#and made him more introspective than I usually keep him

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

Written for @sepalina's birthday, who deliberated for two days only to suddenly remember, oh yes right she has a favorite fic 🤣

That Seiran chick might have a princess’s pedigree around here, but there’s nothing dainty about the way she grips the metal bar at the end of each of their cots, twisting her wrists like she’s picturing flesh and bone rather than steel.

“You two have to be the biggest boneheads I have ever seen stuffed into a drive suit.” Her fingers clench, and Obi could swear the mental dints. “A bare knuckle brawl in the dome? At a time like this? Are you two insane?”

“Ah, well…” The Big Guy may have looked tough when Obi took him to the mats, a more solid anti-kaiju wall than anything the PDPC could toss into the Pacific, but he cringes just like any other mortal would when Kiki Seiran looms over him, all her disappointment honed to a point. “It wasn’t really a brawl. Just a…regulated spar, like usual—“

“Usual?” Her arms fold the way steel does into rebar, and oh, the princess is not amused. “Obi’s more bruise than bone.”

“Aw, Princess,” he croons, trying not to wince from the effort. “If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.”

Her spine straightens, giving her all the extra inches she needs to give that glare of hers momentum, hitting him like a body off the Golden Gate hits the bay. “I can see the other guy. You’re both in the same infirmary, because you’re the same amount of stupid.”

“Actually, I’ve been wondering about the logic on that one.” He tilts his head, trying to go for that doleful dog stare that does wonders on sweet little nurses with hearts of gold. Too bad he’s got Yuzuri, who only wrenches his head back to the side, holding him still enough to swab when the skin’s split over his cheekbone. “Is this our— yikes, careful there, Florence— get along shirt or something? Two guys take some swings and you hope sticking us in a bottle sorts it out?”

“No,” she deadpans, taking a pen light out from the pocket of her scrubs. “I’m trying to quarantine the idiocy. You better be careful, Major” —she casts a long glance princess-side— “it might be catching.”

That regal mouth twitches, somewhere in the realm of amused. “Too late for me. No one ends up in a drive suit unless they’re born with it.”

“Ha, that’s for sure.” A light sears across his line of sight, leaving constellations in its wake. “As for you two, I didn’t see the point in sending you to your corners when you’re so friendly. Saves me space, and you can treat tonight like a sleepover. Braid each other’s hair and talk about cute boys.”

“Er…” How a big man like that can go through basic and still blush as easy as a school girl, Obi will never know, but it’s funny as hell. “I don’t really have opinions on cute boys…”

“Don’t worry, Big Guy,” he grunts, snuggling his shoulders into the pillows at his back. “I’ve got enough for both of us.”

That gets him a real side-eye from GI Joe, one that only ends when he swings those golden retriever eyes onto the real authority in this room. “Is there any way I get to go back to my bunk tonight?”

“Sorry, Major.” No matter what she says, Yuzuri’s shrug doesn’t give a single hint of regret. “Gotta keep you both on observation. SOP for rangers with head injuries. Last thing we need is for you guys to hare off and play hero just because you heard the dinner bell.”

He grimaces, all perfect teeth in a perfect face. Pity this guy fell into the military before someone could get him a magazine cover. Obi would have loved to hang that pin-up over his bunk. “Ah, right. That…makes sense.”

Of course it did. They might all be kaiju-fodder in the end, but they were the expensive, top shelf shit. The kind the PDPC wanted to stretch out as long as possible, not waste on some idiot who went into the drift concussed and had his brain melt right out his ears for the effort. Obi half surprised they haven’t been shoved into an MRI just to make sure.

“Aww, but you don’t really want to leave, do you, bestie? Not when we’re gonna have so much fun.” The target of his grin shifts from bed to bedside. “What do you think, Yuzuri? Think we could borrow some ManGo For It or Red Hot Rio?”

“I dunno,” she deadpans, not even looking up from her notes. “I think he’s more of Rosy Future guy.”

“Really? Still running your mouth?” Her Highness tosses her head, more pony than princess. “Did you not get beat bad enough?”

“What, this little mosquito bite?” Obi gives his jaw a good clench and turn, displaying his medal of honor at its best angle. Hurts like a bitch, but it’s worth it to see even Princess get squeamish. “Lucky shot. I got three hits for his one.”

Her mouth does that thing it does, that twitch, the one he’s starting to figure out is a laugh. “Yeah, and that’s all he needed to make you crumple like a tin can.”

“I already said I felt bad about that,” Big Guy grumbles, all folded in on himself like a teddy bear longing for a good squeeze. “I wasn’t trying to…well…”

“It’s okay, Superman, we all know you’re living in a world of cardboard.” Obi leans over, giving one of those meaty shoulders a good pat. Probably feels like a whisper to a man that stacked. “How can I blame you, when you were only defending milady’s honor—?”

Her weight shifts, no longer balanced parade-style between their cots, but sitting back in her hips, displeasure heavily implied. That man-sized mountain straightens so much it Obi can practically feel the plate tectonics beneath his palm.

“I was not!” Big puppy eyes swing right around to the ticking time bomb at the end of their beds. “I would never do that!”

One elegant eyebrow arches, and ah, now he can see why half the PDPC pisses itself when she punches the bag right off its chain. Most of the rangers the Academy rolls out are brawlers, the kind of guys that get in between a kaiju’s punch and the Pacific coastline, but this girl— her power’s in the application of force, the art of finessing a blow to where the bones can’t bear it. Can’t get into a brawl with a fighter like that and expect an old fashioned beatdown, oh no— when princess steps on the mats, she doesn’t fight, she dismantles.

Ha, and by the way she chucks her chin, all challenge, she knows it.

Now how about that. It’s a whisper in his ear, a hum across the million and one electric impulses in his brain, dangerous and fond. Remind you of anyone you know?

Knew, maybe. Bright blue smears over stark white when he closes his eyes; suits that stood out, even among halls that housed living legends. Eye-catching, the higher ups had called it, but it caught all the wrong eyes when it came to Sonisay. They all learned, of course; even now he hears the sickening crack of bone, sees the sweep of dark hair as she steps out of her spin—

Not just that. That laugh jangles his nerves, too close to his own and yet infinitely different, inimitable. Not just her.

There’s a boy too, too small, too skinny, too…not enough. Might as well be a shadow for how closely he clings to that same dance, to those same stances. Might as well be a monster for how easily the bones crack under his heels too, no remorse, no regrets—

A boy that shouldn’t exist. A boy that no longer does. Obi closes his eyes.

You can’t look away forever. Too many voices to count on that one. Watch me, only his reply.

“Let me make something clear.” Big Guy’s grunt grounds him, dragging him right back down to his bed, to the finger waggling at him. “Kiki doesn’t need me to fight her fights for her. If she wants to kick someone’s ass, she can make her own bodies.”

Ah, great. Got back just in time to witnessing Bloodbath Barbie over there desire Big Guy carnally. Not that he notices; oh no, the Jolly Marine Giant only has eyes for him, serious as a heart attack. Makes him want to mention that these rickety little med cots can’t handle two ranger pilots going at it, let alone three, but of course Yuzuri’s gotta make it a rain out.

“All right, all right, visiting hours are over,” she sighs, and oh, by Princess’s look, this is the first time someone’s tried to shoo Kiki Seiran out of anywhere. “These boys need some rest, not an audience. Just gonna rile ‘em up.”

This guy benches almost twice Obi’s weight, a monster of a man, but the second Yuzuri aims that scold his way, he’s all puppy. “But I wouldn’t—”

“You might behave, but he won’t.” She jerks a thumb back where Obi lounges, pointed. “And if he doesn’t want to play nice, he’ll find some way to drag you along with him.”

Sounds about right, hums a nuisance that has no right to throw stones. Not at this particular glass house, at least.

“Me?” Obi a presses a hand to his chest; harder to see it tremble that way. “Why, I was only going to take a small snooze. A cat nap, really. How could I—?”

“No sleeping!” Yuzuri glares at him, incredulous. “Didn’t I just say you could have a concussion?”

“Aww, come on,” he sighs, hooking his hands behind his head. “First no fighting, now no napping? What else are we supposed to get up to in here?”

Princess hangs in the gap of their curtain coverage, and oh, she may not smile, but that’s one masterclass of a grin. “Strenuous activity.”

“Kiki—!”

“None of that either!” With an officious wave of her hands, Yuzuri succeeds in doing what PDPC has failed to do for years: tell Kiki Seiran where to go. “Now, get. These two don’t need a bad influence.”

“Aww, c’mon, Flo! That’s no reason to shoo Princess out,” Obi whines now that his entertainment has sashayed right out of his evening. “I’m an even worse influence, so—”

“You don’t need to tell me,” she sniffs. “Now give it a rest. Or else I’ll call Shirayuki down here, and she can read you the riot act.”

There’s a time he might have laughed. Might even have let one shoulder and a wry eyebrow do the heavy lifting as he said, I’m sure the Good Doctor has better things to do with her time than worry about little old me.

But a week ago he woke up in one of these cots soaked in his own sweat, ears still ringing from a klaxon that never rang. At least, not in this dome, not that day; his stomach churning from the heady brew of trauma and military grade sedatives. He’d turned, half convinced he’d see either six bodies or and empty room, and instead—

It was her. Tiny ponytail and all, clumps of it making a bid for freedom from that poor excuse of an elastic. A borrowed one,  all stretched out from trying to contain the fallout from Yuzuri’s nuclear-level event that she calls her hair, but it’s serviceable. Enough to bridge the gap between now and whenever Doc finally decides whether she’s gonna bite the bullet and grow it out again, or just chop the whole thing off.

That’s not the sort of stuff he knows about people. Not the sort of stuff he ever gets close enough to find out. But she was sitting right there, head tipped off the back of that chair, breath trembling the little flyaways splayed over her lips, and—

“Fine,” he sighs, settling back into his pillows. “I’ll play nice.”

Yuzuri snorts. “I won’t hold my breath.”

*

It’s when Big Guy lumbers out of their cozy little curtained love cave to go take a piss— or a shit; Obi might be nosy, but even he’s got his limits— that Yuzuri swoops back to his bedside, using his vitals as an excuse to say, “What the hell were you thinking anyway?”

None of her business. There’s a gruffness to that, a texture that implying barbed wire fencing with the prickly bits facing inside. Embarrassment, the kind a boy at the cusp of manhood couldn’t bear with any grace. Not that he had done all that well with other emotions either.

Could never bear being anything but the hero. A taunt, a snipe across the mess hall’s tables. Even in his head those two would never get along.

You can just admit it. Sonisay speaks the way silk would sting, if it could, a smooth stab with no mess left behind. A sliver beneath the fingernail, only noticed when it slips deeper. It’s not as if you were thinking of anything sexual.

Sure. There’s no need for the smile-like stretch over his synapses, too smug. But not from lack of trying.

He appreciates the honesty is the best policy shtick, especially from the girl who always spoke out both sides of her mouth as easy a breathing, but Obi settles on a nice neutral, “What?” instead.

Might earn him the sort of look that begs the question of just what is rattling around between his ears, but it’s better than having to explain that when he closes his eyes he sees red. Not spread out across his pillow or tangled in his fingers, but caught up in plain little hairpins, already slipping free.

“Are you kidding me?” Her gaze darts over the the empty bed beside his, pointed. Oh, so that’s what she’s asking about. “Did you somehow miss how big that man is? He could fit two of you between his shoulders!”

“Aww, Flo, he’s harmless.” Pain shoots up his cheek when he tries to grin, settling somewhere near his temple. Damn, that’s gonna put a real crimp in his game. “Big Guy’s a gentle giant.”

She stares at him. “Half your face is a bruise.”

Obi hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing himself in the mirror lately, but by the way one half of his face feels heavy enough to make him lean like a tower in Pisa, he doubts that’s an exaggeration. “He didn’t mean it though.”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to your capillaries whether he meant it or not.” One finger of hers brushes an eyebrow— yowch— and she scowls. “They’re broken all to shit anyway. God, you’re gonna be lucky if that smile of yours isn’t permanently lopsided from this.”

Already was, but she didn’t ask for his medical history. “I’ll be roguish.”

“You’ll be in PT, that’s what you’ll be.” She pulls back with a cluck of her tongue. “Lucky as hell that he didn’t break your orbital. Ugh, or your nose. That would have been a bitch to set. And your cheekbones—”

A cough, timid for how deep it is, rustles outside the curtain. “Sorry,” Big Guy starts, all doleful hound dog eyes as Yuzuri pulls them back. “I didn’t want to, er, eavesdrop, but…”

He’s smarter than to say, but you told us not to leave. Not to someone like Yuzuri, who’s already ruby red from the collar of her scrubs to her headband, ready to crack out of her shell like a crab left too long in the pot.

“You…I…” She slides out right around him, never once turning her back. “G-go. Lay down. Or something! Ugh!”

Big Guy blinks once at her back before swinging those hound eyes back to him. “Is she—?”

“Embarrassed,” he agrees. Yuzuri’s always happy to share her opinions, up until she get caught. “Big time. She’ll recover. But until then it’ll be your fault.”

“Oh…” He winces, though Obi can hardly tell if it’s from the thought of Yuzuri’s ill-wishes, or the kick he landed on his hip, making what should be an easy walk a bit of a hobble. “I am sorry about that, you know.”

That lantern jaw juts itself toward him, or more specifically, the shiner painted up one side. “This old thing? Don’t worry about it. Got worse from a mosquito.”

If Big Guy is impressed with his bravado, he’s got a funny way of showing it, looking all hangdog like that. “I just…I didn’t really mean to…”

Fuck you up is what the big guy can’t bring himself to say. It’s probably rude to tell him, I’ve had worse.

“No hard feelings, Major.” It’s half a laugh, half a groan as he hauls himself up his pillows, every muscle aching. “I did tell you not to go easy on me.”

A grimace is what he gets in reply, and a pained, “Still…”

The you didn’t know what you were getting into hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Like maybe he’s never fought a guy above his weight class. Like he’s never stood in front of a boy a third again his age, watching his knuckles crack beneath the cloth of his binds.

More like he doesn’t know how much he can mean it, a grim mouth huffs humorlessly. He will though. Give him a few months.

“Didn’t really expect you to try to kill me, though.” For a moment, he’s not quite sure who he’s talking to. He rubs at his jaw, pain scintillating beneath his palm, and, haah, yeah, he knows what fist laid a kiss on this cheek alright. “Damn, no wonder kaiju don’t walk away from you.”

“I wasn’t try to…” It’s funny watching a mountain hunch like that, shoulders riding up again his ears making him a whole range instead a single peak. “With someone who moves like you, there’s only two sure ways to win. I went with the one that relied on power. Wasn’t going to land many hits on you but had to make the ones I did count.”

“And then did too good a job.” That’s the thing with having a body that shares more in common with a jaeger’s chassis than human flesh; the fall back option is to just do everything more and harder. Obi had met more than a few men like that in his time, but none of them so friendly. “I gotta admit though, Big Guy, you got me curious. What’s the other way?”

Big lungs heave big sighs, and oh, this one feels like it could take a few trees with it before he settles back against the headboard. “Tire you out. Quick guys typically don’t have a lot of stamina when things drag on, so—”

“All right, all right, don’t let the ladies hear that one.” Or most of the men while he’s at it, even if Obi’s personal tastes tend more toward the techs tending the tin cans than the bodies they throw in them. “Don’t want anyone to get the idea that I can’t keep up off the mat either.”

That won’t be much of a problem. It’s rare to hear advice from that corner of his mind, but Buma’s habit always was to watch first and speak too late. Not with all the training you’ve done outside—

That’s Need To Know only. Obi casts a long glance over where giant feet nearly hang off the mattress. And I don’t think the Major needs to know.

“Anyways,” he huffs, the sort of quiet career boys get when they’re shy. “Sorry.”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Guy. I asked you to bring me a fight and you did! I’m hardly gonna blame you for that.” He turns his head, grinning at him across the poor excuse for a bedside table. “Besides, now I know what it’s like.”

Those puppy eyes blink, too innocent for a guy who could break him in half by breathing. “Hm? Do you mean—?”

His eyebrows lift —well, one of them tries to— enticingly. The wince probably doesn’t do him any favors. “Kissing your girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.”

Oh, it’s a real treat to see a lantern jaw drop so hard it nearly shatters. Too bad Princess isn’t here to enjoy it. “What?”

“You know…” His fingers weave through some hazy dips and lazy dives. “I can see what was good between you and High Highness, or whatever. The way you’d could compensate for each other in the drift. But you and me” — his hand flicks between them— “we don’t fit.”

“Oh.” It’s a pleasure to watch his mouth wrap around that noise, to see him really wrangle with the meat of what his meaning. “Yeah. I get it. I think.”

“I mean, for one thing,” Obi says, so casual. “We’re both bottoms.”

“Come again?”

“Kidding, kidding.” Kind of, Sonisay hums, and oh, he could swear he feels that forked tongue flickering where she coils in his mind. I doubt he’d complain if that blonde woman took it into her head to—

Hey. Maybe if he had a mirror, he could give himself a warning look, the kind Doc was always giving him right before he took a joke too far. But instead he had to settle for just thinking louder, like trying to shout over a crowded bar. I still gotta talk to this guy with a straight face for the next twenty-four hours.

Sounds like, that too-familiar voice hums, a real personal problem.

It’s too bad Major Do-Right over there can’t hear the speculation of the peanut gallery; then he might no be so quick to let relief bring those shoulders relax, to settle back into those pillows with a sigh that speaks of a light conscience. What did Yuzuri say? If Obi doesn’t want to behave, he’ll drag you down with him…?

Well, he hates to disappoint.

“Or am I?” The cot nearly cracks down the middle from how fast the Big Guy turns on it, sputtering. Obi just tosses him a wink. “Don’t worry, Big Guy. I’m not the kind of girl who likes to kiss and tell.”

*

For all that their lovely nurse devotedly frets over the potential stupors they could slip into with even the slightest bit of shut eye, or sometimes even something like getting up too fast or breathing too easy, she’s sure eager to encourage them to piss all by their lonesomes one she’s sure they can make the walk.

“What, this doesn’t get you going?” Obi asks, peeking around the door. “I hear some people really get into—”

“I hear some people really don’t get jello at dinner,” she replies, shoving him bodily through the crack. “Wanna see if you’re one of them?”

“What if the stream’s too strong and I get vertigo?” He winces, hearing all those words echo in so small a space, but it’s worth it for the noise she makes outside the door. “What if I crack my head on the floor and get a double concussion?”

“Then at least you’ll be quiet.”

There’s a slam— a door. Not this one, the particle board so paper thin Big Guy could probably sneeze it off its hinges; but the heavier infirmary door, one meant to withstand a mortar shell, maybe even nuclear blast— but Obi doesn’t bother to bite back his grin. Maybe if he’s lucky, she’s run into Suzu on the way to the commissary and give him a full run down of all the ways she could make Obi’s death look like an accident. Some real romantic talk to keep a nerd warm at night.

With shake and a wriggle— how Big Guy managed to move around in here when his elbows keep cracking into the tile, Obi’ll never know— he wraps up his business, sauntering straight out onto the infirmary floor. With no kaiju to keep the place hopping, it’s dark, the only light coming from the lamp angled over Yuzuri’s desk, and from behind their ring of curtains. A nice way to find his way back; or at least it would be if he didn’t already count two shadows there: one hitched up on the bed, shoulder big enough to overflow the outline of the pillows, and the other—

The other’s standing, tall enough to make Big Guy seem normal sized, and radiating authority the same way the sirens do danger.

Ah, fuck. It’s the Marshal. Hide, a cacophony of whispers hiss, which— he’d love to, if there was a single goddamn place to do it.

“I take it this isn’t a social call.” Big Guy doesn’t have a deep voice, not the way the circumference of his chest would suggest, but he’s pitched it low now. Still too much to be contained by a curtain, though.

The Marshal cocks his head, wry. “Would you believe me if I said, ‘yes?’”

There’s a hesitation, a huff that might be something like humor. “No.”

“Then let’s not waste time pretending.” It might be a trick of the acoustics in this room, a little reverb on that tinny echo, but Obi could swear His Majesty sounds amused. “I’ve heard you’ve quite the rapport with our new ranger.”

Oh, hell. As if this isn’t the cherry on top of his shit sundae: not only is he stuck, standing right out in the open as the top brass talks Top Secret, he’s the topic they’re having tea over.

“News travels fast.”

“Danger of living in one of these little warrens.” The Marshal shrugs. “Rats like to chatter.”

Air hisses between Big Guy’s teeth, the way it did right before he threw his haymaker. “Not a lot of people eager to be on the wrong side of the mat from him. Not after the way he and Zen went at it the last time.”

“So you…what?” It’s uncanny how even the Marshal can make his voice; no inflection, no judgment, no answers. “Thought you’d help him keep his edge?”

“He asked.” There’s a rustle, a creak, and even though he can’t see it, he knows mountains are moving to make that shrug. “Not like I’ve got much to be afraid of.”

If one half of his face didn’t feel as ginger as the oldest wicker chair on some grandma’s patio, Obi might take some offense to that. That’s what you get for being so scrawny, a gruff voice scrapes over his ear, everyone underestimates you.

That, hums another, too pleased, is kind of the point.

“Good.” There’s something final in the way the Marshal says it, less like an observation, and more like an assessment. A test passed with much anticipated flying colors. “Keep doing that.”

Obi could cut the consternation in this room with a knife. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Was I not clear?” His Majesty’s tone conveys his confidence that he was. Maybe even too much so. “I’d like you to pursue this…relationship with our new colleague. Foster this tentative trust you have managed to build.”

Ha. Obi’s heart stutter hard enough— loud enough— that even the peanut gallery keeps their opinions to themselves. He should have known something like this would happen; sure, all the paperwork calls Hachimaru a failure, one that should have never flopped its way out of dry dock, but to someone like Izana Wisteria, well—

He’s got a reputation for ruthlessness for a reason. Enough of one that it escaped containment, slipping past the PDPC’s iron curtain of silence to spread around the streets of Sitka. Buildin’ a wall to keep the monsters out, one of the wallmen had chuckled over his pint, but no matter how high we do it, that one will still be in here.

Obi might have called that unfair, once. Sure, His Majesty wasn’t exactly a friendly guy, at least not with the rank and file, though there were magazines enough that showed him being chummy with the higher ups, but, well— pedigree might have put him in a pod, but it wouldn’t have pulled him a position so high above it. No, that only went to the corps' top minds, the ones who knew what it took out there to take your lumps and drag your metal coffin home. The ones who understood what they were asking when they dumped two men out into the Pacific and asked them to stop a natural disaster or die trying.

But if that guy is gonna meddle in his business like this, well, maybe once they finish building that wall, they can dump him over it. Lets the monsters sort it out between themselves. Knowing the Marshal, he’d still find a way to come out on—

“No.”

“No?” The way the Marshal wraps his mouth around the word sends shivers up his arms.

“I can’t do that. I mean, I won’t.” Big Guy snorts, like there’s a stench in the air he can’t quite get rid of. “I’d do a lot for you, sir, I would. Take a bullet. Die for the cause. But I’m not going to…to manipulate that man back into a jaeger for you. Not like this.”

A breath catches in Obi’s throat, nearly choking him. Big Guy’s got a heart of gold, but he can’t possibly be stupid enough to— to—

“Well well.” To his utter surprise, the Marshal laughs. “Good thing that’s not what I’m asking.”

Big Guy grunts. “Isn’t it?”

“If you couldn’t manage to convince my brother into the cockpit, I doubt you’ll have much luck with a man you barely know.” For how casually it’s said, there’s a bite to it, each word honed to sting. “I only meant that he’s not responding to the typically recommended course of therapy.”

Right. Because after that one session with Doc post-drift, all his peanut gallery clamoring to have their turn now that cat had clawed its way out of the bag, he hadn’t been able to drag himself back. And with all the dinners and hallway-run ins they’ve had since, Doc didn’t seem eager to sit him back down on her couch any time soon either.

“But he seems responsive to you, Major Lowen.” Or at least responsive to getting his shit kicked in, whatever that said about him. “Rangers are typically taciturn about their issues. I thought this route might be worth encouraging, since he seems amenable. Sometimes it’s easier for military men to discuss their problems with someone who has gone through the same ones. Especially” —Obi doesn’t need to see his smirk to know it’s there— “if they’re with the same person.”

Obi might not have stuck around under his dome once the dust settled, but he knew all about guys like Lowen. The regulation haircut, the closet full of BDUs, the fondness for field rations and boiled chicken— just a thin veneer of muscle and bravado over a reflex to ‘sir, yes, sir’ his way out of any problem more complex than picking which socks to put on in the morning. He might have stuck his neck out for something that twinged the weather vane that was his moral compass, but now that someone with stars and bars has explained to him that black is white, he’ll—

“That all?” Big Guy’s too nice to spit out the “sir?” but that little hitch before it, that small hesitation— well, sky writing would have been more subtle.

“Yes.” There’s no tone to that one either, no flavor. Just the implacable bite of subzero. “Unless, of course, there’s something you’d like to discuss?”

There shouldn’t be, his tone conveys, clear enough it could be heard in the hangar. Obi could swear he hears Big Guy’s teeth grind from here.

There’s a long stretch of silence, the kind that makes his skin itch.

“Just one thing, actually. Sir.” The bed creaks, and his shadow shifts, pulling straight. “Been noticing there’s a lot of hopefuls hanging around the past few months. Thought they might be clearing out now that all this business with Tyrannis is done.”

The Marshal hums, distant. “There’s hardly any rush, Major. A few sets of extra hands is always welcome.”

“Even when they don’t come with their own ride?”

For once, His Majesty hesitates. “Even then.”

“Even” —Big Guy almost savors his next words— “if they’re Hisame Lugis?”

“Dangerous times makes strange bedfellows.” The Marshal laughs, sour. “Especially ones like Hisame Lugis. Now if you don’t mind” — the curtain pulls aside— “I think our friend might like to use his bed. Isn't that right, Major?”

Ha, a voice tingles in his ear, busted.

[ravengards-rogue]

i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[visenyaism]

I haven't read the main series yet and I'd love to know the lore behind Harrenhal, love see you and others post about it but I sadly don't get all of it 😭

sit down followers it’s story time. Once upon a time there was this guy named King Harren Hoare. and he was king of the iron Islands where he was from, but he decided he wanted to be king of more than that also. so he invaded the Riverlands and conquered it all which was pretty easy because they were fighting each other like they always are instead of him. but being king of two places wasn’t enough he also needed to have the biggest baddest castle in all of the land. So he rounded up a bunch of smallfolk in the nicest most central important location in the riverlands and got them to building it. In his hubris he got too into it and mixed actual human blood into the mortars of the castle. unlike other feudal castles, this one is both literally and figuratively made from peasant blood. 

but he got his castle and it is in fact the biggest in the entire seven kingdoms. It’s notable for its five huge (now wrecked) stone towers. A million men could march on that thing and slide right off. but he forgot to account for the WMD metaphor that being Aegon Targaryen and his sisters flying in on their big big dragons, wanting to conquer everything that he had previously conquered. he refused to surrender because he thought his blood castle would keep him safe and they burned him and all his sons alive in it.

Ever since then, Harrenhal is this half-burned wreck of a castle but no family has been able to hold onto without all dying for more than two generations. my fav occupant was danelle lothston, a girlknight cannibal blood witch who later got executed for bathing in too much peasant blood. in the main series, the whole thing about Harrenhal is that it was the site of this tourney that happened when the main cast were teenagers where jaime lannister got knighted, ned got a crush on a dayne maybe, and lyanna got crowned queen of love and beauty by a very married rhaegar targaryen, all of which set up their generation-defining war. Harrenhal is also this cursed deeply hunted liminal space where time seems to be a lot looser. everyone thinks it’s cursed. there are many theories as to why, including:

1) harrenhal is cursed because of harren’s hubris, which is like the hubris of the lords (usually un-landed) who get handed the castle because they think they can turn it around.

2) the harrenhal curse is an allegory for feudalism, a castle made from peasant blood that eats the grasping lords who get handed it whole.

3) the harrenhal “curse” it’s just that it’s too big to defend and it’s centrally located in the Riverlands, which is important in every single war so it just sort of gets chewed up all the time and there’s no actual magic involved.

4) the Harrenhal curse is just the fact that Aegon’s descendants (Maegor, Rhaena, Daemon, etc) do have a tendency to keep coming back to kill everyone there.

5) the Harrenhal curse is a freaky blood thing that has something to do with its blood walls and a lot to do with its weirwood and the nearby isle of faces, an old god island no mortal, has ever successfully gone to, but several people have died trying. the castle is hungry for blood. 

Ultimately it is a super important place and also this haunted torment labyrinth sometimes the author will just stick characters like daemon or jaime into if they need to be stuck in introspective agony for a while. The current lord is littlefinger so everyone manifest it comes for him soon. 

[sebstanaddict]

Capturing Chemistry

Sebastian Stan x Reader One Shot

Summary: Reader is a photographer booked to shoot Sebastian for a magazine spread when during the shoot Sebastian keeps flirting with her. Will something come out of it or is he just playing with her?

Pairings : Sebastian Stan x Female!Reader

Warning : none

Word count : 5k words

Read more Sebastian one shots here : The Stan and Barnes Oddyssey

---

Capturing Chemistry

The morning light filtered through the large windows of the studio, casting a warm glow over the expansive space. The hum of New York City traffic buzzed faintly from outside, blending with the low chatter of the crew setting up for the day's shoot. Y/n adjusted her camera lens, her mind focused on the task ahead. This wasn't her first high-profile job, but there was something about today's assignment that had her stomach fluttering with anticipation.

Sebastian Stan.

The name alone sent a ripple of excitement through the team when the booking was confirmed. He was a Marvel actor, beloved by fans for his portrayal of Bucky Barnes, and known for his disarmingly charming personality. Y/n had photographed celebrities before, but there was something different about Sebastian-something that made her palms sweat and her heart race just a little faster.

Y/n took a deep breath, shaking off her nerves. Today was just another shoot. She was here to do her job-capture the essence of Sebastian Stan through her lens. The concept for the magazine spread was a mix of rugged and refined, meant to showcase both Sebastian's A list Hollywood actor persona and his softer, more introspective side. She had prepared extensively, studying his past work and thinking through poses that would bring out something new, something that hadn't been captured before.

The door to the studio swung open with a soft creak, and Y/n glanced up just in time to see Sebastian enter. He was casually dressed in a navy sweater and jeans, his hair slightly tousled as if he'd just rolled out of bed. There was an effortless grace to his movements, a kind of quiet confidence that immediately drew the eye. But it was his smile-a genuine, boyish grin-that caught her off guard, making her heart skip a beat.

"Good morning, everyone," Sebastian greeted the room, his voice warm and inviting, with a hint of that unmistakable charm that had made him a fan favorite. His eyes scanned the space, finally landing on Y/n. She straightened instinctively, feeling a wave of self-consciousness wash over her as his gaze settled on her.

He walked over to her with a purposeful stride, his smile widening as he extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Sebastian," he said, his tone casual yet engaging.

Y/n shook his hand, trying to ignore the electric spark that shot through her at the contact. "Y/n," she replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I'm the photographer for today's shoot."

Sebastian's eyes sparkled with amusement, his grip lingering just a second longer than necessary before he released her hand. "Y/n... I've heard about you," he said, his tone playful yet sincere. "They say you have a real talent for capturing the soul of a person in a single frame. I'm looking forward to seeing if that's true."

Y/n felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, a mix of flattery and nerves. "I'll do my best," she replied, her professional demeanor slipping slightly under the warmth of his gaze.

"Oh, I have no doubt about that," Sebastian said with a wink, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But just so you know, I don't make it easy on purpose."

Y/n chuckled, shaking her head as she tried to regain her composure. "I'll take that as a challenge, then."

His smile widened, and he took a step closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "You know, I have this little problem... Whenever I'm in front of a camera, I find myself getting distracted. Usually by something-or someone-much more interesting."

The way he said it, with a playful lilt in his voice and that mischievous glint in his eyes, sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. She was used to dealing with celebrities-actors, models, musicians-but Sebastian's attention felt different, more personal. It was as if he wasn't just being polite; he was genuinely interested in her, in who she was beyond the camera.

"Let's get started," Y/n said, breaking the moment before it lingered too long. She turned back to her camera, adjusting the settings with slightly shaky hands. "We've got a lot to cover."

As the crew moved into action, Sebastian gave Y/n one last lingering look before heading to the set. "Looking forward to seeing what kind of magic you can work, Y/n," he called over his shoulder, his tone teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.

Y/n took a deep breath, steeling herself for the hours ahead. She wasn't about to let a little flirting throw her off her game. This was just another shoot, and she was a professional. But as she glanced back at Sebastian, now standing in the center of the set with that same easy confidence, she couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation.

The shoot began smoothly, with Y/n guiding Sebastian through a series of poses. He was a natural in front of the camera, his expressions shifting effortlessly from intense to relaxed, playful to contemplative. But it was the moments in between the shots that caught her off guard-the way he would glance at her with that crooked smile, or the way he would comment on the lighting or the angle, always with a hint of flirtation that made her heart skip a beat.

At one point, as Y/n adjusted the lighting, Sebastian caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. "You know, I've always thought photographers had the best job. They get to see the world through a different lens-literally. But I bet you see a lot more than most people do, don't you?"

Y/n looked up from her camera, caught off guard by the question. "I guess you could say that," she replied, trying to keep her tone neutral. "It's all about capturing the right moment."

Sebastian tilted his head, studying her with a curious expression. "And what about this moment? Are you going to capture it?"

There was a challenge in his eyes, one that Y/n wasn't sure how to respond to. She lifted her camera, focusing the lens on him. "Maybe I will," she said, her voice soft but firm.

He grinned, leaning slightly forward as if to meet her halfway. "Go ahead. I'm all yours."

The playful innuendo wasn't lost on her, and Y/n felt her cheeks warm again. But she didn't let it distract her. Instead, she snapped the picture, capturing the moment in all its flirtatious glory.

As the shoot continued, Sebastian's flirtations became more frequent, but always light and teasing, never crossing a line. He had a way of making Y/n feel at ease, his humor disarming her usual guardedness. He was quick with a joke, often poking fun at himself in a way that made her laugh, and yet there was always an underlying sincerity to his words, a genuine interest in the person behind the camera.

During a break, as Y/n was reviewing the shots on her camera, Sebastian strolled over, a bottle of water in hand. "Mind if I take a look?" he asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Not at all," Y/n replied, scrolling through the images to show him.

He leaned in close, his shoulder brushing against hers as he studied the screen. "These are incredible," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "You've really got an eye for this."

Y/n turned her head slightly, finding him just inches away. His proximity made her heart race, but she kept her composure. "You make it easy," she replied, her voice steady.

Sebastian chuckled softly, his eyes locked on hers. "I think we make a pretty good team."

The way he said it, with that smooth, almost flirtatious edge, sent a thrill through Y/n. She had to remind herself again to focus on the job, not the man standing so tantalizingly close.

As the shoot progressed, Y/n found herself relaxing into the rhythm of the day. Sebastian's charm was infectious, and she couldn't help but respond in kind. She was used to keeping a professional distance, but with Sebastian, it felt natural to let her guard down, to enjoy the banter and the easy connection that seemed to spark between them.

"Alright, let's try something different," Y/n suggested as they approached the final set of shots. She adjusted the lighting, creating a softer, more intimate atmosphere. "I want to capture a quieter moment, something introspective."

Sebastian nodded, slipping into the mood effortlessly. He settled into a chair, his posture relaxed but thoughtful, as if he were lost in his own world. Y/n moved around him, capturing the subtle shifts in his expression, the way his eyes seemed to reflect a deeper emotion.

It was in these moments, when Sebastian wasn't performing but simply being, that Y/n felt she truly saw him. There was a vulnerability there, a depth that went beyond his public persona. She found herself drawn to it, wanting to understand the man behind the actor.

After the final shot, Y/n lowered her camera, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "That's a wrap," she announced, a smile tugging at her lips. "You were great."

Sebastian stood, stretching his arms above his head. "All thanks to you," he replied, his tone sincere. "You made this easy."

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her at his words. "It was a pleasure working with you."

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "The pleasure was all mine."

There was a charged silence between them, the kind that makes the air feel thick with possibility. Y/n could sense that this was the moment, the point where their playful banter could either end as a fond memory or lead to something more.

"Listen," Sebastian began, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. "I know this might be a little forward, but... would you like to grab a coffee sometime? Maybe dinner?"

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the directness of his question. She'd felt the chemistry between them, sure, but she hadn't expected him to make a move, at least not so soon.

"Are you asking me out, Mr. Stan?" she teased, trying to mask her surprise with humor.

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made him look boyish and endearing. "I suppose I am. But only if you're interested."

Y/n considered him for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. This wasn't just some random guy asking her out-this was Sebastian Stan! A world-famous actor! But in this moment, he didn't feel like a celebrity. He felt like a man standing in front of her, genuine and a little vulnerable, waiting for her answer.

"I think I'd like that," she finally said, a smile spreading across her face.

The relief that washed over Sebastian was palpable, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Great," he said, his smile widening. "How about tonight? I know a great little place not too far from here."

"Tonight works," Y/n replied, feeling a flutter of excitement.

"Perfect." Sebastian's grin was infectious, and Y/n couldn't help but mirror it.

As the crew began packing up, Sebastian lingered near Y/n, making small talk about the city, their favorite restaurants, and the latest movies. The conversation flowed easily, with none of the awkwardness that often comes with first-time interactions. There was a comfort in their rapport, as if they'd known each other far longer than a few hours.

When it was finally time to leave, Sebastian walked Y/n to the studio door. The late afternoon sun bathed the streets in a golden hue, the city alive with the usual hustle and bustle. Sebastian paused, turning to face her.

"I'm really looking forward to tonight," he said, his voice sincere.

"Me too," Y/n replied, her smile warm.

He hesitated for a moment, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to her cheek. It was a simple gesture, but it left her feeling light-headed, her skin tingling where his lips had touched.

"See you later, Y/n," Sebastian murmured, pulling back with a smile that was equal parts charming and shy.

"See you later, Sebastian," she echoed, watching as he walked away, disappearing into the sea of New Yorkers.

Y/n stood there for a moment, her heart still racing, a grin stretching across her face. She'd come to the studio today expecting just another photo shoot. She was leaving with something far more unexpected-the possibility of something new, something exciting.

And as she headed back to her apartment to get ready for her evening with Sebastian, Y/n couldn't help but feel like this was the beginning of a new chapter, one that she was eager to explore.

The city that never sleeps seemed to hum with possibilities, and Y/n couldn't wait to see where this unexpected day would lead her.

---

The streets of New York buzzed with life as Sebastian and Y/n walked side by side, their footsteps in sync as they navigated the familiar chaos of the city. It was their first date, a moment Y/n had hardly dared to imagine when she was just the photographer assigned to shoot him for a magazine spread. But now, here they were, on a warm summer evening, with the promise of something more lingering in the air between them.

Sebastian had insisted on taking her to Rubirosa, his favorite pizza spot in Nolita. It was a place that felt like home to him, with its cozy, unpretentious atmosphere and the best thin-crust pizza in the city. The kind of place you could only know about if you'd lived in New York long enough to discover the hidden gems.

When they arrived, the restaurant was bustling, but they managed to snag a small table near the back. The warm, inviting smells of fresh dough, tomato sauce, and melting cheese filled the air, making Y/n's stomach growl in anticipation.

"This place is amazing," Y/n said as she took in the cozy interior, the walls adorned with vintage photos and memorabilia. "I've walked past it a hundred times but never actually stopped in."

Sebastian grinned, pleased that he could introduce her to something new. "It's one of my favorite spots. I come here all the time, especially when I need a break from the craziness of the city. Plus, the pizza is to die for."

They ordered a classic margherita pizza and a bottle of red wine, the conversation flowing easily as they waited for their food. Sebastian was charming, funny, and so down-to-earth that Y/n found herself relaxing more and more with each passing minute. The man she had been nervous to meet as a photographer was now someone she could see herself getting to know on a much deeper level.

"So, what kind of music do you usually listen to when you're editing your photos?" Sebastian asked, genuinely curious.

Y/n smiled, considering his question. "It depends on my mood, but I tend to go for something that keeps me focused. Lately, I've been into indie pop and a lot of instrumental stuff."

Sebastian nodded, his interest piqued. "I can see that. For me, it's all about the 80s. That decade just had so many amazing bands and artists. I can't get enough of it."

Y/n looked at him with a raised eyebrow, a playful smile on her lips. "80s, huh? What's your favorite band?"

"Easy," Sebastian replied without missing a beat. "Depeche Mode. I've been obsessed with them for years. Their sound is just... timeless. And don't even get me started on 'Enjoy the Silence'-that song is everything."

"Depeche Mode is great," Y/n agreed, feeling a connection spark between them. "But if we're talking 80s, I'd have to say my favorite is U2. The Joshua Tree is just one of those albums that I can listen to over and over."

"Now you're speaking my language," Sebastian said with a grin. "That album is legendary. 'With or Without You' is probably one of the best songs ever written. And 'Where the Streets Have No Name'-man, I could listen to that on repeat for hours."

Y/n felt her heart skip a beat, thrilled by the easy connection they shared. "You've got good taste, Sebastian."

"I try," he said with a wink. "But really, the 80s were just an amazing time for music. Prince, Madonna, Michael Jackson-those artists shaped an entire generation."

"You're right," Y/n said, thinking back to her own memories of 80s music. "My parents used to play a lot of Bruce Springsteen when I was growing up. 'Born in the U.S.A.' was basically the soundtrack to my childhood."

Sebastian's face lit up with recognition. "Yes! Springsteen is a legend. 'Dancing in the Dark' is still one of my go-to songs when I'm in the gym. It just gets you pumped, you know?"

Y/n laughed, imagining Sebastian working out to Springsteen. "I can totally see that. There's something about his music that just makes you feel alive."

As they continued their conversation Y/n found herself drawn to the way Sebastian could switch from playful to serious in an instant. He shared stories from his time on the set of Marvel movies, talking about the camaraderie among the cast, the intense training for his role as Bucky, and the surreal experience of becoming a part of such a beloved universe.

"But enough about me," Sebastian said after a while, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "I want to know more about you. What got you into photography?"

Y/n hesitated, caught off guard by his genuine interest. "It's kind of a long story," she said, smiling slightly. "But I guess it started when I was a kid. My dad gave me my first camera when I was ten. He was always taking pictures, capturing little moments... I guess I wanted to do the same."

Sebastian listened intently, his blue eyes focused on her with a kind of earnestness that made her feel like the only person in the room. "That's amazing," he said softly. "You're really talented, Y/n. I could tell just by the way you directed the shoot today. You have a real passion for it."

Y/n felt her cheeks warm under his praise. "Thank you," she said, feeling a mix of pride and humility. "It's just... I love telling stories through my photos, you know? Capturing those fleeting moments that people might not notice otherwise."

He nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "That's what I love about acting too. Getting to tell stories, becoming someone else, even if it's just for a little while. But it's also about those moments in between the lines, the things you don't say out loud."

Y/n found herself admiring him even more. He wasn't just charming and funny; he was thoughtful, with a deep appreciation for the art they both loved.

When the pizza arrived, they both dove in, and Sebastian was right-the Margherita Pizza was incredible. They ate and talked, discovering more common ground. They shared the same taste in music, with a mutual love for 80s music. They even had a few favorite books in common.

"Wait, you're a fan of 'The Catcher in the Rye' too?" Y/n asked, surprised.

Sebastian nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. It's such a raw, honest look at the world. I read it when I was a teenager, and it just stuck with me, you know? Holden Caulfield... that guy just gets it."

Y/n felt a warmth in her chest, a sense of connection she hadn't expected. "I felt the same way when I first read it. It's one of those books that just makes you feel... understood."

As the night went on, Y/n found herself relaxing more and more, drawn in by Sebastian's humor and sincerity. He had a way of making her feel special, like she was the only person in the world who mattered. Every time he laughed, every time he flashed that grin, she felt her heart flutter just a little bit more.

"So, Y/n," Sebastian said, leaning back in his chair as they finished their meal. "Do you believe in fate?"

Y/n tilted her head, intrigued. "Fate?"

"Yeah," he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Like, do you think it was fate that brought us together today? That somehow, out of all the photographers in New York, you were the one chosen for this shoot?"

Y/n smiled, feeling a spark of excitement at his question. "I don't know... Maybe. Or maybe it was just luck."

Sebastian leaned forward, his gaze intense. "I think it was more than luck. I think... some things are just meant to be."

The way he looked at her, the way his voice softened when he spoke, made Y/n's heart race. She couldn't deny the connection between them, the chemistry that seemed to crackle in the air. And in that moment, she realized that she was falling for him-hard.

"Maybe you're right," she said softly, her eyes locked on his.

For a moment, they just sat there, the noise of the restaurant fading into the background. It was as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them, sitting at that small table, sharing a moment that felt like the beginning of something special.

Sebastian smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made him look both charming and endearing. "You know, Y/n, I'm really glad I met you today. I haven't had this much fun in a long time."

"Me too," Y/n replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "This has been... really nice."

He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. The touch was gentle, warm, and it sent a thrill through her that she couldn't ignore. "How about we take a walk? There's this great little park nearby. It's my favorite place to just... think."

"I'd like that," Y/n said, feeling a sense of calm wash over her.

They left the restaurant and strolled through the quiet streets of New York, the city lights casting a soft glow around them. As they walked, Sebastian continued to share stories, his humor and wit keeping Y/n smiling and laughing. They talked about everything and nothing- places they wanted to visit, dreams they had for the future.

When they reached the park, they found a bench overlooking a small pond, the water reflecting the twinkling lights from the city. They sat down, the comfortable silence between them only broken by the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Sebastian turned to her, his expression serious but tender. "Y/n, I know we just met, but... I feel like I've known you forever. Like there's this connection between us, you know?"

Y/n nodded, feeling the same way. "I feel it too, Sebastian."

He smiled, his eyes softening as he leaned in closer. "I don't want this night to end. I want to get to know you more, spend more time with you. What do you say we make this the first of many dates?"

Y/n's heart swelled at his words, and she couldn't help but smile. "I'd like that."

Sebastian's grin widened, and without another word, he leaned in and kissed her-a soft, tender kiss that felt like the perfect ending to a perfect night.

When they finally pulled away, Y/n felt a warmth in her chest that seemed to spread through her entire body. She looked into Sebastian's eyes, seeing a mix of tenderness and excitement that mirrored her own emotions.

"I have to admit," she said softly, "this is probably the best first date I've ever been on."

Sebastian chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that made her smile. "I'm glad to hear that. I was kind of worried I might have come on too strong."

Y/n shook her head, still feeling the lingering softness of his kiss on her lips. "Not at all. You've been... well, perfect, honestly."

He grinned, clearly pleased with her response. "I was just being myself. I'm glad it worked out." He paused, looking around the park with a sense of contentment. "This is my favorite spot in the city. I come here when I need to clear my head, especially after long shoots or when things get a little too crazy."

"I can see why you like it here," Y/n said, glancing at the stillness of the pond and the trees swaying gently in the breeze. "It's peaceful. Almost like a little escape from the city."

"Exactly," Sebastian agreed. "Sometimes, when I'm here, I forget that I'm in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world. It helps me reset, you know? Reminds me of what's important."

Y/n nodded, understanding the need for such a place. "I have my own spots like this, too. It's important to have a place where you can just breathe and be yourself."

Sebastian turned to her, a curious glint in his eye. "Tell me about them. What's your escape?"

Y/n thought for a moment, feeling a smile tug at her lips. "There's this little café on the Upper West Side. It's tucked away on a quiet street, and they have the best coffee in the city. I go there when I need to think or just want to get away from everything. The owner knows me by name, and it feels like a second home."

Sebastian smiled warmly. "Sounds like the perfect spot. I'd love to see it sometime."

"You'd like it," Y/n said, imagining him there, fitting in effortlessly with the laid-back vibe of the place. "It's not as glamorous as this park, though."

"Hey, glamor's overrated," he joked, leaning back on the bench. "Give me a good cup of coffee and a quiet place to think any day."

They both laughed, the sound echoing softly in the still night air. Y/n found herself wondering how it was possible that just a few hours ago, she hadn't even known Sebastian personally, and now, it felt like they were already building something meaningful.

Their conversation shifted to movies. Y/n was pleasantly surprised to find out that Sebastian shared her love for 80s cinema as well.

"You're telling me Back to the Future isn't one of the greatest movies ever made?" Sebastian asked, his eyes widening with mock disbelief.

"Are you kidding? It's a masterpiece," Y/n said, laughing. "I've seen it so many times, I practically have it memorized."

"Same here," Sebastian said, his expression softening. "There's just something about that movie... it captures the magic of that decade perfectly."

Y/n felt a warmth spreading through her chest as they continued to bond over their shared interests. She was struck by how easy it was to talk to Sebastian, how natural it felt to be with him. He was funny and charming, yes, but there was also a sincerity to him that she found deeply appealing.

She felt a connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found their match. The more they talked, the more she realized just how much she admired Sebastian-not just for his talent and looks, but for his genuine personality, his kindness, and the way he made her feel special.

As the night wore on, the city around them began to quiet down, the streets emptying as the late hour approached. Neither of them seemed eager to end the evening, and they stayed on the bench, wrapped up in each other's company.

"Y/n," Sebastian said after a comfortable silence, his voice thoughtful. "I don't want to rush things, but I have a really good feeling about us. This connection we have... it feels different, you know?"

Y/n looked at him, feeling the same sense of certainty that had been growing inside her all night. "I feel it too, Sebastian. I'm really glad we met today."

"Me too," he said, his gaze softening. "I can't wait to see where this goes."

There was a sincerity in his words that made Y/n's heart swell. She could tell that Sebastian wasn't just talking about some fleeting fling; he was serious about wanting to explore whatever was happening between them.

They eventually decided to head back, walking together through the quiet streets of New York. Sebastian kept close to her, his hand brushing against hers as they walked. Finally, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers in a simple gesture that felt incredibly intimate.

When they reached her apartment building, they stopped at the entrance, turning to face each other.

"This is me," Y/n said, feeling a little reluctant to let the night end.

Sebastian smiled, still holding her hand. "I had a really great time tonight, Y/n. Thank you for saying yes."

"I had a great time too," she replied, her voice soft with sincerity.

He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before pulling back slightly. "So... can I see you again? Maybe we can check out that café of yours?"

Y/n smiled, her heart fluttering. "I'd love that."

Sebastian grinned, looking relieved and genuinely happy. "Great. I'll call you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow sounds perfect," she said, squeezing his hand.

They stood there for a moment, neither wanting to be the first to let go. Finally, Sebastian released her hand and took a step back, giving her one last warm smile before turning to leave.

As Y/n watched him walk away, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement for what the future might hold. She had no idea where this newfound connection with Sebastian would lead, but she knew one thing for sure: tonight was just the beginning of something truly special.

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

MISTAKES

Chishiya x reader

TW: Angst, mentions of death.

Based on a request: Chishiya pushes the reader away and regrets it

--

Another night, another game, another massacre. Chishiya emerged from the building where the game had taken place with an impassive face and a strange feeling of heaviness inside. He had been the only survivor, doing whatever was necessary to leave that place alive, as always. But for some reason, something felt different this time.

Chishiya took a brief breath, feeling the cold night air filling his lungs painfully, temporarily soothing the ache that had settled in his heart.

Everything had seemed straightforward at first: Seven of diamonds with clear rules and a single objective: to reach the final level alone. The game was based on a vertical, structured system—a tower of choice. Seven players, seven floors, and seven levels, all starting from the first. Each level required solving an intellectual challenge to progress, but the difficulty increased as fewer people could continue with each level: only six could pass the first, only five the second, and so on until only one reached the top of the tower and survived the game. Although it was possible to intervene to help others, this only put oneself at a disadvantage. Sharing answers reduced resources, making it more challenging to solve the subsequent exercises. In reality, it was all about leaving people behind; being selfish was the most sensible strategy to reach the top of the tower alone, ensuring no one else did. But then, why couldn’t he look into the eyes of those he left behind? Why did he question, for a millisecond, helping that young man struggling with a simple task? Chishiya knew the answers to those questions, though it pained him to admit it. But… What if she had been there that night? Would she have died like all the others? Would he have survived? These unanswered questions haunted his mind, awakening ruthless fears he had locked away during his time in Borderlands.

The walk back to The Beach seemed shorter than expected when he lifted his head and saw the huge, neglected entrance of the hotel. It exuded a sepulchral silence, contrasting with the clamor and scandal that usually emanated from the building during daylight or party nights. In the stillness of the night, Chishiya could hear, like silent echoes, the voices of those who had lost their lives in the game, and the ghostly scent of blood that painted each floor of the tower reached his nose, carried by a gentle breeze.

“Chishiya!” A voice jolted him from his introspection. “Chishiya! You’re back early; I knew you would be!” The man felt a pair of arms encircle him, nearly cutting off his breath. The familiarity of the embrace, instead of comforting or offering refuge, immediately produced a feeling of rejection, and he freed himself with a swift motion, pushing the surprised girl a few steps back.

“Not now, Y/N,” he said abruptly, with a coldness he didn’t usually use with her, and moved towards the hotel’s interior. Y/N followed him, running in a way that Chishiya interpreted as that of a lost puppy. The idea almost made him vomit. What if one day he didn’t come back? What if she died? What if she died… because of him?

“What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Y/N bombarded him with questions, trying to keep up with his pace to his room.

Chishiya remained cold, walking firmly as if he didn’t hear her, and when he opened the door to his room and stepped inside, he turned to look at her. “Definitely a lost puppy,” he thought to himself as he observed the girl’s face twisted in a grimace of doubt and insecurity.

“Go to bed, Y/N,” he said briefly, and she felt as if he had just shot her heart.

“But… but what about the goodnight hug? We can… we can lie in bed and just hold each other! You don’t have to talk!” The woman’s tone sounded desperate, pathetic from her perspective, but she couldn’t help it. She needed it, needed to know he was there, that he had returned alive from the game and that… he cared.

But Chishiya closed the door without answering her pleas or looking at her a second time. Maybe he didn’t care for her as much as she thought… or maybe he didn’t care for her as much as she cared for him.

Y/N stood for a few seconds in front of the closed wooden door, hearing the man moving around inside the room. She heard the shower start running and Chishiya moving around the room, probably looking for a new swimsuit, completely ignoring the woman he had left with tear-streaked face and a broken heart on the other side of the door.

That night, Chishiya couldn’t sleep. Each time he managed to overcome insomnia, a dreadful nightmare seized his mind, waking him with gasps and sweat. He saw himself in the game he had played that night, but instead of the other players, it was Y/N who was there. They were both on the penultimate level, knowing only one would reach the top and survive. The puzzle was easy, but for some reason, the girl couldn’t solve it, and then his mind grew dark. He saw himself giving a correct answer that he couldn’t even hear with his racing heartbeat pounding in his throat. He looked into her eyes as they turned gray, white, lifeless. He watched her body fall to the ground with a great thud and saw her head bounce against the floor until it finally lay still. Then her mouth would open, and heavy words would pour out of the building’s speakers at full volume, as thick tears streamed from her lifeless eyes, soaking her face and creating a large puddle around her. “You killed me,” “It’s your fault,” “I hate you,” “I wish I’d never met you”… And he cried. He cried in his dreams because he was losing her and woke up with a damp trace on his cheek. Only the moon witnessed his own heartbreak in that cold and lonely hotel room, and when dawn came, with the first rays of light filtering through the room’s curtains, he realized how wrong he had been all along.

© 2024 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

----------

Hey everyone!✨

I just finished writing a new piece based on a request I received. I might have taken a few creative liberties... but I got really into the story and let it flow in its own direction😅.

If you enjoy it and want to see where the story goes next, let me know! Your feedback could lead to a second part, so if you're interested let me know 🌟👀!

Thanks for reading and for all your support!

[houndofsevenhells]

“The Hound That Lies” (Sandor Clegane x Original Female Character)

SUMMARY — The hour of the wolf comes and a certain chambermaid still cannot fall asleep. She goes out for a walk to cure her insomnia and runs into none other than the Hound. Drunken confessions and deep introspection ensue.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is the "Upstairs, Downstairs" of the Red Keep that nobody asked for. Told from the perspective of another person, but very Sandor-centric. It's mostly written due to my deep adoration for him as a character. English is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes that is my fault alone.

WORD COUNT — 5,032

Masterlist

My days as a palace servant in King’s Landing started before dawn and stretched late into the night, sometimes well past the hour of the bat. The servants of the royal palace all had their place and duties and nobody stepped one toe out of line; not unless they wanted to be subject to strict punishments–or a fate even worse than that.

The royal household of king Robert Baratheon, first of his name, consisted of the usual army of servants. Aside from us, the household staff included the royal guard, the captains, the marshals, the grooms, the pages, and the Kingsguard. Those, however, stayed in the barracks and in their own palace quarters. Truth be told, we rarely saw them at all.

The army I belonged to was an army of another quality, though those in charge of it still drilled and ruled their subordinates in a way no lesser than the most sadistic of the captains. 

The first layer of those closest to the king, and therefore to gods themselves, were the seneschals, the chaplains, the stewards, the cupbearers, and the chamberlains. Then there were the wardrobe masters and the raiment mistresses, who ruled the realms of the royal garments. Under them was the head maid, who held her own regiment of nearly a hundred chambermaids that scrubbed floors, mended clothes, stripped the beds of the dirty sheets, delivered sheets and clothing to and from the laundresses, and did everything else under the sun expected of the servants of the highest quality and the lowest breeding.

The kitchen staff I knew very little of and they equally knew very little of us, the waiting staff, but we all uniformly hated the lady’s maids. They were the nobility of the servants and rarely deigned to acknowledge us, the chambermaids, for anything more than lowly serfs.

Ever since I came to King’s Landing, there was hardly any disturbance in my daily routine. As the servants we had very little money and very little spare time to spend it. Most of us lived in the servants’ quarters in the lowest parts of the keep–those that had their own families and lived in the city were considered lucky.

Most nights, if I could allow myself the luxury, I tried to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. But that night, the night when I met Sandor Clegane, sleep just would not come to me. I tossed and turned until the hour of the wolf, when finally I was too fed up with myself and I went outside to the palace gardens to take a walk. 

Most of the time, even the foulest of guards would leave us serving girls well enough alone, but still I took a sharp dagger with me and hid it beneath my skirts. As I wandered the gardens alone, I tried to be as silent as possible. Taking in the air as a cure was one thing, but being an airhead would be another. And I have lived too long to allow myself to be stupid.

“Walkin’ around at night, girl? Are ya that reckless or that stupid?” A gruff voice startled me and when I turned around, a half-burned face of Sandor Clegane was right there before me, looking down on me with a sneer. 

I swallowed hard and my hand went straight to the hilt of my dagger. I felt it underneath the fingertips and it made me feel marginally safer. But the man in front of me was huge, at least two feet taller than me; his presence dark and frightful.

“Oh,” I said, trying to make my voice sound normal. “It’s just you.”

“Just me?” He scoffed and took one step closer. The smell of wine immediately hit my nose. He had a bottle with him and now paused to take a swig from it. “Now, I ain’t arguably the worst you can meet in those gardens at night, girl, but what in seven hells do ya mean by ‘just’?”

“I meant…”

“Hm?”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look him right in the eye. The Hound and his menacing presence in the keep were just one of those things that one had to get used to while working for the royal family. The Baratheons and the Lannisters were united as one family now and all of us had to get used to the change of regime. 

Not that serving under the Targaryens and the Mad King had been such a privilege. 

But the fact of the matter was, I have served under the Mad King’s rule and survived. I was not about to let a Lannister dog push me around.

“Nothing. What are you doing here?” I asked.

Clegane scoffed again and for a second I thought he would try to hurt me, but then I noticed he was swaying a little and I exhaled. Most of the household staff knew that a drunk Sandor Clegane was much less menacing than a sober one. And because Clegane was never sober, usually he would release his anger in the training yard–not on the serving girls. Which was still more than what could be said about the noble Kingsguard.

“Same as you,” Clegane grumbled. “Can’t sleep. Too much to drink, too many voices, too many memories.” He looked away from me then and I thought that would be the end of our conversation, but it would seem we must have found each other on one of his chattier nights. “You get nightmares, girl?” he asked, his attention back to me.

“I do,” I replied before I could help myself. 

But that was why I was there, wasn’t it? I doubted he would remember that conversation the next day, let alone in an hour, so I decided to talk to him a little. Maybe we would bore each other to tears and then I would finally fall asleep.

“What kind?” he asked.

“What?”

“The nightmares.”

“Oh,” I sighed, “Most nights I just lay awake, full of fear, before the nightmares even happen. So most nights I just take a walk instead.”

“Does it help?”

“No.”

He laughed at that, if his particular kind of bark could even be called a laughter, and nodded as if he knew exactly what I was talking about.

“So you go out and you find me here.” He looked at me more closely and leaned forward. I did my best not to cower before him. It was not his face that frightened me. It was the height and the sheer bulk of the man that did it. Even dressed in a lighter dark surcoat instead of his usual heavy armour, Clegane could strike fear into the hearts of men with little effort.

“What do your nightmares tell you, girl?” Clegane asked and I frowned at the forwardness. 

“I do not wish to say,” I muttered. “I do not know you.”

What I meant was, I did not trust him at all. Just like the Grand Maester, Clegane was a Lannister creature. It was known. After what the palace household had lived through during the sack of King’s Landing, I would never trust a Lannister with anything.

“But that is my point, isn’t it?” Clegane took a long drink from his bottle. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. So. You can tell me anything. You have a secret,” he pointed to me, “I have a secret.” He touched his own chest, swaying a bit once more. “I won’t tell another soul, but I know you won’t, ‘cause I’ve seen you here before, girl. No one who’s lived in this bloody place half as long as you have could survive by spilling secrets.” His half-burned lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Or am I wrong?”

I thought about what he said and then I thought about what I saw after the sack. I only survived because I was small enough to hide in the cupboard in the pantry where the head maid stored the cleaning supplies. “Mouse” is what some of the other chambermaids called me, because I would scutter from place to place, always quick and always silent. Being a mouse had saved me that day. Mostly it saved me from the Mountain That Rides and his men.

But Sandor Clegane was not his brother, this much I knew. Just like the current king was not his horrible son. Most household staff avoided both, if they could help it–the crown prince and his horrible shadow were always together, but if you looked closely, you learned quickly that they couldn’t be further apart. I have never seen the younger Clegane hurt or kill a girl, but I have scrubbed the floors in the royal apartments where the Mountain did the unspeakable to the poor Princess Elia.

“You are not wrong,” I admitted. “I think… It sounds about right.” 

I was grateful that the gardens were shrouded in darkness, because the memories of that day brought tears to my eyes that were now threatening to spill.

“So spit it out.” Somehow, Clegane’s voice made it easier to control myself. “Do ya want to sit?” 

He walked past me then, quickly and remarkably quietly for a man of his size. He sat down on the grass and I followed his lead. 

“The night is dark, girl. No one will see you, no one will see me, no one will hear us.”

My blood ran cold then and I scolded myself for being so foolish. Was he…?

My hand went back to my dagger. I looked at his neck, then to his armpit.

It must have shown in my face, what I was thinking of, because he sneered again and took another swig of his wine, before adding:

“I meant for a conversation, fuck’s sake. If I wanted to, I could’ve killed you ages ago. Why would I bother now?” He paused. “Oh. It ain’t the killin’ you’re thinkin’ of. No, I don’t do that either, girl. I’m no raper.”

‘Unlike my brother’ hung right there in the air above us, unsaid.

I sighed and I settled on the grass beside him. Clegane took another long drink from his bottle, then passed it to me.

“No, thank you. I must refuse.”

“You must?” He scoffed. “A proper little thing, ain’t ya…”

I pursed my lips in distaste at being called that. It felt too familiar for the chance acquaintances we were.

“I used to drink a lot,” I said, finally brave enough to make my tone as harsh as I really wanted it to sound. “But I do not, not anymore. I used to drink to hide my troubles. But the problem with drink is, your troubles remain just where you left them and they haunt you the next day.”

The Hound frowned and when he spoke next his voice was heavy with surprise, but devoid of judgement:

“You used to drink a lot?” He raised a dark brow. “I’d have never thought to picture that.”

“Why, because I’m not a soldier like you?” 

I knew better than to call that man a knight, but I was tempted just to show my lack of regard for the Lannister dog.

“Nah, I suppose that doesn’t matter.” He looked away then. “So what stupid things did you do to finally make you shake the habit?”

I was surprised by the question; by the suggestion of kinship between us. But I realised there was one, whether I liked it or not.

“My mother,” I hesitated, and the Hound’s dark eyes were on me again. “My mother was a mean drunk. But when she did not drink, she was even meaner.”

Clegane looked at me then and I saw a glint of recognition in those dark, angry eyes. But then, the hour of the wolf was the darkest part of the night. I might have been mistaken.

“‘D ya fuck any strangers?”

“Not enough wine in this keep to make me fuck you, if that’s what you’re after.”

He let out a laugh. The hoarse sound of it was grating like a crunch of broken glass.

“Yeah, that ain’t what I’m after, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Well, I am glad to hear we understand each other.”

“That what you were looking for when drinking, little one? Understanding?”

“Sometimes.” I sighed. “Sometimes I drank just to feel something. You know how it is. Everyone is drunk in a tavern, everyone pretends to be each other’s friend. But that isn’t so. Strangers are not your friends, they could not be farther from it.”

“Aye, they care about nothin’ and no one other than themselves.” The Hound nodded. “Drink and pleasure, little one. That’s what the world is to ya when you ain’t careful.” He took another swig from the bottle. The smell of wine hit me again and I turned my head away. 

“And you said awful things, too, did ya?” he asked.

“Hateful things,” I whispered. “That is why I stopped. It did me no good.”

“Hateful things…” The big man rolled the words on his tongue like he was curious. “Pretty little thing like you, eh?”

“Pretty things can still be poison.”

He smirked darkly at that.

“Yes, they can. You have the truth of it, girl.” 

He was silent for a while and I turned my head towards him to check if he was still there. He was. He was looking at the guard standing beside the closest entry to the garden. The guard looked young and utterly exhausted. He swayed from time to time and Clegane seemed very amused by that.

“Yeah, usually it’s knights and us soldiers drinkin’ to forget.” He pointed at the guard. “Like him there. The men that drink too much and go around lookin’ for fights. We drink our cheap wine and our ale and then we go around lookin’ for nothin’ but trouble. Sometimes fightin’ people we’re not supposed to. Sometimes… Other things.” He took another swig.

“Sometimes I would even lay with strangers to feel better. To feel something.” 

I did not know why I said that, but that got me his attention, so I decided to throw caution to the wind and say it all:

“To feel something other than my feelings. Other than dread and sadness. But that did not happen. In the morning, my nightmares were still present.”

“I understand,” he replied and it was my turn to be shocked. “Wantin’ to feel the warmth of someone’s touch.” He said that so bitterly that I almost felt the bile in my own throat. But there was sympathy in his voice, even though it was hard to read his face, half-covered with the burn scars.

“Aye, someone to take away your pain, even if for a night.”

“Yes,” I said, surprised. “That… That was it. How…?” But then I hesitated. Of course he would understand what that was like. He wore the worst thing that had happened to him right out there on his face. There was no hiding from it, no covering it. He had to wear it every day and live with others looking upon it always. 

I felt like a fool for even asking, but the question hung there in the open. Finally, Clegane spoke:

“I know it. You thought someone would care about you, keep you warm, but in the end they never did. Did they?”

“No.” This time my answer came easier. “They never did.”

“Aye, nobody cares about people like us, little one. We are the servants. We’re here to serve.” He chuckled darkly and pushed the empty bottle away. “People don’t care a lick for ya, only for what you can give them. And when you give it… Well, then you’re no better than those slaves in Essos.”

“Is that how it feels for you?”

He turned to me so quickly that I flinched and for a second I was afraid he would attack me. But all he did was look into my own eyes; long and intently. His eyes were ones that must have seen much, but mine own had turned hard over the years, too. They no longer belonged to the girl who came to King’s Landing with songs in her head.

“Yeah.” Finally, he leaned back. “What of your family? Do they care so little about you?”

I was not always a palace maid and I had not always worked in a household as grand as the royal palace. I was born as a Rivers, in a poor hovel in the Riverlands; a ghastly place north of another village that most likely no longer existed. My mother was a drunkard, a local busty tavern wench, and due to her reputation I also had two older half-sisters. They despised me as much as I despised them.

Scrubbing floors and mending clothes had been my daily bread since the moment I could walk and take care of my own needs–that was the day I finally became useful. That usefulness took me out of that gods’ forsaken village, until little by little I travelled from the Riverlands to the Crownlands, moved from house to house in search of my own destiny, and from dusk till dawn I scrubbed and cleaned the nobles’ messes. From a lowly laundry maid at the age of seven, I worked my way up on my hands and knees, until the skin of my hands perpetually blistered and cracked from soap and lye.

“No,” I replied, my tone harsher. “There is no one.”

The Hound still looked at me like he was trying to read my face for lies. But there were none. I had no reason to lie to him. I told myself once more that he would not remember we ever had this conversation come morning.

“I have no family either,” he said grimly. “No family to speak of.”

I knew the Mountain was not dead, otherwise we all at the palace would have heard of it long ago. To now hear the admission from Clegane’s own mouth that the brothers despised each other was striking. 

“So no one cares whether we live or die,” I concluded. “I imagine that is why we accept whatever people give us. It is either that, or…” I think on it. “That, or the emptiness.”

“Aye.” His voice was softer now. “But people do bad things all the time. It ain’t the end of the fuckin’ world. Not even the end of your life. So you’re still allowed to want things.”

I frowned, trying to piece together the confusing shreds of that thought. The wine must have finally run to his head.

“Are you saying even monsters deserve to be loved?”

He laughed darkly and there was little joy in that bitter sound.

“Aye, little one. Mayhaps you are a bad person, I don’t know ya. But all of us are, in a way.”

The truths he gave me struck something within me. 

“By the gods, you are honest.” I sigh. 

“I’m a lot of things, girl. Honest, for all my faults, is one of them.” He paused briefly. “A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face.”

We sat in silence a while, but then the big man had more questions for me:

“Don’t you ever have any desire to drink again? There must be a time when you think to yourself, just one, just to forget, just to numb the pain, just for tonight?”

I considered that. Then decided to remain truthful:

“Yes. I do sometimes, yes. But then I remember how miserable wine made me feel the next day and how much pain it caused me. And how much shame it brought me. The things I did… Remembering helped me not to drink again.”

I looked up and there was a strange, wistful look in Clegane’s eyes, as though he were remembering something.

“But it did feel good while it lasted, did it not? At least, for a time, you had no aches, no hurts, you did not feel. You could forget your pain for a while, did that not feel good?”

“Ah,” I smiled sadly. “But that is why the drink is so treacherous.”

“Aye,” he agreed with a smirk. “A cruel mistress.”

I nodded. 

“But it did make me forget,” I admitted. “Then I felt ashamed I forgot. And then it ruined me and I had let it, gladly. But in the moment, when you drink, yes, that is true. You forget the bad things. That does feel good. It is a perfect poison for those in pain and misery.”

I realised then that it was the sense of no judgement I was getting from conversing with the Hound that really drew me into this talk. He did not judge and he repaid me with honesty. That was so much more to offer than the monstrous kinds of misplaced affection I had found in King’s Landing over the years.

“Is it too much to ask that you tell me your name, girl?” 

The way he asked seemed like a taunt, but there was a strange tenderness in that scarred face that made me feel at ease, even as his dark eyes studied me so intently.

“Laina Rivers.”

“Laina Rivers.” He seemed amused by that, a faint smile playing on his scarred lips. “A pretty name for a bastard.”

I gave him a sharp look.

“There is a sad irony in that,” he said, obviously not afraid of my silent threats in the slightest.

He smiled and there was no humour in that half smile, but the anger in him had settled at least.

“So who was your father?” he asked. “What great lord fathered you and left you in the world to fend for yourself?”

“I do not know.” I stumbled through my words a little, because his bluntness struck me once more. “But I hate him sometimes. For doing so.”

The Hound nodded and then the anger resurfaced in the unburnt half of his face. The other still showed nothing. But there was another layer to his anger now; as though there was just a touch of sadness underneath it.

“You never sought after him? You don’t even know who he is?”

“No.” I shook my head. “My mother told me very little. And she was always angry when I asked. So I stopped asking. I was a skittish child, always desperate for her to love me. I wanted to please her, to be a good daughter. Especially since I had two sisters to compete with.”

“And did it work?” He sneered. “Did your mother love you?”

“Not the way I wanted her to,” I replied, my voice barely louder than a whisper. What was that strange power he possessed that made me want to confess to him so easily?

“She loved me in her own way, I believe. But she was not kind. I think she despised having bastard daughters, despised us for being bastards. Even though that was not our fault.”

“No, it is not your fault,” he agreed and hearing that almost brought the tears back to my eyes. 

There was sadness in his voice, I could hear it for true. The masks were starting to come off.

“It is never the fault of the child,” he continued. “Yet they have to suffer. That just shows how this fuckin’ world is, ain’t it?”

I remained silent, but he still expected me to say something. And I was too interested in the conversation to leave now.

“What about your own parents? Did they love you?”

For a long moment, Clegane remained silent, as though he wanted to give me a different answer; considered it, to avoid giving the real one. But it did not seem like his heart was in it. Finally, he spoke, with some hesitation:

“No, my father did not love me. And my mother, well – I do not know if she hated me, loved me, or just did not bother to see that I existed at all.”

It was so hard to hear that I could not speak for a long while. 

“When did you get these scars?” I asked carefully.

“I was seven.”

He knew I knew then, or at least that I suspected, and now had my suspicions confirmed. I straightened my back and he waited for me to say something, but I would not. I would not intentionally harm him with my words now, I refused. Even if he was a Lannister creature.

“But you are true-born, are you not?” I said instead, frowning, and tried to reconcile what he said with my own conviction. 

His laugh was like snarling dogs in a pit.

“That does not guarantee a parent’s love, little one. My father was a lord, you know. And a cruel, bitter man.”

That was not the moment to remark on his own bitterness and so I held my tongue.

“No, I suppose being a lord’s son does not guarantee it,” I muttered. “But for the longest time I thought… I thought that if only I had a real name, if I was true-born then maybe my mother would be kinder. Maybe she–”

“No, if she cared, she would have loved you no matter what.” The Hound sighed. My mouth nearly gaped at that answer. 

“There are many bastards who are not high-born and who still have good parents,” he said. “It is not about your name or birthright. It is about whether there is hatred in a person’s heart. And by your account, your mother did not have much love in hers.”

I sat there in shock at the profound truth that came from this man’s mouth. 

“I misjudged you,” I admitted and immediately felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.

“Aye.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I am used to it.”

“But,” I said, “that is also why I left the Riverlands. I went from place to place, finding work and getting good at being a maid. I was looking for something to replace that love. And when I came to King’s Landing… Well, now I work in the palace.” I laughed bitterly. “A lot of fucking good it got me.”

He laughed then with me, a deep and harsh guffaw.

“Aye, King’s Landing. The place where every man and woman goes when they think their talents would amount to something. So many people lie and die in this stinking hell, so many more become lordlings and queens and kings… Aye, they all think they’re something special. Something more.” He pauses and looks at me with a mixture of bitterness and amusement. “Did you fall for their lies, too?”

“I did.” I nodded. I felt ashamed for having been so naive.

“You are not alone,” he said, almost like he was mocking both of us. “This place chews people up and spits them out like they are nothing. It’s the worst of men, the biggest of fools, the lowest of scum that the Seven Kingdoms have to offer. All gathered here for the pleasure of the royals.”

I wondered then how come he was not afraid to say what he thought; why did he said it so openly. All my life I had obeyed every rule and strict guidance of my superiors. I received a lashing once and I still bore the scars of it on my back. I vowed never to let my tongue waggle ever again.

Any palace chambermaid found gossiping, or behaving in a way unbecoming of a decent lady, would be punished–or worse, thrown out and left without income, forced to leave His Grace’s employment with a stained reputation and no way to fend for herself. 

So I decided to ask:

“How is it that you are not afraid to just speak your mind? This place is crawling with whisperers. Don’t you have a lord or a master that would punish you for speaking so?”

The Hound smiled, almost as though he was amused at the thought.

“Why should I be afraid? They are all afraid of me.” He shrugged. “Who cares what these nobles think? The people who know me already know I speak my mind, and the ones who don’t have heard stories. And as for my master, I have none. I have no one to answer to besides the king, and he doesn’t care a lick about the likes of me.”

“I think I have heard the stories,” I admit.

“Aye. A famous man, me.” He leaned towards me, his voice hard again. “You know why they call me the Hound?”

I shook my head, though my eyes went to his chest where the sigil of his house was plain as day on his surcoat – three black snarling dogs on a yellow field.

“It is because I hunt down their prey for them. Anyone they ask me to, I ride them down. Criminals, traitors, even children… I have cut down many in my life and only some of them were monsters.”

We were silent then, until he spoke again:

“Many different names they call me, but I mislike that one the most.”

“I understand.”

“Do you now?”

“I do. Of course I do. A hound is a dog used for hunting and it is an animal, not a person. The man sitting here with me is just that, a man. Not a dog.” 

He is rendered speechless after that and we look at each other for the longest moment.

“How old are you, girl?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You speak with the knowledge of someone older, yet you are small and slight and so I wonder…” He reached towards me and I forced myself to stay in place. For some reason, I knew he would not harm me.

Clegane touched my shoulder and it was as if to check that I was real.

“I am old enough,” I said, slightly amused. “And I hope to talk to you again sometime. But it will dawn soon and I must go back to my duties.”

“Aye.” Clegane smiled at that and I smiled back. “Fare-thee-well, Laina Rivers.”

“Fare-you-well, Sandor Clegane.”

[louisupdates]

[Translated from Portuguese]

Louis Tomlinson shows that he is much more than an ex-boyband

Text: Ygor Monroe May 12, 2024

British singer Louis Tomlinson, former member of the iconic band One Direction, landed in Brazil with his long-awaited "Faith In The Future World Tour", providing fans with a more mature experience on the stage of Allianz Parque, last night (11). In front of a fervent audience, the singer was acclaimed at every moment of the show, witnessing the support of his admirers.

In a moment of emotional introspection, Louis expressed his gratitude, emphasizing the lack of support in his solo journey "I don't have a radio. None of that. I don't have radio support. Look at this place! It's unbelievable. I made these albums specifically thinking about the live moments. But I've never anticipated places of this size. Listen to the FITF songs and feel your support in this huge place, I have no words. I'm trying to find them. Thank you, thank you, thank you," said the singer.

[Louis Tomlinson during a show at Allianz Parque in São Paulo | Photo: Move Concerts/Disclosure]

The "Faith In The Future World Tour" tour is one of the singer's most ambitious projects, and is part of the work explored on the album of the same name released in November 2022. Throughout the show, both the singer and his band demonstrated extreme mastery and resourcefulness, in addition to a very mature instrumental technique in relation to his last world tour.

The comparison between his previous visit to Brazil in 2022, and the recent show revealed a significant change in the composition of the audience, now more mature and aligned with the thematic depth of the singer's songs. Far from being just a teenage nostalgia, Louis now positions himself as an artist who challenges the limits of conventional pop, embracing an alternative aesthetic that manifested itself even in covers of renowned bands, such as Arctic Monkeys.

The grandeur of the show was amplified by the imposing stage structure, full of big screens and special effects, while the interactivity with the fans reached an emotional peak on the catwalk that extended as a second stage. The singer, with his usual shyness and charisma, did not hesitate to come down to hug some fans, sharing intimate moments and revealing the special connection he has with Brazil.

The show also featured the charismatic Europeans of the band Giant Rooks, from Hamm, Germany, founded in 2014. In 2019, they won the 1Live Krone Award and the Preis für Popkultur. Their debut album, "Rookery", was released on August 28, 2020. The band even did a show that left everyone impressed, and without a doubt it is one of the bands for the festivals of our circuit to keep an eye on.

In the final balance, our dear "ex-One Direction" no longer lives in the shadow of his past. Even respecting and reflecting a lot about him in his future, the singer has resourcefulness, maturity and mastery of everything he does on stage. With a more shy but charismatic tone, the "Faith In The Future World Tour" was a key change for the new era of the singer, which becomes more promising with each passing day.

Louis Tomlinson, FITFWT24: São Paulo [11.5.2024]

[swordlux]

"It Was Always You." | Erwin / Levi x Reader ~ Chapter 2 (Erwin SMUT 18+)

Hello, if you haven't read Chapter One yet please click here!

Warning: Explicit content, please be 18+ to read.

Chapter Two

The Office Part Two

You sat across from Erwin at his small coffee table. Since accepting his offer for a drink, you moved from his office into his personal quarters. The room you currently sat in was something like a living space. Of course, you noticed the way the acoustics of the room seemed to keep everything in so that in the silence, you could hear the beating of your heart—how it smelled delicately of him, like musk water and lilies (and of course that made you notice the commander was gentler than you thought). Of course you noticed the bed—queen-sized, with white sheets, just visible through the ajar door of the adjoining room.

You looked at the commander. The defined cut of his jaw always caught you with how striking it was, but now, with the dim lights softening his masculine features and his usually piercing eyes taking on a colour more similar to a still lake, you realized he was much more human than you’d thought. Out of his uniform and in his loose cardigan, you could see he wasn’t actually that bulk; it was his personality that gave him the appearance of a three-time heavyweight champion. Though still large, his biceps were moreso pleasantly toned, and his slightly exposed chest showed a softness to it.

You found it hard to breathe as this new discovery registered itself in your body, and you had to hold yourself back from testing its validity.

You’d noticed it. Over the weeks you’d spent getting to know the commander of the scouts, you found yourself getting more and more intrigued by him. Every time the man was in your field of vision, your attraction to him grew more profound. It was the way he was so put together yet passionate at the same time. The way he held himself so composed through every ordeal, yet a burning fervour and determination remained behind that strong gaze. It was his intelligent brain and his knowledge that everything would work out for the better. Even when he was sent to prison, and you watched him get taken away in that cart—there was not one hint of doubt or complaint on his face. He was a man prepared to face any situation, and that made him as rare as a daisy in a blown-up field.

Whereas your talk with Levi had left butterflies in your stomach, this man had a way of setting your whole spirit ablaze simply by being in his presence.

Yet even with the fire filling your soul, the commander had a way of making you feel at ease, especially now. You noticed yourself relaxing into the cushions and wondered how you ever felt scared of him.

Erwin stared at his drink before him, his blue eyes swirling an introspective tune.

Ever since you mentioned wanting to remain on Levi’s squad he seemed distant. He kept his body turned from you and never met your direct gaze. The hidden notes of sadness on his face made you want to jump over the desk and hold him.

You were surprised at his offer to stay for a drink. Truthfully, you weren’t in any mood to leave once you’d finished what you came here for. So even if he was acting distant right now, there must’ve been a reason, and there must’ve been a reason he wanted you to stay. Hopefully, it was similar to the reason you wanted to, too. Since he’d made the first effort, you decided it was your turn to close the gap.

You reached across the table and grabbed your drink, then looked at the commander until he finally met your gaze. “Thank you for having me here. I’ve always wondered what you do to keep yourself entertained.”

Erwin laughed softly. “Not much these days, it seems.” He watched you take a sip. “I’ve been wondering, how is it you’re able to stay so positive, even in this world we live in?”

“I’m not sure. I think it’s the people around me. We’re really blessed.”

He nodded. “With that, I agree. I’m going to admit something,” he said. “I’ve been looking to you a lot recently. You have a way of moving through the world that is inspiring…”

You blushed. “Really? That means a lot coming from you. I mean, I feel the same way about you. It makes sense why everyone looks up to you. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I’m grateful to be a part of this all with you.”

A slight blush came to the commander’s cheeks.

You looked away.

A silence hung, and your eyes trailed across the room to where a large picture was hanging on the wall.

You stood and walked over to it. “What is this?”

“Ah, my dad painted it.” The commander stood up and joined you. “It’s what he thought the outside world looked like.”

“It’s beautiful…”

Your heart pattered as Erwin got close. The room’s four walls and closed door made you notice the commander’s presence even more. You felt all six feet of his intensity; it was like standing in the presence of a lightning bolt. Out on the field, your feelings were always far enough away, your souls far enough apart, so that you never had to confront them. But now, with the walls of the room keeping them inside, you were reacting to him as he was you.

“I wonder sometimes,” he said, his eyes lost in the distant horizon of the landscape painting. “If I am running down a meaningless path. Do you ever think it would be easier if we were born without strong desires? To live a peaceful life, simply content with what one has.” You focused on the way his voice vibrated down your body. “Sometimes it feels like I’m chasing my soldiers to their deaths for nothing.”

The sadness in his voice made you look up at him.

The matched expression on his face made you want to melt. “It’s not for nothing,” you said. “Simply by leading them forward, you are giving them something to yearn for. Would it really be a peaceful life to just sit by and wait for death to come? At least this way, you’re stirring up something inside them, something many people forget they have. Dreams. Desires. I think they are how our souls mean for us to live. Without them, we would forget about the fire that exists in all of us. We need them to keep life interesting.”

“(M/C)..” his voice was thoughtful as he looked at you, and then he gazed back at the painting. “Is there anything in particular you desire?”

The question surprised you. It took everything not to look at the man standing next to you, but even still, your eyes glanced over. He caught your gaze, and you sensed an additional question hanging under that first one.

“Lots of things,” you said hesitantly. “But I think more than ever, to keep having these moments with people I care about. That’s all.”

He nodded slowly, digesting your words. “I appreciate that about you,” he said. “You care for the people around you, it shows.”

You took a breath. “Erwin… commander. Why did you invite me here?”

He sighed. It was a while before he answered. “I wonder. Perhaps because I find a comfort with you, and I wanted to keep that for myself a bit longer.”

Your breath rose in your arms until it rested in your shoulders.

“Erwin…” You couldn’t help yourself anymore.

You looked at him, feeling into the alchemy of your souls.

His eyes kindled in response.

“I feel the same way. I like being with you,” you said, and before your mind could process what it was doing, your hand moved, and you placed your palm on the middle of his chest.

Erwin’s breath hitched when you touched him. His eyes burned with a fire that was barely held back.

The air in the room heated and cooled at the same time.

Hope sparked in his gaze. He let out a heavy breath and then closed his eyes. “At this moment, I am thinking about doing some very… selfish things. Does that prove I’m a bad man?”

Good or bad, one thing was for sure, you wanted this man.

You needed this man.

You needed to breathe in the air he was puffing out.

You took in a breath. “It’s hard to say when I don’t know what you’re thinking. Are you really having bad thoughts? Or are you denying yourself things that may be good for you…” The words were bold. You didn’t know where they came from. But it was all you were feeling at that moment.

For all you knew of Erwin Smith, he was never one to hold back from charging forward, so you knew it wouldn’t take much.

You looked up at him, hoping all of your longing showed in your gaze. “I can’t know unless you show me who you are, Erwin.”

Something snapped in the man then.

The look in his eyes turned to pure determination. His thick brows furrowed. The shield before him dropped, and you saw a man of pure desire.

Your lips parted naturally.

His eyes followed, then he grabbed your wrist, pinned it against the wall, and kissed you.

His lips were rough initially but softened as you melted into them—just like the man himself. He was tough and passionate, and it showed in the way he kissed you. His tongue filled your mouth—thick and wet. You could still taste the ghostly remnants of his dinner. The rawness of him made your knees weak. He was giving you Erwin, and that’s all you wanted.

His arm transferred behind your back and pulled you in tight. The front of your torso pressed warmly against his toned abdomen. The strength of his grip holding you in place made you want to melt even more into him.

You arched your head back, allowing his breath to brush the nerves along your exposed neck.

He planted wet, hungry kisses along your pleasure points, kissing up your chin until he found your lips again.

You stretched your hands up to the back of his neck, your fingers curling into the soft fuzz of his military undercut.

He squeezed you in tighter, pressing his entire weight against you, the front of his legs meeting yours; every inch where you touched felt exhilarating.

You squeezed the sides of his head, all of a sudden wanting to bleed everything out of him.

You stretched yourself on your toes, squeezing Erwin’s neck, his temple, his biceps, wanting to grab every part of him.

But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You wanted closer access to his lips.

You wrapped your legs around him and jumped.

He let out a breath as he supported you with one arm. When you were in a satisfactory position, you kissed him deeper, squeezing your legs around his strong torso.

He matched your energy—devouring you as you devoured him.

You dug your hands into the back of his head as his musky scent absorbed you. You wanted to merge with it. To merge with him. All of him. You wanted all of him this instant.

His lips parted, and you could taste the desire in his breath as the same thought ran through his head.

His strength again caught you off guard as he carried you to the bedroom. When you got there, he used your back to push open the door.

You breathed as the back of your legs hit the bed, and then Erwin knelt between you, his hand rippling up the fabric beside you.

You were hyper-aware of everything. The rustling of your clothes against the bed, the sound of Erwin’s crescendoing breaths—

Erwin looked at you, high on similar feelings—then he drowned into your neck, planting soft, heated kisses on every surface of skin he could find.

All the while, he panted like a man who hadn’t seen the sun for days.

His desperation made you want to open your legs wider for him. You parted your knees slightly.

Erwin grabbed your wrist and pressed it to the bed, then pressed his pelvis into you, allowing his hardness to put pressure on your clit. He rolled his hips, causing an electric shock to run up your body. With each rotation of his pelvis around your centre, a new surge of desire sparked up in you. Your head jammed back into the bed so hard you started to see fireworks.

You moaned for him.

His hand left your wrist and gripped into the collar of your shirt. He tugged, pulling at your buttons, and then when he had your shirt pulled enough, he slipped his hand into your bra and cupped one of your breasts out.

His wet tongue found your nipple, licking it with smooth circles until it hardened. You watched him as the muscles in his face bulged in concentration and need.

As his tongue played with your nipple, his palm travelled down, pressing into your body the whole way.

When he reached your hip, his fingers dug into you, his pads finding purchase in the fat behind your back. His thumb pressed into your hipbone and drove a smooth circle in the dip.

The sensation caused you to help with desire as your back arched.

“Shhh,” he said. He brought his lips up and kissed the yelp from your lips.

He continued his journey, his strong, deft hand feeling down to your panties.

You melted into the bed as his large palm tucked behind your thigh and hoisted your leg up.

His fingers returned their search, fumbling with the buttons on your pants. The ridge of his long forefinger dug into your pelvis, causing an unexpected nerve of desire to spark.

You grabbed his hand and brought it up to your lips, curling it, feeling the callouses of his war-hardened palm. Then you kissed his finger, puckering your lips around it slightly and wetting it with your tongue.

He melted at the sign of affection. “(M/C)…”

“Erwin.”

He pinned your wrist to the bed again. With a renewed passion, he took to kissing you, his hand desperate now as it fumbled with your button.

When he got the button undone, you kicked your legs around him and pulled his pelvis to yours once more, feeling the pressure of his hardness against your aching opening.

He tugged your pants down, practically dragging them off you.

You matched his speed, your fingers quickly undoing the buttons on his shirt.

He slipped your pants from your ankles at the same time you removed his shirt.

You paused with your hands on his chest to look at him. His honest beauty took your breath away. His athletic body was contrasted handsomely by the gentleness of his sand-blonde hair and clear blue eyes. The cords of his arm were taut as he held himself up. You ran your hand from the base of his arm up to his shoulder.

You squeezed the muscles of his triceps, then moved to his other shoulder.

You circled your hand around the stub of his missing arm, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. The wound and the way he handled it were proof of this man’s resilience.

Erwin shivered, then looked at you properly for the first time since desire overtook you both. “This is who I am (M/C),” he said. “Will you accept me?”

In response, you latched both hands around the back of his neck and pulled him in.

You kissed him sweetly, then looked back into eyes the most beautiful crystal blue you could take a spiritual bath in them. “Yes, I accept you.”

He smiled. “I want to see you.” He took off your shirt the rest of the way, then pressed his warm body into you as he snuck his arm behind your back to undo the bindings of your bra.

When both your breasts were exposed, he stared at you. “God, you’re beautiful. I must be the luckiest man alive right now.” He kissed your breasts, his tongue taking turns with both nipples. Then his hand travelled down to the now exposed fabric of your panties, and he pressed a thick circle into you, feeling your wetness through the cotton.

With each rub of his expert thumb, a new wave of desire ran through you.

“Fuck, Erwin,” you said. “I want you.” You desperately reached down for the hem of his pants, your nails scratching down the front of his toned stomach.

His hardness was still throbbing against your pelvis. You finally reached your hand down to feel it. He was big in both length and girth. You imagined it inside you, and your groin ached.

“Open…” you mumbled, pulling at his hem. Tugging at his buttons.

When you finally got his pants off, you ran your hand up his toned thigh.

He shivered and looked at you, earnestness in his eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

You nodded. “Yes. I want all of you.”

At that, he adjusted his hips so he could shift off his boxers.

His exposed wide member hung above you, and the muscles of your pelvic floor pulled in with need.

He lowered himself, his tip hovering just outside of your opening. Then his tip brushed your entrance, causing chills to come up your spine and a flush to rush down your bones.

His expression was taut with need, his arm shaking as he held himself up.

“I’ll try not.. to get you pregnant,” he said.

His tip entered you. You were already wet, so it went in easily.

You felt the top of his shaft pulse as the smoothness of it filled you.

Then he pushed. You felt a bit of resistance as his size pushed into you, and then he entered you fully. God, he entered you. His full length filled you. You felt weighty in the back of your throat.

He pushed into you. Panting heavy. “God… this feels… you feel…” His knees drove into the bed, hips up slightly so he could fuck you. He thrust deep and hard, his arm trembling with strength.

You moaned, opening wider.

Erwin drove into you slowly, his breaths heavy against your forehead. You could tell by the clench of his jaw he was holding himself back from bursting.

“Fuck,” he said. With renewed vigour and determination not to cum, he clenched his arm around your back, his hand finding your locks and locking into them.

Then he fucked you harder. Tears appeared at the edges of his eyes. It was taking everything for him to hold himself back.

“Oh, Erwin—yes. Don’t stop.” You felt yourself reaching your climax. “Yes, Erwin. Fuck—”

He grunted.

The sound of his deep voice rumbling against your neck sent you over the limit.

The orgasm surged through your body. You convulsed, feeling yourself squirting all over Erwin’s dick.

He curled over and kissed you on the crown of your head. 

Then, with incredible strength, he lifted you with one arm and flipped you to your knees.

Your back arched toward him. He entered you again, adjusting himself to your new angle. When he pressed forward, his dick curved up into the deepest parts of you.

He grunted. Then fucked you harder. The bed creaked below you and slammed into the wall as he let out all his passion into you.

“Oh, Erwin…” your eyes rolled back.

In doggy, you squirted like crazy all over him, another orgasm already racking you.

“Shit—” he said. “(M/C), turn around again.”

He pulled out and flipped you so you were back in missionary.

“I’m going to cum,” he said hoarsely.

You nodded.

He entered you in missionary again. You moaned, enjoying the simple pleasures this position gave.

His pants were raspy now.

You loved how he fucked you.

Yes, fill me.

He caught your eye as if he heard the thought.

Then he plowed into you with a succession of rapid thrusts.

“I’m cu—” You felt the commander start to shake as the orgasm took over his body.

He pulled out of you just in time, ejaculating on the front of your belly. You watched him twitch as his muscles engaged in the sensations.

He fell into the bed. “God… (M/C). I’ve never felt anything as good as that.”

You stroked his blonde hair. “Good…”

“Let me clean you up.” 

As the commander stood, you watched his toned butt flex as he walked over to grab you a towel.

When he returned, your body tingled as he leaned over and brushed you clean.

When he joined you in the bed again, you could do nothing but stare in awe at the sight of your handsome commander.

A blush flew to your cheeks as you realized what you’d just done.

He caught it with his palm.

“Hey (M/C), I’m grateful for you.” He kissed you, his lips juicy and soft. “Thank you for spending this night with me.”

You melted and fell back into the bed, lost in a cloud of bliss.

*** Thank you for reading to the end of chapter two! To continue on to chapter three please click continue reading below! Hope you enjoyed~ Continue Reading...

[fe-fictions]

I have an idea (although this may be an AU 😅); Byleth is pregnant, Felix is beyond happy and tries to help her when he can. He is extremely jelly his father is even more gentle and seems to know a thing or two (cuz you know, he had two kids xD), until Byleth confronts Felix and tells him that they are all a family

(So I did make it more fluffy than confrontational haha!!)

He was glad that his father was still present, and was thrilled when you revealed you were two months pregnant with your firstborn. Felix was overjoyed, even if his facial expressions rarely showed it. 

Despite that, you knew full well how absolutely thrilled he was. He’d wanted to be a father since before you were married, as it was a topic you discussed quite often. 

The only problem was that he didn’t feel like he was particularly good at it. The baby wasn’t even born yet but he had few ideas of how best he could help you, and worse yet, he was awkward and insecure about trying to find the best methods to care for his expecting wife.

His father, however, seemed utterly natural at it. Having sired two sons himself, Rodrigue was exceedingly capable at providing you with assistance and recommendations on how to make the pregnancy go smoothly. Felix would watch, jealous, as you tittered away happily with the head Fraldarius, enjoying his company more than himself.

Though to admit he was jealous of his father was simply out of the question. He would never do such an embarrassing thing. Rather he would seethe in the background, just as he was doing today.

The Archbishop was enjoying a rare moment of respite, taking a walk through the monastery gardens with her husband and father-in-law. It didn’t take long for the walk to become more of Felix following behind the two of you, glaring sharply and listening intently while you discussed the latest happenings of your pregnancy.

“I fear the swelling has already begun, Rodrigue.” You sounded so tired, which was somewhat upsetting to your husband. “It’s hard to keep focus in meetings when it feels as though my feet will burst from these slippers.”

“They’re not what you usually wear, are they?” His father replied, as gentle and introspective as always. “They seem to be a different pair than what I recall seeing the Archbishop in.”

“They are- Felix bought them for me recently to help with the discomfort.” You nodded back to your husband, flashing him a small smile. “But I fear I’ve outgrown them already; why must they be so uncomfortable?”

“I can assure you, though it may feel akin to your body growing exponentially, it’s simply the sensation that accompanies the mild swelling. Enclosed shoes tend to be restrictive, despite shoemakers’ best efforts to fashion comfortable slippers for those faced with your situation.”

“What would you recommend, then?” You asked, feeling Felix’s sharp glare somehow intensify on your back. He was embarrassed he made a mistake.

“I recall open-toed sandals were a favorite of Felix’s mother, aprticularly when she was carrying him. Glenn was a little gentler on her body, for whatever reason. But having some sturdy, open faced shoes like that should be a marked improvement.”

“Where do you think I can get-”

“I’ll take care of it,” Felix snapped, drawing both your attentions forward. He  flushed slightly, glancing away “I mean, you’re pregnant. You don’t need to go into town. I’ll get them for you, so just tell me what kind of shoes you want.”

“You know I’m not picky,” You started, until you recognized the angry glimmer all but begging you to help him out for a second.

You stifled a laugh. 

“I’ll think up some ideas for sandals, then.”

The rest of the walk was somewhat pleasant although you did share a knowing smile with your father-in-law, feeling Felix pouting behind you.

He was already overprotective, but he wasn’t sure what to think about his father jumping in and giving you some much needed advice.Mostly because he felt like it shouldn’t be coming from Rodrigue at all, but that it was knowledge he didn’t have any experience with at all. 

And he definitely hated that.

“If I may be candid, I’m afraid that’s not the only thing that’s been causing me discomfort.” You continued, earning Felix’s immediate attention.

“Of course, Byleth. I can assure you that there is nothing to be ashamed of, asking for assistance with your pregnancy. And I am certain it won’t be anything I haven’t dealt with, before.”

“All right, well…I have been dealing with some swelling and discomfort in my breasts, too.”

Felix nearly face planted into the path when you said that to his father.

Dear gods, you were telling his father that your breasts were-

“Not to worry. When she entered the second trimester with Glenn, we discovered that she had severe discomfort and pain for several days while we waited for the doctor to come to our home. Thankfully we were given plenty of helpful advice.”

“Father, please!” Felix cut in, all but throwing himself between his wife and guardian, his face alight with an agitated blush. “We can consult with a midwife- the last thing I want to hear is you giving my wife advice about her-”

“We don’t have to summon him and wait days for him to make it up the mountain, Felix.” You cut him off gently, not understanding what he was so upset about (because why would you?). “Please, Rodrigue, continue.”

“Very well,” He laughed, “There are a few surefire methods to easing your pain. I recall purchasing a number of braziers that did not have wiring or lace; the feel of them can cause discomfort at this stage of pregnancy. Something with cotton, or something more firm that can provide better support.”

“Excellent, that’s more than enough-”

“I would also recommend some more loose clothing; I’m certain Seteth would be glad to arrange for a new wardrobe for the expectant Archbishop. And if those things do not help enough, a cold compress rested on your chest will be quite effective- and, ironically, if the cold doesn’t help, a warm bath should be able to help instead!”

“That’s all excellent advice.” You beamed at him, looking far more relieved than before. Felix stared at you, in utter disbelief. “I wish I had written it down…but it shouldn’t be hard to remember.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Felix snapped, “But I think this conversation is over. Byleth, we should go.”

“Oh, but I wanted to ask him about my cervi-”

“We’re leaving!!”

He grabbed your wrist, tugging you away from Rodrigue and all but storming down the path, leaving the man in the dust.

Rodrigue watched after his flustered son with a fond smile; that boy could get so worked up over the smallest things, even all these years later.

-------------------------

You allowed him to pull you along for a few minutes, at least until you were halfway up the stairs and headed back to your bedroom.

“Felix?”

He didn’t answer, jaw clenched tight as he marched up the stairs.

“Felix, please slow down. My feet are…”

When you trailed off he paused, shoulders stiff as though he suddenly remembered the state of you. He turned around, checking you over and feeling a pang of guilt when he saw you were panting, clearly uncomfortable.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He stopped, kneeling in front of you. He took your foot in his hands, carefully slipping the shoe from your heel and tucking it into his pocket. You watched as he switched to the other foot, working methodically and very, very carefully so as not to press on your feet and hurt them further.

“Thank you,” Your whisper was met with a bashful nod.

“Let me carry you the rest of the way.” He lifted you to his chest, very gently so as not to risk harming you any further. The sigh of relief that escaped was quite involuntary, but it did make him feel a little better knowing he was helping.

He kicked the door shut behind him, lowering you onto the bed. He made sure you were comfortable before he relinquished his hold.

“Is there anything else you need? Are you feeling hungry, or tired?”

“A bit of both, but also…do you think you could get me a cold compress, like your father mentioned?””

Felix hesitated some, his lips drawn into a thin line. “You sure you want that?”

“It sounded promising. And my breasts are more uncomfortable after that walk…I must not have as supportive undergarments as I thought.”

“Y-yeah, well, it’s not like we can just take his word for it, I mean what does he know?”

“He raised two children, of which you are one.”

“That was over two decades ago! His information is outdated, at best. We can’t trust a thing he says! Just let me call a midwife in, and while we wait I can draw a warm bath for you.”

“Felix…what’s on your mind?” You leaned back into the pillows, eying your husband warily. He was clearly upset, as he had been since the garden walk.

His shoulders fell some, and he looked away, clearly indicating that he was indeed troubled.

“It’s nothing. I’m just…I’m just being stupid.”

“Well it’s not ‘nothing’ if you’re bothered by it.” You held out your hand, gesturing for him to come back to your side. “Tell me what you’re worried about.”

With a soft sigh, he returned to your side and took your hand, holding it awkwardly. He sank down onto the bedside, earning a squeeze of his fingers.

“Out with it.”

“I…didn’t like Father talking to you. A-about that stuff.”

“Why?” 

“Because it made me feel frustrated. Like I- like I should know those things! I’m the one who’s expecting a baby. I feel like it’s not his place to talk about things like that, especially not with you! If he really wanted to help, he could at least save us both embarrassment and just talk to me directly.”

You covered his hand with both of yours, smiling softly at your agitated little panther. “Felix…there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We are both  new to this. You’d think I would know how to remedy these things, since it’s happening in my body, you know?”

“That’s ridiculous- you’ve never been pregnant before, so how are you supposed to just know how to- …oh.”

He cut himself off when he caught your smile, just slightly more smug than usual. 

“You’re going to be a father for the first time. Nobody expects you to know everything, and I wouldn’t put that pressure on you, either. I don’t want you to get frustrated because you might be unsure. We’re learning together, Felix.”

“I…I suppose.” He huffed, “But…even you have to admit that asking my father about your breasts is incredibly odd.”

The laugh that escaped was bright, enhanced when he shot an embarrassed glare at you. “If it really bothers you, I can ask for a midwife’s help. But you’re going to have to let me consult with him when there isn’t one nearby.”

“Or you can just write down the questions and I’ll give them to him.”

“Or, you know…I can have a little time with my father-in-law and ask him questions directly.” You cupped his face in your hands when his frown deepened, drawing him into your sweet gaze. “But I will reserve more delicate questions for the midwife so you’re more comfortable. Is that reasonable?”

He tilted to kiss your palm, “That is reasonable.”

“Good. Now if you don’t mind, I could really use that cold compress because I’m incredibly sore.”

“Yeah.” He stood, planting a kiss on your forehead before letting you go. “I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you, my love.”

Felix would indeed make quick work to get the cold compress, which did wonders for your soreness. It did give Felix a reason to reach out to his father for a few more tips and tricks, and a bashful apology to his father for being so flustered when he was helpful.

At least, until you received the letter stating the midwife had been called to a sudden birth on the other side of the mountain and would likely be gone until right before your delivery…

Rodrigue being your temporary long-term consultant was a delightful surprise to you, though Felix had to work hard to suppress how mortified he felt. Luckily he was easy to placate; nothing plenty of kisses and letting him put his head in your lap and mope couldn’t fix.

[windslar]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire Tag

A set of 20 questions to get to know your oc! I was tagged by @matchalovertrait and @simmenycricket. thank you so much! since we're days away from starting his generation, i'm going to be doing this with Reuben in mind.

What uncommon/common fear do they have? Contrary to popular belief, Reuben is not scared of death and is actually quite fascinated by it. He is fearful though of his own mind and how it's wired to undervalue his own life and reality. He's so hyper-aware of how life is so fleeting and arbitrary that it's pushed him toward understanding the concept of mortality (and exploring the possibility that immortality might be out there in some other supernatural realm). So, to answer the question without getting too deep into it, Reuben's big fear is his own brain.

Do they have any pet peeves? People who say "no offense" because they almost always mean full offense.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? His phone, a record player, a dusty old book.

What do they notice first in a person? Reuben notices body language and eye contact first. He is very intuitive and can glean how comfortable people are in a situation, and he usually finds the least comfortable looking person and tries to keep them company.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? Emotional pain? 8/10. Physical pain? he may be a rancher's son, but he's a baby -- 4/10.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? Under pressure, Reuben goes into flight and retreat and hide out in his room mode. But recent events involving an ex-boyfriend who shall not be named have made him more resilient. He's got a little more fight in him now than he did as a teenager.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person? He grew up mostly raised by his mom, but his dad has always been present in his life. He'd say he's close to both of them. While he was in high school, his parents had a surprise pregnancy so he has a much, much younger brother.

What animal represents them best? A cat for the introspection and for being deeply perceptive. Or a humpback whale -- for the introversion and the appreciation for music.

What is a smell that they dislike? Reuben doesn't really like floral scents like lilies or carnations because they remind him too much of childhood memories of accompanying his mom to the funeral home.

Have they broken any bones? One time, he climbed the windmill at their ranch and he fell and broke his arm. And no broken bones, but he did get a nasty bruise on his behind after he fell off Maple.

How would a stranger likely describe them? Some would say softboi; others would say babygirl.

Are they a night owl or a morning bird? Night owl, which is exactly why he needs to get out of the ranch and its squealing-goat wake up calls.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? Growing up with a professional chef as his mom opened Reuben's palate to a lot of good food. He's always been an easy eater, but a flavor he hates is liver. He can't stand the texture! As for a flavor he loves, it's garlic!

Do they have any hobbies? Playing the piano and reading vampire tomes and fantasy novels. He also swam in high school although he was no star athlete like his mom was.

Boom, surprise birthday party!How do they react to surprises? He would be so appreciative to the person who threw the party (either his mom or his best friend, Winona). He would probably hate being the centre of attention though. But he'll put on a brave face and try his best to make sure everyone is having a good time.

Do they like to wear jewelry? Yes, and I think more now that he's gotten older. He likes to layer silver necklaces. He's also thinking of getting some piercings... and perhaps some ink? Who knows.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting? Legible but messy. A little bit like his handwriting stopped improving in the 3rd grade.

What are two emotions they feel the most? Existential sadness and teenage angst.

Do they have a favorite fabric? Comfy, breathable cotton. Brushed plaid shirts. A vintage leather jacket.

What kind of accent do they have? Chestnut Ridge is in the southwest and people from that area typically don't have a strong southern accent like those from Willow Creek. That being said, compared to almost everywhere else, people from C.R. have a slight twang and a touch of that southern drawl. Reuben will probably say he doesn't have an accent, but someone from the city will definitely say he does.

I tag @wrixie, @dustbon, @natolesims, @druidberries, and @stefsimz. Please feel free to ignore 😊

[elysiansparadise]

Hello I was wondering if you could make a post about Mercury in the 8th house? Thank you 💜

Mercury in the 8th house

Here we find natives with an interesting intellect, since they mix observation abilities with a very sharp and accurate intuition, especially regarding what others say concerns. It is likely that things pass by for those around him, but this native is capable of noticing anything no matter how small. They are astute people who easily detect lies, they read and observe you, they analyze their environment and many times they question what they can truly trust. They do not usually confide their thoughts, ideas or ways of seeing life with anyone, only with those they are very close to, what they think can be a huge mystery to others. They do not usually like small talk, they would prefer to have deep and meaningful conversations that contribute something to themselves or to the person with whom they relate. They stand out a lot for their curiosity and their ability to get to the bottom of certain matters, they have an investigative mind and are inquisitive by nature. Although we should not be confused, because despite being very curious, it is difficult for them to find topics or people for whom they are really interested. They are not limited to accepting the "truths" or things just for the sake of it, for them there has to be a true reason, a motive or something important.

If Mercury is afflicted by Saturn or Mars, student life could have been complicated for the native, from feeling that they did not learn easily or feeling that they did not get along with their classmates. Despite being people with great intellectual capacity, they can have a hard time feeling like intelligent people [especially if Neptune or Saturn make a hard aspect]. They hate feeling less intelligent or capable than others, being taken for fools by others, or being thought easily fooled by others. It is very likely that the comments of others are difficult for the natives to forget, they can remember cruel or negative comments from people for years. One of the favorable points of this placement is that these natives have a great awareness of themselves, they know who they are because introspection is part of their day to day and something they do constantly, they always question everything that surrounds them, how they react, because they feel the way they do, among other things. The natives may have had existential questions from an early age. 

They are people with great self-control, especially with what they say, they always try to be respectful to those who are respectful to them and say things frankly and kindly at the same time. They respect the privacy of others a lot, but they especially respect confidentiality, what others tell them they keep and it remains only between the two of them. They dislike talking about the lives of others and that others talk about their private things. It is very likely that at some point in their lives they have been a target of gossiping [enhanced if Moon or Neptune are making hard aspects with Mercury], which made them be more reserved and careful about those who tell them private things. They always have interesting things to say and seem to know about quite a few different things, this can be something that makes them attractive to people, or interesting at least. These people have a great intuition of their partner's sexual needs, they are able to go with the flow and are very skillful even if they don't have much experience. They are rather versatile and love to experiment with their partner, they can be very good at flirting or talking sensually to their partner. Despite this versatility and ability to let go, they are not in favor of having one night stands, since for them it is necessary to know the other person or at least have an affinity in personality or styles of thinking.

[noodleblade]

Do you have any breakdown head-canons to share? I'd love to hear them

Of course I do:3 he's one of my silly fellas. I have headcanons for EVERYONE. Probably. Maybe. (I'm going with tfp Breakdown<3)

He's like the most normal guy on the Nemesis. However, he's so used to Knock Out's brand on insane that he is unfazed by the rest of the nuts jobs there for the most part. He knows how to stay in his lane and keep his head low.

I like the idea that he's into making stuff. I read a fic once where he made little sculptures and that's kind of stuck with me. He's probably not really good at it but he likes messin around with it.

He's very handy. Soundwave runs a tight-ship on the Nemesis and isn't keen on people Starscream messing around with things but Breakdown's proven to be useful and has been granted a limited permission to take care of any repairs.

That being said, I like to think Breakdown is Soundwave's unofficial favorite co-worker. He trusts him to do his job, keep it professional, not to try and start a coup d'etat. The ideal co-worker. Soundwave was actually probably a little saddened by Breakdown's death. One less functional co-worker.

He's not a trained medic nor nurse. Breakdown knows basic first aid which is better than nearly everyone else on the Nemesis but it's only because he's watched Knock Out repair him enough. Knock Out still prefers to do Breakdown's repairs himself but sometimes Breakdown feels guilty about coming back with injuries all the time and tries to take care of them himself. Knock Out can usually tell if he has attempted self-repair.

He's got a softness to him, especially with the vehicons and Knock Out. I like to think in his free time, if Knock Out is busy, he hangs with the vehicons. They trade stories, play stupid games, just kind of chill? He's a great boss to them.

He doesn't care all that much about racing, but he likes to watch Knock Out race and they have an open comm link so they can trade shitty jokes and bad puns back and forth. Breakdown can do this for hours if he's got a comfy spot to rest and ideally some energon to sip on.

Breakdown loves a good fight, even just sparring but can't really get that from Knock Out or the vehicons and certainly not Starscream. He always jumps at the opportunity to fight Bulkhead and doesn't want to closely examine what the hell that means. No introspection allowed there.

Breakdown is pretty selfless? Something something love language acts of service something something. He likes to treat Knock Out, is more than happy to pamper him but not so much the inverse. He feels...uncomfortable when he is the center of that type of attention. It's not...bad? but its...weird. He can acknowledge that it feels good to have someone take care of him but he can't get over the mental hurdle that he should be the one to do that for others, he doesn't need pampering, he doesn't deserve it. Again, not introspection to be found here.

He's not much into music, but he has a guilt pleasure of listening to audio books. Knock Out managed to snag him a bunch of earth novels and...he rather likes them. He'll listen to them on shift. He primarily likes adventure/action books but...the occasional romcom..is...not so..bad...and if he pictures himself and uh someone else there. Well, no one needs to know about that. Especially Knock Out.

[diaphin93]

Thank you for pointing out the Dimidue vs Dimilix thing. I get loving angst and why people ship the latter. But what really grinds my gears is the fact that Dimidue has less fanfiction than Dimiclaude. Dimitri and Claude barely even interact together in game. They interact more in Hopes. Meanwhile Dedue and Dimitri are practically inseparable. Their paired ending has Dedue being the royal consort. I can't help but wonder if it's because Claude is lighter skinned and more "conventionally" attractive.

The Edelcrit crowd keeps trying to pain her as racist, but it's hard not to say the pot's calling the kettle when you look at how often they forget about Dedue when discussing Black Eagles vs Blue Lions.

Honestly? I think Dimidue has alot more high quality angst potential than Dimilix in my opinion. It makes me think of the impression a friend of mine had when first playing Azure Moon. During her first playthrough, she speculated that Dedues attitude was some act and it would be revealed that he wanted to get close to Dimitri to get revenge for his people, because he seemed to be just too calm and subservient for what was done to his people by Faerghus, while also keeping a distance from Dimitri during their supports. And I totally get this, I personally also would have initially assumed that Dedue hides more anger than he shows, because why set up the dynamic of him being a survivor of genocide by Dimitris people, if not for some pay off, especially considering Azure Moons themes of revenge and being haunted by the dead? Alas, it didn't came to be because the game instead has Dimitri just play Faerghus police by squashing the Duscur Rebellion without another genocide, instead of turning against the nobles who commit it to begin with, and Dedue is effectively written out of the story in Part 2, due to being an optional re-recruit you can easily miss and so that Dimitri can have his loner boar arc.

Also I'm not really saying that I want Dedue to ultimately turn against Dimitri and become his enemy, but some messy complicated feelings and resentment would have added much needed depth to both the plot and Dedues character. Usually you would expect it to be like Dedue claiming to actually hate Dimitri for what Faerghus people did to his, while having conflicting feelings because over the years he grew to genuinly love and care for him, while it would have been a good growing experience for Dimitri, becoming much more aware of the pain and resentment others feel, similar to his own hatred against Edelgard, and how he as the King ultimately shares his own responsibility for Faerghus bloody history. Sadly the game never challenged Dimitri to this extent and makes his entire character development purely centered around Byleth and Rodrigue, but I think the set up has alot of potential for some introspection and alot of Angst when shipping those two.

But alas it shows the Fandoms strong racial bias against men of color, especially those who present as very masc. Instead they go for your typical two light-skinned Bishonen options for the most part. When it comes to Dimitri and Claude, I have my own problems with the ship. It is for all intends and purposes basically just Dimigard in Yaoi, the ship centers usually purely Dimitris values and validates his feelings and perspective over Claudes, enforcing this very white savior-esque perspective on themes of racism. I would say Hopes even made this much more clear, considering how their interactions are fairly awkward and Claude practically promises Dimitri to turn on him when it comes to taking out the church, something strongly hinted at in AG's ending. Alas, I also think they lack alot of chemistry and I have a problem with how Claude inside Blue Lions routes is always marginalized and turned into either a sidekick or PoC in Distress for Dimitri to act as a white savior towards, with little agency and respect for his own perspectives and ambitions. It is different in the case of Edelgard and Claude, where superficially people claim that he just follows everything Edelgard says, ignoring the larger context of him acting the entire time to push forward his own ambitions and that there differences are much more nuanced, them agreeing in their opposition against the Church and Crests but otherwise having distinct goals.

But back to the topic, I would say, yes, Claude being a more conventionally attractive in anime terms, which means bishonen, and lighter skinned PoC plays strongly into it. Claude being smaller and presented as physically weaker than Dimitri also usually pushes him into the position of the Bottom or Uke in that ship, which is another problem in the way PoC's are often represented, namely that Brown Men are usually only validated when they can be contextualized as emasculated and the more effeminate part of a ship compared to the stronger and more dominent white partner. We see this Dynamic play out in one of the most notorious Edelcrit ships, which also features DimiClaude. It generally reveals a strong racist element inside Fandom by erasing Claudes culturally middle eastern inspired heritage by recontextualizing Almyra as Japanese, a culture that white supremacy often contextualizes as the Model Minority, and presents him as the submissive to Dimitris dominant, while also being used to elavate Dimitris status as a white savior to further glorify him. I think this happening in one of the most popular FE3H Fanfics, that goes into alot of religious apologetics as well and involves strong misogynistic themes both surrounding Byleth and Edelgard, reveals a strong anti-MENAT (an extended acronym to also include turkey) bias inside the community.

As I said, FE3H is a true microcosm of fandom and its typical biases, bigotries and problems, which is thanks to its diverse cast. The top list of AO3 ships also showed so much, it was predominantly white and light-skinned asians and alot of Harry Potter.

[ohallthecrushes]

Alphabet headcanons Elias Voit NSFW

Sooo... Here it is. I've had fun writing this. ^^ It made me wonder how would Elias react knowing that someone created headcanons for his sex preferences.

He'd probably burst with laughter and he'd be keep laughing while killing me. xd

A is for Aftercare (what he's like after sex)

He's likely to be composed and observant and a lot more relaxed, maybe even allows himself to be vulnerable, though the moment would be fleeting and not entirely out of his control. He may be quiet and introspective, reflecting on the experience and his partner's reactions, especially if they're still getting to know each other's desires, needs and kinks.

He views aftercare more like a strategic tool rather than an emotional necessity for him. He understands its importance in maintaining her trust and satisfaction, so he would be attentive and gentle, providing comfort and reassurance. But mostly he's focused on physical comfort rather than emotional intimacy.

He often holds his partner close or maintains physical contact in some other way to assert ownership.

B is for Body parts (his favorite body part of his and also his partner’s)

He's sapiosexual, so he really loves her mind and his own as well.

He loves eyes, he likes making eye contact with her, reading her emotions, her thoughts, everything that her mouth cannot say.

Speaking of mouth, he loves her lips, the way he can capture them with his, the way he can silence them, and everything that she can do with them.

As for himself, he loves his hair, he takes his time to make sure they're on point before he leaves house.

He also likes his hands as instruments of his actions, both violent and intimate.

C is for Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves to mark his territory, so his cum is usually all over her.

He loves to look at the mess he's made of her and derives satisfaction from it.

But as a sign of an ultimate ownership, he loves to cum inside her and warns her to keep it in, so he doesn't have to fill her up again (he would anyway)

D is for Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of his)

He loves a ménage à trois with both configuration, though he's always the dominant one, unfuckable by other man, he's the one that fucks. sorry Rossi

E is for Experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he's doing?)

He definitely knows what he's doing.

Due to his nature, he loves exploring and examining everything about human body and mind, so naturally he did a lot of experiments and indulged himself in a lot of activities in his early twenties. Mostly to figure out his own desires and likes, but also out of pure curiosity of how a person would react to everything he might try.

F is for Favourite position (this goes without saying)

He's on top, kneeling before her, so he has the full view of her body and an access to her clit. He can easily lean forward and grabs her throat as well, another thing that he likes to do.

G is for Goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous?)

He's predominantly serious. His intensity and focus create an atmosphere of deep connection and control.

It's unlikely that he'd incorporate humor during sex. He may occasionally use a wry or dark sense of humor to disarm her or deflect vulnerability, but this would be rare and always with a specific purpose.

H is for Hair (how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes?)

He's well groomed, not entirely shaved. Basically likes his facial hair.

I is for Intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect)

For him sex is about control and power. He often dictates the pace and style, prioritizing his own satisfaction, but giving something in return as well.

He's not selfish in bed, though he knows what he likes and can be quite demanding when he feels like he doesn't receive what he wants.

When he cares about his partner, he's very attentive and enjoys exploring her needs.

He's intensely focused and present during sex. His demeanor is controlled and deliberate, ensuring every action is precise and impactful.

He's the one in control. He very rarely, almost never, let her take the lead. She may be on top, yes, but she has to be the submissive top while he's the power bottom.

His romantic side is usually characterized by a deep, almost hypnotic attentiveness. He makes her feel like the center of his universe, using eye contact and touch to create a connection and words to keep her presence and make her feel appreciate.

He can be very passionate, though he tends to focus more on the physical act itself than the emotional connection.

J is for Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It's alright if he really needs to release himself quickly, but it's not something he does often.

He's very disciplined, so he can go on without it for a long time, prioritizing sex with his partner over autoerotism.

He may however use it as a powerplay, making her wach as he satisfies himself.

K is for Kink (one or more of his kinks)

Oh boy.

Oh boy and his kinks.

He has a strong preference for maintaining control. He really enjoys scenarios where he has complete control over his partner, both physically and emotionally.

He loves exploring the power dynamics.

He doesn't mind taming a soft brat as long as she's not being too stubborn and irritating with her defiance. Don't question his dominance, love.

Given his manipulative nature, he's intrigued by psychological aspects of sex. He loves creating scenarios that test her trust and boundaries, pushing her to explore her own desires but also her fears.

Restraint and bondage are appealing to him, as it strengthens his dominance.

He's drawn to acts that inflict pain on his partner, as a way to maintain control but also to heighten the intensity.

Gun play, knife play... the danger excites him.

In extreme cases, (still consensual though) there could be a blurring of lines between sex and violence, where inflicting pain becomes the inherent part of sex.

There's an element of voyeurism and exhibitionism in his preferences, as he enjoys observing reactions and the power dynamics involved. This could extend to scenarios where he is both the observer and the observed.

If she has any kinks or unusual preferences, he loves to dig deeper into that. Asking a lot of questions, trying to figure the meaning behind them, seeing if there's more to them than just a physical need. Exploring her kinks can become his kink.

L is for Location (favourite places to do the do)

Any place that's private and safe. Anywhere at home, bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom...

He's not a fan of public sex or sex that involves the risk of being caught. He needs to be in control of the situation, and any unwanted spectator would be a put-off.

M is for Motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)

He finds it arousing when his partner can challenge him intellectually.

A nice mental sparring is what turns him on, so show him that your intelligence and wit match his and his lips will be on yours in a matter of seconds.

He thrives on the power exchange and the trust she places in him. Her willingness to obey him without question is highly arousing.

But he also entertains the idea of having a partner who is strong and independent, but ultimately submits to his control.

Embracing his dark desires and interests, participating in his fantasies, would excite him.

Specific behaviors like her making prolonged eye contact, subtly seeking his approval, or showing signs of nervous anticipation... He enjoys seeing the impact of his influence on her behavior.

N is for No (something he wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Any serious attempts to control him is a major turn-off.

Any form of disrespect towards him or his dominance is a strong no.

He dislikes overt emotional neediness. While he wants her to be emotionally invested, he can't offer her a romantic gentle love-making under the moonlight.

Not a vanilla lover. Sorry, but plain, routine, or too predictable sex bores him. He craves intensity and complexity, and anything too conventional would not satisfy him.

No whiny or complaining little brat.

No public sex as stated above.

O is for Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill)

He loves receiving as it gives him another form of control over her and it feeds his need for complete dominance.

He loves to fuck her mouth.

He likes to go down on her too and control her in a different way, making it easy for him to make her beg.

He's skillful, though he knows that every woman has different preferences, so he doesn't persist on one technique. He learns quickly.

P is for Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

He prefers to go rough, but not too fast, as he likes to savour the act.

He may change the pace depending on a position, but he usually goes with steady controlled pace throughout the whole act.

He may go slow and sensual to manipulate her emotions or in rare moments of vulnerability when he needs to connect with her on a deeper level.

Q is for Quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often?)

He prefers to take his time with her, but he's not totally opposite a quick sex before he starts the day or before he has to leave her again.

But overall quickies leave him with insufficiency.

R is for Risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks?)

He can take calculated risks when he's sure that they won't spiral out of his control.

He likes to experiment and try new things from time to time.

S is for Stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

His double life requires from him a lot of physical work, so he's usually too tired to go for more than one, maybe two rounds.

But he can last for a long time to heighten the intensity of his orgasm if that's something he wants to achieve.

T is for Toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

He wouldn't like if his partner use a substitute toy even if he's not around for a long time.

No dildos or vibrators. He wants her to beg for his cock, not a piece of plastic.

But he has a nice collection of other toys that he likes using on her, like handcuffs, blindfold or whip as an extend of his dominance and as a tool to show his power over her.

A gun or a knife can also be a toy.

U is for Unfair (how much does he like to tease)

He enjoys teasing as a form of psychological play. He uses it to build anticipation and tension and sometimes to control his partner.

His teasing is often subtle and calculated, designed to push her boundaries and test her reactions. This usually involve verbal teasing, but he also may withhold her orgasm, or challenge her patience and resolve in other ways.

The intensity of his teasing could vary, but it always serves a purpose.

He uses teasing to keep her on edge, making the eventual release more powerful.

He may use more cruel teasing to manipulate or punish her for disobedience.

V is for Volume (how loud is he, what sounds he makes)

He's not loud, but he doesn't restrain himself either.

W is for Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He secretly entertains the idea of giving up his control and letting her take care of him and his body the way she sees fit. He doesn't want to be dominated, but he'd like to give in to her for once, trusting that she won't hurt him.

X is for X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's above average, not very long, but thick.

Y is for Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

He has a high sex drive, though it's heavily influenced by his emotional state.

His need for control and power extends into his sex life, where he seeks frequent, intense encounters.

However stress and anxiety can affect him and decrease his sex drive for some time.

Z is for Zzzleep (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t fall asleep quickly after sex. His mind is constantly active and the emotional intensity can have a impact on him and it can take a while for him to fall asleep.

He may stay awake to watch her, ensuring she's comfortable and satisfied.

He may go to make a food for her and himself.

Sometimes he finds it difficult to fall sleep without some form of physical contact with her.

[tinytinybumblebee]

👉👈 aaaaa ok thank you thank you!! sorry in advance for how long this is gonna be lol… for context it takes place right after the Cazador fight, I’m admittedly way too stuck on introspection so there can be some real blocks of text here, this is all I have written so far, thank you for being willing to let me send it in ;v;

———

“Here we are,” Tav placed the quietly sniffling Astarion on his bed. “It’s alright, shh…”

It was amazing that Astarion had managed to push down his regression long enough to finally kill Cazador and talk to his siblings about their fate, but he could only hold strong for so long. Tav had seen it in him the moment Cazador seized him for the ritual—looking him in the eyes and calling him tiny. Small. Little. A boy. All things Tav called Astarion, things Astarion himself, when in his usual state, said he wanted to reclaim. All of that was undone in an instant as Astarion was put on display and proclaimed not his caregiver’s sweet little boy, but a small, pathetic, weak little child who could never be more than what he depended on others for. 

He could give it more thought, spin his wheels more, but he was so… tired. He’d kept himself big for so long, practically clenched his own throat shut while he cried to keep things from spilling into a downward spiral that would have him crying harder and harder—embarrassing enough—but also surely regressing right then and there.

But now that he was here, somewhere private, the smell of death and the dark of the dungeon far behind them, he couldn’t bear to think like an adult for one more blessed minute. He was done keeping himself afloat. He could hate himself for it later.

“Dada,” he whimpers thickly, barely above a whisper as he reaches weakly for Tav. 

Tav has his back turned, grabbing something out of Astarion’s hidden regression supply stash. 

“Dada,” he repeats with more urgency, which gets Tav to spin around.

“Oh, little love,” Tav breathes. “Shh-shh-shh. It’s going to be okay.”

There’s a lot Astarion could say—and wants to say—in this moment. But he can barely get his mouth around words at all, and his skin crawling under the blood covering every inch of him was drowning out any other thought.

“Yucky,” he sniffs, gripping his arms, cringing at the cold touch of the blood splattering his skin.

Tav reaches out a hand, but Astarion flinches away. As if surprised by his reaction, Tav nearly does the same. 

“Astarion,” he says softly. “Do you want dada to clean the yucky off you?”

Astarion bristles at the thought. He would like the yucky off. But if it meant he’d have to be touched all over…

He meets Tav’s eyes, soft and reassuring. They don’t flick away for even a second, just fixed on him like he’s the most important thing in the world. 

Tav—Dada is safe.

He sniffs and holds out his arms. Tav responds in kind and gathers him up in one confident motion that could fool anyone into thinking who he was carrying wasn’t really a grown man. 

Astarion really can’t recall what happens next. He blocks most of it out, not wanting to think about seeing himself with his clothes off again.

No more reminders.

All that remained of the next hour or so, maybe less, was a faint feeling of warmth, kind hands on his skin, and a creeping fear being pushed back by whispered comforts and praises. It was such a nice feeling. So nice, at some point, he started crying. But with his head too fuzzy to understand the reason, he just faded back in all too suddenly with the sweet smell of soap in the air and tears rolling down his cheeks. They snuck into the corners of his mouth, pooling between his lips and making his nose wrinkle at the salty taste. 

And suddenly, that salty taste was all he could focus on. Surrounding him, poking at his tongue like needles, stinging his eyes somehow, overpowering his senses—it was the worst taste. The worst taste ever. It only made him cry more, wanting it out of his mouth, but that just made more tears follow. As his cries got louder, the hands he could faintly feel gently massaging his skin suddenly retracted and he was cold, so, so cold. And lost. Like he was adrift in the sea somewhere far away, neck deep in the—water? He was in water, he realized, taking a deep, shallow breath. Was he really in the sea? It tasted salty like the sea. He didn’t like it! 

Where was Tav??

“DADAAAA!” Astarion sobbed, grasping about uselessly. 

And just like that, suddenly the kind hands were back, holding him steady in the churning sea that was—that was only a bathtub. Astarion hiccuped, grabbing Tav by the wrists to try and pull himself out, away from all the overwhelming sensation.

“Hey, hey, sweet thing, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry I let go of you, I thought you didn’t want to be touched, shh, shh,” Tav spoke quickly, putting his hands around Astarion’s back. 

Oh my GOODNESS?????🥺🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖 You are a phenomenal writer aaaaa!!!!

Poor Astarion 😭💔 Poor baby boy needs his Dada, that soft safety he deserves from that who he truly trusts aaaAAAAAAAA and Tav instantly coming back to hold his frightened baby bat the moment he hears Astarion crying for them 🥺💖

[monsieuroverlord]

Wolverine #48 Spoilers (and also heavy ranting):

It was boring.

Somehow, even LESS happened than the past two issues.

I mean, what even is the plot at this point? What are the character motivations?

Laura made her grand escape, which was nice. But also, why would Graydon or "Bad Seed" even be interested in her in the first place?

His main interest is his father, yes?

I guess he does hate mutants in general, but if I were him, I would've intentionally let her escape so she could lead me to the main fight.

Also, what was even the point of attacking the bears? Logan literally said "don't kill them" and immediately stabbed one. Master hunter-tracker wild man couldn't go around? lead them away? Bears are generally skittish and don't really go out of their way to attack people unless provoked. UNLESS they're food-conditioned by raiding dumpsters and such, but this is in the middle of nowhere in Alaska. There's no people food to eat.

Logan disabled one -- which is usually a death sentence in the wild by the way. And that's assuming it ran away after Logan did that. But usually they would fight back after fucking stabbing them.

Nekra fucking flipped one and presumably knocked it out (???) Third Eye put the third one to sleep.

Also also, grizzly bears are solitary. If that was supposed to be a mother and two cubs, the cubs are WAY too big to be with their mama still.

Those bears were depicted as well-muscled/well-fed/basically NOT starving at all. They wouldn't be that attack-happy over a fish (maybe a bit protective over a huge carcass, but my point still stands). I mean, assuming you don't walk right up to them! They'd make some bear threats first, in which an experienced hunter with keen animal-like senses *cough cough* would know to back off.

Keep your distance and you're good. They literally had to walk quite a distance further for that stupid bunker. Literally just go around. No need for this.

I'm sorry, this isn't how bears work at all. They can be territorial, but an experienced woodsman would know how to avoid the conflict. Especially since they weren't even caught unaware by said bears.

And the narrative around Logan remains redundant:

When will I be free of this?

THEY DO THIS EVERY TIME HE LOSES HIS HEALING FACTOR!

Last time he went on an introspective monologue like this, he went on a grand death tour and got got encased in molten adamantium! Then Laura became Wolverine :)

But they do this every time. Nothing about these plot choices are original, or even a fresh retelling of a Wolverine-esque story. It's not even vaguely interesting. At best, they're the safe choice, but I think its just lazy and lacks direction.

How the fuck is it a relief? How the fuck are you a "walking carcass?" You don't even have that cool eye scar anymore.

Also, your fucking son had a healing factor and STILL died. How do you think he feels about that, hm?

It irritates me especially because Aki isn't even mentioned beyond those preview pages. For all that shock value they did, and he still ends up being a passing thought.

I am repeatedly banging my head against a wall, I swear.

(Send Aurora in to smack him around a little. It's greatly needed).

Anyway, Laura made her grand escape by lowerng defenses to alert the sentinels and Bad Seed Graydon was able to hack them. X-Force was also alerted to the situation and Black Tom is using his veg powers to grow a rescue ship.

I guess this could lead up to a Graydon vs. Laura situation? Kid vs kid? But I don't know anymore. The plot is all over the place.

Creed ended up being encased in a sort of psuedo-egg as well, but burst out of it.

We don't see anything beyond that, but maybe he was transformed somehow? Maybe he's weaker? stronger? who knows.

I am disappointed. I wanted the seed to do something a bit more than this. There's still time, I guess. But I remain disappointed for now.

MAJOR MAJOR SPOILER PAGE:

The armor makes its first appearance.

And because fuck it, we're getting a muramasa blade too.

I hate it here.

Hurry up with all of the ressurections. I stand even firmer in my belief that this Sabretooth War should count as one of those "Orchis Purges" and Aki, and all the other dead mutants should be ressurected as such from the White Hot Room. Graydon was able to hijack one, its close enough! We don't need to argue semantics here, just ressurect everyone please and thank you