#or have No healers which I’d rather not do

[arolesbianism]

An older and a slightly newer concept for stalien Odile

[rae-writes]

part-time

N.M || 0.8k || some romcom for a man I don't even have any solid thoughts/feelings on but the inspo slapped me in the face. violently.

You would think that after attending Yuuei for three years now and being classmates for said three years with dumbasses like Denki Kaminari, Kirishima Eijiro, and Izuku Midoriya (yes, class 3-A’s golden boy. You just have to catch his dumbassery at the perfect time) that you would learn to…not engage in their ideas that lack common sense. 

But either you haven’t learned or you just don’t have any self preservation, because that’s exactly how you got here:

Pulling open the door to the infirmary, mumbling curses under your breath (still grinning, might you add— it had been funny as shit, even if you got a sprained arm for the trouble). Though, as you looked around, Recovery Girl didn’t seem to be around. 

But Neito Monoma was. 

“Oh, fuck no.” 

Listen, you honestly didn’t have a real problem with Monoma. He was just…

A prick. All because your class starts with an ‘A’ and had its fair share of spotlight encounters (mainly with villains— all of which were highly unwanted, thank you very much). 

“It’s so good to see you, too, Y/n.” Monoma’s annoyingly condescending voice managed to come out sickly sweet, immediately making you turn around and start to go right back out the door. 

But unfortunately, he’d caught sight of your swelled arm- which had started to bruise pretty badly- and stopped you from relieving yourself of his presence. 

“Now, now. I am here assisting our lovely Recovery Girl and I can’t just have you leaving while still injured, that would make me look like I’m not doing my job.” 

You deadpanned, reluctantly sitting on the edge of one of the beds. “No offense, and by that I mean full offense, but I’d rather just walk it off than let your lips come anywhere near me.” 

His copy quirk is what allowed him to help out as a healer in the first place— and Recovery Girl’s quirk healed by kisses. You’d be damned if you were letting him have the privilege of kissing even a sliver of your skin. 

“Oh my, so rude. You’re breaking my heart.” His grin was a little too smug, but Monoma couldn’t help it. He’s had a stupid crush on you since year one: this opportunity was just too perfect. 

Not that he would ever admit it. Especially the part where his heart was fucking racing faster than Iida could run right now. 

“Good. Perish.” you groaned, looking away with an apprehensive frown. Your arm was starting to hurt as the adrenaline slowly wore off and…you did come all the way to the infirmary to get healed…

Was it weird that your heart was thudding in your chest? You barely even knew Monoma, for fucks sake, he was just…an academic rival at best. 

‘And pretty.’ Your brain supplied. To which you promptly told it to shut up…which it didn’t, because Monoma’s pretty face was currently all up in your business. 

“That arm of yours looks painful. Are you really too prideful to be healed by me? That’s not a good heroic quality, you know.” 

He sincerely hoped you would cave before he just started begging— and the embarrassing part is, Monoma wouldn’t have to even think twice about it. That’s how..tightly you have him wrapped around your finger. 

“Shut up. You’re one to talk about pride, smug bastard.” Your words didn’t really have the bite that you intended- and you could feel your cheeks starting to burn- so with another colorful curse, you relented. 

“Fine.” 

Except no kiss came after your agreement. You’d even tensed up your arm in preparation for his touch but there was nothing. That was funny— he was so smug just a second ago and now he’s all quiet. 

“Monoma, are you gonna heal me or not-“ 

As soon as your head turned towards him, his lips pressed against yours. It was as shocking as seeing Bakugo Katsuki be nice, which was pretty damn high up on the ‘what the fuck is happening’ list. 

But it felt…good. 

Monoma himself was surprised, not at his actions, but at your own: the reciprocation of his kiss (when he was so sure you’d pull away and knock his block off), the way your hands- both of them now that your arm was healing- had cupped his jaw, pulling him closer. 

It was like the room was spinning, but..softly. With warmth being woven in, making you feel fuzzy starting from the tips of your toes and moving all the way to your fingertips. 

When the kiss finally broke, it was quiet, only unsure breaths filling the air. Oddly enough, he felt nervous and had to fight the urge to apologize. 

“Well? How was that for healing?” Is what came out of his mouth instead. 

And you didn’t even have a witty response to give back, too dazed and flustered to even care at that second. 

“Do it again…still hurts.” 

‘Academic rivals’ be damned.

inspo credits:

(I found the text post on Pinterest so I just screenshotted it because who knows how old it may be oasjihrugoajfk but their user is still the same: @energon-with-a-curly-straw)

[camille-lachenille]

I was thinking about how, in fanfictions and in the fandom in general, Elrond is often depicted as a pure Noldorin lord, if not a die hard Fëanorian. And while I do enjoy Fëanorian!Elrond, the more I think about it the more I am convinced Elrond is not the fëanorian one of the twins. Elros is. Elros who adopted seven eight pointed stars as the heraldic device of his whole dynasty, a symbol still used 6000 years after his death. Elros who had Quenya be the official language of Númenor. Elros who decided to leave Arda for an unknown fate after his death; not Everlasting Darkness but not the rebirth in the bliss of Valinor either. He choose to go to a place Elves aren’t supposed to go, just like Fëanor and his sons went back to Beleriand. Elros, the mortal man, who decided to forge his own path in the world.

And I am not saying Elrond didn’t, because Eru knows how much strength, patience and stubbornness Elrond must have to become who he is in LotR. But when I first re-read LotR after reading the Silm, he did not strike me as Fëanorian at all (except for the no oath swearing rule that seems to apply in Rvendell). In fact, Elrond, and all three of his children, are defined by being half-Elven. Elrond is so much at the same time they had to creat a whole new category for him. He is described as kind as summer in The Hobbit, but also old and wise, and his friendly banter with Bilbo in FotR show he is also merry and full of humour. Elrond is both Elf and Man despite his immortality, and this is made quite clear in the text.

But. If I had to link him to an Elven clan, I’d say Elrond is more Sinda than Noldor, and even that is up to debate. Rivendell, this enchanting valley hidden from evil thanks to his power, is like a kinder version of Doriath. Yet, the name of Last Homely House and Elrond’s boundless hospitality make me think of Sirion: Rivendell is a place where lost souls can find s home, where multiple cultures live along each other in friendship and peace.

In FotR, Elrond introduces himself as the son of Eärendil and Elwing, claiming both his lineages instead of giving only his father’s name as is tradition amongst the Elves. It may be a political move, or it may be a genuine wish to claim his duality, his otherness, or even both at the same time. But from what is shown of Elrond in LotR, he seems to lean heavily in the symbols and heritage from the Sindar side of his family, rather than the Noldor one. I already gave the comparison with Doriath, but it seems history repeats itself as Arwen, said to be Lúthien reborn, chooses a mortal life. Yet Elrond doesn’t make the same mistake as Thingol by locking his daughter in a tower and sending her suitor to a deathly quest. Yes, he asks Aragorn to first reclaim the throne of Gondor before marrying Arwen, but this isn’t a whim on his part or an impossible challenge. Aragorn becoming king means that Middle-Earth is free from the shadow if Sauron and Arwen will live in peace and happiness. Which sounds like a reasonable wish for a parent to me.

Anyways, I went on a tangent, what strikes me with Elrond is his multiple identity. Elrond certainly has habits or traits coming from his upbringing amongst the Fëanorians, and he loved Maglor despite everything. The fact he is a skilled Minstrel shows he did learn and cultivate skills taught by a Fëanorion, that he is not rejecting them. There is a passage at the end of RotK, in the Grey Havens chapter, where Elrond is described carrying a silver harp. Is this a last relic from Maglor? Possible.

But while Elros choose the path of mortality and showed clear Noldorin influences in the kingdom he built, Elrond is happy in his undefined zone he lives in. He is an Elf, he is a Man, he is Sinda and Noldo and heir to half a dozen lost cultures and two crowns. He is the warrior and the healer, the only one of his kind in Middle-Earth. And that is why I will never tire of this character and I love so much fanworks depicting him as nuanced and multiple yet always recognisable as Elrond.

[snapscube]

Does the final fantasy mmo you play (i’m not good at roman numerals but i think it’s 14) have a cleric/medic equivalent? I’d like to play a mmo with my friends and i’m usually a healer in these types of games

it's 14 yeah! also yes it does have healers!! the game runs with the "holy trinity" of multiplayer party makeup, so there are tanks, healers, and DPS. they're always adding new jobs w every expansion of varying role types but right now there are 4 tanks and 4 healers! and you can play all of them at any time on a single character btw!!! they each have their own playstyle and they don't share experience so there's a LOT to chew on and progress even if u literally only play healer :)

right now i'm still catching up on getting them fully leveled, my favorite healer job AESTHETICALLY is Sage, but it's easily the most complicated healer to play since it's very focused on MITIGATING damage rather than healing it outright, and when you do heal it's usually done through offensive attacks that in turn heal a party member of your choice. it's super cool though.

the past few weeks i've also been progressing White Mage, which is easily the most standard healer job and as a result it's very easy and fun to wrap ur head around and it makes healing larger-scale or higher difficulty content much more approachable! it's all straight up health recovery and regen!

but yeah anyway!!! the healers in this game are great fun! i highly recommend giving it a shot!!!

[missviviii]

i’m absolutely obsessed with grumpy x sunshine ship dynamic so i would love to see if you could write about mizu having a partner who is super energetic and excited while she’s always annoyed.

maybe at first mizu didn’t care for the reader at first but ringo insists on having reader tag along (maybe they are a healer or archer? it doesn’t matter to me!) then mizu slowly starts liking the reader the more she gets to know her? but reader is oblivious and doesn’t pick up on the hints even though it’s obvious mizu like her

sorry it’s so long 😭 i’m so in love with mizu it’s not funny i’m in the trenches right now

a/n: oooh alright!! 🫶 i love this ideaa

.

“The Sunshine to the Darkness”

warning(s): swearing

summary: poor mizu has been dropping hints here and there but you, my dear reader, are oblivious to them.

——————————————————————————

You stumbled across Mizu that very day she was fighting the Four Fangs. You were an archer, a rather good one at that. But what were your arrows to their swords? So you stayed in the distance, raining down arrows upon them when they got too close to Mizu.

Mizu could not tell who was helping her, distracting the Four Fangs long enough for her to attack them off guard. Yet she was grateful for your help, you managed to save her from quite a few blows that would’ve put her in a much worse condition.

You were doing fine staying back from the fight, that was until you saw a man (Taigen) approaching Mizu just as she killed Bloodsoaked Chiaki and badly wounded. You thought he was going to kill her the moment she fell unconscious from her injuries and blood loss, so you jumped into action. You shot at him, sending an arrow his way, in which he managed to dodge at the last minute.

Ringo appeared just then, tackling Taigen to the ground and demanding to know what happened to Mizu. You hopped off the rocks you were standing on and jumped onto the ground, running over to Mizu and checking her injuries.

“Is my master okay?! Oh no, he needs medicine and help!” Ringo said as he lifted Mizu onto his back. He told you to come and follow him and keep Mizu sitting upright on the horse while they went to a nearby abandoned temple to tend to Mizu’s injuries. You sat on a horse, Mizu behind you with her arms around your waist.

Her eyes opened weakly, finding herself now on a horse and her head lying on someone’s shoulder. You. Mizu looked down, noticing the bow on your side. So you are that archer Mizu thought. And then her tired eyes closed once again.

Mizu woke up once again, this time on a bedroll with you hovering over her with a concerned look. You gasped, realizing she’s up. “You’re awake! Oh my goodness, I thought you were dead!” You loudly exclaimed, helping her sit up. Mizu groaned, both from the pain and your loud voice.

“Gah, shut up, will you? So loud..” Mizu grumbled as Ringo walked over to her and handed her a bowl of medicine to drink. You sheepishly smiled, whispering a soft ‘sorry’ before you stood up and walked over to her clothes. She looked at you. That smile, that little smile. Why did it make her stomach do jumps and flips?

“Here, I sewed up your clothes again. They were ripped and in bad condition so I thought I’d fix them for you.” You placed her clothes, neatly folded, beside her. Mizu looked at you, but didn’t say a word. You hummed, waving Ringo goodbye before you walked outside to see what was Taigen doing.

Ringo looked at Mizu, who was drinking her medicine with a disgusted look on her face. “Master, I think they should stick around with us! They would make a great addition to the team, and they can use the bow and arrow!” Ringo was excited, if you joined the team, you could travel with them and help Mizu! Mizu looked at him, a bit annoyed he’d suggest to drag another person when she could barely stand him.

But somehow, Ringo managed to convince Mizu. Eventually, she reluctantly agreed, allowing you to tag along. Ringo was ecstatic since he liked having you around. Mizu acted like she was annoyed and tried not to pay attention to your shenanigans, but the thing is, she did pay attention. To your smiles, to the jokes you told, to the way you would squeal when you find some cute little charm, and how you were so eager to move in the morning when everyone was still drowsy.

“Hey,” Mizu says while you were looking at jewelry a local stall owner had on display when you and the group were passing by a village. She held out a hairpin, a beautiful one with blue flowers and small diamonds on it. You looked up at her, a bit confused by the gesture. Or why she’s looking away with her hand hiding her flushed cheeks. “I got it for you. You were staring at it very intently..”

You squealed, taking the hairpin and holding it up with a big smile. “Mizu! You didn’t have to! Oh my lord, it’s so pretty!” You smiled, wrapping your arms around her tightly. Mizu’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden hug. Sure you hugged her plenty of times, but this one just hit different. She put on hand on your back as she muttered ‘you’re welcome’. “You’re such a good friend!” Oh, you oblivious little— That hit her a little bit.

Taigen walked over just then, busy eating something until he noticed you hugging Mizu. You, the sunshine of the group and probably the loudest beside him, were allowed to hug Mizu? The closed off, cold-hearted Mizu? Oh there was something fishy.

“The fuck is happening over here? You two getting ready to go out and party or what?” Taigen walked over to the two of you with a suspicious look. You looked at Taigen, clearly beaming as you showed him the hairpin Mizu bought you. Taigen looks back at Mizu, who was pretending to be looking at something else. He connected the puzzle pieces together and— OH. Mizu liked you. He almost smirks, looking at Mizu who was clearly side-eying him with poison in her eyes.

You were so oblivious, so dense. Mizu would never let anyone touch her besides you, much less buy a gift with actual sincerity behind it for someone.

Poor Mizu has been attempting to drop hints for you, yet you never catch on. She lets you sleep on her bedroll, carries you on her back when you complain you’re tired, buys you things you like—hell she even lets you touch her and cling onto her. And you unfortunately did not catch on. How is someone so smart like you yet so oblivious?

“Are you this dense?” Mizu asks out of the blue one day while the two of you were sparring. You looked at her weirdly, confused by what she meant. How did that have anything to do with what you two were doing now?

“Is this your way of calling me dumb or..?” You’re re puzzled, confused by what she means by dense. She’s the one that’s dense, right? You keep trying to show that you like her by doing things like sewing her clothes, buying her charms to carry around on her sword, and taking care of her when she’s sick yet she doesn’t get the hint. You snapped back to reality, jumping off the ground as Mizu aims the wooden blade towards your legs.

Mizu groans, both from annoyance of not being able to hit you and you also being far too oblivious. “No, I’m saying your ass is oblivious-“ she says as she blocks your wooden sword from swinging at her face. You took a step back. Oblivious? About what?

“I dunno. Is there something you need to tell me?” You asked, to which she replied with a soft huff.

“God you’re dumb. You idiot, I like you!” Mizu yells as she stabs her wooden sword into the grass below her feet. She runs her hand over her face, flabbergasted at how oblivious you were. These past few weeks, she’s been passing numerous hints, giving you special privileges, even doing things with you that are a tad bit too friendly to be considered ‘just friends’. And you don’t fucking notice!

It took you a few moments to process that. That it hits you. Her being extremely nice to you were actually hints and little clues! “OH- I thought you were being a good fri—“

Before you could even finish that line, Mizu tackled you onto the ground and slammed her lips against yours. Your hands immediately went to her waist, while her hands ran all over your body. The kiss was rough, almost like she was starving.

Finally she pulled away, out of breath and her face red. “Don’t even think about saying that line ever again. I’ve heard enough of it.”

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Ishida, Ichigo, and Byakuya just kissing their s/o passionately only to get interrupted by someone walking in on them?

Byakuya/Ichigo/Ishida - Interuptions in Inopportune Interludes

Byakuya

“I won’t be long. Just stay here. The squad will protect you.”

“I don’t need protection.” [Y/N] insisted as they looked up at Byakuya with earnest and determination. “I want to be with you.”

The captain smiled; or rather the corner of his lips tilted up. His hand reached out to clasp their cheek. “You will be with me. In my heart. But I cannot do what needs to be done if I’m worrying about you. Please, stay here with the 6th and keep order in my stead.”

[Y/N] huffed and turned their head away, but nodded.

Byakuya lifted their head back up towards him and leaned in for a kiss. He was aware this was dangerous. He was aware that the threat of death was a possibility. He was also aware that he couldn’t stand the thought of them being out there in the middle of it, and would gladly take on this danger alone to keep them safe.

He was also aware this was the last time he could see them.

“Captain! The enemy has broken through the first barriers on the west gate! 1st squad said—”

Byakuya pulled away from his love to level a stern, icy hot glare, at his vice-captain. “I will be there shortly.”

Renji visibly gulped and backed out of the room quickly. “I will be back as soon as I can.” He placed a kiss on their knuckles. “Be safe.”

Ichigo

“This is so stupid….”

“Come on. Don’t pout.” Ichigo replied. Halfhearted as he knew there was no way they weren’t going to pout. It just seemed like the thing to say.

“Why do I have to stay here?!” [Y/N] insisted. This close to stamping their foot down about it. “I’m not a child! And I’m not helpless! I can fight too!”

“I know you can.” He told them. “But I just want you to stay here and help with the ones that make it past. There important too!”

“You just want me benched and picking off small fries.” [Y/N] flopped down on the couch and literally pouted. Clearly not a fan of his plan.

Ichigo sighed and came up to them. “Look, I’ll be honest ok?” They glanced up at him, but only a little. “It makes me anxious when you’re out there.” They seemed surprised by his answer and Ichigo rubbed the back of his head. “It’s one thing when it’s the others, but with you….I can’t think straight and it makes me do stupid stuff. I’d just feel better if you stayed back here. Where I know you’re safe.”

They seemed to think it over for a minute before [Y/N] sighed. “I guess that makes sense. In a really dumb way.”

Ichigo smirked, then knelt down in front of them. “Hey, I never said I was a smart one. Just good looking.”

[Y/N] laughed a little, and Ichigo leaned in to give them a kiss. He was telling them the truth. Of course he cared about his friends & comrades on the battle field. With [Y/N] though, he’d do really stupid stuff to keep them safe.

“Ichigo! We have to get to the west gate! The barricade as already---”

“Jeez Renji! Ever think of knocking!”

The other red head seemed to sputter, sensing deja vu, but then just left to go tell the others.

“Least I won’t be the dumbest one out there.” Ichigo muttered, before he turned to [Y/N] and gave them a quick kiss. “I’ll be back. Keep your head down and try not to break anything important if you can!”

Ishida

“Are you sure you’re fine with this?”

“Yes, Uryuu, go. I said I’ll be fine and….I want to help.”

Ishida’s face scrunched in an unappealing frown as he looked around. He supposed that the 4th was the safest place for them. It was the highest concentration of healers, and Captain Unohana was there; who always somehow gave Ishida a cold chill. Still, he didn’t want them to be anywhere near a battle. “Let me just have someone open a portal to send you home. Humans shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re here.” They insisted.

To which Ishida pushed up his glasses and told them, “that’s different. I’m a Quincy.”

[Y/N] stood up from their crouched position, helping get some of the beds ready for the inevitable injured, and looked him dead in the eye. “I know I’m not like the rest of you. I know I’m not special. Or have powers. Or am good at fighting. But this is something I can do. I want to help. If my friends, and the world, is in danger I want to do something. Let me do this so I can feel important for a change too.”

Ishida instantly buckled at their resolve. He should have known better. [Y/N] had a huge heart and wanted to help everyone. There was no way he was going to get them to budge. “You are important.”

The quincy leaned in and gave them a kiss. Permission, in a way, although they didn’t need it, for them to stay while he went out and fought. He’d honestly feel better knowing there were here to take care of him if he was injured.

“Ishida! Man, everyone is being super crazy today. We need to get to—”

“Get out of here Renji! This is a private area!” Ishida shouted, beet red at being caught kissing his s/o.

This time Renji just huffed with a shrug and walked out. “Did you really need to yell at him?”

“He…He startled me!”

[Y/N] smiled. Then they leaned up to give him another quick peck. “Try not to get cut. I’m not as good with a needle and thread as you are.”

[fuctacles]

Eddie, not panicking: Henderson's older brother is a little broken and now it's my fault, apparently? :/ [Part III]

[Part I] [Part II] [Part IV]

"I smell popcorn. Do you smell popcorn?" Dustin asked, sniffing the air.

Eddie stuck his nose up in the air, imitating a rabbit to his best abilities.

"Indeed I do."

Dustin was already opening his door and stomping down the stairs.

"They're watching the new Karate Kid!" he yelled from the living room. 

They could have been watching a documentary about shrimps and Eddie would gladly join them anyway just to be an annoying menace to the older Henderson. Besides, his alternative was the algebra homework in front of him. So, like a properly feral trailer creature, he buried it deep beneath Dustin’s blankets and dumped a stuffed cat toy on top of the pile before leaving the room.

The living room curtains were already drawn to create an illusion of a cinema experience. The whole room smelled of popcorn and Dustin’s smugness because he managed to plant his ass comfortably into the only available armchair.

Eddie was doomed to share the couch with the older kids - Steve and his girlfriend Robin whom he’s seen in passing before. He waved at her, and she waved back, which was their usual routine. Steve patted the empty seat on his other side, grinning.

“So glad you are joining us.”

“I’d rather be studying, but my therapist advised human interactions,” Eddie sighed heavily, falling against the cushions. His hand was immediately buried in the huge bowl of popcorn Steve was holding. The boy put it in the air instantly.

“Wait for the movie to start!”

Eddie chewed on his stolen kernels, looking him dead in the eye before shifting his gaze and raising his eyebrows pointedly at something behind him. The realisation hit him immediately.

“Robin!” he swirled around to scold her. She was sitting up on her knees to reach the bowl.

“Just start the movie!” Dustin yelled, throwing at him ammunition from his own, smaller bowl.

“Unbelievable,” Steve murmured, reaching for the remote.

Eddie exchanged a glance over his back with Robin, snickering at each other. He liked their company, despite his initial reservations. The Hendersons' house was quickly becoming a second home to him, and he was slowly but surely accepting it. Maybe ‘86 was going to be his year in more than just academics; He already got a bunch of freshmen he was embarrassingly fond of, and while he did not actually have a therapist to tell him that, he knew expanding his social circle wouldn’t hurt. A good party of adventures needs variety. And it’s so hard to find a healer. Maybe Robin would be down? Steve was probably more of a tank, which was also an asset.

The movie has been on for maybe ten minutes when a Dustin-shaped blob tried to squeeze itself between him and Steve.

“Hey!” they both protested in unison. Steve shoved himself into Eddie, squeezing all the air out of him as he was now shoved between him and the armrest. 

“You have your armchair!”

“Well, it’s at the wrong angle. It’s not optimal for watching,” the boy whined, trying again to squeeze himself between Robin and Steve this time. He did the same thing though, pancaking her between himself and the couch.

“Come on!” Dustin groaned.

They did some back and forth, shifting in front of each other like in Wayne’s stupid basketball matches, until Robin decided to be a dumbass and reached for the remote to pause the still ongoing movie. Dustin saw his opening and dipped to his right, sliding between her and the armrest. Suddenly, Steve’s elbow was in Eddie’s ribs.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry- Dustin!”

“What!? Just take Robin on your lap and don’t be a pussy!”

“Ew, fucking gross-!”

“We are not fucking dating-!” they protested simultaneously, their voices overlapping with a similar sense of exasperation and annoyance.

“How bout you sit on my lap, little brother?” Steve offered, saccharine coating his words.

“Ew, I’m not a baby, Steve!”

Eddie patted Steve’s arm, the one still wedged way too close to his very bruisable ribs.

“There, there, Stevie, don’t cry. I’ll sit on your lap,” he said, sending him his best pitying smile.

Steve’s eyes were on him again, the tree bark brown of the oak tree little Eddie hung his first birdhouse on. They weren’t rolling though. Why weren’t they rolling and annoyed in that heavenly entertaining way?

“Great,” Steve said, a small relieved breath escaping him. And then his arm was living his space.

Oh, of course. Eddie overdid it this time. The joke went too far, and he was going to get his teeth knocked out again, but this time no new ones are coming to replace them.

The arm landed behind him, circling his shoulders. The other landed on his legs and in the next second he was being lifted off the couch, expecting a close encounter with the floor, or being dumped onto the armchair in the best scenario. 

But then he’s not, he opens his eyes, and he’s surrounded by warmth and softness and the movie is being rewound to the point before the sitting argument. 

He is embarrassed and mortified, looking at the screen like it could somehow tether him back to his previous reality. The one when he was not sitting on Steve Henderson’s lap.

He took a cautious look at the others, who didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Eddie just got manhandled into another man’s lap. He was the only one freaking out. Maybe it was a normal occurrence for Steve, maybe he was exaggerating?

He was sitting a bit to the side not to obscure Steve’s vision. The man’s arm was brushing against his spine, thrown around the back of the couch behind him to make room. He could feel the rise and fall of Steve’s chest. He could feel Steve everywhere.

It was his idea, his stupid mouth said it, and so he couldn’t back down now, even if his skin was on fire.

Everyone but him seemed to be focused on the movie, so he decided he was not gonna be worse. Just imagine it’s still the couch. A very warm, breathing couch.

Steve moved under him without warning, and Eddie stiffened up. He pressed a hand against his mouth not to make a sound, the other one gripping the flesh of Steve’s thigh, hard. There was a hand against his waist, a futile attempt not to jostle his body.

Then the world was right again, Steve settled under him. With a peace offering in his hands. He had wrenched Dustin’s mini bowl of popcorn to give it to Eddie.

He accepted it but made the mistake of looking at Steve.

There was no tree brown in his eyes, it was all technicolour reflexes of the TV, reminding Eddie of neon signs in the dark.

“Thanks,” he whispered in the dim room. Steve smiled at him, a hint of teeth shining right next to him. He stuffed his face with popcorn and reminded himself Steve was Henderson’s brother and Eddie was comfortable sitting in his lap.

And he was, for the majority of the movie, until Steve forgot himself and his hand landed on Eddie’s knee, thumb rubbing against the denim. Eddie eyed the movement, then subtly glanced at the man’s face. He was watching the movie, relaxed like none of his limbs were moving against his will. Eddie scrunched his nose, looked away and jostled his leg. Steve squeezed him gently and let go.

“Sorry,” he whispers, too quiet, too close to Eddie’s ear. 

He shakes his head.

“‘s okay,” he whispers back, even if it didn’t feel okay.

He survived to the end of the movie, but as soon as the credits started rolling, he jumped up and off Steve, eager to open the curtains, let some fresh air in, and sprint across the yard as far away as possible from Steve Henderson’s thighs. The flowers beneath the window would make for a great landing spot.

Before he could leap into freedom, a familiar heat, smell and shape of a human approached him, gently pressing against his side.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Steve said, his voice quiet below a whisper. Eddie turned away from freedom, putting distance between himself and the heat.

“You should be sorry,” he scoffed, giving him his best death glare and stepping away.

He had an algebra textbook to dig up from underneath blankets.

It’s not that he was uncomfortable with touching. He was a very tactile person himself. But this level of closeness was not something to share easily, not with someone he barely considered a friend. Steve was a weird person. 

Said the freak.

He was wrangling the blankets when someone coughed behind him. He was so whirred up, this time he did scream.

“What!” he turned around to find Dustin, who was positively fuming.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing!”

“No, he looks like a kicked puppy. So you must have said something.” Dustin’s frown deepened.

Eddie frowned back.

The boy sighed, closing the door and coming closer to lower his voice as much as his vocal cords could manage.

“Listen, we are still working with Steve to open up and be himself. Which, apparently, involves a lot of hugs and shit. So like, if you do anything to fuck this up, even unintentionally…” He scrunched his face like he was in physical pain saying it. His eyes were big and more childlike than ever. “I can’t have you coming over.”

There was a lot to process there, none of which Eddie expected. Being banned from the Henderson household? No fucking way.

“Shit.”

Dustin nodded solemnly.

“Shit. He’s in the kitchen right now if you want to have a word,” he looked at him pointedly. Eddie winced.

“Now?”

If eyes could kill, Eddie would be ten feet underground and rotting.

“Fine,” he scoffed. “I’ll go apologise to your brother.”

“Atta boy!”

Eddie threw him the middle finger and left the room. He stomped down the stairs to announce his presence and then knocked against the kitchen door frame for good measure. Two pairs of eyes turned towards him.

Of course, Steve’s not-girlfriend was with him.

“Can I have a moment with you?” he asked, searching Steve’s eyes and, oh shit he did look like a kicked puppy.

Steve nodded, but not at him. He nodded at Robin and walked towards Eddie to steer him back into the living room.

“Dustin told you to do this?” Steve guessed immediately.

“Yes,” Eddie admitted. “But he’s right. I overreacted. Just,” he bit his lip, because damn where was his script? What was Steve’s AC and where were the dice?

“Warn me next time?” What fucking next time, Eddie? No, there was going to be next time, because Steve needs hugs to heal, and you need Dustin to graduate. “Like, in the BDSM community, consent is the most important thing. You know?”

There was a soft sound somewhere from the house like someone facepalmed. Which, fair, Eddie would too if he didn’t have to actively participate in the disastrous conversation. So, thanks, anonymous eavesdropper for being unhelpful.

“BDSM?” Steve repeated, the corner of his lips twitching. Even the other participant in the conversation was laughing at his expense. Great.

“Yeah?”

“And you are… part of that community?” Steve cocked his head with curiosity and a curious cat was better than a kicked puppy, so Eddie was doing great. 

“No,” Eddie scoffed. “I mean kinda? But not really. Hey, listen, how about we don’t talk about this,” he offered, laughing awkwardly.

Steve nodded, no traces of sadness on his face. Meaning if all else fails, Eddie could at least go around humiliating himself for laughs.

“Anyway, sorry for being a dick, ask next time. Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve smiled his warm smile, the one that always reminded Eddie of his delicious cookies.

“Can I touch your hair?”

“Really running with it, I see, but okay.” Eddie didn’t like his hair being touched but this one time he’d make an exception. Kind of like he was appeasing a toddler to stop whining.

He was expecting Steve to tug at his hair, he was kind of used to it. Maybe run a finger through them, rub at the split ends and complain about how he doesn’t take care of his curls. Eddie saw his hair products collection, and noticed the judgemental stares, alright? He knows.

Instead, Steve’s fingers brush somewhere near his ear and come back with a piece of popcorn.

“You should check if there’s more before you leave,” he said, before leaving Eddie to rejoin Robin in the kitchen.

Eddie ran.

He ran into Dustin’s room, ran from his incredulous question about using BDSM as an argument, then ran with his textbooks under his arm, towards his car and far away from the Hendersons' house.

User tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

[kneelingshadowsalome]

CW: LONG

World building question::: since Theseus did die and the minotaur escaped, how did that affect history and myths? Like a great demigod has been slain by a monster and a priestess not only led him out of his captivity BUT MARRIED(?) HIM!

Did the great writers write myths about them? The witch and the monster or because they were never cursed by the gods maybe it's written in a beauty and the beast style, like the priestess and the wild man? Or, desperate to hide the fact their great hero failed and the supposed monster was actually just a very large man abandoned by his family, the great writers lied about Theseus' victory over the minotaur, and Ariadne!reader + Minotaur!Konïg are just known as this really odd couple.

Speaking of which, besides being seen as very odd because of their love for each other, how else are they treated? Is reader still given the same respect as a priestess? What does she do while Konïg is gone? Does she deal with any harassment? What about Konïg? We know he sails but does he become a hero or legend? Does the crew he sails with know he's the minotaur? Or do they just regard him as this unsocialized large man and that's it?

Ahhh so many possibilities!!!! Sorry this is so long I just love these twoooo ugh :(((

Heyy! These questions are so super cute!! 💕

Knowing how crazy and unfair these myths usually are, I’d bet the tales would paint the priestess as the villain of the story, even worse than Pasiphae or even the bull himself. She not only unleashed the Minotaur but also allowed him to hit so that's like super naughty of her! :((

Also no storyteller was there to see their love or how they lived after they left Crete so these two were written down as deformed monsters who killed the king, wrecked the island of Crete, fornicated in the wilderness and probably ate children along the way. If they ever heard any of these stories during their lifetime, they must’ve laughed!

--besides being seen as very odd because of their love for each other, how else are they treated? Is reader still given the same respect as a priestess? What does she do while Konïg is gone? Does she deal with any harassment?

Reader becomes a weaver and a healer beyond the sea. She’s no longer an “official” initiate but knows that Hecate is still with her (because that's how it is when a powerful goddess claims you as her own!)

She uses her skills and knowledge for healing which makes her a respected member in their new community. Because of the influence of her dark goddess she’s a bit of a loner still, and does not easily make friends. But now that she can dabble in the so called “worldly affairs”, she wants to help others if she can, and by saving lives she gains a widely honored reputation.

If anyone harasses her while König is away–which would be rare because anyone can see her husband is a beast—she might show a darker side of herself and the goddess at her back. People will rather leave her alone than test the power of the foreign woman’s curse, and besides, most men respect her out of fear. Which of course makes König smile with pride :)

What about Konïg? We know he sails but does he become a hero or legend? Does the crew he sails with know he's the minotaur? Or do they just regard him as this unsocialized large man and that's it?

No one knows about König's past and he likes to keep it that way. If he could decide he’d rather not be perceived at all, any kind of reputation just inherently feels wrong to him. He especially doesn’t want to be thought as the true heir to any throne: king is a synonym for tyrant in his mind so he doesn’t want to have anything to do with his royal past.

König never becomes much of a legend except in his home town and with his crew, and even then he’s mostly celebrated as the big buff guy who doesn’t talk much but who always keeps his word and fucks and fights like it’s his last day on this earth. For König, it’s enough that his wife is pleased with him and that people who know him think he’s a good man. He’s very happy with this kind of legacy!

This couple wants to be left out of the history books altogether, they want to live a happy, peaceful life that's uneventful and lovely in it's simple beauty. No one remembers who they were after a few centuries have passed, and they wouldn't have it any other way. ❤️❤️❤️

[maharlika]

tend

a little hasltarion ficlet written for @cielsosinfel for the prompt "halstarion wound tending"

warnings for blood and implied (non-graphic) abuse/torture

--

Halsin wakes in the middle of the night to the smell of blood. He raises his snout into the air, paws shifting restlessly on the soft dirt. The coppery scent lingers for but a moment, but it is enough for his heightened animal senses to snag onto. He pushes his way out of his tent, an elf again, and walks towards Astarion’s humble abode.

The camp is deathly silent, and the night is cool. He finds Astarion sitting just outside of his tent, shirtless and twisting awkwardly in what looks like an attempt to reach a spot on his back. 

Halsin stops a few meters away, hesitating, but then he sees Astarion’s ears twitch in annoyance. 

“I know you’re there. I may not know how to spontaneously turn into an animal, but my hearing is just as keen. Though I suppose a vampire is just another kind of beast.” 

Halsin sighs internally—he’s always so prickly, their vampiric companion. But he soldiers on: “Apologies. I smelled blood and thought—but I can leave you to it.” 

Astarion frowns, his shoulders sagging. 

“Unless you could use the help?”

“One of the goblins may have gotten too close,” Astarion admits. He turns as Halsin draws closer, and shows him the deep gash on his back, raking across the circle of his gruesome scars. The blood around the wound is caked and dark, but it’s still bleeding sluggishly, which is worrying. Why hadn’t Astarion told anyone?

Halsin winces in sympathy. “I have healing potions—”

“No,” Astarion says, rather forcefully. He takes a deep breath, then says, with an air of forced lightness, “It’ll heal on its own, there’s no need to waste a potion.”

“It wouldn’t be a waste,” Halsin says. “And if you don’t want to use a potion, we can wake Shadowheart.”

Astarion shakes his head vehemently, his curls swaying with the motion. “It’s fine.”

“Then how can I help?” Halsin asks instead, feeling his patience start to fray. He’s never been good with people who refuse help—all the time spent playing a healer out of necessity should have rid him of this trait, but alas, it only seems to have compounded it.

Astarion raises a hand, and Halsin sees what he’s been holding on to this whole time: a needle and thread.

“It’ll heal faster if it’s closed,” Astarion says, eyes averted. “I’d do it myself, but it’s in a…tricky spot.”

“Let me get this straight,” Halsin says incredulously, “you’ll not accept a healing potion or a healing spell, but you want me to sew your wound closed, causing you a fair amount more pain. Is that right?”

“I suppose you’re not as stupid as you look,” Astarion says, but the haughty smile that graces his lips is a frail line, easily broken.

“Oak Father preserve me against stubborn vampires,” Halsin says, but he takes the needle. 

Astarion startles when Halsin puts a hand on the cold curve of his shoulder but relaxes when Halsin murmurs an apology. 

He does not stir when the needle slides through skin, through flesh. 

How many times, Halsin wonders, has he done this to himself before? He has seen Astarion sew, hunched protectively over bloody, fraying clothes. The light, easy movement of his hands, the glimmer of the needle, the pull of the thread. How many times has Astarion sat by himself, in the dark, sewing his body back together? 

Halsin is no surgeon, but he’s mended enough broken bodies to make quick work of the wound. Soon, it is neatly laced shut, and he hands the bloody needle back Astarion, who has not uttered a word since they started.

“Astarion?” Halsin asks.

Astarion’s shifts, turning to him, eyes half-lidded. He looks exhausted, his lower lip broken and bleeding, as if he had bitten himself to stifle any sort of noise.

How many Gods-damned times, Halsin thinks again, feeling the surge of some helpless, molten anger rise in his chest.

“Thank you,” Astarion says, looking as if he’s about to keel over any second.

“Would you like to feed?” Halsin asks. 

Astarion blinks, slow. He licks his lips, eyes darting to Halsin’s neck. But eventually, he shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. “No, you’ve done enough. I’ll sleep it off. Thank you.”

And as much as he’d like to push, Halsin knows Astarion has already revealed more than he’s comfortable with, tonight. So he nods, turns around, and walks towards the river, where he washes his hands. Blood meanders through the water, then diffuses into nothing. 

How precious that blood must be to Astarion, who must take it from living creatures to survive. How cruelly it must have been spilled by a sadistic hand. 

When they find Cazador, Halsin thinks, he would very much like to rend his limbs apart until they are unsalvageable, nothing that can be put back together by needle and thread.

[lakesbian]

and now for our Checking In With The Dallon Sisters poasting

Panacea shook her head, “Tattletale found a way around my sister’s invincibility. Glory Girl was bitten pretty badly, which is why I didn’t come sooner. I think it hits you harder, psychologically, when you’re pretty much invincible but you get hurt anyways. But we’re okay now. She’s healed but sulking. I- I’m alright. Bump on my head, but I’m okay.”

victoria is demonstrably having a bad time with the previously noted psychological pain of being forcibly reminded that, no matter how hard she tries, she will never be the spotless, invincible, perfect hero she wants to be. the bug bites suck obviously but the "sulking" After being healed is an indicator of where it really hurt--not just physically.

(amy's power reminds me of. do you guys know that one tumblr post about the concept of exploring the horror potential inherent to D&D-esque fantasy healers? like, the horror inherent to being perfectly, magically healed from horrifying injury a hundred times over, and being expected to just get up and keep fighting afterwards, without any regards to how your mental health is doing. that's exactly how amy's power functions: you're made physically better than ever, and expected to get back up and keep being a hero, but you still have the memory of the pain and the lingering psychological aftereffects. but, like, you're fine now, so you just need to get over it and go back to throwing yourself in the line of fire, okay?)

amy is also right off the bat clearly not doing so hot--she's acting very shy and withdrawn and unsure compared to both of her prior appearances. obviously that is due to the horror of some random villain going "btw, remember that you're ontologically an invader into the family you are trying to belong in!" but i think it's probably compounded by the fact that amy is so used to being treated either 1. like she's intrinsically awful/unwanted or 2. like she's only valuable/desirable as a resource by Everyone But Victoria that walking into a room of heroes w/o victoria by her side is always liable to make her insecure and withdrawn.

oh, and the burnout. obviously the severe fucking burnout.

“No, I hated that he would have a normal life, because I’d given up mine.  I was scared that I might intentionally make a mistake.  That I might let myself fuck up the procedure with this kid.  I could have killed him or ruined his life, but it would have eased the pressure.  Lowered expectations, you know?  Maybe it would have even lowered my own expectations for myself.  I… I was just so tired.  So exhausted.  I actually considered, for the briefest moment, abandoning a child to suffer or die.” “That sounds like more than just exhaustion,” Gallant replied, quietly. “Is this how it starts?  Is this the point I start becoming like my father, whoever he was?”

the "every second i rest, someone dies" conundrum would be nightmarish for her even if she had the healthiest social support net on the planet, but her circumstances make it infinitely worse. she's treated by everyone in her "family" but victoria like an invader, and even victoria has unintentionally stressed the importance of using her healing power in the way that the family wants (i.e. to cover up victoria's police brutality) in order to Be A Good Family Member. amy has internalized that being a good dallon is the same as being a good hero, and failing at being a dallon is the same as being overcome by her ontologically criminal roots. so she works herself to the bone, and when she inevitably starts to falter, she views it as an indicator of something intrinsically wrong with her rather than as a sign that her family + society's expectations for her are harmful and unfair.

and dean's advice for her only reinforces this further:

Gallant let out a slow breath, “I could say no, that you’re never going to be like your father. But I’d be lying. Any of us, all of us, we run the risk of finding our own way down that path. I can see the strain you’re experiencing, the stress. I’ve seen people snap because of less. So yeah. It’s possible.”

he suggests that she try to take a break, but only in the service of "so you can heal more people in the long run." he validates the idea that she could go "down that path," as if becoming a villain--becoming A Bad Person--is a risk all heroes have to fight against on an individual level, as opposed to criminality being a result of circumstance and not even inherently immoral. and of course dean thinks that way--he's a millionaire child soldier, his entire life is predicated on individualist thought with ignorance to the ways in which systematic factors impact people. acknowledging that amy is being horrifically mistreated would mean not only acknowledging the flaws in the PRT system, but acknowledging what might lead people to stray from it, and he simply can't do that. it goes counter to every idea that his life is built on.

he never even tells anyone that amy thought about letting a child die, or if he did, it didn't go anywhere. she was desperate for help all along, increasingly ready to explode, and everyone just ignored it. because as she says:

"My sister’s all I’ve got. The only person with no expectations, who knows me as a person. Carol never really wanted me.  Mark is clinically depressed, so as nice as he is, he’s too focused on himself to really be a dad. My aunt and uncle are sweet, but they’ve got their own problems. So it’s just me and Victoria. Has been almost from the beginning."

this is also where we see another more blatant sign of her crush on victoria--it's very ambiguous as to whether dean is interpreting amy's feelings towards him as meaning "wants to date me" or "jealous of me for dating victoria" but i think it's probably the former because there's no way he would keep his mouth shut if it was the latter, lmao. really what this scene is doing is introducing all of the stressors amy is experiencing that, because they're going unaddressed, because everyone else is refusing to address them and she has internalized that's how it should be, are going to boil over horrifically later on. that burnout and fear of accidentally-on-purpose making a mistake will lead to truly being unable to heal victoria later on. that sense of obligation, that if she can't keep healing she's turning into her father, will contribute to her being unable to just walk away from victoria instead of trying to heal her. her crush on victoria--the ultimate example of how her should-be family has ostracized her--will boil over in the impulsive brain alteration & the sexual nature of the wretch's design.

and all of this would've been avoidable if not for, as mentioned in the prior post abt this interlude, the dallons' and the PRT's enforcement of wallpapering over the kid heroes' pain to Keep Up The Show.

[raspberryfingers]

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 4)

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

[sailtomarina]

Delicate

“I am perfectly fine and capable of returning to work!”

Draco frowned as he picked up the clipboard and reviewed the patient sheet, which revealed that, yes, his ears had not deceived him. Hermione Granger was on the premises. As if anyone could mistake that shrill voice for someone else. As if anyone else would consider a mild concussion, broken wrist, and several abrasions inconsequential in the face of an open work case.

He rotated his shoulders and cracked his neck before stepping into the room.

“Miss Granger.”

She went mute, mouth hanging open and eyes wide in astonishment at the sight of Draco Malfoy dressed in light green healer robes, a St. Mungo’s badge with his credentials pinned to his chest. If he had known his presence was all it would take to silence her, he would’ve entered sooner.

“It appears you have several injuries stemming from moderate to mild, but I’d still like to do a few scans of my own. Will that be alright with you?” Draco kept his voice as professional as possible in the soothing tone all staff had been trained to use. Rather than calm her, his voice seemed to snap her back to life, as she stiffened her back and squared her shoulders in what might have been preparation to attack. He would have none of that.

The instant she opened her mouth, Draco whipped up one hand to insert a tongue depressor while the other waved a wand for the first diagnostic scan. He didn’t really need to see down her throat, but the tool served its purpose in keeping her indignation at bay for a few moments longer. His spell confirmed the patient sheet’s findings.

“Mild concussion confirmed.”

He removed the depressor and moved the wand downward slowly, muttering his second spell. She dutifully shut her mouth and allowed him to continue uninterrupted.

“Broken wrist confirmed. A few sprained finger joints, as well.”

Draco took a step back and ran a final scan far larger and more detailed than the previous. Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth over the information from where she sat, but kept her silence. Other than the broken and sprained injuries which pulsated a warm orange, most of the findings were a solid green indicating good health and a promising recovery.

He dismissed the scan with a flick and leveled her with his most reassuring smile. “Good news, Miss Granger. Everything looks to be in good order and we’ll have you all fixed up  in today’s visit. I do recommend keeping you here overnight for observation due to the concussion, but then you should be ready to return home tomorrow morning after a final check up.”

Her initial relief as the start of his speech transformed into surprise, then quickly to alarm. “Wait, you want me to stay here overnight?”

“That is what I recommend, yes,” he affirmed.

“Whatever for? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and I assure you I can just as easily Floo here if I do feel any continued side effects.” The speed and volume at which she spoke increased exponentially as she blurted out the words seemingly without taking a single breath. Draco watched in fascination as her loose hair seemed to grow in size with her agitation.

“Do you live alone?” He scanned her sheet looking for any mention of a partner or family member upon check in.

“Excuse me?” she gasped. “I hardly see how that is any of your business, Malfoy! I’m not some delicate flower in need of a partner or guardian–”

She was apoplectic, shrugging off the hands of his fellow healers as they mended her surface injuries. She spat the words out in a perfect imitation of her familiar, whom he now remembered storming the castle when they were students as if the fluffy beast owned it.

He inserted his explanation in the middle of her tirade with practiced precision. “Please do not take offense at my question. I was merely making the same inquiry we make for similar cases. If you take a turn for the worse while asleep, you will likely be unable to ask for help.”

She fumed silently, unable to argue with his logic.

“So I ask again: do you live alone? Do you have anyone who can attend to you tonight?” He half expected her to name one of her infamous friends, or perhaps one of the string of hopeful suitors reported about in The Prophet. He motioned to his coworkers to continue treating her injuries.

“Yes, I live alone. No, there is no one available to watch me tonight.” She bit out the words with venom, and Draco had the sudden instinct to put up a shield. With her fingers and wrist now mended, she gripped the flat sheet over her lap fiercely. “I’d still feel more comfortable in my home, unless–” Her eyes darted around at the others in the room, before returning to his, chewing at her lip with enough force to make it bleed.

“Give us the room, please.” At his curt command, the others immediately left.

The only unfinished task was her head injury, and he stepped forward slowly with his palms held out in a placating manner. “I’m going to treat your concussion now, and you’ll feel a bit of a strange tingle, nothing to worry about.”

She watched him as he stepped into her space, only shutting her eyes once his fingers gently tilted her chin upward as if preparing for a kiss. He obliged her.

The softest brush of skin to skin, then a nibble to her bottom lip, and she parted them willingly to allow him entrance. She tasted like coffee and cinnamon and just a hint of chocolate. His free hand slowly rotated his wand where it pointed at her temple, as if he regularly snogged and treated his patients simultaneously. He knew the spell worked when she gasped at the telltale tingle.

“See? All better now.” He pulled back with a smirk fighting its way forward, an expression he usually suppressed while at work.

Her eyes opened and she blinked a few times to clear away the daze. “Is this how you treat all your patients?”

“Only my favorite ones.”

She snorted at his quick response. “Since when am I a favorite of yours?”

“I don’t take just any witch home overnight for a shag and then make her breakfast the next morning.”

“So is this hospital stay your attempt at a second date?” Hermione stared at him in that piercing way of hers. 

Draco was transported back to their recent reunion after several years of just missing one another at public functions and spaces. It was her eyes and that mouth of hers that reeled him in as an adult just as strongly as they had irritated him as a child. Going head to head with her about her work in the Ministry had turned him on far more than any of his arranged dates with Narcissa-approved socialites. Several drinks and arguments later, they stumbled through the Floo straight into his flat where clothes were stripped off and all misgivings about their past and present were shoved into a dark corner to be worried about another day. He still had dreams about the way she breathed his name every time she climaxed, and wished the nail marks she had left on his back would magically reappear.

“Technically, we still have yet to schedule a first date, unless you always include one-night stands. Also, I fail to see how keeping you bedside company in a hospital qualifies as a date.”

She fixated on the second part of his sentencing, ignoring the comment on one-night stands. “You’ll stay with me here?”

“I was planning on it unless you’d prefer otherwise. I might even be convinced to sneak you something better than the standard hospital fare of gruel and green peas,” he teased. “Contrary to popular opinion, I am quite well liked here.”

She studied him with obvious interest. “Alright then. I will stay, and you will keep me company, and then we will see where we go from there.” She held her hand out like she meant to shake on some kind of business deal.

He instead brought her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the knuckles. Hermione’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her mask of cool professionalism dropped into place once more. Draco fully intended to rip that facade off of her so forcefully, she’d forget to ever use one with him again.

But until then…

“Miss Granger, if you’d please follow me.”

WC 1443

[foxianjiaoqiu]

Honkai Star Rail RP

⤷ Introduction:

A foxian healer from the Xianzhou Yaoqing and a counselor. Often greets people with a smile, but is rather cunning. Born into a prestigious Alchemy Commission family, he once withdrew from practicing medicine due to a broken heart. However, he returned to the field to treat "the Merlin's Claw," General Feixiao.

⤷ Appearance:

Jiaoqiu is a young foxian man with a fair complexion, golden irises, pale, salmon-colored hair that reaches past his shoulders, as well as a large tail and tall fox ears. He wields a feather fan, which is often associated with counselors and strategists in Chinese culture. While he usually keeps his eyes closed, Jiaoqiu's eyes have orange irises and red, slit-like pupils. After poisoning himself with Tumbledust in order to weaken Hoolay, Jiaoqiu is functionally blind from optic nerve damage.

⤷ Headcanon:

Jiaoqiu is great with kids.

Jiaoqiu falls asleep inhumanly quickly.

Jiaoqiu is perfect at cooking.

Jiaoqiu is not allowed to drink energy drinks.

Jiaoqiu is not good with social cues.

Jiaoqiu does crochet in their spare time.

Jiaoqiu is probably autistic.

Jiaoqiu desperately needs a hug but doesn't know it and refuses to ask for one.

Jiaoqiu can beat you up and will.

⤷ Facts about moderator

Moderator sings very well

Moderator has severe social anxiety

Moderator has PTSD

Moderator rides horses professionally

Moderator has an eating disorder

Moderator likes to interact online instead of IRL

Moderator is good at cooking (Ironic I know)

⤷ Rules:

No homophobia, transphobia, etc. No discrimination towards any individual for whatever reason even if it’s valid.

No nsfw or inappropriate content.

Don't bring up any politics or religion. I don’t want to be attacked or harassed because of these things.

Do NOT ask me for donations I have severe PTSD from hospitals and I’d rather not have a panic attack because it.

⤷ Anons:

🪶

[fernclans]

MOON 03. (cont.)

(tw; (unintentional) misgendering, injury/death suggestion, trauma)

Starring: Cliffpaw (BuddingClan), Bitterndrift (CypressClan), Springmallow (CypressClan), Bitterrumble (CypressClan) Mentions: Pondstar (CypressClan), Magpiestar (FlintClan)

“You don’t have to stay by the kids' side all day, you know?” A black bengal cat chided as he stepped through the rocky opening of the CypressClan healers’ den, a chaffinch hanging from his jaws.

“You say that, but I was the one who convinced Pondstar to let Bitterrumble treat her. She’s my responsibility until she can go back to her own Clan.” The ginger and white molly places her tail softly across Cliffpaw’s back, a soft expression crossing her usually stern face.

The tomcat pads forward a bit and places the bird about a tail-length from Bitterndrift and the apprentice. “She’s been out for a few days now… is Bitterrumble sure she’ll wake up?” His copper eyes show concern as they go from the wounded stranger to his clanmate.

A dusty brown tomcat emerges from one of the dark tunnels that branched from further within the cave opening, carrying an assortment of herbs with him which he promptly takes to another corner of his den, one with a bit more light, and proceeds to use a stone to grind them slowly into a paste. “She’s still in shock,” he muses while he works. “If she wakes from this, which is still an if Bitterndrift, it’ll still be within StarClan’s paws whether or not she’ll survive for long after.”

The ginger molly shrinks somewhat at the healer’s words, making room for him when he approaches with the herbaceous paste. “It’s hard to say if she’s ingesting any of these, but I’d rather waste a few herbs than not try treatment.” He mutters while opening Cliffpaw’s muzzle with one paw and using the other to coat his tongue with the poultice, grimacing after a moment of thought. “Don’t tell Pondstar I said that one, right? I can’t say he’d be the happiest if he found out I was using so many resources on some apprentice from FlintClan.” The two warriors agree, knowing that in spite of Bitterrumble’s lighthearted chuckle, Pondstar would, in fact, not be pleased.

“Do her dressings need to be changed yet?” Bitterndrift chirps, bending down to sniff at the treated wrappings, the overpowering scent of horsetail and garlic makes it impossible to glean much information.

Bitterrumble shakes his head. “Not until sundown, though now that you mention it, I should get a head-start on what I’ll need to wash the bite out again. Springmallow, would you mind accompanying me?”

“Oh- sure thing! I’ll catch you later then, Bitterndrift-- and don’t forget to eat that bird I brought you!” The black and grey tom brushes against the other warrior affectionately as he passes, leaving alongside the healer.

“Right-- be safe! Keep your nose to the wind!” Bitterndrift called after her clanmates as they left, slouching in her posture only when she was sure they were out of sight.

A few moments pass before she addresses the bird her clanmate had brought her; she knew it was best she ate, but having done so little but watch over a cat she’d never even met before, she found herself without much of an appetite.

A sense of calm returns to the den, broken by a sudden gasp, and a sputtering cough. Bitterndrift jumps when the cat beside her begins to convulse, eyes widening with worry when her immediate thought was the cat beside her choking on whatever it was Bitterrumble had just recently administered. “Hey, hey, you’re okay.” She tried to soothe, placing her tail across the other protectively again.

The sensation of her touch seemed to startle the apprentice, the tabby jolting away from her and falling over onto his side. “Who are you? What do you want with me? Am I dead?” He continued to hack and wheeze while he strained to open his remaining good eye to get a look at his assailant? Savior?

“I’m sorry I scared you-- my name is Bitterndrift, w-”

“I’m… I’m alive then?” His breathing begins to slow, if only just.

“You’re alive… Er-”

“Then I need to get back to my clanmates-- they have to be worried sick about me- and there’s no way Amberpaw has been ab-” In a hurry of movements, Cliffpaw picks himself up only to fall over once more into the mossy nest beneath him.

“We can bring you back to your clanmates as soon as you’re stable-- you’re from FlintClan, right?” She wants to ask about the fate of the clan; they hadn’t been present at the gatherings in moons, surely something must have happened to them-- but she fights against this impulse, not wanting to overwhelm someone who was already experiencing so much. “You shouldn’t move around so much, I’m not a healer, I don’t know how healed your wound is. If you started bleeding again, there’s not a lot I’d be able to do to help you.”

Cliffpaw is silent again for a while, allowing himself to stay collapsed in the nest and fully absorb the situation. “Are you sure I’m not dead?”

“Not dead yet.”

“Okay. That’s good.” He moves slowly this time, wincing as he sits up to get a better look at the warrior. “How long have I been here? I’m in CypressClan, right? What happened after I-” He could feel his stomach sink all over again.

“You’ve been in CypressClan for two days now. After you were bit, Springmallow and I rushed you back here to our camp. Pondstar isn’t the most hospitable to outsiders, but with your precarious situation, even he wasn’t going to turn you away.” Even if that “situation” simply meant wanting information on FlintClan’s status… “Could I please get your name?”

“My name is Cliffpaw-- I was Magpiestar’s apprentice.”

“I take that to mean Magpiestar is no longer with us?”

Cliffpaw clenches his jaw, turning his head away from Bitterndrift.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. FlintClan hasn’t shown up to a gathering in moons now, everyone has been wondering-”

“There’s only four of us now.”

Bitterndrift’s previously composed demeanor drops, if only for a moment. “I beg your pardon?”

“The wolves. They found us. I… I blinded one of them when we were escaping to The Moonlit Caverns… I…” Cliffpaw’s remaining eye store hard at his paws. “It found me.”

“I’m… I’m very sorry to hear that.” There were a lot of words which could be said to express how one feels when brought with such news, but none which could compare to the feelings of those who had gone through it. Another worry courses through Bitterndrift, one she refrains from voicing.

The distant sound of voices made for a welcome reprieve, Bitterndrift nudging the bird over to Cliffpaw. “Here, you should eat this. I’ll tell the others you're awake, is there anything else you’d like me to say to them?”

The tabby is pensive for a while, looking at the chaffinch. He’d never had to do this before, not on his own. For some reason, this almost made him more nervous than speaking about his encounters with the wolves. “Could you also tell them that I’m a tom? I could kind of hear you earlier, but I wasn’t able to move yet.”

“Oh-!” Bitterndrift seems caught off-guard for a moment, before giving the other a soft nod. “Of course I can, Cliffpaw. I’m sorry about earlier.”

Before waiting for a reply, the ginger warrior goes to greet her clanmates outside the den.

while we're in CypressClan for a detour, anyone have questions for our newly introduced cats? next update and we'll be back in BuddingClan to see what everyone's been up to! : 3

[highwayphantoms]

Happy friday! "Can you walk? I'd be happy to carry you" for Rook/Davrin!

Thank you for the prompt! Had some fun with this one, hehe.

For @dadrunkwriting (VEILGUARD FIC)!

Slight spoilers for the middle of the game, but nothing that spoilery lol.

-

A nice walk in Arlathan Forest with Davrin and Assan. It should have been the easiest, calmest hour of the whole week.

And then they’d taken one wrong step. It was a familiar sequence of events: their ankle went sideways, Aquile collapsed into an awkward heap, and grumbled a halfhearted curse. To add insult to (mild) injury, Davrin had seen the whole thing. Before Aquile could even begin to get back up off the ground, he asked, “You okay, Rook?”

Aquile sighed, exasperated. “Yeah, I’m fine,” they said.

He did not look convinced. “Do you usually fall over for no apparent reason?”

“Just twisted my ankle,” they replied. Not entirely true, but easier than trying to explain that their ankles were wobbly pieces of shit. “Mind giving me a hand up?”

As Davrin stepped closer, Assan dropped from the sky with an inquisitive chirp. The griffon peered at them for a moment, as if assessing whether his presence was needed, then evidently decided it was, as he planted his butt on the ground to watch while Davrin offered Aquile his hand. Aquile took it, and Davrin promptly hauled them back to their feet.

Much to Aquile’s irritation, the ankle that had folded under them twinged painfully as they put weight on it again. “Great,” they muttered under their breath.

“Rook…”

“I might have done slightly more than twisted it.” That was new—in all the times they had rolled an ankle, it had never done any real damage—but then they realized one critical factor. It was the same ankle they’d broken at Weisshaupt. Though they’d fought a fucking Archdemon on it while broken, they thought it had healed up nicely afterwards. Clearly not.

“Can you walk on it?” Davrin asked, his expression entirely too sympathetic for their tastes. “I’d be happy to carry you.”

Their cheeks burning, Aquile glanced away from him. It was ridiculous, really. He was just being nice. There was no reason to be embarrassed. And while Aquile was quite certain they could walk on it—it would just hurt the rest of the way—some part of them very much wanted to take him up on that offer.

Well, fuck. When did that happen?

Not that it was unusual for Wardens to get together. It happened all the time—after all, it was hard to have a relationship with someone who wasn’t privy to the countless secrets you were obligated to protect. Still, that didn’t make it a good idea. Wardens, after all, have a marked tendency to die.

“Uh,” they said, as eloquent as ever. “I mean, I survived Weisshaupt with a broken ankle—”

“And multiple broken ribs, a concussion, and more bruises than Assan has feathers,” Davrin said, deadpan. “None of which you told anyone about. All due respect, Rook, but I think it would be best to head back to the Lighthouse.”

They scowled at him. “And, what, you’re going to carry me halfway across Arlathan Forest?”

“Guess so.” A beat passed, then Davrin shot them a smirk that quite plainly said you don’t fool me.

“Well, if you insist,” Aquile replied with mock offense. “My knight in shining armor, and all that.”

He chuckled and took another step towards them, closing the distance between them to mere inches. Aquile was not that much shorter than he was, and yet he picked them up as easily as if they weighed nothing more than a sack of flour. They made a small, surprised sound, and as undignified as it was to be draped across someone’s shoulders like a hunter’s prize catch, Aquile was far more interested in how warm Davrin was. Feeling rather like a spoiled cat, they settled in for the walk back to the eluvian.Of course, being a healer, Aquile could have fixed their own ankle with a little delicate spellwork, but if it meant getting such dotingon from the big, scary monster hunter, well… who were they to complain?

[phoenixyfriend]

Entry of the Gladiators 6

Chapter 6: A Hutt in One

Murder, battle plans, and a dash of family bonding

The five stations are in an interesting part of the galaxy, which is ironically on the secret path to Kamino. It’s also only a few sectors away from Hutt Space.

Their army is not good. However, with Anakin and the clones at the helm, and Ben giving directions from Bruklinn, they do have enough manpower to first take over the criminal underworlds of the other stations, and then… well…

There is currently a giant, blown-up copy of a news headline declaring the death of Gardulla projected onto the presentation wall for a reason. Unidentified forces took out the ship carrying her and her entire retinue on a trip from Nar Shaddaa to Tatooine.

On a totally unrelated note, Shmi’s been helping direct several dozen slaves who are not entirely ready to believe they are now free.

“Well, now, I can’t say that I’m sad that they’re dead,” Ben hedges, “especially because we are not connected to the Republic, and so we do not need to worry about starting a war and all such things. However… Anakin is disturbingly cheerful about this, wouldn’t you say?”

Rex snorts. “He was a Hutt slave.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I’d have killed Nala Se, if I thought I could get away with it,” Rex tells him drily. “Maybe Lama Su. Was tempted to take out Prime himself, some days.”

Ben grimaces. “I understand that. Unfortunately, this is not about the moral legitimacy of such a death, as such, but rather, how such emotions and actions impact our own relations with the Force.”

Cody makes a noise that is not a laugh, per se, but only because he’s very good at hiding it. Ben wants to call him out on it. He does not.

“He’s almost here, by the way,” Cody says.

Yes. Ben can very well feel that. Anakin’s flaring in the Force, and not in a particularly stable way.

Ben is worried.

The door opens, not quite slamming, but with the aplomb that Anakin cultivated as the Hero with No Fear. The man himself strides in with a manic grin and extensive char on his armor. There is also rather more blood than Ben is happy to see. It is clearly not Anakin’s, so at least there’s that, but still.

“Hello, Master!”

 Ben feels a headache coming on. “What did you do?”

“I’m insulted,” Anakin says, grin twitching in a way Ben is very unhappy about. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The blood, Anakin.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Given that it’s blue, I’d guessed as much,” Ben says. “What happened?”

Anakin shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“That just makes me worry more.”

“Pirates, fire, and a few dozen freed slaves,” Anakin says. “That’s all you need to know.”

Is it, though?

“You need a mind-healer,” Ben tells him.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

(Continue on AO3)