#<- source i found while fact checking myself

[unraveling-plot]

��️❤️❤️

The Murderbot Diaries was like here's a person. The person doesn't feel like a person.

The person is starting to believe it's a person, and its pronouns are still it/its. It's uncomfortable with eye contact, it hates being touched, it doesn't like social interaction, it doesn't have great control of it's facial expressions. And the person's friends all know this and respect it, and it can show affection how and when it feels and it's ok if it isn't "normal." It isn't questioned or doubted in its care because of this.

The person processes emotions through media, and uses it to figure out what to do in social situations. It has complicated feelings about what it was meant to be and reconciling that with who it wants to be. It doesn't always feel like a person but it's starting to accept that it is one.

Also it has laser weapons in its arms.

[anotherpapercut]

I try to fact check shit before reblogging it especially if there's like a specific statistic or smth bc I'm inherently suspicious of statistics but sometimes i spend so long fact checking something that by the time I get to the actual answer my Tumblr has refreshed and I never see the post again

[ichorai]

i'm not made by design ; jaime lannister ; part three.

part one | part two

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 11.9k

themes ; heavy angst, action, sort of barely-there fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a dance with dragons, politicking, foul language, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, emotional constipation on bw's end, complicated-ish dynamics

a/n ; oh god i'm so sorry this took so long </3 it's so hard figuring out what to write now that i've run out of source material man !!! so i'm rlly sorry if this doesn't live up to the last two parts, i tried my best :( i'm honestly not entirely happy w this chapter but i rlly hope you guys enjoy it regardless! i love these two so much i rlly do :(

main masterlist. read on ao3!

Summers in the north meant many rainy nights. Snow was not foreign during the season either, though it was more of a cold, icy sludge than the usual thick blankets one would expect in winter. Ned wondered how long this summer would last—he’d have to check the granaries and consult the maesters to make sure they were well prepared for a sudden winter, even if it would likely be years until then.

“It’s hot,” came a voice beside him. Ned turned his head to see you making your way towards him, a frown etched across your features. “I can hardly wear my furs without boiling myself.”

A touch of a smile graced his usually-solemn face. “You’re being dramatic.”

You shot your brother a glare. “Perhaps. But it is undeniable that this summer is hotter than the previous ones. We’ve hardly gotten any snow.” You toed at the melting sludge beneath your boots.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he told you, not unkindly. “It won’t be like this for long, I’m certain. Winter is coming.”

Now at eight-and-ten, you were practically a woman grown. You were no summer child, Ned knew. In fact, you had been born amidst a harsh and blistering three-year winter. Regardless, in his eyes, you would always be the young girl he had left in Winterfell when departing for the Eyrie all those years ago. 

“I hope it comes sooner,” you grumbled, fanning at your face, which Ned found amusing, considering there was a semi-chilly breeze whistling through the two of you. Then, you casted a sidelong glance at him.

It had only been a handful of weeks since he returned from the south to suppress the Greyjoy Rebellion. The young boy he had brought back as a ward-hostage, Theon, was a frightened, green-eared thing—but little Robb seemed to take a liking to him.

“Theon and Robb were playing at the kennels,” you told him, voice softer. “Tossing bones at the hounds.”

Ned made a noise of disapproval, but said nothing.

“Ned… Theon is the second child you’ve brought home unannounced. You scared Cat half to death.”

Ned’s eyes grew pained. He remembered the way she looked at him once she saw the little boy by his side. “I know. I need no reminder.” 

“At least you bear no resemblance to Theon. But Jon—he looks much like you,” you said. The sludgy snow you were toeing had now completely melted into a shallow puddle. 

“He looks like you, too,” Ned pointed out. He wasn’t quite sure what you were dancing around. 

“No, I’m saying…” You winced at yourself. It was an awkward topic to discuss, knowing Ned was so adamant on keeping his secrets close to his chest, despite your and Benjen’s prodding. “Does he resemble his mother at all?”

Pursing his lips, Ned simply bowed his head and sighed as he always did when it came to matters of Jon. “I don’t want to speak of his mother.”

“Alright,” you relented. But another second passed, and, unable to help yourself, you blurted, “He has the dark hair of Ashara Dayne.”

Ned’s dark grey eyes swung to you. Anger crossed his features, which he had never looked at you with before, not once. His soldiers oft spread rumors of Ashara and him, he knew, but you? He hadn’t expected this to come from you, of all people.

Quickly, you began to stumble over your words. “I just—I remember how you danced with her. And you went to Starfall to return Dawn, didn’t you? And she died, Ashara, so I thought—It was only logical that Jon—”

“What does it matter?” Ned brusquely snapped. “Jon is my blood. He’s your nephew, and that’s all that matters.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” you said, guilt seizing you. You shouldn’t have pried. It was a sensitive subject, and perhaps there was a reason why Ned didn’t want to tell you. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you looked ten years younger at that moment. Ned softened. 

“He does look like her,” said Ned after many minutes of silence. “His mother. I thank the Gods for that.”

You leaned against the balcony ledge. “He has Stark eyes, though. Our eyes.” 

“Aye.” 

A strike of guilt warmed your insides as you gestured about vaguely. “He’s my nephew, just as Robb is. But I treat neither of them as such. It’s hard being… affectionate. I wish I had it in me. Lyanna would have been a much better aunt than I. I suspect she would have loved Jon where Cat could not.” 

There was something about Ned’s expression that struck you as odd. His features hardened considerably, and your stomach turned with guilt yet again in fear that you’d said something out of turn.

Finally, Ned squared his shoulders and turned to face you. “You’re a fine aunt. Jon and Robb love you well enough.” Ned shook his head, deciding to change the subject. “The boy, Theon. I can only pray he won’t become a trouble in the years to come. He’s a good lad. But I do hope I won’t have to keep him for long.”

“Robb will be heartbroken once he leaves,” you said. 

Ned’s reluctant smile returned at that. “He’ll live.” One of Ned’s hands landed on your shoulder. “If things were different, Robert would be on the throne with Lyanna as his Queen. Maybe then the Rebellions would never have happened. Balon Greyjoy thought Robert lacked noble support. Perhaps with Lyanna by his side, it would have been different.”

That made you bark out a harsh laugh. “That’s not true,” you told him. “Lyanna would have found a way not to come to her own wedding. She would have rather run off to Yi Ti than marry Robert. And even so… if she had been forced into the marriage, the rebellions would likely still have happened. Balon Greyjoy is a power-hungry man. He would’ve sought another reason to claim independence.”

Ned frowned at that, but did not disagree with you. “And you? Would you do the same if you were betrothed? Run off to Yi Ti never to be found again?”

You shrugged. “It depends on who I would be bound to.”

“Jory Cassel?” Ned lightly suggested, more as a jest than anything. Though, come to think of it, he was a good, loyal fighter, and would treat you well enough. “It would be a fine match.”

The thoughts were quickly dashed, however, when you scoffed and batted his hand away from your shoulder. “Jory would be more suitable for Benjen than I. The two tussle about with their swords all the time.”

“How about—?”

“I don’t think anybody you offer would be any good for me, Ned.”

“Do you plan to just sit in the castle all your life?”

“Yes. If I were to marry a man, would I not be doing the very same, just in a different castle?” At that moment, it looked like you were sulking, as you often did when you were a very young child. 

Ned smiled fondly. “A fair point, sister-mine. Alright, then. As long as you’re happy.”

“You’re my family, Ned,” you told him. “I do not need a husband or children of my own to replace who I’ve lost.”

Going further north was not an option for you, not anymore. It was crawling with Freys and westermen alike. Westward from the Vale was the only viable pathway now. 

The Inn of the Kneeling Man was a famous little establishment—notorious for its location, where your ancestor, Torrhen Stark, first knelt to Aegon the Conqueror. You stared at the old, flaking painting depicting the kneeling figure, his hands bound together. If not for his submission, you likely wouldn’t be standing here at this very spot. 

With a grimace, you made your way into the inn. It was a far cry nicer than any other inn you’d been to the past few moons, and consequently far more crowded. After a quick glance around, you observed no enemy banners or insignia anywhere, and deemed it safe to stay for a bit. The air smelled of fresh bread and crisp ale. You sat down at one of the common room’s tables, your hood pulled up over your hair, which was freshly cropped and dyed as of the previous night. 

“What can I get for you today?” a rotund serving boy asked, smiling at you wide and genuine. All the commotion and bustling made him damp with sweat and rosy-cheeked, but he was happier than ever.

“What do you have?” you asked. 

“We have meat stew, we do. Horse or lamb or rabbit, you can take your pick. Fried onions and eggs and beans, if it please you. We’ve got plenty of ale for you to wash it all down, as well. There are sweetcakes in the pantry, last I checked, but I’d have to look again to make sure. Food goes quickly here!” He laughed good-naturedly, but abruptly paused when he caught a glimpse of your eyes. “Say—I knew a girl who had eyes just like yours.”

You arched a brow. You were sure there were many girls out there that had eyes like yours. “Did you?”

He lowered his voice and glanced about, as if he wasn’t sure of what he could say. “I was traveling with her from King’s Landing, you see. We’ve parted ways since then. I do hope to see her again, once the war is over.”

Wishful thinking, you thought with a sad hum. 

“Who was this girl?” you asked.

“Nobody,” he replied hastily. “A friend.”

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Hot Pie, ser.”

“Don’t call me ser.”

“Sorry. Er—what should I call you?”

“You can call me Ned. That’s a funny name you’ve got, Hot Pie.”

“My mother was a baker.”

The past tense in the sentence was not lost on you. You regarded him in a more sympathetic light.

“My mother was a lady,” you told him in a lowered voice, and his brows raised. 

“Would that make you a lord, then?”

You sucked at your teeth. “Not quite, Hot Pie.” There was a familiar cinch of hunger that took hold of your stomach. “Could I have some of that rabbit stew? And a bit of bread to mop it up with, please. That’s a good lad.”

Hot Pie brightened and nodded several times. “Yes, of course! I’ll bring you the freshest bread we’ve got! I bake them all myself—it didn’t taste that great before I got here, but it’s much better now, I promise.”

The chubby boy hustled away, stopping by a few other tables to take orders and pluck up empty chalices. It took only a few minutes for him to return with the warm stew and bread, and you were quick to start wolfing it down. 

“Sit, Hot Pie. Have some of the bread,” you told the boy. You supposed the best way to get information was talking to someone who worked here rather than a passerby. Hot Pie seemed reluctant to take a break, eager to get back to serving customers, but it was clear that your request was an order, not a offer. The dangerous glint in your gaze made a shiver run down his spine and he didn’t wait to sit down across from you. You wiped a bit of stew from your lips with the back of your hand and asked, “What’s been happening in the Riverlands? I’ve heard talk of sieges during my travels.”

 Hot Pie shifted his weight this way and that. He reached over to tear off a chunk of the fresh bread he brought. As he chewed, he hummed in thought. “You’d be right in that. From what I heard, the Lannisters have come to bring peace to the Riverlands. There have been sieges, but it’s all been resolved now, if I recall. There is still much to be wary of, though. The brotherhood without banners are at large and there are many thieves and crooks out alike. Bad men roam these lands. I’m lucky the cooks in this establishment had the space to take in a boy like me, even if they’ve got me scurrying around until it feels like my feet’re about to fall off.”

You spooned some more stew into your mouth and swallowed heavily. “Yes, I’ve heard of this brotherhood. That’s not what I’m worried about, really. Who’s heading the Lannister sieges? Lord Kevan?”

The young boy shook his head. “It’s the Kingslayer at the head of it all. Jaime Lannister. He just had Raventree surrender to him, I’ve heard.”

There was a brief pause. You could feel your heart seize in your chest, almost painful in its stutter. 

“Ned? Ned, are you alright?”

You hadn’t realized you’d went quiet for that long. Hot Pie was leaning forward in concern, waving his hand a short distance from your face. 

After another moment, you washed the food down with a swig of ale. “I’ll be taking a room for the night, Hot Pie. Will you let the inn owner know for me?” You slipped the boy enough money to cover both the food and the room.

“Oh—yes, of course. Yeah, I’ll get right to that. Just tonight, you say?”

“Just tonight,” you confirmed with a grim nod. “I’ll be off first thing in the morning.”

Pennytree was slowly but surely rebuilding itself. It was larger than Jaime had expected, with its stretches of burned fruit orchards, blackened, crumbling houses, and scorched rubble. But new houses and buildings were being erected, and plenty of them to come, judging by all the wood and raw material he could see stacked in neat, orderly piles.

Despite the obvious signs of life, there was not a single soul to be in sight. Hiding, he presumed. Afraid of me. Perhaps rightfully so.

They set up camp for the night right outside the village. Jaime first sent out half a dozen scouts to make sure no enemies prowled about, then meandered about the wreck of a village, eyeing all the burnt homes and destroyed livelihoods. King’s men had done this, one of the sentries told him. His men.

Not too long after, one of the scouts came back with someone accompanying him. 

“My lord,” the young boy addressed him, pulling Jaime’s attention away from the rubble. “She rode up to the camp, bold as ever, demanding to speak with you.” 

When Jaime’s eyes fell upon the newcomer, his back straightened like a rod. “My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon.” Her face… What had happened to her? “You’ve been wounded,” he said, feeling like a fool for pointing out the obvious. Of course she’s been wounded, half her face has been torn off. 

“I was bitten,” Brienne told him. Her blue eyes swam with pain from more than just her flesh wound. Her hand was wound tight around Oathkeeper. “My lord, I have a request to ask of you. It’s—”

Before she could finish, another scout that he’d sent off at the same time as the first, grizzled and worn by age and war, came riding up to him with a cloaked figure behind his back.

“Apologies for the interruption, my lord,” he said, scowl deep and voice strained. Jaime could sense something was off. “Found this’un trying to creep into camp. When I tried to shackle the lad, he put a blade to my throat and forced me onto the horse to get to you.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed, and he reached for his own sword’s hilt. “I would be ever so grateful if you could release my scout—unless you’d prefer to be gutted like a pig. I would be happy to arrange it.”

“You wouldn’t do that. But I do need to be promised I won’t be pierced with arrows once I let go,” said the figure. 

That voice. Jaime knew that voice—he’d recognize it anywhere. That was no man. Before he could think, your name slipped from his throat, more of a question than anything.

You pulled back the cowl and he could see the flash of the blade pressing deeper into the scout’s throat. Jaime stared at you with eyes as large as the moon. It was you—unmistakably so—with harsh eyes of winter and lips drawn back into a familiar snarl. Your hair was different, he quickly noticed—short and coppery-red. Like Robb Stark’s had been… 

But it was you. You, who he had never expected to see for many years to come. You, who he had willingly given up, even if he never wanted to let you go. What the hell were you doing here? 

Two arm’s lengths away from him, Brienne watched you with utter relief in her eyes, clearly having been at her wit’s end trying to find you the past fortnight. 

“Jaime,” you sharply said, snapping the knight out of his reverie. “Tell them to put their weapons down.”

He glanced behind him to see a few knights with their swords and bows at the ready. Immediately, he waved his hand and told them to leave. They glanced at each other, unsure.

“Put your damn weapons down!” Jaime barked, voice now raised. Almost immediately, the knights reluctantly lowered their arms. Satisfied but still wary, you slid down from the horse and pulled the blade away from the scout. 

“Leave us,” Jaime told the two scouts and all his loitering squires. 

“But—” the grizzled scout began to say.

“Leave us.”

They all scampered off into nearby pitched pavilions, pace quickened by the tone of finality in Jaime’s order.

Jaime then said your name again, and he could see your chest rise and fall rapidly. Calming your nerves or quelling your anger, he wasn’t sure. Instead of saying a word to him, you looked to Brienne. 

“Gods, Brienne, I am very glad to see you. I thought you died,” you said, so soft and unsure. One of your hands reached up to hover just above her flesh wound, but you did not touch it, knowing it must’ve hurt like all hells. “I’m so sorry I left. If I’d known—”

“No, my lady,” she placated. “I’m glad you left. They would have killed you if you hadn’t. I only barely escaped with my life. I apologize—I wasn’t able to protect you.”

“Would someone care to fill me in?” Jaime impatiently asked, gaze flitting back and forth between the two of you. 

Immediately, your head snapped to him, and he had to resist the urge to shrink away. Monstrous knights and beasts aplenty he’d faced, but none were as frightening as you were in that very moment. In the blink of an eye, you darted forward and your palm struck across the side of his face. Jaime staggered a step back in shock, his one hand cradling his now-throbbing cheek. Many seconds of silence passed, thick with tension. 

Then he smiled. All sharp and prideful.

“I’m sure I deserve that,” he said, voice clipped.

The way you regarded him was not hostile, but rather akin to a wounded feral animal of sorts. “You deserve more than that. Burning down the Riverlands. Taking their castles. Have you no shame?”

“No, but I have a duty,” came his dry response.

You reared back with an incredulous look. “Duty? You wouldn’t know duty even if it spat you in the face!”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me?” Jaime taunted, his infuriating smile only widening. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.” 

Your face flushed with heat. With a frustrated huff, you shook your head, knowing it was futile to argue with him. He had kissed you the last time you saw one another, but that felt like centuries ago. Time had weathered the two of you. Was he even the same Jaime that had set you off on Varys’ ship?

“There is much you need to tell me, but I should tell you this first,” Jaime said, eyeing you curiously, mind still reeling. His voice lowered, making sure only you and Brienne could hear him. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, since you’ve left but it’s best you hear this from me than some fishwives’ gossip mill. There is a girl posing as your niece, Arya in Winterfell. She’s just been married to Ramsay Snow. Bolton now, actually. Roose’s bastard has been legitimized.”

Your brows creased at the news. “What? Who’s the girl?” You glanced at Brienne, who’d told you that Arya had been traveling with the Hound a while back, but you decided now was not the best time to share such rumors with Jaime. 

A shrug lifted his shoulders. “Some girl. She’s young and scrawny. It’s close enough to what people are expecting of her. And of the small population that actually remembers what little Arya looked like, who would dare to defy the Warden of the North?”

Anger seized your chest. “Who did this? You?” 

“Of course not,” snorted Jaime. “My dear father did. He’s dead now, so don’t go traipsing off trying to kill him. Tyrion already did that honor for us.”

You swallowed heavily. How haven’t you heard that the mighty Tywin Lannister has fallen? With hesitant hands, you reached out to take his golden one. You knew what it was like to lose a father. Jaime could feel his heart palpitate beneath his chest.

“Jaime…”

Whatever you wanted to say—an offering of condolence, perhaps—died on your tongue. You let the golden hand drop back to his side, and folded your arms across your chest, glaring off elsewhere. Tywin Lannister was no man to mourn—he didn’t deserve your grief.

“I do have good news,” he said, desperate to rekindle whatever good nature the two of you once had.

“I doubt it.”

Jaime could only smile at that. “Bitter Wolf,” he said, almost affectionately. “Your nephew at the Wall—Jon Snow, if I remember?”

At the mention of Jon, your head turned back towards him. “What? What about him? Is he alright?”

The knight let the seconds draw out—he liked the way your eyes widened with anticipation. “I cannot attest to his well being. But I can tell you he’s now Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” He hung his head and laughed a dry, chesty sound. “Bastards are climbing high these days.”

There’s one on the Iron Throne as we speak, he thought to himself. 

“Jon…” you whispered, eyes now distant.

“Stannis is there, as well. Planning on taking Winterfell, perhaps finding another little lordling to plant there. Hells, if he got his hands on you, he’d rejoice…”

Jaime narrowed his eyes in thought. 

“You aren’t planning on keeping me prisoner, are you?” you asked Jaime. If you were to get to Stannis, things would certainly look up for you.

“I promised you I would never, didn’t I?” he replied. “All those moons ago, in Harrenhal. You’re so forgetful.”

You chose to ignore his airy, nonchalant manner. “Could I have a moment to speak to Brienne privately?”

This surprised Jaime. “What could you say to her that you can’t say to me? I thought you trusted me.”

Both you and Brienne stared at him in silence for a few long seconds. Finally, Jaime nodded his defeat. “Fine. I’ll bring the two of you some hot food to fill your bellies. Perhaps then you wouldn’t be so keen on biting my head off.”

“Unlikely,” he heard Brienne mutter as he moved away.

He could just as easily have asked a squire to fetch the food for him, but Jaime thought it wise to let the two of you have a moment to yourselves. He wasn’t keen on being slapped another time.

“My lady,” Brienne said once Jaime left, her voice now strained with urgency. “There’s been—I know this may sound deranged, but I need you to trust me. Lady Catelyn is back. Only, it’s not really her, not as you remember her, she is—angry and torn.”

You reared back at her words. What the hell was she on about?

“Cat?” You tilted your head in befuddlement. “I don’t understand.”

“Her body is cut up and her hair is white and her eyes have been scratched to ribbons. She is a living corpse,” Brienne told you, quick and hushed. Her blue eyes shone with a film of unshed tears. “They call her the Lady Stoneheart. She leads the brotherhood without banners—a group of misfits and bandits and thieves alike, but they rally to her, exacting revenge on everybody involved with the Red Wedding. I tried to tell her of my search for Sansa, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She wanted me to bring her Jaime’s head. And…” Brienne paused for a brief moment to suck in a breath. “She has Podrick. She was about to hang me—asked me to choose between the sword or the noose. And I couldn’t sentence Podrick to his death with me so I…”

“You chose the sword,” you whispered in horror. “I cannot bring Jaime to his death.”

“They’ll kill the boy if we don’t,” Brienne replied, almost pleading.

You gestured about aimlessly. “So what’s your plan? March him right out of his own camp and murder him the second we’re a league away?” You shook your head vehemently. “No. I could not—I will not—kill Jaime. Is she sound of mind, Cat? Will she be willing to hear me speak?”

“I cannot say, my lady. She would not listen to me.”

There came noises from outside the tent and the two of you went silent for many moments before continuing in an even lower volume. “Do not tell Jaime of this. He won’t come if he knows of the truth. We will tell him Sansa is with the Hound holding her hostage—and we need him to come along to pay her ransom with that wretched golden hand of his.”

Brienne nodded. “He must come alone. Lady Stoneheart is not likely to listen to us if he brings a squadron of soldiers with him.”

“We’ll tell him he must come away with no company or Sansa will be killed,” you said, grimacing at the idea of lying to Jaime. “Once we get to Cat, I will try to reason with her. She wouldn’t murder an innocent boy. Seeing Jaime would, hopefully, convince her to release Podrick. And if not… well… I’m sure I could make some sort of bargain with her. She’s my sister.”

This made the tall woman hesitate. Was Lady Stoneheart still Lady Catelyn deep down? “What if she forces you to choose?”

Your expression grew stony. “I would save the innocent squire over the man who fights alongside the monsters that murdered my nephew. But it won’t come to that.”

Brienne’s torn expression was skeptical. You had not yet seen the ruthlessness of Stoneheart; your mind’s image was still picturesque and soft with hope of a distant past. “My lady, I do not know if this is wise.”

“What other choice do we have?”

Once Jaime returned with warm bowls of meat stew, both you and Brienne scarfed down the food at a concerning speed. Jaime watched you with a twisted sense of wonder—part of him thought that he was going to wake up any moment now, and you’d still be gone, off sailing somewhere with the little birds. But you were here—eyeing him intensely over your bowl of stew. It made him feel his chest feel warm and hazy, which was ridiculous, considering the night was frigid. Jaime found himself thinking that he found you frustratingly complex—he was never one for puzzles.

“There’s more if you’d like—” Jaime began to say by the time you had your last spoonful, but you shook your head.

“No time. We have to go.”

Jaime pretended not to be affected when you gave his shoulder a little shove. 

Jaime put up little argument when the both of you told him of Sansa. 

“I’ll come,” he had said, amused at the surprise in your eyes. “I swore an oath. Not that that means much anymore. But I swore, and I intend to see it through.”

“Really?” you asked, disbelief evident in the singular word. “No questions asked, you would follow me just like that?”

“I would follow you off the edge of a cliff if you asked,” Jaime said, so calm it disturbed you. Being away from the tension and stress of King’s Landing really had changed him, it seemed. Distance from his family was, likely, also a contributing factor. “I jumped into a bear cage for the two of you, remember? This isn’t new territory.”

The three of you left Pennytree almost immediately after the meal—Jaime made sure to tell the few men who you passed that he would return in haste. He gave them no explanation as to where he was going. 

Brienne had told you “Sansa” was about a day’s ride away. After many hours on horseback, trying to put as much distance between you and the camp, the three of you stopped by a grove of shady trees for a brief rest to recover the numbness in your legs. The sun was just beginning to rise, and Brienne rode off to do a quick scout of the perimeter.

“Do you still feel the same as when you left?” he asked once the two of you were alone. The green of his sharp eyes seemed to glow in the warm, dim light. “You told me I was a good man. Was that real, or were your words just wind?”

You had been tightening the saddle on the horse, but stiffened at his sudden question, turning to face him. “That was before you aligned yourself with my nephew’s murderers.”

A frown creased the space between his brows. “I was sent away by Cersei’s command. I never wanted to leave Tommen. Do you really think I have a say on who fights who in this five-faced war?”

No longer did the war have five faces—not if your Robb was dead. Anger crossed your expression, and you pushed closer to him in a blaze of fury. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? You always have a choice, and you’re always choosing the wrong one.”

Jaime’s one hand reached out to brush over your arm, but you shoved him away. His expression crumpled. “I chose you, didn’t I?”

You felt tears touch the corner of your eyes, but you willed them away. He had chosen you, to your simultaneous dismay and relief. Why?

Jaime turned his head to the side and breathed out a heavy sigh when you spared him no response. “I avoided as much bloodshed as possible in this war. I kept Edmure Tully alive thinking of you and your family.”

“What, you want me to thank you for not brutally murdering an innocent man?” Your hands twitched at your sides, and Jaime wondered if you were going to slap him again. If you were, he was not going to pull away.

But you didn’t, and he ignored your question to continue his dramatics. “And now I’m leaving it all—the battles, the fighting, my duty—because I want to be with you. You are more important to me than this war. I want to help you find your niece.”

Guilt stroked its heavy hand over your chest. You took no pleasure in lying to Jaime. Especially not when he’s been so honest with you in the past, even when he shouldn’t have been. The wretched knight seemed to notice the conflict warring over your features, and reached out to gently cup your face with his one remaining hand. 

“My Bitter Wolf,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “I’m choosing you. Does that mean nothing?”

You wrenched yourself away from him, causing him to stumble back a few paces, and your eyes stung with salt. I’m not choosing you, you thought miserably. But you spoke no words, spared Jaime a hurtful glare, and whisked away from him, back to Brienne. 

When Brienne led you into the thicket where the brotherhood had set up their makeshift camp, a swarm of men crawled out from the forest like ants to honey. They nodded to Brienne, grabbing a hold of her. She relented with no fight. They took you and Jaime—while you stared at the ground, Jaime erupted in incredulous commands and angry queries to unhand him. He said your name many times, demanding some sort of explanation, but you ignored him. Jaime thrashed and bucked under the grasp of half a dozen men, breaking the nose of two before a blade was slotted beneath his throat. If it had not been for your calm manner, he would have done much worse damage—and he would have easily bested all six with hardly any effort.

“I suppose this is my fault,” Jaime said, voice low, stilling his motions. “My punishment for choosing you, Wolf? What have you done?”

You shut your eyes for a brief moment. After sucking in a breath, you craned your head back to look at the man binding your wrists together. “Take us to her.”

Behind screens of brambles and by the babbling brook, what looked to be the main area of the camp came into view. A large fire crackled greedily within the center. The brotherhood was much larger than you imagined.

Lady Stoneheart was a sight to behold. Her skin was grey, gnarled, and scarred. Her hair was a mess of ashen-white clumps and tangles. Her eyes were a menacing, angry red. Across her throat was a deep gash wound. But beneath all the blood and decay, you could see her—you could see your sister.

“Cat,” you murmured, taking a step towards her. The man holding you tugged you back forcefully. Again, you said her name, this time a sob bubbling forth. It suddenly felt as if you were seven-and-ten again, with your head resting upon her shoulder, listening to her hum as she embroidered Tully fishes onto baby Sansa’s dress. “Cat!”

You cried, heartbroken that the Cat you had known for so many years was now—

She croaked something unintelligible. Her voice was rough, akin to the sound of steel against stone. Beside her stood a thin, bearded man in an oily jerkin. It took you a few moments to recognize him through your bleary gaze. 

“Harwin,” you said, remembering the son of Hullen, the master of horse at Winterfell. The knight had once been a stable-boy when you were no more than a child. He used to ride with Arya, Jon, and Robb during quintains. One of the few chosen to travel down south with Ned after he was appointed to be Hand. What was he doing here?

The man stared at you with only slight sympathy, but made no attempts to help you. “Lady Stoneheart says you have brought him the Oathbreaker.”

“What?” You looked to Jaime, who was staring at you with an indecipherable expression, then turned your eyes back to Catelyn and Harwin. “No, I—Cat, I didn’t come here for that. It’s me. It’s your good-sister. Please, please hear my words.”

Another gruelling noise fell from her torn lips. 

“She does not want to listen to you. She wants justice,” said Harwin. “Bitter Wolf, I believe it best if—”

Rage began to spill over your expression. You could feel the anger that haunted you throughout your youth begin to resurface upon seeing a reminder of your past, of Winterfell. “I’m not speaking to you!” you just about snarled at him, lips curled. You looked back to Catelyn’s desecrated corpse. “Cat, please. It’s your sister—Ned’s sister. Remember?”

Cat grated out a sound.

“She remembers,” Harwin translated. “She remembers everything.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Then you must remember the oath Jaime swore before you released us. He is no oathbreaker, Cat. I was there. I saw Sansa—hells, if we could have left we would have. She disappeared, and I know where she is.” You hoped your lie sounded more believable than it sounded; you misliked the way your voice trembled with uncertainty. “She’s in the Eyrie. Littlefinger has taken her there.”

There was a cascade of murmurs across the brotherhood. Stoneheart, however, stared at you with her cruel, torn eyes.

“Let him redeem himself,” you pleaded. “Cat, let him fulfill his oath.”

The sound that left Stoneheart was sharp and angry. Harwin, solemn, said seconds after she fell silent, “‘Not an oathbreaker?’ she asks. Jaime Lannister is the reason why her son was murdered.”

“Robb?” you whispered. “That’s not true, Cat. We were still traveling together to King’s Landing when it happened. I miss him, too. More than anything, more than life itself—but it’s not right to blame him for a crime he has not committed.” Finally, you tore your eyes away from Catelyn to look over at Jaime. For once, he was silent, watching you with creased, heavy brows. 

Stoneheart gestured to a man nearby, wielding a sword. An executioner? You felt your blood run cold.

“Jaime Lannister will not be leaving alive,” said Harwin. 

Having been quiet for longer than usual, Jaime finally decided to speak. “I demand a trial by combat,” he announced, voice clear and devoid of fear, a stark contrast to you. “Clearly I won’t be getting a fair trial otherwise, no matter how many testimonies I receive in my favor.”

Stoneheart twitched with mute fury. Her shredded eyes honed in on Jaime as she garbled out more nonsense.

“Very well,” Harwin translated, expression distinctly Northern in his grimness. “Her champion will be Brienne of Tarth.”

You could feel your heart attack the inside of your ribcage, akin to a panicked bird in a cage. “Unhand me,” you snarled, turning to the man still holding you. 

The man said nothing, but with one look at Stoneheart’s expressionless nod, released his grip. Immediately, you sprang away from your captor and made to stand between your former good-sister and Jaime.

“I know you must think him a monster. Trust me, I did, as well. But he’s not a monster—he’s just a man. A better one than most.” Your voice cracked as you spoke. You didn’t dare look back at Jaime, keeping your eyes fixed on Cat. “I’ll extend you a deal. A promise. I will personally bring him back to you if he fails to find Sansa within a year, and you’ll be able to do what you want with him. Please, Cat. I was your kin by law. You were my sister. Please let him help me find your daughters. Just give him some time to fulfill his oath.”

Lady Stoneheart seemed to consider your words seriously for the first time since you were brought out in front of her. She said something then, cold and emotionless, and you could already tell this was another denial before Harwin could even begin to translate.

“She asks if you have decided to betray your family for the Lannisters,” said Harwin.

Your expression soured in incredulity. “I am a Stark of the North,” you whispered. “I will never turn my back on my family. Sansa is not too far, I’m sure. We’ll be able to find her. She’s suspected for the murder of the bastard king, Cat. If Cersei finds her before us, your daughter will be dead. And Arya—Arya is in the North. In… in Winterfell. She’s to marry the Bolton bastard and will be at the mercy of the Lannisters.”

It was a lie, you knew. Jaime told you it was some girl posing as Arya, not Arya herself. Would Stoneheart know? You could only pray she didn’t.

The name Bolton seemed to stir something in her. Her torn eyelids closed open and shut, open and shut, open and—

“Ahh…ya?” her ragged voice strained. That was the first word she’d uttered that you understood. 

“Yes,” you said, eyes misting over once more. “Arya. The Boltons serve the Lannisters now. With Jaime by my side… he may be the only bartering tool powerful enough to sway Roose, now that Tywin and Joffrey are both dead.”

After another lengthy pause, Stoneheart straightened her crooked spine (which still remained considerably bent), and nodded once, then twice. She rasped out some things to Harwin.

Even Harwin looked mildly surprised when he translated. “She accepts this deal. However, she has one condition.”

“Name your price,” you said.

“Bring back Jaime Lannister in a year. If you don’t have at least one of the girls with you, he will die, and you will die with him.”

Behind you, you could hear Jaime suck in a breath, as you knew without even sparing him a glance that he was about to say something rash. You took a step back closer to him and immediately said before he could get a single offensive word in: “Alright. Yes.”

Finally, you turned to look at Jaime. To your surprise, his eyes were wide and—was that fear you could see? Anxious flecks of gold amidst the arrogant calm of his green? You hadn’t even realized that Stoneheart had said something more until Harwin cleared his throat. 

“You will be given a warm meal to fill your belly, and you and the Kingslayer will be sent off.”

“What of Podrick and Brienne?” you asked, looking towards the large knight—your friend. Your only friend.

“They will be kept prisoners—to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain. We cannot trust your word alone. If Jaime Lannister is not brought back for execution within a year, the woman and the squire will both be met with noose. Bring back the girls, and they will be spared.”

“My word alone?” you parroted in offense. “I am Stark. These are my nieces we are talking about.”

Harwin merely shrugged at this. “The Boltons were one of your family’s bannermen. They are not the paradigm of honor you once thought, either.” With that, he gestured towards a few watching men standing further away from the fire. “Bring them food. They will set off in the morn.”

The brotherhood had given you meager rations for your journey. A handful of salted meat (you hadn’t had the heart to ask exactly what kind of meat), a few chunks of crusty bread, and two leather pitchers full of water that tasted distinctly of old metal. You decided not to think of it too much and accepted what was given to you without complaint. They allowed for you to keep your weapons—they knew better than anyone the two of you would hardly survive a fortnight without a form of defense. 

When the two of you left, you bid Brienne a solemn goodbye and a promise to return. The look she gave you was equally somber, but she nodded in understanding. Jaime made a snarky remark about missing seeing her brutish face first thing in the morning, and Brienne simply pretended not to hear him. 

The plan was to move north, avoiding the Twins crossing, for obvious reasons… and head eastward towards Greywater Watch, the seat of House Reed. Howland Reed was a close friend of Ned’s, a small, kind man from what little you remembered of him… you were sure he was more likely to be friend than foe—though Jaime Lannister in your company made the situation a tad more complicated. You weren’t entirely sure how Howland would react to a Lannister in his halls. Many moons ago, Robb had sent orders to Howland to defend the North by not allowing Tywin Lannister’s army through. But Jaime was not Tywin, and the two of you were no army. Greywater Watch was the most promising place to go. 

Your journey the first few days consisted of many questions from Jaime. How was the trip? What happened to Varys’ ship? Where did you go? Why did you come back? Where are we going now? Why aren’t you eating? Has anyone ever told you you’re terrible at making conversation? So on and so forth. For every ten questions, Jaime counted you bothering to answer only one, and it was often curt, single-worded replies. At least this time he was not shackled with a big brute of a woman prodding his back every five seconds, so he supposed he had less to complain about. 

“I could leave you here now,” Jaime had said. “I could abandon you while you sleep and alert my men of your whereabouts.”

“Do it,” you said airily. “I’ll go back to Stoneheart and ask her to hunt you down.”

Jaime’s sharp face soured. “I wouldn’t leave you. Even though you make things incredibly difficult.”

“Oh, I know,” was all you said in return, and the conversation ended with that.

On the third night of traveling north, the two of you decided to settle down by a bubbling creek. The water was greenish and looked rather terrible to drink, but water was water. Jaime watched you build a small fire. He asked who had taught you to build fires, and, expectedly, was received with silence. To his small delight, you sat beside him instead of across from him. 

It was only a few minutes later when you spoke. “She’ll kill you,” you whispered, just loud enough so that he would hear over the howling wind and crackling fire. It was obvious to Jaime that you’d been thinking about her the entire journey so far. Your eyes flickered upwards to search his face. His beard seemed to give him a scruffy, wild spirit that you rather appreciated. “Even if you bring Sansa back to her, she’ll kill you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

You were so tired of crying. You’d spent your entire life doing so, and it seemed you weren’t stopping any time soon—you felt the tears slip down your face regardless of your contempt for them. Jaime swiped the wetness away for you with a soft touch for a calloused thumb, but you shifted away from his touch. 

“Because she will never forgive you. As Lady Catelyn, perhaps she once would have. But she is no longer my good-sister Cat. Not anymore. I do not blame her.”

There was a long silence. Jaime regarded you with a look that you could only read as warm. “If she kills me once I’ve fulfilled my oath, I would gladly welcome the prospect of dying after doing something honorable for a change. I do not fear death.”

“I do,” you told him. “I’ve seen it everywhere I go. And to see you dead… it would ruin me. You ruin me.” Another pause, then— “I loathe you, I really do.” It sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself more than him. Jaime made a gruff, chuckling noise, even though it was no laughing matter. Your hands curled into tight fists. “I think if there existed a world where I never met you… I would’ve been far happier. How does the saying go? Never meet your idols.”

Jaime stopped laughing and reared back a small distance with quirked brows. “I’m your idol?”

“That’s not the point,” you said, rolling your eyes away from him to the dark sky. “I just think you were much more appealing as an idea in my head. That’s all.”

Jaime thought it very pretty, the way your nose wrinkled and your cheeks warmed the more flustered you got. “No, no, I would really like it if you elaborated on this ‘idol’ matter. Missing a hand, wronged you a dozen different times, and brought shame to everything I’ve ever been named to? That is who your idol would be?”

“I don’t mind the missing hand. How it went missing is a different story. And yes, you’ve wronged me, but I’ve wronged you, as well. I lied to you. Granted, it’s not of the same caliber.” 

“You lied to me, but then you lied for me. I would call it even. Who’s keeping score?” Jaime then regarded you with a queer look. “You’re chatty today. I like you with a loose tongue.” 

You ignored his statement, stoking the fire by tossing more broken branches that Jaime had collected before into the licking flames. “You shouldn’t be so proud of being my idol. From childhood it was because of your infamously worst deed. I used to think you heard my prayers from all the way down south and killed the king just for me. I was no older than one-and-ten. Don’t let it get to you.”

It was already getting to Jaime. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smug grin from his sharp lips. 

“You honor me,” he said, sounding genuine; a rare feat. “I am glad to be your idol.”

That brought a touch of fondness to your wintry countenance. If Jaime wasn’t careful, he would find himself lost in those tired, sad eyes of yours. There was a quiet beauty to them.

“Your eyes,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Your father had the very same eyes.”

At first, he thought you would bite his head right off, with the way you stared at him in that same wounded-animal expression you often wore. Then you quickly looked away, sucking in a small breath. “Do I? He told me I had my mother’s eyes.”

Jaime softened. “I never met your mother.”

“Neither did I. Not really.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. Apologies were foreign on his tongue. 

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “After all, how can you miss something that never really existed for you?”

There was more silence before Jaime said, “I miss many things that never existed for me.” He could feel your curious glance roam over his features, so he decided to change the subject. “Would you like to hear a story?” Before you could say anything—not that you were going to—Jaime said, “My brother was married once before he was wed to Sansa.”

You tilted your head, suddenly interested. “He was?”

“When I was twenty years of age and Tyrion three-and-ten, we were traveling together between Lannisport and Casterly Rock. We came across a maiden. A crofter’s daughter. Tysha, her name was. She was being robbed by a group of outlaws. I chased them off and Tyrion looked after Tysha. He was madly in love with her, you see. He took her maidenhead and the two were later married by a septon drunk off Dornish red. I wasn’t there for the occasion… I had returned to King’s Landing to attend Robert Baratheon at the time. The duties of a Kingsguard.” Jaime smiled at that, sharp as a fox. “A fortnight later, the septon felt awfully guilty and confessed to my father what he’d done. Of course, Tywin Lannister wasn’t happy about his son marrying a common girl. So he had me lie and say that she was a whore I paid for Tyrion to have a few nights with.”

“That’s terrible,” you said, voice quiet. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Jaime could only shrug at that. Whatever residual guilt he had harbored over the girl was still there, though the many years had softened the blow. “I have no proper excuse. I was young. Father was convinced she only wanted Tyrion’s money and not Tyrion. He convinced me to lie that I had set everything up, outlaws and all—and I thought it best at the time, considering Tyrion was so miserable all the time. He missed her.”

“What of the girl?” you whispered, stomach knotted, knowing no story like this had a happy end.

Jaime drew in a shallow breath. “She was brought to Casterly Rock. My father had her raped by the guards to put her in her place. A silver for each guard. Then he had Tyrion rape her, too. Left a gold coin for her because Lannisters are worth more. The marriage was undone, and now hardly a living soul knows.”

There was horror written plain as day across your features. “Your father was a monster. It was no wonder Tyrion killed him.”

To that, Jaime nodded. “It was at times like that I considered myself fortunate to be a Kingsguard, far from him. Either way, I would have been an Oathbreaker from the start. Betray my king or betray my blood?”

“Would you really have defied your father’s orders?” you asked. 

Without needing to think about it, Jaime said, “Yes. If I needed to.”

The wind howled cold whispers into your ears as you pondered on his story. You drew further into your cloak’s hood. “I’ll tell you a story.”

This pleasantly surprised Jaime. “That’s a first,” he said. “Out with it.”

“The first time a boy kissed me, I was seven and he was one-and-ten, if I recall correctly. Perhaps two-and-ten. It was only a moon before the tourney at Harrenhal. He was the son of a blacksmith living in the castle. He would bring me arrowheads he made—they were terrible, blunt little pieces, but I accepted his gifts nonetheless. He kissed me as he handed me another arrowhead. I shoved him away as fast as I could—I was afraid I’d done something wrong, and Father would be cross with me. I was so angry with him… and he was so afraid of me. He asked for my forgiveness—begged for it, even.”

Jaime leaned forward. “And?”

To his bemusement, your expression grew rather embarrassed. “I kicked him.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not too ba—”

“In the face.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, it was not my finest moment. Two of his teeth came out in bloody stumps. I felt sorry for him, but I told him never to touch me again and I ran off. Brandon had to take care of the mess while Lyanna and Ned comforted me. I was sobbing in his arms, afraid the stableboy had gotten me with child. Lyanna had to explain why she was sure I wasn’t with child.” You used the cowl of your cloak to shield your burning features.

As if sensing your thoughts, Jaime flicked the hood back just enough so he could meet your eyes. “And? What came of him? Did your father lop his tiny cock off? Became a eunuch and was sent off to the Wall?”

“No,” you hotly replied, swatting away his hand. “It was just a warning and a slap on the wrist, was all. He actually became a distinguished rider in Winterfell. I hardly ever spoke to him after that—he kept a respectful distance. If I recall, he’s even gotten himself a wife and children.”

A silence stretched thin between the two of you. Then, to your shock, Jaime began cackling up a storm, even bending at the stomach and slapping at his thigh in hilarity. His ribs ached with how much he was laughing.

“It wasn’t a funny story,” you said, almost stern. “I feel bad for him.”

This made Jaime pause. “He forced himself on you, and you feel bad for him? If anything, he deserved a worse fate.” 

“We were children. Things are much simpler when you’re children.” You tilted your head, recalling another memory. “When I was an even younger child, perhaps Rickon’s age now, I told my siblings I was afraid of doors.”

The knight beside you scoffed at that, stifling the remnants of his laughter. “Doors?”

“Well—not the physical wooden slab itself, but… the idea of not knowing what was behind it. It terrified me. But that was all too much and too hard to explain to my brothers and sister at such a young age, so I simply told them I was afraid of doors.” 

Jaime regarded you with narrowed eyes. “Hm. I can’t even picture it.”

“Brandon and Ned never let me sit closest to a door from then on. Benjen always teased me and would sling me over his shoulder and stand the both of us by the doorway, and then he’d ask if I was scared. He was cruel the way brothers are cruel. The way you were to Tyrion, I suppose.”

A discontent noise fell from Jaime’s lips, but he did not disagree with you. 

“And Lyanna… Lyanna tried to help me face this fear by telling me to open a closed door to check what’s behind it.”

Jaime hummed. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing ever,” you said, shaking your head. “Except one time, Benjen was hiding behind. But he never scared me, not ever.”

“And are you now?”

“Hm?”

“Are you afraid of what could be behind a door?”

There was a pause as you thought. You picked up some more branches to toss into the fire, watching the fire shift and pop with the new food. “Would you think less of me if I told you yes?” you whispered.

How Jaime saw you then was how he was sure a moth saw light. “No,” he said, feeling as if something had caught in his throat. “I do admire your fear, Wolf. It’s something I can learn from.”

Jaime was asleep. One thing you noticed was that he always left you to sleep past the agreed time he should’ve woken you up to swap watches. 

“You need your sleep,” he had said with an easy shrug and a grin once you confronted him about the matter. “You look terrible, you know.”

As irritating as he was, you found yourself grateful for the extra hours of rest. The journey certainly hadn’t been kind on your body; your feet were aching with the grueling pace you had set for yourself. While Jaime was catching up on a few hours of sleep, you would watch the treeline in the distance, listening to the leaves rustle with the breeze and the owls hooting to their hatchlings. The stars were bright that night, pale amongst the sky. You wondered how many there were, and if you could manage to count them all before having to rouse Jaime.

You only managed to get to twenty before you heard a swishing noise from a thicket in the distance. You tensed, immediately reaching for your dagger. The two of you were somewhat protected by a brambled hedge of shrubbery, but that did not mean you were entirely safe. 

A four-legged figure nosed its way out of the green. Your muscles relaxed, but only slightly. An animal was far less dangerous than a man. It would likely scurry off in a moment or two.

You stared at it for a while longer, and the animal drew nearer. A wolf, you realized, noting its bushy, swishing tail. Then, your brows knitted together. It was far larger than a regular wolf, near monstrous in size, looking to be taller than you, even in the distance. It had a glossy grey pelt and glowing, amber eyes. 

This was no normal wolf. It was a direwolf. 

You breathed out a shaking breath. Direwolves hardly wandered as far south as Winterfell, much less down to the Riverlands. It couldn’t have wandered here all on its own. Lady was dead, you knew that to be true. Grey Wind murdered by the Freys. Shaggydog and Summer were likely killed by Theon Greyjoy, or thrown into a cage somewhere in Winterfell. Little Ghost was on the Wall with Jon. That left—

“Nymeria,” you murmured in shock. 

You stood up. Would she recognize you? Or worse—would she hurt you?

It was probably a good idea to shake Jaime awake. You casted a brief glance over at him, curled up by the sack of food rations, his sharp, handsome face softened with slumber. Deciding against it, you began to creep nearer to the direwolf. She stood with her ears pricked, unblinking, not taking her eyes off you.

“Hello, sweet one,” you said, voice low and level, despite the rushed blood coursing through your veins. Nymeria’s ears twitched. “It’s been a long time.”

The wolf lifted one paw, swayed her tail against the grass twice. Then her sharp teeth bared in a snarl, glowing beneath the starlight.

You stepped back, sensing her growing hostility. It felt ridiculous speaking to a direwolf, but you knew how intelligent they were. If there was even a shred of a possibility, it was worth pursuing. 

“Do you know where Arya is? Arya.” 

At the name, Nymeria put her paw back down. Her head tilted, much like she used to do when she was a confused pup learning how to spin for food. Abruptly, she turned and bounded back into the trees. A deep howl echoed through the forest, sounding ghostly in its timbre. Other howls echoed after her—Nymeria clearly wasn’t alone. You were grateful the other wolves hadn’t approached. Just a day ago, Jaime was telling you about many squadrons of Lannister bannermen being mauled by a pack of wolves, led by a large she-wolf. Perhaps that was Nymeria. She certainly fit the description.

You returned to the bramble barrier, finding Jaime still sound asleep. He had turned whilst you were gone, now facing away from the sack. You sat down beside him, and, strangely, found yourself excited for him to wake up so you could tell him what had happened.

There was, you waged, about an hour before the sun would rise. You would wake Jaime then, and the two of you would continue northward to Howland Reed’s castle. If the pace the two of you had set was consistent, you should be there in no more than a fortnight. 

It was quiet for a long while. You thought you could hear someone humming a familiar tune, and after waiting with your ears pricked for a moment, you realized you were imagining it—after all, you knew nobody but Benjen that used to hum that melody. Your heart ached at the thought of your youngest older brother. 

There came a rustle, a step, and the snap of a branch somewhere off to your left. You turned, hand curled around the handle of the dagger, muscles coiled at the ready. Perhaps Nymeria had come back, you pondered, unsure if that was something you would even want to happen. Probably not. 

Another snap. A shuffle. A thud. You narrowed your eyes—wolves familiar with this forest would be far more sure-footed than that. 

After a tense second, you were proved right. Before you knew it, half a dozen men swarmed out of the trees, silent despite their clumsy feet, eyes wide and pale with the moonlight. They all carried weapons—though they were rather unconventional ones; pitchforks, shovels, garden pick-axes. Their tattered clothing told you that they were likely farmers who had turned to the life of thievery in times of desperation. So much for Jaime bringing peace to the Riverlands.

Hurriedly, you managed to kick at Jaime’s leg just as one man was already advancing on you with a snarl, barreling forward and pinning you down onto the foliage underneath. All the air slipped out of your lungs. You were no good at close-hand combat, and hadn’t had time to properly train in many moons—but you relied on your instincts, which told you to claw at any part of his skin you could reach, and lift your feet as high as he could possibly allow, kicking him in the chest. 

By now, Jaime had been hauled off by a bigger, burlier man that stood so tall that Jaime only came up to his chest. There was another going straight for him—but you had more pressing matters to focus on. The man that had been on top of you was drawing back with wounded, ragged gasps, and you pounced forward, brandishing your dagger.

He had time to let slip one plea for his life—but you were quick to plunge the sharp end straight down his sternum with as much force possible, piercing his heart swiftly. Out it came—and down again. And again. Again. Once more. There was blood all over your forearms, some flecks landing wetly on your face. With a clenched jaw, you slashed his throat. Rubies dribbled from the cut, glittering under the moonlight. You abandoned his body, briefly wondering if Nymeria and her pack would come back and feast.

When you turned, there were two more thieves hesitating. They looked on the younger end—just boys. You scowled at them, made a motion as if you were going to attack them next, and they promptly turned on their heels and fled. When you looked over to Jaime, he had managed to grab his sword and had pierced his two assailants swiftly. They fell to the ground with bloodied noises of pain. Jaime flicked the excess blood off of the blade with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. Then, he looked at you, taking in your gore-soaked appearance. His brows raised when he looked over at the corpse you’d stabbed and slashed.

“What happened to being so concerned over innocent men?” Jaime questioned, half-genuine and half-provoking. 

“I told you before,” you hissed. “There are always a few rotten apples in an orchard. I would have been fine helping the men find food—pinning me to the ground with the intent of robbing us, or worse, revokes them of any right to my pleasantries.”

Jaime smiled at that. “Right—because you’re well renowned for your pleasantries. Is it concerning that I find you even more attractive covered in blood?” he asked as he drew nearer, blunt as always. “I do think I’m falling for you like this.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you snapped. You turned to look at the treeline, where Nymeria had come out. 

“Are you alright?” he queried, expression shifting into one of concern, single hand reaching out to touch your arm, tender from when you slammed into the ground. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine. Most of the blood isn’t mine. I just have to wash it off.”

Jaime nodded, looking strangely prideful. He offered his hand out for you to take. You stared at him for a moment, then brushed past him and made your way to the river. He trailed after you with a barely-repressed smile.

“What were you looking for?” he asked as you began to scrub the blood off you. Thankfully, it came off quite easily since it hadn’t had time to set and dry on you. 

“I think I saw someone I knew,” you muttered. The excitement of telling him the news had worn off with the attack. The water was frigid, and though you were well acquainted with the cold, you were going to catch your death if you loitered longer than you needed to.

With furrowed brows, Jaime regarded you as if you had grown a second head. “Who?” His hand was already falling to the pommel of the longsword. 

You shook your head. “Not a person. A direwolf.”

After you had washed up, dripping with river water but now void of grime, you and Jaime were quick to pack up what little you were carrying with you, to start off northward once again. When you had asked if Jaime wanted to wash himself before leaving, he only laughed at your face. “I’ll freeze my balls off if I do that. I’d rather keep them for now. I can bathe once we get to Greywater Watch.” Where there was one gang of thieves, there were likely a dozen others—it was better to keep moving.

“Only if Howland Reed doesn’t skin your balls off himself,” you remarked.

Jaime didn’t say anything to that, but he glanced over at you with a grin. That was likely the closest thing to a jest he’d ever heard you say.

As you walked, Jaime noticed you were favoring your left side, trying not to put too much weight on your right foot. “Did he knock you there?” he asked, gesturing downward to your ankles.

You scowled at him, as if irritated that he was observing the smallest of your actions. It made you feel terribly intruded upon. “I’m fine,” you repeated. 

Jaime shrugged. “If you say so.” But he stepped closer, occasionally bumping into your right side as if to help you keep your weight off. Arse.

About an hour after the skirmish, Jaime decided he had enough of the silence. He was keen on hearing your voice again, even if it was going to tell him to fuck right off. 

“You can reclaim the North as yours now,” he said. “If you gathered enough loyal men… you could.”

You sucked in a breath. “I have more pressing matters before sitting on a throne.” You didn’t bother to list them, but you thought them glaringly obvious.

Sansa. Arya. Brienne. Pod. Ca—Stoneheart.

“Everyone in my family is scattered and alone and I need to be there for them. What good would it be wasting all my energy battling the Boltons?” 

Jaime wasn’t used to being the smarter of the two. He felt that it was the most logical decision at the moment, considering the two of you would practically be wandering about aimlessly if not for going after your rightful seat. “Perhaps you can be there for your family by retaking your home.” With a softer tone, he added on, “Might I remind you… you have nothing right now. No castle, no money, no weapons, nothing. Only me to watch you.”

This seemed to struck a nerve in you, much to Jaime’s simultaneous dismay and elation. 

“I don’t need you to watch me,” you scathingly said. “You’re just with me because you’re an important political figure that could be of use. And I didn’t want to have to watch my good-sister lop your head off.”

Jaime briefly wondered why, but instead arrogantly retorted, “Well, I’m sure I wouldn’t have let it come to—”

“But I suppose you’re right,” you admitted, interrupting him with a melancholic puff of an exhale, words weighing heavy.

Jaime barked out a laugh. “Say that again. I want to savor it this time.”

“You are insufferable,” you said, though it lacked any true bite. “To save my family, I must leave them. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“You’re not leaving,” Jaime reminded. “You’re just taking… a short detour.”

“Short,” you snorted. “It would be a miracle if we can take Winterfell back before the year’s mark.”

Jaime squared his jaw, now thinking back to Brienne. “Alright. After Greywater Watch, what then? Where would you like to go? I would…” He stopped walking, and grabbed hold of your wrist. Your eyes flashed dangerously as they met his. “I would follow you wherever you go.”

For once, you had no harsh retort for him.

Instead, you asked, almost as if searching for a reason for him to rescind his statement, “Even if I keep telling you to leave?”

Jaime nodded. “Even then.”

“And when I put a knife to your throat, deciding that I want to take revenge for my nephews?”

Again, there was no hesitation on his end. Jaime hardly thought before he spoke, but it was the truth nonetheless. “I would let you cut me open until you’re satisfied with me, if that’s what you wish. Are you done asking me needless questions or shall we start playing a drinking game with our muddy river water?”

Your features, which had softened considerably, now fell back into their naturally irritated state. You nodded with solemn determination. Jaime thought you looked much like your brother Ned right then. 

“Right. I think that settles it.” You started off walking again, shaking your wrist free of his hold. “We’ll go north, as we have. But—it’s time I stop hiding.”

In the distance, a single wolf howled. 

“It’s time I returned home.”

[impresively-large-swan]

Also, the fact animals built to eat meat, have a digestive tract to do as such

Animals that are not built to eat meat, have a difrent digestive tract to digest plants

Humans, have a special tract to digest both plants and meat

Our front teeth are also much thiner to bite through tough foods such as meat and our molars are wider to better chew both plants and meat

[thestrangepoet]

The White and Orange Cat | The Magnus Archives One Shot

Based on @ultramarinaa's Cat!Martin AU and @coworkerjonathan's interpretation of it. If you would prefer a sweeter, fluffier take, that is over here.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Character death, animal death, crippling and ungodly levels of angst.

DISCLAIMER: I wrote this in an hour and haven't proofread it, so please forgive its very first-draftiness.

──── •✧• ────

[CLICK] 

Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding the…the m-murder of Martin Blackwood. Statement…recorded by subject, October 17th, 2017.

Statement begins.

I…killed my coworker, yet the police refuse to arrest me. 

I know why, of course. For whatever reason, I remain valuable to Elias. His intimidation and manipulation has proved sufficient to keep the authorities from accepting my confession, despite the fact that no one has seen nor heard from Martin Blackwood in months. 

No one will see or hear from Martin e-ever…ever again. And it is my fault. 

It is all my fault. 

I…

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding the murder of Martin Blackwood. Statement recorded by subject, October 17th, 2017.

We have collected a number of strange and unusual books at the Magnus Institute. He knew not to meddle with them. He knew. Maybe the rather unassuming title convinced him it wasn’t a bad one, or…or maybe he didn’t realise he’d picked up a Leitner. 

The Ninth Life. I should have noticed sooner. I should have…

I…God, Martin, I…

I’m sorry.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding the murder of Martin Blackwood. Statement recorded by subject, October 18th, 2017.

[THE ARCHIVIST EXHALES SHAKILY] 

Martin disappeared on June 4th, 2017. It was certainly unusual for him not to show up to work, especially without a call or message to explain himself. Naturally, we tried to contact him, but he didn’t answer his phone, nor did he answer the door when Tim visited his house to check in on him. I’d have gone myself, only another strange occurrence had taken place that day too, one I just…didn’t connect. 

The appearance of a large, white-and-orange furred cat in the archives. 

No one seemed to know where he had come from, yet he was remarkably well-behaved. In hindsight, he…

[ONCE AGAIN, THE ARCHIVIST FALTERS. SILENCE SETTLES FOR A WHILE, PAPERS ARE RUSTLED, AND WHEN HE SPEAKS AGAIN, HIS VOICE STRAINS WITH REGRET] 

I stayed to take care of the cat. I should have gone to Martin’s place, but I…I don’t know. I felt compelled to look after this poor, lost creature. 

He didn’t seem keen to leave the archives, and he constantly prowled around Martin’s desk. We’d even, ahh, joked that he was a good replacement for Martin. 

He hid under the shelves after that and didn’t come out for an hour. When he finally did, he actually hissed at me. Again…hindsight, I suppose…

So, that was the situation we found ourselves in. Martin was mysteriously absent, and a strange white-and-orange cat had appeared in his stead. 

I named the cat – I named Martin, for no doubt it is clear to whoever is listening to this that the cat was Martin himself – I named him Champion. 

Champion took quite a shine to me. I almost volunteered to take him home, especially when it became clear that Elias was allergic to cats, but Tim protested. Said Champion should be an office cat. “Keep the rats from visiting,” he said. I presume that was a dig at Elias.

For what it was worth, Champion seemed very happy to remain in the archives. He set himself up at Martin’s desk, snoozing on his chair or in my lap. He even seemed to be reading statements and—

Well. I suppose he was. 

Probably looking for a way to save himself when it became clear we would not.

It was weeks before I began to realise something was wrong. It’s…not the first time I’ve found myself aware or knowing something without any obvious reason or source, but I couldn’t shake the notion that Champion was slowly becoming…

Less…familiar. 

He napped on Martin’s chair, as always. Slinked around my legs in the morning as I made tea. But he stopped doing things that we used to find so endearing. He used to miaow in protest when I’d reheat my forgotten tea in the microwave. He’d turn his nose up at cat food; we were costing the Institute a small fortune buying him human food! If I pulled out a packet of cigarettes from the drawer, he’d leap to try to bite the box and run off with it. He succeeded a few times too! 

But he just stopped one day. Microwaving tea didn’t upset him anymore. He was no more concerned about my smoking than he was about anything else. He started eating the cat food Elias insisted on putting out every day “to teach him what he’s supposed to eat”. 

He stopped being particular about me. 

I know, that sounds ridiculous. I realised there was something wrong with the cat when I was no longer his favourite. 

That was when I started digging. Properly digging. Not Martin disappearing for weeks. No. A cat deciding to sit in Tim’s lap instead of mine, that was what spurred me to investigate Champion’s origins. 

…

…I, err…I went through Martin’s desk. I should have done it sooner, it just…didn’t feel right. Even when days became weeks, it just…seemed like a violation? It wasn’t that I didn’t care where Martin was, I swear, it just…felt like he’d come back at any moment.

The police had rattled through it, of course, but they didn’t pay any mind to the battered copy of The Ninth Life. 

But I did. I was practically drawn to its shabby cover, my heart growing colder and colder, knowing whose damned name would be scrawled on a bookplate on the front page. 

From the library of Jurgen Leitner. 

I didn’t read too far. I gleaned enough from its presence, its former owner, and Champion’s appearance to finally put the pieces together. 

Martin hadn’t been missing. He’d been in the archives every single damned day…as Champion. 

Martin was Champion. And, as with any good Leitner, his humanity had been fading away day by day as we chuckled at his antics and cooed at his funny miaows and gave sickly sweet sympathy as he bumped into a chair leg or door again and…

He was trying to tell us. Of that, I am now sure. He was begging us to notice him. 

He’d always been begging for someone to notice him. Notice his plight. 

And we failed him. 

I threw the book back into the drawer and raced through the office, searching high and low for any sign of that fluffy tail or strangely attentive blue eyes. I called out for him. By his name. 

Nothing. 

I finally found him in the break room, curled up without a care in the world on the counter. I called his name – Martin, that is, not Champion – praying he’d look up, that joy and relief would flood his features, that he’d realise he was saved. 

He barely flicked an ear at me. 

Not until I said his name. 

Champion. 

He looked up at that. For a little while, at least. 

The sight of me crying didn’t interest him all too much, I suppose. 

I knew at that moment that Martin was gone. I knew…but I didn’t want to know that. The idea of having failed Martin so spectacularly just…it just drove me to try to fix it all. 

I’d run out of time before I’d even started looking for a solution. And I knew that, deep down. I suppose that is why I was so reckless, so willing to believe the most hideous of suggestions. 

It took me three nights of pouring over literature and statements, with Champion occasionally visiting me for ear scritches or to remind me loudly that he hadn’t been fed yet. It was as I was scraping out some pungent chopped meat into his bowl that I recalled one of the countless fairy tales I’d devoured in my youth. 

The White Cat. A-a…Slavic fairy tale, I believe. I don’t recall all the details; the usual fare, a king and his sons, he sets them three tasks, completing them will grant great fortune. But one of the tasks struck me – he requested his sons to fetch the most beautiful princess to take as a bride. One of the sons had formed a bond with an intelligent white cat who had helped with the previous tasks, so he returned to the cat to ask for its assistance. 

The cat told the son that she would give him a beautiful princess…if he would…if…

[THE ARCHIVIST HESITATES, HIS VOICE CATCHING]

If he would…cut off her head. He…refused. But then he did so and from the cat’s body, a beautiful woman emerged. 

The woman explained that she’d been transformed into a cat by some power or other, and she would only be free if the man she loved cut off her head, I think, and…

…

…He loved me. 

Martin. I…I know he did. I didn’t at the time – I am not so arrogant – I just thought that…that maybe the solution, as awful as it was, it was from a book, a-a-a tale about a person cursed to be a cat and I just…

I thought Martin would reappear if I did. If I did the same as the prince. 

He was eating, oblivious as I went to the kitchen drawer. The knives obviously aren’t the biggest or sharpest, it’s a workplace, but I found one that I thought would be, ah…swift, a-at least. 

Picked him up. He didn’t mind. He liked being on the counter. Think he liked being able to see everything a bit better. 

His eyesight was terrible, you see, and…

I-I think he knew? Or…m-maybe he wasn’t entirely…cat yet. Maybe a small part of Martin was still there, still aware, and realised what I was going to attempt, and…

He…panicked. 

…You can, from the fairy tale, figure out what happened next. 

Martin did not emerge from the cat. 

[A LONG SILENCE. FOR A WHILE, IT SEEMS LIKE THE ARCHIVIST MIGHT END HIS STATEMENT THERE. BUT HE INHALES DEEPLY – A TREMOR BETRAYS HE’S BEEN SOBBING AS HE RECORDS THIS – AND CONTINUES.]

Elias found me first. 

He was smiling. 

Took the knife from me, said it was for the best that Martin was gone. That things hadn’t…hadn’t gone as planned with him. 

I didn’t ask him what he meant by that. I couldn’t. I couldn’t…do anything. 

I just stayed there, having sunk to my knees on the floor, watching Elias pick Martin up and…dispose of him. Just like that. 

He must have known the fairy tale too, because when he collected Champ— Marti—

When he picked up the head, he…he laughed. 

“Oh. Oh, I see why you might have thought that. You old romantic, Jon,” he said, dropping the head into the bin. “If only you knew how fitting that was. Would you like to know?”

I didn’t. 

I really, really didn’t. 

But he showed me anyway. Right into my head. Just…tore open the wound and poured all that agony upon it. Martin’s heart, his feelings, his…his love for me. 

He loved me. And I…I…

He…

We didn’t notice him. He was right in front of us, losing his humanity day by day and we just…

I’m sorry, Martin. 

I…

[ONCE AGAIN, A LONG SILENCE FALLS UPON THE ARCHIVIST. WHEN HE SPEAKS AGAIN, HIS TONE HAS DROPPED TO SOMETHING EERILY EVEN-KEELED]

Elias asked me where the book was. 

He knew the whole time. He knew what had happened to Martin. For whatever reason, it seems Elias had backpedalled on his decision to transfer Martin to the archives and wanted him gone. The book provided the perfect opportunity. 

Had I a reason to, I would endeavour to find out why. What Elias is up to, why Martin being in love with me would cause a problem with that. 

I have no reason. 

Not now. 

…

I’m going to read The Ninth Life. Cover to cover. I’m going to know his pain. His loneliness. My failure. 

But first, I’m going to leave a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales in Tim’s desk drawer. 

Tim. If, by any chance, you listen to this…I’m sorry. 

You did the right thing. 

You…avenged Martin, after all. 

End recording. 

[CLICK]

[mysumeow]

. . . ꒰ FOUND WOUNDED

Warnings: afab genitalia, gender neutral pronouns. PIV unprotected sex, Lilia takes a dominant role throughout the smut, hair pulling (reader giving), overstimulation (reader receiving), cunnilingus. not proofread it is what it is.

Summary: Out of the kindness of your heart —and naivety mixed in— you nurse back to health the injured fae you came across with in the forest.

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: if you find a mistake just ➖➖ close your eyes like that and pretend you dont see it. my contribution for general lilia lovers (myself included💗)

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ 🌷 . . KOFI | NEXT

At first, General Lilia was like a feral cat when you tried to get close to him.

Injured and almost unconscious; that was how you had found him. A gaping wound on his abdomen. Regardless of his blurry vision, he could still make out the smell of a human.

Thus, through deep breaths and pained winces, he demanded that you not come closer. Those demands were accompanied by curses and hisses, of course.

Perhaps you were naive or had no sense of self-preservation, or both, because despite his refusal to receive aid, you carried him on your back.

Had the fae been in better condition, you wouldn't have made one step forward without some inconvenience happening.

Lilia's first instinct, when he awoke the next day, was to attempt to flee before you realized he was up. Granted, the pain from recent battle wounds sliced through his being, rendering him to fall back on the bed.

His heartbeat picked up once he saw you walking into the room, kicking the door shut, and carrying breakfast in your hands.

The fae's words were nothing short of disdainful, accompanied by threats.

You were aware of the complex human-fae relationships and weren't surprised by his outburst. Instead, you ignored his empty words, left the breakfast on the little nightstand next to the bed, and left.

Although the general wasn't pleased at the fact you dismissed his words as if he were blabbering, he himself knew he wouldn't hurt a defenseless human like yourself. He's willing to turn a blind eye to those that aren't part of the Silver Owl's; after all, you weren't an immediate threat to him.

He sighed, turning to look at the source of the appealing aroma on the nightstand.

He wasn't that hungry, right? He could just wait a while longer, just to establish a sense of power over you—he didn't need you as much as you thought he did.

The grumbling from his stomach made his thoughts pause.

By lunch time, you decided it was a reasonable idea to check back on the fae you rescued yesterday.

The plate was clean, as you expected.

Without sharing another word, you gathered the plate and the utensils to head back to the kitchen, until the fae’s low voice and dry manner of speaking interrupted you.

“You know our kind have had conflicts of interest, right?” You couldn’t identify any sort of hostility or ill-intent from him when he spoke his mind.

“I...” You stopped to wonder if you actually considered that detail when you decided to bring this stranger into the safety of your home. “I wouldn’t be able to turn my back on someone who’s about to die,”

Lilia stared at you; you couldn’t discern how he took the comment.

“Hmph,” he said, crossing his arms. “You humans underestimate faes. I’ve survived worse wounds. This is nothing in comparison.”

“Yeah, yeah. You're, oh, so dangerous, and I'm, oh, so fragile. Please don’t kill me, Mr. Fae,” you feigned a squeakier voice. You reveled in amusement at his displeased expression. Suddenly, you realized you didn’t even know his name. “By the way, I don’t know what to call you.”

For a moment, Lilia considered not telling you. He would flee this place as soon as he could, so what was the point? He reasoned. Despite that, he figured that you would be more fearful of him if he revealed his name, as everyone knew the title that was accompanied by it.

“Or do you want me to keep calling you Mr. Fae?” You kept poking fun at him.

“I’m Lilia Vanrouge. Does the name ring any bells to you?”

You stopped for a moment to think.

“To be honest, no.”

Lilia wondered how you were still alive at this point, being so detached from the current events going on. You had just enough information to know about the war that was going on.

Unbelievable. He shook his head before looking down at the bandages wrapped around his lower abdomen.

The dull pain that comes from wounds was still present, albeit less than yesterday. He made an effort to sit up on the bed and undid the bandages, wanting to check the wound. If he applied less strength than usual, the sting was bearable.

You stitched his lesion while he was unconscious. Even though your work was decent, he couldn’t help but wish there were fairies nearby who could speed up the healing process. He couldn’t stop thinking back on his troops, the princess, his kind—they needed him right now.

Lilia’s troubled pondering stopped when you came back.

“I was just about to ask how you were feeling. The stitches haven’t opened, right?” You dabbed the rag into the water, looking to use the piece of cloth to clean up any dirt or blood that might’ve been left over from the prior day.

“Halt, human,” he tried to scurry away, flustered. “I can do it myself. I managed to eat on my own. I don’t need your help. Wait outside,”

“Okay, but you still should clean the rest of your body. I thought I could help you walk to the bathroom so you can use the shower,” you said, placing a hand on your chin. “Will you be able to reach your back? Bend enough to clean your legs?”

Lilia narrowed his eyes, partly out of suspicion. “If I were you, I’d be more cautious of a stranger,” he sighed. “I’ll allow you to help me clean my back. The rest, I can manage. Try anything funny, and I’ll make sure you’ll regret it,”

“Anything funny? You mean killing you? Do you think I would go to these lengths just to murder you?”

“My point stands.”

You guided the fae towards your bathroom; you left him alone so he could undress and wash what he could without your help. Once he was done, he called to you, where he was waiting, sitting on the wooden bathroom’s stool with a towel wrapped around his hips.

He didn’t acknowledge you entering; he just sat there in silence, waiting for you to pour water on his scarred back. Some scars were new, some were old, and others were fading.

His ears flicked when he heard you sit behind him.

The session was…awkward, to say the least. You both were quiet, and you wondered what he was thinking about during his silence. You resisted the urge to trace the scars on his back. You surmised that it must be a sensitive topic for him. You knew about the hardships of war, but having a glimpse of the surface of them awakened a sense of pity for him.

You slid the rag along his back. Albeit having a thin frame, there was some tonification...

He shivered, interrupting both your train of thoughts and your languid movements.

“You done?” he asked, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Yes,” you answered curtly, ashamed of yourself for allowing your mind to wander that much.

From then on, having the general living under the same roof was...an experience. To you, he seemed to have some sort of internal conflict when speaking to you; sometimes, he would speak in a kinder way, and at other times, he would go back to his withdrawn and indifferent attitude.

Like he was afraid of getting too attached soon.

You would tease him, proclaiming that he had developed a soft spot for you. He would either roll his eyes, huff, or deny, until he stopped paying attention to your “pointless ramblings” (as he called them). You couldn’t help but find amusement at the idea of this fae getting tired of your teasing and preferring to ignore them.

Of course, the general would rather die than admit his days in relative leisure with you were quite endearing—he wouldn’t admit his true feelings to himself either—as having someone looking out for you was a change of pace for his days of solitude. Solitude comes in the form of having no one else but himself to rely on.

For a human such as yourself to be selfless enough to nurse him back to health, even if not necessary until a certain point, made you stand out over the rest of the past human interactions he’d experienced.

Avarice and thoughtlessness were, after all, the reasons why the fae clashed with humanity.

Alack, he couldn’t stay here with you for the rest of his life.

Basking in the last rays of sunlight, sitting on the fresh grass as you shared a meal, you didn’t expect Lilia to have a gloomy expression.

“You’re going back to your military camp?”

“The war isn’t over yet. I’ve wasted enough time waiting for my wounds to heal,” Absentmindedly, his hands hovered over where the gaping wound once was. “You’ve been…”

“Hm?” You directed your focus to him, expecting him to finish his sentence while you munched on a slice of bread.

“I’ll give it to you. You’ve been helpful, but also annoying. I wouldn’t have imagined someone to have the ability to both heal and damage someone at the same time,” he took a sip of the tea and turned his head away in agitation.

“Would it hurt too much to just say ‘thank you’?” You rolled your eyes.

“Thank you,” he agreed, so you would drop the topic.

The sun had long since set, the single light source coming from your home. Lilia gave one last glance at your profile, noticing you were deep in thought.

He opened his mouth to tell you he was going inside again. Then he closed it again, thinking maybe you didn’t want to be disturbed by whatever you were reflecting on.

For the past few weeks, stress over how his troops were doing has built up. The general couldn’t wait any longer to go back to them.

He departed that same night.

Lilia took a quick look at the bedroom he has been staying in, checking if there was anything he should take with him before departing.

Alongside his mask, he wielded his magical lithic with practiced ease. 

He placed a hand on the window and pulled the lower panel up to open it. With a foot already on the windowsill, he hesitated.

I haven’t said goodbye to...

Almost as if driven by instinct, he went back to the living room, where he last saw you a couple of hours before.

At first, he didn’t see you. He rationalized that you were in your bedroom now; however, a soft snore made him realize that wasn’t the case.

Sprawled on the couch. Blanket on the floor. Your head is almost falling off the edge of said furniture.

That’s how he found you sleeping.

He deadpanned, reaching down towards the blanket on the floor and draping it over your sleeping form.

Did Lilia feel at fault that he didn’t get to say goodbye? Yes. Nevertheless, the fae was set on answering the call of his obligations before letting himself realize it.

Being a proper general like him, he located the camp with ease. Every single one of his comrades celebrated his return.

Now, this was an environment he was used to. It felt right; this was what he was familiar with.

And despite that, he couldn’t shake you off his thoughts. Not even the next day.

His mind kept reeling back on the idea of heading towards your small cottage to apologize.

Lilia groaned in frustration, turning around on the makeshift bed inside his tent. He stared at the walls, asking himself if it made sense for him to have these feelings.

Humans are weak. I should check on that human. Yeah, that’s it. That human is clumsy.

While putting on his armor and tying the knots in their places, he couldn’t believe himself—he was going back just to see you.

It was past midnight. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to go see you, but he hoped you were up. He remembered that you tend to stay up past that hour.

He found himself smiling fondly at the memory before his smile dropped at the smell of smoke and fire in the distance.

With a racing heart, Lilia hurried to where he knew your home was.

Engulfed by fire.

The orange embers reflected on Lilia’s eyes as he gawked at the unbelievable sight. Soon, his attention was brought back to unknown faces inspecting around the perimeter. He identified the silver armor, and Lilia didn’t waste any more time acting.

“The general!” One of them shouted, the others unsheathed their swords, and they prepared to attack.

By the sound of it, Lilia supposed that this was an ambush, since it appeared that they were after him and set the house on fire to have a better chance of hunting him down.

“Where’s the human?!” Lilia demanded, pushing the lithic blade against the soldier he trapped.

“Calcinated, perhaps,” he spat.

As she was about to slice him open, something stopped Lilia.

With a hand on his arm, you managed to halt his movements. Had you come any later, the soldier would’ve had his neck chopped.

You didn’t give him a chance to question you; rather, you pulled him away from the burning place and into the forest.

To say the fae was speechless was a way to put it—he was baffled. Up until a certain moment, he managed to regain his composure and grab you by the shoulders.

“Why didn’t you let me end him?!” He shook you. “You allowed those pesky pests to get away with it!”

“Lilia—”

“What?!”

“You’re digging your nails. It hurts.”

His arms dropped back to his sides, as if you were scalding hot.

“Now what’re you going to do? Your home…”

“I have no other choice other than traveling back to town.”

“Alone? In the middle of a war? You’re lucky enough I was willing to spare you, but I can’t guarantee other faes will do the same,” Again, his hands were on you. “You’re coming with me,”

Your mind stalled.

“Huh?” You followed him when he began heading in a direction only he knew where it ended. “Are you accompanying me towards the town?”

“Do I look like someone who has that much time to spare?” He squeezed your hand more. “I’ll take you to my camp,”

You stopped walking, pulling on his hand.

“You can’t be serious. Aren’t they going to kill me?”

“Dare anyone lay a hand on you, I’ll return the action tenfold.”

“How are you so sure they won’t dare hurt me?”

“Because I’m their general.”

“So, when were you planning on telling me that minuscule detail?” Your voice became increasingly louder as you spoke from shock. “That all this time, I’ve had the general in my home?!”

“You’re going to attract an enemy’s attention. Shut up,” he said, covering your mouth with his hand. “Let’s get going,”

You managed to escape unscathed from the fire but were exhausted from the stress of having to flee. You hugged yourself while you followed the general, fending off the chill of the night that was starting to seep into your being.

There was someone waiting by the camp’s entrance, and Lilia knew who that was.

“General, there you are!” The man’s green eyes fixed on you; sheer disdain reflected on them upon seeing you. “What’s that human doing here? They didn’t harm you, right?!”

“Quiet, Baur! This human is coming with me,” Lilia looked at you for a second. “This person is... who found me wounded back then,”

It seemed as if Lilia had mentioned you to this fae named Baur before your meeting.

“I trust you’ll keep this a secret. If the soldiers ask why this human is with us, tell them that they’re being held hostage to aid with manual labor,” Lilia had made up his mind. There was no way he would let you dive into danger.

“General… I trust your judgment above all, but—”

“My decision isn’t up for debate.”

Baur shifted his gaze back on you, unconvinced of the general’s judgment. Regardless, he recognized his position and didn’t object further.

You were drowsy. You didn’t notice you followed Lilia into his tent.

Lilia, too, occupied with his own musings, didn’t bat an eye at the arrangement.

"It would be a better idea if—" he turned around and saw you had already made yourself comfortable on his bed. You had shrugged your coat off in a messy manner, one sleeve still up your shoulder.

Acting out what felt natural, he kneeled on the makeshift mattress and finished pulling the sleeve off your body. Then he grabbed the blanket to place it over you, but you stopped him by putting your hand on his cheek.

"You look tired too," you noted with a whisper.

"Not more than you."

"My body's exhausted, but my mind's wide awake still," You moved your hand away from his cheek and reached behind him to slide the hair tie off. His ponytail became undone, locks of hair falling on either side of his face.

His hand snatched yours, albeit his face was flushed and his ears red. He held your gaze, bodies rising in temperature, until he couldn’t hold it anymore and leaned down to kiss you. It started as a vehement desire to demonstrate the feelings bottled up inside.

You weren’t faring any better, hugging him close to you despite how his fangs would bite down on your lip, almost drawing blood from his eagerness. Lilia rested his weight atop yours, pinning you down against the bed, hands wandering around your torso and squeezing what he could.

Breathless, Lilia pulled away, panting, his fangs peeking.

Intrigued by their shape, your thumb touched the pointy edge, feeling its puncture on the surface.

“Your fangs. They’re very sharp,” Your thumb moved away from the impressive canine teeth, preferring to graze it across his reddened bottom lip.

“Keep touching me like that, and I’ll use them to leave marks on that pretty neck of yours.”

You swiped your finger over his lip again.

His hand went straight to your head and pulled to expose your neck; a soft mewl escaped you. In no time, restless hands undid each other’s clothes in a haze. Lilia reminded you to avoid waking up the slumbering soldiers with your constant moans.

Had his mouth not been occupied slurping and sucking your clit, he would’ve had to control his voice too; Lilia had told you to get on top of him, baring your pussy in the most vulnerable way possible by placing your knees on either side of his head. You started by trying to not suffocate him, fearing that it might be too much—Lilia couldn’t care any less about that since he pulled you closer by your hips.

Sloppy—the very image of starving and making a mess between your legs. He guided your hips to move in backward and forward motions, just making it harder for you to quiet down. 

“Lilia,” you tried to warn him of your approaching orgasm.

One hand tightened on your hips when he sensed you trying to get off, while the other slid up the small of your back to push you forward, making it easier for him to reach your clit.

“I’m going to cum, Lilia. Please,” You weren’t even sure what you were asking for, but your hips trembled, and you didn't want that satisfaction to end.

You bit down on your hand to silence yourself when you reached your climax.

However, Lilia’s hunger wasn’t satiated. You felt as if he was about to pounce on you, which wasn’t far-fetched, because he proceeded to change positions and push you on your back.

You couldn’t hold back your whimpers as Lilia kept teasing your sensitive clit, trying to tell him you were still coming down from your orgasm, but your own mind betrayed you. Lilia’s grin was fiendish, adoring the way you were so responsive to him.

“That was all it took to get this pussy this drenched?” He fingered your hole, and beyond indecent sounds came from there. “Listen to that. You’re beyond soaked. Even the insides of your thighs are covered with your cum. Didn’t you enjoy that a little too much?” he teased.

“F-Fuck, shut up,” your cheeks burned from embarrassment.

He wasn’t better off himself either. Beads of precum both roll down his dick and drip on your thigh. With the same hand he masturbated you with, he used your slick to further lubricate his cock, even if it wasn’t necessary given how wet you were.

He aligned it with your entrance and pushed in, panting from how good you felt to him. The moment he was completely inside, he began thrusting with unparalleled pace. You bit your lip, along with teary eyes, making your best attempt at keeping your voice down. Lilia noticed you struggling and bent down to shut you up with his own lips. For that instance, the tempo staggered but was still thrusting hard.

Through your foggy mind, you wondered how such a slim body like his was able to muster this much force at such a rapid pace. How a fae with a pretty and charming face like his could be this debauched...

“Ah…” he moaned against your neck, hunger overriding any sense of rationality. Lilia hid his face in your neck, licking and kissing it.

Without you needing to tell him, the general busied his hand with your clit again, pushing you closer to an orgasm. At this point, he went back to that sloppy tempo, and your hands darted to his disheveled hair, tugging those lovely locks of magenta and black hair. You tugged slightly harder without you discerning as you orgasmed, your body quivering from the intensity of the climax. A small grunt left him and came shortly after you.

After a while of catching his breath, he pulled away and lied down next to you.

“You’re lucky these soldiers are heavy sleepers, and my tent isn’t close to theirs.”

You covered your face, realizing that you were basically surrounded by more faes. “I don’t want to show my face to them,”

Essentially, the soldiers were heavy sleepers thanks to the weariness of having to train early in the day, do manual work, fight, run up and down the mountain, and everything else. They didn’t hear a thing. As for Baur, however...

[tenkobitch]

ʜᴏᴡ ɢᴇɴꜱʜɪɴ ᴍᴇɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀ

ꜱᴘɪᴅᴇʀ

(Monstadt Ver.)

Genshin Men x Reader

Warning(s): Mentions of spiders/killing spiders

Genre: Fluff, crack fic

A/N: I thought about how different Genshin Impact characters would react to seeing a spider and I couldn't stop myself from writing this!

Also, sorry in advance, but I'm not gonna write for Mika. I don't know ANYTHING about him, and I don't feel like reading up on him just to make a small headcanon about him

Monstadt ver. Liyue ver. Inazuma ver. Sumeru ver.

Fontaine ver.

The Men of Genshin (individually) hear you scream in horror. When they run into the room, assuming you're in trouble, they see you huddled in a corner while shakily pointing at the other side of the room...

"THERE'S A SPIDER! KILL IT! KILL IT!"

With no other choice but to confront your source of terror, they...

𝙆𝙖𝙚𝙮𝙖

You might think that Kaeya was at least a little bit afraid of bugs like everyone else, but he's the Calvary Captain... He's had to camp out in the wilderness and deal with all sorts of critters. He's worried about bigger things than a tiny bug.

He walks up to where the spider is and bravely steps on it. He looks back at you with a teasing smile, trying to contain his laughter.

"Do you feel better now?" He asks you as you cross your arms in mock frustration.

"It was a really scary spider..."

Kaeya walks over to the corner you hid in and pats your head.

"I'm sure it was."

𝘿𝙞𝙡𝙪𝙘

Diluc was really busy with his work when he heard your scream. He didn't even bother letting one of his maids check on you because he was already sprinting to check on you. When he found you on the floor, pointing to the spider, he calmed down and tensed up at the same time. For one, he was relieved to see that you weren't in any actual danger... But he was also not prepared to kill a spider.

Despite his body's response, he pushed forward and stepped on the spider. He immediately went to your side to comfort you.

"Are you alright? You probably gave everyone in the mansion a fright." (Yes, he was the one in fright, but he's not gonna admit that).

You smiled, giving his shoulder a squeeze. It was as if you were comforting him.

"Thanks for checking on me."

"Of course." He gave a small smile back, and you both went back to your work.

𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪

Venti is either completely sober or absolutely drunk. THERE'S NO IN BETWEEN! So let's imagine two different scenarios...

Completely sober Venti will come to your rescue by getting a small piece of paper and a cup. He'd trap the spider in the cup and move the spider outside. Once he comes back inside, he'll squat down in front of you and bat his eyes at you teasingly. You'd pat his head and give him a grateful smile.

"Thanks for rescuing me..." He'd smile back and give you a cheeky smile of his own.

"I'll always come to your rescue!" He'd bat his eyes and look back at you with a finger on his chin.

"... But it'll cost you a smooch!"

But when you're dealing with an almost blackout drunk Venti... He's not rescuing anyone.

In fact, he's hiding behind you, pushing you to kill the spider.

"KILL IT WITH FIRE! IT'S GONNA EAT ME!" He's screaming his head off. You'll get so tired of it, you'll, somehow, temporarily get over your fears and kill the spider yourself. You look back at Venti as he's experiencing a full on meltdown, and you try to comfort him as best as you can.

"... Why did you kill that spider!? We could've kept it and named it Barbatos Jr.! Whyyyy!!!"

At this point, you were done with his behavior and decided to just let him be.

𝘼𝙡𝙗𝙚𝙙𝙤

He's on the case! He gently picks up the spider and cups it in his hands. He's not even afraid to touch the spider. He walks back in the room and nods in your direction.

"The spider will not be a problem anymore. I've let it free outside." He tries his best to give you a small smile to comfort you. Before you can get another word in, though, he's already headed back to his lab and he just... continues to work...

Before you lose all hope of hearing another word of comfort from him, he reappears in the room's doorway. He crouches in front of you and puts his hand on your head. He's not sure what else to do, but it seems to make you feel better, so he just stays like that for a bit.

"Please, do try to not scream next time. I thought you were hurt."

"I can't promise anything."

𝙍𝙖𝙯𝙤𝙧

He also believes in not hurting the spider, so he tries his best to get rid of the spider for you. He doesn't really understand why you're scared of it, but he doesn't have time to question it. If you're scared, he has to do something about it!

When he manages to get rid of it, he immediately comforts you.

"Are you okay? Did spider do something that scare you?" You shake your head in shame, which ends up making Razor confused. But he's learned not to question things like this, at least, not in the moment. He'll ask about it later.

For now, he'll give you a tight hug and hope that he can comfort you with his actions instead of his words.

𝘽𝙚𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙩

Normally, Bennett doesn't have luck killing spiders for you, but he tries his best. If he does manage to kill it, you are forever in his debt.

You only do this because he just spent the last ten minutes attempting to kill the spider, and you feared for your life while he was doing so. He turns to see your head peeping into the doorway with the bedroom door slightly closed. Were you trying to lock him in the room if he failed?!?

"Sorry I took so long, but I got the spider!" His smile drops slightly as he sees you slowly backing away into the hallway.

"You... You can come back in the room..." You come back into the room and give him a grateful hug, trying your best not to laugh at the pout on his face.

"Thank you for using a bit of your luck to kill the spider..." The smile he once had reappears on his face, and he hugs you back.

"I wish it was luck. I'd say it was more determination than that-"

"Just take the compliment!"

[la-lolita]

Hello, this is Lolita, formerly known as Aphrodites-letters, and (sighs) strawberrymilkmami. It’s been a few years since I left, and I am back to properly speak up for myself about the drama that happened between Cupid (now going by Devosin) and I. I will be referring to Devosin as Cupid, however because that’s the name they used to go by during this drama. In this post, I will take accountability for my actions, however I will also explain some parts of the story that I should’ve exposed a long time ago. 

Why now you may ask? Because I feel so much better now. I have matured and up to this day, what has happened still affects me a lot mentally. People may say this is old, or tell me to move on. You can’t move on when there are people out there still thinking you’re a complete bastard not knowing your true reasonings or thinking you’re just finding excuses— its been years, there’s no point in lying, im not even in the fandom anymore, what do I gain lying? You could say I “deserved” it and that “that’s what I get for being jealous” etc. Yet those are simply accusations and assumptions people made, you can’t take people’s/make assumptions and think it’s the truth.

I have finally developed the courage to speak about this topic again and explain properly my side of the story.

—

Faulty Link

I want to clear up the biggest misunderstanding. I never sent anyone anon hate and I can prove it.

Pinpix has stated that she “can track an anon's identity” by using this link. I found this fact very interesting considering it’s been outdated for years at the time Pinpix did this ‘callout.’ 

Pinpix gave out false information about me, then Cupid reblogged it without checking the sources. Not only Cupid, but many of my former mutuals did so without checking the sources. This link hasn’t been working since 2017, yet they managed to ‘track’ my IP in 2023. Anyone is welcome to check the tracking link themselves to see even more comments proving that it no longer works. 

I’d like to mention Cupid had stated this before. 

I’ve never been in Cupid’s server before. So, I clearly couldn’t have been the one sent the hate. With all these facts coming to light, I’d like this to be a lesson to everyone to not jump on hate trains without checking what the ‘proof’ is.

—

Anon Hate

To everyone affected by the anon hate, I’m really truly sorry you’ve had such rude and demeaning people in your inbox. I believe anon hate is such a low act to do and I understand it affected you immensely. 

However, I want everyone to understand that I have never sent anon hate and will never in the future.  —

Copying

Not only did Pinpix accuse me of sending anon hate, they also made some claims about me copying Cupid (most of the post was them talking about this). I’d like to address these.

I’ve never copied anyone. A lot of what I did was take inspiration from trends at that time. Just because some of my posts came after Cupid doesn’t mean I copied her. I did things that were popular at that time, not things that Cupid did. If Cupid did popular things too, cool! But please don’t come after me for also following trends. Fade outs and social media themes were popular then, and many of former mutuals as well as people from other fandoms had similar themes.

First thing out of the way, Cupids are from Roman mythology and Aphrodite is from Greek mythology, so no I didn’t see Cupid’s url and decided to steal it lol, that is so silly. She and I were friends back then and wanted to match names. I also fail to see how our themes and writing styles are similar. To my knowledge, Cupid went for regal themes, while I stuck to coquette, there was a time where I did more simple clean themes because again- it was trending, especially in blogs from big Fandoms such as Genshin. Just because we both used shades of pink doesn’t mean it was plagiarism. 

I’ve never deleted anything off my page after this incident, so I think you’re misremembering. 

My writing format has changed as a progress of maturing. Personal observations are not proof. Not to mention my writings are still up, so if you had proof that our fics are similar, you could have proved it. You have not. 

This says a lot. 

—

Vent

I will take accountability for my venting. I did vent personal things and I regret that immensely. I’m sorry to anyone affected by them. However, please understand I was going through a difficult situation both online and irl, and as an immature 13 year old kid, I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t have the help I needed, I didn’t know what to do to make myself feel better. Sadly, I chose a path that not only didn’t help me, but also harmed the people around me. I regret it, and if I could I would have taken a few months offline.

None of my vents named or attacked anyone. If you made correlations from my vents to people, that is your assumption. These are all subjective opinions made by you without any proof. 

Some of my posts were indeed targeted towards Cupid, I wasn’t healed from the first drama we had and seeing them interact with my friends hurt me really bad. I just wanted the whole drama out of my life, seeing Cupid on my dashboard didn’t help me forget at all. I had blocked her, however when she interacted with my mutuals, I saw her on my page. However, the majority of my vents were from real life issues.  —

Sign Out

First and foremost, I’m sorry to anyone hurt by actions caused by me. However, the anon hate, the spam into former mutuals’ inboxes, accused plagiarism and this supposed obsession isn’t me. You’ve crafted this whole story based on assumptions and false proof, and I don’t want to take the hate in my inbox anymore. It’s been years and I’m not sure why people are still so obsessed with this situation.

Though this section confuses me, since when you said I did the ‘same thing,’ it implies that Cupid has also neglected to credit the art they used.

I have used art without credits only if I couldn’t find the original source. I found a lot of my inspiration on Pinterest, so when I found the source, I could credit them. However, sometimes I couldn’t find it, and wouldn’t have anything to cite. I now know that I should have looked harder or have used another image for my blog, however I was not as mature then. In my mind, I had looked for the source and couldn't find it. Going forward in any future fandoms I join to make content, I will cite everything I can.

As a final message, don’t harass people online, especially if you don’t do your research on the topic or know the full story of both people. In my case I was anxious. I didn’t know what to do or say, I was panicked and was unable to collect my thoughts and come with a proper response. Now, I hope this was enough to explain my side of the story and clear up some things said about me.

Thank you for listening and have a good day.

[spnbabe67]

Darling, You Look Divine

Kinktober Day 21: Body Worship (D.W.)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2002

Warnings: Smut, Angst, John Winchester (Flashback), Fluff

Summary: When Tori starts to get insecure, Dean is more than happy to show his girl why she's beautiful

Authors Note: Title inspired by the song Eyes Don't Lie by Isabel LaRosa

Created for @anyfandomgoesbingo /Square Filled: Multiple Orgasms

Tag List: @zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @nightxcreature

Dean knew something was off with Tori. She’d gone to take a shower after dinner while Dean was finishing up doing the dishes. When he came back to their room he found her standing in front of the mirror that he and Sam had hung up. Tori had complained about the fact that every time she wanted to see how an outfit looked, she had to go to the bathroom for the floor length mirrors in there, rather than the small one on the medicine cabinet in the room. She was standing there, gorgeous body on display, her hair still damp from her shower. Dean walked up behind her, placing his hands onto her hips as her brown eyes met his in their reflection. 

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head a yours?” Dean mumbled as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to her shoulder.

He felt her shrug, dipping her head before looking back up, catching his gaze in the mirror where he could see the glistening of tears starting to form. 

“Talk to me, Sweetheart.” Dean wrapped his arms around her middle, but hesitated as he felt her stiffen under his touch. “What’s goin’ on, Baby?”

“It’s nothing, I just,” Tori started, taking a deep breath as she placed a hand over Dean’s arms. She laughed a little, tilting her head to rest against his. “God, I feel like I’m back in high school, picking myself apart in front of a mirror.”

Dean had an inkling that’s what was bothering her. Lord knows he’s spent enough time in his years placed in front of a mirror. After coming back from Hell, he kept checking his body for all the scars he’d earned after years of hunting. But everytime Alistair and his demons broke him down to pieces, they put him back together better than he had been, including getting rid of the scars and marks from before he was sent down below. That didn’t even take into account how many times before he’d met Tori that he’d stared himself down, loathing every feature that he shared with John, loathing the hardness of his features, the slope of his nose, the way his eyes had lost the spark in them. 

He vividly remembered being plunked down in a gas station bathroom, all dingy and covered in graffiti, stinking of piss and body odor. He couldn't have been older than 12 when John had decided that his hair had grown too long. He remembered pleading with him to let him keep his hair the way it was. Remembered the sternness of his fathers voice as he grabbed the clippers and a pair of medic shears from his bag. He could still feel the tears on his cheeks as John had taken the shears to his hair, then the clippers. When he was done, Dean glanced in the mirror, and he saw his father staring back at him, only John had already left the bathroom.

“Does my girl need a reminder of how pretty she is?” Dean said softly, smoothing his hands across her belly to her hips. 

“Dean-”

“Nuh uh.” Dean cut her off, squeezing her hips. “I want you to watch yourself in the mirror, alright?”

Dean waited for Tori to nod, catching her slightly confused look in the reflection. He kissed her shoulder as he let his hands brush across her body until they landed on her belly. 

“Let’s start here, shall we?” Dean traced small shapes across her skin, circling the tip of his index finger around her belly button. He knew this was the main source of her insecurity, she’d said so before, telling him how she’d gained weight living in one spot. She was the furthest thing from fat, not that he would mind either way. Bodies change, but no matter how she looked, she’d still be his Tori. 

“This is normal. This lets me know you are well fed. It’s my job to spoil you and make sure you are taken care of. This tells me I’m doing my job right. Besides, you know how much I love to lay my head here. Speaking of which.”

He slid his hands higher, cupping her breasts. Dean heard Tori’s breath catch, saw the flush of her cheeks. “Do you know how much these drive me crazy? How much you drive me crazy? Makin’ me go crazy when you wear those tight tank tops.” Dean rolled her nipples between his fingers as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Don’t you think for one second I don’t know you’re teasin’ me when you wear them.”

Her laugh was the sweetest music to his ears, so breathy as she arched her back into his hands. He smiled into her shoulder, eyes catching hers in the mirror. Dean slid his hands back down her sides, feeling her shiver under his ministrations as one ended up on her thigh.

“And these?” Dean slid a hand along the inside of her thigh. “Don’t even get me started on these. I love the way these look in your jeans, and in those tiny shorts you know make me lose my mind. How many times these legs of yours have saved my ass, carrying me back home. So strong but so damn soft, I can’t get enough. Can’t get enough of the way they wrap around my head when I’m between ‘em”

Dean wasn’t sure Tori’s face could get any redder, her blush traveling down her neck, her breath growing shallower as he slid his hand higher and higher until he cupped her soaked core. 

“And I know you know how much I love this. Love to taste you, love how well you wrap around me. So responsive for me.” Dean pressed an open mouthed kiss to the side of Tori’s neck as he slid a finger down her center. 

She was already soaked as he ran his middle finger along her, finding her clit. His other hand wrapped around her waist, keeping her back pressed against his chest. “Keep those eyes open for me, Sweetheart.” Dean guided. 

Tori whimpered as he toyed with her clit, finding that perfect rhythm. Dean knew just how to make her fall apart. He’d mapped her body out in his head, knew every curve, every mark, every scar like it was his own. Most of all, he knew just how to have her moaning his name. His thumb took over as he slid his middle finger into her. She was so wet his finger slid in with little resistance, her inner walls fluttering around the digit. Dean watched on as Tori’s eyes were locked onto where his hand had cupped her core, where his fingers expertly moved in and out of her. 

Dean damn near purred as Tori reached up, carding her fingers through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He could feel her clench around his fingers as he added his ring finger, curling them upwards towards her belly. He was glad he had an arm around her waist as Tori’s legs started to shake, her hips rolling against his hand. 

“C’mon Baby. You got it. Let go for me.” Dean whispered to her. “Look how pretty you are when you cum for me.”

He cursed to himself as she clamped down on his fingers, moaning his name as she came, never taking her eyes off herself. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, panting as she came down from her high. Tori didn’t resist as Dean slid a hand under her legs, picking her up bridal style. He laid her down on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head before crawling up the bed to nestle himself between her legs. Dean placed a kiss to the inside of her knee, trailing hot kisses along the softness of her inner thigh all the way back to the apex between them. 

“You’re the whole damn package, Sweetheart. So beautiful, I can’t ever take my eyes offa you. Not that I’d ever want to.” Dean nipped at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. 

His first taste of her was heaven. Instantly her hands found their way into his hair, tugging the strands as he laved his tongue up her center. Dean quickly found her puffy clit, pulling it between his lips, gently grazing his teeth against the bundle of nerves in a way that had her thighs squeezing his head. His hand snaked around Tori’s thigh and across her hips, holding them down to the bed, keeping her from wiggling too much. Her ragged moans met his ears, even through the tight grip her thighs had around his head as his tongue worked in and out of her, his nose nudging her clit

Quickly she arrived back at that high, keening as she came on Dean’s face. Dean happily worked her through her high, tongue flicking against her clit, dipping into her molten hot core until she was practically pushing his head away from between her legs. 

Dean pulled away, licking his lips as he pushed his sweats from his legs, his cock painfully hard from the moment he’d slipped his hand between her legs. He kissed his way up her body, starting at her pubic bone, letting his tongue drag every so often as he worked from her belly to between her breasts to the hollow of her throat until he finally claimed her mouth. Tori clung to him as Dean gently pushed himself into her. He moaned lowly at the feel of her velvet walls wrapped around him. There was no resistance as he slid in and in and in. 

“Feel so good, Sweetheart.” Dean praised, smoothing a hand up her side. “Takin’ me so well.”

He started to move once she had time to adjust to him, going slow at first as he kissed down her neck, hand coming up to squeeze her thigh as he placed it on his waist. Tori felt so good beneath him, so soft and pliant, juxtaposed to the hard edges of him. She was so damn pretty. Dean felt his heart swell with affection, in pride that he could say that this gorgeous woman was all his. 

“My pretty girl.” He mumbled against her mouth as he rolled his hips into hers, going at that languid pace that he knew had her barreling towards that edge once again. “Feel so good, my pretty girl.”

Dean could feel that heat low in his hips just as Tori started to sink her nails into his arm, whispering his name to the non-existent space between them. 

“I know, Baby, I know. Me too. Let go for me.”

Dean tried his best to keep the same pace, to keep his hips from bucking wildly into her heat as her walls fluttered around him, legs shaking. Tori’s third orgasm had her cumming hard, body going tense beneath him. She clamped down hard, triggering his own release. Dean claimed her mouth, moaning into the kiss as they shared their high.

Dean eased himself down beside her on the bed, pulling her to lay atop him as their breathing slowed. He caressed the side of her face, pushing inky strands of hair behind her ear. Tori smiled sleepily at him, both of them thoroughly fucked out. Dean traced up and down her spine, letting his fingers brush along her soft olive skin. 

“Thank you.” Tori pressed a kiss to his chest as she reached up, intertwining their hands. 

“No, thank you.” Dean replied. “I’ll take any chance I can get to show my pretty girl just how divine she is.”

Dean chuckled as Tori blushed hard again, hiding her face in his chest. She giggled as she looked back up at him. “What’d I do to deserve you, huh?” 

“I should be asking you that question.” Dean ran a hand through her hair again, the touch soothing for the both of them. “With you, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

[it-happened-one-fic]

Hours in the Moonlight: Somnolent Gloaming - 2. A Strange One

Summary: As if his horns weren’t strange enough, the way Malleus behaved was odd. Especially since he seemed to have taken a rather rapid interest in you. And that was on top of the fact that this clan already seemed to have walls of its own that were likely going to create difficulties for your evaluation.

Series Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ series/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire

Word Count: 1654

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

I stepped forward, bracing myself as those almost acidic green eyes rested on me. A smile still curving off across this man, Malleus’s, face as he awaited my answer.

 “I’ve been sent here to evaluate the Diasomnia Clan,” I spoke carefully, taking the lead this time instead of letting Sam explain for me. But there was no doubting that Malleus’s question had most certainly been directed at me.

Sam’s eyebrows rose slightly at my words, but he remained silent as the already stiff-looking one somehow managed to straighten even further. A deep frown marring his otherwise handsome face, “WHY DOES OUR CLAN NEED TO BE EVALUATED, HUMAN? WE HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG.”

I blinked in surprise, almost flinching at the yelled words only for the other young man, Silver, as Vil had called him, spoke in a calmer tone, “Don’t yell, Sebek. They haven’t accused us of anything.”

The short one, who’d been our guide, piped up. His bright red eyes narrowing with unconcealed amusement that reminded me of how a cat might look at a mouse as he looked at me from where he now stood by his clan leader’s chair, “Indeed. They're just here under orders.”

I nodded slowly and quietly at the man’s words, glancing towards the one who’d yelled. Sebek was what he’d been called.

 He met my gaze unflinchingly, a frown on his face that was not improved in the slightest by my words, “Yes… The head-vampire has requested that I evaluate all of the clans.”

Malleus tilted his head, causing me to look back his way as he looked thoughtfully at me, “But why send a Hunter?”

Sam stepped forward, an easy smile slipping onto his face that had me suddenly realizing why it was always Sam who brought me a new clan. It was because he was charming and very capable of handling any situation. No matter what sort of characters might be present. Be they innately ominous or rather aggressive in nature.

I didn’t know what it was, but something about this clan in particular was more tense than the others had been.

Savanaclaw hadn’t been exactly welcoming at the start, and Scarabia had been a risky place from the first day, even if it might not have initially seemed like it. 

But this clan, the Diasomnia clan, seemed different.

Not more powerful, malevolent, or anything like that. But different. Like its age gave it a quality that the others simply could not possess.

In both the Savanaclaw and Scarabia clans, I had been evaluated by the vampires even as I’d evaluated the clans themselves, but they hadn’t held such high walls from the start. Or, perhaps, it was that the walls themselves were different.

“In the interest of solving and correcting the situation with the increasing numbers of insane vampires, head-vampire Crowley has requested the Hunter’s assistance. They are evaluating the clans to try and find the source of the problem and, while at the Scarabia clan, found that they needed access to records that dated back further than those found in other clans.”

At Sam’s words, our guide nodded, clapping his hands together and nodding with a suddenly amicable smile. A stark contrast from the expression he’d been wearing before, “I see! You came here to check the history of this area to see if there are any historic traces of this problem.”

I nodded, relieved by the change from the previous tense atmosphere, and Sam nodded agreeably, “Yes, that’s why they came here. It is not that we particularly suspect the Diasomnia clan of anything. After all, you have been here for so long.”

I faltered slightly at Sam’s words. They sounded distinctly placating and had me looking towards this clan’s leader once more. 

Outside of the fact he was horned for unknown reasons that I preferred not to consider, he didn’t look any more dangerous than other vampires had.

 It was true that he had an impressive presence that certainly had stopped me in my tracks when I’d first seen him. But right now he looked more like he was idly pondering the situation with cold interest. Like he was unimpressed with Sam’s behavior.

But still not someone I would expect a person who worked directly under this district's head-vampire to worry about placating. Especially since Sam always seemed so in control of any and every situation.

“STILL! It is MOST rude for the head-vampire to send a Hunter, of all things, to evaluate Lord Malleus’s clan!” The green-haired one spoke again. His voice booming through the room and startling me slightly.

Again, I did not have to respond though, since Sam spoke once more. Ever calm with that same smile on his face that had me wondering for the umpteenth time if anything could phase him, “Yes, well, we of course mean no disrespect, but in the interest of not showing favoritism…”

He trailed off, and our guide nodded again, “Of course, we understand.” The short man looked my way, a smile on his face as he all but flitted across the room to where I stood.

“I must say, it is odd that he chose someone such as you for his Hunter, though….” I watched as those wide red eyes narrowed with something that sent a shiver crawling its way down my spine until he looked away. Turning towards his clan head once more, “What do you think, Malleus?”

At the sound of his name, clan head straightened, his gaze shifting back towards where I stood smoothly. 

I straightened under the weight of his gaze, finding that I refused to quail at his stare despite the fact it had given me pause when I’d first stepped into this room.

I’d already dealt with Leona and Jamil. One a vampire whom I had an odd sort of alliance with and one that I’d built a wary trust with. Neither of which had come easy. But I’d dealt with them both.

And while Sam had done a lot to soothe the atmosphere, there was still something about both Malleus and the shorter young man that had some small part of me whispering for me to be careful. That they were stronger than one might expect.

Vil had once told me that the older a vampire was, the stronger they were and the more skills they knew. 

That, paired with the fact that Rook and Sam had each asserted that both Malleus and Lilia were ancient, was enough to have me paying attention to the more wary side of me. After all, it was quite likely that with the way our guide was behaving, he was the clan head’s second, Lilia.

I’d learned a long time ago that when it came to vampires, showing fear was seldom a good idea, though. If anything, it only seemed to excite them.

As I held Malleus’ stare determinedly, a smile began to spread smoothly across the young man’s face. 

First, a mere stretching of his lips, and then his fangs appeared. It was an expression of amused, smug pleasure and was wholly opposite of the cold expression he’d worn when Sam had been speaking. 

I swallowed thickly as I came to a sudden realization of what that expression meant. Somehow, in some way, I’d caused this vampire to be interested in me. 

Both Leona’s disgusted expression and Vil’s frown flashed through my mind even as I continued to stand firm.

Perhaps this was what they’d meant about me needing to be cautious. A vampire being interested in me was hardly anything new, though.

I watched as he leaned forward, that smile staying on his face as he gazed back at me, utterly delighted by something he saw even though I doubted I’d ever know what it was that pleased him so. 

But perhaps more worryingly, the longer he gazed at me, the better I could see his pupils, which I suddenly realized were slit, shifting. They dilated in the same way a cat’s did when they were hunting, and I felt myself bracing for something. Though for what, I didn’t know.

“So you wish for my… our, assistance with your troubles, little Hunter?” The amusement in his voice was obvious, and I barely kept my eyebrows from lifting.

He was a strange one. That was for certain. But I nodded nonetheless, because it was true. I did need their help. I needed their records to see if there was any historical basis for what was happening now.

I really didn’t know why everyone else stayed so quiet as I responded silently to Malleus, but if anything, the young man seemed delighted by my admission.

His eyes glinted slightly as he spoke again, causing me to frown slightly even despite his words, as strangely phrased as they were, “Very well then. I shall grant your wish.”

The silence that spread through the room after Malleus’s words was shattered by our guide abruptly clapping his hands together. Causing me to jump slightly as he looked between the two young men who flanked Malleus’s throne.

“Splendid! It will be a good experience for the entire clan if another human is here! Sebek, Silver, you should show them around so they don’t get lost,” He slipped away from where he’d been next to me. Trotting over happily to the two young men who now abandoned their posts so that he could urge them on their way. Giggling all the way, “Young folks should flock together after all. Me and Malleus have more to discuss with Sam anyway, don’t we?”

The short man’s voice dropped to a lower octave as he finished, looking towards Sam, who only nodded. Smiling my way as I glanced his way worriedly and waving me on, “I’ll see you later, Little Imp. And good luck.”

As he spoke, the two other men, Sebek and Silver, bowed slightly with the green-haired one speaking, “Of course, Master Lilia.”

If you would like to read more:

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[botanical-garden-system]

🌺Intro to the Garden🪷

Hey yall, we are the Botanical Garden System!

We like using this platform to basically post how our experiences with mental health impact us—whether this is ADHD, trauma, MDD, OCD, or any other issue we have fought with. Most posts will be surrounding psychological research in trauma and dissociation, experiences or symptoms I have had, and general psychology resources I have “sailed the seas” to access in my craving for knowledge

I left my asks open and made a post expressing my answers to questions [here’s the post talking about this more]. You can pretty much ask whatever!

Spam/Reblog account: @botanical-gardens-system (we will post our responses to reposts and wonderful comments you guys have added thru that now. I genuinely read every reblog and have teared up with the amount of stories, love, and comfort you guys have gotten from my posts).

Music account: @botanics-beats (It’s kinda dead rn, sorry yall)

Our spam/reblog blog is where we house all posts we reblog. Usually there isn’t much text unless I am reblogging a response someone posted that I found important. Generally everything is system-related, but it sometimes has repost of other stuff like memes or something political.

DNI Criteria/Boundaries:

There is no DNI. DNIs are kinda useless and instead I will just block you if I don’t feel like I want to interact with you, and feel free to block me if you think I am violating any of your DNI. I never check DNIs really and I’m sure not many check mine. Just please don’t be a dick.

Bodily we are 20 years of age, and we would prefer having minimal interactions with minors in any dm setting. This page is safe from NSFW posts and content, so it is safe for minors to interact with, but we would much rather private dms and conversations be with other adults.

Understand I do not care about syscourse. I think it is a useless argument and it’s very frustrating to know it encompasses a good 50-70% of all content I see on here. I do not care to entertain discourse or debates on what you think is right or not, that’s not at all what I focus on in my studies.

Regardless of beliefs, this is going to be a safe space, and I do not want anyone being rude to people who reblog or comment on my posts. If I am uncomfortable with you, then I will block you at my discretion. [More info about my “beliefs” on the “debate” shit]

While I am not enforcing it, I would kindly ask you NOT to tag my posts with syscourse. That’s not a tag I want my posts to be under because I generally do not want to be roped into arguments. I’m not gonna block you if you have/if you do, it’s just a preference! I know some people reblog my posts under the tag as awareness, so this isn’t really some hard rule or anything. This just isn’t really a debate account, and you don’t get to be a dick to me because of a fabricated discourse issue I couldn’t care less about.

Fun facts about us/More Info on us:

We are working on a bachelor’s in psychology and want a master’s in nursing!

The ultimate goal is a master’s in nursing with a focus in PMHNP and a doctorate in clinical psychology. Being able to fund myself well through being a PMHNP and enjoying my research/teaching/helping through clinical psychology would be the most fulfilling life I could ever ask for.

We are a huge advocate of sharing and distributing free educative sources, and we have entire folders full of nearly 100 different resources we will gladly share!!

Since we are so big in psychology, our entire account is more psychological-science oriented to better understand our’s and other’s personal experiences. Our approach is always going to be empathy and understanding first.

Identity wise, queer is the best way we can describe ourselves.

A lot of us are generally agender, asexual, and aromatic, but we do have some alters who are pansexual and/or are a separate gender. Generally we are transmasc-neutral and the safest pronoun would be he/him. Neopronouns and xenogenders are fucking awesome and some of us do in fact use them!!

We are currently in a happy relationship right now!

We are traumagenic and experience the higher end of the dissociation spectrum (DID).

We do know our “origin” term would be considered traumagenic concerning our personal history. Our dissociative experience is very complicated and we have often felt alienated within the community, so we try our best to share feelings we hope others find comfort in. Honestly have no idea how to keep up with headcounts because our system doesn’t fully work like that but at least 10 have fronted on numerous occasions.

If there are any other adult systems that would like to interact, I would be happy too!

We’re friendly, I promise!!! However, this account is our only social media-related connection. We do not talk outside of this blog and are not associated with anything else! That being said, we do not feel comfortable sharing our simply plural unless you are someone we know deeply.

Tagging system for organization purposes:

“ #Omg a hit tweet /silly ” (more like a personal record to keep track of my top posts so I can respond to everyone/look at them)

“ #Botanical

[spmthemanga]

Above is a ‘brief’ teaser/preview trailer of my Super Paper Mario manga project.

Music is Memory (Nighttime Version) by AJ DiSpirito.

Hey y’all, and welcome!

I’m just an overly obsessed Super Paper Mario fangirl who decided that we needed a fully illustrated, fleshed out comic adaptation of the entire game (yes, the ENTIRE story). So, I’m making one myself because no one else will do it. Strap in!

Here on my blog you’ll find not only the actual pages of the manga, but also my random SPM artwork, which will all be found under #concept art, and my ‘Fun Facts’ series, where I talk about my writing process more in depth. You can also follow me on Insta @ championofdestruction !

Or you can join my manga’s official Discord server!

The manga is entirely hand drawn by me in black and white, and each page is numbered for your convenience (which I’ll try to organize here as best I can). I’m a very amateur artist and writer, but I’m very passionate about this project and I intend to respect and be faithful to the source material while expanding it in a fun-to-read way. That’s what the fans want, and we’re the only ones who matter.

So, without further ado, let me tell you the story of the lost book of prophecies…

THE MANGA:

Prologue: Prophecy of Destruction~

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

Chapter 1: The Guardian of Mt. Lineland~

1-1: The Dimensional Governor: Part 1 ~ Part 2

1-2: The Legends of Yold: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5

1-3: Monster of the Ruins: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7

1-4: Soft Light: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10 ~ Part 11 ~ Part 12 ~ Part 13 ~ Part 14 ~ Part 15 ~ Part 16 ~ Part 17 ~ Part 18 ~ Part 19

However, if SPM isn’t your thing, or you like my art, check out my nonSPM art blog @nintendo-jedi ! (Updates are sporadic)

And as a final note, if you’re interested in the other Mario fanfic I’ve written in the past, check out my AO3 here (specifically my SPM one, Castle Bleck Craziness)!

[yamayuandadu]

Is Humbaba's appearance ever described in detail in any written sources? When looking online, I keep seeing artists depicting him in very specific ways (head covered in entrails, scaly skin, snake phallus...), but I'm having trouble finding the sources for those same specific details

This is something I've spent quite a lot of time investigating myself last year when I was working on his wiki article. The short answer is that not really, but we can piece something together from the available scraps - and it’s not really similar to the modern standard you're describing. You are definitely looking in the right places for Humbaba information if you found no trace of these traits - only one of them goes back directly to an actual source, and even then it’s less firm than it might seem at first glance. More under the cut. 

The textual sources are actually very lax when it comes to describing Humbaba’s appearance, What is emphasized are his supernatural powers and authority granted by the gods - Wer (they set this guy up like he’s the next arc villain in a shonen in the Old Babylonian version’s Sippar fragments) and Enlil or Enlil alone. There’s a decent chance he was viewed as largely human-like. Andrew R. George ( The Babylonian Gilgamesh epic: introduction, critical edition and cuneiform texts, p. 144) describes him as “essentially anthropomorphic” though speculates he might have been imagined as tree-like. Multiple considerations regarding Humbaba’s iconography can be found in the articles from Gilgamesch: Ikonographie eines Helden, especially in Lambert’s and Collon’s. Collon essentially just concludes that Humbaba was simply depicted as an unusually tall and/or broad but still largely human-like figure, Lambert notes similarities to the lahmu (so we’re still within the realm of burly hairy men, essentially). Piotr Michalowski (A Man Called Enmebaragesi, p. 205-206) argues that at least in the standalone narratives Humbaba was essentially a parody of various peripheral “barbarian” rulers. It is perhaps worth pointing out that while the etymology of Humbaba’s name is up for debate, it is clear that it was originally an ordinary personal name, and individuals bearing it appear in administrative texts from the Ur III period before Humbaba the literary character arose.

While myths and the epic itself are lax, plenty of information about Humbaba’s appearance can be found in other genres of texts. This evidence has been collected by George (same monograph as above, p. 146-147). His face was regarded as outlandish, with a bulbous nose and big eyes. There are references to diviners spotting Humbaba’s face while analyzing animal entrails. An artistic representation of this phenomenon is seemingly known from one exemplar, and is the source of “entrails-faced” Humbabas in modern work.

A unique sculpture from Neo-Babylonian Sippar seen above (you can view it from more sides here) is inscribed with a short formula starting with “If the coils of the colon resemble the head of Huwawa”, and has accordingly been described as the visual representation of this statement since the 1920s. Identification as Humbaba has been affirmed for example by Anthony Green in his 1997 article Myths in Mesopotamian Art (p. 137-138 + 150 for a confirmation of the museum number; published in Sumerian Gods and their Representations; you can find it online,it’s worth checking out since it also includes timeless classics like Wiggermann’s Transtigridian Snake Gods and Westenholz’s Nanaya, Lady of Mystery). I’m not actually aware of any parallels, but it’s a cool, striking visual and I personally don’t find its modern fame undeserved.

However, it needs to be stressed that it’s not standard. Humbaba’s face is also quite common in visual arts. In fact, it’s so common that Frans Wiggermann (Mesopotamian Protective Spirits: the ritual texts, p. 150) argues that the face came first, with the name perhaps representing a unique sound made by the creature while grinning or laughing (what is this, One Piece?) and only developed into a literary character later. These images served an apotropaic purpose guarding doors (examples have been discovered in situ), appear chiefly in Old Babylonian times, and show remarkably consistent traits, here are some I’ve assembled for the wiki article last year:

Scaly skin doesn’t show up anywhere as a trait of Humbaba’s, as far as I am aware. That’s Tishpak’s thing. However, it is perhaps worth noting that a type of lizard, ḫuwawītum, was named after Humbaba (George, p. 145). This was discussed briefly by Claus Wilcke a long time ago in Humbaba’s entry in the Reallexikon (p. 535); he pointed out the animal was compared to a gecko or what he identified as some variety of agamid. Not sure if anyone ever tried identifying it more precisely with any species of reptile which can be found in Iraq or Syria. Given Humbaba’s apparently outlandish looking eyes my first thought was a chameleon, honestly, but don’t quote me on that, plus note that it seems chameleons were called bargunna (or bargungunna).

As for the other reptilian matter, snake phallus is a part of Pazuzu's iconography (see his Reallexikon entry by Wiggermann, p. 377), not Humbaba's. As far as I can tell, the Humbaba plaque above is naked and shows no such characteristics. Many other possible depictions of Humbaba show him in some sort of kilt with no phallus of any sort in sight (see the numerous seals shown in Collon’s article mentioned above, for instance). I know the snake phallus claim was even on wikipedia at some point - long before my involvement - but it doesn’t come up in any publication about Humbaba I read from within the past 40 years.

[crystallizedkingdoms]

so like, Johann lost his birthday

Let’s start off by saying that I wanted to post a fact about Johann today, since I’ve been trying to post some stuff since I love him. I vaguely remembered that his birthday was listed on his TAZ Fandom.com Wiki page, and I thought it was just a cute little fact to share with you guys like my previous one. However, as I saw it on the wiki, I noticed something peculiar: it had zero citation!

That’s not totally strange. A lot of fandom wikis miss citations for information. The TAZ Fandom.com Wiki is no exception. But I strive to give all the facts about Johann, because he’s my favourite character and he deserves it! So, I got to work trawling through every episode he showed up in, and all the TTAZZ episodes he’s mentioned in, to find where Griffin mentioned his birthday being October 12th.

Except… it doesn’t exist. There is not a single mention of Johann’s birthday throughout any of the episodes he’s in, including TTAZZ. And come to think of it, why would Johann have a birthday in the months we use IRL when they use no such calendar in TAZ? Why would a minor character have a birthday before the literal PCs?

Johann’s page is certainly not free from past vandalism after all. Though it’s eventually fixed pretty quickly.

So, I went digging, and guys…

EIGHT. FUCKING. YEARS.

For eight fucking years, misinformation about Johann has been up on his wiki page with no question about it. It’s not real. And you wanna know how I know? I made an account on Fandom.com and looked through the edit history of Johann’s page to find out when this information was added to his page. Looking through, I found the usual instances of wiki vandalism, especially during the time of his death in the podcast, but I found one silly instance of it.

Changing a character’s gender to be trans is a tale as old as time. Annoying vandalism, but easy to fix and relatively harmless (also trans Johann based as fuck). However, two minutes later, this contributor makes another edit…

YOU. It’s the same person, indicated by their identical IP address.

But okay. Just because the agender edit is a baseless fact doesn’t necessarily mean the birthday is. I still don’t know their source, since they didn’t fit it. Right? But then you check the date they made those two edits on…

Yeah this is fake lol.

While the Agender Johann vandalism was quickly fixed by Fandom contributor SomeAlexGuy (thank you), the birthday vandalism slipped under the radar. Untouched for eight years. It’s even made its way to the The Adventure Zone Miraheze! Unfortunately, I cannot edit the wiki page, since my Fandom account was made just today and I need about four days to be able to edit stuff, so if anyone has the power to delete the false information on both the Fandom wiki and the Miraheze I would greatly appreciate it. If not, then I will delete it myself in four days on Fandom, and apply to be a TAZ Miraheze contributor.

And in the low chance that vandal was right and Johann’s birthday is correct, anyone who can find the source and provide me a citation are free to edit it back. WITH. CITATIONS. Until then, please don’t vandalize wiki pages, but especially the page of such a minor character with very few eyes to fact check them like the major characters, and have misinformation stay up for almost a decade.

Thank you for reading.

TL;DR, in the words of @avijohann:

[gatheredfates]

Hi all! I managed to jinx myself by saying there wasn't a lot to add to the Compendium this week... and then I found a tonne of resources. I can't say I'm complaining about looking like a fool, though! 🪸

A lot of these resources were shamelessly sourced by xiv.sleepyshiba's masterlist! While I tend to endeavour to provide general / creative resources, their master list does contain a lot of discords / guides you can check out around raiding, combat guides, PVP etc. I might have missed. Send them a coffee if you want, for their kit is pretty comprehensive!

I have tried to include sources I can see have been actively maintained but I can't promise all are 100% accurate or up to date. If in doubt, send me a DM.

Additionally, due to the fact I am slowly increasing my collection, the Compendium has expanded its sections from four to five! We now have a dedicated lore section for anyone who wants to learn more about the game. 📖 I'm hoping this will encourage people to write and submit their lore compilations knowing that people will see them.

However, without further adieu, as of 05/11, the following resources have been added (in no particular order) to Sea's Community Compendium for XIV Creatives!

LARGE SCALE

Eorzea Collection — A one-stop shop for everything gear and glamour related! Browse through gear sets, fashion accessories or individual pieces of gear; view player-made glamorous for any job, race, etc; view chocobo sets and more!

A Master Beginners Guide to FFXIV — A comprehensive document of useful information for anyone looking to get into FFXIV. While accurate only up to Shadowbringers, it includes basic how-to's and general information relevant for people brand new to the game.

FFXIV Venues — A repository of various player-submitted venues open to the public and times of their events!

Aether Roleplay Hub — A discord focusing on roleplay and the roleplayers of the Aether data centre.

Tales From — Every expansion, the Final Fantasy XIV Dev Team releases a series of short stories about the various peoples’, tribes, factions and key characters called Tales From the ___.

Mirapri — Functionally similar to Eorzea Collection, this site accepts player-submitted glamorous for ideas and inspiration. Appears to be predominately used by the Japanese player base.

Akhmorning — A collection of XIV resources containing things one might find the miscellaneous section such as A Comfy Guide for Sprouts and Raiding Fundamentals; Bozja guides including Southern Front, Castrum Lacus Litore, Delubrum Reginae and more; PVP guides including, but not limited to Introduction to Frontlines and Beginners Guide to Feast; and Job guides.

Heavenswhere — Having trouble finding just where your treasure map is located? This tool will help you narrow down the search!

Fashion Reporter — Official Discord server of Kaiyoko and the Fashion Reporter discord bot. Also contains links to access the Fashion Report each week and the How to Make MGP guide.

FFXIV Clock — A tool to track the spawn timers of timed gathering nodes.

LORE

Ishgardian Forms of Address — A document that explores the honorifics, and forms of address used in the in-game setting of Ishgard and by Ishgardian characters using using in-game dialogue, quest text, levequest text and information from the second printing of the English-language lore book, Encyclopedia Eorzea. Maintained by @hasty-touch!

Final Fantasy XIV Lore: Ishgard — also written by @hasty-touch, this document contains lore relating to Ishgard and Coerthas.

Ascian Reference Pile — An up-to-date reference on FFXIV's Convocation of Fourteen, in appearance and lore. Maintained by Igeyorhm on Twitter.

Eorzea Time — The measurement and expression of time in Eorzea, like the real world, is governed by a fundamental set of rules. To understand them, users on Gamer Escape have put together a handy guide for people to follow.

FFXIV Meals Catalogue & Compendium — Have you ever wanted to know all foods currently contained in XIV? This document has a record of all consumable meal items obtained up to 5.4 and the ingredients used to make them. Maintained by vashiane on Twitter.

MISC

Detailed XIV World Map — Have you ever wondered where locations sit in relation to the entirety of Etheirys (and beyond)? This detailed world map provides accurate locals and information for you!

XIV SleepyShiba — Maintained by Udra Virias, this website is a repository of all their resources including, but not limited to; The Detailed XIV World Map, 6x. Paladin Resources, hotbar builders and BiS/gear trackers for raiding, and their own XIV Resources Masterlist!

FFXIV — Hairstyles — Having trouble remembering what Modern Aesthetic style is which? Struggling to find that one hairstyle you saw in game but you don’t know where it’s from? This guide has you covered!

Obscura's consolidation of Helpful links for Roleplay — A collection of tips, tricks and guides to assist people looking into getting into FFXIV RP — or just roleplay in general! Contained within are resources around character creation, relationships, roleplay tips, how to write villains and more.

FFXIV Reference Sheets by Ren — Maintained by @renofmanyalts, these reference sheets currently contain a sortable Roegadyn dictionary and height chart for all the race/clan combinations currently in game.

FFXIV Armoury Collection — exactly what it says on the tin — a collection of every single gear set currently available in FFXIV sorted by things such as patches, class, jobs and raids.

How to Craft like a Machine — This document covers the crafting formulae and other related aspects of crafting in Final Fantasy XIV.

MakePlace — A stand alone tool to preview, edit and share housing layouts.

FFXIV Chocobo Racing — a blog that’s designed to be a comprehensive guide to the Chocobo Racing minigame.

Lord of Verminion — A comprehensive website for everything to do with the Gold Saucer minigame Lord of Verminion.

The Easy Win Lord of Verminion Guide — An easy way to maximise your MGP using the Lord of Verminion.

FFXIV Housing Grade by Plot — A rubric to assist people in understanding the pricing of FFXIV houses.

Housing NPC Images — Not sure what housing NPC looks like? This guide may be able to help you!

FFXIV Fishing Guides — A Final Fantasy XIV Fisher creating guides on how to fish all the fish of The Source and The First, in quick, goldfish sized videos. Making FFXIV fishing easier to do and understand.

Pigeon's Guide to XIV Screenshots — A guide created by @ahollowgrave detailing their screenshot process for FFXIV.

REMOVALS

The following communities have been removed from the Compendium as their sites/tumblrs no longer exist. If new links exist, please get in touch with me and I will re-add them.

The Glitter Hall

Story Hall

CHANGELOG

The Compendium has been updated for compatibility with Google Doc's built-in document outline! This should hopefully assist with accessibility issues. ✨ You can find it by clicking the button below on the left-hand side of the document. No one had made a comment about this, I'm just pedantic.

I have also added definition around the Lore category as well as some general sentence structure and definition in other sections.

Have I missed something? Probably, this update was huge. I'm going to take a break DFKGJHSDF.

Want to submit? You can either fill out the google form here, send me an ask with the relevant information contained on the Compendium, or join my Discord at SEAFLOOR (21+ only)!

[minniethemoocherda]

Iridescent: Chapter 33

A/N: Sorry this update is a week late! I started a new job at the beginning of January and I am exhausted! So I am not going to make any promises regarding any update schedule! Updates may be a bit more random for a while sorry! Xxxxxxx

(Also if you want to learn more about Elita's alternative sleeping arrangements you can read about them in my other fic in this series "Falling Into Empty Space.")

Ao3

FF.net

As he hurried after Jazz to the end of the med-bay, Prowl saw the unguarded shock fall on the spy's faceplate. Prowl's tact-net could not come to any suggestions as to what could cause such a reaction in one who was so usually in control.

Then he looked past Jazz to the berth.

For a second Prowl's logic circuits could not comprehend the sight in front of him.

Blackout, the former head of special operations, was dead.

Therefore it was impossible for her to be lying in the med-bay. Yet there she was.

Thankfully, the tact-net embedded in his brain was quick to supply him with the fact that they had never found her body. She had been sent to spy on Shockwave's attempts to make synthetic energon onboard the Nemesis and never returned. Beyond her lack of reappearance, they'd only had Megatron's word as proof of her demise. And at the time, they hadn't had any reason to suspect otherwise.

Which only raised a new set of questions. Why would Megatron lie? How did she survive? And where had she been all this time?

Prowl knew it would be rude to ask but for the sake of the safety on every bot on board he needed to. Thankfully before he could, Blackout started explaining herself.

"Good, now that you're all here I won't have to repeat myself a dozen times." She said, pushing herself into a seating position as she looked at each of the members of High Command crowded around her. For a moment her gaze caught on Prowl. If she found it odd that he had arrived at the same time as Jazz then she decided not to mention it. "As soon as I snuck onboard Shockwave found me. Like he'd been waiting for me."

Prowl wasn't sure if anyone had told her about Silverstreak's defection yet but if the traitor had been working for the Decepticons for as long as they suspected, then that could explain the unfolding situation.

"He wanted information on our synthetic energon experiments." Blackout continued. "I didn't tell him anything. Not that there was much to tell. Or at least there wasn't before I left." She gave a quick questioning glance at Ratchet's unconscious body. "Anyway, I think Shockwave must have realised that because eventually instead of asking me questions he just started using me as the test subject for his own energon experiments."

"Did he-"

"No." Blackout interrupted before Red Alert's sensors could start sparking. "He didn't succeeded in making any synthetic energy sources."

"And as thankful for that as we are, we are more grateful to Primus that you have returned to us." Optimus said. Even with his facemask on, the smile was visible in his voice. "How are you?"

"I am fine." Blackout replied.

"Well it looks like any superficial damage has scared over from what I can see." Inferno stated. Prowl followed the former firefighter's optics as they checked over Blackout's body. The black of her armour was now a dull grey, covered in small scars that appeared to have been cut and sealed over and over and over again. "There's no sign of a current infection and your basic vitals are all alright as well. I'm no Ratchet, but I could try to hook you up to do a full scan-"

"No." Blackout snapped, flinching away from the wire in Inferno's outstretched servos.

Prowl hadn't known her well before her apparent passing. But never before had he seen her flinch.

"I told you already that I am fine." Blackout insisted, shoving herself off of the berth. She stood on unsteady pedes, once again flinching away Inferno's offered hand. But she stayed upright as she started to march herself out of the med-bay. "I just need to write up my report then I can get back to work."

"Sure thing boss-bot!" Jazz said. "Just need to clean up your office for ya first."

Belatedly Prowl tried to calculate how Jazz felt about the news of Blackout's return. But as ever the spy was near impossible to read. Prowl was sure only he could tell that the spy's smile was off.

Prowl watched as a flicker of something other then a mask of indifference crossed Blackout's faceplate as for the first time, she took a proper look at Jazz. But as soon as Prowl registered it, the look was gone.

"There is no rush. I can write my report elsewhere." Blackout stated.

"Where? The rec-room?" Jazz snorted. "Not like I was using the desk much anyways. You know me, the only way I can write anything's is if I'm hanging upside down."

The corners of Blackout's lips twitched into the semblance of a smirk.

"Yes I do know you. So I know what you're trying to do."

Prowl must have been more exhausted from last night's activities than he previously thought as it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realise that fact that now that the previous Head of Special Operations had returned, Jazz would most likely be demoted. Meaning that they would no longer be of equal rank. And therefore unable to continue their arrangement.

The obvious solution of course would be for them to make an official declaration of their relationship to ensure that they would be permitted to keep sleeping with each other.

However for reasons that his processor could not provide, the idea of asking Jazz to be in an exclusive relationship made it feel as though the energon in his internals wanted to regurgitate back up his intake.

For a moment, he tried to determine if the twins could have spiked his energon without him noticing, when the deep baritone of the Prime's voice interrupted his theories.

"Reports can wait. First may I suggest that we all get a good night's rest." Optimus said, his suggestion clearly meant to be taken as an order.

High Command started to filter out of the med-bay, only Inferno and Red Alert remaining behind, the former to do his duty and the latter to keep them company.

Prowl overhead Elita say to Blackout that she had been assigned the agents old room but that she was happy to find alternative arrangements if Blackout wished the have it back.

As he left, Prowl thought about following Jazz back to his habsuite. But Prowl's room was in the opposite direction. Therefore so as to not arouse suspicions, it made sense for him to walk the other way.

Even though, the tiny illogical part of his processor wanted to take Jazz's hands, drag him to his hab and fall back into his embrace.