looked like they belonged to him.
“Is this where you’ve been sleeping? Why not in the house with us?” You lower the flower from your face, and suddenly the awe factor is gone.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Dabi sighs defeatedly. “I guess I just like being alone,” he mutters.
“Oh,” you say under your breath and turn around to face away from him.
"I cherished sharing a bed with you in the beginning," Dabi admits, causing your heart to skip a beat. You hoped he wouldn't be able to hear how loud your heart was beating for him. "I wish it wasn't so short-lived," he said bitterly.
He is standing there with both hands in his pockets when you turn around to face him once more. You feel bad about this. You can't help but feel like it's your fault for his defeated stance. 
“Me too,” your voice was a little above a whisper, suddenly nervous.
Dabi immediately perks up at this and makes long and fast strides over to you. You watch as he approaches you with a purpose he didn’t have moments ago. You didn’t know it, but you basically gave him the go-ahead. He wasn’t sure where you two had left off when he kissed you last. All he knew was that he craved you and needed you to touch him. You gulped loudly once he stopped just a few inches away from you, waiting to see if you would tell him no or not. You didn’t, though. He stared at you with a hunger, like he was a wolf and you were his prey. When your hip collided with the edge of one of the tables, you realized he'd cornered you. It didn't matter because you desired him just as much. You were staring up at him with dark eyes and heavy breaths. He pushed forward and grabbed your face again, but this time he was a little rougher than before. He passionately kissed you, making your knees go weak. Suddenly, his laps became more aggressive, and you heard needy growls coming from him. He then leaned down without disengaging your lips and picked you up from just below your ass to lift you up onto the table. Your hands were holding his face now, and as he continued kissing you roughly, you ran your hands into his hair and pulled it down slightly, eliciting a small moan from the man and causing his lips to part with yours. You bit your lip and looked down at him; he was already looking up at you with his brows knitted together in pleasure. With both of your hands, you pushed back his spiky hair and freed his forehead. He was so beautiful like this. His blue eyes were so bright and matched the flower he had given you earlier. His hands trailed up your thighs and reached your hips. At the base of your hips, he lifted your shirt slowly and rubbed tiny circles on your lower stomach. The action made your thighs squeeze together tightly. You kissed him once more.
“Dabi, can you touch me?” You beg softly in his ear.
“Of course, princess,” he finally lifts your shirt up and over your head. You weren't wearing a bra, so your breasts were exposed, and you felt a little self-conscious in his presence. It didn’t last for long; he kissed you gently before looking down at your body. The hand that was rubbing your lower stomach now moved up slowly, and you could feel the staples on his wrist rub against your skin, sending chills up your body. Your nipples hardening from his touch. His kisses started trailing down your neck while his hands started trailing up to your chest. You leaned back on your hands and exposed your neck to him. He kissed your neck and ran his tongue down your clavicle. His hand finally reached your right breast. Your breath shudders as he starts palming your breast, gently at first and then rougher and rougher. It was your turn to moan now, and it was like music to his ears. You swung your leg in between his legs and felt how hard he was for you. You wanted him now. 
“Dabi,” you whimper.
“What is it, baby?” He moves his head back up to nuzzle the crevice of your neck.
“Please, I need you,” you begged once more.
He kisses down your neck again, and this time he takes your nipple into his mouth and bites gently. You whimper, and he sucks the pain away. His hands run up your body, and he is grabbing at all parts of you, needy for more and more. He’ll take every part of you that you’ll give him. He goes for your pajama pants now; he cradles the back of your head and lays you down on the table to rip at your pants. You help him untie the strings and wiggle them off your hips. He whips them off and throws them toward the bed. He kisses your legs while maintaining eye contact with you. Your face was burning red; you wanted him so badly. He pawed at your inner thighs before his eyes landed on your already-soaked panties. He is so hard for you that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without being inside you, but he wants to savor you just as badly. His fingers reach the soaked part of your panties and he starts applying pressure in small circles with his thumb. You reach back behind you for anything you can hold onto while you ride his thumb. There was nothing to grab onto, so you try to scoot back as much as you can to push yourself against him more. He notices this and wants to give you everything you want. He pushes your underwear aside and slides his middle and ring fingers up your slit, lubricating them with your juices before slowly sliding them both inside you. You gasped and bit your bottom lip to suppress a moan. 
“You’re so tight,” he groans, while pumping his fingers in and out of you while rubbing his thumb on your clit. His words come out like he’s in pain; you suppose maybe he is. Maybe it hurts for him to get so hard. You start thinking about whether or not his dick is scarred too. He brings his other hand back up to your breasts and flicks your nipple before running his hand down your naval again, applying pressure to your stomach as he goes. You arch your back, and he thinks this is a perfect time to bring his mouth down to your heat. He replaces his thumb with his tongue, and when you look down at him, you notice his tongue is pierced, causing a cold sensation to hit your clit. It felt incredible. 
“Good girl,” he says in between laps. 
This has made you feral. You needed more, so much more. You brought your hands back into the picture and grabbed his head, forcing him closer to your body as you rode his face. This time you didn’t suppress your moans. You were so close; he kept the pace for you as you focused on coming all over his face. Your thighs tightened around him, and you scrunched your legs up towards your body as you rode out your orgasm. After your climax, you laid back on the wooden table and tried to catch your breath as much as you could. Once a few seconds had passed, you sat up to look at him, and your eyes went wide in fear. 
“Oh my god, Dabi, I’m so sorry,” you crawl down the table to cradle his face. You had ripped out two of his facial staples on either side of his cheeks, and he had trails of blood going down his neck. He just smiled up at you, his face glistening, although you could see his face splitting. 
“Are you kidding me? It was so worth it,” he said, reaching up to his face to try and reattach the staples that had come undone. 
“Here, let me help.” You sweetly rubbed his face with your thumb, activating your quirk just enough to make the staples go back in place. 
Once you fixed his staples, you could feel him still staring at you. His lustful gaze is still fixed on your naked body. The butterflies in your stomach never fully went away. They lusted after something else—something more. You hop off the table, and for a second time that night, you take his hand; this time you guide him over to the mattress that is in the corner. He follows and lays down without question. You signal for him to take off his pants, and so he does. He unbuckled his chunky black belt and pulled his pants down to his ankles, ripping them off and throwing them into the same pile with your clothes. His dick isn't scarred; in fact, it's pretty and pink. To your surprise, though, it’s also pierced. He has a Jacob’s ladder with three bar piercings through the shaft. Ouch. You weren’t all that surprised, though, considering how many piercings Dabi has all over his body; you just hated that he was in pain all the time. 
As if Dabi read your mind, “I like pain,” he blurts nervously. 
You don’t say anything; just take his dick into your hand and start slowly jerking him off. He shudders and leans his head back. You notice that his jawline and Adam's apple are more prominent like this. He is so fucking hot, you think. You adjust your posture and lean in to take him in your mouth. The sudden switch causes him to whimper slightly. You stare at him as you suck up and down his shaft, and his whimpers cause you to tighten your thighs together once more. He finally looks at you, and he swears he’s going to come immediately with how soft and lewd you look. His aggressive instincts are being restrained. He wants so badly to just shove your head down and make you choke around him, but he doesn’t. You are his princess right now; he has to contain himself. As if you read his mind, you go further down and choke yourself around him, causing tears to fill your eyes. His eyebrows knit together in pleasure, and he can't take it anymore. He is about to come into your mouth, but he stops himself. 
“Lay on your back,” he demands, showing the most domineering behavior he ever has. You oblige and lay on the mattress as he asked. He finally takes his shirt off and leans over you. He is super toned, and his scars are all over his chest, filled with staples. You make a mental note to be more careful this time. He kisses you while wrapping his arms around yours, cradling you. He leans down and reaches out to grab his manhood. He runs himself up your slit. He whined when he realized you were still extremely wet for him. He moves his tip to your entrance and slowly pushes in, allowing you to adjust to him. You gasp again, taking in his size. His piercings were also cold, causing you to tighten around him. He moans as he goes deeper and deeper. Once you’ve taken him all the way, he pumps in and out again to really get you used to him. You look up into his eyes, and he’s already looking down into yours. He kisses your cheek and wraps his arms around you more tightly before he starts humping into you at a quicker pace. You reach up to run your hands through his hair, which is now slicked across his forehead, so you push his hair back once more before bringing his forehead to yours. He slows his pace, and you notice he keeps edging himself. You push your forehead against his and move upwards to signal for him to switch positions. Without pulling out, he picks you up with him inside you and twists his body to sit on the mattress with you now on top of him. He really liked this angle; your breasts were now in his face, and he could watch himself go in and out of you. He takes both of your breasts into his hands and massages them both while you ride him. Back and forth, you rock on his dick. He was so deep inside you that it almost hurt. You quickened your pace, and the lewd look he gave you was to stop going so fast or he would come. Which is exactly what you wanted from him. You lowered yourself closer to his chest and kissed him before sitting back up. You lean back, put your hands on your ankles, and let your hips do the work. He grabbed your hips to keep you centered as you rode him, close to your orgasm. 
“Dabi, I’m going to come again,” you whine.
“Okay baby, come all over me,” he bites his lip to suppress his moans.
So you do, you come all over him again. As you slow your hips to ride out your orgasm, he grabs them to keep you close to him. He fucks up into you now, and you become overstimulated, but it feels so good.
“God, I want to come inside of you so fucking bad,” he whines with his eyes glued to yours. His whimpers make you give in.
“Come on, baby,” you bounce a little, forcing him over the edge, “come for me,” you call out to him, not getting off of him anyways, so he can’t not come inside of you. He moans loudly, and you feel his warm ropes filling you up as his dick twitches inside of you. 
You sit like this for a moment, and he reaches up to hug you with him still inside you. You wrap your arms around him and give into the closeness one last time before getting off of him. You crawl off of him, grab your clothes off the end of the bed, and throw him his. After getting dressed, you crawl back into bed and lay your head on his chest. You fell asleep so fast that you didn’t even realize it. He had pulled his blanket over the both of you and wrapped his arms around you, falling asleep soundly like he had that first night you joined the League. 
You had planned to sleep in your own room with Toga that night so that she could wake you up when it was time to go with the Hassaikai. Things didn’t go as planned, and you weren’t expecting to be woken up by none other than the leader of the league of villains himself.
“Do you know how long I’ve been walking around these woods aimlessly trying to find you idiots this morning?” Shigaraki was kneeling down in front of you two and angrily kicked Dabi’s foot to wake him. Dabi mumbled and slowly started waking up. Shigaraki’s giant nomu was posted for him at the door of the shed, and his huge googly eyes were peeking in. You sat straight up, wide-eyed, trying to remember where you were. “Get up; it’s time to meet with Overhaul,” he hisses. Oh, shit, this probably looks really bad. Dabi takes in what's happening and doesn’t say a word to his boss.
Before you could even apologize for oversleeping, having sex with Dabi, anything,  Shigaraki turned on his heel, looked back at you and Dabi through his mask, and sighed under his breath, “So you’ve chosen him,” he looks back toward his nomu before exiting the shed, “I should’ve known.” his voice now emotionless.
46 notes · View notes
talonslockau · 4 months
Text
Fire and Ice - Chapter 5
< Chapter 4 || Index || Chapter 6 >
The air was still as Ravenpaw’s words echoed through camp. And then, all at once, the Clan erupted into shocked yowls, denials, accusations, and demands rising into a tremendous cacophony.
“Silence!” Bluestar’s caterwaul hushed them all. “How did this happen, Ravenpaw?” By the rising fur on her own back and her lashing tail, it was clear she was equal parts shocked and furious at this announcement.
Ravenpaw opened his mouth as though to reply, but no words came out. After a moment, his eyes rolled back, and he lurched to the side, falling down onto the hard earth of camp. Immediately, a queen of many colors pushed her way through the crowd to nuzzle at the fallen apprentice.
“Spottedleaf! Someone get Spottedleaf!” She called, looking towards the healer's den, from which a small tortoiseshell molly was already hurriedly making her way across the clearing. The crowd parted to let her pass, watching as she quickly met the queen at Ravenpaw’s side.
“I’m here, Dappleshine.” The healer murmured, inspecting the black tom with her nose. “Help me move him to my den. Quickly!” With that, she collected his scruff, careful to avoid his wounds, and began dragging him back to her den, with Dappleshine propping him up from the other side.
As they left, the Clan broke into hushed murmurs. Angling his ears towards Graypaw, Firepaw looked for any sort of explanation. Finally, the gray tom looked up, and he was surprised to see his friend's eyes were full of grief. “Redtail was like a father to many of the Clan, and one of our greatest warriors too. If he’s really dead…” He struggled to explain it in words.
Before he could, there was another loud yowl from the entrance. This time, a huge, dark brown tabby emerged, carrying a much smaller form. It took the new apprentice a moment to recognize it, but when he did, his heart dropped.
There, in the giant warrior’s maw, was the limp, hanging form of a cat.
“Redtail!” The cry of shock and grief rippled through the Clan, and even Bluestar, steely as she seemed, dropped into a crouch as a wave of sadness overwhelmed her at the sight of her fallen deputy. They parted as the warrior dragged the other to the center of camp, the crowd quickly reforming around the pair.
Firepaw could now see the dead cat clearly. He was a dark tom, dappled in blacks, browns, reds and whites that seemed to mimic the shadows of the leaves above. The only patch of clear fur was his thick, red tail, almost the same color as his own fur. The name was certainly fitting for the now-deceased deputy.
The warrior that stood over him, then, had to be Tigerclaw. It certainly fit him as well. His face was broad and covered in scars, while his giant striped shoulders displayed his muscles prominently. Every bit of him radiated strength and power, and it was easy to see how he was both the biggest and strongest cat in the Clan.
“What happened?” Bluestar demanded, quickly ascending to the Highrock to look down on the Clan. There was no need to call them together; all who were able to attend were looking on, waiting for an explanation.
Tigerclaw bowed his head. “We ran into a Riverclan patrol on our territory, near the stream. There were five of them, Oakheart among them.”
“Oakheart!” Graypaw hissed beside Firepaw. “He’s Riverclan’s deputy. One of the greatest warriors in the forest!”
“Redtail demanded that they stay off our territory, but Oakheart said he wouldn’t listen to our empty threats.” The mighty warrior shook his head sadly. “Redtail ordered us to attack, but the Riverclan cats were too quick for us. The next thing I knew, Oakheart had pinned Redtail down and killed him while three warriors kept me back.”
More yowls of shock greeted his words. “Cowards!” Graypaw spat at that. “How dare they break the warrior code like that?”
Bluestar lashed her tail. “Silence!” She snapped, though her own eyes were dark with fury. “What then, Tigerclaw?”
“I broke through the line of warriors and struck down Oakheart for his crimes. At the death of their deputy, the Riverclan cats fled in fear.” There were snarls of dark joy at the thought of justice being meted out. “I sent Ravenpaw back to get help, though I knew in my heart it was too late.” Tigerclaw’s words were heavy with grief. “Knowing I couldn’t leave him out there to be desecrated by those fish-eaters, I had no choice but to bring him back to camp.”
Firepaw looked up to see Bluestar’s response to all of this. The words of the dark-striped warrior were clearly weighing heavily on her, and her eyes were half-lidded with grief. “Such a terrible tragedy.” She murmured, barely loud enough for the Clan to hear. “This should never have happened.”
“Indeed. I regret, now, that I could not make amends to Redtail before his death. Had I known his life would be cut so short…” Firepaw saw a single tear trickle out of one of the warrior’s dark amber eyes, splashing down onto the corpse of his fallen deputy.
“This day will be remembered with great regret, and mourning.” Bluestar said, regaining enough composure to let her voice ring out across the clearing. “Redtail was one of the greatest warriors Thunderclan has ever known. His judgement was true and fair, and his loyalty to the Clan could never be questioned. He would have made a fine leader in my stead.” The Clan respectfully bowed their heads as she spoke, and Firepaw dutifully followed their lead. “May he find peace in Starclan.”
With that, she jumped off of the Highrock, landing in front of Redtail’s body. Lowering herself down, she pressed her nose into her lost deputy’s fur, whispering words that none could hear. As she did so, others followed: Lionheart, Dappleshine, Longtail, and Dustleap among them.
“What are they doing?” Firepaw asked Graypaw, puzzled.
“Though Redtail may be dead, the Clan will share tongues with him one last time before his spirit departs to Starclan.”
“Starclan?”
“The spirits of our ancestors. They watch over us from Startrail, and guide us through harsh times.”
“Startrail?”
“That bright group of stars that stretches across the night sky. Each star is a warrior that has joined them. Redtail will be among them tonight.” Though Graypaw answered his questions patiently, Firepaw could tell that his mind was elsewhere.
“Should we join them?” He asked, though he found it a bit difficult to imagine talking to a dead cat that he had never known.
“Only those closest to him will spend his last night with him. Lionheart and Longtail were his apprentices; Dappleshine, his sister; and Dustleap and Sandstorm were his children with Tigerclaw, his mate. Bluestar too, of course, since he was her deputy for many moons. Everyone else will probably just say a few words in thanks.” Graypaw glanced awkwardly at Firepaw. “Since you never knew him…”
“I understand.” Firepaw said quickly. “I’ll wait for you by the apprentice den.”
The other just nodded silently, leaving the new apprentice to find his way back to the tree stump they’d been sitting at alone. There was still half-eaten prey strewn about, but Firepaw had lost his appetite at the sight of Redtail. It was hard to eat a mouse only a few tail-lengths from where others were mourning.
He watched as Tigerclaw stood up and stalked away from Redtail’s body, towards the healer's den. A few cats shot him a surprised glance, but none seemed to say anything to him as he walked away. He reflected on what Graypaw had said; most of the other cats that he had named, he could see still hunched over Redtail, and they didn’t seem about to move any time soon. Tigerclaw’s sudden departure, then, seemed very odd, and he resolved to ask Graypaw about it when he returned.
The first to make their way back to the apprentice’s den, however, was Pepperpaw, who dipped her head softly. “Firepaw. I’m sorry you had to see all of this so soon.”
He shook his head. “I guess it’s just a part of Clan life?” The spotted tabby nodded sadly in response. “I just, uh, was wondering why Tigerclaw left so soon. Weren’t they mates?”
Pepperpaw glanced around, as though to make sure no one was watching, but all were focused on the recent death. “They used to be. They had Dustleap and Sandstorm, even. But shortly after they were born, they had some big falling out… apparently they haven’t spoken in moons.”
Firepaw flicked an ear in acknowledgement. That was about what Graypaw had told him, just before Ravenpaw had appeared. “So is it not that unusual he left, then? Since they’re not really mates anymore?”
“No, it is, but…” The molly tilted her head. “He went to Spottedleaf’s den, right? Maybe he was getting his wounds looked at, or checking up on Ravenpaw. That’s his son, after all.”
Firepaw blinked, imagining the skinny black tom in comparison to the hulking figure of Tigerclaw. “Ravenpaw’s his son?”
“I don’t know all the details, since Ravenpaw’s older than me, but…” She nosed Dewpaw in greeting as the smallest of the sisters approached, patting the ground beside her with her tail. “After Redtail and Tigerclaw fell out, Tigerclaw became mates with Nightwish. She died shortly after Ravenpaw was born, though. We never got to see her. From what I hear, she was small, but quick and clever. Much like Redtail, I suppose. I guess Ravenpaw takes after his mother more than Tigerclaw.”
As she spoke, he could almost picture the dead queen, lithe and the darkest black like her son, pacing worriedly back and forth by the entrance to the healer's den. “Do you think she’s watching over Ravenpaw in Starclan?” He asked hesitantly, trying his best to apply what Graypaw had told him about Clan traditions thus far.
Pepperpaw shot him an unreadable look, and for a moment he was worried that he’d said something wrong. “You’re very sharp, Firepaw. I can see what Graypaw meant about you.” He blinked in confusion, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, but she didn’t give him the chance to ask. “I’m sure she’s watching him right now. Perhaps it was by her will that Ravenpaw survived that horrible fighting.” She curled her tail a little tighter around her paws, a shiver running through her body. “I hope he lives, anyways.”
“He’ll be fine!” Firepaw startled as Graypaw made his way over to them, taking a seat next to him. “He’s Tigerclaw’s son, isn’t he? He’s got to have inherited some of his legendary stone will!” Despite the confidence in his words, it was easy to see the worry on his friend’s face.
“We could go see how he’s doing, right?” Firepaw asked, but the reactions of the siblings immediately made him backtrack, “Or maybe not!”
“Spottedleaf prefers a quiet den to work in.” Dewpaw spoke up, eliciting some measure of surprise from her siblings and the ginger tom. “Visitors get in her way.”
“Especially when they’re stealing honeycombs, she really doesn’t like that.” Graypaw added, earning a tiny glare from his littlest sister.
Glancing to Pepperpaw, who was silent but seemingly amused by her sibling’s conversation, he had to assume they were both telling the truth… to varying degrees of usefulness. “I guess that makes sense. Besides, she’ll tell the Clan how he’s doing soon enough… right?” Firepaw blinked between the three of them, but they just gave him different wordless shrugs in response.
“So who do you think’s gonna be the new deputy?” Cinderpaw asked as she bounded over, wasting no time in inserting herself into the conversation.
“Cinderpaw!” Pepperpaw’s shocked chiding went once again largely ignored, causing the spotted tabby to sigh in exasperation. “He’s only been dead a few moments, you should show some respect!”
The dark gray molly huffed and shook her head indignantly. “I did show him respect! I show him lots of respect! But that still doesn’t answer my question.” Her bright blue eyes swiveled around the group to land on Firepaw. “Hey, Firepaw! You’re the newest one here, who do you think will be the new deputy?”
He blinked back at her stupidly, trying to process what she was asking. “The new… deputy?” He asked slowly, hoping someone would come to his aid.
Thankfully, Graypaw cut in to explain. “The warrior code states that the leader must choose a new deputy before moonhigh. Otherwise, the Clan will suffer terrible luck.” He glanced over to where Bluestar was still mourning with a few others, though the crowd had largely dissipated back to the edges of camp. “It’ll be a hard decision for Bluestar. Redtail was a great deputy; whoever succeeds him will have some big paws to fill.”
Firepaw nodded and glanced across camp, though there were few warriors visible at the moment. “Then… what about Tigerclaw? His paws are plenty big.” He did his best to give a light, teasing grin to the others, and Graypaw rewarded his efforts with a small chuckle.
“Tigerclaw wouldn’t be a bad choice.” Pepperpaw mewed thoughtfully as she glanced to the healer's den, from which he still hadn’t emerged. “He’s already mentored Darkstripe, and he did avenge Redtail’s death. But he did also kill Oakheart… Riverclan might see it as a sign of further aggression if the cat that killed their deputy is made deputy.”
“Let them!” Cinderpaw growled eagerly, dropping into a play crouch with her claws extended. “I’ll show them what real Thunderclanners are made of!”
Graypaw rolled his eyes. “Has Mistspring even shown you any battle moves yet?” He asked her dryly.
Her face fell at the question. “I… well… no.” She grumbled, sitting back up and looking pointedly away from Graypaw. “What about you then, Pepperpaw? Who do you think Bluestar will choose?”
Pepperpaw looked off across camp thoughtfully, clearly thinking hard. Cinderpaw had just let out a loud snore when she finally answered. “I think the answer’s obvious. Bluestar already depends on Whitestorm so much, and now that Sandstorm’s a warrior, he has all the time in the world to devote to leading Thunderclan.”
The white warrior had been quite impressive, and seemed as steady and wise as Bluestar. From what Firepaw had seen so far, he wouldn’t be able to argue with her. “What about you, Dewpaw?” He asked the little apprentice, hoping to get her to talk a bit more. Though she’d said so little, from what he could tell, she seemed to be quite observant in her own way. “Who do you think Bluestar will pick?”
She gazed back up at him steadily, meeting his eyes for the first time since they’d met. “I think we’ll find out before moonhigh.”
Cinderpaw groaned and rolled her eyes at her sister’s response, but the other two seemed amused at her response. “You’re right, you’re right." Graypaw purred. "Say, Firepaw! Since we have time for a nap before moonhigh, why don’t I show you our den? You must be exhausted from all the excitement.” The other tom gave him a knowing glance and gestured toward the fern heap that made up the apprentice den.
As he mentioned it, Firepaw barely stifled a yawn. He was almost dead on his feet, especially now that he’d eaten. And Tinyfrost had given them the rest of the day off… “I suppose a quick nap wouldn’t hurt. That fight took a lot out of me, and the run here wasn’t exactly a quick jaunt.” He glanced at the others, hoping they wouldn’t find an opportunity to mock him, but to his relief they all seemed to nod in agreement.
“I know what you mean. I was exhausted the first time Lionheart took me around the territory! Though that fight with you didn’t help.” Graypaw stretched his front paws out, yawning loudly as he did so. “See you later, sisters.” With that, he gestured with his tail for Firepaw to follow him, disappearing into the giant growth of ferns.
Firepaw nodded his farewell to the tree and followed quickly, not eager to give Cinderpaw an opening to chatter his ears off more. Cautiously, he nosed his way into the ferns, pleasantly surprised to find that Graypaw had been right; the ferns hid a dip in the earth, as though a giant cat had reached down and scooped away the apprentice’s den with its paw. Though the leafy ferns made it appear flat, the hollow beneath them was easily large enough to fit Graypaw, Firepaw, and both their litters with plenty more room besides.
“Where do I sleep?” He asked, looking around hesitantly. The whole hollow was carpeted in a mixture of moss, old fur, and fallen fern leaves, making it difficult to tell who slept where.
“Wherever you’d like, as long as it’s not the far back; that’s Ravenpaw’s spot.” Graypaw found a spot near the middle and began raking together a crude nesting area. “Just don’t sleep too close to my sisters; Cinderpaw kicks something fierce in her sleep!”
Firepaw couldn’t tell if that was a joke or not, and in the semi-darkness of the hollow it was hard to see Graypaw’s expression. Still, he picked a spot somewhat between his new friend and the entrance that smelled stale enough, and copied Graypaw’s nest gathering technique. Carefully, he circled it and kneaded it, until it was soft and comfortable enough to sleep on. He had only laid down a few moments before he was already drifting into a dreamless slumber, enjoying the momentary peace and quiet.
6 notes · View notes
Text
This week’s astrology forecast: February 19th to 25th
Message for the week:
The week starts with Chiron (the wounded healer) conjunct the North Node (the path of soul growth)—a good time to courageously claim your power by freeing yourself from any type of victim consciousness or being over-accommodating to the needs of others.
The two cosmic lovers, Venus and Mars, will be conjunct in Aquarius midweek, adding a magnetic spark to relationships and social dynamics.
The Full Moon in Virgo occurs on Saturday. The Full Moon illuminates, and with the Virgo filter, use discernment and integrate that which can be useful and eliminate all that is not useful. Virgo focuses on health, and the Full Moon can illuminate what adjustments you need to make to stay in optimum health. Saturday also features Venus being square to Jupiter activating an “urge to splurge”.
Monday: Chiron is conjunct the North Node today—draw on the strength you’ve gained from healing old wounds and courageously move forward. A good day for enhancing your security with the Moon in security-minded Cancer and in harmony to both organizing Saturn and expansive Jupiter. This is a good day for working with your finances.
Tuesday: A smooth day in the heavens with the Moon in nurturing Cancer in a stimulating sextile to intuitive Uranus—trust sudden flashes of insight. The Moon moves into a flowing trine to dreamy Neptune tonight, facilitating a peaceful sleep and vivid dreams.
Wednesday: The cosmic lovers, Venus and Mars, are conjunct in Aquarius today, bringing a spark of magnetism to all interactions. The Moon enters proud Leo this morning and immediately opposes eruptive Pluto—don’t let pride stand in the way of living from your heart. The Moon is opposite the Venus/Mars conjunction this evening—excellent for dating and romance.
Thursday: Venus is still travelling with Mars, energizing all interaction with a bit of charm. The Moon is in high-spirited Leo in a challenging square to rebellious Uranus, triggering a strong resistance to stupid people and stupid rules. Mercury enters introspective Pisces tonight, awakening greater compassion and understanding of others.
Friday: A high-spirited and playful day is in store with the Moon in heartful Leo, with no challenging aspects through the day—act with confidence. The Moon enters perfectionistic Virgo this evening and will be opposite Mercury in Pisces—this can lead to being hyper-critical of subjective, feeling based communication—don’t judge poetry.
Saturday: The Full Moon in Virgo occurs at 4:30 AM PST—a good day to reflect on all of the Pisces musings you may have and filter them with the Virgo discernment of what is useful and can be integrated into your life now. The opposition to dour Saturn midday, can bring on doubt—but confidence is restored as the Moon then moves into a flowing trine with bountiful Jupiter. Venus (pleasures) does square excessive Jupiter tonight, which can stimulate indulgent behavior—for good or for ill.
Sunday: A smooth day and excellent for tending to chores or an early spring clean-up around your place. The Moon is in task-oriented Virgo in supportive trine to innovative Uranus—trust sudden flashes of insight. The Moon is opposite transcendent Neptune late tonight, stimulating vivid, if not confusing dreams.
May the stars be with you!
Donations: Although these weekly updates are free, if you would like to support the newsletter with a donation, go to my website and click the “Donate” button on the menu. You can donate in increments of $5. You can also donate through Venmo: David-Pond-17 If you would like to send a check, contact us for our mailing address. Thanks for your support!
Consultations: I am available for consultations if you would like to see how your astrology chart can help you connect with your true self, explore your life’s purpose, better understand relationships, find your right vocation, or to align with current astrological influences. Contact us by email, phone, or through the “Services” tab on our website, to set up a session.
Website: Davidpond.com
Phone: 360-918-8411
2 notes · View notes
harmonyhealinghub · 3 months
Text
The Juggling Act - Balancing Two Full-Time Jobs: Educational Assistant by Day, Distant Energy Healer by Night
Shaina Tranquilino
January 9, 2024
Tumblr media
In today's fast-paced world, many individuals find themselves taking on multiple roles and responsibilities to make ends meet or pursue their passions. One such challenging scenario is working two full-time jobs simultaneously. As an educational assistant during the day and a distant energy healer by night, my life has become an intricate balancing act that requires dedication, time management, and unwavering passion. In this blog post, I will take you through the journey of navigating both worlds and shedding light on the unique experiences and challenges it brings. 1. A Day in the Life as an Educational Assistant: My daytime job as an educational assistant provides me with opportunities to make a positive impact on students' lives. From assisting teachers in lesson planning to supporting students with special needs, every day presents new challenges and rewards. Building rapport with students, making sure their needs are met, fostering a nurturing environment, and ensuring their academic success are at the core of my role. 2. Transitioning into the World of Energy Healing: As daylight fades away, I embark on my second full-time job – distant energy healing. This realm allows me to tap into the spiritual energies that connect us all and offer healing from afar. Through various practices like Reiki or meditation, I channel positive vibes towards those seeking solace or relief from physical ailments or emotional distress. Being able to help others heal is immensely gratifying. 3. Challenges Faced: Balancing two full-time jobs comes with its share of hurdles. Time management becomes crucial when trying to excel in both professions without compromising quality or personal well-being. Fatigue can set in after long days at work followed by late-night healing sessions; self-care becomes paramount for maintaining productivity and avoiding burnout. 4. Benefits of Dual Roles: Despite the challenges, there are numerous benefits to embracing dual roles in different fields. Firstly, both jobs provide a sense of purpose and fulfillment, allowing me to make a difference in the lives of others through education and healing. Secondly, having diverse professional experiences broadens my perspectives and enhances personal growth. Lastly, financial stability is another significant advantage of working multiple jobs. 5. The Importance of Boundaries: Maintaining a healthy work-life balance is crucial when juggling two full-time jobs. Establishing boundaries helps prevent exhaustion and ensures sufficient time for personal life, relationships, and self-care activities. Prioritizing rest, setting realistic expectations, and seeking support from loved ones are essential components in managing this delicate equilibrium. 6. Finding Inspiration in Both Roles: Interestingly, my educational assistant job often influences my distant energy healing practice and vice versa. Witnessing the resilience and determination of students at school inspires me to bring that same strength into my healing sessions. Similarly, the empathy cultivated as an energy healer fosters a deeper understanding of students' needs during my day job. Working two full-time jobs as an educational assistant by day and a distant energy healer by night may seem challenging on paper; however, it provides unique opportunities for personal growth, fulfillment, and making a positive impact in people's lives. Successfully navigating this juggling act requires effective time management, strong boundaries, self-care practices, and unwavering passion for both professions. Embracing these challenges with dedication allows me to experience the joys that come with dual roles while continuously growing personally and professionally. Remember: No matter how busy life gets or how many roles we take on, following our passions can lead us down unexpected paths towards personal fulfillment and success!
3 notes · View notes
Note
"🌨️🥶Winter and Autumn😤🌩️" Will there be a sequel? Or do I not need to hope for something?
I definitely want to continue the story. I know it's almost been a year since I last updated, quite embarrassing. I work a very stressful corporate job, that takes all of my strength.
But nevertheless I have not forsaken this story. Actually I have the outline of the story written, so I know how I want to ended. I just need make time to write it.
I currently have 3 chapters on Ao3.
You know what! Because you are such a kind reader, I am going to leave you a preview here for chapter 4.
Winter and Autumn Chapter 4 preview - Pulling yourself together
The soft sound of crackling fire filled the room accompanied by the sound of boiling water. No longer did you feel the cold, instead you felt the weight of a warm blanket covering your aching body. As you sat up, still drowsy, you found yourself in a bed in a small homestead. On the opposite wall a large fire-pit sat, with a pot hanging over it.
There were dozens of small cabinets lined on the walls, a few large tables – one stacked with books, the other with glass vials of different shapes and sizes. On the walls and from the ceiling all sorts of dried herbs hang filling the room with all sorts of delightful smells.
By the looks of it, you guessed you were in the house of a local healer or apothecary. Whoever they were, they had saved your life.
How many times had you fooled Death by now?
Too many to count…
“Finally decided to wake up?! Good. You owe me, you know.”
“It wasn’t easy nursing you back to health. I had to use my best supplies and tend you most of my days. Days that I could have used trading goods or collecting supplies.”
“So what are you good for any-ways?”
You were interrogated by a short plump woman, who took a seat next to you. The colour of her skin reminded you of the green moss growing in the forests back home. Her best features were her unusually large pointy ears and nose.
“Can you understand me?” the woman asked again.
You nodded introducing yourself.
“Well, glad to meet you, dear. I am Hulda, I’m this village’s medicine woman.”
“Where exactly am I? And what are you?”
She pursed out laughing at your sincerity.
“Darling, you’ re in the village of Bottomrock. And I happen to be a Goblin. You are from the surface realm aren’t you? Well you’re deep in the Underground now, at least a weeks travel away from the King’s town.”
“What are you even doing down here in the first place? You don’t really look like no merchant.”
Your shoulders visibly slumped at her question. You are not sure if you should tell her the truth or not. You have been lucky so far, but who’s to say how long that will last.
“I was stolen from my home and forcefully taken here, to the Kingdom of the Underworld. I managed to escape my captor – but for my own and your safety, it’s best I keep his name to myself.”
“Now, I am trying to find my way back home…”
She takes in your words, before replying.
“I’ll help you get back to the surface.”
“But before I do – you’ll pay me back for saving your precious life.”
“Do we have a deal, dear?”
You had no choice but to accept. Soon you found your hands full of all sorts of chores: fetching water, collecting firewood, washing clothes, preparing food. It was no easy work, every single day you found yourself utterly exhausted.
Suddenly the small dwelling had an influx of injured peasants of all manner. Now you were in the role of an assistant medic – ensuring enough clean bandages, bringing the correct ointments for all kinds of wound, calming down the more nervous patients.
Currently you were running to the cellar and back, bringing one bottle after another of magicka enhancing potions for Hulda.
You had never seen such a thing before, but the short gracious goblin woman was able to heal its patients with magic – a soft green glow emitted from her hands as she hovered over the more seriously injured small-folk, closing their wounds using all of her might.
Every time she did so, she was completely wiped – the magic healing took all her strength.
“What happened to you?” you asked one of the injured, a good-looking human man with reddish hair.
“The King, him and his loyal knights are searching for…” he had to stop to clear is throat.
Your blood went cold, was that bastard looking for you?
“The Princes, and their supporters.”
“And that’s all?”
He gave you a strange look for an answer.
“I mean of course, what else would they be searching for…” you trailed off.
“Let me make you some soothing tea for that sore throat, alright.” you quickly made your excuse and hurried in the direction of the cooking pit, where you spotted Hulda.
“Hulda,” you whispered.
“What exactly is going on in the Underworld?
I heard, rumours that is, the King’s sons are trying to take the throne for themselves?”
“I know you aren’t around here, but I thought even on the surface world, folks knew about the Bloody tyrant Saturn, the king, who consumes his subjects.
Yes, his three sons have turned against him, and want to rule in his stead. I figure they’ll crown the oldest. Most of the peasants, humans, orcs, goblins, demonoids and other creatures native to these lands support the three Princes. But the problem is, they lack the gold to armour or feed a large army, large enough to withstand the might of the God King Saturn that is.
Apparently the three are travelling around the countryside, gathering whatever resources they can – be it strong warriors, legendary knights to their side, donations from the nobles and rich merchants alike.
This has made the King very nervous.”
“This the reason he sends his knights, even to the most far away towns and villages, and has them ransack them through, in the hopes of finding any hints of the whereabouts of his sons.”
“Why do you think I have you gather the water from the river?”
“Almost a month ago the King’s knights came here. After not finding anything, they stole most of our supplies and threatened to poison our well if none of us told them about where to locate the Princes.”
“Of course none of us knew where they, but they still poisoned your well…”
“It has made everything even more difficult than before.”
“The same fate happened to a village a few forests away, but because of the presence of the King himself, no mercy was shown. Even their local healer got killed in the mess. That’s why so many are now here, seeking my aid.”
“Now get back to work, there is still a lot to do. I need you to feed the patients. Keep the fire going inside the house, and clean the bandages, with boiling water and the proper disinfectant, while I attend to the injured.”
“Understood!”
You grabbed the dirty rags and proper potions, just like Hulda instructed you and got to work. Luckily her young son also helped you.
“How old are you anyways, kid?”
“I’m eleven years old, ma’am.”
“Come on, let’s hang these bandages out to dry. You already collected the firewood and pealed the potatoes, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Just call me by my name alright.”
“You and your mother live by yourselves here right?”
“Y/N, you are asking about my father, aren’t you.”
“Sorry, you don’t have to answer any of my questions. My curiosity gets the better of me…”
“Dad’s dead.”
“Died when the Knights poisoned our well.”
“He stood up to them you know, while everyone else cowered like sheep…”
You had stopped working, and just listened stunned to the small child beside you. The grief, anger, sadness it was all clear as day on his face and in his voice.
There was nothing to say after such a heartfelt confession, so you just leaned down and hugged the boy. He was frozen for a moment, until he wrapped his small hands tightly around you and started crying loudly.
“I MISS HIM SO MUCH!”
“Every day I wish I could see him again…”
You held him until you could only hear light sniffling sounds.
“You know what, take the rest of the day off! I’ll handle everything on my own. The other day some of your friends came by and asked you to go swimming with them, go do that instead, alright!”
“Ma, is gonna be mad at me, there’s too much to do.”
“Don’t worry I’ll handle it, okay.”
You gave Haben last words of encouragement and sent him on his way.
Now you found your hands full cooking and dealing with a grumpy Goblin lady, her son was right, she was mad at you.
“There is too much to take care of, we need all the help we can get,” Hulda scolded you.
“Take a seat at the table, Hulda. I’ll serve you and everyone else. I made boiled potatoes and carrots with minced meat sauce. I added some till and a bit of onion rings to adds some flavor.”
You watched from the sidelines as everyone was enjoying their meal. Some of the injured sat at the table besides Hulda, while others were sitting up and eating in their beds.
In a way it was a bittersweet scene. Most had a somber look on their face, but the burden of these terrible events was lessened by the fact that everyone was huddled together in this small cottage.
You had come to realize that Hulda dealt with her grief by overworking herself, and distracting herself by helping others. While her young son Haben bottled all his emotions inside of himself.
You let out a deep sigh, that bastard Saturn had to be stopped some-how, some-way. But what could you do?
“Thank you for the delicious meal, miss!” your thoughts were interrupted by the man you had spoken to earlier.
“And thank you so much for taking care of me,” he gave you a wink.
“I’ll be staying with my sister and her family, until I am fully healed and can return to my village.”
“Your welcome, and honestly you should thank Hulda, she did most of the hard work.”
“I definitely will. But so did you, I saw you carrying all that water back to the house. I suppose our village has an easier time restoring our well.”
“Wait, why can’t this village clean it’s well?”
“I knew it! You’re not form around here, are you? I would have remembered such a pretty face.”
He gave you a big smile.
“Eh, I just arrived a few weeks ago…” you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.
“To help out Hulda, I am sure! She hasn’t had it easy ever since she lost her husband.”
“But to keep you up to date with the news, while our village well had dead animals thrown down in it – those can be removed and the process for cleaning can then start.
Bottomrock got hit with something much worse. You see one of the knights threw a flame-ball down the well. An enchanted rock, that never stops burning while releasing ash and carbon monoxide. Not even water can extinguish it’s fire. Even sealing it airtight, or burying it under rocks won’t stop it’s fire from burning. A real nuisance.
The local blacksmith tried to remove it from the well, but it’s flames melted all his best tools. Apparently you are supposed to let it burn out. But nobody knows how long that will take.
Weeks? Months? Years? Now it just sits on top of the water and burns, runing the well. That’s magic for you.”
“But what about ice or snow? Extreme cold? Will that do it? Snuff out the fire?”
“I doubt that. There’s not enough ice anywhere close to be found. Even if the village had the gold for it, the ice would be long melted before it ever reached Bottomrock.”
The two of you heard a loud cough, standing next you was Hulda.
“I need you to bring me more water, there are a lot of herbal remedies that need to be made. And I need you to get on it right a way.”
“Well it was nice chatting with your lovely self, Y/N, I’ll come by soon!”
“And thank you so much for healing me, gracious Hulda!” and with a wave of goodbye he left.
She just sighed “There’s no time for flirting, besides Ector is a known ladies man, don’t let yourself be so easily seduced.”
“I was NOT flirting!” but before you could explain yourself any further you were sent out the door to collect some more water.
As you were struggling on the rocky river shore, you promised yourself you’d get that damn magical fire-ball out of the village well, and clean up it’s mess – so everyone’s lives could be a little easier for it.
You had somehow released ice and snow out of the palm of your hands, and you’d do it again – you had to! You’d approach Hulda in the evening, while everyone else slept. She’d know what to do.
“Good night, Haben. Sleep well!” you smiled at the young boy as you sent him to bed.
Only you and Hulda remained awake, she was also settling into bed when you approached her.
“Hulda, a need to talk to you.”
“Go ahead.”
“No, in private. Outside of the house.”
“Please, I know you’re exhausted but this is very important.”
She gave a loud sigh as response, but followed you outside none the less. At a distance from the village you finally opened up to her.
3 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
Daily Devotionals for February 1, 2023
Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living Devotional Scripture: Proverbs 4:20-22(KJV): 20 My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings. 21 Let them not depart from thine eyes; keep them amid thine heart. 22 For they are life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh.
Thought for the Day
Verse 20 - "Attend to my words" simply means to pay attention to my words. We can hear the Word of God with our physical ears without paying attention to it. "Incline thine ear" (verse 20) means to listen with our "spiritual ears" or "ears of our hearts." Many times after speaking to a multitude, Jesus is recorded as saying, "He that hath ears to hear, let him hear" (for example, Mark 4:2-9). He knew that no one can hear what the Spirit is saying unless we have a proper heart attitude; willing to hear Him. That is why those who do not know Jesus cannot understand the Bible. They may agree it is a book of history or literature, but cannot spiritually understand it until they are converted.
To be converted, we must come to God in humility, accepting that we are sinners who are separated from Him. We must turn from sin and give our lives to Jesus. Until we acknowledge our sins and ask forgiveness for the cause of our guilt, we will never be free from it. It will eventually lead us right into hell. It is not God's will that any should perish, "but that all should come to repentance" (2 Peter 3:9).
Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was nailed to the cross by ungodly men for no sin of His own. He was innocent of wrong - the only Man who was perfect and sinless. He willingly took our sins by accepting a death that He did not deserve. He was raised from the dead by His Father and given life and authority over the powers of darkness. God now imparts that same life and authority to all who will come to Him and receive His provision for their sin, for "…the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin" (1 John 1:7).
Verse 21 - We should not only read God's Word diligently but hide it in our hearts. If we desire to grow in faith and wisdom and be pleasing to God, we must apply His Word to everything in life.
Verse 22 - If we apply His Word, we will experience true life. Life is not just a spiritual encounter, although spiritual rebirth is a glorious experience. By applying God's Word, we can also have physical health. The Lord wants to make us whole in spirit, soul, and body! Prayer Devotional for the Day Dear heavenly Father, I am so glad that You gave up Your son, Jesus, so that I could know You and be saved from hell. I do not understand why You did it, but I am very grateful for the gift of eternal life. I rejoice that my name is written in the "Book of Life." Lord, I need to read and study Your Word more. Help me give up the things that are robbing me of the time I need to be spending with You. I know if I put prayer and Bible study first, then You will make a way for me to take care of all my pressing responsibilities. Things just go better when I take the time to spend with You. I also thank you for the health of my body. I am grateful You are not only my savior but my healer as well. I ask for strength and health today so that I might serve You and those around me. In Jesus' name, I pray. Amen.
From: Steven P. Miller Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeper-watchman https://www.facebook.com/ParkermillerQ/ Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, @StevenPMiller6; #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981
Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956 URL: linkedin.com/in/steven-miller-b1ab21259
3 notes · View notes