Reader Pov - Tumblr Posts

A comforting scene with Echo

There's fluff ahead. I hope you like it <3

<•>

Rain falls thunderous outside as you watch it batter the viewport of the Havoc Marauder's cockpit. You don't remember the name of the planet Tech rattled off hours ago before the ship left hyperspace. You've been to so many with them now, you don't always make an effort to keep track.

You do remember him telling you about the nasty weather, though, and you stare at its ferocity now while you tuck your knees up to your chest, stockinged feet braced up on the edge of the chair.

As pretty as it is with the strangely muffled lightning flashes illuminating everything in constant, flickering wash of silver-blue, it's keeping you from being able to take a walk outside and get some fresh air. The ship is stuffy, cramped to begin with and currently resident to seven people, including yourself. After how the mission for Cid went, you've had a particularly hard last few days, even if things ended up turning out alright.

The memories still sit with you, like an uneasy, cold fist of discomfort settled in the pit of your stomach.

Everyone else is asleep, like you should be. Your makeshift hammock hangs limp and empty at the end of the hall, strung just out of the way of Omega's room that takes up the gunner position. You can hear their soft snores and feel the quiet lull of dreaming people that hangs in the air.

One of them turns over in their bunk, judging by the soft creak and shuffle of fabric. When a metalic tink sounds off next, you wonder who got up, and reach out with a finger to push the console's edge and turn the chair.

A pale face immediately looks up at the movement of you peeking down the hall, and you see Echo sitting on the edge of his bunk, feet planted on the floor. The hull is barely illuminated to simulate night, small spots of brightness stationed periodically along the edges of the floor and significant corners. The lights glint dully on the edges of Echo's cybernetic implants.

He looks surprised to see you awake, leaning forward to be able to better see the empty hammock at the other end of the ship with a glance. You offer a tiny wave as Echo looks back, and aren't terribly surprised when the soldier quietly gets up. He takes care to move quietly down the ship, his mechanical limbs inaudible with the background noise of the Marauder's passive electronic systems that remain online even as you all sleep, and the less-so-passive ground security protocol that was engaged before lights out.

"Hey," you greet quietly, barely breathing the words. You know Echo will hear you, and though Hunter sleeps with earplugs, you always do your best to take extra care to not make noise when he's trying to sleep.

"Thought I was the only night-owl, after Tech," Echo answers just as softly, his left hand turning a chair by the backrest towards himself as he takes a seat, still looking at you. "Can't sleep?" he wonders.

You almost forget to vocalize your answer, too distracted studying the lines on his face, the slight stubble that's been growing in since his last shave yesterday, and the bags under his eyes.

"You don't look like you've slept a wink."

Echo's shoulders jump a little, like he's been caught doing something, and your heart tumbles over itself as he looks away. Though he's staring at some point off to the right and down, it doesn't hide the haunted look in his eyes.

Echo turns his elbows and splays his fingers like he's about to steeple his fingers together, only to go stiff when his only hand touches empty air. He straightens in his seat uncomfortably. You're burning to say something, do something, but he looks like he's working out what words to say. You give him all the time he needs to answer.

"A lot of things don't come as easy as they used to," Echo admits when he finds his voice. He doesn't meet your gaze, not even when you quietly say his name, until you stand up and take the few short steps to bring yourself to his side.

Warm, honey-gold eyes turned a pale silver by the flashes of lightning, finally meet yours. He looks so lost, more than you've ever seen let slip through his careful guard. Always keeping so busy, so focused, keeping ahead of his problems until they catch up at the end of the day when the world slows to a stop, and says it's time to sleep.

Your offer is silent; his acceptance is immediate, and Echo practically jumps out of his seat to accommodate.

You say nothing as his mechanical elbow digs into your softer ribs while you wrap your arms around his broad chest, which proves much more comfortable to hold without his armor on. The hard ridge of his artificial respiratory system's access unit presses uncomfortably against your chest, while his natural arm crosses behind your back.

Where his natural body presses against yours, he feels warm and solid. The metal provides a strange contrast of hard, cool ridges.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask, rubbing soothing circles on the man's back as he wraps himself around you, burying his face in your shoulder.

You feel his head shake an emphatic 'No,' as his grip tightens.

You make a soft noise of comfort, relaxing against him as you hug. Echo takes a deep, shuddering breath, then surprises you by speaking, after all.

"I saw them," he says in a hoarse whisper.

"Saw who?" you ask tentatively, when he doesn't immediately continue.

"All of them, every one on the field, in the trenches, my-- My brothers, my friends, e-everyone..." he whispers.

He's shaking harder, and something wet plops against your skin before sliding down your neck, raising goosebumps as it goes.

You don't know much about Echo.

You know he was rescued from something pretty awful, and you know it has something to do with his cybernetics, but more than that, you never felt it was proper for you to inquire about it.

You do so now, gently asking him questions, trying to gauge the scope of the issue and put things together in a cohesive story as he rattles off errant details in no particular order. Sometimes, he tells you about the face of a specific cloned brother he recognized before something happened to them.

Other times, Echo tells you something that makes bile rise in your throat, particularly when he says it so off-handedly, it's like he's trying to be flippant about it.

But you're not.

Your confusion of how he could have been in so many battles, so far apart, as you realize he's been naming different war fronts, finally drives you to ask point-blank what this 'Techno-Union' did to him that forced him to experience such awful things.

"They used me as a computer program to predict battle algorithms; they're the ones who installed my hardware."

It's the most clear his quiet voice has been this entire conversation, wrapped up in your arms in the cockpit as he lets his hidden wounds bleed clean, and you have an immediate gut-punching suspicion that the even tone of voice comes less from calm, and more from a fierce detachment of what he's even speaking about. Like saying the words in such a simple, understated way can make what happened less horrific, less raw.

You let him straighten as he suddenly loosens his grip on you to lift his head up. Having assumed that Echo's eyes would be far away and distant like earlier, you're caught off guard by their intensity as he studies your face with concern.

You're not the one who jus--

You jump when his thumb brushes against your cheek, swiping away a tear.

"I'm sorry," he says gently, voice cracking. "I shouldn't have unloaded so much on you, you don't have--"

"Shut up," you whisper, more eloquent words failing you in your hasty need to stop him from withdrawing. "It's okay, Echo. I'm--" you stutter, realizing his hand is still on your cheek.

Echo's eyes drop fractionally, and quite suddenly, the small, private atmosphere of the cockpit you'd been sharing takes on a whole new weight and depth.

"I'm... I'm just so horrified at what they did you you," you finish, but your voice is trailing off as Echo's gaze doesn't shift. He doesn't answer you for several long, agonizing moments, and you feel your cheeks start to warm when he deliberately brushes his thumb against your cheek again, taking his time to trace the features of your face. His hand shifts, scooting a little further over your neck as long, strong fingers cup the shape of you.

"You never told me why you couldn't sleep tonight," Echo murmurs, clearly ready to change the subject. He's standing strong and confident again, a powerful posture you've noticed seems born and bred into him and all his brothers, and your heart does this funny flip. He's been baring his heart to you and unloading his burdens for some time, so you have almost -- almost -- zero inclination to encourage him to keep talking.

It's not something that can all come out in a single sitting.

"I, uh...."

You like the change in his eyes as they practically shine with a slightly deviant gleam to them, and a small smile tugs at Echo's lips, before drawing itself across his handsome features.

"You, uh...?" Echo repeats, his smile growing wider.

"Yeah," you answer on reflex, blushing harder with embarrassment as Echo's eyes dance with laughter.

You can't even be mad about your own squirming; it's so nice to see him looking happy again, especially after the sorrow and grief you just watched him struggle through, and know he still holds heavy on his shoulders.

"I mean," you stammer, just barely remembering to keep your voice hushed for Hunter's sake, "that I, um, yeah, I have trouble sleeping sometimes. I get... cold," you hedge.

Maker, you're not going to try and explain to him that you just have a hard time sleeping alone in bed, when you grew up used to puppy-piling with your four younger siblings and, later, your Vekolves, two over-enthusiastically protective canines you'd raised from puppies. You still miss the weight of their warm, scaley bodies cuddling up to you at night.

"Cold?" the soldier questions, furrowing his brows. The ship is kept at a constant, even temperature.

You have no idea how Echo sorts it out, but maybe something shows on your face as you glance down the hallway towards your lonely hammock, because his eyes suddenly soften.

Or, maybe he's just been overhearing you talk with Omega about your life before joining the Bad Batch, because he nails it right on the head.

"Miss your family?" he asks quietly.

"...yeah," you admit, looking down. You let him tip your chin back up, and take in his breathtaking smile. "I've never been good at sleeping alone."

He just revealed wounds to you that no one should ever have to suffer in the first place, and here he is smiling at you so warm and gently.

"I've got an idea," Echo suggests. Though that earnest warmth remains, you catch a sudden mischievous cast to his expressive features. "Come on."

You think he means 'come closer,' so you step towards him, but he moves at the same time you do, dropping his hand to your shoulder before he slides his fingers down your arm, and wraps them around your wrist. Echo leads you down the narrow aisle, where his brothers sleep on their bunks.

You cast a long glance at Hunter as you slip past, noting with relief the soft, audible snores and his peaceful, sleeping expression.

Echo stops at his bunk, lets go of your arm, then gently places his hand to your back, fingers splayed as he gestures with his scomp-link prosthetic.

"Space enough for two?" he suggests, not quite hiding the hopeful sound in his voice.

<•>

Hunter opens his eyes with a jerk to consciousness that momentarily disorientates him, his gaze immediately looking towards the source of disturbance that yanked him from a rare, good dream.

Something about Omega and Wrecker playing a game in some sunny field, far from the war and strife strewn through the galaxy.

He blinks, not sure he's seeing things right, then nearly sits up with surprise as he registers that, yes, he is seeing right, and that's an Echo curled up in his bunk, sound asleep, with you wrapped in his arms and snoring like an asthmatic bantha on his chest.

Hunter stares at you both.

He's never heard you snore. Not once.

And he's never heard Echo's heartbeat sound so utterly peaceful, a low, gentle thrum that harmonizes with the idle whirr of his prosthetics. More than that, is the way the soldier's face has for the first time since joining their team, relaxed into something truly peaceful.

So peaceful, there's actually a little bit of drool escaping from Echo's slack jaw where his lips part a bit, and Hunter smirks, wondering how you'll react to the wet spot on your hair in -- he frees an arm from the blankets to check his wrist -- less than an hour.

Warm floods his chest as he smiles, taking in the scene for a few moments longer, before he drops his head back onto his pillow and sighs deeply.

With less deliberation that perhaps he should be using, Hunter gives in, and lifts his vambrace up to tap a few buttons.

Two more hours, a generous enough gift as he saves the new alarm setting, then rolls over to go back to sleep.

I have never heard this term POV trap before coming to Tumblr.  You are supposed to empathize with the point of view character in some way it is an exercise in building emotional intelligence.  Look into Reader Response Theory (The theory maintains that textual meaning occurs within the reader in response to text and recognizes that each reader is situated in a particular manner that includes factors such as ability, culture, gender, and overall experiences.)  This is a natural reader response and there is no such thing as a POV trap, people are just uncomfortable with their own reactions to the text...

I think we (humans) in general need to get used to the idea that sometimes life is uncomfortable, ugly and imperfect (most of the time) and that everything is not on it's face good or evil. WE are not reading to find the good guys. We are reading to open ourselves up to new experiences, all of them not necessarily positive, so that we train our brains both emotionally and intellectually for the life we are living.

I think most people just get deceived by the "pov trap" so they think Tyrion is some underdog poor boi "he was in AGOT" but actually he is very dark inside, and honestly one of the most disgusting and disturbing pov characters, his behaviour towards Sansa is just.... Also the fact he wants to rape Cersei so badly like yeah i love his character but compares to other povs ? He is so misgonystic to the point of violence and sexual abuse. I think Cersei gets so much hate when her actions are NOT that different from Tyrion's.

yeah, the fact that tyrion has literally legions of fans, while cersei is so reviled, is definitely a prominent example of sexism clouding people's judgments. tyrion not only fantasizes about raping cersei in ADWD, but he also has frequent sexual thoughts in relation to her throughout the books - he often looks at her breasts, remarks on her beauty, one time he tells her something to the extent that if she fucks one brother she should also fuck the other etc there's an interesting but fucked up dynamic at play here, as tyrion is also jealous of jaime and really craves his family's affection, whichever shape it might take

this is v funny bc fans tend to separate tyrion from his siblings as "the good lannister" whereas i have the feeling that he would have been over the moon if cersei fawned over him and gave him the jaime treatment. lannisters truly are obsessed with each other.

tyrion/cersei is a much less analysed ship but here's another pairing for you freaks out there (affectionate) you're welcome

Just look at the size of this fucker in front of you. You've never seen anyone with this much developed mass in real life. You'd swear you were looking at a photo morph if he wasn't standing there in front of you. Is this even real life? Where is he? Where are you?...

Judging by his sparse attire and complexion you reason that he's getting tanned up before heading onstage. This is all so weird, but it's a fantasy come to life for a muscle fetishist like yourself. You feel so strange, but at home at the same time due to your vast voyeuristic appreciation of the sport. Even so, there's never been anyone like him.

His traps almost completely envelop his head flowing down to juicy wide lats, in turn, propping his superhuman arms up high. From forearm to forearm you reason that he is as wide as he is tall. Perched above his delts rise up and explode outward adding width to his profile along with his most impressive feature... his glutes. They were simply massive. Flexed like they were, the striated muscle looking powerful enough to pulverize anything that comes between them.

Holding this specimen on peak musculature development up were the largest pair of beach ball quads you had ever seen. They looked so impractical, spreading his stance wide while pushed together as closely as possible, but also so undeniably hot. There's more muscle in just one of them than a normal man's body.

Of course, the only thing left to ogle are his razor sharp calves, but as you move your gaze down, you notice your view is blocked by two comparatively tanned mounds. Odd, what could those be? You think to yourself. For the first time you go to move your head to scan across the room you're in to make sense of the obstacle. You immediately notice how much stiffer your movements are, only able to move your head a few inches to either side. To your sides, the mounds taper off before other ones flanking them rise up, their resolve outside of the limited range of motion and vision you have.

You recenter and ponder... what could this be? They almost look flesh-like, kinda like... no, it couldn't be, pecs?... Your pecs? You flex your chest, expecting nothing to happen. However, the mounds permanently in your field of vision spring into life, hardening and pulling tight, their muscle fibers exploding with power and definition. Your heart skips a beat, that or it's the first time you've even noticed your heart this whole time. Quickly, a feeling of electricity washes over you as you suddenly become aware of the freakish mass you yourself contain. Despite being unable to see it yourself, you can feel your cobblestone core and wing-like lats. Your arms and quads taking a similar wide stance due to their mass, and to cap it off your own perky muscle ass just waiting to be worshiped. You don't know how you know it, but you're sure you have at least 100lbs on this guy. The thought of you looking even more freaky than him sending your mind reeling.

"Alright gentleman, this way for your final coat," a woman with a clipboard announces, breaking you of your thought. The man in front of you slowly begins waddling forward. His mass in motion a sight to see. Quads thunderously rolling around each other while his mighty glutes tighten and relax in relation. His lats twist and stretch while using his upper body to counterbalance his mighty legs. A few steps in, you realize it's your turn to move. Making note of his movements, you replicate them the best you can knowing your body can't move like it used to. After a tentative step, you're in motion, the symphony of muscles dancing as you move intoxicating you immediately. You still don't know where you are or how you got here, but you were born ready for this next huge chapter of your life.

Pov: When your toxic trait is self-isolation and silent treatment but your love language is physical touch and quality time, like yes, "It's me, hi, I am the problem, it's me."

    Nightmare Headshot art + mini story

Here's a little story that I wrote with it! Kind of a reader pov, tell me how I did an if you enjoyed it!!

You were just walking peacefully in the City, when you were grabbed and pulled into an alleyway, with Poachers surrounding you. You could tell, because of the symbols seared into their bare shoulders. As a demon, you were still targeted by them, no beast, demon, or angelic being was safe from these humans. They weren't even allowed in the City! How did they get in?! You slowly back into the biggest one, a giant, burly man with a wicked face.

    "Look here, sweetheart, just come with us, an' we can all leave peacefully together. How's a weekly paycheck and a place to stay sound? "

    You knew what he really meant. Be a slave to him, and he would reward you. You, however, didn't want to go down like this.

    Not like this.

    "Sorry, I'm not becoming a prisoner today!"

    You shout, your hands glow with magic as you summon your blades and take a swing. You were never much of a fighter, but you weren't going to not fight this time. Your time away from practicing your blades hit you at full force as thean expertly grabs your wrist and knocks you into the ground, the blade scattering away from you. Taking the other you desperately attempt to slash, but that wrist was grabbed too, and the grip was so, so crushing. You drop that blade, too.

    You open your mouth to scream, when the man's face above you suddenly turns to shock. You blink as his grip loosens and he's lifted off of you, realizing that a silver diamond blade tip was pierced through his chest, and his side. Whoever had stabbed him was strong enough to sling the leading Poacher into the opposite wall, next to a dumpster. You look up at your savior, and you seem to recognize her. Her hair was cropped short, curling around her face, and outwards in the back. Her bright, angry red eyes glares from the man to his buddies, who snarl and draws their weaponry. The girl who's saved you, however, was faster. In a blink of an eye, one of the men chokes, and his headless body falls to the ground, his head rolling to stop in front of his friend's feet. The man looks around wildly, the girl had seemed to disappear. You hear another slash of those deadly swords, and he lets out a silent scream as he's- literally- cut in half, his body colliding to the ground in two pieces.

    You blink as the girl slides her swords back into their scabbards before they dissolve, then turns to you halfway and winks.

    "You okay there, darling?"

    You nod, then roll over to all fours to stand, stretching out your wings to help balance you as you get to your feet. As you face the girl, you falter. Her face was crossed with a look of sudden shock and sadness. Before, she was confident and quite the badass, but now she was nervous, and looked scared. You opened your mouth when you notice something that you hadn't before due to being on the ground. Her crown. Or, dare say, his crown. One you'd seen so many times when you were in hell. His Majesty. Your thankfulness suddenly turned to anger. Nightmare shies away, lowering his eyes to the ground.

    "I should... Ah... Leave..."

    You hear him mumble as he speed walks past you. No way, he wasn't getting away that easily. You spin around and grab his arm, yanking him back to face you. Your heart was pounding in your chest, that anger was threatening to bubble out-

    Then, you see his face so much more clearly. Once, it had been soft, and glowing, like a child's would. Now, he just looked... Exhausted. Dark bags hung under those wide, bright red orbs, and he looked so much more... Mortal. He didn't glow, like he had. As you slowly settle your anger, you remember that day the heavens and hell had fallen. You remember that... That thing that Nightmare had let into hell.

    Though, the more you looked back on it, the more sense everything was becoming. You remember how... Lonely the God had looked before it had showed up. Sure... He had his brother, and had friends, but you realize that they were almost always busy helping the two Gods with souls entering both Heaven and Hell. You remember how awkward he could be greeting his subjects, because that's all they saw him as. A ruler. None had never used his actual name, and you now recall how his ears would drop when he was addressed so formally, even by his friends.

    You also realize that the thing he had let in was the only one who didn't refer to him that way. It had probably tricked him. He was lonely, and it offered to be his friend.

   He's now looking away from you, his ears tilted down, and he flinches when you speak.

    "... Why did you let it in?"

    You had meant to be harsh, but it came out soft. His response confirmed your theory.

    "... I wanted a friend... To fit in."

    Your anger vanished. He didn't really have any of those, did he? You gently rub your hands against his arms for comfort, like you'd seen his brother do so many times when he was sad.

    " I... Was always so angry..." You whisper. "Now... Now I see."

    He looks at you, his face had softened into curiosity now. You give him a gentle smile, and bring him into a hug. He lets out a small squeak like a toy a dog would chew on. It was kind of cute. You feel him bring his arms around you, his body trembling, and you were now aware of the tears slowly streaming down your face. As you hear a soft, pitiful sob, you whisper to him.

    "... I forgive you, Nightmare."

    His breath hitches, and he suddenly starts bawling. You can't help but weakly chuckle. You hang on to him, waiting for him to calm down. You realize one more thing as you do. You'd expect him to smell like decay, or blood, or some other horrible smell, like, well... Death.

    He didn't.

    He smelled like lavender.

Dream Headshot art + Mini Story!!

Sliiiide.

    Scraaaaape.

    Sliiiiiiiiiide.

    You tremble behind the decrepit, old wooden table, that you know won't hold for long. When was this backup getting here?! You had taken a mission outside the City, to clear out a small village. The company was planning to rebuild the village, and set it up for orphaned children, so they had their own little rooms. You thought the idea was sweet and adorable, so you volunteered to help. Your entire crew was to kill the monsters roaming round, and get ready for the construction teams. The plan failed, however, when your crew was jumped by the Monsters, and now you were finding pieces of them... Well... Everywhere. So, you snuck into the nearest house to hide, but the thing was persistent, and followed you.

    You carefully step towards an open pantry, watching the Monster behind you shuffle around, with it's head swiveling back and forth on a rotted, spindly neck. You hold in a whimper and step closer to the closet, but you freeze as soon as you do.

    CRRREEEEAK-

    Damn it. Damn it all.

    You straighten, summoning your sword. The Monsters head sickly snaps on your direction with a loud popping noise.

    Ugh, disgusting.

    You did the one thing that was truly stupid, yet incredibly brave. You leap onto the table, brandishing your sword at the Monster, and slicing at it. It screeches and raises a claw, swiping down. You jump in time, and watch as the table gets destroyed below you, the monster was in a perfect position. Grabbing onto the chandelier that you had seen above the table beforehand, you slice it free and yell a battle cry as metal and your sword smash into it's skull. You grimace as the skull barely imitates the sound of bone cracking, and instead made an unfortunate sucking noise. You wrinkle your nose as you tug your weapon free, and look down. Your armor had thankfully saved you from being to hurt by the metal chandelier, and you wonder how the hell it had stayed in the rotted ceiling this entire time anyway. You didn't have time to ponder when you hear a loud gunshot, followed by two, three more.

    Backup!

    You breathe in relief and dart out the door of the house, when you get smashed to the ground by something powerful. A hand around your throat pinned you to the ground, and you grab at it, gasping for air. You feel cool metal against your temple. You manage to growl out,

    "Not... In-infected..!"

    The hand lessons it's grip and pulls away, and you sit up quickly, gasping for air. You blink up at the man before you, and immediately scramble to your feet and salute him with your left hand.

    "C-commander Dream, sir!"

    The (literally) flaming pheonix eyes you, and raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitch.

    "Glad to see your safe, cadet, and not infected, but that's the wrong hand for a salute."

    You flush red and quickly correct yourself.

    "S-sorry, Commander."

    Dream huffs softly, running a hand through his hair.

    "Don't worry about it, kid, and you don't need to be so formal. Especially out in the battlefield."

    You look around to find multiple monsters scattered about, oozing black blood from the holes in their heads and chest.

    " Is this..."

    "All of them? Yes."

    You relax, and peer up at the much taller Commander.

    "Did you come alone, sir- I-I mean, Dream..?"

    He nods, "I came as soon as I heard what the plans were. Look, I know this was something that was supposed to be done for good, but this place is full of scent markers from the Poachers. From the smell of it, marked a few hours before your team and you had arrived."

    Your stomach drops.

    "This was a trap. They knew what we were doing! How-"

    Dream waves a hand at you.

    " Don't. Do not tell anyone I indulged this information to you, either, but you're a smart kid, you'll figure it out."

    Your voice softens, " How would you know I won't babble..? "

    "I don't. "

    His sharp answer made you peer up at his face again, and you suddenly feel very small at the sharp scowl on his face.

    "If you do, I'll make sure those were your last words."

    You fidget, and nod. His scowl softens and he turns away.

    "Let's get you home. There's not much left of your team to take along, but if you wish to mourn them, I'll keep watch for more monsters."

    You look down at the ground. You knew a couple of these cadets from school, and you feel the tears welling in your eyes. Suddenly, you feel warmth coat you, and look up to see a fiery colored wing wrapped around you. Dream peers down at you with a look of understanding, and anger, you understood in return.

    You managed to return home the next day, thanks to Dream. Collapsing into your bed, you already planned your speech out for your team's funerals, but you had one more thing on your mind, and you couldn't even question it to anyone. Anger coursed through you at what Dream had told you about the Poachers. There was only one conclusion to that little issue.

    There's a mole in the Hunters Association.