#and you will be blamed without any leniency for it

[shiraoyagi]

i've liked milgram for a long time (ever since the beginning of t2) but damn i did not expect the 0308 dynamic to pull me in with this much brainrot... jhruhrgehr. I love them

[suguru-getos]

just some over-affectionate yan!sato blabbering

yandere satoru hasn't really snapped at you, he just doesn't. always playful, always an embodiment. waking you up with peppers of kisses, making sure you have your favorite breakfast, making sure you relax around him. he even indulges in your silly little hobbies, all for the sake of making his baby comfortable. if you like painting, he is going to buy you all the colors there are, premium quality canvas boards and everything you'd ever need to bring your imaginations into reality. digital art? then you have an ipad with procreate and a pencil, anything and everything you need.

he doesn't say it but he is extremely observant, he even notices things like your skincare before you were kidnapped, and goes out of his way to upgrade it if needed. he can be a little pesky at times. what if his baby is using the wrong skin-care? probably going to fly you to the skin and beauty land 'korea' to have your skin checked, and then buy you the 'recommended' skincare.

same with aesthetics, you like wearing a certain type of fits, you have them littered in your closet room. he prefers changing styles and wouldn't mind upgrading/donating your wardrobe when you're also bored with the same ol' things.

your room is a mixture of everything you are, and trinkets of satoru in it. you are really not allowed to sleep in your room though. it's your space, just your happy corner. it doesn't have a bed. it has plush couches that are better than most beds, neon-light which speaks of your name and scented candles, perfect desks with the perfect desk mats. you just need to sleep with satoru.

he gets specifically testy when you really don't want to give him company at times. why? hasn't he done enough? most people would kill to be in your place. that's when you can see the cracks in his carefully calibrated persona he harbors for you.

he is usually very mellow, clingy and would be so playful you often forget how strong he is. "baby- but i want cuddles!" satoru whined, pulling you close to him while you squirmed when you weren't in the mood. satoru hasn't really pushed himself sexually, but he treats you like a pet in other stances. meaning - if not huggable why so cute? so you can't really escape from him during those times.

if you really, really try hard. his laughter, soft eyes, all of it drops. the usual high-pitched excitement too... "i will count to three. if you don't really come to me, there would be consequences." you haven't really checked on what the consequences are because that sets you straight instantly.

satoru HATES when you fear him, some part of him snaps so hard at that he ends up scaring you more. this happens when he's pissed about something and you flinch/wince at his tone. he hasn't done anything to make you scared... yet? though sometimes the way he comes home... reeking of dead curses, reeking of torment and torture. you automatically end up fearing him.

there was one time you took things too far, taking his leniency too far and going out without asking him. he hasn't locked the doors like a barbarian and you're making him question if he should... that's when he took you to one of his missions. shaking, quivering as you cling to him while the curse in front of you begged for death, for being exorcised while satoru made sure it healed and then continued his torture. blaming it on you as you sobbed, anxiety and palpitations all over you. "see, this is what i do... when you don't behave. you cause pain from me to others." he just wants you to know he is/can be fucked up.

would eventually feel extremely bad when you throw up from the gore and anxiety and finish the job, bringing you home and forcing you in his arms, crying with you at how bad it makes him feel to see you like this. how he would kill himself than making you cry, though a part of him is grateful that you wouldn't really go against him for a long, long while.

whenever any action done by him fucks you up, satoru takes responsibility of undoing it. even if sometimes he needs to make sure you stay with him, no matter the consequences... he would try his best to make up for it. always pestering, always kissing you, praising you for being so good to him even if you're not, behaving like an ideal boyfriend to the point where even you start suspecting if the problem is you.

he loves so sickeningly hard you end up deluded enough to consider yourself the 'toxic' one. :3

[gorbo-longstocking]

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 14

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: You have a much needed conversation with both brothers, and Caracalla makes a decision.

Tags: Internal monologue featuring mentions of how the main character’s body will change without testosterone and being nervous about that, mentions of a possibly returning period, discussions of possible suicide, unsuccessful masturbation, some self hatred from the main character regarding their body, fingering, unprotected p in v, slight overstimulation, tdick is referred to as both a ‘clit’ and a ‘dick.’

Word Count: 9.1k words

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

When you woke up, you were alone. 

Save for you, splayed smack in the middle, the bed was empty. Completely and utterly empty. You tried to swallow your disappointment, even if you couldn’t say you were surprised. Geta was far too emotionally constipated to feel comfortable waking up in the arms of another, and Caracalla was sure to be irate at best, given how he found you the previous night. 

You remembered waking up to Caracalla returning to slot himself against your back. He hadn’t been gone long enough for his side of the bed to go cold. It was a bit odd he stayed so long considering he found you in his brother’s embrace. In fact, you felt a hint of worry squirm in your gut when you realized he hadn’t even thrown a jealous fit. Either he was livid, or his mind was finally dusting off the cobwebs, allowing him critical thought for once in his life.

As soon as you woke up a bit more, you would have to find him. After you spoke to Geta, of course. For far too long, you had afforded Caracalla leniency when you gave his brother none. You had seen how that affected Geta, his breakdown still fresh in your mind. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t continue to be loving and patient with Caracalla — he was your lover, after all — but, for the sake of Geta’s sanity, you would extend him the same grace. Maybe it was a bit presumptuous to treat Geta as you would someone who you were being courted by. Truthfully, that didn’t matter to you. He had hit you, and you had used his abuse as a weapon in your pettiness. As insistent you were that you were right, his mindset was leading him down a slippery slope, you were cruel to have spoken so bluntly. There was too much that went unsaid last night, and you wouldn’t allow the situation to fester any longer than it already had. 

Where Geta once laid was frigid, indicating he had been gone for quite some time. You flopped your head against the pillow he slept on and inhaled. Roses filled your senses, mingling with the lavender to your right. It was perfect. Without a doubt, the best combination of scents you had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. That thought only solidified what you were meant to do, as strange as it was. 

You were done being in denial. While you wouldn’t say you were in love with Geta — it was far too early for that — you did have rather intense feelings for him. A crush encircled your ribs, and a rather debilitating one too. Not as bad as what he felt for you, though. The reminder sent a wave of giddiness through you. 

Were you being greedy to want both of them? Especially considering they were brothers, twins, at that. By modern standards, polyamory was already a bit of a taboo, let alone being romantically involved with two siblings. That didn’t mean you couldn’t fantasize about it. You may not know what the future held, but you knew, now, at least, that you held two tattered hearts in your hands. The last thing you wanted to do was harm those limply beating organs anymore than they already had been. 

Smiling now, you buried your face in your sheets and let out a childish giggle. Being loved by Caracalla made you feel wanted, a feeling you had chased all your life. To know another man, another powerful man, felt so deeply about you too, it was enough to make you turn into a villain. If those two weren’t careful, your ego would become monstrous. Maybe Justina would knock you down a peg. You certainly needed it. 

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, your morning daydreams quickly turned into reality. Geta and Caracalla were already unpopular with the people, publically wedding, and even as little as indulging their favor, would not go over well. Before anything could happen, let alone that ridiculous marriage you were pining after, you had to figure out a way to boost both emperors’ status with both the senate and the citizens. That meant leaving Palatine Hill and listening to the peoples’ grievances yourself. You were not a fool — anymore, but you digressed — both men would listen to you faster than even a fellow patrician. If you could figure out how to pull the strings, you could solidify Geta and Caracalla’s reigns, not only benefiting yourself, but all of Rome as well. 

Selfish intentions, or not, it didn’t matter. In the end, you were doing good. Later, when you found the time, you would go into the Forum and learn everything you could. This plan was easier said than done. Caracalla would be hard pressed to let you out of his sight, and Geta similarly so, without praetorian escorts. You did, however, have faith in your intelligence and stubborn refusal to give up. Everything would work out in the end, you would make certain of it.

First, though, you had to talk to Geta. 

Once again, you had fallen asleep in your tunic. In the back of your bedroom was a chest where you stuffed all your clothes that you deemed too dirty to wear any longer. The only articles you washed were your boxers, and you had, unfortunately, run out of that hotel shampoo you had been using to clean them. You would have to find a solution, fast, because your options were very quickly narrowing down to three. Either you began to stink, you let the palace slaves wash your clothes in urine, or you got ahold of more soap to do loads yourself. Hopefully, the latter would be the one to happen to you, though with your luck, you were certain it wouldn’t. That didn’t stop you from stuffing your dirty tunic in with the others. 

You picked a pretty green tunic that Caracalla had gifted you to wear for today. It had red and gold accents, reminding you of Christmas. Tis the season, you thought to yourself, despite the summer heat. As Roman fashion dictated, you tied a belt around your waist to keep the tunic from looking more like a wearable tent than clothing. You gave yourself a twirl and admired yourself in the mirror. The dye in your hair was beginning to fade, no longer as vibrant as it once was, and your roots were more obvious than ever. It was a shame you’d never be able to color it again. Hands on your hips, you let out a huff. Unless you figured out a solution. Alas, synthesizing hair dye was not in your repertoire of skills, and you were far too scared to destroy your hair risk using fabric dye.

It seemed you would be forced to go back to your natural color. Pulling on a strand, you let out a mournful sigh. No matter, down into the pit it went. Geta took priority over your own sense of despair over your appearance. You were as satisfied as you could get, though you certainly missed the comfort of your testosterone shots. Without access, you would suffer certain… changes. Facial hair, your masculine voice, and your dick would remain, but you knew, along the line, your fat would redistribute into a more feminine shape. Wider hips, softer skin, different smell, and, god forbid, your monthly visitor would be sure to return. You were still a man, no matter what happened, that wasn’t up for debate. It was simply the deeply unfortunate fact that these changes would not be easy to hide. Before hormone replacement therapy, you were already rather masculine in appearance, you weren’t too worried about that. What truly worried you was the dreaded arrival of ‘Aunt Flo.’ 

Maybe you could feign sickness for a week. You rolled your eyes. That would go over well with Caracalla. His voice echoed in your head, high and whiney, ‘Melimelum, I do not care about catching what ails you, I miss you!’

It was only a matter of time before your secret was out. With every day that passed, you dreaded it more and more. 

But, again, that was a problem for the future. Right now, you had more important matters to discuss with Geta, and then after, you needed to find your beloved Caracalla to soothe him however you could. All of this anxiety could be stuffed as deep as it could go until the day came when you had to face it in its entirety. Unless it was imminent, you would ignore it.

With that in mind, and an ache in your gut, you strode out of your chambers into the labyrinthine halls of the palace. Instead of repeating previous mistakes where you wandered for hours in the oppressive heat, desperately looking for a flash of red, you asked where Geta was instead. Apparently, he was eating lunch with a handful of senators while Caracalla played with Dondas in the gardens. 

You leaned out of one of the windows to see Caracalla sitting on a bench, Dondas on his shoulder, lost in thought as he plucked the petals off of a bloom. When he was done with that, he tossed the stem over his shoulder to begin pulling the leaves off of a nearby shrub. All while he did this, Dondas chittered and squeaked, toying with strands of his fiery hair. Every so often, he would bring his hand up to give her a fond pat, or feed her from a bowl of grapes.

He didn’t look angry, merely melancholic. It made your heart ache. 

“Kitty!” Leaning farther out of the window, you waved at him. “Good morning!” 

Caracalla’s eyes flickered to you, and to your relief, they softened, though his jaw was still clenched tight. 

“Alga,” He greeted back, more subdued than you had ever seen him. “You are awake.” 

“We must talk soon. About important matters.” Careful not to fall, you placed your feet flat on the floor. The lack of his usual energy put you on edge, and you began to pick at your fingers. 

“Yes, we must,” Caracalla replied. The poor shrub was half bare now, a pile of tiny leaves at his feet. “At another hour. Go, now. I am thinking, dulcissimus. I do not need your sweetness distracting me.” 

Awkwardly playful, you twitched your fingers in another tiny wave, one he, thankfully, returned. “Do not think too hard, my Caracalla. I would miss you if you overdid it.”

The pebble he threw at you in response nearly hit you in the forehead. “Over do? I am perfectly capable of complex thought, Alga!”

You ducked behind the corner before the next rock he threw could hit you. It arced into the floor and bounced a few paces before rolling to a stop. When you crouched down to pick it up, another hard object — a grape, this time — bounced off your spine. Popping your head out the window again, you made a show of eating it. “How did you know I was hungry? You always take care of me, kitty.” 

That made Caracalla laugh, a little, aborted huff he quickly tried to stifle beneath a stern expression. “Begone with you, Alga! Your brave lover needs to consider the benefits of his selflessness.”

Whatever that meant. Caracalla was a simple man — most of the time — but he was capable of deep, and confusing, complexities. The real question was what he considered ‘selflessness’ to be. Knowing what you knew about him, it was either some great act you previously thought him incapable of, or, more likely, he was thinking about sharing his favorite dessert with someone he wasn’t entirely fond of. Possibly, Geta. He was the only other person, besides you, that Caracalla would dare share with. 

That in mind, you gave Caracalla a final wave before trotting off to find his brother. He didn’t notice, and you weren’t offended. There was already metaphorical smoke coming out of his ears, no need to give him anything else to consider. 

The trek to the dining room — or the triclinium — was not short, nor long. It simply was, leaving you with enough time to get your thoughts in order before speaking to Geta. You waited in the halls outside of the triclinium, waiting for the luncheon to end with bated breath. From here, you could hear laughter, more often than not, before it descended into a tense silence. You had witnessed Geta at work in the senate. The people of Rome treated him with an air of caution, though nowhere near as bad as what Caracalla received. While less sadistic, his temper was sharp, and his uptight paranoia made his people skills lacking. If you wanted to help better the emperors’ reputation, you would have to witness how they interacted with Rome’s upper crusts.

You had seen a little, and what you’d seen left much to be desired. Geta was dismissive, stubborn, and incapable of receiving criticism. Senators walked on eggshells around him. Quietly, you tiptoed towards the triclinium and peered inside. Around a small table lounged three senators on lecti, Geta perched on his own at the head. He ate an olive and spit the pit on the floor next to him for a slave to clean. Gross. The other men chattered on, mostly about nothing of interest, likely too afraid to bring up any serious topics, while Geta looked bored. 

You eavesdropped for about ten minutes before you caught Geta’s eye. Maybe it was the red of your tunic — though, most likely, it was your hair. Either way, he perked up like a dog who heard the word treat, his brown eyes widening when they fell on you. You knew what was coming. With a subtle hand motion, you tried to nip it in the bud, only for Geta to blatantly ignore you.

“That will be all, senators,” Geta’s sharp voice rang out, cutting through the chatter. He stood, graceful in his motions, while everyone else remained on their side, far too stunned to join him. 

A man you didn’t recognize was next to speak, “Emperor Geta, the meal is not yet complete.”

“Then finish it. I have more important matters to attend to.” He nodded to you, drawing the eye of every man to the fact that you were peeping around the corner. With a flush, you stepped into the doorway in an effort to look less suspicious. 

“Salve, senators.” You punctuated your greeting with an awkward wave. 

It went ignored. Especially by an incensed Senator Dorso. “More important than the empire? We have much to discuss in regards to Numidia!”

“No, more important than you, Dorso.” Geta sneered, tilting his chin in that way that made you feel as though he was looking down on you. Personally, you hated being on the receiving end of it. All it did was irritate you. Senator Dorso’s eyebrow twitch did not go unnoticed. “This is my medicus, we have an appointment. My health takes precedence.”

“Yes, an appointment, I am sure, Caesar,” Another senator laughed under his breath to Dorso as he took a sip of wine. “One that I am certain you will enjoy very much.” 

It was obvious only Dorso was meant to hear. When Geta puffed up, his stare flinty, the man visibly cowered. “Care to repeat that, Rufus?” 

“I— I only meant that your medicus looks as though he had a tender touch, Caesar. Any man would be lucky to receive it.” There was still an innuendo to his words. One you didn’t much appreciate. 

Geta’s response didn’t help matters, “One you will never experience, Rufus. If you find yourself jealous, there is no need to fret. I am certain there are many men who would be pleased to lend to your recipience.” 

“Excuse me, Caesar?” Rufus sat up now, his face hot and eyes narrowed. 

“You are excused.” He outstretched his arms, gesturing to all in attendance. “You are all excused, or perhaps you expect to leave under more forceful persuasions.”

Behind his back, you made an exasperated face. Of course, Geta didn’t notice, too busy ruining what was left of your tattered reputation with his ego. Without waiting for the senators to obey, he turned on his heel and ushered you out into the hall. His hand ghosted over the small of your back, the sound of several hurried exits behind you. 

Once you were certain no one was listening, you planted your hands on your hips and glared at Geta. “There goes what little credibility I have left.” 

“You do not need their approval to know your skills, medicus,” Geta argued, crossing his arms. Before you could speak again, he hushed you and looked over his shoulder into the triclinium. It was empty now, save for slaves cleaning up the mess left behind. “I know how good you are at what you do, and so does my brother. We trust you and your skills. That should be enough.” 

“I’d still rather be known as the emperor’s surgeon, not his boytoy,” You huffed. The English came naturally to you in your frustration.

“Bou-y tou-y?” Geta repeated, an eyebrow raised. 

Pursing your lips, you explained, your displeasure evident. “Your puer. A pretty man who is a sex object for a more powerful partner. It is degrading.” 

“The affection of a single emperor is far from degrading, medicus, let alone two.” Despite saying this, Geta ran a hand down his face, stopping to pinch the bridge of his nose. “But, I suppose you have a point.” 

“Oh, a point other than his own recognized by Imperator Geta, what an honor.” Though you were still rather miffed, your tone was playful, as was the light tap of your elbow to his side. 

Geta’s cheek twitched, betraying his amusement. “Tone, medicus.” 

“What will you do if I don’t?” A little more comfortable, you pressed your back against the wall, the soles of your sneakers squeaking against the marble floor. 

Geta curled his hands behind his back and leaned forward. He was smirking now. “You have no concept of what I am capable of.” That, coupled with the husky tone of his voice, made you flush. Flirting was not what you came to do, even if it did feel nice. Geta noticed the color to your cheeks and hummed, his eyes fond and lips twitching upwards. “Speechless, medicus?”

“You can call me Alga.”

That caught him off guard. Guilt and anger hardened his features as he sat back on his heels. “I see.”

You frowned. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He said, knowing damn well what you meant. 

“Shut me out.” Geta opened his mouth, probably to argue, but you cut him off. It was an effort to keep your voice soft, but it was one you made all the same. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you continued, “You can call me Alga. I do not mind it, I have come to think of it as a second name, and the fact it was you who gave it to me is important to me.”

His gaze flickered to your hand and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “I did not give you that name out of any affection. I was… making fun of you.” 

“I am aware,” Came your dry response. “That does not change that I like it.”

“Do you know what Alga means?” No, but, distantly, you remembered someone telling you and not being too happy with what you learned. Geta took in your stubborn expression with a sigh. “It means ‘seaweed.’” 

“Green! As is my hair! That is not so b—”

He cut you off with a raise of his hand. “It also means ‘something of little worth.’” 

You felt yourself deflate. “Ah.” 

“I did not know how… wrong that nickname would be,” Geta awkwardly explained. He shifted from foot to foot as he spoke, alternating between intense eye contact and an inability to look at you. “You are worth—” 

Swallowing hard, his hands flexed by his sides.

“Do not strain yourself, Caesar.” 

“If you do not want to listen, then I suppose I shall not speak.” Prissy as ever, Geta huffed and turned his nose in the air. You laughed and gave him a friendly shove. If he was offended before, he certainly was now, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth a flat line. Still, the tenderness in his tone gave him away. “Assault on your Imperator, I should have you beheaded.”

Slowly so as not to spook him, you wrapped your arms around him and gave him a small squeeze. He stiffened and did not reciprocate. “You do not have to say it. Meus vitus. I am worth the life of an emperor.” 

Geta’s face flared a deep red, visible even under his caked on foundation. Pushing you away, you stumbled and watched as he lifted his hand to his lips before placing his face flat in his palm. “You heard that.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. You nodded, your smile both small and fond. “I heard. It was enough, Geta. I am sorry it took… all of last night to understand how deep your affections go.”

“Stop.”

Your jaw snapped shut of its own accord, though you quickly regained steam. “Let me finish. I am sorry for what I said to you. I fear I will regret how bluntly I spoke to you for the rest of my life. How I hurt you, there is no amount of guilt or shame that will absolve m—”

Geta waved you off, his face still hidden in his hand. “Medicus, stop.” 

“No, Imperator, I command you to listen.” Bulldozing right past him, you, yet again, stepped close enough to that your skin was touching his. “I am still angry that you hit me, but I meant it when I said that I forgive yo—”

“Alga! Would you cease this nonsense?!” 

Your eyebrows disappeared into your hairline. “What?”

“I was pathetic! You should not be here, prostrating yourself before me, you should despise me! I should be the one who—” Geta took in a shuddering breath and removed his hand from his face. His adam’s apple bobbled when he swallowed, voice softer than before, “I should have never put my hands on you.” 

“I forgive you, anyway.” 

With jerky motions, Geta reached for you. His knuckles brushed against your cheek, an affection he terminated quickly with a harsh pat. “You are far too kind to me, meus vitus.”

An awkward giggle tumbled from your lips, and Geta’s shoulders jumped when he followed suit. You cleared your throat, ignoring him when he did the same. “I should… I should go. Are you still angry with me?”

“No.” He shook his head. His fingers danced across your own before returning to clasp behind his back. “Are you angry with me?”

“No.”

“Good,” He said.

“Yes, good,” You replied. The two of you stood in silence for far too long, neither sure of what to say. It was you who broke the silence. “I need to speak with Caracalla.”

Geta’s face scrunched up as though he ate a lemon. “Yes, your lover. Go to him, meus vitus, I will be in my office if you find a need of me.” 

Before you could think better of it, you leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. You could feel the heat from Geta’s blush against your lips. Instead of letting you pull away, he took a step back, and you couldn’t help but let your disappointment show. 

“My brother,” He reminded you. “Loves you very much.” 

“He is not the only one.”

Geta visibly flinched at that, his throat bobbing. “It is better if you… Perhaps, you should allow yourself to forget such notions.” 

“If that is what you want,” You conceded.

Geta nodded, unable to meet your eyes. “What I want is unnecessary, Algacula. Go to my brother, focus on him. I do not need to be—” He cut himself off by pursing his lips. “— I am fine on my own, medicus, as I always have been. Do not… strain yourself for my sake. Your love for Caracalla runs deep, I have witnessed it myself. I know that… I know that we should continue this conversation later. Vale.”

Without allowing you a chance to dissuade his fears, Geta sped away back into the triclinium and out of the doors the senators left from. You stood, stunned, more certain than ever that your feelings did not end with only one twin. While you knew it was a pipe dream for Caracalla to share, of all things, you would regret it if you never asked him.

With that in mind, you steeled your resolve, and headed for the gardens. 

Of course, when you finally returned to where you spotted Caracalla before, this time on the ground floor, the only thing there was a peacock. One of Caracalla’s if it was roaming free, Geta kept his animals — not pets, he insisted — in tight order. It looked at you, radiating offense as if your mere presence had done it wrong. In an effort to offer peace, you grabbed a handful of seeds that were left in a hanging bowl and scattered them on the ground. The peacock began to peck at the kernels. You relaxed knowing it wasn’t about to chase you like a goose would. Small mercies.

“You wouldn’t know where Caracalla is, would you?” You asked, not expecting a response.

One came anyway, familiar in an odd way, “He’s looking for you, medicus.” 

You blinked rapidly as you stared at the peacock. It couldn’t have talked, that’d be impossible. Then again, you had been the victim of spontaneous time travel. Odder things have happened.

Opening your mouth to respond, a tap on your shoulder caused you to whip around. Behind you, was Gaius, looking positively beside himself with amusement. “Who did you think was speaking, puer?” 

“Y— You, of course!” You squawked and turned on your heel so as not to look at the source of your embarrassment. It should have been obvious considering you had recognized his voice. Gaius hadn’t turned into a bird, and you looked like a complete idiot. An awkward laugh tittered from your throat. “You didn’t think I believed the peacock to be talking, did you? That would be ridiculous!”

“Yes, it would!” Gaius managed to say between squeaks of laughter. “It would be positively ridiculous for the Caesarēs talented physician to be speaking to the birds. It is good that was not the case.”

“Yes, very good.” You nodded.

Gaius smirked at you, his green eyes alight. “Oh, sweet, receptive boy of my superiors, do not leave me in suspense. How did you know I was here with your back to me?”

“I heard your footsteps,” You lied. Silently, you cursed that damn bird for doing this to you. It had to have humiliated you on purpose, you were sure. “Gaius, where is Emperor Caracalla?”

“It is as I said. He is looking for you.” 

Exasperation caused you to run your hand down your face. “And where was he last?”

He paused for dramatic effect before bursting into peals of laughter. “I do not know, ask the bird!” 

Your punch to his shoulder did little damage to him. It only served to make him laugh harder, his hand clasped on your shoulder as he shook you. After a moment, he calmed and took two steps back. “He should be here any minute. Good luck, medicus, I hear he intends to fuck you good this time.”

Barely a second passed before familiar footsteps caught your attention. Tiny as he was, Caracalla walked like a giant, each step practically thundering against the marble. It was especially noticeable when he was in a hurry. When you glanced back at Gaius, his back was ramrod straight, all amusement gone and replaced by an expression fitting of the best the empire had to offer, right on time for Caracalla to arrive.

“Alga! There you are!” He stood under the archway that led to the gardens, his hands on his hips. Lifting his chin the same way that Geta did, he looked down his nose at you. Instead of irritation, it filled you with a burning sense of anticipation. “Were you hiding from me again?”

“No, I was searching for you.” That got his shoulders to droop.

With an outstretched hand, his fingers twitched, expectantly motioning for you to join him. You did so with no hesitation, only turning away to give Gaius a nod farewell. “Come to me, dulcis. I have thought long and hard about what I must tell you.” His expression became stormy when you intertwined your hand with his. “I am not pleased with my decision.” 

You allowed him to lead you into a private room away from the gardens. Like most other rooms, it was sparsely decorated with a lectus or two, a chest to hold items, and a few tapestries on the walls. It was hard to pay attention to your surroundings with Caracalla so close to you. Leaning closer to him, you inhaled the scent of lavender, causing his lips to twitch. “Then why make it if it does not please you?”

Still holding onto you, Caracalla kicked a vase across the room. It shattered when it hit the wall, shards of blue scattered in the corner. You gave his hand a squeeze, and his irate expression softened. “Ugh! Because of my brother’s dramatics!” Roughly, he placed his palms on your shoulders and pushed you down to the floor before he padded over the chest, pulling out a handful of little figurines. “I want to play another game with you, Alga.” 

The two of you had taken on the rather childish activity of, for lack of a better description, playing with dolls. It was fun, more fun than you had expected such an immature game to be. 

Growing up, you didn’t get the chance to be young. Your parents shoved you in as many programs as they could, mostly with people well above your age. It was alienating, to say the least. You had matured quickly in an attempt to make friends, but no teenager, nor young adult, wanted to come to a ten year old’s birthday party. There was no one who wanted to play pretend with you, or with dinosaurs, or play doctor on your stuffed animals. These games with Caracalla, you found yourself comfortable indulging in, maybe because he didn’t judge you, maybe because you never had the opportunity before, or maybe it was just fun to be young with him. 

Either way, you took two dolls from him with excitement in your smile. “I think this one will be an overprotective mother, and this one—” You held up the one with marbles for eyes “— will be her lovesick son romancing a man she does not approve.”

Caracalla hummed as he thought before nodding. He always got the final say in the plots you did. “Yes. My two will be the lovesick son’s lover, and his brother who pines for yours as well.”

That hit a little too close to home. Despite the sweat on your brow, you grinned. “That sounds fun, kitty. Very dramatic.” 

“Yes, your brave Caracalla has a very imaginative mind,” He said, his eyebrows furrowed. You reached forward and massaged the worry lines from his forehead. He reached to grab your wrist and pull you away, only to place a chaste kiss to your palm. “Let us have fun, melimelum.”

For the next hour, you and Caracalla yes-anded a complex web of lies and love. Though you found entertainment in the act, he seemed to grow more and more irate with every minute that passed. Each time your character would try to romance his own, the brother in Caracalla’s other hand would steal the affection. Despite him being the one doing it, the action seemed to distress him, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

“‘Kiss me, kiss me and forget about your other lover.’” He moved the brother-doll back and forth as he talked, each word spat with malice. It was obvious Caracalla was using play as an attempt to work through his own internal issues. Perhaps he always had, and you had simply been oblivious to it. You really had to start paying more attention to what was around you. 

Gently, you peeled his fingers from the doll and set it in your lap. That appeared to be a poor choice because Caracalla ripped it away from you and tore off the doll’s head. He threw both pieces across the room. The head hit the wall with a dull thud, and the body soared out a nearby window. You blinked, dumbfounded. “Do you want to talk about how you are feeling?”

“No! There is no point!” Caracalla shouted as he tugged at his hair. “It will still be unfair, and I will still be mad!” 

So as not to startle him, you picked up your doll, the other one set to the side. You had the toy toddle over to him and pull on his tunic. In his anger, he swatted you aside. Your hand stung, but you were undeterred. “Talk to me. Tell me what has upset you. Let me fix it.”

“There is no fixing it!” With far more tenderness than you thought he was capable of, given his mood, he grabbed your doll and held it close to his chest. “Geta always takes what is mine. You will choose him over me.”

“Why would I do that?” You crawled next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A shiver wracked his body and he swallowed thickly. 

“Because everyone always chooses Geta over me. No one likes me more than him, I always have to share, and then he takes over.” His grip on the doll tightened as he curled farther in on himself. “If I do not share you, Alga, I fear my brother will fall into hysteria and kill himself.” 

Oh.

“I see,” You so eloquently said. “… I do not think he will fall to such drastic measures.”

“He will!” Caracalla insisted. “I have never seen him like he was last night. I hated it, and I hated seeing how he held you after. Only I should get to hold you in such a way, but if I deny him, then he will— Ugh! I hate Geta!”

“I think that you underestimate the lengths he would go for your happiness.” It was hard to mince your words for Caracalla, he was far more volatile than Geta, who was already a deeply insecure individual. Still, you tried to get your point across the best you could. “Forget about Geta. Do you want to share me?” 

Incensed, Caracalla puffed up. “No! I also do not want my brother to have a fit every other day. The only solution is for you to belong to both of us. It is not fair!” 

As he spoke, he brought his fists down on the floor. If he wasn’t careful, he would hurt himself. He struggled when you grabbed his wrists, squirming and thrashing as you pulled him into a hug. “Caracalla! You do not have to do what you do not want to.”

“But Geta will die! He’s so emotional and pathetic, he will not be able to take it!” Caracalla cried, kicking his legs. 

It was time to switch tactics.

“My sweet, selfless Caracalla. I cannot name another man alive who would be willing to share his lover.” At your words, he paused his convulsions to blink at you. You took this as a good sign, and continued, “Not even Geta would be so kind. It is such an attractive quality. It makes me love you all the more.”

He was quiet for a moment. “More than Geta?”

“My selfless kitty, let me tell you a secret.”

Lips parted, he sat up, his eyes searching yours. His voice was breathless as he spoke, “Yes, melimelum?”

“I will always love you more than Geta.” Truth, or not — and, as of right now, it was the truth — this was what Caracalla needed to hear. “No one would be so selfless and kind. No one shares more than you. No one else alive will be my first kiss, or my first lover. My favor will always be with you.” 

It looked as though he were inclined to believe you, his fingers clenching rhythmically from where they were wrapped around your wrist. “Do you swear it? If I let Geta have you too, do you swear that you will always favor me?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Caracalla snorted a laugh. “Your eyes are far too pretty to gouge with a needle, and your words are far too sweet to cut out your tongue.”

“What will I kiss you with, if you did?” 

With a hum, Caracalla tilted his head in thought. “That is a good point, melimelum. I must ponder a suitable punishment for you if you grow to prefer my brother.”

“Think all you want, it will never come to be. You will always be my first.” Leaning forward, you affectionately rubbed your nose against his. He closed the distance and captured your lips, far less heated than he would normally give. 

When he pulled away, he handed you back your doll. “Let us continue our game. Tell me more about that romance you read with the Greek letters. I have ideas.”

To punctuate his point, he made your doll scissor his. You barked out a laugh. As much as you liked Geta, you doubted he’d ever sit on the floor and indulge you as much as Caracalla did. Well, that was a lie, maybe he would. You looked up at Caracalla, who was furiously mashing the two toys together as he made graphic sex noises. Geta certainly wouldn’t do that, he would probably make a snide remark about how little fun he was having, before getting completely sucked into the plot. He would take it far too seriously too. 

Without thinking too much of it, you pressed a kiss to Caracalla’s cheek. “I love you.”

“Not now, dulcis. They’re fucking.” He spared you a single, somewhat miffed, glance out of the corner of his eye as he flipped the dolls into a new position. 

It was embarrassing how much you loved him. The only prospect more humiliating than falling for a manchild, was falling for two. Worse than that, you realized with a start, was that while Caracalla and Geta angsted about sharing you all morning, neither considered asking you if you were okay with it. For all they knew, you only wanted Caracalla. Maybe, you weren’t as subtle as you thought, or maybe, these two had egos big enough to assume you would go along with whatever they decided.

Whatever. This time, they were right. Without lifting a finger, you got Caracalla to agree to the impossible, though you knew it wouldn’t be easy calming his jealousy. Hopefully, Geta would mellow once he found out Caracalla was inclined to ‘share’ you. As if you were an object. Irritating, yes, but, ultimately, it could be a lot worse. 

Beside you, Caracalla made a ‘fwoosh’ noise as his doll dive bombed the other. Sexually, of course. 

This would take a while.

After several hours, and four dramatic doll pregnancies later, Caracalla was pulled away to do paperwork — much to his incessant complaining. You found yourself alone in your room. For once. Instead of sleeping in your day clothes, you managed to put on your pajamas, your band t-shirt growing more faded with every attempted wash accompanied by a pair of boxers. The past few days were eventful, and you were borderline ecstatic to have an hour to yourself. That was all it would take for Caracalla to grow bored of his duties, and you intended to enjoy every second of it. 

First of all, you assumed Caracalla would discuss what he had decided with Geta by himself, however well that would go. As much as you’d kill to be a fly on the wall for that conversation, it would also stress you out beyond comparison. Caracalla would proudly proclaim his decision to ‘share’ you with Geta, only to devolve into threats and shouting once he caught a glimpse of his brother’s triumphant smirk. You would have to spend at least a few hours calming Caracalla after, assuring him that he was your favorite. An act that wouldn’t be hard, because if Geta had some form of decorum, you wouldn’t have to. But, alas, he would certainly take the opportunity to make a snide comment at Caracalla’s expense, leaving you to deal with the aftermath.

You supposed you better get used to it. With the twins' obsession with you — dear god, that shouldn’t make your heart flutter as it did — at its peak, you would be juggling them like a clown on a tightrope. Exhaustion crept into your body, crushing your chest. It was worth it, you told yourself. If using your wiles, that you apparently had, meant helping reform Rome, then so be it. You just so happened to also rather enjoy the company of each man yourself, though no one but you had to know that. Minus the people who already did.

The minutes ticked on, and you were alone like you wanted. Unfortunately, you couldn’t think of anything to do. You could go over your notes, but it would be redundant at this point, and it was far too late to do your rounds. After so long of having friends for the first time in your life, you found yourself at a loss at what to do when you were alone. You had to figure out a way to relax that wasn’t studying or overanalyzing every miserable thought that crossed your mind.

An idea struck you, out of the blue. You were alone, in the dark, snuggled up in your bed. Now would be the perfect time to masturbate if there ever was one. Your gaze flickered to the lock on your door, contemplating. Caracalla could burst in at anytime, but as long as you stayed under the covers, he wouldn’t see your bottom half. With that in mind, you allowed your hands to trail along your abdomen until they rested between your legs. 

You weren’t a particularly horny person. Masturbation was always a clinical act. First, you would pick a fantasy to indulge, followed by allowing the pleasure to build, then you would pick up the pace, leading to a quick and simple orgasm. That was what you were trying to accomplish now. Legs spread apart, with one hand, you fingered yourself, and with the other, you pinched your dick. Testosterone had caused your clit to grow enough so that, with two fingers, you could sort of jerk yourself off. Your skin felt hot, pleasure pricking up your spine as you continued your ministrations.

There was one problem, however. Even as you began to get frustrated, plunging even deeper within yourself in an effort to get off, you couldn’t cum. It was starting to frustrate you. If Caracalla got to finish tonight, but you didn’t, you would go to sleep halfway to the point of livid. 

“Come on,” You muttered. 

This wasn’t fair. The one night you get some time to yourself, you couldn’t even cum? That was ridiculous! As you got angrier, you felt your pleasure begin to wane. You flopped backwards, splayed like a starfish. This was ridiculous. Down the hall was a man who’d do anything to fuck you and you wouldn’t give in. Why? Because you were scared. Caracalla, and subsequently Geta, would find out about your blasted vagina one day. There was no point in holding off anymore. Maybe if you explained yourself, it wouldn’t go over as badly as you thought. 

Pulling up your boxers, you wiped your hand dry on the sheets and padded into the hall. 

Caracalla was bisexual — not that he had any concept of the word. He had both men and women in his harem. For all you knew, he’d be elated to find out you had mismatched parts. The only possibility that caused your determination to plummet was the question of how he would see you. A man, or a woman pretending to be one. Outside of Caracalla’s bedroom — unlike Geta, he didn’t have his own personal office — you stopped in front of the door and shifted from foot to foot. Option two was the worst case scenario, but maybe, if you explained it, he would understand. 

You hoped. 

Driven by the ache between your legs, you stepped inside his bedroom. It was dark, save for the candles illuminating Caracalla’s desk. He sat with his head face down, a broken stylus in his hand. When he heard the door open, he let out an annoyed hiss, only to perk up when he saw it was you.

“Dulcissimus, have you come to entertain me?” 

You closed the door behind you and played with the hem of your shirt. “In a way.”

That got Caracalla’s attention. His eyes roved your body, taking his time on your bare legs, before he focused on your face. “Coming to your Imperator in only your underwear, dulcis? How naughty.” 

“Do you want to have sex?”

Caracalla’s flirtatious demeanor fell under the force of his surprise. His face went slack, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. He blinked once, then again as a wolfish grin spread across his features. “Do I want to fuck you? Oh, melimelum, what do you think the answer is?”

“I— I do not want you to be disgusted.” Regret made you take a step back. This was a terrible idea. You would ruin the one good gift the universe had ever given you with your rotten body. 

Caracalla watched you, his exasperation palpable. “Oh, yes, your malformed cock. How could I forget?” 

“I should not have come,” You muttered. If you took another step back, you’d be against the door. 

Caracalla stood and gestured to his bed. His tone left no room for argument. “Let me see it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. On the bed, now, dulcis. Spread your legs and show me.”

You should leave. Put this off longer, enjoy your relationship with Caracalla for a little bit more. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the bed again. Unable to stop it, you moved of your own accord, and sat on the bottom edge, near where he was standing. Pleased, he caressed your cheek with his knuckles. “Good, Alga. Lay back and show your Imperator what you’ve been hiding.”

“Do you promise you will not hate me?” You asked as you fumbled with the waistband of your boxers.

Caracalla rolled his eyes. “Yes, now stop being coy and show me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you pulled down your boxers in one swift motion and exposed yourself to Caracalla for the first time. He was quiet. No movement, no words, he was hardly even breathing. Carefully, you cracked open one of your eyes to see Caracalla’s expression for the first time.

He was staring at you, his jaw slack and eyes wide. Your face erupted in a scorching blush as you closed your legs and scooted back a few inches. “Do you hate me?”

His gaze snapped to your face before returning to your body. Without a word, he crawled forward and placed each of his hands on your knees, forcing your legs apart once more. You let out an embarrassing squeak, watching as an unmistakable grin spread from ear to ear. 

“You are a man with a cunt,” He said with a laugh. Tilting his head towards the ceiling, almost reverently, he slid his hands from your knees to your thighs. “The gods have blessed me on this night!”

“Huh?” 

Whatever response you expected, it wasn’t that. Your head was swimming under a torrent of emotions. Desire, relief, and confusion raged inside of you, all while Caracalla admired your body in its entirety.

A strangled noise ripped from your throat when he flicked your clit. “Look at that, you have a little cock. So sensitive too.” 

Slowly, he dragged his fingers from your dick to your hole. Without warning, he plunged his index and ring fingers inside of you, his palm pressing against your dick. “C— Caracalla!” 

“You even smell like a man too.” He leaned down to take a deep inhale, his eyes rolling back in his head. “How exotic.”

It was hard to speak with how roughly Caracalla began fingerfucking you. Though his hands were small, they were dexterous, finding parts inside you that you didn’t even know you had. Your body felt like it was on fire, back arching with a strangled cry when he went as deep as he could go, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit. Still, you managed to ask, “You see me as a— a man?” 

“Oh, melimelum,” Caracalla sighed, crawling over you to drag his thumb across your cheekbone. With a slick noise, he removed his fingers from you to toy with your dick. Each pinch and stroke sent shivers down your spine. “I’ve seen enough cunts to know when one belongs to a man.”

You couldn’t respond. Mouth agape and a hand over your eyes, you let him do as he pleased. It felt too good not to. He let out a high pitched giggle when you moaned, the squelching from your cunt mingling with the sound of fabric being torn. When you peeked, Caracalla was almost frantically undressing while he focused on shoving a fourth finger inside of you. In his impatience, he had ripped his tunic, though you couldn’t find it in you to scold him. Your gaze fell from his face to his uncut cock, engorged and leaking. It wasn’t long, but it was thick and a little veiny. Your mouth watered as you imagined what it would be like to trace its curves with your tongue.

“Do you see what you have done to me? I’ve never wanted to fuck a hole more in my life!” Fisting himself, he gave himself a few pumps as he lined himself up at your entrance. You could feel your own slick dampening your thighs. Caracalla tried to tease you by only pushing his tip in before letting out a ragged groan, hilting himself in a single thrust. “Fuck! You are so tight. Truly a virgin. I can tell.” 

A keening noise escaped you at how thoroughly he stretched you out. While he didn’t hit deep, he filled you almost entirely, a slight burn mixing in with the ecstasy that threatened to overwhelm you. Covering your face, your breath came in heady pants as Caracalla began to fuck you with vigor. His hips met yours with a loud slap, again and again. You were almost certain your first time should hurt, and it did, in a way. The speed at which Caracalla had penetrated you had stung, but it all paled in comparison to how invigorating having him inside you was. Your heart pounded in tune with the fluttering of your cunt. Above you, Caracalla’s features were slack, his arms holding you open. 

“Harder, please,” You managed to say.

Caracalla snickered, his hands gliding along your stomach to slide up your shirt and paw at your chest. “You’re so— so polite, even as I fuck you. Gods, it makes me want to break you.” 

That sounded more than a little appealing. “Please?”

A particularly violent thrust made your head spin, and Caracalla’s fingers found your dick once more. His grip was rough, almost painful as he started to jerk you off. The sensations were overwhelming. You felt your back arch, your body desperately pushing you as close to him as you could. He managed about two pumps of your little cock before you fell over the edge. 

“Oh, fuck!”

Stars erupted behind your eyelids, and your body went rigid. All you could hear through the blood rushing in your ears was a guttural groan mingled with sharp, proud laughter. 

“That’s it, melimelum. Cum for your Imperator!” He sounded beside himself in triumph, as though he had won a bloody battle or conquered a nation. All he did was bring you to one of the most powerful orgasms of your life. You supposed that was victory enough. Dropping his forearms, he did not stop pistoning his hips, even as your first orgasm faded. You squirmed, the sensations becoming too intense, but Caracalla held you firm. “Don’t run away now, dulcis. I know you like it when I hurt you.”

“Too much,” You whined. 

He licked the drool that seeped from the corners of your lips, crooning out an indulging, “I know. My sweet, obedient Alga can take it, can he not?”

You weren't sure where to put your hands. On his shoulders, tangled in the sheets, or covering your face. Eventually, you settled with splaying your fingers across the planes of his back, the other fisted in the blankets. “I can! Fuck me until I break, Caracalla.”

“Oh, gods, I’m gonna—” He was cut off by a high pitched moan. With one final thrust, he buried himself to the root. Inside you, Caracalla pulsed, painting your insides white with rope after rope of his seed. His hips twitched forward, almost desperate to fit even deeper than he already was. 

Caracalla collapsed on top of you and you wrapped your arms around him. Both of you were sticky with sweat, your skin congealing against each other. 

Against your neck, Caracalla giggled. “I cannot believe all of that nonsense was because you have been blessed with the tightest cunt in the empire.” 

It took you a little bit to find your voice. Between sharp pants, you managed, “I thought you would have never met anyone like me. I thought you would find me gross.”

“Gross?” He lifted his head to gaze into your eyes, still too spent to sit up. “Dulcissimus, you are the man I have dreamed of since I learned how to fuck my hand.”

You hummed, your eyelids beginning to droop. Between your legs, Caracalla was too soft to remain inside of you. His cum began to seep from you, sure to stain the bed. That was tomorrow’s problem, though. “I am relieved.” 

“You are perfect,” He murmured.

Tangled together, you drifted off to sleep, only one thought in your mind.

After all that angsting, Caracalla found you to be the most wonderous man to walk the earth, parts and all. If you were any less exhausted, you’d punch a hole through marble. 

A/N: Oh my god, I hate writing smut. Why do I do this to myself… Trust that a majority of the Caracalla and Alga sex scene was written in the cracker aisle of Dollar General midshift. Yes, I was in public. It needed to get written ans I’m not off again until Monday, so Inhad to do what I had to do. We march on. I do think it’s really funny that Alga was like please break me and Caracalla INSTANTLY nutted. Sorry my green-haired friend, he’s gotta recover from that one before he can really put in the work again. I do hope that I was able to do justice to what I like to call ‘gender affirming sex.’ Making it hot while also geting done what I needed to get done for the story was, um, hard to say the least. I’m not actually on testosterone myself. I hope I did the illustrious tdick justice.

Speaking of which, I did a poll on my blog a few days ago about Alga’s period. Whether it would never come back, if it would return but is only mentioned in passing, or if I give them a BAD one and force everyone to suffer through it. Because you know damn well the twins’ weird asses would be bizarre about the whole thing, LMFAO. The bad period won.

Now, onto Geta’s uptight ass. I love how he is such a hypocrite. He complains about how Caracalla is ruining Alga’s reputation and then proceeds to take a wrecking ball to it. In all honesty, he probably just didn’t want to see Caracalla and Alga perform PDA in front of his salad. I also haven’t mentioned it aside from a few times, but I did again this chapter. Geta is an animal hater. If he had a pet it’d be a big ass snake, and it’d be the one thing on earth he spoils aside from his partner. You’d catch him cooing to it and he’d throw the closest object he can find at you. He’s so embarrassing.

I actually don’t have a lot to say this chapter. I feel like everything was pretty self explanatory, though I’d be more than happy to answer any questions! Also, I’m trying to speed run my formatting, including this A/N, so I can post soon. I have work today, sigh. Please, please tell me what you thought of these occurrences in the comments, or perhaps, my ask box if you want to be anonymous. I had a lot of fun writing this one! Raaaaaaahhhhh, thank you for reading, stay frosty!!!!! <333

tag list: @snazzynacho , @t6gse370 , @cherrysweets-world , @justlibra , @001mon

[an-excellent-choice]

A random thought but I am what you would consider as a new fan in dragon age. So, for me the common discourse/hate surrounding Cullen in the games is really shallow.

(I am referring to the character not the voice actor, I do not give a shit about that guy and about his bullshit)

I see a lot of hate on cullen and how either he is so fucking bland or evil because he is a equivalent to a cop in dragon age. which while I can see the comparison it just go and shows how people cant really handle an overarching flawed character story arc when they aren't this witty or sassy person.

Cullen is great example of how a traumatic experience can sway you to extremism (you know like Bolin in Korra) He wasn't inherently bad, hell he trained in a very lenient and peaceful circle without any issue or complaints on his side.

(reminder that the Cullen trained in was very chill and balanced if you think about it. Anders stayed in that circle while doing his multiple escape attempts and they never made him tranquil. Other examples include all the kissing allowed in the circle and the fact the you can save the circle in DAO if you save the first enchanter)

Then everything went to shit in that relaxed circle.

Cullen was tortured and was forced to watch everyone around him get killed by the very things that he was warned what mages was.

If you think about it he probably blamed majority of what happened to leniency of the circle to the mages which is why it isnt a surprise that he would be supportive of strictness of the circle in kirkwall.

A lot of people hate on Cullen because of da2 which i understand but this part of the story is kind of like anders in da2 act 3 or loghain in dao for him.

He is part of his life where he is as closest to monster he could be but you know why he isn't the worst is because he has a line that he didnt cross which was killing allies/ civilians. He later also acknowledges in DAI the pain and atrocities he caused in DA2.

He is aware of his biases and is trying to redeem himself by helping in the inquisition as an independent faction. He left the templars.

He hates how the templars has treated him and his faith to be weapons of abuse. While he was a perpetrator of the abuses of the templars, people forget he is also a victim.

Templars are required to intake lyrium to be part of the order. This system literally uses these drugs to make them addicts and gain control on them. I dont know about you but that shit isnt really comparable to being cops.

He is literally a recovering drug addict in DAI and the reason why he is doing this is to show that templars can do it. They can leave the order.

Extra: I love cullen because he is so complicated and he is trying his best. Does this mean I want to see him in DATV? Fuck no. If him being brought back into story requires for the voice actor to be hired for it. no fucking thanks. His story is done and I'm happy with that

P.S also extra note about people saying he is creepy because he had a crush on the warden in DAO while he was a templar is a stupid point.

I dont care if the author originally wanted it to seem creepy, they completely failed on that mood and they forgot characters can also write themselves a story if you are not careful.

Cullen was incredibly shy and knew how inappropriate his crush was. He literally ran away from any flirting attempts. It is not bad to have a crush with someone you shouldn't have on, AS LONG AS YOU KNOW THE BOUNDARIES AND DONT LET ANYONE CROSS THOSE BOUNDARIES. which he didn't.

[raimoka]

— " SKYSCRAPER KILLS MY GHOST IN YOUR MEMORY "

｡ ㅤꕤ ㅤ PAIRING: beastzai & reader.

SYNOPSIS: dazai had been always painfully aware of his inability to obtain the things he wanted.

tags ➜ alternate universe—beast, beast spoilers, pining, gender neutral mc, kinda angsty, no happy ending, one-sided love, author is sleep deprived & may or may not have badly executed this work, lowercase as always. ‹𝟹

⋆ author's notes: another part of beastzai brain rot... this work was inspired by someone's else work, check out their account since it rlly gave me more motivation! also PLEASE give me ur thoughts abt beastzai since i rlly wanna write more abt him

send an order!! → guide ❀ flowers ←

"get away from me."

your words were harsh, accompanied with an abrasive tone which emphasized the words that elicited from your lips.

dazai's breath hitched, his expression distorted and his line of sight drawing meaningless figures in the air. he parted his lips open yet no words elicited from his lips, as if fighting against something invisible, as if he was a fish desperately wanting to say something but with the lack of vocal chords, they are unable to. his hands quaked, lowering his head to avoid the gaze piercing through his soul.

it wasn't the same. it was nowhere close, not even the slightest. the emotions reflecting on your eyes, your tone, your feelings towards him, everything about you. your eyes which would often reflect deep fondness and lenience were filled with cold bitterness, there was no single glimpse of love in your eyes, it was merely pure hatred. the look on your eyes stung him, as if his heart was being pierced by multiple glass shards leisurely, each one of them digging in slowly into the piece of flesh to agonize him and making sure he felt the sensation of each piece.

your love for him, or at least to him in another universe, was sweet as a sprig of mignonette. you showed extreme tenderness to him, so much that it brought queasiness to him with intense warmth engulfing his chest to the point it made his knees buckle underneath him yet all the traces of that love you always held for him was gone.

it wasn't the same.

he abruptly began to laugh, you blinked, tilting your head to the side, feigning your confusion as his soft laughters began to fill the tense atmosphere. he couldn't blame you, if someone suddenly laughed in front of him for absolutely no specific reason, he'd think they lost their mind the sound of his laughter slowly began to ebb away, his shoulders shaking, he was idiotic. how could he forget? he always have been conscious of it ever since the reality of his life had unfolded in front of him, dazai was never meant to be happy. he had no right to, he was in no position at all to deserve happiness, not with the pure blood that tainted his hands, everyone was better off without him and it was proven by the existence of this universe.

he was so distracted at the bright sun he saw for the first time in years upon discovering your presence, the luminance he witnessed left him too struck to the point when he stared at it, he forgot his own ugliness. 

he was so preoccupied with the warmthness that enveloped his chest he forgot his own destiny.

it was never meant to be the same.

he had always known that, he was utterly foolish for believing he could at least be with you, even for a moment.

with his head drooped, the sounds of his shoes stepping against the tiled floor was hushed, walking slowly to your frame. you took a step back, slightly. you were entirely befuddled by the situation unwrapping before you, that was a thing for certain. who wouldn't? you didn't know this person nor did he give any sort appearance of familiarity, however, he knew you wholly, he knew your name, your likes, your routine, but he was merely a stranger to you, nothing more, nothing less. the moonlight shone over your figure, making every single bit of features visible, his head still lowered, sticking in with the darkness—It truly looked as if he was already with it for ages, It suited himself.

his hands precipitously reached out to you, attempting to catch a piece of misty clothes, you initially planned to step back, afraid he would do anything that would harm you, nonetheless, all he did was grasp onto your murky clothes. he loathed it, he detested it, your guard was up, you were cautious and alarmed, you didn't trust him at all. you were petrified of what he was scheming when all he wanted to do was hold you and feel your warmth, in hopes it would make him forget his own reality momentarily even if he disliked being completely vulnerable and exposed. you blinked in surprise as his hands clutched onto your clothes, you couldn't see what he was thinking, he was hiding his eyes away from you. strangely, how he did so felt familiar in spite of you having no recollection of him.

he parted his lips once again, finally opening his mouth after a while, "I won't do anything." he assured, he wouldn't be able to handle it if he hurt you in any sort of ways, he wouldn't forgive himself. you remained silent, like a cold, uncomfortable.

"I won't hurt you, It would be imprudent to do so." he reaffirmed once again, despite knowing his affirmation wasn't most likely gonna be effective especially since you barely recognized him. 

all he wanted was just to get a single hold of you, after all, no matter how much he desired you to look at him with pure fondness, to hold his hand, to feel your hand caressing his face, to wrap your arms around his shoulder, and say some kind words to him like you used to, there was one thing for certain; you wouldn't, It's irrational, a stranger would have no right to feel all those, especially when the said stranger is an enemy of yours.

feeling the uneasiness grow further, you lightly placed your hand onto his bitterly cold hands, feeling his excoriated palms—completely besparred with feculent mire—with your thumb. you withdrew his hand away from yours clothes tattered with specks of dust. you were wholly fazed by his actions, it weirded you out. he understood what you were conveying and he backed away from you, lifting his once drooped head up slightly.

his gaze was kept on the ground, as if he was afraid to see the look you held for him. his eyes were swirling with sorrow and melancholiness, small tears swelling up on the corners of his eyes, It reminded you of a all mudded up mutt left in the streets—attempting to domesticate a monster into a lovable thing.

"I apologize for wasting your time." he spoke, and with that he turned around and left, never to be seen again.

It was pointless to meet up with you once more when he knew better than anyone else that you were completely disturbed by him, after all.

It would be the best option to not show himself to you again and accept you would forever hate him.

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ @saelique ,, taglists are open everytime.

[mllemaenad]

Not that you are by any means the worst offender in this regard, but it rubs me ghe wrong way how much leniency the NCR gets when it comes to considering the effects of their actions, and perhaps more importantly, their intentions.

Groups like Caesar's Legion, The Brotherhood of Steel, House's factions, The Unity, The Enclave, and The Institute are treated as villains if anyone is even indireehurt because of them.

If two human surface-dwellers kill each other in Diamond City, people blame the Institute.

If the White Legs emulate Twisted Hair cultural traditions without fully understanding them, Ulysses blames the Legion.

And yet... the NCR is treated by fans as well-intentioned and good-natured despite the harm they cause. The situation in Nipton was the fault of the NCR. Its corrupt Mayor was from the NCR. The Powder Gangers were only in the Mojave because the NCR moved them there.

Vulpes set up his lottery (not that I'm saying it was a perfect solution) to address a problem that had gotten out of hand, a problem downstream of the NCR... and yet most fan discussions blame the Legion for what happened in Nipton.

ThevNCR seems to get a pass because people see their goals as noble... but their goals are to recreate the exact conditions that caused the Great War!

We see the exact same phenomena in pre-war terminals as we do in contemporary NCR. A government more obsessed with maintaining its own power than solving problems, a corrupt justice system that favours the wealthy, an obsession with democracy that makes decisions slow and bureaucratic, and a rapacious desire for resources that leads to expansion and conflict eith other factions.

Why is Caesar condemned for his ego, and his shortsigtedness, but Kimball is not?

Why is Roger Maxon blamed for creating an organisation that has hurt people, but not Aradesh?

Why is Justin Ayo blamed for his secrecy and lack of trust, but not Colonel Moore?

It's a double-standard. Others are blamed for trying something new, the NCR gets carte blanch to repeat old mistakes!

Hi, anonymous person.

So ... I've read this, and I've read it again, and again after that and ... I'm a little puzzled about what's bothering you. The NCR is broadly attempting to feed, clothe and house hundreds of thousands of people ... and fans tend to give them a little more leeway when they fuck up than they do, say, the Enclave, which is a fascist organisation bent on global genocide and this is ... bad?

Honestly not really seeing the problem there.

I've barely written anything about the NCR, and certainly not in depth character profiles of the people you bring up, so I'm not completely sure why this is directed at me. If you're saying that there are fans who refuse to acknowledge that the NCR has flaws ... well, I haven't met those people, but if you look for an opinion on the internet you'll probably find it, so I'm not going to try to claim they don't exist. I've seen people claim women don't play Fallout, which is kind of a problem, from where I'm sitting. :)

But. Well, okay.

It's a double-standard. Others are blamed for trying something new, the NCR gets carte blanch to repeat old mistakes!

Nobody's trying anything new. That's kind of the point here. War never changes. Just to do the main antagonists ...

Richard Grey/The Master is just doing eugenics with a sci-fi twist. He's going to forcibly convert everyone who can be into a super mutant, and prevent any remaining humans from breeding. One of the ways to beat him is to tell him that his "master race" is sterile. It's a horrifying plan.

The Enclave are American fascists. They believe that only their people are truly human and that everyone else should literally die.

Edward Sallow/Caesar is ... I mean he's just cosplaying as Caius Julius Caesar because he thinks it looks cool. That's an actual human being who lived, and who quite famously got stabbed to death. More historical precedent than you could shake a gladius at. Sallow got over excited when he read Caesar's Commentaries and decided he wanted to be Caesar. Presenting "doing ancient Rome" as new is ... certainly something, and particularly hilarious as a plan for a civilisation given the decades long clusterfuck that was the fall of the Roman Republic, plus fun subsequent imperial followups like "the year of the four emperors".

The Institute has just reintroduced slavery, only this time let's 3D print the people instead of abducting them so literally no one will care what we do to them! They also lean into the idea that they are the only real people, although they are not quite as committed to this as the Enclave.

What's new and exciting here that I should be willing to give a try? They're all old ideas, and ideas that seem to involve a lot of genocide, enslavement and general misery for anybody who isn't part of a specific in group.

Vulpes set up his lottery (not that I'm saying it was a perfect solution) to address a problem that had gotten out of hand, a problem downstream of the NCR… and yet most fan discussions blame the Legion for what happened in Nipton.

I ... what? Yeah, I'm going to disappoint you here. The massacre at Nipton was the Legion's fault because they were the ones who walked in there and, you know, massacred people. Mayor Steyn was absolutely engaging in a round of "play stupid games, win stupid prizes" and if anybody tries to argue that he was competent I will dispute that wholeheartedly. But there was only a massacre because the Legion actively set one up.

There's political corruption in Nipton, but the problem of the Legion is that they think a lottery that decides who gets beheaded, who gets crucified and who gets sold into slavery is some sort of solution to that problem, rather than an atrocity. That's why they're still the bad karma choice, even if the NCR is kind of fucking things up.

Also ... ha. I promise you imitating ancient Rome is not going to solve your political corruption problems. I mean ... I know Vulpes Inculta makes his little speech, but Rome never did solve the problem of profiteering governors and corrupt politicians. This is not a problem that is going to miraculously disappear under Legion rule. And the idea of Rome somehow getting rid of prostitution is just ... Honestly, Caesar's Legion would be hilarious if you didn't have to have these conversations standing next to people dying on crosses.

If two human surface-dwellers kill each other in Diamond City, people blame the Institute.

... Diamond City is run by the Institute, under the synth-replacement of Mayor McDonough. The leadership actively plays up the paranoia in the city by refusing to investigate disappearances. The particular scene you are describing is paired with one that occurs in Goodneighbor, where the neighborhood watch is able to accurately identify a synth infiltrator – because they are not Institute run.

It's also a feature of gameplay that an inhabitant of one of your settlements may be a synth infiltrator and become hostile to the other settlers. So I'm pretty sure people are blaming the Institute for things they're doing.

If the White Legs emulate Twisted Hair cultural traditions without fully understanding them, Ulysses blames the Legion.

... The Legion massacred Ulysses' people. They enslaved some and crucified the rest along the roadside, like Spartacus's army of old. That's why he's the only one left who understands what the braids mean. His reaction is somewhat unfair to the White Legs, yes, who had no way of knowing what they were doing was wrong ... but I can't see why blaming the Legion would be a problem. They did, in fact, exterminate his people.

ThevNCR seems to get a pass because people see their goals as noble… but their goals are to recreate the exact conditions that caused the Great War!

There's a line I like, that Deacon says in Fallout 4.

I never really much cared for the Minutemen. The idea sounds great. But you give small men big power and sometimes you'll pay for it. –Fallout 4, Deacon Miscellaneous Dialogue

In the context of Fallout 4, the Minutemen are the scrappy underdogs you root for. They're helping to rebuild the shattered settlements of the Commonwealth and they're a potential source of resistance against the Institute. But if you talk to Preston, you get hints of the politics and infighting that brought them down the first time. There's no reason that couldn't happen again. They could become a controlling and exploitative organisation.

Do I think that means you shouldn't work with them? No, of course not. You deal with the situation in front of you. You try to support the people who aim to make life better for everyone.

If we roll back around to the Commonwealth in Fallout 8 or something (assuming I haven't died of old age by then) and the Minutemen have become a military dictatorship ruling the people with an iron fist ... well, we go deal with the fucking Minutemen then.

Deacon's right about the threat, but if you don't take the chance on trusting people, you never build anything.

It's a thing in Fallout. War never changes. There are some truly evil, terrible ideas that turn up again and again and need to be slapped down. But there is no perfect Utopia on the other side of it. There are just communities banding together to try and make it work. What stops them from going bad? Nothing. It can always happen. You make the best choices you can in every story, given what you have to work with.

Or you do an evil playthrough. Your choice. Not my business.

The NCR is supposed to hurt. Watching them fail is supposed to hurt. It's no good if it doesn't hurt. No one cries when you blow up the Enclave. That's a job well done. You can't say good things about them.

The point of the NCR is that you can. They have some runs on the board! Democracy! Agriculture! Education! You want them to make it work. And yeah, it lets you ask much more interesting questions like: how many fuck ups do we let slide?

We don't need the Enclave, or the Legion, to fuck up to know they're bad news. Their goals are bad. We want them gone. But with the NCR ... how much bad are we okay with, to keep the good?

You haven't given me any examples to work with, so I can't reasonably speak to what fans say. But I don't think the games give them any sort of uncritical pass. Fallout New Vegas is ... absolutely about the problems of colonialism and aggressive expansionism. It's very clear that the NCR has not made good choices recently. The game gives you a lot of room to figure out what you want to do about that, and no answer is perfect.

It's only with regard to the Legion specifically that it's an obviously moral choice – and they level the playing field for you there. Both the Legion and the NCR have imperial pretensions, and those are not good. But since that specific thing is the same, well, we're supporting the people who aren't implementing mass slavery and treating women as "breeding stock", right?

If there are people who won't admit flaws in the NCR, well, yeah, I'd call them wrong. But I don't really think it's a double standard to favour a group that doesn't have "wouldn't it be great if we murdered everybody" as a core philosophy over one that does.

[henrysglock]

🔥

I talked about this a bit last night, but I realized I still have more to say.

ST tumblr in general, but specifically bylerblr, tends to be so ship-focused that they lose sight of many plot lines and themes of the show.

"We want Will with superpowers so he can defend his established useless pathetic wet cat boyfriend Mike!" "We want..." [checks notes and grimaces] "...a byler sex scene..." "We want El to have very little screen time...So all the screen time can go to Will and byIer!!" "We don't want any more depth into HNL. We want to have time for Will and Mike to have fifteen different coming out scenes!" "We want Henry to die painfully! No we don't care about his story...unless it has byler/Will crumbs!! We only care if it has byler proof or proof of Will with powers!!"

Like...do any of them actually like the show? Do they like the central plot? The core themes? The sci fi horror?

The central plot has always been HNL. How can anyone say they want to trade the core plot for ship content about two guys who are just kinda...on par with straight ships? (That's right. I said it. ByIer is just on-par with straight ships. They'll never be Peter and Olivia from Fringe, though. Unfortunately.)

And when byler becomes canon, because it will become canon, the fandom is going to scream about it so loudly that they drown out all the other important aspects of the show. Aspects like:

"Love can pull people back from the brink, even people some might consider too far gone."

"Children need love. When they don't get it, when they're rejected and isolated, they become highly susceptible to harm." (And we DON'T blame the child, we blame the ADULTS who FAILED the child)

"Don't blame the victim, especially when the victim is a child."

"Children don't need to be strong, they need to be protected."

"Sometimes, adults need to be protected too."

"Children are not evil. They are just learning how to survive. Treat them with grace and leniency."

"It's more likely that a troubled child is the result of a good child in a troubled home than it is that the troubled child is simply pure evil."

"You don't need superpowers to be a hero. You just need to be kind and brave."

"You should be kind to and respectful of people, even if they're odd, annoying, or cringe."

"Just because you think you're right doesn't mean you are right."

"Draw conclusions from evidence rather than pursuing evidence for a conclusion."

"Often times, doing more research will uncover crucial information you didn't catch on your first try. Don't assume you know everything."

"Don't make accusations without doing your research. Malicious entities will use this ignorance to their advantage every time."

"Unchecked bias, willful ignorance, and bigotry are killers."

"DON'T TAKE THE CHILD ABDUCTING DOCTOR AT FACE VALUE ABOUT THE MORALITY OF HIS FIRST VICTIM, SOMEONE HE HAS VESTED VALUE IN SMEARING AND SCAPEGOATING."

"THE GOVERNMENT IS PROBABLY LYING TO YOU. IF THEY HAVE A VESTED INTEREST IN LYING TO YOU, ASSUME THEY ARE LYING TO YOU."

"The support of friends, family, and the community can be just as powerful as, if not more powerful than, romance."

Just...to name a few.

But yes, tell me again about how the two gay boys kissed. That was clearly the sole takeaway from the entire Stranger Things anthology.

Send me a 🔥 for an unpopular opinion (you can request topics!)

[112alb]

Savage

“What obscenities were you growling at your fellow students? You were acting like a savage!” Mr Kruger said to Anthony, “I will not tolerate this behaviour in my school. You will abide by the school rules or suffer the consequences. I will not display any leniency.” Mr Kruger paused. “Your father requested that you be treated the same as the other boys. Do you understand me?”

Anthony nodded his head without looking up, his gaze on the floor. From the time he entered the headmaster’s office and stood in front of the large desk, he had not looked at Mr Kruger. His eyes blazed at the injustice of the current situation. But he did not want to incur further disciplinary action by displaying his defiance.

“You will report to Mr Hutt at the end of today’s classes. You will obey his instructions with no further disruptions. Do you understand me?”

Anthony nodded his head again, gaze fixed on the floor.

“I want verbal confirmation, Mr Starr!”

Anthony hesitated, composing himself before he raised his head to look at the headmaster. “Yes, sir.”

Mr Kruger was not looking at him. He was gazing at the laptop screen on his desk. “Good. You are dismissed. Close the door on your way out.”

Anthony walked out, closing the door behind him quietly. His father had sent him to this school for social reasons and he would blame him in becoming a scapegoat. Mr Kruger did not ask for his account of the incident. He judged him guilty without a hearing.

His shoulders slumped, Anthony left the administration offices and made his way back to the classroom. His mother and grandmother would be disappointed in him. He suspected that a damning version would be reported to his father, anyway. Then, his father would have all the justification he needed to demand his mother and grandmother cease begging him to let Anthony come home.

This morning’s contretemps confirmed his initial feeling that Mr Kruger disliked him. It was reciprocated. Anthony thought that Mr Kruger would not lose any sleep over his dislike. Mr Kruger’s position as headmaster meant it was on Anthony to endure another six years at the school. This was only his first week.

His father demanded that his mother send Anthony to this school. In the beginning, his mother and grandmother had been against it. The school was his father’s alma mater. For months, they had listened to his father waxing lyrical about all the successful friends, wonderful times, and awesome experiences he had during his time. His mother and grandmother gave in to the passive-aggressive bullying. Anthony knew his time would be different to his father. It stood to reason they were so unalike.

The end of period buzzer rang as he arrived back at his classroom. The door opened to a wave of boys leaving the classroom. They flowed around him. After they were gone, he went to his desk to retrieve his backpack on the floor where he left it when he was called to the headmaster’s office. He shrugged one strap over his shoulder, then turned to leave the classroom, seeing the teacher, Miss Dee, sitting at her desk.

Miss Dee called out to him, stopping him in the doorway. “Anthony, how did it go?”.

Anthony looked at Miss Dee seeing the sympathy on her face. He said, “OK, I guess. I have to see Mr Hutt after school and do whatever he wants.”

“That’s not too bad, Anthony. Mr Hutt will assign you a task and if you finish it quickly, he will not prolong your time. Just don’t backchat him because that will make him angry. He will be peeved at having to run detention again. It is not something he enjoys. Mr Hutt is not in Mr Kruger’s good books either.”

“Thank you for telling me. I appreciate that.”

Anthony left the room, wondering at Miss Dee’s open assessment of the situation. It led credibility to the undercurrents he had picked up in the past week between the teachers and some students. He was one of four new boys this year. The other three newcomers knew each other and had joined forces, leaving Anthony isolated. He was a sitting duck. It all seemed strange to him, including the incident this morning.

He was baited during recess, trapped in the student cafeteria with a lot of witnesses. The argument was over nothing, and it escalated quickly as others joined in. In hindsight, he had no way to avoid the situation. All he could do was control his reaction, and he did that except for some sub-vocal growling. Well, he thought it had been sub-vocal. It could have been worse if he lost control of his rage.

What didn’t surprise him was how soon the incident was reported to the headmaster, and the speed in which he was called to Mr Kruger’s office. The whole charade was an orchestrated plan, where each player knew their part except for Anthony. He wondered what next and if when what was planned would occur. Whatever it was, he needed to remain leashed.

After just one day at the school, Anthony realised it was not for him. The air of arrogance and entitlement that embodied most of the schoolboys in his class made him feel uncomfortable and itchy in his own skin. At his old school, he was happier as a day student than being a boarder at this elite school. It sucked here.

In the past year, his grandmother and mother taught him to control his rage. They said he must remain in control of himself, always, no matter the situation. If he lost control, the consequences could be catastrophic. He was not a good student.

Anthony fumed through the remaining periods. He sat in the back of each class, keeping his head down. He wasn’t called on by the teachers.

He went to Mr Hutt’s office, next to the science labs, instead of heading back to his dorm. Hyperaware of his surroundings, he walked with purpose, staying alert in case of another unexpected event. He arrived without incident, knocking on Mr Hutt’s door, and waited for permission to enter.

“Come!” Mr Hutt said, his voice gruff.

Anthony opened the door to a small, galley-shaped room with a window opposite the door. Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books lined each wall, forming a small corridor to the desk under the window. Mr Hutt sat in front of three monitors. He was looking at Anthony with one eyebrow lifted, waiting for an explanation for the interruption.

“I am here for my detention, Mr Hutt.”

“Only you?”

“Yes, Mr Hutt.”

Mr Hutt said, “Ahh, I understand.” He paused. “Let’s go into the science lab and I will show you what I want done”. He ushered Anthony out the door and into the science lab next door. Mr Hutt went to a tall cupboard at the front of the lab. He took a key out of his pants pocket, unlocked the cupboard, and peered at the jumble of bottles and jars stacked inside.

“As I expected,” he said. He muttered a few choice words to himself.

“I need an inventory of this cupboard. Best empty everything and then stack it back in alphabetical order, match it to the list on the cupboard door. Document the remaining quantity of each substance. When you are finished, lock the cupboard and return the key to me, along with the updated inventory. Inventory sheets are in the teacher’s desk drawer. I don’t care how long you take. Once you are finished, then you are done.”

Mr Hutt held out the key. Anthony took it and said, “Yes, Mr Hutt.”

Mr Hutt walked to the door, paused, then turned to Anthony. “You don’t say a lot. Good. Neither do I.” He closed the door as he left.

Anthony dropped his backpack by the cupboard and looked around the science lab. The layout was the same as the other lab he was in yesterday.

He walked to the teacher’s desk and pulled out a blank inventory list. It was the first time he had been alone in the past week except for his bathroom time, and he relished the silence. The sooner he started his chore, the quicker he could finish.

The elite boarding school was over-rated. The next six years, an eternity made him want to burst out of his skin. His parents did not ask him if he wanted to move schools. His thoughts fuelled his rage. The discussion between his parents and grandmother was behind closed doors. They presented him with a fait accompli. He was left with no room for negotiations, especially with his father present. He did not understand why his assertive mother and grandmother let his shallow, self-centred father overrule them.

Engrossed in his thoughts, his rage grew. Anthony’s mental leash slipped. His hands extended into claws and his feet pushed and stretched his school shoes. Too late, he realised his anger had slipped from his control. His clothes tore apart as his savage inner self burst forth.

[thousand-winters]

What do you think Hunters relationship would be like with the coven heads pre wad time skip?

If they still form a type of government after Belos’s reign then he might kind of have to acknowledge them, considering his dad(s?) work in the government.

So if he ever gets to sit in in Darius’s office for a bit maybe he sort of has to talk to them?

They could still treat him exactly like they could have back in the coven, but I doubt Darius or Eber would tolerate that.

They could be tolerating of him, maybe sympathetic. Occasionally offering him some random candy or something.

Or maybe they never talk again because they all end up in prison so yk

It really depends on the headcanon you go with when it comes to the Coven Heads. I think there could be certain leniency considering that Belos tricked them all, but even then the Coven Heads were very much the kind of people who relished being on top because they could abuse their power and remain privileged without having to worry about anybody else but themselves.

I feel like for those who really wanted to try, another chance would be granted, like Mason (I'm always a "Mason is the most decent one there other than the rebels believer"), since we saw Kiki was doing some kind of community service, and Steve reached out to other scouts. Immediately starting the new government by executing people and throwing them in jail forever and ever is probably not what they wanted after a ruler such as Belos.

Now, I think Terra, Vitimir and Adrian are beyond second chances lmao. Considering how they were stubbornly trying to take the throne and I always like taking that as the way the crew had of telling us they were trying to take over but of course, they would not be allowed. I think they would have a far harder time becoming actually decent members of society, it's what I'm saying.

In any case, I usually picture Darius, Raine and Eber participating in the government at firsts, reluctantly with a bunch of other high ranked people from the Emperor's Coven who handled the bureaucracy and other mundane aspects, since we do know it wasn't all just fighters, we have Flora after all. Since they have more plausible deniability than the Coven Heads, I think in the shaky times right after everything has gone down, they would have to settle for that before taking more steps to have something better.

But before I continue going in a tangent about that, to answer your question, I do think most of them would absolutely treat Hunter the same way, maybe worse. I can see some of the most "loyal" Coven Heads resenting him both for being a "traitor" and because he managed to get out before everything went down, Terra was pretty horrified realizing the truth about the Day of Unity after all. They aren't the most moral of people and blaming a kid who was just trying to survive seems pretty on brand for them.

Some others, like again, Mason, I can imagine would have incredibly awkward interactions with him if they ever cross paths again, because there would be an element of guilt, especially since for the Coven Heads it would end up being pretty obvious that Hunter never had a choice about the kind of life he led back then, and yet they don't know or owe each other anything, so they sort of would be going "good for you" seeing each other settling into better lives. I could imagine that kind of awkward nodding toward each other and then they pointedly avoid eye contact forever.

Though I really like the option of them going from awkward to more cordial and while they would never become close or anything of the sort, since Mason has kids, I like to think he has a soft spot for them, and especially as he comes to realize more and more that for all of his bravado and fancy title, Hunter is ALSO a kid, he would definitely start the occasionally offering him some candy treatment. He just has that "I'm a kindhearted dude" vibe.

As for the ones who would still try to at least be passive aggressive toward Hunter, blaming him for their lack of power now as if he ever had any choice in the matter and hadn't been another unfortunate victim of Belos, they wouldn't last too long doing that, because Darius and Eber would absolutely intervene, especially at the beginning because they could still get to Hunter's head and make him feel like it was his responsibility despite the fact he was quite literally an abused kid and completely powerless in those circumstances.

Darius and Eber would probably try the intimidation factor first, but if they continued or if they tried to actually hurt Hunter? They're not people to be messed with and they're very good fighters who are no longer in the difficult circumstances they were at the Day of Unity either, if they have to actually beat up people to protect their kid? They will because it's been enough of Hunter having to fight his "own" battles when those are grown adults picking on him.

[medicatedmaniac]

Hyperuranion

A place in heaven where the perfect forms of all things reside, and everything we experience in our lives is a shadow of these ideal forms.

Read on Ao3

11.29pm 

September 1995

She'd shot him and he'd thanked her. 

They talk in codes about Navajo code talk. 

They don't talk about his father's blood on his shirt. 

They don't talk about her sister's blood on her floorboards. 

The things they do talk about: Probability. Plausibility. Deniability. 

They talk in the darkened interior of the car about lightning (relativistic electrons, cosmic rays, ions in cumulus clouds) , teenage angst (she confesses she smoked cigarettes on the porch much to her fathers disappointment, he confesses he purposefully flunked the honor roll much to his fathers indifference) . 

They theorize the terrible things they would have wrought had they been Darren Peter Oswald. 

It all seems so easy to talk and talk without ever really talking. A sesquipedalian purgatory. 

Mulder rambles, his words as restless as his hands on the steering wheel. "Never had a crush on any of my teachers. Too much blue rinse for me." 

Rambles on and on and on until he hears a soft twitchy snore from the passenger side. 

He shuts up. Eyes back to the road. The sound of miles passing. 

In his mind he keeps rambling. 

Mulder wants to ask how she is. 

How are you sleeping with the rusted iron of your sister's blood under the hallway rug? Can your mother look you in the eye yet? Has the dirt settled on the grave?  

He feels, irrationally, foolishly, that he will call her Dana. Wants to confide that he has several books on anthroponymy collecting library late fees. That he practices saying her name in his dreams. 

Wants to confess this the way a criminal confesses for leniency, a sinner confesses for absolution. 

Dana. Dana. Dana. 

From the corner of his eye he watches her hands fold and unfold in her lap as she sleeps. They remind him of the pale seafoam of the pacific coast. 

Dana, I wore your cross for you. Dana, I'd carry your cross for you.

He wishes to be her panacea. 

In the dark there is a flash. A cracking sound of the firmament breaking open. Thunder. 

On one long exhale he says woefully to himself: "People used to think lightning was a sign from the heavens."

"Maybe they were right."

He doesn't mean to turn so quickly to her. So quick it's almost whiplash. Her eyes shimmer in the dark. The edges of her fuzzy. She looks like a nereid peering up from briny black depths. 

Barbed light spears the skies ahead. A ghostly flash fills the car. Mulder blinks and sees shadows. 

Licks his lips and wonders if the Scully women possess the powers of clairvoyance, telepathy. Thinks of the Scully women, fracturing apart around him. Haughty and intangible, stoic mythoi. 

Collateral damage.

He replies: "Oh yeah? What sign do you think the heavens have deigned to send down to us mere mortals, Scully?” 

The thunder rolls over them. “I don’t know.”

Mulder worries his back molar with the tip of his tongue. 

Would it make any difference to know the signs?

“I don’t blame you, Mulder.”

Halogen white cuts the opaque night as his heart is torn asunder. A heavenly shout follows.

Dana.

“Scully.” 

“I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you for anything. You didn’t make my choices for me. This is my life. She was my sister.”

Mulder feels a pang of guilt, so sharp and unyielding that it makes his ears ring. “Scully, if I hadn’t—”

“Mulder, stop. It wasn’t your fault." Her voice crackles with the syllables, tenuous with grief. "And… and it wasn’t my fault either.”

He tries to swallow past the painful lump in his throat. Feigns to himself a great interest in the asphalt of the interstate under the headlights. The first rivers of rain sliding along the windshield.

“And I chose… I choose to stay, Mulder. I believe in what we’re doing. I believe in you.”

He wishes she would believe in anything else. 

"I don't know if I deserve that kind of faith, Scully." The words barely audible over the engine, the tires, the thunder, the terrible four chambers of his heart constricting. "You've given up so much." 

"So have you." 

Mulder turns to face Scully and for a moment, he sees her clearly within the mortal realm of their entwined lives. 

He wants to argue with her. Tell her he didn't choose to give up anything. That it was taken from him in a flash of white light on November 27, 1973 and he can still feel the metal of his fathers gun cold in his sweat slick child sized palm. This is his life, not hers. 

He wants to tell her that she can, that she should , walk away and choose anything else. 

Choose her family. 

Choose her happiness. 

Choose a life without him in it. 

It's only been three years. It's not too late for you (it is for me) . 

Be a doctor. A sister. A daughter. A mother. Dana, Dana, Dana. 

The words stick in his throat, unspoken and heavy, and he hates himself for being selfish. 

For all his rambling he can’t find words now.

[astrum-aetherium]

forget illicit affairs, HOAX IS SO HENRY AND GREEK CLASS CODED.

my only one (he’s the only man for me fr)

MY SMOKING GUN (self explanatory)

my eclipsed sun

this has broken me down (them all losing it after bunny’s death)

my twisted knife

MY SLEEPLESS NIGHT (henry’s sleep problems)

MY WIN LESS FIGHT?!!! (literally NONE of them were happy in the end)

THIS HAS FROZEN MY GROUND!!

STOOD ON THE CLIFFSIDE ?!!

more parts later on in the song work as well, these lyrics at the beginning just work the best in my opinion.

-moon

agh, moon, this is a fabulous idea. i'm even sort of ashamed i'm just getting around to elaborating on it now. even though you've basically done my job for me here (thank you!) i'll throw in my two humble cents nevertheless, as this is such a great proposition.

the song depicts a struggling, faltering, disintegrating relationship that you simply cannot help holding onto, still — mostly due to the memories and feelings still attached to it, rather than the person, whose multitudinous flaws are surfacing little by little. that, in essence, is our dear henry — he has that manipulative charm about him that keeps you holding on and reverting to him, he has you wholly pinned, although you do realize that it isn't any good. riveting.

let me add a few lyrics that i, likewise, connect with him.

my best laid plan (seemingly, the best thing to ever occur to you) your sleight of hand (him being so slick and appealing and gallant) my barren land (the relationship cannot lead anywhere) i am ash from your fire (he has burned you the hell out)

and, of course, as someone whose — without a shadow of a doubt — favorite part of hoax is the bridge (godly), i feel obligated to include it as well.

you know i left a part of me back in vermont -> see how well that rhymes... also: you in the aftermath of his death, relinquishing a part of your heart with his untimely departure. you knew the hero died, so what's the movie for? -> maybe you blaming yourself for still grieving his death so vigorously, like, who is this performance for now that he's dead? invalidating your own feelings. you knew it still hurt underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart. -> these last two lines could be coming from henry himself, either taken literally due to his accident, or symbolically — how much he had to put up with in the months leading up to his death, the pressure and stress he was constantly under. you knew the password so i let you in the door -> mostly speaks for itself; even though you know not to, he has just the ways to enchant you anew, and you keep letting him. you knew you won so what's the point of keeping score? -> he's so condescending i can practically picture him constantly seeking to taunt you for your lenience and weakness regarding him. you knew it still hurt underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart, but what you did was just as hard.

last, and yet certainly not least...

don't want no other shade of blue but you; no other sadness in the world would do.

[frostedturquoise]

I love it how i lost a ton of tabs with reference materials i needed for shit that had iced until i needed them solely because my web browser version got depreciated recently (and nobody cared to update it for this OS version apparrently the slackers....not that it would of installed anything this laptop is allergic to that function theese days) and a slightly too demanding and caused me to loose everything. A fucking ad. because the web browser was all 'lol update if you want to keep using your web browser add ons' like...whaat if...someone cant and every time they remember to get an external drive everyone and their dog in a city with like 50 tech places somehow has not even one. Because the present issue invoves having to wipe the whole drive and do over.

bonus: life bitching below. with luck the table turning and feeling fdrsustrated with being nable to be social ILRL bubbling onto online will help me empty my drafts later lmao

asertyuikjhgfdfgty im just being a chatterbox out of nowhere because i have reached the point of 'all my IRL friends are being fucking idiots/too busy and all my unspent social energy gets wasted talking into the void on the internet.'

Usually im pretty lenient but there is only so much 'waaaaa i wanna get better i wasnt things to be better and do xyzblhblarg' and a simple 'idk man at this point have you considered not blaming xyz for everything and tried genuinely working around the problem? shit wont get better immediately but if you get the hang if it shit will suck less' and they get mega bitchy because they can have boundaries and you cant and you just wanted (1) normal ass conversation for the first time in five weeks. Like dot take my leniency for granted im still a human person not a robot who can take other peoples feeling indefinitely. Especially when your simultaneously making 3001 excuses and bailing on plans last second or didn't tell people you changed your mind until four hours fucking later and the slew of apologies and being all 'are you just hit by the compulsive need to apologise or trying to guilt trip me because i honestly cannot tell sometimes' is treated like the equivalent of stating them in the eye as you idk murder their cherished pet in cold blood or something. Im happy to hang out with people when they are upset to keep them company and hang out/watch stuff/play a game/tidy house/i dont fucking care but like, there is only so much someone can sometimes put up with without being all 'i know its hard but bro have you ever fucking considered trying to help yourself without expecting immediate results from anything that people cannot fix for you? It can be hard but it feels like you really need to start trying because it is in the end the only way this is going to get nay better even if people help you help yourself you HAVE to TRY' about it. Which sounds idk peak insensitive dick when you put it that way but that is literally how it feels and is the most ambiguous way to put it here. But like. when said person is constantly flaking and changing plans without telling you constantly for months on end (no infrequent plans either but like regular every other day ones) or teling you LITERAL LAST SECOND! and it gets the the point of 'why am i bothering at all this month' after three months of not being told anything ever until it too late to pick up any plans you knocked back FOR THIS because YOU KNEW this friend was having a hard time. So like. You know. I hate the fact that this is just all shit from the same person but holy shit do feel like it with my childhood friends too...which are fun to be around but like idk man they don't try either in 99% of cases.....which...i hate that i am genuinely being 100% serious about and am actually not playing up. Sadly. Ugh i miss living in a house where there was people there almost all the time even if it made my living situation 50x worse in different ways because my younger brother as much as i would care what he did with his life, need to realise he is fully physically able without a sleep or hypermobility disorder and needs to realise that he is literally asking for the impossible and it feels incredibly double standard fiir him to be home 24/7 and expect his older sibling to be home even LESS than they are at an impractical time like 9pm and go on a walk to fucking nowhere when i am not within walking range of ANYWHERE i could go at that hour unless i wanted to third wheel HIS best friend and his fiance's night time vidchat calls. So like. idk man. get a grip. if you want your 'private nsfw voice chat' so bad pick a time nobody is home or go jump in a text chat. I don't acre. Fuck off. I dont live here at your convenience your just pissy because you vcant go to dad about it because he would tell you to move back in with your mother if you want privacy that bad. (which he wont because she would get on his case more than we do about basic bitch responsibilites called 'i dont give a fuck what you do but PAY YOUR FUCKING BILLS)

[albireocountdown]

trial 4.5 || cross/kyou || I’d rather go my way || attn: Aki

[SONG] (atp, i just wanted to inflict this version of this song on yall because i’ve been entranced by seth macfarlane voice)

—

Kyousuke’s eyes widen slightly for a moment at Aki’s example. He never expected himself to live past his twenties before all this, so how could he bear that possible length of time? 

“Speaking of, how much time has passed in the real world? Will we be returning where we last left off in December, or will people that know us wonder where we’ve been the past several weeks?” he asks Aki.

—

His face softens minutely as he hears Fox’s explanation. He couldn’t have known it would have come to this. 

“Put yourself in someone else’s shoes.” His sister’s voice chides him. 

Her lessons of empathy are not lost on him, but at what point do you stop forgiving? Everyone has their own lines of lenience, what one pardons another scorns. 

And for Kyousuke, betrayal and abandonment are two lines he wouldn’t let anyone cross any longer. He excused it when his ex-girlfriend disappeared without a last letter goodbye, hell, blamed himself when his own mother left their family in the wind. But no matter how he sees this situation, in all its angles and flaws, he’s unable to provide reassurance that he understands that there was no other way to do things.

“Dude, are you serious?”

  His eyes harden once again upon hearing Fox’s following statement.

   “She literally said you can’t change her conditions. Really rich of you to want to bargain more.”

  The frown also shoots to Flick as well. He sighs a breath of frustration before taking the paper between his lips and tearing with his teeth to shorten the straw. The unwrapped, damp (ew!) part falls to the floor and he continues gnawing at the tube.

  “Working for you doesn’t sound all that bad to me.” Kyousuke’s continues to carry on normally, addressing Aki.

  “I mean, hell, I have nothing left to look forward to going back home. I am not ready to be thrust back into the world right now, having to deal with customers who want a mocha latte and throwing it at me when I get their order wrong by half a pump of syrup, God forbid.”

  Kyousuke scratches his head, combing his fingers down through his hair.

  “For me…” he pauses, “I think I need time to recuperate. Stare at paint drying. Process what the fuck is all happening, even if it means sitting in the Xanax ocean. That sort of thing.” He looks at Rory, a twinge of annoyance at her reminder of the living.

  “And my sentiment hasn’t changed from Venetta’s trial.” Familiar words echo and return to him with weight.

“I don’t want whoever did it to die, instead, I want them to live knowing they made the wrong choice and forever let that haunt them.”

  Leaning back against the wall again, he folds his arms, an index finger continuing to chip at his thumb’s nail polish.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"No Juvenile Delinquency Gain in City," Windsor Star. October 27, 1943. Page 3. ---- Health Officer Declares Disease Has Shown Marked Decline Since 1939 --- Board of health figures show no indication of any marked increase in Juvenile delinquency but, on the contrary, show a marked decrease in the incidence of venereal disease among youngsters under 16 years of age in Windsor, Dr. John Howie, M.O.H., told the Dougall Avenue Home and School Club last night.

POTENTIAL PROBLEM Young people between 16 and 20 years of age are in more danger, Dr. Howie said, adding that the problems in this direction are more potential than actual at the present time, as far as Windsor is concerned.

"They loom up in the post-war period even more dangerously than at present." Dr. Howie said, "but they are sufficiently serious to warrant action now and, in this regard, an ounce of prevention is worth much more than a pound of cure."

In 1939, Dr. Howie stated, 15 cases of venereal disease were reported among boys and girls under 16 years of age and all of these were reported before the actual outbreak of hostilities. In the four years since the beginning of the war, 20 cases of venereal disease have been reported in this age group.

PREVENTABLE DISEASE "These figures." Dr. Howie said, "are not all inclusive. To every case of syphilis treated by the health department, two others go to private physicians. However, the figures are comparative and, though they do not show an increasing incidence, they represent preventable disease.

"In six years only eight boys under 16 were found to have venereal disease. A more striking fact, however, is that seven of them, that is, all but one, were congenital cases. There was only one case of acquired disease in six years reported to the board of health. Practically all infected, delinquent children would, sooner or later, be seen by our clinic."

Of the 32 girls under 16 found infected during the past six years, six were congenital syphilitics and most of the rest were acquired cases of gonorrhoea.

"Half of the cases reported in the below 16 years group." Dr. Howie said, "were reported in 1938 and 1939. It is a curious fact that there were no cases seen by the health department in this age group during the last three months of 1939, after war had been declared.

HALF OF ONE PERCENT "While on this subject of infection and statistics I should like to refer to another finding which came out of a conference called by me on May 26 to discuss venereal disease and other war hazards to health. In 2.000 consecutive blood tests done in a local plant, without regard to selection, 11 cases of syphilis were found, or slightly over one-half of one percent. The most interesting point was that no one unmarried person had a positive blood test. The 11 cases were found among individuals who had been married and were separated, divorced, or where the home had been broken up."

"Some of you," Dr. Howie declared, "are doubtless worrying about the danger of sex perverts attacking your children. That this happens on occasions, both in peacetime and wartime, we know. It occurs very infrequently. Anyone found to be a sex pervert should be severely dealt with in the courts. There must be some mental quirk or deficiency underlying such abominable conduct.

"The blame may lie at the door of us all in the inadequacy of our attack upon mental ill-health. While aiming at preventing the abnormal, we should not let compassion warp our judgment and result in leniency which fails to protect the children. If war conditions result in undermanning of the police department, a volunteer constabulary should be recruited."

[mothinked]

Upon pulling out of her thoughts and releasing a heavy sigh, Ellie figured she must have been up there on the roof for at least an hour. She kept thinking about how she missed the comforts of home, missed her family. What were the Fireflies like? Had they assembled a larger, more experienced medical team in the years since? Twelve years was a long time to rebuild and gather more members and if Jackson's growth was any indication, it was entirely possible to form a strong community in just a couple of years alone. California had caravans along the coast; the Fireflies likely had established their own trading routes and she didn't doubt they would have access to more resources than Jackson.

Wyoming was the least populated state prior to the outbreak, according to the books she read, and it did feel safer than most other places. Then there was what Tommy said about the infected migrating. She'd seen it for herself years later. The horde she heard on the outskirts of Las Vegas that left her hiding in a basement... until they were distracted by a group of travellers before finally continuing on their way. Those two kids she buried in silence under a tree. She hoped that children would be the first to be vaccinated. If she could take home a dose for JJ then it would all be worth it. It needed to be done—even if it meant pushing aside her violent and tempestuous history with Abby. This is so much bigger than us. If not us then who?

Lev would hear her descent on the fire escape and see Ellie opening the window to let Jack back inside before she followed suit. The first thing she noticed was the absence of Abby. Wherever she went, she took her bag and weapons along. An assumption could be made that Abby went outside hence the need for her gear but she didn't bother asking Lev. Instead of settling in for the evening with a book like she routinely did, Ellie went for the door. Lev's eyes were on her. "Ellie—" he tried to say and she immediately picked up on the dissuading note in his voice. Admittedly, she resented the fact that he and Abby would act like she would take off back to Wyoming. Her choice had been made: no matter what she would get to Catalina Island.

She and Abby had literally shaken on it, hadn't they? They established the truce over a week ago. Ellie's word didn't mean shit to Abby and that was fine but Ellie felt like she was going to lose her damn mind if Abby and Lev kept this up. She couldn't blame Lev though considering how close he was with Abby. Clearly the Firefly cause mattered to the both of them. Ellie had her doubts about the Fireflies that she hoped would be put to rest by the time she reached her destination. She could see for herself how they operated. How they lived. "Look, man... I just can't sit around this place for hours," Ellie told Lev without offering any elaboration. He probably knew the gist of what went down in that hospital anyway. "I won't go far." She was open to compromise. He was kind to her and she would extend the same courtesy.

"I'll look around for supplies we could use. If it makes you feel better, Jack can stay with you. I wouldn't leave without him, right?" She crouched to pet the aforementioned animal, uttering a soft command for him to stay put. Lev knew he couldn't force Ellie to stay in the room but the insurance that was Jack remaining with him helped some. He was aware that Ellie gave him more leniency than she did Abby—a lot more, actually. She was... cool. She shared her food with him often, even the treats from Wyoming that she hadn't touched yet herself. Let him play with Jack as much as he wanted. It was the little things that meant a lot to him and though he felt a bit guilty, Lev couldn't help but enjoy himself in Ellie's company. She never stared at him the way a lot of people back home did. There was no judgment. She treated him no differently.

Despite the fact he would be letting Abby down by not pushing harder against Ellie wandering off, Lev felt his cheeks flush at the casual use of 'man' in reference to himself. It was a simple thing albeit it helped alleviate his gender dysphoria. Fitting in with other guys was an everyday struggle, an internal battle he had fought for as long as he could remember. "... Okay. Just come back soon," he replied sheepishly, catching her eyes as she held open the door. "It's already getting dark." He had a point. And it was better not to waste the charge on her flashlight. Solar energy only provided so much juice. She left then and made her way down the hall. Walking slowly and doing her best to ignore how fucking creepy the place was.

Where had Abby gone anyway? Could she be searching for that voice recorder Ellie mentioned? It was left somewhere in the camp out front of the hospital. Exposed for years to the elements.

She wondered if she could find any of Marlene's things in the pediatric wing where she found that recording. Perhaps a journal? It was worth a shot. She could rummage through the supplies left behind while also searching for anything that belonged to the woman that was once her guardian. Navigating through the building at dusk was downright eerie but she pressed on. Stopping whenever she came across a desk, crate or duffel bag. Most of the medical apparatus she found wouldn't be useful to someone who had no clue how to use it. Gauze was valuable though. Compression bandages as well. A suture kit was buried underneath a pile of folded towels in one of the crates. It was as her flashlight shone on that red door at the end of the hallway leading into the operating room when Ellie stopped.

She was drawn to it and yet the woman was rooted in place as she stared at the Firefly symbol stenciled right to the left of that door. What if she uncovered more of the past...? She had moved on. But that lead to the question of: if she had moved on entirely would she have even agreed to go with Abby in the first place? Ellie lowered to sit on one of the boxes she didn't bother checking, bringing her arms to rest on her thighs while her eyes lost their focus to stare at nothing. Continue with her search or go back to Lev? "Why the hell am I even here?" Ellie muttered. She pinched the bridge of her nose and happened to glance down the hallway when she saw... Shit, was that a flicker of light? It was getting darker by now. There was no mistaking what she saw.

Through that glass she saw light just briefly. When you're lost in the darkness...

Abby, she thought with her hand instinctively resting over the gun holstered on her leg. That had better be you in there.

Abby wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction to flipping the bird. Nope. No way she would let her get the last laugh in this shitty situation. Instead, she sat silent. How long the silence lasted, she wasn’t sure. For someone that hadn’t been raised in the most social of environments, Lev was extraordinarily good at reading Abby like a book. Maybe not at first but over the years, he had come to know her, in some ways better than she knew herself. With nothing left to occupy her, she cleaned. She cleaned her knife. Her boots. Her gun. Her bag. Shit, she even started dusting off her pants before Lev finally spoke up, recognizing that she was close to bursting at the seams. “You told me once your dad was a doctor. Was he a doctor here? When they came?” His voice was soft, quiet, as careful as it needed to be in a sensitive conversation like this.

The tension was palpable in the way her jaw clenched and her shoulders stiffened. Blue eyes met his while her mind swirled. Talk of her dad with Lev had been minimal. Just that he had died. None of the details had ever been disclosed but at this point, she found herself faltering. It wasn’t until her gaze dropped to the floor that Abby nodded. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “He was the one person that could do the surgery. From the recording she found…” The last few words trailed off and silence once again overtook the staff room and Lev plopped himself down next to her on the couch, leaning ever so slightly against her in an show of solidarity. Both of them had lost the most important people in their lives and in turn, had become the most important person to each other. The wolf and the Seraphite. The irony years later still wasn’t lost on her.

Eventually the silence was broken again by the discussion of food and drink. A can of beans was split among them along with some granola bars that certainly more stale than either of them would have liked. Eventually, the tension dissolved and talk and laughter filled the room. Full bellies worked wonders at brightening moods as they watched the sun setting in the distance. There was some concern that Ellie wasn’t back by now but not much. No gunshots had been heard. No screaming or anything. If she really needed help, she would find a way to get it. Though now that darkness was beginning to creep its way towards the hospital, there were things she needed to do, places she needed to visit.

With a clear mind and on a mission that night, she began to pack up a couple of her things. “Listen, there’s something I need to do. On the other side of the hospital. When she comes back, try to keep her here. Make something up. I don’t trust her to not pull some shit and just leave.” Abby finished tightening the straps of her backpack and picked up her rifle, placing the strap over her shoulder. “I’ll be back later tonight. Lev.” She said his name sternly so that he would look at her. “You may trust her, but I don’t. Keep your guard up.” He knew better than to argue and instead gave her a nod. “I will. Come back safe.” Abby returned the nod and gave him a quick shoulder pat. “Always do. Lock up after me.” Just a moment later, Abby was in the hallway. Breathe in, breathe out she reminded herself as she began making her way towards the other side of the hospital, disappearing from sight into the darkness that carried her towards the surgery wings.

[e1igius]

there's lines that are meant to remain uncrossed , as in , things that are meant to be kept secret. relationships between people was one of those things , huckleberry had long accepted that he was no one to everyone he meant. that his presence in the lives of his so called friends was nothing more than a hole for them counteract the boredom that would otherwise fill an empty void in their current schedule. he is not the first choice for any of the people he interacts with , though he understands he shouldn't be ( or the understanding is supposed to exist - though huckleberry himself lacks in comprehending his own logic at times ). he's a convenience , a usefull tool , and at times , a fun time. and nothing more. and while he enjoys being that for most people... eventually , it gets lonely.

it's why prickles , the little cactus that sits on his kitchen island , is the only thing he turely calls a friend. everyone else , is just people he knows. after all. how long he's going to be allowed to be in their lives is an ever changing cause of the government's leniency , or whenever they get bored of him. the two blondes hadn't really done anything that day... all he remembers is helping her with some groceries and then decapitating a dude. and somehow they'd ended up in the bed of his truck again ( which they seem to end up in quite often if he's being perfectly honest ). he has blankets thrown over the pair off them as they sit in some abandoned parking lot at three in the morning , and everything seems up to par , chowing down on some jack in the box , when... she speaks.

the i love you gets caught up between confused thoughts. eyes brighten with a flush of confusion , blue dancing across to meet hers. staring , he hasn't heard those words in years. let alone... believe them. the last time someone had said those words , he was sitting in the field , a pair of large brown eyes bright with adrenaline staring back at him. ramirez had last said the words to him , he missed that boy every day of his life. often blamed himself for the death of his best friend. it was horrible , to think that one one form this original squad of men had managed to make it much further in life. if they weren't stuck in the corps , they were dead or ( as huck would often say jokingly ) a dead-man walking. huckleberry had made it out so to speak , in all senses of what they'd talked about while he was still in and yet. without ramirez , it had felt that the real huckleberry had died that very same day.

so maybe that's why he doesn't say it back , he can't not really , he's never told anyone that he loves them after that point in time. and yet. he can't. maybe it's because he doesn't. he doesn't love anyone or anything in this world anymore. not even himself , but as he stares at julie it feels wrong to tell her that after the confession. so he sits up a little straighter. and takes her hands in his own , tracing a circle around her palms as the sit face up in his hands. ❝ oh jules , ❞ his voice is soft and kind , but not sweet or caring , as if he's already ripped of the bandage he's starting to pry at. ❝ you don't love me , you don't even know my middle name. you love some twisted idea of me. and that ain't right dalrin' , it ain't good for you to be fixing up some idea in your head like that. ❞

yeah that sounded much better. than , i don't love you. ( not like that ).

@ripjulie sent "...I love you."