#talk to me like I'm a wench | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lubdubology · 3 months ago

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Come A Long, Long Way

SYNOPSIS: His days are long and his nights are longer. He comes to you during those hours when the rest of the world stills, lured in by something almost like fate.

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 12.2k

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, scars and healing; gratuitous sexual tension; mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption; dirty talk; frottage; nipple play; surprise appearance by Charles; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; sex with feelings; cowgirl; mating press; creampie; brief mentions of Laura; happy ending because I said so

A/N: The idea for this story came to me through a song--My Fair Lady by Kaleo. I was struck by this verse: I'm weary from my travels // I've come a long, long way // I haven't felt a woman // Since last that I was here // Oh, won't you bring me whisky // And run your fingers through my hair? // Oh, won't you whisper sweet words // Oh, so softly in my ear? I thought, "Wow, that's so Old Man Logan" and this is what I birthed from that. This may be one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I sincerely hope you think so too. Huge, huge thank you to @yxtkiwiyxt for betaing this for me and making the final draft what it is; you helped end this in such a beautiful way. Thank you to @saradika for the use of her graphics. And as always, I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

He shouldn’t care about the car pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights blinking as the rain pours down.

For three days, Logan’s entertained a rowdy bachelorette party, chauffeuring them from bar to bar, dinner to dinner. The scent of cheap perfume and desperation still linger inside the limo, the drunken, whispered advances still burn against his skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted down to his very marrow and he wants nothing more than to crawl onto his sagging mattress and steal whatever amount of sleep his shattered mind will give him.

So, no. He shouldn’t care about the car.

But he finds himself easing off the gas, the limo starting to slow as he nears. He feels drawn, like a month to a flame, as if some unseen force has wound itself around his sternum and is pulling him forward.

Pulling him to you.

As the limo approaches, he spots you crouched down by the front left tire, struggling with a lug wrench, the tool slipping in your rain-soaked fingers. He can almost hear the curses spilling from your lips as you glance up and look towards where he’s sitting.

Logan knows you can’t see him, not well anyway with the headlights shining directly upon you and the rain pouring down in sheets, but he swears you find his gaze, your eyes seeming to pierce down directly to his soul. He feels the flutter of something deep in his chest and he feels exposed, like a raw wound that hasn’t quite healed.

For a moment, he hesitates, and wonders if you’re a siren, out here in your element to lure him to his death. Then your gaze drops and the thought dissolves but only just. Before he can talk himself out of it, Logan’s throwing the car in park and opening the door.

The rain is frigid, the cold biting at his skin as the downpour soaks him down to the bone. You glance up at him as he approaches, your fingers loosening around the wench but still keeping it firmly in your grasp. Straightening up, you push wet strands of hair out of your face, your fingers trembling from the cold.

“Need a lift?”

He doesn’t know why he asks. What he should do is swap out the old tire for the spare and let you go on your way. But those eyes of yours are piercing him again, the hook you’ve sunk deep in his sinew pulling taut once more and Logan feels compelled to take you home.

For a few moments, you continue to silently assess him, your gaze flitting between your car, the limo behind him and back to his now soaked frame. Then, you stand and open the driver’s side door, tossing in the wrench and pulling your purse close to your chest. You follow him to the limo and climb into the backseat as Logan slips back in behind the wheel.

He glances back at you through the rearview mirror, watching as you lean back into the seat, your wet clothes clinging to every curve of your body. Which is another thing he shouldn’t care about and yet…

Clearing his throat, he turns up the heat. “Where you headed?”

“North. About twenty miles or so.”

Logan nods and shifts the car into drive, heading back down the road as the rain continues to come down. Several minutes pass in silence, save for the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers. Finally, your voice breaks through the silence, soft and lilting.

“Got a name?”

“Who’s asking?”

A half smile tugs at your lips as you slide from the seat and slip into the row directly behind the partition. Logan can feel the damp of your skin as you lean into his space, the scent of rain flooding his nostrils almost intoxicating. You say your name and wait for him to respond in kind.

“Logan,” he answers, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, Logan?” you ask, his name dripping from your lips like honey and just as sweet.

Logan stiffens, his grip tightening on the wheel as your words cut through the night. There’s no pity in your tone, which he’s silently grateful for, but an unsettling mixture of curiosity and understanding.

At the best of times, he doesn’t like anyone trying to scratch below the surface, to worm themselves into all the soft and vulnerable bits he tries so desperately to hide away. Now that he’s older and feeling every bit of his age, the weight of his bones threatening to drag him down with each step, he likes it even less.

“It’s not kind to anyone,” he answers, turning his head just enough to glance sideways at you.

You tilt your head slightly, a wordless noise humming in your throat. “Maybe,” you concede, voice soft, like you’re mulling over his words. “Except your life has carved itself into you a little more than most.”

He wants to be annoyed, to slam his foot on the brake and send the limo careening into reverse back towards your broken down car. But something stirs in him, thrumming in time with the pulse beating in his veins—a spark of irritation mixed with that pull that’s been gnawing at him since he first saw you.

“You a therapist or somethin’?”

You chuckle softly, the sound low and intimate, as you lean back into the seat, finally putting some space between you. “No. Just intuitive.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you through the rearview mirror with a scowl. “Intuit less. Just tell me where I’m goin’.”

A soft, chiding “tsk” falls from your lips and you shake your head, but Logan doesn’t miss the smile playing on your lips. You give him directions to your house and for moment you both sit in silence but the air remains heavy with unspoken tension.

Logan pulls off the highway, beginning to wind through the smaller streets of the town as he gets closer to your place. The thought of this ride ending, of you leaving this car, both thrill and disappoint him.

“You believe in fate?”

The question cuts through the silence, pulling Logan’s focus back to you. He glances at you briefly, your expression thoughtful as you wait for him to answer.

“No,” he finally says, voice flat.

A soft hum escapes your throat. “Unsurprising. But don’t you think, Logan,” you begin, leaning back into his space, “that maybe fate is what brought us together?”

You have that knowing look in your eye again, a sly smile tugging at your lips. As if you’re in on some cosmic secret he’s not privy to. It unnerves him.

But it intrigues him, too.

“I think a broken down car brought us together.”

“Or maybe life decided to be kind to you,” you challenge. “To bring me to you.”

Logan turns into a quiet subdivision as your words rattle around in his brain. The rain has mostly subsided, but is still falling in a gentle drizzle as he pulls up in front of your house, a single porch light illuminated in welcome. It looks small, yet homey, the kind of place he could have seen himself in once if life had been kinder to him.

“You should come in,” you say as you gather your belongings. “Get out of those wet clothes.”

Your eyes meet his again through the review mirror, a mischievous glint in your gaze and an even more sinful smile on your lips.

It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone. The thrill of finding a partner for the night having lost its luster around the time his bones started to ache. More often than not, his sexual escapades involve his own calloused hands and memories from when he was a younger man.

“Think about it,” you offer as you open the door and slip out of the limo. “Door’ll be open.”

Logan sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, contemplating whether or not to follow you into the house.

Your offer is tantalizing, ripe for the picking, and the baser part of himself wants to accept—follow you into sin. You’ve already injected yourself into his veins, he might as well see the high through.

The rational part of his brain knows he should leave, throw the limo in reverse and tail it back to the life he’s carved out for himself in the desert. Experience has hardened him, left him unable to, or maybe unwilling to, open himself to others. He doesn’t need whatever it is you think you can offer him, no matter how alluring and sweet your words may be.

The weight of his wet clothes against his skin begins to feel almost suffocating and with a low curse under his breath, Logan steps from the limo and follows the path you took up the porch and into the house.

A trail of water leads from the front door to a small laundry room just off the foyer and then damp footprints lead deeper into the house. He can hear the low rumble of a dryer as he steps further into the space, the squeak of his shoes against the hardwood doing nothing to hide his approach.

Logan finds you in the kitchen, lights dimmed low, standing in only a pair of mismatched underwear, the damp fabric barely concealing what’s underneath as you gently swirl a glass of whiskey. A second, untouched glass sits next to your hip on the counter.

“You seem like a whiskey man,” you say, your smile curving around the glass as you take a slow sip. “Did I get it right?”

Stopping in the doorway, he flexes his hands at his sides, and wills himself to move—forward, backward, he’s not quite sure. The muted light catches along your curves, the damp sheen of your skin enticing, the dark outline of your nipples and curls between your thighs acting like a beacon. Logan can feel himself hardening against his slacks.

He can smell you—bright and earthy and wholly intoxicating. Your heartbeat echoes in his ears, quick, but steady, betraying no fear.

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it by now,” you say and he has half a thought to wonder if you can read his mind.

A sly smile spreads across your face as his eyes finally meet yours, a knowing edge to your expression that further sets him off balance.

“What’s happenin’ here?” Logan finally rasps, his voice low and rough.

You give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as you grab the glass next to you and take a step towards him, your movements slow yet deliberate. He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot as you approach him.

“That’s up to you,” you reply, handing him the glass. “You can get out of those wet clothes and enjoy this whiskey with me, or,” you pause to step closer, “you can walk back out that door and pretend like you weren’t curious about what’s waiting for you here.”

Logan’s fingers grip the glass in his hands just a little too tight as you stare up at him, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary. You’re challenging him, daring him to act, and he knows the minute he breaks, he’s done for. He won’t be able to stop.

You risk another step closer, leaving barely a breadth of space between you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can smell the rain on your skin, as your closeness overwhelms his senses. He wants to drown in you.

“What’s it gonna be?” you ask in a whisper, your fingers trailing along the edge of his belt buckle.

Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin. His free hand moves on instinct, wrapping around your wrist, halting your teasing fingers before they venture any further. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying and threatening to snap.

“You sure this is what you want?” His voice is low, all gravel and grit as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened by a hunger begging to be fed.

Your lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as you press yourself fully against him, soft and warm. Rising up onto the balls of your feet, you drop your gaze to his lips before flicking your eyes back up to his and ghosting your mouth along his jawline. “Stay with me,” you whisper, sliding your hand up his chest. “Just this once.”

Logan’s restraint snaps. The glass tumbles from his hand, shattering against the floor, but neither of you seem to notice. His hand moves to the small of your back, wanting to press you impossibly closer as his lips crash into yours, hot and demanding.

You respond in kind, a whimper dying in your throat as your fingers tangle in his damp hair, urging him closer. A growl tumbles from his lips as he trails his mouth down your neck, nipping and tasting as he goes, his tongue finding your pulse point and sucking. His hands roam freely, his calloused fingers sliding over your smooth flesh, palming your hips and gripping you as if you’re the only thing grounding him to earth.

He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You’re a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole.

You gasp as he nips at a spot just below your ear and he smirks against your skin, the sound spurring him on. “Tell me where your room is, or I’m fuckin’ you right here on the table,” he husks, his voice thick with desire, breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips swollen and eyes dark, you reach for his hand and wordlessly lead him past the living room and down the small hallway to your room. Once inside, he pulls you back towards him, mouth slanting back over yours, stealing the very air from your lungs.

His cock is almost painfully hard as he walks you towards the bed, only pulling his mouth away from yours as your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Instead of sitting back on the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt, easing them open before sliding the fabric from his shoulders. There’s an eagerness to your movements, your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle as he sheds his undershirt and tosses it somewhere behind him.

Logan watches with a hooded gaze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as you shove his pants down his legs, barely getting them past his knees before you’re reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements and you gaze up at him, licking your lips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We have all night.”

A shiver runs through you and then his mouth is on you again, hungry and all-consuming. He drinks you in like a man parched, lips and teeth mapping the curve of your jaw, the solid edge of your collarbone as your pretty little moans and gasps fill the air. You tilt your head back and offer yourself to him, your hands grasping at his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle to keep him close.

His hands are rough against your skin as he slides them up your sides, tracing the soft, damp skin below the band of your bra. Unfastening the clasps, he trails the fabric down your arms, his eyes darkening as he finally takes in your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice dripping with raw want.

Any final restraint he has evaporates and he kicks the last of his clothes off before tightening his hands around your waist and setting you down on the bed. Logan steals the gasp from your mouth as his body covers yours, easing himself between your thighs and thrusting once against your clothed cunt.

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to wet the skin. “Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a growl, his teeth bared. A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?”

Logan lets out a deep, guttural sound, something between a growl and a groan before he slots his mouth back over yours and follows you into temptation.

“Figured you’d try and sneak out.”

Logan whirls around at the sound of your voice, claws slowly unsheathing from between his knuckles. Blood wells up from the wounds, dripping between his fingers as he finds you dressed in an oversized shirt, the hem just concealing the edge of your panties. Your expression belies no fear as you take in the metal jutting out between his skin, your eyes alight with an acceptance he’s not use to.

Fear, disgust, repulsion, but rarely acceptance.

Slowly, he retracts his claws as you move further into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to grab and moisten a washcloth before coming to stand in front of him. Logan instinctively pulls away from your touch, but you’re undeterred, taking his hands in yours and wiping the blood away from his skin. Your movements are gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing slits.

Washed of blood, you finally glance up at him. “You can stay, you know.”

“I’m not the stayin’ kind, sweetheart,” he mutters.

One of those slow, knowing smiles tugs at your lips as you release his hands and Logan actually mourns the loss. “We’ll see,” you say with a shrug, stepping back just enough to put space between you. “I don’t think fate is done with us yet.”

Your words hang in the air like smoke, curling around him and pressing into his skin. He wants to argue, the words burning on his tongue, but he doesn’t. Because despite his earlier claims that he didn’t believe in fate, he can’t deny the unnatural pull you have on him. A pull Logan doesn’t necessarily dislike.

At his silence, you lean up and press the faintest of kisses to the corner of his jaw. “I’ll leave the light on for you,” you whisper into his skin.

It’s then he knows—he won’t be able to stay away.

Logan shows up at your door again two weeks later.

He’s been driving around some bigwig CEO, chauffeuring him from conference to conference during the day and dropping him off at random hotels during the night. When he gives Logan the address to tonight’s hotel, Logan knows instantly he’s in trouble. Just his luck the hotel is in your town.

Pulling off the freeway, he feels that familiar tug behind his ribs. His hands itch with the want, the need, to turn the wheel towards you instead of the address on his GPS. Since that night, you’ve haunted him, your face showing up in his dreams, waking with the sensation of your softness burning into his skin.

Logan knows he could stay at the hotel or sleep in the back of the limo like he’s done so many times before. But as he slowly inhales at his cigar and waits for Mr. CEO to stop fingering his mistress in the back seat and get the fuck out, the need to be near you only grows stronger.

And damned if he knows why.

He doesn’t need a relationship, or whatever the hell this is. Enough of him has been spread to others, for better or worse, and he’s already worn thin. The last remnants of any family he has are hanging off a very precarious ledge and he can’t bear the heartache of more loss if he opens himself to you.

But as much as Logan keeps telling himself he’s closed off, fortified against anything new, he can feel himself bleeding through the cracks.

By the time he finally turns down your street, it’s well past a respectable visiting hour. Most houses are dark for the night, but not yours. The front porch light illuminates just like it did two weeks ago and the dim lights of the kitchen shine through the pulled blinds. You’re up and a frisson of anticipation shoots through him.

He parks the limo and stamps out the cigar before walking up your driveway. As he approaches the door, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. While your final words to him were open ended, did that give him the right to just show up in the middle of the night?

You open the door as he contemplates and when his gaze finally focuses on you, he relaxes. A well worn robe is tied around your waist, your hair tied up in a messy bun, your face cleaned of makeup and yet you’re more alluring to him than you were that night in the rain.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he confesses, stepping just a bit closer towards you.

A slow, soft smile spreads across your face. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” you reply. You open the door to allow him entrance and he steps in after you.

Logan follows you into the kitchen, where you already have a glass of whiskey ready for him. Handing him the glass, you nod your head towards the living room. “Come. Relax for a bit.”

He follows you into he living room, the single lamp casting a soft glow within the space. You settle onto the sectional, tucking your legs beneath you and turning yourself towards him as he joins you. For a moment, neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t awkward—it’s comfortable, like it always is around you.

“You look tired,” you say, finally breaking the quiet. Your voice is soft, a sense of familiarity laced in with your words, as if you understand the magnitude of his fatigue.

Logan huffs as he swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Honey, I’m always tired,” he replies. “Comes with the territory.”

You give a small hum, your head tilting to the side as you assess him. “You’re in pain, too.”

Logan freezes at your words, his eyes flicking up to your face. His gaze locks with yours, sharp and guarded, like you’ve peeled back a layer he wasn’t ready to expose. And yet, you’ve been doing this since the beginning. Finding the cracks in his facade and wedging yourself in until the gap widens, uncovering the raw nerves underneath.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his tone challenging.

You gaze remains steady and calm, holding a softness that unnerves him more than the question itself. “Because it’s written all over you,” you say simply. “I see it in your scars, in the way your hands are always clenched, as if steeling yourself against a blow that’ll never come.”

Logan exhales a low, humorless laugh before taking a long sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. “Don’t even notice it anymore,” he lies, shifting in his seat.

Your mouth tugs into a gentle frown as you shift, crawling closer to where he sits. You pluck the glass from his fingers, swallowing down the rest of the whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. Logan watches as you swing your legs over his lap, your robe riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of your thighs.

The weight of you against his lap sends a rush of arousal down his spine and he can feel his cock stir in his slacks. If you notice, you ignore it, instead reaching for a small bottle of lotion on the end table and squeezing a dollop into your palm. You rub your hands together twice before reaching for his right hand.

Your thumbs dig into the meat of his palm, a low groan slipping from his throat before he can stop himself. You bite your lip, but Logan can see the sly smile beneath.

“You help take care of everyone else,” you begin, rubbing the lotion further into his calloused palms. “Who helps care for you?”

Logan feels flayed open, that pull that spins him into your orbit only growing stronger as you see down to his very soul. Caliban swore you weren’t a mutant but Logan still couldn’t shake the idea that you were something more.

“What are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, watching you concentrate on his hand.

You slide your fingers along the pink, puffy lines between his knuckles, a slow hiss escaping between his teeth as you massage the tender flesh. He wonders if you know how sensitive his skin is now, how each time his claws come out it hurts just a little bit more than the last time.

“I’m human,” you reply, positioning his hand to focus on the back, tracing the fine scars there. “Same as you.”

“I ain’t human.”

Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand.

Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where your fingers are resting against him. You touch him like you’re unafraid, undeterred by the metal in his bones and the sometimes primal rage that courses through his blood. His killed—for the sake of war, self preservation, and for reasons not so innocent—but you can somehow still see past that, to some soft part of him that still lingers.

Logan itches to touch you, to pull you closer and—

“You can touch me,” you say, as if pulling the thought from his head. “I like when you touch me.”

Logan slides his palms up your thighs and around your hips, pulling you flush against his lap, your clothed center pressing against the fly of his slacks. He doesn’t miss the gasp that falls from your lips or the shift of your hips as you try and press closer.

That thrum of aliveness begins to churn in his veins as he slowly unties the sash of your robe, allowing the fabric to fall to the side. You’re bare underneath and Logan can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the center of your chest.

“You dress like this jus’ for me?” he asks, dragging his lips towards your breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth, working into a taut peak beneath his tongue.

Your fingers wind themselves into his hair, holding him close. “Yes,” you breathe, a whimper falling from your lips as he moves to your other breast. “Only for you.”

A surge of possessiveness rushes through his veins and Logan can feel the prickle between his knuckles, his claws threatening to unsheathe at the thought of you with another man. Instead, he doubles his focus onto you, his beard scraping against your skin as he licks a hot stripe across your nipple. “Damn right, only for me,” he growls.

You shift your hips in response, seeking more friction against the hard length of his cock pressing against you. Logan groans, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips, urging you to move against him. The soft, wet heat of your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties and his slacks sets his control on a razors edge.

Logan leans back slightly to lock eyes with you, your pupils blown wide with want, your skin flushed with desire. You find his gaze, hazy with pleasure, but focused and then you smile at him, bottom lip pinned between your teeth.

“And you, Logan,” you whisper, your hands sliding down the column of his neck, “you’re only for me.”

That hook you’ve lodged in him sinks deeper and he’s too far gone to care. The mystery behind your presence in his life is one he’s willing to spend the rest of his days unraveling so long as you stay right here, continuing to bewitch him with the beauty of your soul.

Your allure was more potent than any pheromone, more intoxicating than any aphrodisiac. In his waking moments, Logan found his thoughts drifting to you more often than not and the frequency between his visits grew shorter and shorter until he found himself lured into your embrace almost every night.

He was good at lying to himself, writing off these visits as nothing more than comfort—the need to find warmth in a world that so seldom offered him that luxury. But that lie grew bitter, warped in the liminal space between midnight and dawn where you stripped him down to his very bones, saw through the gruff and grit he wrapped himself in. Saw him as something more than the sum of his sins.

Logan couldn’t hide from you and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Those carefully crafted walls that surrounded him cracked and crumbled, turning to dust at his feet. In that mysterious way of yours, you always knew what he needed—a warm meal; your tender, healing touch as you helped him stitch the worst of his wounds; the soft, pliant feel of your skin on his as you kissed him deep, the kind of kiss that burned like wildfire and whiskey.

God help him as your gravity pulled him in closer, your orbits circling tighter and tighter, destined for an inevitable crash.

“What am I to you?”

Those five words root him where he stands, flaying him down to his very marrow. Logan should have expected this question, should have known that eventually you’d ask.

He wants to tell you the truth, speak those words that burn against his tongue, begging to be said.

He wants to tell you of his need to find you when the days are long and the nights are longer. When the weariness he feels in his bones aches more than usual and seems to bleed into his very soul.

When he needs to feel something more than the hollowness that seems to grow inside his chest. The slow carving away of his humanity that’s been scraping closer and closer to emptiness for years.

When he needs to be wrapped in warmth and set afire by something almost like love. Like home.

But he says none of this as he gazes over at you sitting at the kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest. You look small sitting there, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen before.

And instead, he remains silent, praying you’ll let the conversation slide. But he knows better.

You glance up at him, your gaze piercing straight through the heart of him and then you devastate him with three simple words.

“I love you.”

The air punches from his lungs and for a moment it feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Your words tear through him, cutting deeper than any knife, and his hands curl into fists as you slice him open.

“Don’t,” Logan rasps, his voice rough, barely more than whisper. He avoids your eyes, knowing that if he looks and sees the sincerity in your gaze, it’ll be his undoing. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Your voice cracks with emotion as you push away from the table, your arms wrapping around yourself. “What about those words can’t you hear?”

His jaw clenches and for every step you take closer him, he takes a half step back, as if he’s trying to distance himself from the truth beginning to swirl between you. You can’t love him. Loving someone has brought him nothing but misery and pain, loss and suffering and he’ll be damned if he drags you down that road.

So, instead he lies, the words bitter in his mouth.

“This ain’t love, sweatheart,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “This is fuckin’.”

You inhale sharply between your teeth and your expression twists into disbelief, the beginning of tears welling in your eyes. “Fucking?” you bite back, your voice trembling but still firm. “You think after all these months that this is just fucking?”

Logan doesn’t answer. And he doesn’t move. He simply stands there, jaw clenched so tightly he could shatter bones. He can’t say yes. If he does that, if he voices that lie into existence, he’ll have to spend the rest of his days remembering the look in your eyes right now—destroyed.

Your breath starts to shudder as you continue to step closer towards him. And he can feel you, warm and comforting, even though you shake with barely contained anger. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all this is,” you demand, your voice thick with emotion. “Tell me that when you come to me in the middle of the night, broken down, bloody and bruised, it’s just fucking. Tell me that when I touch you, hold you, love you, that it means nothing.”

He remain silent.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” Your trembling voice matches the shake to your hands, your fury pouring off you in waves. “You really are a coward, aren’t you?”

Logan nostrils flare at the insult and he can feel the prickle of his claws between his knuckles. He knows his rage isn’t with you, but himself. And yet he can still feel his lips curl into a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he growls.

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you seethe, your voice now raw, pain bleeding through every syllable. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you lie.”

His jaw clenches impossibly harder and he swears he can taste bone. Then, he finally meets your gaze head on, eyes flashing. “You think this ends well between us? You think I get to have somethin’ like this? Like you?” Logan’s voice cracks in a way that he loathes. “I can’t—”

The crack of your palm against his face is deafening. He barely moves from the impact, but emotionally you’ve landed him on his ass. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, unblinking.

Logan stands there, immobile, as he processes the sting of your slap. It doesn’t hurt, not physically. It’s the fact that you did it, the fact that you’re standing in front of him, chest heaving from the effort of your breathing as if you just ripped yourself open for him.

“Get out of my house,” you seethe, your voice softer than before, deflated.

Your words shouldn’t sting as much as they do. They shouldn’t wreck him and make him feel like he’s been ripped apart limb from limb. He should relish them, the push, the shove. He should revel in the confirmation that you’re finally seeing him for what he truly is—something undeserving of all the warmth and love you’ve given him. A stray animal that never should have been fed.

Logan swallows, his throat tight as he gives you a small nod. And then he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He turns. And he walks.

His legs feel like lead, each step a feat and his brain is screaming at him to turn around. To fight. To beg. To plead. To say something, anything.

But he doesn’t.

Logan exits the house, the front door slamming shut behind him. As he steps off the front step, the porch light above him clicks off, plunging the house into darkness. Your guiding light is gone, lost in the storm of his destruction.

Of all the wounds he’s ever taken, of all the scars that mar his skin, nothing has ever bled quite like this.

Charles watches with sharp eyes as Logan enters the old water tank and shuts the door behind him. The older man is in his wheelchair, tending to his plants as Logan walks around the place, picking up random bits of trash and the tray from breakfast.

A soft “tsk” falls from Charles’ lips and echos in the small space. “Will you ever learn, Logan?” Charles’ voice seems tired, weary.

Logan pauses and looks over at him, irritation already prickling along his skin. “Stay outta my head,” he snaps, slamming the tray down on a nearby table.

He doesn’t need this, doesn’t want Charles sifting through his mind, seeing those pieces of you he so deeply cherishes. Pieces he doesn’t deserve. Pieces he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have within his grasp again.

“She loves you,” Charles continues, seeming to ignore his request.

Logan strides over to where Charles is sitting, unable to keep the ire from boiling over. He wants to sweep all the plants to the floor, destroy the one creative outlet Charles has, retaliate for the way he presses into the fresh bruises on his mind. “I’m begging you, just—”

Charles lifts the spray bottle beside him and directs the spray in Logan’s face, showering him in a fine mist of water. Logan freezes, water dripping from his face as his lips tighten in a thin line. He grits his teeth, an ache already blooming in his jaw.

“What the fuck was that for?” he growls.

“Are you a cat?” Charles asks, lowering the bottle. “No? Then stop being such a pussy.”

Logan stares at Charles, the vulgarity of the of man’s words leaving him temporarily speechless. He scrubs a hand down his face, wiping the rest of the water off with the sleeve of his shirt, scowl deepening.

“You’re pushin’ it,” Logan warns.

Charles simply smirks, finally setting the bottle down on the table. “Someone should. God knows you won’t push yourself. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath and steps back from Charles, sitting down on the bed across from him. The old metal springs groan beneath his weight. He wants a bottle of whiskey, to quiet the thoughts in his head, at least temporarily, and fall into a drunken stupor. Anything but flaying open his feelings, especially his feelings about you.

“What are you so afraid of?” Charles asks gently. “That she’ll see all your broken pieces?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Charles raises his eyebrow. “No? Logan, she’s already seen them. She knows what you are and she’s still here.”

“That’s not the point!” Logan roars, his voice echoing off the metal walls. His breathing comes out in short gasps and he knows he needs to rein himself in. Not only for himself but for Charles. It doesn’t take much to trigger a seizure these days and he doesn’t need the stress of this conversation to become a catalyst.

Charles remains quiet, expression calm and Logan hangs his head, his voice softening into something raw. “It’s not about what she knows. It’s about who, about what, I am. I don’t deserve her.”

Bracing his elbows on his legs, Charles leans forward, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “She knows all that, Logan. And she chooses you. Every night you come to her, she chooses you. How can you not see that?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but the weight of Charles’ words hang heavy against his shoulders. He looks down at his hands, seeing the callouses and crisscrossing scars. His body is a physical map of violence, each faded pink line a story of pain, regret and death.

But you’ve never seen them that way. You’ve only ever looked at them with reverence, traced your fingertips along each one and wondered about their stories. Made him feel whole instead of broken and used.

“You have a choice to make, Logan,” Charles says, interrupting the silence. “Let her in…or keep running. Don’t make her choose for you.”

For days, Logan’s mind is plagued by replays of his last moments with you and his conversation with Charles. His already sleepless nights are further tormented by dreams of you, the devastated expression on your face haunting him.

The memory of your face, the crack in your usually steadfast voice, the tremor in your hand after you struck him. They all play in a nauseating loop in his brain, punishing him in a way he’s never felt before.

His life reverts to autopilot—drink, fight, drive, but nothing quells the gnawing ache in his chest. He couldn’t stay in the smelting plant with both Caliban and Charles staring at him, watching his every move as if he were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Charles was running out of medications, a few days supply left at most, and Logan knew he was better off leaving Charles in Caliban’s care than his own.

Now, he sits on the edge of a dingy motel bed, the scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his clothes. His eyes are dry and heavy with exhaustion and his skin is itching with that familiar want to be near you. It started as an annoying tug, but has now grown into a maddening want.

He knows he should ignore it. But he was never that strong.

Before he can talk himself out of it, convince himself that this is an astronomically stupid fucking idea, he’s on his feet, keys in hand and driving down those lonely roads towards you.

It’s late when he reaches your house, like it usually is, and he half expects the porch light to remain dark, a cold, bleak reminder of how badly he’s fucked up. Instead, he finds that single porch light illuminated, shining like a beacon of hope. Logan walks up onto the porch, but you don’t open the door like you’ve done so many times before.

He contemplates leaving, turning around and getting back in the car and drinking himself into a semblance of sleep. But then he hears you, your heartbeat echoing beyond the wooden frame, as steady and as comforting as it’s always been. Logan pauses, wondering if he should try the knob and come inside—if you’ll even let him.

If you even should.

With a sigh, he lowers himself to the ground, his joints aching in protest as he rests his back against the door. “I’m not good at this,” he finally says, hoping you’re listening. “I’ve been alive for too long. Seen too much shit.” Logan pauses, his words burning in his throat. “I’ve lost too many people.”

He hears you shift behind him, your head thudding softly against the door as you listen. His relief is almost palpable knowing you’re there, that you’re at least willing to listen to him. Leaning back, Logan closes his eyes and exhales a heavy breath. “The only way I know how to keep people safe is to push ‘em away. And I need to keep you safe.”

The words feel foreign leaving his mouth, as if they’re uncovering a truth he’s long kept secret. He feels exposed in a way he’s not used to, raw and honest, and the truth of his words burns. Logan can still hear you on the other side of the door, your breathing slow and steady, yet laced with something—hesitation, maybe, or hurt. It makes his chest ache in a new and unfamiliar way.

“I’m tired,” he continues, his voice softer. “I’m so fuckin’ tired, sweetheart. Tired of fightin’ when all I want—” Logan swallows hard. “All I want is you.”

The porch light hums above him, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets, but the silence that follows is almost deafening.

Logan doesn’t deserve you, he knows that. You should turn him away, tell him to leave, to kick him back to the desert to lick his wounds alone. He doesn’t know how to be someone’s partner, their lover. He’s not sure if he ever has, really, too hung up on all the ways he paints himself as a bad man. Someone unworthy.

Except with you, he finds himself wanting to fight. To prove he’s not as hard and unyielding as the metal bones inside him. That somewhere deep inside him there still lingers warmth and affection and the capacity to love.

He’s bracing himself for the worst when he hears the faint sounds of the lock turning. The door creaks open and he shifts to look up at you. One of your well used blankets is wrapped around your shoulders, your hair tousled from sleep and your eyes are red and wet with unshed tears. Logan’s heart thuds heavily in his chest as you stand there and he turns to face you, pushing up onto his knees. Your expression is carefully masked, betraying little of your underlying emotions, and he carefully crawls forward, testing the waters of how close you’ll let him get.

His knees ache as he kneels on the hard concrete, but he’d crawl through glass if you asked him to. Slowly, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he nuzzles his face into the softness and warmth of your belly. Your comforting scent floods his senses as he waits for your anger, your rejection.

Instead, you sigh, a long pent up breath released in a steady exhale and your fingers sink into the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close to you. “You’re an asshole,” you finally say, though your tone lacks any venom or spite.

Logan feels it then, the tension slowly easing from your body as you allow him to sink further into your frame. His heart lurches his chest, the faintest flicker of hope fluttering against his ribs.

“Yes,” he mumbles into your shirt.

“You hurt me.”

He pulls back as you gently push at his shoulders and sink down to the ground in front of him. But you don’t push him away any further and instead, lace your fingers through his. “I should tell you to fuck off,” you continue, your eyes focused on where you’re touching him. “But I can’t.”

His voice comes out in a whisper. “Why?”

Your eyes meet his and your gaze pierces straight through his soul. “You know why.”

And he does. In truth, he thinks he’s always known, long before you ever spoke those three little words out loud. Words so simple, yet so profound. Words he rarely speaks, while others casually toss them around. Words he has rarely felt, but with you feel as natural as breathing, as the sun rising in east.

Words he’s still afraid to say, despite everything, despite every cell in his body screaming at him.

You look at him like you know, because of course you do. You’ve always known him, in that uncanny way of yours since he first saw you standing in the rain. So instead of ire or disappointment at his lack of response, you simply squeeze his hand, grounding him to your reality.

“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady. “Not yet.”

Logan looks at you, his brows furrowed. He can’t fathom what he’s done in this life to deserve you, your patience, your unwavering belief in him. “You make it hard not to,” he finally rasps, his voice rough and uneven. “Love you, I mean.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, raw and jagged, much like him. It’s close to what you want to hear, but not quite. And yet he sees something warm and bright blossom on your face.

You lean in, raising your free hand to lightly trace the curve of his jaw, scratching at the scruff there. “You’re a man of action, Logan,” you say, pressing in closer, your breath mingling with his. “Wanna show me instead?”

This—this is a language he’s fluent in.

Using his lips, tongue, hands and cock to write on your body all the words he cannot say. He’s mastered your shape, the way your hips curve beneath his palm, the softness of your belly and breasts, the heat between your thighs stoked hotter only by him. He knows exactly where to press, where to nip and suck and tease to elicit all those pretty little moans and gasps of pleasure.

Logan’s already drawn one orgasm out of you, his fingers still thrusting against you as you ride out your high, your thighs shuddering against his forearm. You’re flushed and breathy as you reach for him, urging him up from between your thighs.

You pull him close, fingers sinking into his hair as you lick into his mouth, not caring that your slick still stains his beard and lingers against his tongue. He swallows your gasp as he knocks your knees apart and slots himself between your legs, his cock heavy against your belly.

He wants you. In all the ways he can think of and not just like this, naked and pliant beneath him. He wants your sleepily whispered hellos each morning and your softly murmured goodnights each evening. He wants the warm, weighty press of your body against his as you sit on the couch beside him sipping whiskey.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

As his kisses grow more fervent, you grow impatient and push at his chest, urging him back. “Lie back,” you command softly, your breath damp against his lips, “Let me take care of you.”

He wants to protest, deny you this request. This is supposed to be about you, about using his body to show you all the things his words can’t say. He’d spend the whole night between your thighs, using his mouth, tongue and fingers to worship if you’d let him. But there’s something in your gaze that forces him to comply and he gives in, rolling onto his back.

You straddle his thighs, your slick cunt sliding along the length of his cock. Logan groans and his hands reach for your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he encourages you to move. “This is s’pose to be about you,” he husks as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth.

“Oh, it is,” you answer, licking your lips as you brace your hands on his chest. “Who else can get you hard and needy beneath them?”

A low growl escapes from his throat. “No one.”

A wicked smile curls at your lips as you drag your heat along him, the blunt head of his cock nudging your clit with every slow, deliberate rock of your hips. The sensation has his control unraveling and he slides his hands along your thighs to palm the curve of your ass.

You press into his touch, continuing to roll your hips as you lean forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw. “You see,” you murmur, “this is for me.”

Reaching between your bodies, you grasp him in your hand and line him up. Slowly, almost tortuously slow, you sink down on his cock, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. A sharp inhale escapes him as your warm, tight walls surround him and Logan knows this feels different.

This isn’t merely fucking anymore, the melding of flesh for the pure sake of pleasure, of briefly escaping the nightmare of his life, of finding solace in sin. You’ve somehow managed to bleed yourself into him, to wrap yourself around his heart.

You feel as if you’re a part of him, lodged deep between his ribs and that if he were to try to remove you, he’d kill himself in the process. A part of him knows this feeling has always been there, back when you first entered his limo. The feeling threatens to choke him, to fill his love soaked lungs until all he can breathe is you.

He loves you.

Pure and unfiltered and it terrifies him.

“I—fuck, I,” he chokes out, the words caught in his throat. “I feel—”

Your hands run over his chest, up along his collarbones, your fingers blazing a trail over his skin. “I know, Logan,” you whisper, your hips rocking languidly against his.

He grips your thighs, almost tight enough to bruise, helping guide your movements, but also prove to himself you’re real. Logan’s chest heaves as he watches you ride him, your hips rocking harder, faster, dragging moans out of both of you. You lean back just enough to change the angle, driving him deeper and he bucks his hips, meeting your thrusts with a force that has you crying out his name.

And yet it’s not enough. He needs to wrap himself around you, twine his fingers through your hair and hold your mouth to his until he’s completely consumed you. His hands slide up your back towards your waist and he pulls you down against him, mouth hot and insistent against your neck as he continues to fuck up into you.

In one fluid motion, Logan grips your thighs and flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, cock still sheathed deep within your cunt. You arch beneath him as he sets a brutal, devastating pace, the raw intensity of his movements stealing short, gasps breaths from your lips with each thrust. A shiver ripples through you as he draws a nipple into his mouth, his name tumbling from you like a prayer.

“Fuck, there it is,” he growls. “I love all those little sounds you make.”

His choice of word isn’t lost on either of you and your eyes meet his as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint red crescents as you cling to him. “Logan,” you gasp, your voice trembling as he hits that soft spot deep inside you. “More.”

“You want more?” he rasps, gripping your thighs and pulling them higher around his waist. The new angle has you crying out, the sound echoing in the room as he continues to slam into you with a force that has the bed creaking beneath you.

“Ah, fuck, yes,” you moan, your head tipping back.

Logan takes advantage of your offering, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin in a way that’s sure to leave a burn come the morning. There’s a possessiveness to his touch, a need to claim you, to prove to you that this is all he needs—your embrace, your warmth, your love.

“You’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he growls against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies and finding where you’re joined. He can feel himself pounding into you, your combined arousal coating his fingers as he finds your clit and begins to rub in tight circles. “So goddamn perfect. You were made for me, sweetheart, you know that?”

Your cunt flutters around him and he knows you’re close, your thrusts against him growing erratic. He feels his own impending release, but he needs you to come first, needs to feel you shatter against him. His fingers press more firmly against your clit and with a breathy moan, your body tenses, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashes into you.

“That’s it,” Logan groans, his own thrusts faltering as he feels you tighten around him, pulling him in deeper. “Look at you, comin’ so pretty for me.” He slows just enough to prolong your release, his thrusts deliberate as he draws out every ounces of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him.

It’s overwhelming—the sensation of you beneath him, around him; the cling of your fingers to his shoulders; the warm, damp breath against his neck; the absolute perfection of this moment right now. In all his years on this earth, he’s never experienced anything like this. The desire to completely consume someone, body and soul, and be consumed return. He wants his dying breath to be your name.

Something inside of Logan snaps, and as you try and catch your breath as you come down from your high, he presses your legs higher, folding you beneath him in a way that has his cock pressing deeper than before. The change has you whimpering and he looks down to find your expression as wrecked as he feels. He pauses his thrusts just long enough to grasp both your wrists and pin them above your head before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you with an almost ruthless intensity.

“I love you,” he growls, his thrusts growing erratic, his control quickly unraveling with every whimper and cry of his name. “God, I fucking love you.”

For a few moments, he doesn’t even realized what he’s said. Then he looks down at you, your gaze trained on his face and that soft, knowing smile of yours on your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, “I know. I’ve always known.”

Logan lets out a rough, shuddering breath, his entire body trembling with the weight of his confession. Any response he has dies in his throat as he presses his forehead to yours, his entire body wound tight. He’s so fucking close, can feel his orgasm coiling hot and tight in his gut, but it’s more than your warm heat drawing him in—it’s everything.

“Tell me,” he grits out, his hips chasing, chasing, chasing that release.

You lean up as much as you can with your hands still pinned above you and lick an open mouthed kiss against his lips. “I love you, Logan.”

And that’s all it takes. He groans into your mouth as he finally lets go, his body tensing as his release crashes into him. He spills himself deep inside you, shallowly thrusting into your cunt as his rhythm slows.

Logan releases your hands, and for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing, of heartbeats slowing, the two of you tangled in the aftermath.

Logan’s restless and unable to sleep despite your smaller frame tucked alongside him, the weight of your head resting against his chest. From his periphery, he can see his phone illuminating with unread texts, no doubt from Caliban urging his return. Charles has been deteriorating faster than Logan cares to admit, his mind gone more often than not, raving about new mutants. He needs drugs faster than Logan can procure them.

His mind churns, the reality of the outside world looming closer and he contemplates slipping from your grasp when you shift, curling yourself further into him. You don’t speak, not yet, but he can tell you’re alert, floating somewhere in that space between sleep and full wakefulness. Your fingers start to move of their own accord, the gentle pressure of your fingertips tracing over an old scar along his ribs, mapping out an old battle he no longer remembers.

Beside him, his phone buzzes again and Logan sighs.

“Sounds important,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

He wants to keep ignoring it, stay wrapped in the quiet cocoon you’ve thrown around him, but Logan knows he can’t. It’s a cruel reminder of the chaos that plagues him beyond the sanctuary of your embrace.

“You can go to him, Logan,” you continue, fingers never stopping their slow path along his skin. “I know you’ll be back.”

“How,” he starts, licking his dry lips, “how do you always know?”

Logan’s asked versions of this question before. You’ve always brushed him off, given a coy answer and steered the conversation towards something else. For a moment, he thinks tonight will be the same.

But then you answer.

“I can feel you,” you answer softly, your breath warm and damp against his skin. “I just—” You pause and turn to look up at him and then disentangle yourself from his embrace. “Stand up,” you urge, nudging at his side until he complies.

He blinks at you in confusion, but you just smile at him, soft and sleepy, and gently cup the side of his face. “Now, close your eyes.”

Logan does as he’s told, chasing after your touch as you step back from him, settling somewhere beyond him on the bed. “I’m going to move and you tell me where I am.”

The soft rustle of bedsheets follows and then, stillness. You’re quiet, but he can sense you, just off to his right, but too far away to touch. “My right, but farther back in the room.”

You move again, keeping your movements light. Again, he pinpoints you, this time towards his left, closer, but still too far away to grasp. “Left.”

A final movement, this time even closer, your proximity flooding his senses, sending a rush of warmth down his spine. Logan reaches out, finding the curve of your hips, hands tucking underneath the shirt you had slipped on earlier in the night, splaying his palms against your back. He opens his eyes and meets your gaze, alive in the predawn glow.

“How did you know?” you ask, looping your arms around his neck.

Understanding dawns on him, the answer so simple, yet so profound. Pinpointing where you were had nothing to do with his heightened senses and everything to do with just you—the way you’ve molded yourself to him like a second skin. “I could feel you,” he answers. “I could—I just knew.”

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. Logan sighs into your mouth, his eyes fluttering close as you press your forehead to his. “It’s like that,” you whisper. “This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until…there you are.”

His phone continues to buzz, growing more insistent as the soft blues and grays of the morning bleed into more golden hues. With a reluctance you both feel, Logan peels himself away, finally answering the phone with an irritation he doesn’t bother hiding.

You watch him go, standing on the porch with the light casting a halo around your head. Your smile is gentle, but stained with worry and yet you remain stoic, the steady pillar holding up the fractured remains of his life.

As he drives away, he catches one last look at you in the rearview mirror and he’ll spend the next few months wishing he told you—he feels you too.

The last one hundred miles have dragged on for eons, the road before him stretching into an almost infinite distance. Logan finds himself darting his eyes towards the dashboard clock, growing increasingly frustrated when the numbers move only a few minutes at a time, the slow passage of time seeming to taunt him.

It’s been months since he saw you last, though no fault of his own. His memories are hazy—a swirling fog of confusion, pain and burning fever. He’s not even sure how he survived, whether it was modern medicine or sheer stubbornness. Or something more.

You believe in fate?

Your words echo in his mind, soft and sweet, and he feels a familiar pang of longing in his chest.

Fate or not, something kept a spark alive in him, pulsing through his veins with each sluggish beat as he slowly and painfully healed. His wounds are still pink and tender to the touch, more of his skin marred by death and destruction.

As he turns into your subdivision, the night quiet, a cold, creeping anxiety snakes along his spine. What if you’ve given up on him? Figured this last absence was the real deal, all his idle promises of staying away finally coming to fruition.

But as Logan drives down your street, he sees it—the single porch light illuminating in the night. Acting like the beacon it’s always been, leading him safely to land.

To you.

Logan pulls into the driveway and shifts the truck into park. Turning in his seat, he glances back towards the young girl curled up on the backseat. Laura’s face is relaxed in sleep, her hands tucked protectively under her chin. She fell asleep several hours ago, the soft rhythm of the tires against pavement lulling her to sleep.

Logan’s been many things in his life. Son, brother, fighter, friend. Lover. He never thought he’d add father to that list. While he can’t quite find it in him to call himself that just yet—even though Laura readily and easily calls him dad—he no longer denies the protectiveness he feels towards her.

Easing the door to the truck open, Logan steps out and gently shuts it behind him, loathe to disturb her just yet.

Here he is showing up at your door like he always has—late, quiet, and carrying a heavy weight he feels only he can shoulder. His hand is poised to knock, knuckles clenched, but he pauses, unsure if he even has the right to be here.

But then there you are, the front door opening to reveal your tired but relieved face, months of worry etched into your skin, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears.

“Logan,” you breathe, pulling him gently by the wrist and leading him inside. You don’t ask why he’s there. He suspects you already know.

The air inside the house is just as he remembers. Warm and inviting and laced with the faint, comforting smell of you. Logan inhales deeply, letting the scent settle somewhere in the parts of him that still feel alive, that thrum with the memory of your touch.

Your fingers still linger against his wrist and he can feel the heat radiating from your body, but you’re not close enough. And yet, he’s afraid to reach out, pull you into his arms. Afraid of the pity or obligation you’ll feel to comfort him, to allay all his fears.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently cup the side of his face, your nails scratching along his jaw. Logan flinches slightly, his body so used to pain these past months he’s almost forgotten the tenderness of your touch. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes, a ragged breath falling from his lips and his head dips forward.

“C’mere,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then he slides his arms along your back, pulling you against him. You feel real and solid and alive pressed this close. Never one for overt physical touch, Logan’s surprised by how much he missed this—the simple act of just holding you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, his breath warm and damp against your skin.

He doesn’t say anything, unsure where to even begin. The weight of his grief, his weariness, feels heavier than any burden he’s ever shouldered before and it’s almost desperate the way he clings to you. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. If you were to let go, he’d fall apart.

Logan doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the hot trail of tears against his cheeks. You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as you hold him.

“I couldn’t feel you, Logan,” you whisper into his neck. “Several days of just…nothing. I thought that—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat, but he knows what they are just the same.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your eyes glistening with tears that match the ones rolling down his weathered face. Your expression is marred with pain, raw and unfiltered, but also with a bright flicker of relief.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice rough with emotion. “I got dragged into some bad fuckin’ shit. I almost…we—”

You quiet him with a soft brush of your fingers against his lips. “It’s okay, Logan,” you whisper. “Tell me about it later. I’m just happy you’re home.”

Home.

Logan gaze softens at your words, but guilt gnaws at him. He doesn’t deserve this—your unwavering faith in him, the patience you’ve shown him, the light you’ve been in his dark, endless nights. But here you are, giving him everything he’s never asked for but so desperately craved.

“C’mon,” you murmur, dragging him from his thoughts, “Let’s get you settled.”

It’s well past two in the morning by the time Logan finally carries Laura into the house, tucking her comfortably into the guest bedroom. Turning from the bed, he finds you there, leaning against the doorframe. You reach for him, in that soft, gentle way you always do, and lead him into your bedroom.

He doesn’t protest when you sit him down at the edge of the bed and begin undressing him. Kneeling before him, you unlace his boots and peel off his socks, setting them aside. With a slight press to his knees, you force his legs wider, slotting yourself between them.

Despite the late hour, the weariness and fatigue tugging at his bones, Logan feels his cock twitch as your fingers brush underneath the hem of his shirt.

It’s been so long since he’s felt you.

He dreamt of you, in those fevered moments where he didn’t know where one part of his body began or ended. When his entire existence had been boiled down to raw nerves and sluggishly knitting flesh. Through the haze of pain, he wondered if he’d ever feel your kiss again, feel the frantic press of your fingers into his shoulders, feel the warm, wet heat of your cunt stretching around him.

You toss the shirt aside and he can feel your gaze lingering over the new scars, the pink, raised lines of flesh that are still healing. With a reverence he’s not worthy of, you trace your fingertips along the three jagged scars from where X-24 had ripped into him.

“What happened to you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper as you move to trace more of his scars.

Logan tells you then about Pierce and the Reavers, about Laura and the other mutant children. His throat grows tight as he continues, relaying the loss of Caliban, Charles and the Munsons, and the final confrontation between himself and his clone.

He tells you how Laura saved him. How her and the other children brought him to safety over the Canadian border. How he spent the next months fighting with every fiber of his being to knit himself whole.

For you.

You lean into him as he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries to shove down the memories of everything he’s lost. Your touch is light against his face as you trace the angle of his jaw, and reach up to press the lightest of kisses against his lips.

Logan exhales into your mouth as you kiss him again, soft and tender and warm. You seem to breathe him in, imbue life into his weary flesh and reignite the spark he’s kept alive for you.

He wants to do more—to pull you into his arms, to taste you, to fuck into you until he can’t breathe. But exhaustion pulls heavily on his bones, threatening to sink him.

Logan knows you can feel his hesitancy because you keep kissing him softly, punctuating each press of your lips with whispered reassurance. Your fingers card through his hair as you lean back. “Just let me hold you?”

Your voice cracks at your request and Logan can only nod, unable to deny you. You help him shuffle out of his pants before coaxing him further into the bed. He moves slowly and he knows you don’t miss the creaking of his joints, the soft groan of discomfort.

Coming to rest on his side, you tuck into him, throwing a leg over his hips and pulling him close. He sighs into your touch, the weight of the last few months pressing just a little bit less as you press a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper into his skin, soft and damp.

Logan feels his heart clench at your words. He’s hurt you. He knows that. Not just inadvertently with his most recent disappearance, but all the other times, too. Those times when he ran, afraid of what your words and touch meant. Afraid to accept what you’ve always so freely given.

His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying across your back. “You kept the light on,” he husks, unable to keep the break out of his voice.”

Your lips quirk into a soft smile. “I always will, Logan.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x fem!reader #wolverine smut #wolverine x men #wolverine fanfiction #old man logan #old man logan x reader #old man logan x you #old man logan smut

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wholoveseggs · 9 months ago

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Runaway

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen x TargaryenSister!Reader} As the rebellious younger sister of Daemon and King Viserys. You come with all of their impulses, stubbornness, and recklessness. But that isn't always a good thing, especially when it comes to sneaking out of the Red Keep. Fortunately, Daemon is always there to retrieve you and bring you home.

3.2k words - Warnings: smut, classic Targcest, lots of banter / sexual tension, Daemon being Daemon, drunk sex, hair pulling, fingering && valyrian dirty talk...

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer

@cheneyq @fallout-girl219 @nina6708 @evasmlp @sadmonke

@deamonloverrrr @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonsleep

"Another!"

You hiccuped as you slammed your empty tankard down onto the table. The bar wench giggled at your antics before turning to the bartender. "A strong brew for the princess!"

The bartender grunted in agreement, already beginning to mix the drinks. You hummed in delight as you looked around the tavern. It was packed with people from all walks of life. Drinking, laughing, and dancing to their heart's content. A few handsome knights were already throwing you flirtatious glances.

It was the same almost every night you came to this tavern. You could only assume it was because of your status. Your looks also helped a bit. Being a Targaryen and a princess was a dangerous combination, but it did come with its perks.

The bartender placed your tankard in front of you, and you wasted no time gulping down the strong ale. It tasted awful, but the effects were well worth the horrid taste. You could feel the alcohol working its way through your system.

Just the way you liked it.

You giggled as a knight leaned into your side. He smelled of sweat and horse shit, but he had a nice smile. You could barely make out the words he was saying to you, but you found yourself nodding along anyway. You didn't know what his intentions were, but you didn't care. All you wanted to do was forget. Forget the pressure, the responsibilities, the expectations. You hated all of it.

Your family was never good at hiding their disappointment in you. The way they always scolded and punished you. How they constantly talked about what a failure you were. It made you want to scream. But this knight was a welcome distraction, the kind to worship the ground you walked on, not judge you for every little thing.

You smiled drunkenly up at him, running your hand along his bicep. The knight's face broke out into a large grin.

Suddenly, the doors to the tavern were kicked open. You groaned, you didn't have to bother looking, knowing exactly who had entered. Sure enough, the knight's expression dropped as your older brother stood there with a furious look on his face.

"Leave," Daemon commanded. His purple eyes narrowed as he glared at the man. "I need to have a word with my sister."

The knight quickly disappeared, leaving you alone with your brother. You rolled your eyes at his behavior. "Must you always scare away my friends?"

Daemon scoffed. "They are hardly friends. More like vultures," he hissed. "I'm here to take you home."

"And I refuse," you replied, already making your way back to the bar. Daemon grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him. You yelped as you crashed into his chest. You were about to protest until he wrapped his arm around your waist.

"I'll drag you home kicking and screaming if I have to," he said, his voice low and his warm breath fanning against your cheek. "And I don't think you want me to do that."

"You wouldn't," you replied, narrowing your eyes at him.

He grinned wickedly. "Are you sure?"

You knew your brother was stubborn and would do whatever it took to get his way. If he really wanted to, he would throw you over his shoulder and carry you out of the tavern. And knowing the reputation he had, no one would bat an eye.

"What would the king say if he knew where you were?" Daemon asked, his nose skimming the side of your face. "Out in the middle of the city. Drinking. Flirting with commoners. Do you really want our brother to know about this?"

You knew how Viserys felt about you. He was protective of his younger siblings, going on and on about what's best for you. He wanted to see you married off to some high lord and have children. But you weren't ready for any of that.

"The king," you mocked, rolling your eyes once more. "Viserys couldn't give two shits about what I do. As long as it doesn't interfere with his duties "

Daemon smirked. "You don't think this looks bad on him?" he whispered into your ear. You felt your knees go weak. "Always running away. Causing trouble and giving our guards the slip. I wonder what punishment you deserve."

You shivered, feeling yourself grow wetter by the second. Daemon was always such a tease, and you absolutely loved it.

"If you won't come willingly," Daemon began. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "I guess I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

"That's only if you can catch me,” you giggled as you slipped from his grasp.

Your laughter rang through the tavern as you dashed toward the exit. Daemon followed, a wicked grin plastered on his handsome face. You reached the door and threw it open. Running out into the streets, you were met with the chilly night air.

You didn't look back, knowing that your brother would be hot on your heels. The thrill of him chasing you sent a spark of excitement throughout your body. Your blood rushed through your veins as you ran. Your laughter and his heavy footsteps echoed throughout the city.

You made a sharp turn and hid behind a nearby building. Thinking about how the night would end, hopefully with the both of you naked in bed. The thought made you shudder in anticipation. You wanted nothing more than to be his, but you knew he would never let that happen.

He was so gentle with you, it was infuriating. He even rejected a betrothal between the two of you, never explaining why. But now, it seemed that all of his careful control was slowly slipping away. You just hoped that he would continue to let it fall.

You leaned against the wall and listened as his footsteps came closer and closer. "You can't hide from me, little one," Daemon called out.

He turned the corner and spotted you. His grin widened as he made his way towards you. "Gotcha."

He had you pinned against the wall, his body pressed flush against yours. His breath was hot on your face as he leaned down.

"You should be more careful, what if it wasn't me?"

"Oh? Would you have let someone else catch me?"

His fingers curled around your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "No. I wouldn't let anyone else have you," he growled, his violet eyes darkening.

"Then why do you refuse to marry me? I would be yours and yours alone." You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"Because you deserve better."

You rolled your eyes at his response. It was always the same. The same bullshit answer. You were sick and tired of hearing it.

You let out a frustrated sigh, pushing him away from you. "Fuck this," you muttered under your breath, you began to storm away from him.

He was quick to grab you by the waist, pulling you back to him. His chest rumbled against your back as he chuckled. "You can be mad at me, back inside the red keep," he whispered against your ear.

Before you could reply, he lifted you up, and slung you over his shoulder.

"Let me go!" You shouted as you tried to wiggle free.

"Not a chance, sweet sister,"

The guards were used to this by now, the sight of Daemon carrying his sister back into the red keep. They paid no attention to the commotion as the two of you passed. Some were even smirking at the scene, while others just shook their heads in amusement.

You had continued to fight against him as he carried you through the halls. He didn't seem fazed by your actions. Not once did his grip on you falter.

He kicked open the doors of your chambers and shut them with his foot. The loud slam made you flinch. Daemon was never one to be subtle. He walked over to your bed and tossed you onto it.

You immediately reached for him, your hands grabbing at his tunic. He chuckled as he pushed you away. "You're drunk."

"So?" you huffed.

Daemon shook his head. "You need to rest."

"No!" you whined, reaching for him again.

Daemon sighed, and grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, "You're acting like a child," he chided.

"I don't care," you replied, kicking your legs in protest.

"Why must you always run off and cause trouble?"

"Why must you always try and stop me?" You spat back, glaring at him.

Daemon frowned, and leaned closer. "Because I worry about you."

You looked away, not wanting him to see the effect his words had on you. He let go of your wrists, and you pulled him close again, so that his lips were barely brushing against yours.

"I'm sorry," you murmured. "I... I just wish to see the world, to experience everything it has to offer," you continued, your voice cracking. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life locked away in the Red Keep."

Daemon's expression softened, his hands moving down to cup your cheeks. "You don't have to live like that," he whispered. "I'll take you anywhere you want, show you anything you desire. As long as you're safe."

"Anything?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, he always knew what you were thinking. "Within reason," he added.

You grinned, and pulled him down for a kiss. It was sweet, and slow. His lips were warm and soft, just the way you imagined they would be. You savored the taste of him, committing it to memory. You felt him smile against your mouth, and you knew that he had been thinking the same thing. When you pulled away, you were out of breath, your lips plump and red from the kiss.

Daemon brushed his thumb across your bottom lip. "What do you want?"

"Nyke jaelagon ao {I want you}" you replied. "Mērī ao {Only you}"

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt. But all he found was the love and adoration you had for him. He kissed you, this time harder and more urgent.

You reached up and began to undo the laces of his tunic, quickly pulling it off of him. You then went to work on his breeches, desperate to see all of him. He broke the kiss, his hands moving to your hips, stilling your movements.

"Paez ilagon, dōna mandia {Slow down, sweet sister}" he purred, his accent thick with lust.

You pouted, and he smirked at your reaction as he slowly pulled at the ribbons on the front of your dress. His fingers trailed along your exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Once your dress was open, he pushed the fabric to the side, exposing your breasts. He lowered his head, taking a nipple between his lips, and gently sucked.

You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. The feeling was unlike anything you had ever experienced. You felt like your whole body was on fire, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure.

He moved his mouth to your other breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple, before giving it a soft bite. You yelped in surprise, your hips bucking involuntarily. He chuckled against your skin, the vibrations causing another moan to escape your lips.

Daemon leaned back, pulling you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling suddenly shy. His hands moved to your waist, squeezing gently, slowly pulling your dress up over your head.

You bit your lip, trying not to squirm under his gaze. He had never seen you completely bare before, and the feeling was almost too much. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, hiding from his stare.

He hummed in amusement, his fingers tracing along the curve of your spine. The feeling of his bare skin against yours made your heart race. You pressed closer, needing to feel him.

"Lyka? {Shy?}" He teased, his breath hot against your ear.

You nodded, feeling the blush spread across your cheeks.

"Issa sȳz hāedar {My good girl}" he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

His hand slid up the inside of your thigh, his fingertips brushing against your warm center. You gasped at the sudden contact, your hips instinctively moving towards his hand. He grinned, finding a spot that made your toes curl.

He began to rub small circles over the sensitive nub. You clung to his shoulders, your eyes locked with his. He watched as your breathing became ragged, and your eyes fluttered shut.

"D-Daemon," you whimpered, your legs trembling.

He smiled, pressing his middle finger against your entrance. You let out a soft cry, your nails digging into his skin. He slowly eased his finger inside of you, watching the way your lips parted.

He began to move his finger, pushing it in and out of you. Your head fell back, and your hips rocked in rhythm with his movements. His name left your lips over and over again, your voice growing louder each time.

"Gaomagon ao jaelagon syt se tolie naejot rȳbagon? {Do you wish for the guards to hear?}" He asked, his lips ghosting across your jaw.

You bit your lip, nodding your head. He chuckled, his hand moving in a slow, steady rhythm, making your entire body tremble. You could feel the tension building inside of you, the pressure rising.

He watched you closely, his eyes filled with hunger before capturing your lips with his own. The kiss was deep, and passionate, making your head spin. He broke the kiss, his fingers curling within you, causing a loud moan to escape from your lips, waves of pleasure crashing over you.

Your body arched, clenching around his fingers. Your eyes closed as you rode out the high. Your chest was heaving, and your cheeks flushed.

Daemon withdrew his hand, bringing his wet finger to his lips. His eyes darkened as he licked it clean, humming in satisfaction.

You grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his mouth in shock. "Ȳdra daor gaomagon bona {Don't do that}," you hissed, embarrassed by his actions.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk, then he pushed you onto the bed. Your back was against the soft furs, and his body pressed against yours. His cock was hard against your stomach, and you could feel his hot breath against your skin.

He leaned down, kissing along your collarbone. He sucked gently, leaving little marks along your skin.

You felt his hand slide under your hips, pulling them upwards, spreading your legs. He settled between them, his cock resting against your entrance, looking down at you. His eyes were filled with love and lust, and he gazed at you with such intensity, it made your heart skip a beat.

You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. He always made you feel so safe, and protected. It was a feeling you never wanted to lose.

"Daemon," you whispered.

"Kessa {Yes}?"

"Sagon gentle lēda nyke {Be gentle with me}"

He smiled, his hand running along the side of your face. "Always," he replied, his voice soft.

You held onto him tightly, your fingers digging into his skin. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, and slowly entered you. Your body tensed, and a soft whimper escaped from your lips.

"I-it's okay," you breathed, trying to reassure him.

Daemon nodded, his hips rolling, easing himself further inside of you. The pain was soon replaced with pleasure, and your muscles relaxed. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of you.

He moaned, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes closed. His hips began to move, setting a slow, gentle rhythm, holding you close.

His lips found yours once more, and he kissed you deeply, his tongue slipping past your parted lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growled, and his pace increased, his thrusts becoming harder and faster.

Your eyes met his, his expression full of desire, and something else, something more. He held your gaze, his fingers intertwined with yours, pinning your hands next to your head. You felt yourself getting close, the pressure building within you, then your whole body tensed as you reached your peak.

Your hips rose to meet his, meeting his every movement and your name tumbled from his lips, a broken moan leaving him. His grip tightened, his head falling forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He let out a low groan, his hips bucking, his body shuddering, and you felt him fill you with his seed.

His thrusts slowed, and he pulled out of you, panting heavily. He collapsed next to you and you rolled onto your side, snuggling into his chest, a lazy smile spreading across your face.

You sighed happily, basking in the afterglow, and the warmth of his body. His arm wrapped around your waist, and he pulled you closer, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

"Viserys will kill us if he finds out," Daemon murmured, his voice muffled by your hair.

"Let him," you giggled.

He chuckled, and his arm tightened around you, holding you close. "I'm serious," he replied, his tone softening. "He'll have both our heads."

You shrugged, nuzzling his neck. "Then we better marry before he does."

Daemon laughed, his chest rumbling against yours. "I guess I have no choice, do I?"

"No," you replied, looking up at him. "Not really," you teased.

He smiled, and placed a kiss on your nose. "Alright, then," he whispered.

You kissed him deeply, and pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. The thought of being his wife filled you with excitement. You had never loved anyone as much as you loved Daemon. You would never have to seek out adventure, or trouble. You had everything you needed right here.

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croquettish · 3 days ago

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You do think Henry fell first, Hans fell harder?

I do!!!

Mind you, not in the sense that I think Hans is more in love with Henry, more so in the sense that when Hans realized he was in love with Henry it felt a bit like making impact with a concrete floor after a fall from a 60-story window :D

I do think Henry's been aware of his feelings since most likely before we can start flirting with him. Ignoring all of the hints that are there from the very start of the game, the first time that we get a really blatant look at how he feels is at the wedding:

It's possible he wasn't aware of his feelings at this point yet, but that would honestly surprise me since Henry seems fairly in touch with his feelings (relatively speaking). But seeing as they live in 1403 Bohemia, I'm not surprised that he would have kept a pretty tight fucking lid on all that and only hinted at things in the subtlest way possible for, well... most of the game. Honestly, considering how little Hans gives back in exchange (and understandably so!!) Henry is being sooo brave about those feelings too.

I think he's been suffering for a while, like his feelings are just a long and extended deep sigh at the fact that a) Hans either isn't picking up on his subtle signals willfully or because he's too dense or too scared and b) Hans keeps talking about wenches in a desperate attempt at trying to look as heterosexual as possible. Meanwhile Hans' feelings are putting him through an emotional shredder as he tries to repress repress repress for as long as possible until he CAN'T ANYMORE and then there's the impact on the concrete floor.

#I was so floored for a second that this was a message by a person instead of a spambot... thank you... my askbox has been blesséd #tam talks #hansry #hans capon #henry of skalitz #kcd2 spoilers #kingdom come deliverance #kcd #kcd meta

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seat-safety-switch · 4 months ago

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Frying up a grilled cheese sandwich is one of life's most noble pleasures. Sometimes, though, I feel guilty. What about all my ancient ancestors, who never had a chance to partake in this gastronomic delight? It's not their fault that nobody had yet invented "cheese," or "hot."

In the interest of righting this wrong, I decided to build a time machine. Anyone who knows anything about building time machines will tell you that it's very hard, and maybe even impossible. Good thing I'm a dumbass, and figured it all out. Soon, I was ripping back thousands of years into the past, to feed my predecessors some compressed dairy-and-bread product.

I stumbled out of the machine, dazed. Before me was a glorious medieval feast. Knights and wenches sat around a giant table, eating turkey legs the size of a man's. This, I knew, must be the time of King Arthur. Soon, they would have a new king: the grilled cheese guy. I immediately began forking them out off the silver platter I had carried into the time machine.

"What the fuck, is this mayonnaise?" asked one of the brave knights.

Of course it was mayonnaise. Its thin spreading makes a more even crust for the browni-

"I can't have this. I'm lactose intolerant," shrieked one of the wenches.

Friends, I would like to leave you with two pieces of advice. One is that just because a 1999 Chevrolet Cavalier in silver looks like a Delorean, it doesn't make it one. Especially if you don't take the cardboard sunscreen ("temporal shield") off the windshield and then drive through a Renaissance Faire. Two is that you should use mayonnaise for your grilled cheese sandwiches. That dude talked a lot of shit, but then I saw him get his block knocked off in the jousts afterward. At least I'm not picking fights with dudes in ringmail, Reginald.

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sailorsoons · 3 months ago

Text

Santa Baby (j.ww)

PAIRING: Wonwoo x reader

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend is stuck working on Christmas Eve in hell on earth. You decide to pay him a little visit to cheer him up - and give yourself a good laugh.

WC: 1,400

AU: Established Relationship

GENRE: Fluff, Humor

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Cranky reader, children slander because the author (me) is a childless wench, some light suggestive talk at the end, explicit language, a single chaste kiss.

A/N: This was originally a request for @kkaetnipjeon on my sailorrhansol blog before my blog was shot in cold blood. So now I'm posting a Christmas drabble in the middle of February :)

A/N 2: This is not beta read - I just used spell check because I am ungovernable.

MAIN MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAG LIST | ASK

CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE MALL SHOULD BE ILLEGAL. It’s most certainly a hazard to your health as yet another family bumps into you with their handful of demons - children - nearly knocking you into the swing sign at Victoria Secret telling you to buy something so someone could unwrap you.

You would love for someone to be unwrapping you right now in the warmth of your home in the sheets that smell like laundry detergent and spicy cologne. The man who would do the unwrapping, however, is currently only available to the population of the world’s most hellish mall.

Which is why you’re in said hellish mall in the first place.

Christmas music blares over the speakers of the mall. The smell of grease and the distinct scent of cheese drifts from the food court. Your stomach rumbles, not for the burnt taste of Sbarro pizza but at the thought of going home and finally digging into a proper meal.

That will have to wait, though.

Smack in the center of the mall is a towering platform decorated like a winter wonderland. Occasionally, a snowblower from somewhere on the second floor shoots out foam, turning it into the North Pole proper. It earns a combination of screaming in delight and terror from the mostly-kid population waiting in line to walk up the metal catwalk to the top of the winter wonderland where Santa is waiting for them.

Sighing, you get in line, by-stepping a little girl covered in sticky candy cane residue as she runs from her mother, tears streaming down her face while screaming she doesn’t want a picture with tanta. Well, you’re not sure who tanta is but you can’t blame her, looking at your watch to see it’s nearly eight o'clock at night.

The line moves sluggishly slow. You shift back and forth on your feet, scrolling mindlessly through social media. The mother in front of you accidentally knocks your phone with her purse as she shifts one of her screaming children from one arm to the next.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, bouncing the baby in an attempt to soothe him. You wince. You get it - she doesn’t have it easy. “And sorry for his screaming.”

“That’s okay, I think it’s a requirement for kids to scream during the holidays. It’s like an instinct.”

She laughs. “Is this one yours?”

You look to where she’s pointing. There’s a child standing next to you with snot running down his nose and a grinch t-shirt on with several questionable stains. He looks up at you with big brown eyes, blinking and asking, “Dada?”

“No, definitely not.” You point to the father swiftly coming over to scoop the child, an apologetic look on his face. “That’s dada, buddy.”

“Dada,” the kid agrees, turning to reach his arms up as he’s scooped up and taken away from the line.

“Oh.” The woman in front of you frowns. “No kids? Just here to see Santa yourself?”

“Yes. I want to ask him to destroy all the Cybertrucks.”

“Oh.” End of conversation.

One less friend and an infinite amount of line to go, you flip through your work emails, cringing to see how many people think it’s appropriate to send you emails on Christmas Eve. Don’t they know you have a line to stand in for forty five minutes?

You think about asking Santa to send all your coworkers away like Kevin on Home Alone, but realize you’d still be expected to take on all their work. Maybe you should ask for the destruction of capitalism. That seems like a world-wide benefit.

Finally, the line moves forward significantly. The metal catwalk twangs underneath your boots. You lean on the greasy rail, listening to the musical styling of Mariah Carey as she earns yet another number on her paycheck as foam snow blows overhead.

In a weird way, it’s not terrible. You look around, drinking in the miserable families just trying to take a last second holiday photo, late shoppers scrambling to get the last of their presents before tomorrow morning, the kitschy decorations making up the mountain with Sana’s chair somewhere at the top.

You grin, feeling a sense of nostalgia as the line moves forward again. It might be an annoying way to spend your evening, but there’s no denying there’s a bit of magic in the air, even for capitalism Christmas. And Sbarro pizza.

Finally, you near the top landing. There are elf workers helping take photos and managing the line while Santa sits on a gold chair with velvet cushions. His robes are equally as red, nearly blending in with the seat save for the white beard and hair and the slightly askew glasses as the little kid in his lap knocks him in the head.

Coughing to disguise your laughter, you watch as Santa delicately removes the child from his lap and gives a hoarse ho ho ho before sighing and readjusting to accept the next family. He doesn’t see you in line, entirely focused on lifting up the little tyke in front of him into his lap to ask what he wants for Christmas.

The teenage elf working the line looks you up and down, raising her brow as she chews her gum. “How many?”

“Just me.”

“Oh. Ummm. Alright I guess. You get five minutes with Santa. Please don’t go over time. Your photos will be available at the kiosk downstairs. Take this ticket and they’ll print them.”

You take the piece of paper from her. “How much are photos?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“Jesus Christ, do I get to kiss him on the mouth too? Why is it so expensive?”

She stares at you before turning over her shoulder to see the family leaving. “I don’t make the prices. Your turn - and don’t kiss Santa on the mouth.”

Shoving the ticket in your pocket, you mutter under your breath that you can actually kiss this specific Santa all you want. The Santa in question turns to greet you, halfway through his greeting when he sputters,” Ho-ho- holy shit what are you doing here?”

“Wow, what terrible language, Santa Baby.” You grin, plopping yourself on his lap. Wonwoo nearly drops you as you do, but he recovers quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight. “You smell like cheese.”

“It’s the food court,” he mutters. “It won’t leave me, I swear.”

“Gross.” You adjust his glasses, heart fluttering. “You look cute.”

He does, in a weird way. Not because the giant suit and the beard and the hair are flattering, but because you know it’s Wonwoo underneath it all. Wonwoo who somehow got roped into covering for Mingyu as a mall Santa for the evening, Wonwoo who is a little bit overwhelmed by kids but eager to make them laugh anyway, Wonwoo whose grip tightens on you a little, eyes sparkling at your arrival.

“Do I?”

“No, but I like you anyway.”

“Alright, pose with Santa,” the photographer says.

Both of you ignore him as Wonwoo laughs. “So,” he hums. “Have you been naughty or nice?”

“Well, I drove an hour in traffic to come to this shitty mall and then fight for parking for another forty-five, got run into by a bunch of families, stood in line and got called dada or mama like four times, all to come see my boyfriend and make his night a little better.”

“Got it. Nice list.”

You brush stray white hair from his beard. “Definitely nice list.”

“Thanks for coming to see me.” He hugs you a little closer, softening. “It’s really sweet of you. I’m off in an hour.”

“Good. I’m hungry and I want to watch The Muppets Christmas Carol with my own personal Santa Baby.”

“Is that what’s on your Christmas list?”

“Yes. And for all the Cybertrucks to be destroyed.”

His laugh is jovial. You think Wonwoo’s laugh outranks Santa any day, full-bellied and cute. You feel your affection swell, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips despite the teenage elf telling you not too. Too bad she doesn’t decide if you get to kiss your boyfriend or not.

“Hey!” She yells behind you. “I told you not to kiss Santa!”

“I’ve gotta go,” you laugh. “I think I just made the naughty list.”

“I’ll see you at home?”

“Mhmm.” You think of the Victoria Secret sale sign. “Come unwrap me.”

PERMANENT TAG LIST

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched@eoieopda @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy@gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @bultaereume@yoongznme @kaitieskidmore97 @coffee-addict-kitten @gyubakeries@archivistworld @asyre @kaepjjangiya @fancypeacepersona@beckyloveshannie @imujings @do-you-remember-summer-127 @jbluen@mingumis @kimsaerom @imlonelydontsendhelp @eunyi @smiileflower

#wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x reader #wonu x reader #wonwoo fic #wonwoo fanfic #svt fic #svt fluff #wonwoo x you #seventeen x you #svt x you

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kingsmoot · 2 months ago

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🔥

Honestly I’ve always been confused on Roose’s problem (among the many others he has) on why he doesn’t remarry and have actual true born heirs.

Obviously Domeric is killed by Ramsay and he’s like hm that will happen again, but he should just marry some woman and have as many children as possible, surely Ramsay can’t kill then all, espically if he just hides them away.

This is only controversial because whenever I talk to people about this like they’re like are you fucking forgetteting about the serial killer in the back garden but just KILL him if you have more sons it’s not that hard Big Goosey!

ooooooooough i'm so happy to talk about this, and i'm so sorry it's taken me so long to respond to you. i just wanted to be able to sit down with this ask and get nice and carried away.

you are right that roose COULD remarry and just try for as many kids as possible. and if wife number four dies in childbirth or from pregnancy complications well let's just line up wife number five and try again. he could walder frey it and play a simple numbers game. surely rams can't kill ALL of them as babies. maybe we'll hide a few. send them off to foster. maybe rams will finally get murdered in one of those almost-happy-accidents that keep happening to him but somehow letting him fail upwards instead of dropping dead. what if everything worked out for a change!

but even though roose is a self-serving pragmatist, this isn't something he would do. i do not think roose will ever have another child after ramsay. he tells theon that walda has a "fertile feel to her" and that if she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts the dreadfort will soon be overrun with the fruit of their loins. but i think he's just being.... glib. especially because he dismisses this fantasy as soon as he shares it.

Lady Walda is a Frey, and she has a fertile feel to her. I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. The two before her never made a sound in bed, but this one squeals and shudders. I find that quite endearing. If she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts, the Dreadfort will soon be overrun with Boltons. Ramsay will kill them all, of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House. Walda will grieve to see them die, though."

adwd, chapter 32, reek iii

i'll back up a bit, here, to make my point.

the thing that makes roose bolton such a terrifying villain is not his leeching, his voice so soft other men strain to hear it, his ageless face or his queer, cold, pale eyes. it is the fact that he does not see other people as worthwhile. he simply does not believe in their personhood.

This is a cold man, Catelyn realized, not for the first time.

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

to me, the roose moment that makes my blood run cold is actually the above excerpt from reek iii where he describes himself as "oddly fond of his fat little wife". this passage gets memed on a lot. so much so that i feel like people take the whole thing as a joke that it's easy to dismiss. but i really disagree. roose's description of walda isn't funny to me. it isn't awkward. it's chilling.

this is not the way you talk about your living human wife. this is the kind of distant, impersonal affection you would use to describe a neighbor's dog. not your own dog, who you know well, but your neighbor's, who you only see from time to time. this is how roose bolton talks about a woman he likes. a woman he is fond of and intimate with and married to. and she's less than a pet to him.

there are lots more examples of roose's cold calloused solipsism in this chapter. for another:

"This miller's marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day. "A year later this same wench had the impudence to turn up at the Dreadfort with a squalling, red-faced monster that she claimed was my own get. I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes. She told me that when her dead husband's brother saw those eyes, he beat her bloody and drove her from the mill. That annoyed me, so I gave her the mill and had the brother's tongue cut out, to make certain he did not go running to Winterfell with tales that might disturb Lord Rickard. Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule."

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

besides the abject horror of roose running down a random woman he spotted on a river bank with a gang of armed men to hold her down and rape her under her husband's corpse, the thing that really makes his treatment of ramsay's mother frightening to me is how casually he pays for her upkeep for the next couple decades.

i find it almost impossible to compare roose and the unnamed miller's wife of weeping waters socially and economically. she lives on the dreadfort's lands and he is her lord. the kind of money and resources that roose can toss around on an afternoon's diversion of fox hunting is more money and resources than this woman could have ever hoped to see if she had lived a dozen lifetimes. and when she comes to him beaten and scorned with his rape baby brandished in her arms, he maims her brother in law and gifts her her dead husband's mill and a generous annual allowance. in one casual motion he grants her more than she ever could have hoped to have. and he could have done that from the beginning. there was nothing stopping roose from making a gift of the mill to her after he raped her and left her bleeding on the river bank. besides, of course, the fact that it would never occur to him to do so. not until he got annoyed. before then, he hadn't thought of her at all.

but in addition to reek iii giving us a glimpse at roose bolton's pre-canon, casual, wanton, cruelty, it also gives us a glimpse into his own self perception. he says:

to ramsay:

"You are mistaken. It is not good. No tales were ever told of me. Do you think I would be sitting here if it were otherwise? Your amusements are your own, I will not chide you on that count, but you must be more discreet. A peaceful land, a quiet people. That has always been my rule. Make it yours." "Is this why you left Lady Dustin and your fat pig wife? So you could come down here and tell me to be quiet?"

and again to theon:

A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." "A fine rule, m'lord."

roose's criticism of ramsay is not the fact that he is a serial killing serial rapist. roose is both of those things. roose's criticism of ramsay is the fact that he's gouche. he's bruttish and rude and was not raised in a noble household to act a lord. he's classless as well as lower class.

roose's greatest criticism of ramsay is that he makes him look bad.

but, and this is the point i've been ramping up to make, i think that roose is actually ashamed of ramsay and what ramsay says about him. i think roose, like tywin, sees his child as evidence of his own corruption.

don't worry i have pullquotes.

"They're only leeches. My lord." "My squire could take a lesson from you, it would seem. Frequent leechings are the secret of a long life. A man must purge himself of bad blood. You will do, I think. For so long as I remain at Harrenhal, Nan, you shall be my cupbearer, and serve me at table and in chambers." This time she knew better than to say that she'd sooner work in the stables. "Yes, your lord. I mean, my lord."

acok; chapter 47; arya ix

"Yes," Roose Bolton said. "His blood is tainted, that cannot be denied. Yet he is a good fighter, as cunning as he is fearless. When the ironmen cut down Ser Rodrik, and Leobald Tallhart soon after, it fell to Ramsay to lead the battle, and he did. He swears that he shall not sheathe his sword so long as a single Greyjoy remains in the north. Perhaps such service might atone in some small measure for whatever crimes his bastard blood has led him to commit." He shrugged. "Or not. When the war is done, His Grace must weigh and judge. By then I hope to have a trueborn son by Lady Walda."

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

"Tell him … tell him to be afraid?" Reek felt ill at the very thought of it. "M'lord, I … if I did that, he'd …" "I know." Lord Bolton sighed. "His blood is bad. He needs to be leeched. The leeches suck away the bad blood, all the rage and pain. No man can think so full of anger. Ramsay, though … his tainted blood would poison even leeches, I fear." "He is your only son."

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii (sidenote i can't help but hear a note of pain in theon's voice, here. i don't think he's feelings empathy or sympathy for ramsay, here, but he does know what it's like to be dismissed and discounted by a lord father who has no other sons to choose from, and hearing how roose talks about ramsay threatens to remind him of a feeling he had before he learned his name.)

i have a really long post in which i pull these same quotes where i talk about the parallel of how robert talks about joff to how roose talks about ramsay. and while i'm talking about joffrey there, i did make the point that roose's phrasing about ramsay's bad blood that not even the leeches can drain away leaves us with the obvious question of whose blood it is that's in ramsay. and if we know whose blood it is that's in rams, then we can look at roose's frequent and obsessive leechings in a very different light.

roose tells ramsay that no tales were ever spread of him, and yet he is notoriously regarded as cold, cruel, and deeply unnerving by the whole of the north. he does, in fact, have a bad reputation. and it does precede him. but roose is protected by his high birth, his status and position as lord of the dreadfort, by his military strength, and by his political and social loyalties + securities as ned stark's bannerman who raised his banners in support of robert's (successful!) rebellion. he, like his son, preys on anonymous northern peasant girls who have no recourse for justice, but he's not quite so loud about it.

speaking of roose's son, let's pivot to domeric real quick.

"Lord Bolton has never acknowledged the boy, so far as I know," Ser Rodrik said. "I confess, I do not know him." "Few do," she replied. "He lived with his mother until two years past, when young Domeric died and left Bolton without an heir. That was when he brought his bastard to the Dreadfort. The boy is a sly creature by all accounts, and he has a servant who is almost as cruel as he is. Reek, they call the man. It's said he never bathes. They hunt together, the Bastard and this Reek, and not for deer. I've heard tales, things I can scarce believe, even of a Bolton. And now that my lord husband and my sweet son have gone to the gods, the Bastard looks at my lands hungrily."

acok; chapter 16, bran ii

from lady hornwood we learn that ramsay was only brought to the dreadfort (and still not publicly acknowledged) after the death of roose's only son and heir

The Lady Walda wrote from the Twins almost every day, but all the letters were the same. "I pray for you morn, noon, and night, my sweet lord," she wrote, "and count the days until you share my bed again. Return to me soon, and I will give you many trueborn sons to take the place of your dear Domeric and rule the Dreadfort after you." Arya pictured a plump pink baby in a cradle, covered with plump pink leeches.

acok; chapter 64, arya x

from walda we get a very young noblewoman's practiced courtesies, assuring her lord husband (a stranger to her) that she will do her duty as his wife and produce him healthy, hale heirs. and we might assume that "your dear domeric" here is just a bit of poetic alliteration that walda includes in her letter to be flowery.

but roose himself talks about domeric in a way that is totally unlike how roose talks about anyone else at all.

"He is your only son." "For the moment. I had another, once. Domeric. A quiet boy, but most accomplished. He served four years as Lady Dustin's page, and three in the Vale as a squire to Lord Redfort. He played the high harp, read histories, and rode like the wind. Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself. Redfort said he showed great promise in the lists. A great jouster must be a great horseman first." "Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort's sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?"

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

domeric is given a depth and a personhood in roose's memories that his three wives and his rape victim are not. he speaks about domeric with a great and enduring father's love and a fierce pride. he goes out of his way to tell theon (a boy lord reduced to a pitiful, nearly inhuman state) about his accomplishments and his interests. roose loved his son.

and his other son -- a culmination of all his many years of cruelty and predation, a congealing together of all his bad blood -- kills him.

roose bringing ramsay to the dreadfort, even before legitimizing him, is his admission that ramsay is the only son he will ever have. he will never sire another heir. ramsay will make certain that any he might produce go to their graves. rams is the death of his house. roose acknowledges that explicitly in reek iii, but he admitted it to himself as soon as he summoned rams from weeping water.

roose's decision not to have any more children is a very intentional one. he is not trying to solve the problem of ramsay killing all his potential heirs. he knows that this will be inevitable. he has accepted that his bastard son snuffed out his one beloved heir, and that the gods have bound his hands. he cannot kill ramsay, for the gods abhor a kinslayer. and yet ramsay is a kinslayer himself, which roose is well aware of. ramsay is only a shadow of the father, and a reflection of his many sins. he is both a result of and a punishment for roose's cruelty.

#ask tag #anon tag #roose bolton #ramsay bolton #the unnamed miller's wife of weeping water #roose tag #ramsay tag #every lord has need of a beaft from time to time

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hunters-vigil · 4 months ago

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Her Champion - Mavuika x Kinich's older sister!Reader - Part Two

First Part Next Part

request: do you think maybe you can do another one which talks about how the reader is Kinich’s older sister and having an affair with Mavuika?

Warnings: domestic violence, childhood trauma, abandonment, child abuse, neglect, death, alcoholism, gambling, Ajaw being rude still trying to figure out how to write Kinich and Ajaw, so characters may be ooc - I read Kinich's lore a lot to write this…

Fic under the cut, don't repost my stuff on other platforms, i have ao3 which my fics are also available on.

Winning the Pilgrimmage and gaining the attention of the Pyro Archon, 'Kiongozi' Mavuika, wasn't what you anticipated however. You scraped through the team stages with whoever approached you each time. Kinich was always busy or had another team lined up. One year, he decided to participate in some Saurian Relics Association survey instead of take part. He came home with K'uhul Ajaw, an almighty headache- dragonlord, and you went on to participate in the Night Warden Wars.

Mavuika watched over the battle from the Speaker's Chamber, watching as you never stopped fighting, not even when you saw the other members of your team fall to the abyss. You brought alone brought them victory, but the celebrations did not interest you. Again.

Mavuika wanted to know why. Why did her champion refuse any acknowledgement of victory in the every Night Warden Wars you participated in?

She ended up asking her 'Hot Spring Buddies' about you, after realising that you had failed to come to the People of the Springs to celebrate, even after Atea's personal invitation.

"Honestly, I'd never seen her before her first Pilgrimmage." Atea admitted, a frown on her face as you disappeared from the stadium far too quickly.

"Kinich's older sister. The two were living with Elder Leik up in the mountains, but now… I'm not sure." Vichama elaborated, but it left Mavuika with a lot to wonder.

Why not get some answers from the source?

///

She knew Kinich well already, he inherited the ancient name 'Malipo' from her childhood friend, Burkina. But she hadn't had the opportunity to speak to you, and Kinich didn't talk about his past at all, he barely mentioned he had a sister to her in fact.

When she sent the team to the Night Warden Wars each time, you barely looked her way, instead staring at the entrance like it was calling to you. Had she ever heard you speak?

"So, this is how I finally get to congratulate my champion in person." Mavuika found you staring at a large plot of land, from the looks of it, multiple different crops had been planted and were growing well.

"Archon? Is there something you need?" Kinich approached her first, Ajaw kept quiet by the grapes you had thrown at him earlier, while you watched the woman from the corner of your eye.

"Hello Kinich, how have you been?"

You could feel her eyes drift over you, but you didn't say a word as you headed inside, telling yourself that it was snack time just to avoid talking to the archon.

You didn't worship her like most people in Natlan, you were completely uninterested, which made Mavuika's intrigue for you even worse.

"She called you 'her champion'. Did you skip out on your reward for winning again?"

"Wasn't in the mood." That was your excuse, but Kinich knew better. He only nodded, folding his arms and looking over to where Mavuika was waiting on the two of you to join her.

"Servant! Fetch me more- ah! How dare you throw grapes at K'uhul Ajaw, the Almighty Dragonlord, you, you wench!" Ajaw screeched, gaining everyone's attention as you stared icily at the pixelated creature, "stop- stop looking at me like that!"

Mavuika watched as Kinich slapped Ajaw into a time out, while you disappeared into the mountains, taking your weapon with you. Mavuika's gaze remained on you until you disappeared out of sight, smiling at Kinich as he said nothing but the look on his face was laced with confusion. What business did the Archon have with you, he wondered…

You weren't the first to win the Pilgrimmage, Kinich having won and gone to the Night Warden Wars last year, getting his dendro vision in the process. The one year you didn't participate due to getting injured while fighting him… the look on his face after that still haunted you as you didn't even wince at the pain.

The Pyro Archon wasn't someone who gave up easily however, as she found you as you were training, watching you carefully as you practiced over and over.

"My champion, may I have a word with you?"

"Forget the pleasantries, just tell me what you want." you turned your head to look at her, twisting your weapon away from her as she approached. Mavuika knew the craftsmanship immediately, one of Xilonen's creations, but she had no doubt that you had influenced the design.

You cleared your throat, waiting for Mavuika to speak, but she only blinked and met your eyes with a smile that felt so warm it was almost uncomfortable… had anyone ever looked at you like that before? Could your mother have, before…

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #mavuika x reader #requested fic #kinich x sister!reader

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reunionatdawn · 1 year ago

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My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 19: AM Sylvain/Felix)

Sylvain: I hate Crests, you know. They mess everything up in life, the future, everything… Just because I have a Crest, I'm treated as the heir, and my older brother nearly killed me because of jealousy. Bitches... they swarm to me, no, to my blood, like ants... Mercedes: …I'm sorry. Did I remind you of something you didn't want to remember? Sylvain: …Sorry, I slipped. Ah, damn, I didn't mean to show such a pathetic side… Mercedes: …No, I'm glad. It feels like I saw your true face for the first time.

The localization watered down, omitted, or completely rewrote a lot of the more interesting gender-related dialogue. In his Japanese B-Support with Mercedes, the word Sylvain used for women was "女ども" (onnadomo). This term is derogatory. It is used to refer to females in a demeaning manner and carries a tone of contempt or disdain. It is considered offensive and is avoided in polite conversation. A comparable word in English might be "bitches" or "wenches."

Sylvain: …Oh, what's up, Professor? Haha, sorry, didn't notice you at all. We've been meeting quite often lately. Oh, could it be that you're interested in me? (Female Byleth): ...Just kidding, it's a joke. Please don't make such an obvious disgusted face. (Male Byleth): Sorry, my arms are reserved for girls only! I'd prefer not to lend them to bastards.

The localization also changed some lines in Sylvain's B-Support with Byleth pretty significantly. If you are playing as Male Byleth, he refers to males as "野郎" (yarou). It's an informal term that is somewhat similar to "guy" or "dude" in English, but it's more derogatory. It's a gendered insult and it suggests that the person being referred to is undesirable or contemptible in some way. It implies qualities like rudeness, roughness, or unpleasantness. It is also considered offensive and impolite, and it's generally not used in polite contexts.

Sylvain: My brother was always a truly irredeemable bastard. Selfish, conceited, and arrogant. I've always had to clean up after him…even after he died. But, thinking about it, if my brother, not me, had been born with the Crest… Would I have become like my brother, or would there have been a different fate for me…?

"Yarou" is often translated as "bastard". In Hopes, if you take Sylvain on an expedition and ask about his likes, he says it's talking to girls. If you ask what he dislikes, he says it's being surrounded by guys, and he uses the same term. And he often used it when referring to guys in general, such as during teatime. I think he was even more of a misandrist than a misogynist, and it's a shame that wasn't as apparent in English because it's pretty integral to his character.

Sylvain: If someone is in trouble, you help them. That's what a knight, no, what a human being does. Whether it's a cute girl or a rugged big guy, it's the same thing. Ashe: …！ Sylvain: Hey, don't give me that look. Are you falling for me? Unfortunately… Ashe: What are you talking about? …I'm just a little surprised.

Even though Sylvain disliked most women, he still vastly preferred their company over men. In their B-Support, he saved Ashe's life, and Ashe came to thank him (quite similar to Sylvain's A-Support with Felix, actually). And he basically told Ashe "no homo". In the localization of their C-Support, he asked Dimitri to come to town together with him to pick up girls. But in the Japanese, he simply encouraged him to invite girls out to dinner on his own.

Sylvain: Hey, Professor. If you're free, wanna go out to the town together? (Female Byleth): I found a place with delicious food. I thought I had no choice but to invite you, Professor! (Male Byleth): In search of unseen beauties… No. Just kidding. Please don't give me that look.

While there are plenty of hints that Sylvain is bisexual, I think it makes perfect sense that he can't end up with Male Byleth or any other male character except for one. He had a VERY specific type. I don't even think Female Byleth was truly his type. But ya know, self-insert.

Sylvain: Dorothea, Hilda, Mercedes… Lady Rhea is also quite the beauty. Ah, the Officer's Academy is great, Professor. Beauties everywhere you turn! Haha!

So, what was his type? Well, he tells you on the first day of school who he was interested in. Three girly girls and Lady Rhea, who represents the Mother Goddess archetype, the embodiment of the divine feminine principle.

Sylvain: Professor, have you seen Felix? He's always disappearing when you take your eyes off him. Byleth: I saw him at the training ground. Sylvain: Well, I thought it might be something like that. Sorry, Professor. Thanks for your help! Taking care of horses, you know, it's quite soothing. They repay trust with trust. Sigh… In that regard, dealing with girls is quite tricky.

Sylvain liked damsels in distress he could swoop in and help. He thought Hilda was cute until he learned that her "delicate flower" act was insincere. And he was attracted to Dorothea, whom he compared to a beautiful flower in bloom, until he suspected she had an ulterior motive.

Yuri: Oh, is this what they call mutual affection? I'm up for a rendezvous anytime… But next time, could you use better lines than when we first met? That was terrible! "Hello, young lady, delicate as a little bird! Would you care to chat a bit over there…" Sylvain: Oh, come on, I already apologized plenty for mistaking you for a girl! How many times do I have to say it! Yuri: I didn't really need an apology, you know. Look at this face; there are plenty who make that mistake. In fact, I even think I should have conversed with you, even if I had to pretend to be a woman. There's nothing wrong with maintaining a relationship with the future Margrave, right? Sylvain: What an enthusiastic pick-up line… I can't help but feel strange myself.

What mattered to Sylvain was whether his brain registered someone as a girl. He tried to woo a crossdresser at a harvest festival. And the pick-up line he used on Yuri was changed in the localization. He called him "delicate as a little bird" in Japanese. And he was not turned off by the idea of Yuri pretending to be a woman with him.

Sylvain: ...Sorry. Well, I understand, but it seems my mind was refusing to comprehend... Certainly, you... I mean, you're a woman. Yes, a lovely young lady, indeed. Oh no, I've been rude. I'm terribly sorry, miss. Leonie: What's with that tone... Sylvain: I really am sorry. This is a first for me, too. Even if Leonie is ro… I mean, even if she's an active girl, something like this… Leonie: You were about to say "rough", right!?

He knew Leonie was a girl, but his mind just didn't see her as a one. He used the word"粗雑" (sozatsu). It means "rough" or "crude". Later, he compared her to a sunflower, rather than a delicate flower.

Sylvain: It might also be one of the knights… Oh, wait, me!? Ingrid: I'll hit you. Sylvain: W-wait, I was just kidding! I'm against violence! Being too rough ruins a beauty, you know! ………… Uh, well. I-I mean, when I say "beauty," I'm not talking about flirting or anything, yeah!

In his A+ Support with Ingrid, the Japanese word he used was "乱暴" (ranbou). It means "rough" or "violent" in English.

Sylvain: I'm weary from the nonstop battles. A gentle and beautiful young lady who can heal my troubled heart, I wonder if she’s lying around out there somewhere… (Best Answer): She might appear someday.

Even his notes to the advice box suggested that his ideal partner was a "Yamato Nadeshiko". The term describes the "flower of Japanese womanhood" or "traditional daughter of Japan". It's a nostalgic term for the perfect woman under the ideology of Japanese patriarchal society. Sylvain adored traditional femininity and wanted a partner who was the epitome of feminine beauty.

Sylvain: To be honest, I left home without telling my father, even though the country was in a difficult situation. Haha, I can imagine my father's angry face. "That idiot son of mine…" Haha, scary, scary…

But it was not because he was interested in upholding patriarchy. In fact, it he hated patriarchy and did not have a good relationship with the men in his life. His father was known as the "Wall of Ice". Matthias only cared about whether he had a Crest and could wield the Lance of Ruin. He didn't have much regard for his son's life and wanted him to take out a group of bandits by himself to earn his inheritance.

Ingrid: As you know, Sylvain and I have known each other since we were children. In the past, he often had bruises and other injuries on his face and body. Every time I asked, he would say he got them during training, but still…

And growing up, Sylvain was regularly beaten by his older brother.

Dimitri: Who's naïve and serious…? Besides, compared to you, most men are probably the same. Sylvain: Oh, really? A man who gives a dagger as a gift to a girl he likes is quite… Dimitri: How many years ago was that story? …If I seriously slap your head, will you forget about it? Sylvain: If I were hit with that monstrous strength, I'd die… It doesn't sound like a joke.

His Japanese voice acting during his C-Support with Dimitri conveyed a lot more distress than the English version did. Because of how overly serious Dimitri was, and his history of being abused, he genuinely could not tell that he was just joking about hitting him.

Sylvain: Ah, damn it… Joining the Empire… I wonder what Father would say… And then there's His Highness… He's definitely furious, right? That guy, when he's angry, he's downright terrifying… I wonder how I'll be killed… Just imagining it makes my legs tremble. However… it's your decision. I'll follow you…until the end. Haha, I wonder what's gotten into me. I should be scared out of my mind… and yet…

If you recruit Sylvain into CF, you'll learn that he was terrified of Dimitri's anger. He was a childhood friend, but he was never as close to him as he was to Ingrid and Felix. Dimitri was, after all, the future patriarch of the Kingdom with superhuman strength. Which would be kind of intimidating to an abuse victim. In CF, he calls Dimitri a stubborn "yarou". While he is on good terms with him in AM after his boar phase, he doesn't even have an A-Support with him.

Sylvain: Thinking that he's in the next room makes me hesitate to invite a girl over at night. I'm already scared and scared of the scolding the next morning... (Best Answer): Maybe I should reconsider the room assignments…

Sylvain's note to the advice box was about how he was afraid to invite girls to his room because Dimitri was next door. He didn't take his scoldings from Ingrid or Felix very seriously. But Dimitri's seriousness seemed to remind him of his father. And Sylvain was deathly afraid of his father. I'm sure that's why he felt like he had no way out of his arranged marriage.

Sylvain: As someone with a Crest, I was raised with great care by my parents. But my older brother, who didn't have a Crest, was suddenly treated very coldly when I was born. …My older brother even pushed me into a well and abandoned me in the snowy mountains. I understood it even as a child. I had taken everything from him. How could I complain in front of someone who wanted a Crest but couldn't get one? So, the persistent stares of women, the appraising looks of noble daughters… I had to smile and accept them. …Because I had the Crest.

Sylvain bears the Crest of Gautier which is associated with the Death Arcana in Tarot. And the theme of "death" certainly played a large role in his character arc. Growing up, he was constantly told that he should go die and his brother tried to kill him. But Death doesn't mean literal death. It signifies a time of significant transformation, transition, and change. The old version of you needs to "die" to allow the new you to be created.

Sylvain: Ever since King Lambert passed away, I hardly get to see my childhood friends anymore…

Death also represents a resistance to change. In Hopes, if you take Sylvain on an expedition and ask him about his memories of the past, he sadly recounts how he and his old friends stopped hanging out much after King Lambert died. Sylvain would have been fifteen at the time. The same age he was when he hit on Lord Gwendal's daughter, prompting Ingrid to finally leave her room out of concern for him.

Sylvain: Actually, I have a history with Lord Gwendal. Yes, that was a story from many years ago. I met a lovely young lady, fell in love, and was nearly killed by her father… And that father happened to be Lord Gwendal. Oh boy, I was truly prepared to die at that time!

In Japanese, Sylvain's Classic Mode death quote uses the word "覚悟" (kakugo). It means "prepared for" or "mental readiness." And in Japanese, he uses that exact same word when talking about the Lord Gwendal incident. Sylvain's childhood antics (such as hitting on Ingrid's grandmother) could be seen as a harmless ploy for attention to compensate for his terrible home life. However, his involvement with Gwendal's daughter appeared to be way more serious.

Sylvain: …Well, whatever you think, Professor, I don't intend to change my attitude. You see, I may be a good-for-nothing, but I'm still a noble with a Crest… I try not to get involved in serious relationships. They only bring trouble. Eventually, I'll be quietly married off to some suitable partner and settle down.

Sylvain was extremely disingenuous with girls. He would use them for sex, then dump them in public. He was dreading the fact that his life would change after he got married and he blamed them for it.

Ingrid: Right? We're just childhood friends, right? Then why do I have to clean up after your messes? Sylvain: Haha, nobody asked you to do that! Well, just think of it as your role and accept it. For some reason, it's been like this since we were kids, and it'll probably continue. Ingrid: …Continue like this? So, you don't have any intention of changing your ways!?

The only way Sylvain knew how to cope with his fate was by pretending that he just couldn't resist falling in love with every cute girl that he laid eyes on. But the truth was that he disliked girls and was even afraid of them. He was being literal when he said he would stake his life on flirting.

Ingrid: You keep earning resentment from women, and eventually, you'll really get stabbed. Sylvain: Haha, well, if I get stabbed, I get stabbed. I suppose that's just how it goes. Ingrid: …Dying for such a silly reason is definitely not okay, are you stupid!? …Glenn was the type to make those kinds of jokes too. And he really never came back.

Ingrid's line in her B-Support with Sylvain was changed slightly. She specifically warned him that he would get stabbed if he didn't change his behavior. And he just laughed, as if he were prepared to die.

Sylvain: I just, uh… Well, you're going to think I'm being a jerk or hitting on you or whatever… When we're side by side like this, training, I feel— I don't know—oddly at ease. Ingrid: I know what you mean. It's probably because we've been friends for so long. Sylvain: That must be it. Let's never change. Friends forever?

All Sylvain wanted was for things to go back to how they were when he was a kid. In their Houses A-Support, he emphasized that he was not trying to hit on Ingrid. The idea that things wouldn't change between them just put him at ease.

Ingrid: What do you mean you feel relieved seeing me eat? Sylvain: Haha, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. Just seeing you enjoying your meal like that makes me, you know, feel relaxed. [...] Nobody can stay the same as they were in the past. You said something like that recently too, didn't you? That's why having something that doesn't change is really comforting for us.

In their Hopes A-Support, he offered to treat Ingrid to dinner not as an attempt to woo her, but just so that he could watch her eat. It was a relief to him that some people never change.

Sylvain: Hey Felix, you free? You must be free, right? Let's go flirt with some girls together again today. Felix: Tch… You're disturbing my training. Go by yourself. Sylvain: Don't say that. Come on, we've known each other for a long time, haven't we?

The one change that bothered Sylvain more than any other was the change in Felix's personality. While he didn't like girls becoming attached to him, he was sad that Felix seemed to have outgrown that tendency and no longer wanted to spend time with him.

Felix: We've certainly known each other for a while, but that's about it. Besides, it's not what I wanted. It was just our parents' wishes. Sylvain: So, you're saying it's a rotten relationship, huh?

The phrase "rotten relationship" is kinda hard to translate. It is "腐れ縁" (kusareen) in Japanese. It means "a relationship that cannot be severed even if one wants to." It's usually a relationship that has persisted for a long time, often against one's will or preference, because it is bound up in some work, social, or family obligation. It tends to have a negative connotation, implying that the relationship is undesirable or plagued by difficulties.

It was derived from "鎖縁" (kusari-en) or "chain relationship", a term that refers to a close and inseparable relationship between two people, often described as being bound together by chains. "Chain relationship" was a positive term referring to two people bound by fate, as if they were destined to be together. But over time, the "rotten" part was added, and it took on a negative connotation.

Felix: That boar prince, it's been a rotten relationship since birth… No, even before birth. That's why I'm warning you… He harbors a beast within. You can trust in his skill in combat and brute strength, but as a person, he's utterly untrustworthy. You better be careful not to be devoured yourself.

Felix used the exact same term when he warned Byleth about Dimitri in Chapter 2. And the way he described his relationship with Sylvain is actually a far more accurate description of his relationship with Dimitri. Felix did have fond memories of their childhood together, but Dimitri's sadistic smile while torturing the rebels was ingrained in his mind. After that, he no longer wanted to associate with him, but he couldn't break off their relationship due to his family.

Sylvain: So, you're saying it's a rotten relationship, huh? Come on now, Felix. You used to cling to me like glue back in the day. You couldn't beat your brother, got into fights with His Highness, and every time something happened, you came crying to me. Back then, you were so meek and innocent. I doted on you like a little brother… Felix: ...Enough.

Sylvain disagreed that his relationship with Felix was just a rotten relationship. The implication was that it was more of a chain relationship and Felix was trying to downplay how close they were because he was hurt by the way Sylvain was acting.

Felix: Listen. I've held back until now, but there are plenty of things I want to say to you. In your personal life and even on the battlefield, you're frivolous. Whenever something happens, it's always about women… Sylvain: Hmm, what's wrong with that? It's rude to ignore cute girls… Felix: There's a limit to that, you sex fiend. If your sword skills were solid, I could acknowledge that. But you slack off even in training… Do you not feel any guilt about hurting others' feelings and holding them back?

Sylvain's womanizing certainly hurt Felix's feelings, but he was even more hurt by his frivolousness in battle. The implication was that he had no choice but to double down on his training because he was always babysitting Sylvain on the battlefield.

Felix: Being in this military academy, one becomes speechless at the sheer number of fools who, indulged by the power of their Crests and the status of nobility, neglect their training. It's truly astounding. (Best response): It would be good to give them training.

Felix's note to the advice box was undoubtedly written with a particular person in mind.

Sylvain: You know, since way back, I've been doing stupid things, and you've always been there to yell at me… Felix: Both of us getting lectured by Ingrid because of you… Try to put yourself in my shoes, I got dragged into it every time. Sylvain: Yeah yeah, that's right. Our relationship hasn't changed no matter how many years have passed. But you've changed, Felix. You were so adorable when we were kids… Now, you've become completely warped. I wonder why you grew up like this… Felix: Tch… You, on the other hand, are still a good-for-nothing, just like in the past. Sylvain: Ahahaha, what's that? Is that something the person who has always been by my side would say? Even now, look, you came all the way to me with the intention to apologize for what happened the other day, right?

Sylvain wasn't intimidated by Felix. But being yelled at by him still hurt his feelings and he kept his distance afterwards. And Felix came crawling back to him to apologize. He couldn't sever their relationship even if he was so hurt that he may have wanted to. He was afraid of losing their friendship, so it proves he was lying when he called it a rotten relationship.

Felix: …The boar prince and I have been acquainted since before birth. Before I knew it, he was always by my side… You might even say that, at one time, we were best friends.

Dimitri and Felix were always together as little kids and Felix used to whine unless they could do everything together (Ironically, Dimitri was probably the one who viewed it as a rotten relationship when they were kids). I've seen some people say that they were best friends up until the incident suppressing the rebellion when they were 14 or 15. But that didn't appear to be the case. At the time the Tragedy of Duscur occurred, when he was 13, Dimitri considered Glenn his best friend.

Sylvain: However, both His Majesty and Felix have really grown up, haven't they? Ten years ago, they were the kind of guys who would squabble over breaking each other's swords and whatnot…

Felix always went crying to Sylvain whenever he and Dimitri fought. Dimitri broke Felix's sword when they were nine years old. So, even by that age, Felix was clingier with Sylvain than Dimitri.

Sylvain: A little laziness is just right. If you push yourself too hard, you'll just get tired. Oh yeah, I'll treat you to a meal, so let's go out to town together, Felix. Felix: No. Sylvain: Which is more important, going to town with me or training? Felix: Training. See ya.

Sylvain lamented how cute Felix used to be in Houses, Hopes, and even Heroes. He was the only male character that Sylvain was ever interested in spending time with one-on-one. He even invited him out to dinner like he did with girls. It is very likely that he was so sad about how much Felix changed because he used to be his ideal "girl".

Sylvain: More importantly, it's time for the ballroom dance now, isn't it? There's also the White Heron Cup competition, right? So, Professor, who are we sending from our class? (Byleth chooses Sylvain as the representative for the White Heron Cup) Sylvain: Huh, me? Well, um, that's fine I guess. It's a good opportunity to show the girls what I can do. (Byleth does NOT choose Sylvain as the representative for the White Heron Cup) (Japanese) Sylvain: If anything, I'd rather see a beauty dancing than watch a bastard dancing, you know. (English) Sylvain: I get it. No worries, really. I'd rather see a beautiful person dancing instead of some goof like me.

Sylvain lumped himself into the "yarou" category, too. He was eager to impress girls during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. But he will sound a bit disappointed if you choose him as the representative for the White Heron Cup. He's happier if you choose a beauty. The term he used for a "beauty" was "美人" (bijin). It means "beautiful person," but it is primarily used to refer to women.

It can sometimes be used to describe an exceptionally attractive man, although less commonly. Generally, "bijin" is more commonly associated with feminine beauty in Japanese language and culture. While it can technically be used to describe individuals of any gender who are considered beautiful, the term often carries connotations of traditional or stereotypical feminine beauty standards.

And since "yarou" is gendered, you'd think that "beautiful girl" would be the obvious way to translate that line, right? On the first day of school, “beautiful girls” was used. But I have to give the localizers credit where credit is due. They used "person" rather than "girl". Because they knew Sylvain would not have minded one bit if Felix had been the White Heron Cup representative.

Felix: You seem like you have something to say. …You're not seriously considering choosing me as the representative for the White Heron Cup, are you? (Byleth does NOT choose Felix as the representative for the White Heron Cup) Felix: I see. That's fine then.

Felix is unsociable. He gets annoyed if Byleth stares at him too long during teatime and he struggles to maintain eye contact when talking to people. Yet he was not as opposed to participating in a dance contest as you'd expect. He even brought it up himself. If you don't pick him, he doesn't sound relieved like most of the others. In fact, in Japanese, I'd say he sounds a tiny bit disappointed. His objection seemed to be dancing with a girl, not dancing in general.

Felix: I'd much rather swing a sword at the training grounds than dance with a girl at the ball. Sylvain: Huh? Your Highness and Felix, are you joking…? You can dance with all the girls in the school. Do you mean to say that on such a wonderful day, you two dudes will be practicing swordplay with each other…? That doesn't seem like a sane idea!

One the "Night of Promises", Dimitri was not looking forward to the ball because he was sad that he was never going to rekindle his spark with Edelgard. He still attends the ball, and the cutscene shows him dancing next to Edelgard, as if to imply that he wished he was dancing with her instead. Felix felt the same way as Dimitri. He said he was going to skip out and train instead, something that made Sylvain sad. He used the word "yarou" once again here, emphasizing the masculine nature of the activity he's criticizing.

Felix: But… to the casual observer, it might not look entirely unlike a tryst between a man and a woman. If you're truly dissatisfied, then that's your compromise. Byleth: Unfriendly. Felix: Call it whatever you want. I'm about to head back to the training grounds.

If Byleth meets Felix at the Goddess Tower, his dialogue indicated that he did indeed skip the ball to practice at the training grounds.

Sylvain: When I heard you were heading to the Goddess Tower, I wondered who you were having a tryst with… I never expected you'd just be standing there alone, lost in thought. Byleth: Tryst...? Sylvain: Wait a minute. Seriously, what's going on? When someone goes to the Goddess Tower, isn't it to meet a lover? Here, vows exchanged are sure to be fulfilled… It's the lovers' sanctuary, you know. (Option 1) Byleth: Why did you come alone? Sylvain: Huh? Oh, well... Truth be told, I was curious about who you were waiting for. I hurried to catch up, only to find you alone in the end... Well, I must say, it put my mind at ease.

Sylvain goes to the Goddess Tower simply because he was curious about who Byleth was waiting for and was relieved to find out that she was alone. Then afterwards, he offers to make a vow with her.

(Option 2) Byleth: Don't you need to invite a female student? Sylvain: That's true. I could have invited someone, but my true love is right in front of me. Being alone at the Goddess Tower means I can try to woo you, right?

The phrase Sylvain used for "true love" was "本命の相手" (honmei no aite). "本命の" (honmei no) translates to "main," or "primary". "相手" (aite) translates to "partner" or "opponent," depending on the context. The phrase typically refers to the person that the individual truly loves or considers as their ideal romantic interest.

HOWEVER. It also translates as "favorite opponent" in specific contexts, particularly in sports or competitive activities where "aite" means "opponent" or "rival." In that context, it refers to the most formidable opponent in a competition or match, the one whom the athlete or team considers their top rival or challenger.

Byleth: …Me? Sylvain: Yes. Who else would I be talking about?

Who else would he be talking about? Well maybe someone who spends a lot of time with Byleth as a sparring partner? Someone who was absent from the ball? Perhaps someone he made a promise together with in the past?

Sylvain: Hey, Professor, I won't make you unhappy. So, how about getting married… Byleth: You're not trustworthy. Sylvain: Haha, well, that's true.

Sooo. Why did Sylvain go to the Goddess Tower? Was Byleth his true love? Or was she actually his primary rival for his true love? Well, I think we can rule out the "true love" option.

Felix: This is troublesome… The enemy is just a bunch of thieves. I doubt there are any skilled fighters among them. Sylvain: Don't be so cold. I'm looking forward to it. Come on, there might be a beautiful female thief among them.

Felix was always trying to prove his worth in battle. And Sylvain was always goofing off because he didn't value his own life. Before the group's first battle against bandits in Houses, he wasn't acting serious because there would most likely not be skilled fighters among them. He even made a joke about flirting with one of them.

Felix: If they're in a state of confusion right now, we can easily round them all up. I'm on my way. Sylvain: …No, no, no, hold on a second. Don't you think there's something strange about that fortress?

In Hopes, the bandits were a much greater threat than they anticipated, and Sylvain completely changed his tune. You gain Support points with Felix if you suggest charging the fort. But you gain points with Sylvain if you suggest a more cautious approach.

Sylvain: Ah, I thought since it's a festival day, there wouldn't be any lectures, and we could play all day… Hey, Professor. Even if you were planning an assassination, would you really choose the day of the Rite of Rebirth for it? I feel like there might be times when security is less tight. Or is there a reason it has to be this day?

Before the Rite of Rebirth, there was an assassination attempt on Lady Rhea. Sylvain didn't take it seriously because he knew the monastery's security would be tighter than ever on that day, and he was just goofing off and chatting up Hilda.

Sylvain: …But it's strangely quiet these days. Is it because the knights are out and about? Felix: I heard the knights are putting all their effort into tracking down the enemy. Sylvain: Putting all their effort… Isn't that a bit too much? Is it okay to neglect the monastery's defense? Felix: …How do you see this situation? Byleth: Maybe you're worrying too much. Sylvain: Is that so… Well, I hope the knights come back soon.

But after Jeralt was killed by intruders, he was standing with Felix, worrying about the thin security with all the knights out looking for the enemy. It's a very nice bit of subtle storytelling, showing that, even if he seemed like he was always goofing off, he was serious about Felix's safety and always kept an eye on him.

Sylvain: Come to think of it, you don't like sweets, huh? Well, thanks. I'll eat it later. …So, what do you want me to do? Ah, you want me to play matchmaker with a girl? Felix: Is your head filled with sugar or something? I'm just here to thank you for the battle the other day. If you hadn't noticed the ambush, I would probably be dead by now. Sylvain: Oh, right... But isn't that just how it goes? On the battlefield, it's all about mutual support. That's what comrades do, right? Felix: …You haven't changed a bit. Sylvain: Yeah, I'm still the same as ever. Felix: You always…

Felix is the only partner who will confess their feelings for Sylvain at the end of the Support chain. You could tell that he was mulling it over in the A-Support. He even brought a gift of sweets for Sylvain before he planned to tell him how he felt. But he chickened out. Still, he was going to say that he was grateful to Sylvain for always protecting him ever since they were kids.

Sylvain: His Majesty or Felix would probably make better hunting partners than me. I prefer to just sit back and watch.

While there are no specific childhood anecdotes related to this, a comment Sylvain made during his Hopes expedition did imply that he occasionally accompanied Dimitri and Felix on their hunting trips.

Felix: Boars are naturally wary animals, but this one seems injured… If it senses us, it'll charge. We can't afford to get injured by its massive rush. Raphael: Huh? Felix, you sound like you've fought something like this before? Felix: It's a story from many years ago, but I once let a similar quarry slip away. [...] House Blaiddyd and House Fraldarius used to go on hunting trips together. On one trip, a certain prince killed so many deer it proved impossible to fit them all on the sled. Meanwhile, I went off hunting on my own, encountered the boar, and barely escaped with my life.

Felix had a near-death encounter with a wild boar as a child. And I strongly suspect that Sylvain was the one who saved his life and got pretty hurt in the process.

Felix: You've always been like this since we were kids. Normally so unreliable, but you've always thrown yourself in harm's way and helped us when it really counted. …Every time you managed to put on that carefree smile for us, I cannot deny that I wanted to hug you a little. Sylvain: O-Oh… You're the one spouting those kinds of lines? Have you eaten something strange? Felix: Tch… I won't say it again, you fool! Now that I know you're safe, I'm going back to my room.

In the A+ Support, Felix will finally say what he was thinking back in the A-Support. He will mention how Sylvain would literally put his body on the line and then smile afterwards. And Sylvain told Marianne that a smile was the true measure of a person's worth. He always smiled because it made him feel strong.

Felix uses the word "抱いていた" (dakishiteita). It means "embrace" or "hold." It can mean to literally hold, hug, or embrace someone in a physical sense. Or it can be used metaphorically to express the idea of cherishing or harboring a feeling of admiration or longing. But the writers probably chose that word for its dual meaning.

Felix was certainly trying to communicate his admiration for Sylvain's ability to smile even when he's hurt and in a lot of pain. And in doing so, he made his intense longing for Sylvain clear. And I do not think the localizers were wrong to have Felix express his desire to hug Sylvain in a literal sense. It was all part of the same package.

Sylvain: Alright, alright. Then I'll wait while having a meal until you feel like it. Come on, Felix, let's grab a meal in town. I'll treat you. How about some meat? Felix: …Alright. I owe you one. Just for today, I'll go along. Sylvain: After we fill our stomachs, then we can go chat up some girls… Felix: ………. Sylvain: Just kidding, jeez, you're really short-tempered. Come on, let's go together, Felix!

Sylvain offered to treat Felix to dinner in their B-Support, and he got rejected. In the A-Support, he offered again, and Felix agreed because he owed him. Now, Sylvain offered to treat Byleth—even the male—to dinner in his Paralogue because he saved his life, and he owed him. So, that probably wasn't what he wanted to hear.

In Sylvain's mind, relationships were always transactional, and he was very suspicious over whether anyone really wanted to spend time with him. He even suspected that Felix came to give him the sweets just so he could set him up with a girl. So, he apparently tested Felix's intentions by suggesting they chat up girls afterward. Ya know, just to make sure they're on the same page and it's really a date. In light of what Felix intended to say, it's clear why he was upset.

Sylvain: ...Hey, uh, Ingrid. Training again today? Ingrid: No, today I'm going to the city to buy supplies. Training comes afterward. Is there something wrong? Sylvain: N-no, you're still as serious as ever, huh? Some things never change. Ingrid: …What are you talking about? I haven't changed at all. Sylvain: Y-yeah, you're right, haha. Ingrid: …Hey, what's up, Sylvain? Did you eat something strange? Sylvain: N-no, it's not that. Um… Have you found someone you like?

Sylvain was always smooth whenever he was flirting with girls. But in his A+ Support with Ingrid, he was incredibly flustered and stumbling over his words. He's a completely different person when he's really fallen for someone. Taken at face-value, the player would assume that he has fallen for Ingrid. And while that is certainly a valid interpretation, it actually isn't the only interpretation. He was particularly worried that she had been training a lot lately.

Sylvain: No, it's not like I'm flustered or anything. …I was just a little curious about the reason, that's all. Ingrid: …The reason for the makeup, huh. What do you think it is? Sylvain: Well… Is it because of a guy? If we're talking about someone you might like, going by your past tendencies… Felix…No, His Highness is also a possibility.

And the first person he asked about was Felix, due to Ingrid's history with Glenn and how Felix had changed to be more like him. But was it because he was afraid Felix would steal Ingrid from him? Or was he afraid Ingrid would steal Felix from him? While many people consider Ingrid the "canon" love interest for Sylvain, they deliberately left their A+ Support open to interpretation. I have no doubt that the writers preferred Felix as Sylvain's love interest, but they didn't want to make a gay pairing too obvious, so they left it open for Ingrid, too.

Sylvain: I've been given the opportunity for revenge. I won't waste it… even if it means stabbing each other to death…!

Regardless of which one you interpret as his love interest, Ingrid and Felix were the two most important people to Sylvain. If you do not recruit them in CF, they will die at Arianrhod, and Sylvain's dialogue changes in response during "Field of Revenge". The Japanese verb he uses "刺し違える" (sashichigaeru) literally refers to stabbing one another and killing each other.

Sylvain: Professor! Has it really been five years? We ought to raise a glass to the occasion. Celebrate your return. Nah, I'd rather commemorate it with your death.

Sylvain's CF arc is very interesting. He becomes like Miklan. The foreshadowing in his B-Support with Byleth was intended for this exact moment. He was so jealous of Byleth's ability to live freely that he wanted to kill them. And now he gets the chance. He doesn't care if he dies as long as he gets his revenge for his two friends. Sylvain felt like his parents only valued him for his Crest and his brother wanted him dead. But those two really loved him. He was so driven to kill Byleth in CF because s/he took everything from him.

Mercedes: You can't choose where you're born. It's like flowers not being able to choose where they bloom. Since we don't suffer from hunger or thirst, we can't complain even if the place is cramped. It's the same for both of us… We all have to bloom where we're planted. Sylvain: It's true that flowers can't choose where to bloom. They can't go where they want to go until they die, and if the environment is bad, they will just wither away.

Because of the arranged marriage looming over his head, Sylvain felt like a flower with his roots firmly planted. He didn't feel like he could go where he wanted to go until he died.

Sylvain: Finally… I can go to the place where they are… I'm sorry, Your Majesty… I… will go ahead and wait… Dimitri: Thank you, Sylvain. I will also… definitely go to where you all are.

And where did he want to go? To the place where Ingrid and Felix were. CF!Sylvain was relieved that he could finally join them upon his death, something that was sadly not included in the localized version. That line was especially relevant to his relationship with Felix because they promised to die together.

Sylvain: Me… disliking girls? Hahaha, no way, no way, not at all! I'm always serious when it comes to girls. I put my life on the line to woo them. Dorothea: You should focus on one person and then say that. You only have one life, and usually, there's only one person you can love enough to stake your whole life on.

Sylvain has the fewest number of paired endings out of any student. Understandably, very few women would consider marrying him. Mercedes would in order to escape her arranged marriage, but she'd have to give up her dream. And Ingrid would because she loved him and thought she needed to take care of him or else he'd end up like Glenn. But she'd also have to give up her dream.

In his S-Support proposal, Byleth was not quite sure if Sylvain was being sincere because he was still using shallow words. And Dorothea did not trust him, either, because he had to propose to her at least ten times. And of course, Dorothea will marry pretty much any nobleman in the game to secure her future. Felix had no one pressuring him and nothing to gain from being with Sylvain.

Sylvain: Do you remember? We made a promise when we were kids. That we'd die together. Felix: ...I remember. Sylvain: So, you see, there's no way I'd die before you and leave you behind.

In English, "dying together" could be taken as platonic. Just brothers-in-arms or best friends. However, there's a cultural nuance to it in Japanese because that phrase is often used in a romantic context. It implies that they will not just die but spend their whole lives together. It was, in essence, a marriage proposal.

Felix: …Well, I suppose that's true. But I'm fed up with getting terrified like this. You shouldn't just fool around all the time. Take your training seriously for once. …If you end up carelessly throwing your life away, I won't be able to die with you. Sylvain: Yeah, you're right. Once I'm healed, I'll try to be a bit more serious.

Felix uses the phrase "肝を冷やす" (kimo-o-hiyasu). It's an expression that literally translates to "cooling the liver" but figuratively means "to be frightened" or "to be scared stiff." It refers to the feeling of fear or nervousness that causes a person's body temperature to drop, often likened to a sensation of chilling one's liver.

Their entire Support chain was about how Felix never really changed. He always prioritized his training over hanging out because he was absolutely terrified that Sylvain would get himself killed and they wouldn't have a future together. After finally realizing this, Sylvain reaffirmed his childhood promise. He no longer wanted to die.

Sylvain: Anyway, I suppose you just said the things I usually say, right? Even if it's the same pick-up line, serious guys' words are taken seriously.

When Felix said Sylvain was frivolous in their C-Support, he used the word "不真面目" (fumajime). When Sylvain said he'd be more serious from now on, he used the word "真面目" (majime), which is the opposite. He also used this word in his Support with Dimitri. It means "serious" or "earnest" in English. It describes someone who is diligent, takes things seriously, and is sincere.

The "Sincerest of Knights" was not just saying that he would take his training seriously. He was also saying that he would take his personal life seriously. He wouldn't be frivolously going around picking up girls and telling them he loves them enough to stake his life on them anymore. Because he already found the one.

Sylvain: These five years, fighting and fighting… Finally, the tough times have come to an end. A new era is about to begin. …So, I thought it's about time I put an end to my own fate. Byleth: Put an end to? Sylvain: Yes. My fate is not determined by something like a Crest; it's determined by me… This is the first step towards that. Not someone trying to use my Crest, not someone decided by someone else, and not just a playmate…

Death is the arcana of transformation and typically refers to a need to start over by letting go of the past. It is about moving forward from outworn and outgrown ways of life. And that's what Sylvain's character arc was all about, regardless of whether he marries Byleth.

The term for "put an end to" is "けじめ" (kejime). It can be translated as "closure," "settling accounts," "bringing something to an end," or "establishing a clear boundary." It suggests that Sylvain is finally ready to confront his fear, establish firm boundaries with his father, and decide for himself who he forms intimate relationships with.

Sylvain: But our feet aren't roots. We can move ourselves and go where we want. If we navigate cleverly, we might not have to give up what we want to do. [...] I'm not trying to court you or anything like that. But if I, as the legitimate son of Gautier, were to propose to you… The other party would have no choice but to withdraw. It might sour our relations a bit, though. Afterward, you can do as you please. You can work at the church or become whatever you want. Mercedes: But if you did that, Sylvain, you wouldn't be able to marry the person you love, right? Sylvain: Hahaha, I'm not being serious about that.

Sylvain is a Gemini. Being the Twins, they'll flit from person to person to see what everyone has to offer, but once they commit, their lives are complete and whole. Because he and Felix made such a promise before the game even started, it suggests that they were both in love with each other, regardless of whether you go for their paired ending.

And if Sylvain already had someone that he wanted to spend his life with, but that he wasn't free to do so because they were the wrong gender to produce heirs, then it casts his behavior in a different light. His storyline was about forbidden love. He changes his behavior in Hopes because he realizes that he can go where he wants and doesn't have to give up on being with the person he loves.

Felix: I was raised to value strength above all else. Whereas you had a reason, an ambition, pushing you toward that hunger. So, tell me. What was the reason? Why were you driven to become so strong?

Not only is Sylvix the best relationship for Sylvain's growth, but it is also the best relationship for Felix's too. Felix was also a victim of Faerghus's patriarchal culture. He was taught to swing a sword before he could write and was raised with the motto: "Grow strong so you may live, and live to grow stronger".

Felix: It's like training with my brother. He always won—always—and died before I could win a single bout. From the first time I held a sword, all I wanted was to surpass him. And that's what drove me to become so strong.

Since Felix was a child, his main ambition in life was to surpass his brother, who he always lost to while sparring. And that sense of purpose continued to subconsciously drive him, even nine whole years after he died.

Rodrigue: …My eldest son was quite outstanding, you know. He was knighted at the age of fifteen.

Glenn possessed exceptional swordsmanship ability. Felix was probably so obsessed with surpassing his brother at swordplay because he was trying to earn the admiration of his father.

Felix: Sorry, but I'm not "Emile." And of course, I'm not your brother. Tch… It's so annoying being compared to someone else. Mercedes: I'm really sorry… I'll be on my way then. …Oh, the tea refill is here. Please help yourself if you'd like. …Well, see you. Felix: …I am me. Regardless of what anyone says, I'm not anyone else. …Isn't that right…Brother.

The English localization changed several lines in Felix's C-Support with Mercedes, giving it a slightly different meaning than the original Japanese version. The verb used by Felix is "重ねる" (kasaneru). It means "to pile up" or "to layer". Metaphorically, in this context, it conveys the concept of overlapping an image of one person with someone else, because they remind you of them. The Japanese version made it sound like "You're you, not anyone else" was something Glenn had to remind Felix often.

Shez: Is Dimitri really that much like his dad? Rodrigue: Oh, yes, absolutely. Well, the late King was a bit more hot-headed, it seems… Compared to me and my son, they are spitting images of each other. See, we don't resemble each other much. Shez: Yeah, you're really not very similar at all. Your looks aside, of course.

The concept of "kasaneru" played into Rodrigue's relationship with both of his sons. He had trouble viewing them as their own people, rather than just reflections of himself. He was very proud that Glenn took after him and disappointed that Felix did not. He also projected his own feelings onto Glenn. While it did seem like he chose to defend Dimitri to the death, he was not satisfied to die.

Felix: …Hmph. It's a waste to keep someone like you as a woman. Leonie: Oh, come on. That's what's wrong with you. Strength has nothing to do with gender. It's because you underestimate your opponent that you fall into traps. Felix: …Yeah, you're right.

I've seen some people accuse Felix of being a misogynist because of several comments he made to female characters. One comment was to Ingrid about finding a husband, which I'll get to later. Another was his comment to Leonie about being impressive "for a girl". His comment in Japanese is actually entirely different. He was saying that Leonie is so strong that it's a waste because strength isn't a trait that is appreciated or expected of females in Fódlan.

Felix was implying that her talents might be better suited for manhood. And she actually made him question that way of thinking. This Support showed how Felix was aware that some people don't naturally conform traditional gender roles and it would make their lives much easier if they were the opposite sex. Which is something he had undoubtedly thought about himself.

Felix: It's all well and good to remember the dead, but sentimentality will get you killed. All the tears in the world couldn't bring them back, after all. Ingrid: You have always viewed the world in such stark terms. It might even be one of your strengths. But one day, you will learn that emotions and sentimentality are also a strength, not a curse.

Felix is a Pisces, which is considered one of the most feminine signs of the zodiac due to its association with sensitivity, intuition, empathy, and creativity. Pisceans are often described as dreamy, compassionate, and deeply empathetic individuals who are attuned to the emotions and needs of others. As a child, Felix was meek, innocent, clingy, and would cry easily. These are stereotypically feminine traits which would certainly not be valued in a strength-obsessed culture like Faerghus. And especially not in a boy.

Felix: I am tired of it. For years, I've been forced to be a "replacement" for the dead. I had an excellent brother. He was a splendid knight worthy of admiration… He's dead now. After my brother's death, his presence haunted me like a shadow.

The Mother Goddess archetype is a powerful and ancient symbol found in various cultures and mythologies around the world. It represents the qualities of nurturing, fertility, protection, wisdom, and interconnectedness. Some examples are Isis from ancient Egyptian mythology and Mother Mary in Christianity. Sothis was the embodiment of the divine feminine principle.

The one who embodied the divine masculine principle was Nemesis. He represented the Warrior Hero archetype, which embodies qualities such as courage, strength, and valor. Figures like Achilles in Greek mythology, King Arthur in Arthurian legends, and Beowulf in Anglo-Saxon literature exemplify the ideals of the Warrior Hero.

Despite being the most religious country, the actual values of Faerghus were much more aligned with the Warrior Hero than the Mother Goddess. The Crest of Fraldarius is associated with the Emperor arcana. It represents the divine masculine principle. As the replacement heir, Felix's patriarchal duty was to serve as the king's sword and shield. But he hated the ideals of chivalry.

Dimitri: Heh. You know, Felix, you really are growing more and more like your brother. Always so sarcastic, and constantly looking for a fight. But deep inside, more than anyone, you—

The concept of "kasaneru" factored into Dimitri and Felix's relationship as well. Felix's gruff personality was not the natural effect of puberty. It was the result of being forced into a role he wasn't suited for. He hated bloodshed. His first battle left him horrified and he needed to desensitize himself to cope. After losing his brother and becoming a squire, his naturally sentimental and meek personality changed to become more like his brother, "sarcastic and constantly looking for a fight". Stereotypically masculine traits.

Bernadetta: Felix, did you just smile? And it was a really big smile, right? Hehehe, it's like cracking open a tough nut and finding a sweet smile inside… Felix: Tch… Don't get cocky, silly girl. Bernadetta: Oh no, the shell closed! Felix: …You've got guts to tease me like that. Seems like you really want to get in trouble.

The word Bernadetta used was "甘い" (amai). It is used for "sweet" and, just like in English, is often used to describe something that is sweet in taste or metaphorically sweet in demeanor or expression. In Japan, sweets are culturally coded as childish and feminine and liking meat is considered masculine. Did Felix truly not like sweets? Or did he just avoid them because of how they are perceived?

Bernadetta: Felix, please try this. This candy has a reputation for not being sweet. (Normal) Felix: I refuse. Whether it's sweet or not, I don't like candy. (Felix & Lysithea support level B reached) Felix: Candy, huh... If you say it's not sweet, should I take some?

It's worth noting that Felix will refuse to eat unsweet candy that Bernadetta offers him in their A+ Support. But he will actually give the candy a try if he has reached B-Support with Lysithea, after he tries her cake. And in their paired ending, he gives up the sword to spend to his life baking sweets with her. So, it suggests that he was just concerned with keeping up appearances.

Felix: If I were to die here, would you say something like you did when it was my brother? "That's the true end for a knight."

During World War II, ultra-nationalists popularized Yamato Nadeshiko as the female manifestation of Yamato Damashii. It is the term for an idealized Japanese man and refers to the traditional virtues and characteristics associated with him. These include loyalty, courage, honor, selflessness, and a strong sense of duty. This concept is deeply rooted in Japanese culture and history, reflecting the values upheld by the samurai class and other historical figures. The Kamikaze suicide pilots were said to embody Yamato Damashii.

Dimitri: My closest friend was a knight who served the royal family. He was near to my own age, and I admired him greatly. But one day, I watched him die. He stood his ground and fought bravely, but his life was snuffed out in the blink of an eye all the same. Ingrid: I always looked up to Glenn. He was the very picture of a perfect knight—noble and virtuous. In the end, he laid down his life—the ultimate sacrifice. I feel proud of him in ways that words can't quantify. Rodrigue: To this day, I'm proud of Glenn. He gave his life to protect Prince Dimitri. If he had abandoned His Highness and fled, I don't know that I could have forgiven him… I would have been deeply ashamed.

Glenn was less a character and more an archetype. He represented the ideal man of Faerghus that Felix was supposed to aspire to be. Since he was a child, his purpose in life was getting strong enough to beat Glenn at sparring. He felt like he would only be valued if he became more like his brother. And after the Tragedy of Duscur, he felt like his father would only value him if he died.

Sylvain: The old Felix was really adorable, but what happened to make him like that? (Best Answer): Say it's part of growing up.

Whenever Felix lost to Glenn at sparring, he would go crying to Sylvain. It is likely that Sylvain was the one person, other than Glenn, who made Felix feel appreciated for who he really was. Rodrigue, Dimitri, and Ingrid always talked about how admirable Glenn was. Sylvain always talked about how adorable Felix was and was sad about how he had changed. After losing his brother, Felix probably felt like his purpose in life was keeping his promise with Sylvain.

(If Byleth is male) Felix: Having heard of your skills, I'm eager to meet you in battle. Come to the training ground later. There, you will show me what you're capable of.

Regardless of gender, Felix viewed Byleth as his personal rival, just like he did with Glenn when he was a kid.

(If Byleth is female) Sylvain: Such benevolence is a sight to behold! I don't suppose you would care to join me for tea? We could discuss education…and marriage. Felix: Control yourself, Sylvain. I have more important matters to discuss with our new professor. Come to the training ground later. There, you will show me what you're capable of.

Although, interestingly, it was Sylvain's marriage proposal that prompted him to challenge Female Byleth to a sparring match when she first became Professor.

Felix: …What. I thought it might be someone else, but it's you. Byleth: Meeting someone? Felix: I didn't have such plans. …I just wanted to come to a quiet place.

Felix skipped the ball. But he was already at the Goddess Tower when Byleth arrived. He said he just needed some quiet, but wouldn't the training grounds already be quiet on the night of the ball? In Japanese, it's clearer that he was actually expecting someone else instead of her. There's only one person he could possibly have had in mind. The person he made a promise with long ago.

Felix: You know the legend of the Goddess Tower, don't you? The one where vows always come true. It's so absurd it makes me feel like vomiting…but trying to believe in it might be amusing. Let's make a vow to the Goddess of Fódlan. I will… I will, someday, surpass you. I'll surpass your sword, your skills, and as a warrior, I'll defeat you.

Byleth rejected Sylvain's request to exchange vows. And her vow with Felix was quite unromantic. Before swearing his vow, Felix closed his eyes, which he also does in his A+ Support when he remembers his promise with Sylvain.

Byleth: What kind of vow is that? Felix: What, unsatisfied? If you're looking for a romantic relationship, I'm sorry, but hit up some other man. Unfortunately, I've lived a life devoid of such things. Blades, blood, and battles. That's all I am.

Felix wasn't disinterested in love. He was disillusioned with love. After feeling unloved by his father and cheated on by Sylvain, he was trying to fill the void of love with strength. The only way he knew how to prove his worth to himself was on the battlefield. And that was the only sense of purpose he had left in life, anyway.

Felix: Once I decided to fight alongside you and the emperor, I was prepared. …Prepared to abandon my country, to strike down my father, and to kill a man I once called a friend. But… my sword feels a bit heavy.

I found Felix's character arc in CF very interesting due to the whole "rotten relationships" idea. Remember how it means "a bad relationship that cannot be cut even if you try"?

Dimitri: Felix… You killed Rodrigue… your own father. Felix: I decided to cut down anyone who stood in my way. Even if it's my own father… Even if it's a friend I spent my childhood with. Dimitri: I see. After this exchange… I have finally resolved to kill you.

When it came down to literally cutting Dimitri out of his life, CF!Felix was very hesitant. He had a sad expression during this dialogue. And it was the same when he fought Ingrid.

Sylvain: Hey, Felix… Remember back when we were kids? We promised we'd die together, didn't we? Felix: ...Yeah, I remember. Sylvain: So… Now, it's gonna be you and me, killing each other. Felix: …Sorry, Sylvain. I'm gonna have to let you die first.

However, he showed absolutely NO hesitation killing Sylvain. In fact, he was even colder to him than he was to Rodrigue. Sylvain was clearly the real target of Felix's revenge in this chapter, not the boar. When Ingrid warned Sylvain that he was going to get stabbed if he kept cheating, it was probably foreshadowing for this moment.

Sylvain did not take CF!Ingrid's disloyalty personally and was not angry at her. He was just happy that her stubbornness hadn't changed. But he was very angry at CF!Felix. It was the betrayal he wanted revenge for. He specifically brought up their promise before expressing his desire to fight to the death. He was fully prepared to be stabbed to death, but he wanted to take Felix with him.

Rodrigue: Hmm. The dreams I held dear as a child have either already come true…or never will.

The Hero's Relic of House Fraldarius is the Aegis Shield, a reference to Greek mythology. It's likely no coincidence that Rodrigue's middle name is "Achille". He was probably inspired by Achilles, the warrior hero from the Iliad. Achilles' strong reaction to his childhood companion Patroclus' death is often taken as a sign that their relationship was possibly deeper than friendship. He lamented, "My dear comrade Patroclus has fallen—he whom I valued more than all others, and loved as dearly as my own life? I have lost him."

Rodrigue: No matter how much we grieve, the dead won't return. There's no way for them to hear our words. That's why their presence binds those living in the present like a curse. The more we cherished them, the more we become entangled and suffer… I'm not strong enough to scold His Highness for his foolishness. Byleth: Even so… Rodrigue: Yes. It seems scolding and getting them back on their feet is our duty as adults, isn't it? …Despite speaking so arrogantly, in the end, I am unfit to be an adult, aren't I?

When I first played AM and got to the scene called "Entrusting the Future", I assumed Rodrigue was still talking about Glenn when he lamented how the dead can't return.

Rodrigue: We both have a disposition where we can't just live without purpose. Both Felix and me. I lived to serve him, the late King Lambert… to support him as his right hand. Having lost the king I should serve, having lost the purpose of my life… I thought about what I should live for… And in the end, I made fulfilling our promise my new purpose. Shez: A promise… What was the promise about? Rodrigue: He asked me to admonish and correct his child if he ever strayed from the right path.

But after playing AG, there was another scene called "Entrusting the Future". And I realized he was actually talking about Lambert all along, not Glenn. AM!Rodrigue understood why Felix hated him for his comment about Glenn's death and he didn't blame him.

Dimitri: Every time I see the expression of longing on your face when you remember my father, there's always a thought that crosses my mind. I wonder if you wished to live and die alongside him. Rodrigue: …Haha, you're overthinking it, Your Majesty. Despite appearances, I consider myself quite resilient. No, I didn't wish for my own death when Lambert passed. However… if it were to fulfill a promise with him, I believe I'd be satisfied to die.

The concept of "kasaneru" played a large role in Rodrigue's relationship with Dimitri. It was very telling that he decided that his new reason to live was not to help his surviving son get back on his feet, but instead keeping his promise to Lambert. Dimitri had strayed from the right path, but Rodrigue could not scold him. In VW, this enabling caused Dimitri to throw everyone's lives away at Gronder Field. In AM, when the consequences of Dimitri's actions came back to bite him, Rodrigue took the punishment on himself, stating how there are no sins or punishments on the battlefield.

Rodrigue: He left home on his own, and now… this foolish son of mine. Felix: I have no intention of returning to you. Nor do I have any intention of returning to that boar. Rodrigue: …When a child misbehaves, it's the parent's responsibility. Felix… right here and now, you'll die!

Yet Rodrigue said he would not have forgiven Glenn if he had run away at Duscur. He could not even forgive his own teenage son for an act of cowardice on the battlefield. And if Felix joins CF, he has absolutely NO problems punishing him with death. I could understand and empathize with Rodrigue more after playing AG. I don't think he was a bad person. But he was certainly a bad father. He valued Lambert's (and Dimitri's) life above all others, even his own. And even his own sons. And Felix could pick up on that.

Felix: So, the old man's dead… Dimitri: Yes. Felix: I'll cut you down. Prepare yourself, you damn boar! Dimitri: Very well. Come at me, Felix!

There is unused dialogue that was apparently meant to be an alternate scenario based on whether Felix was defeated in Part 1 and was unrecruited in Part 2. I suspect much of his vitriol towards Dimitri in AM stemmed from jealousy over his father's affection. And because of him, he lost the chance to ever make up with his father. Their AM battle dialogue is the opposite of CF. This Felix had no hesitation cutting Dimitri out of his life violently and was prepared to die with him.

Felix: Sylvain, stand aside. My blade thirsts for his blood, not yours. Sylvain: Then surrender already. I don't want to fight you, either! Felix: …Sorry. That isn't up for discussion.

But he had no desire to cut Sylvain down. Because they could not finish their Support chain, Felix could not reaffirm his promise and find a new reason to live. I'm sure Sylvain knew that he was throwing his life away by trying to kill Dimitri and he was desperate to stop him. It's hard to overstate just how much more emotional Sylvain sounded in Japanese. He really did NOT want to fight Felix.

Rodrigue: Remember when I told you about the time I acted foolishly and got myself into trouble? Lambert broke through enemy lines and told me, "Don't waste your life." Although he was covered in wounds, so it wasn't very persuasive, was it? Dimitri: Haha, indeed. You two were truly good friends. I'm so envious of my father. Rodrigue: Haha, saying that would only make my son jealous. He'd ask, "What am I to you?"

As a descendant of the hero Fraldarius, Felix was expected to have the same kind of bond with Dimitri that Kyphon had with Loog and Rodrigue had with Lambert. But I never got the impression that he did. In Hopes, he inherits his father's title and position as the king's right-hand, similar to his solo ending in Houses.

His duty was to act as the Shield of Faerghus, and that involved protecting Dimitri, primarily from his own suicidal recklessness. That was a role he played in Houses as well, but he was mainly protecting Sylvain from himself instead of Dimitri. That's not to say that Felix did not care for Dimitri's safety in Houses. He just delegated those duties to Byleth, like when he asked her to "cage the boar".

Sylvain: Be careful, will you? …Jeez, you've even got bruises on your neck. If something were to happen to you, we don't know what will become of Faerghus, do we? Felix: I won't say it'll go smoothly without me, but I always assume I might die on the battlefield. Sylvain: Seriously, Felix… if you were to disappear now, what would happen to Faerghus and His Majesty?

It did not seem like being the Shield of Faerghus gave Felix a true sense of purpose or a reason to live. Sylvain's appeals for him to survive because Faerghus and Dimitri needed him did not seem to be very effective. In Hopes, he was pretty nonchalant about dying on the battlefield, causing Sylvain to scold him for being reckless. It was the exact opposite of their Houses Supports.

Sylvain: You and me, we'll support His Majesty and Faerghus, by complementing each other's weaknesses. Felix: …Yeah. Um… in the future too, I'll count on you. I hate to admit it, but I probably need you. Maybe. Besides… without you, everyone else would be insufferably gloomy. Sylvain: I get it. You don't have to say it. I'll always be with you, no matter what.

In Hopes, Felix was there to help Dimitri get back on his feet, both literally and figuratively. But Sylvain was the only one he could ever lean on. Felix was raised to believe it was his duty to be a literal human shield. And that's why it meant so much to him that Sylvain would always protect him.

Shez: Well, you know, Sylvain, who always fights with you, ends up being swarmed by enemies... Felix: …That's because every time, he boasts about taking charge with nonsense like "Leave it to me." Well, I believe he'd manage to get through any predicament, no matter how dire.

There was a change in Felix's C-Support with Shez. The localization stated that Felix would always get surrounded by enemies when fighting with Sylvain. But in the Japanese, it was the opposite.

Matthias: Rodrigue, fall back with the duke. The escape route is secured… Leave it to me. Rodrigue: Matthias… What a fool. Make sure you come back alive. You must! Matthias: It's been a while since I've fought to protect a friend's back. My blood is boiling with youthful fervor! Claude: Risking your life to let allies escape, huh? That's the knightly spirit of Faerghus we admire.

When Matthias died in GW, he said he would be waiting for Rodrigue and Lambert on the other side. It's extremely similar to what Sylvain says when he dies in CF. And there were many parallels between Sylvain and his father in Hopes.

Felix: I can still stand… I can still wield my sword. I can still fight…! Tch… With injuries like these, I won't withdraw…! Sylvain: Felix! Stand down! Aww, look at you all beaten up… Leave this to us and fall back, okay? Felix: Ugh… You better come back. If you're planning to die, I won't forgive you, Sylvain!

When Dedue is low on health during the SB battle at Ailell, Dimitri begs him to fall back because he cannot afford to lose him. But when Felix is low on health and can no longer stand, Sylvain is the one who comes to his aid. Rodrigue made it clear that he expected his son to fight to the death. But because of Sylvain he retreats. His future with Sylvain was the reason he chose to keep on living.

Sylvain: Ah… Felix. I'm glad you're safe. Felix: You, always trying to shield me... Don't be reckless. Even though you're weak, you always, always...! Sylvain: It's fine as long as you're safe. As long as you're alive, I… Felix: You stupid bastard! Don't joke like that. If you ever dare to die, I won't forgive you…!

It's more obvious in Japanese, but what Felix said to Sylvain at the Valley of Torment was almost the exact same as their A+ Support. Sylvain probably knew he was going to die, just like Matthias did in GW. He was fighting to the death as he avenged Ingrid. Even though he wanted to die together with him, if it came down to it, Sylvain was always content to sacrifice his life to let Felix live. He died as a true knight so that Felix wouldn't have to. Felix had the type of bond with Sylvain that he was supposed to have with Dimitri.

Felix: …Well, I was prepared for it to come to this. With Father… and also with that boar, we'll eventually have to part ways.

Felix did not want to become a knight for many reasons. In Japanese, he used the phrase "袂を分かつ" (tasuki wo wakatsu). It literally means "to separate the sleeves" and is often used metaphorically. The imagery evokes the idea of two individuals going their separate ways, often signifying a farewell or divergence of paths. That is his entire motivation if he joins CF.

Felix: For the past five years, I've been fighting under the emperor. …I've slain quite a number of enemies. Now, I must look just like that boar from back then. …It's the face of a cruel beast that revels in blood and violence.

But if he takes that path, he becomes the very boar he hated.

Felix: …He's dead. I heard he was beheaded… But… I didn't see his head. If, by some chance, he's leading that army… Byleth: Are you truly ready to fight? Felix: …Don't underestimate me. Even if it's him, I'm prepared to kill.

In VW, Felix suspected that Dimitri was still alive all along. But he still chose to stay with the Alliance.

Felix: …I never truly understood his hatred and anguish towards the Empire. If it were me…could I have saved him? Could I have… stopped him?

Afterwards, he wondered if he could have saved him from dying like a wild boar. Even if he had stayed with the Kingdom, it wouldn't have made a difference. Only Byleth would have been able to stop him. Felix would have just died pointlessly at Gronder like everyone else. But there was no way for him to know that. In both routes, he suffers from regret and wishes he'd died alongside Dimitri. He is a lost soul, who lives only for the sword and fights with a will to die.

Felix & Sylvain (Non-AM) After the war, minor skirmishes continued throughout various regions in Fódlan. Felix, upon learning that there were battles still to be fought, chose to forsake his noble status and make a living as a swordsman. Over a decade later, he took on the role of a mercenary, and his employer turned out to be Sylvain, who had inherited the title of Margrave Gautier. The two of them were overjoyed to reunite, but their diverging paths meant that their fates would never intertwine further. After finishing his work, Felix left Sylvain's territory, embarking on another journey as a wanderer. It was a few years later when Sylvain received a sword that was unmistakably Felix's.

This is the ending you get if Felix uses his sword to cut a path to his ideal future. While he can eventually give up the sword and find some peace if he has a female partner, his paired ending with Sylvain is the single most tragic ending in the game. Despite having a chance reunion, Sylvain is unable to save him. While the reason for this is never stated, the Japanese ending offers a clue.

The phrase used for “diverging paths” in Japanes is "道を違えた" (michi o tagaeta). It also translates to "took the wrong path" or "strayed from the path." It implies making a mistake or deviating from the correct course of action, moral path, or intended direction. It emphasizes the idea of going astray or making an error in judgment.

Sylvain's arc was about realizing that his Crest did not decide his fate, he did. After Felix left him, he probably settled down with a random noblewoman, had children, and it was simply too late for him to start a new life with Felix. Because Felix went astray and chose an immoral path, it caused Sylvain to make a big mistake. Felix follows in Glenn's footsteps and dies alone, full of pain and regret. And I can't imagine that Sylvain's fate was any better when Felix's sword arrived on his doorstep. He probably became the next Wall of Ice. They can only be together in AM and their non-AM ending strongly emphasizes how that was the intended path for them.

Felix: Why did they die while I lived? …Even now, there's not a day I don't question. But I'm not as spoiled as you. I'll take my regrets to the grave. There are more important things to me now.

The localization did a faithful job with the Dimitri/Felix A-Support. It's just that, in Japanese, there was a line about how Felix would take any regrets to his grave. It was very similar to his A-Support with Rodrigue in Hopes. In AM, Rodrigue dies, and Felix never got to apologize for punching him. He even left a note in the confession box about that. But in Hopes, he could get closure with his father.

Felix and Dimitri's relationship was FAR from healthy. It probably would be much better for both of them to sever their rotten relationship once and for all and walk separate paths in life. And their A-Support was written with the idea that, if this was the final time Felix spoke to Dimitri one-on-one, that would be okay. He said what he needed to say and wouldn't have any regrets. Dimitri could sense his underlying compassion and was content to leave it at that.

Flayn: But isn't there a future beyond that where Felix can avoid taking lives? Felix: …It's fine to dream of such a future, but I don't belong there. After all, I've been swinging a sword ever since I was born. ...Swordsmen are troublesome creatures. Fighting for peace, yet losing our purpose when peace finally arrives. Flayn: …Haha, if that's the case, you need not worry. […] If you felt like you lost your purpose in life, surely you would find a new purpose. It's not like you to fear loss. Felix: …...… You really are something, aren't you? Huh… I've never even thought about it. Maybe there is such a way of living after all. ...I'm starting to get interested. Perhaps swinging a sword for the future you dream of wouldn't be such a bad idea.

One way Felix resembled his father was that he couldn't live without a great purpose in life, and if he lost that purpose, he'd need something to fill the void. He needed a future to look forward to during peacetime. He was intrigued by the idea that one day he could chop wood, fruits, and vegetables instead of people.

Felix: The millennium festival? Talking about festivities at a time like this, you're as carefree as ever, huh… Sylvain: No, no. While it's a celebration, it's also a political gathering where rulers from various countries gather. It wouldn't hurt to think about the future, right? You can't stay uninvolved either. Felix: Well, that may be true. For now, focus on the battle at hand, Sylvain. If you die here, there won't be any millennium festival or anything. Sylvain: Oops, a valid point! Well then, for now, I'll quietly prepare for the deployment. Felix: Do that. Don't neglect your preparations and end up losing your life in some trivial place.

He wielded a sword because he was afraid of loss. Getting stronger would not fulfill him the same way a relationship could. His non-AM endings really emphasize the fact that the sword was just filling the void of a partner.

Felix: I find it easier to wield a sword than to hold a woman's hand.

But personally, I think he was the only gay character in 3H (well, other than perhaps his father). He got along well with women, but I was struck by how unromantic his paired endings with them were. He is the only man to propose to Byleth at the training grounds instead of the Goddess Tower. He spends a lot of time apart from her in their paired ending and is happiest exchanging swords instead of words when they actually do see each other. It felt more like he was replacing the loss of his brother through her than really being in love.

In his ending with Flayn, he continues to wield a sword as Dimitri's right-hand and only gives it up in favor of a quiet life on his estate when Dimitri dies. When he marries Mercedes, Bernie, or Dorothea, he becomes the king's right-hand and travels across Fódlan with Dimitri. He spends a lot of time away from Bernie. Dorothea has to accompany him on the battlefield to get quality time.

His ending with Leonie is not romantic and they just become drinking buddies. In his ending with Ingrid, he gives up the sword when he's injured and does not regret it. The only two female paired endings that don't mention warfare, swords, or knighthood are Annette and Lysithea. But it felt like the joke was that he actually fell in love with he singing, not Annette herself. And with Lysithea, she dies young and leaves behind her cake recipe.

Felix: You're not cut out to be a knight. How about you start seriously looking for a marriage partner? Ingrid: …What's that supposed to mean? Felix: Just as I said. Ingrid: I understand that you dislike things like chivalry and knightly pride. Just because of that, you keep running away from your duty as the heir of the house… You have no right to speak so high and mighty.

In Japanese Felix did tell Ingrid to go find a husband, but he used the word "結婚相手" (kekkon aite) instead of "夫" (otto) which means husband. "Kekkon aite" refers to someone whom you are seriously considering as a potential marriage partner but may not be formally engaged to or married yet. He wasn't telling her to go find the next man to offer a huge dowry and immediately get engaged.

He was saying that she would be better off dating, finding a serious partner that she loves, and eventually getting married. He did not say this in a disparaging way. He didn't want her to end up like Glenn nor did he want her to blindly follow the orders of a king who he considered bloodthirsty. He genuinely thought that being a wife would be a safer and more fulfilling lifestyle than being a knight.

Dimitri & Felix Dimitri formally succeeded to the throne of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus after his coronation, dedicating his lifetime to the governance and reform of Fódlan. Behind many of his achievements stood Felix, the Duke of Fraldarius, who sometimes acted as the king's right-hand man and at other times served as his advisor. Bound by a lifelong steadfast friendship, it is said that Felix mourned more intensely at Dimitri's passing than even the queen herself. The tale of their lives, akin to the legendary Lion King Loog and his sworn friend Kyphon, will be passed down through the ages as one of the stories that adorn the history of Fódlan.

In any case, Felix was projecting his own feelings onto Ingrid. If you pair her with Dimitri, it says she supported him as a wife and queen, but still insisted on fighting on the front lines in battle like a knight. If you pair Felix with Dimitri, it says he mourned the king's death more than the queen. Ya know, the wife. Chivalry promotes homoromantic social bonding among men. Rodrigue had a wife and kids, but he devoted his life to a married (presumably heterosexual) man. He used his position as "sworn friend" of the king to fill the void of an actual gay relationship. He lost his reason for living when Lambert died. In this ending, Felix ends up following in his father's footsteps. I don't think that's a satisfying ending for him.

Dimitri/Felix: "彼らは生涯固い友情で結ばれ" means "They were bound by a lifelong strong friendship." This phrase emphasizes the steadfast and enduring nature of their friendship. The word "固い" means "firm" or "strong," implying a friendship that is resilient and unwavering. Sylvain/Felix: "生涯無二の友であり続けた" means "They remained lifelong inseparable friends." This phrase emphasizes the unique and unparalleled nature of their friendship. The term "無二" means "unparalleled" or "incomparable," suggesting that their bond was extraordinary and unmatched.

I would also like to compare the descriptions of friendship in the Dimitri/Felix ending to the Sylvain/Felix ending. Both phrases convey a deep sense of friendship, but they emphasize slightly different aspects. Dimitri/Felix emphasizes the enduring strength and solidity of their bond. In terms of depth, Sylvain/Felix carries a stronger sense of exclusivity and uniqueness in their friendship.

The term "無二" was also used in Ingrid's AM paired endings with Ashe and Dedue. Her arc was about belonging to herself, not a man. She wanted to go down in history as a knight, not as a wife. For that reason, her AM paired endings with Ashe and Dedue don't specify her marital status. But the writers still wanted to suggest that she and her male partner were possibly lovers. Since it can also mean “inseparable” in certain contexts, "無二" was chosen for their bond.

Felix & Sylvain (AM) Felix, who succeeded his deceased father Rodrigue as Duke Fraldarius, and Sylvain, who inherited the title of Margrave Gautier after his father's passing, both devoted their efforts to the restoration and prosperity of the Kingdom. Even amidst their busy days, their friendship never wavered. Felix would occasionally show up at the Gautier family's residence and insult Sylvain, and Sylvain, in turn, would visit the Fraldarius house frequently, solely to tease Felix. Throughout their lives, they remained inseparable friends, and there is even an anecdote that they coincidentally passed away on the same day.

In this ending, both men inherit their fathers' titles, but neither of them is forced to fulfill their unwanted patriarchal duty. Their bond is characterized by mutual devotion, not chivalry or bloodline. Their relationship effectively goes back to how it was when they were kids. He apparently made peace with Sreng as Sylvain is free to go where he wants and spends his life with someone he loves, not just someone he can have Crest babies with. While he becomes a famous cheater in his solo ending, and a renowned lord in his others, here historians remember him most for his closeness with Felix.

Like Rodrigue, Felix wished to live and die alongside another man. When paired with most of his wives, he becomes the king's right-hand, a role that would require him to wield a sword and travel. But not in this ending. He stays in Fraldarius territory so he can be available for frequent surprise visits. Sylvain was his true purpose in life, and neither can live without the other. And to me, that is the ideal ending to both of their character arcs. The Shield of Faerghus died like a true knight. "The Shield's Successor" died like a true wife.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #sylvix #fe3h meta #this is my otp from 3h #this meta is a doozy and looong #sorry i just had a lot of thoughts about them #and i really wanted to delve into their psychology #because they are such fascinating characters

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lin-sterling · 1 month ago

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the TRUTH about Bohemian breasts

(this is a wildly unhinged shitpost, I'm very sorry)

harken to me, gentle brethren!

gather around and hear my words, for I am the Augur of Boobs, forsaken by actual god but blessed by heathen spirits of old!

our beloved kingdom of Bo(ob)hemia stands upon the precipice of doom, for I fear the breasts may have been knocked out of balance.

the ancient prophecy has been revealed to me:

and the runes have foretold ⁠that the dark and the cold shall be bound by the breasts of the three: one as old as a tree, second with hair like a bowl, and the third one is shitting with gold

Boobhemia can only prosper and thrive when the three breast-bearers are safe and alive and remain where they must!

right fuck it, I can't keep writing like this. so here's the boob lore, the blore if you will (and even if you won't)

Gnarly is the chosen of the Big Natural Spirits, who we shall call "booblins" for clarity. he's never asked for this, he wasn't born with it but he was chosen and received the big naturals. he is the greatest of the three, the beloved of booblins, the only one who truly earned the blessing.

Otto von Boobgow was born this way (Bergow's Buxom Bosom gene runs in his family) but we've decided that the booblins are somewhat sus about him and so they can take their blessings away from him. so Otto has to appease them by wearing silver jewelry and running around Trosky naked during full moon else the booblins become displeased with him. (proof is right in the game, Ulrich mentions doing this too, and that's because he wants boobs for himself but he is unworthy). Otto is jealous of Gnarly's situation because Gnarly doesn't have to do anything to keep his blessings.

also, Otto calls his tits the Maiden and the Crone. and you can mOTTOrboat them if he lets you. and his castle is named Titsky

Dry Devil has always been jealous of Otto

like come on, Hynek, you have the least calm tits I've ever seen, why would you even bring up busts

his story is that he got really drunk once and did the whole running naked in the woods thing never believing that would work. but after his bender he woke up with his head buried in some tits and it turned out those were his own.

and that's how the boob guardians have finally come to Boobhemia as has been foretold

and look, it all makes sense!

that's why Radzig and Hanush wanted Bergow's support specifically. they want his assets. he shakes them - and things happen.

and that's why Otto sent Hashek to Semine, not because of Olda and his shit, he wanted to take out Gnarly and plunge Bohemia into chaos!

and if you think on it some more? guess how Otto escaped captivity in Suchdol. he smuggled a lockpick in his cleavage and then yeah, he bounced! on his tits right out of the window. and then he floated in the moat!

and chamberlain Ulrich's kink that everyone's refusing to talk about? Otto's big naturals. he makes wenches dress up like Otto and spank him. because Otto is irresistible but unavailable to him. and when Otto wants to punish him for his misdeeds HE COVERS UP THE CLEAVAGE.

btw Ulrich's job responsibilities for Otto include boob window adjustments and rolling Otto out of bed every morning.

and you think that Otto falls off his horse during "For Whom the Bell Tolls" because of his wound but you're WRONG. the breasts grew too heavy and he fell. he even says later that he's lucky to be able to sit. can you imagine the state of his spine?

so, what was I yapping about with the prophecy? here it is:

we know for a fact that von Bergow and Dry Devil are fine by the end of the game but WE NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO GNARLY OR WE'RE ALL DOOMED

and there's a chance he is confirmed dead if you side with Hashek in Semine and then we're doomed for sure, the kingdom of Boobhemia will hang so low you won't even see the sun shine

spread the word everyone, for triumph, tits and truth!

@audentesfortunaiuvatt and I have been bouncing haha this abomination back and forth for a couple of weeks now and we couldn't keep it in any longer

godforsaken sources of our ahem inspiration. that'd be reddit, of course, blame them

heinous reddit post 1 | heinous reddit post 2 | bonus heinous reddit post

Gnarly's bountiful form was slapped in photoshop in 1 minute by yours truly, my eyes and fingers still ache and burn from this sacrilege

conclusion? my life is in shambles

extra miscellaneous nonsense that came up during our unhinged ramblings:

idea for a birthday party theme: birthday person dresses as chamberlain Ulrich, everyone else dresses up like Otto with big naturals and then birthday person takes shots from every cleavage

Ulrich is definitely into being cucked and he is a proud subscriber of weekly magazine for weak cucks "Cuck Weakly"

Hans gives Henry a hansjob

there are two types of oral sex: addering and henrying. addering is all about precision, whilst henrying is about getting in there with your whole hungry hungry mouth

Ulrich wanted to die thinking of Otto's big naturals but at the start of the attack he was actually talking to Henry and Hans so he died thinking of their pizzles. which is alright

ghost boobs are called ghoobs and they appear at night on marshes, don't follow the orbs into the swamps

#kingdom come deliverance #kingdom come deliverance 2 #kcd2 #shitpost #conspiracies #fan theory #this is serious you guys #cursed #please don't banish me from the fandom #but i understand if you think i have to go #i shall accept my punishment #sterling shitposts

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jadeddangel · 1 year ago

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SORRY I DIDNT SEE THAT-

Rather than a smut could you make a platonic Carmilla x fem teen reader? The reader is a young overlord and is usually stoic and stuff, but breaks down and has a panic attack one day? Thank you and sorry for the last request!😅

Yea it's not a problem, if you ever want to request stuff I'm open and I'm ok with writing more suggestive things however.

Carmilla x Teen!Reader

"Sometimes walls break.."

Warnings: panic attack, talk of violence/death, possible ooc Carmilla

You had been an overlord for a little over 2 years. You had died when all the shit with covid. You really hadn't expected your death to expect you in the afterlife, but it did.. you still couldn't smell or taste certain things. Your body would still be shaky, and you would have really bad coughing fits, and you were always cold, but I guess that wouldn't be so bad in hell.

Here you were, you had come so far, learned not to show how you were hurting and how you were affected. You sat quietly on the other side of zestial watching velvette get all up in carmilla's face. You used the heels of your feet to push your chair back, making it scratch against the floor, making a loud noise. And suddenly, all eyes were on you, and you took a deep breath. "This meeting is going nowhere, so if you have nothing to share velvette, you can leave." You said sternly, your eyes narrowing in on velvette's figure.

Velvette let out a sharp breath through her nose and smirked, looking at you walking across the table and crouching in front of you. "Awwe you got something to hide like that old wench?" Velvette mused, raising an eyebrow. "I have nothing to hide and neither does she, now I won't repeat myself, if you have nothing to share, I highly suggest you leave the fucking meeting" you repeated leaning against the palm on your hands that were resting on the table. You stayed level-headed despite your thoughts becoming clouded with the anger of being accused.

Velvette let out a hum standing up. "Fine, you old hags are boring," she grumbled, walking out of the room. You calmly sat down. "Unless we have anything to share, I think this overlord meeting is over," you spoke up, looking at carmilla for support in your statement . Carmilla cleared her throat "yes I agree the next meeting will be the week after the extermination, be safe," carmilla said, dismissing everyone. Zestial stood from his seat putting his hand on carmilla's shoulder as everyone left, "we should talk thou needs seems..." zestial hesitated a bit, you stood up pushing your chair in carefully, "you're a bit pissy carmilla and something tells me velvette was correct about you knowing what happened to the angel." You spoke up "you and zestial can go ahead and talk about it I'll wait in here"

Soon, a week had passed, and it was extermination day. You had been dreading it and had chosen to stick with zestial and carmilla. You and zestial were sitting together drinking tea. You were quiet just sipping from your cup. Zestial looked up at you. "How doth the tea tastes? Doth it live up to thy colors?"(how does the tea taste? Does it live up to your standards?"). You looked up at zestial that was sitting across the table from you, you thought for a moment.. You couldn't really taste the tea, so you had to improvise. You remember him mentioning that it was an orange blend tea , "it has a nice citrus flavor," you said quite sure of yourself Zestial nodded, staying quiet, carmilla put a hand on your shoulder gently, "we need to talk.. about what velvette said.. about you hiding something, she stopped by with something. " carmilla spoke to you calmly. You could feel the anxiety coursing through your veins at those words, "Let's step aside, ok?" Carmilla said, grabbing your arm carefully. You nodded and set your tea cup down on the saucer quietly, your breath was shaky, your tongue felt like it was too big for your mouth, like your throat was swelling. You were getting tunnel vision as carmilla led you to her office, your feet were simply carring your body, you didn't feel like you were really there. Carmilla sat you down on her couch carefully. "Love, you need to breathe... you really need to breathe, " carmila said calmly, crouching down in front of you, rubbing your arms and gently trying to ground you, "tell me five things you can see.. ok?" Carmilla said carefully. You nod slowly, your mind taking a few minutes to compute with her words, "uhm.. you.... your desk.. the floor.. the couch.. " You looked around trying to find another object.. "The picture frame.." carmilla smiled and nodded."That's it.. and what color is the picture frame?" She asked sweetly, "it's black?" You asked suddenly confused, carmilla chuckled a bit "yea that's right.. are you feeling better?" You paused realizing she had forced you to calm down. "Yea.. yea I do..." you smiled at her a bit, "so uhm now I can ask this, what the fuck is covid?" Carmilla asked genuinely confused.

That extermination wasn't bad at all, you guys talked and she was really understanding, even after velvette shared how "weak" you were all over social media, carmilla almost opened a spot for a new member of the Vee's.

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rosemaryblossomworld · 1 year ago

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Fire in my blood

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚡 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍'𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐'𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍...

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚜𝚝, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙰/𝚗: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎! 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

"I don't understand why you're ignoring me? What have I done to you?" Y/n looked at her newfound husband, who stood with his back to her, trying to leave the chambers.

Aemond remained silent, he didn't want to talk to this...this...beautiful woman, amazing, inspiring and affectionate. No, if he fell under her spell again, like when he was a child, he would let the whole world fall at her feet, even if he had to kill his family to do it...

"I want us to respect each other in this marriage. I know you hate us. But please...let's try," there was a clever speech coming out of the girl's beautiful lips that made the young man's heart flutter.

"Respect? To those who arrived here after so many years and demand my brother's throne?" Aemond turned around to the girl, in her eyes he saw no hatred or irritation, still the same calm and gentle gaze.

"It's that throne again...What mom keeps telling me about the inheritance that you...when are you going to give up on him?" Y/n looked at the man confidently. Aemond was taken aback.

"Your mother hopes to get the throne, and when she dies, you will ascend to that throne," the boy continued. The girl rolled her eyes.

"I don't care about that throne!" exploded Y/N. "Okay, if you keep talking about it, I'm going to have to interrupt you. It's late and I'm tired," the girl got up from the padded chair and walked to the bed. She was no longer paying attention to her husband. Aemond hurried out.

They were longtime friends, the only bastard Strong had ever perceived and understood. She had always been on his side. But when they'd flown off to Dragonstone, things had changed drastically.

Since then, his mother had done nothing but say nasty things about Rhaenyra and her family. She especially tried to hurt her eldest daughter, and especially did so in front of Eamond, as she knew the boy sympathized with the girl.

And from then on, in the young boy's mind, the beautiful and intelligent Y/N turned into a whore and a doormat. But when they came back, that whole horrible image was gone. Because Y/n was calm, answering all of her mother's attacks intelligently. She was no longer that fidgety child, she looked like...Like a girl with all the weight of the world on her shoulders.

When Viserys announced the marriage of Aemond and Y/n, his heart fluttered for a moment. But then his mother's words began to enter his head again, painting Y/n as a spoiled wench.

The next day Y/n had lunch with Viserys, she knew she was his favorite because of the similarities between his dead wife and his daughter. He loved looking into Y/n's blue eyes that looked at him so tenderly as if Aemma was in front of him. Her voice was confident and loud, just like her wonderful mother's.

"Grandfather, how are you feeling?" asked Y/n holding the man's hand with her own, squeezing it lightly.

"I seem to be getting better, my flower," Viserys smiled.

"I am glad to hear that," Y/n smiled just as brightly and continued eating her meal, while telling the king something in parallel.

After lunch, the girl decided to take a walk in the garden and met her husband there, who was sitting under a familiar tree with his eye covered. The girl decided to sit next to him, which caused Aemond to twitch and look at her.

"I thought as a child that this garden was much bigger...and that tree was taller," the girl decided to speak up.

"That's because we were too small," hummed Aemond, covering his eye again.

"Yeah...you're right. You know, even if you hate me, you should know that I've always considered you a close friend," Y/N stood up so as not to disturb the prince, who was clearly not interested in talking. She took a couple steps and felt Aemond's hand on hers.

"I want you to know too...." began Aemond, but...

"Aemond!" came the Queen's annoyed and frightened voice, she quickly approached the pair.

"Your Grace," Y/n bowed her head.

"Son, you promised to have tea with me, come along," Alicent pretended not to notice the girl, took her son under her arm and led her away towards the castle. A couple of maids followed her while the others bid Laris Strong to go to his chambers and dine. Seeing the familiar man, Y/N wrinkled her face for a moment.

"No, I would like to speak to Princess Y/n alone," Larys cut off, the maids bowed and headed to follow the queen.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to get close to her!?" wailed Alicent as she and her son entered her chambers.

"I was just talking to her, or am I forbidden to do that too, Mother?" Aemond made a stern face; he was growing weary of his mother's excessive interference.

"I want you to understand that she is as much a whore as her mother! She will do anything to seduce you and turn you away from her family. I'm sure she didn't just do that to you," The Queen was getting too nervous, causing her to gibber.

"Didn't you love her, Mother?" asked Aemond, remembering how Alicent had spent his entire childhood cooing over the young girl. These memories came quite randomly, but the prince was startled by the expression on his mother's face for the first time.

"...I...it's in the past..." It was as if Alicent began to realize something. Y/n now looked like an exact replica of Rhaenyra, which confused the woman.

"What's going on? Y/n has always been kind to you, always finding compromises and always taking our side if people got unfair," The prince clenched his teeth, trying not to drift away from reality into a dream world where everything is good and wonderful, just like when he was a child.

"Larys...he said those things about her...that's why I want to protect you from her," the woman lowered her gaze.

"What did he say?" hearing the unpleasant name, Aemond turned his attention to his mother.

Alicent sighed heavily and recounted the rumors that Lord Larys Strong had reported. Those rumors were vile and filthy, the kind of rumors that made one want to vomit. The Queen said that young Y/n had been selling her body to various lords to gain support, to lure them to her side, it was said that the maids had seen some men leaving her room.

Aemond's face twisted. He knew it was a rumor, in his gut. Yes, they hadn't had a wedding night, they hadn't slept in the same bed since day one.

"And you believe him?" asked Aemond.

"I know you didn't have a wedding night. Laris said it was most likely Y/N who turned you down and manipulated you into not being in the same bed with you to keep the secret," began Alicent's reasoning.

"No, Mother, I was the one who left the bedroom first because I didn't want to see her," the prince admitted.

"What? But Larys..." the woman began.

"Larys is hiding something. Let's wait a little time, please let me get close to Y/n to find out," Aemond took his mother's hands in his own, they were cold and trembling slightly.

"I...I don't know...he's always been around...and...why?" the queen's veil began to fall from her eyes.

"As if you don't know... "the prince replied calmly.

"What did you want from me Lord Strong?" asked Y/N looking at the man carefully.

"You have grown, my princess, becoming such a beautiful woman," Larys chuckled.

"Thank you for your kind words, lord, but get right to the point," waved the princess away.

"You're quick on the uptake. Like those rumors about lords," limping, Larys walked on, sidestepping the girl.

Y/n knew about those rumors. It disgusted her to stand next to this man who had spread them.

"It seems the lord likes rowdy people too," the girl decided to add oil to the fire and tease the man. Larys looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"Bravo, princess, you've finally learned to snap back. And you always looked like a proper child, but anger doesn't suit you, how with such a bad temper do you want to take the throne?" smirked Larys, turning back to the girl.

"I don't know, but I'm sure I'll have help," Y/N was ready to play his game.

"Oh, and who is it?" the man frowned as he continued walking towards the castle, hearing the princess' quiet footsteps behind him.

"Well, certainly not you, uncle," the girl replied calmly. Laris stopped.

"What?" he turned around.

"You know, I wouldn't want an assistant like you. Putting someone else's parents on fire...that's too cruel," y/n replied quietly. "Be careful uncle, I won't forgive you for my father's death," the girl said the phrase quietly, beside the man, she walked past moving towards her chambers.

Larys clenched his fists. He should have brought fire to this family a long time ago. He smirked at the thought that ran through his head.

That evening passed like a blur. Y/n never left her chambers. Not even when the family gathered for dinner.

"Where is my y/n?" inquired Viserys, looking around at the rest of the family.

"She said she wasn't feeling well, father. She will join us tomorrow for breakfast," replied Rhaenyra, handing her sons the snack vessel.

The family chatted quietly amongst themselves. Until Helena abruptly stood up and then sat down at the table again, shaking her head.

"What is it, dear?" asked an agitated Alicent.

"Fire...Fire can't kill a dragon, why are they doing that?" Helena looked at her mother.

At that moment, the princess's personal maid ran in.

"Fire! Mistress, there's a fire in the room!" her terrified scream went through the whole family, it wasn't clear what was happening but everyone knew Y/n was in danger.

Green and Black ran down the hallway where other servants were running around with buckets of water. A servant led the way to the princess' private chambers, which were ablaze with bright fire. The knights who tried to break down the door couldn't even reach it. Servants were pouring water, trying to temporarily douse the flames.

Rhaenyra watched in horror at it all. She wanted to run in there, shake everyone off and break the door down. But Daemon held her back, also looking on in amazement at what was happening. Viserys shouted and commanded, rushing to go in, but his illness wouldn't let him, and neither would Alicent. She stared at the bright fire with mute shock.

"W...what happened?" The queen turned to the maid.

"After Princess Rhaenyra left Lady y/n's room. Lady ordered her to bring dinner to her chambers. She locked herself in and told me to knock when I arrived. I was delayed in the kitchen as the princess has a different ration at dinner and I had to go over the food," the maid said in one breath.

Aemond rushed to the door, ignoring his mother's cries; he needed to get there, to get through. Jace followed him, they kicked in the door and were thrown back by the flames. The rest of the knights and maids continued carrying water. Luke joined them.

Aegon stood off to the side, trying to take in the situation, but his drunken mind kept distracting him. Helena stood similarly off to the side, holding her head and turning away from what was happening. Baela joined in putting out the fire while Rhaena stood next to Rhaenyra and tried to calm her down, even though she was in a terrible state herself.

It took forever before the fire was put out. The sun showed on the horizon.

Rhaenyra pulled herself out of Daemon and Rhaena's arms, running into the room, she began to look around. A hope languished in her that the girl had gone out somewhere while her maid had excused herself. She looked from side to side, trying to find any sign. Slowly the family began to enter the room, where the stone walls were untouched and black ash from the furniture settled underfoot.

Rhaenyra stepped on something, she carefully picked up the object, her hands trembled and she slowly turned to her family. In her hand dangled the Valyrian princess necklace. Rhaena and Baela aghast, covering their mouths with their hands and huddled against each other. Daemon clamped his eyes shut and turned away, as did Jace. There were tears in Luca's eyes, but he tried not to show them. Alicent pressed her lips together, trying not to scream, she left it to Rhaenyra, who screamed with grief. She screamed and sobbed, instilling chilling fear and grief into everyone's souls.

"My daughter! My treasure! My life!"

Aemond couldn't believe it. Sitting in the library the evening before dinner he planned his conversation with the girl. He decided to talk to her as she had requested. He planned where he would start and what questions he would ask. But that was not going to happen. He clenched his fists, he could feel his nails digging into his skin until it bled. He tried not to sob.

Suddenly, something stirred in the corner of the room where the bed should be. A figure stood up, and walked toward the family on shaky legs. This figure was covered in ashes and cinders, it was naked, with bits of clothing hanging from its body somewhere.

Rhaenyra cried out again, running up to the figure and wrapping her arms around her, hiding her from the eyes of many.

"Gods!" she begged, kissing her daughter's dirty face.

Daemon hurried over and covered the girl's body with the cloak the knight had given him. The family felt relief that gave all the weakness in their bodies. Alicent exhaled convulsively, as did Viserys. Luka, Jace, Rhaena, and Baela exhaled the same way and were no longer crying from grief but from joy. Even Helena showed herself in the doorway, smiling slightly.

"Idiots!" shouted Princess y/n sharply and angrily, which startled some of the family. "They dared to think that fire would kill a dragon!!! A dragon! Fools!"

Y/N felt anger and hatred for the first time, her eyes blazing like the fire that was in this room. Her anger was also transferred to her faithful dragon Goldrut, who roared and let out screams that shook the castle walls.

And the perpetrator of these actions cowered in his chambers, biting the skin around the fingers on his hand. His plan had failed, and he didn't know when they would come out on him. And he knew they would.

Y/n sat in her new chambers while the hustle and bustle was outside the door. The girl sat quietly and drank her tea. She had been washed and changed and the princess felt like a new person.

The door opened and she was ready to see one of her brothers or sisters, but it turned out to be her husband. She wanted to get up, but Aemond ran over to her and sat on his knees in front of the girl's feet and snuggled into them. Y/N was surprised, but ended up placing her right hand on the man's head, stroking him gently.

The girl had known of his affection for her since she was a child, he was like a knight when he protected her from Aegon's attacks and when he bragged about his skills. He was such a sweet boy and had grown into such a handsome young man.

She was glad to marry him, even though she knew he'd been taught to hate her and her family. But sometimes she caught those admiring and loving glances from him.

"What is it? You're so gentle tonight, husband," y/n chuckled lightly.

"I thought I had lost you," the young man muffled.

"Wouldn't you be glad of that? You hate me, don't you," the girl calmly replied, teasing Aemond.

The prince raised his head abruptly and looked at her with that wistful look.

"I wanted to talk to you this evening. I wanted to tell you many things and ask you many things!" hastened Aemond's reply.

"Why so sudden?" inquired the princess.

"I want so much to apologize for my behavior," spoke the young man equally calmly.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that! I was afraid your hatred would be far worse than your silent attitude," the girl grinned, and Aemond lowered his gaze.

"I know who did it and Rhaenyra knows too. They're checking the validity of the information now and looking for proof," the prince replied, rising from his knees and sitting down in the chair opposite.

"I know, too. That man didn't seem to like what I said," Y/N hummed, pouring herself some tea.

"You should have been careful with him. He messed with my mother's head, she always loved you, but after all the incidents, he started saying nasty things about you," Aemond continued.

"He spread such foul rumors about me that it made me sick to listen to them," the princess exhaled.

"We will destroy him," Aemond promised.

"I hope so," Y/N smiled.

There were whispers about Princess Y/n's abilities, just as the girl herself had assumed. Now the court was respecting her, there was no doubt that she was a true Targaryen child.

The instigator was found and brought before the king and the other lords, Larys Strong felt doubly destroyed. The death penalty awaited him.

Aemond and Y/n had grown closer in the days since. And managed to fall in love with each other again.

In history this moment had the clearest description, all the heirs of the Targaryen family honored and respected the girl who discovered this ability for other people.

Now the Targaryens knew for sure that there was a fire in their blood, a fire that could not simply be extinguished.

A/n: well, somehow...written this fanfic in the fall...and I forgot about it 👌🏻

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond fic #prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #x reader

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