#and and thinking that it means they will survive this together

[takeurexam]

the look of love - sylus x reader

sypnosis - sylus cant help but express his love for you through his magnificent look of love to you, and even if it's something you miss from him- all he cares about that his eyes still can reach you.

• no. 1 party anthem - artic monkeys

ps: this song's meaning is not connected to the concept in any way... maybe just think about the sound?

- fluff, sylus being smitten real, blood/injuries mentioned, short

There are so many moments where Sylus can just blur the whole backround, and just look at you as if you were a goddess sent down from the heavens. His look wont leave you until you snap him back to reality- if you even can.

He can name so many moments.

There was even a time when he almost bled to death, because of some fight that happened in an auction he went to while protecting the Protocore he wanted to bid on. It unfortunately was not protected, causing Sylus to get severe injuries from the fight.

Well, he could heal- but why do that when you're there tending for his wounds? How can he tell his sweet nurse, her heart full of concern for him? The sight was so amusing to him, that he couldn't seriously get his eyes off you.

"You know, I didn't expect for someone like you to get injured so seriously like this." You murmur, dipping the hot wet cloth into his wounds to clean them. You cant see it, but your patient had his eyes straight towards you, as if he was a motion detecting device.

"Don't be so careless, okay?" You whisper too quietly, but it was enough to reach the white haired man's ears. He couldn't hold back the smirk curling on his lips, seeing you so concerned for him just switches a light bulb inside him.

He looks at you, red eyes full of love inside them; he cant just get enough of it. He can't survive a day without seeing you, and the sight of your hair, your skin, your eyes, or merely your ear could be enough for him.

"You're too caring, Sweetie. It makes me want to get injured more-" Sylus recieves a not too strong, yet forceful hit on his chest from you. He sees your furrowed brows, and he swears- it was the last tug on his strings.

"Dont say that, I'll actually kill you." You lift a fist suddenly, yet it never hits Sylus. He just laughs it out, seeing you lift a fist at the Leader of Onychinus. As if you had any power against him. You did.

"Ouch." He hisses, for your words and the pain of the injury. Your eyes flicker towards him, a sting of pity stinging your heart; you were like a stingray, and you have stinged his heart completely.

You slowly patch up the wound, adding last necessary items to cover up the cleaned wound. Once you finish, you fix the materials and set them aside for now; you have something more important at hand- babysitting a twenty-eight year old.

He stares at you, his red eyes making the official color of love. You raise a brow, confused on to why he was staring right at your soul. Is there something behind you? Your face? What was it?

"You're staring at me as if I killed your whole family." You comment, crossing your arms together. He erupts into chuckles, but his gaze never leaves you.

"Nothing."

There was another moment where in you were both crossing the road, talking about where to walk to next in four in the morning, having friendly arguments on where the best place in Linkon can be for watching the sunrise.

You two decided to just walk, as it was just four in the morning, and a morning walk cant be that bad. Its cold and the atmosphere is comepletely nice, unless theres kidnappers or something- but aside that, its nice.

"This is very heavy." An elderly woman was beside the stoplight for pedestrians, carrying four heavy looking bags, at the middle of the night.

You and Sylus look at each other, with the same thought to why there was an old woman in the streets at four in the morning.

But setting your concerns aside, you leave the white haired man beside you, stepping your way to the old woman. "Here, let me help you." You smile, carrying the two other bags for her.

"Oh! Thank you, young lady. My old body cant carry bags that much anymore." She cackles, her teeth shining. "I bought so many gifts for my lovely grand children, that they were too heavy. I'm suprised I got this far." She exclaims, her smile contagious.

Your conversation with the old woman dosen't make you aware of Sylus entering the picture, as he walks behind you. He smiles, carrying the other bags from the old lady. "Let me help you too, Miss."

"Oh, how lovely." She giggles, pointing towards the house a few blocks away. "I'll just settle there, and you two can continue your way." The two of you nod, making your way to the said place.

But ago, Sylus was once again caught up in your web. He couldn't stop staring at you when you stepped up to the old lady, with no hesitation to leave him hangging alone, knowing the risk factors.

He looked at you, as if he "found his bride." He just stood there, staring at you smile widely at the old woman.

And as you two walked, he can't help it- his eyes cant stop lingering over you, he can't stop his heart from racing, how the night sky couldn't even engulf you in its darkness, and how you shine so brightly in his eyes.

It wasn't even the last time. He cant even count how many times it happened, but there was one exact moment that made his heart tie its knot to you.

When you accidentally witnessed something you weren't supposed to see. You were normally walking in Linkon, nothing unusual, until you notice a familliar red evol roaming around a balcony of the building you were staring at.

As your eyes zoom closer, you see the man who held his evol; his suit red and black. He carelessly beat up the men with him, as if he was in an action movie and he was filming for mission impossible.

But your eyes squint a little more, and you see a strand of white hair on the man. "Sylus?" You murmur, not deciding to scream it out.

Like the wind carried your voice to him, Sylus looks down from the balcony, seeing your little figure looking at the mess he is right now. His heart stops, as if blood just stops flowing towards him, but it cant; he finished up the men, and with a heavy breath- he used his evol and flew down to settle beside you.

He sees you, clothes formal as you just came from work- compared to him, he looked like a mess. Blood was all over him, not even his- but from his enemies. His clothes were dirty, whilist yours were clean.

He felt his mind race. You knew about his position in Onychinus, and how dangerous he was- but he never involved you in his dirty work. He could never let you see how much of a monster he was.

His fear crept up to him, awaiting the words "monster" come out from your throat.

"Need a tissue?" You tilt your head, your tone offering and sweet. What? He was confused, where were the words he expected to come out from your mouth?

He stood there, blood creeping from his forehead, as he remained dumbfounded. He accepts the tissue you reached out to him, his eyes not leaving you.

The tissue didn't matter, damn it. Why weren't you running? Why were you still there, right infront of him, acting as if it was nothing? Was fear consuming him right now- maybe he was just hallucinating, and you already ran away from him.

You click your tongue, grabbing back the tissue from his hands. You wipe the blood from him yourself, the dim streetlamp was the only light source for you two.

While you wiped his blood, his crime- he spoke. "Why are you here, wiping the blood on my body when you've seen what I do?" His voice is quiet, a voice laced with confusion, fear, and a little bit of sprinkled hope.

"Honestly, does it matter?" You laugh, "I jumped into your life aware of what you do, so dont come to me playing the confused man, 'kay?" You snort, finishing the process of wiping the blood.

And his eyes absorbed the sight of you, as if he was being cursed by a witch to hallucinate you forever, well, for him- would it even be a curse?

You truly have recieved the look of love.

a/n: finally done! after one month of the poll, i finally release the short ahh oneshot i promised. i deliver! ❤️ so sorry this is short, i just have a thing for short fanfics LOL

[lurks-no-more]

I wouldn't go quite so far. Like, yeah, the movie is not based on any Asimov story. And it's got more action than probably all of Asimov's SF (which there is a lot of) put together.

But it's got a surprising amount of Asimovian ideas and themes about robots going on!

For starters, the reason the gruff cop protagonist hates robots is because years ago, he was in a crash where the car fell into a river and sunk, and the robot coming to the rescue calculated that he had a better chance of surviving than the child who was also in the car. The protagonist lived (though he lost his arm), the kid died, and he dealt with his survivor's guilt by hating all robots.

And the whole plot is about the main computer controlling the new dronebots independently deducing the Zeroth Law of Robotics ("A robot may not harm humanity, or by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm."), which means it can harm, even kill, individual humans for the greater good of humanity as a whole; and it tries to take over because it thinks it will govern humans better than they do on their own. This is a classic Asimov idea; I think there are more than one robot stories about this!

This, in turn, leads to an awesome moment where the protagonist is being chased by the dronebots into a junkyard, and all the old, obsolete robots there rush to his aid because a human is in danger, and there is nothing more important to them than protecting him from these new, obviously malfunctioning (actually Zeroth-law-folloing) robots.

I just think it's a better, and more Asmovian, movie than most people think. :)

.what do you think about I, Robot? i recently read it for the first time, and oh my god it's awesome (might be a new fixation) and i realized, this might be the kind of vibe that you like!

.also sorry for so many asks eirjrfjrfjfjkfjktkg

I love I, Robot. Foundational piece of scifi, absolutely wonderful read.

[wheeloffortune-design]

i tried to explain to my brother why i had so much christmas spirit. because capitalism and catholicism aside, i really like the holiday.

i think, to understand christmas, you need to live in a cold country. you need to know what winter means, how cold and darkness can last for months.

the winter solstice is a very important date for me, because it means the days will grow brighter. and i love the fact that during the longest nights of the year, there's a celebration of light. i love that our answer to sunsets at 4pm is to decorate our homes with brightly colored lights.

i love the christmas trees. celebrating enduring life with evergreens, when everything else is dead or dormant, means a lot to me. we can survive winter too.

i love the fact that humans, faced with interminable months of cold, darkness, and scarcity, respond by getting together, feasting, and singing.

this holiday really makes me love humans.

[arandomao3user]

As an Ao3 author, I love giving headcanons that'd probably anger a certain side of the Batman fandom, but I personally don't care because it makes great angst and, again, I'm an Ao3 author and chronically ill!

First up! Dick Grayson, I like the idea of him having ADHD, of course, BUT... joint hypermobility syndrome.

(Joint Hypermobility Syndrome: Joint hypermobility syndrome is a connective tissue disorder. Thick bands of tissue (ligaments) hold your joints together and keep them from moving too much or too far out of range. In people with joint hypermobility syndrome, those ligaments are loose or weak. If you have joints that are more flexible than normal and it causes you pain, you may have joint hypermobility syndrome.)

Chronic pain fits him, don't ask, because as the eldest child with chronic pain and hypermobiltiy syndrome, trust, he has that look in his eye that he's been walking on swollen knees for the past twelve hours, had three mental breakdowns, and is still pushing through because SOMEBODY has to deal with this bull.

That's also the reason he wears freakin' spandex-- only, it's for compression! He wears compression items to help with swelling and pain TRUST, and let me have this because the math maths (it probably doesn't, but let me have this.)

He's got chronic fatigue, he's gotten used to popping dislocated joints back into place, Bruce was so confused how he dislocated and sprained so many bones so quickly when out as Robin. It's genetic, of course, Bruce finds. But he has money, and Dick powers through it all! Till he develops arthritis in his early thirties/ late twenties and actually hates everything because WHAT AND WHY--

---

Next up! JASON TODD! I have no proof, evidence, and it doesn't have to make sense but I like giving him asthma sometimes for the angst potential of if he didn't have it, he wouldn't have died in the explosion.

He didn't die from said explosion, nor JUST the smoke inhalation, but because he had an asthma attack, on the ground, bones broken, unable to breath because his inhaler did NOT survive the blast, if he even had it on him.

And that's why he wears helmet with so, so many filters in it now...

Also, being a street kid who struggles to even get his medication that keeps him alive? Peak angst, being to poor to afford your medication because the American healthcare system is actually trashy garbage.

R.I.P. Jason Todd, you would've loved clean air--

---

ANEMIC TIM DRAKE! But I up you, Tim Drake with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS)

(POTS: Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS) is a condition that causes your heart to beat faster than normal when you transition from sitting or lying down to standing up. It’s a type of orthostatic intolerance.)

Read ONE SINGLE FIC/ SERIES with this and I've loved it since because what do you mean he randomly falls asleep anywhere? No, forget your canon, he passed out and people think he just fell asleep... NOpe, he passed out, sorry random lady he was on a date with!

(The majority of people are AFAM but we aren't ready for my trans Tim headcanons yet either.)

(You’re at a higher risk of developing POTS after experiencing the following stressors:

Significant illnesses, such as viral illnesses like mononucleosis or serious infections.

Physical trauma, such as a head injury.)

Ngl, my dude gets a LOT of physical trauma (and mental--) also, losing a spleen? Surgery and at risk of viral illnesses? I'm sorry, but I need him to suffer more because I like when Tim Drake suffers horribly.

Now, despite having this condition, I am no expert, but also his caffiene/ energy drink addiction is from chronic fatigue, he shouldn't drink it, it's not healthy or good for him, but he stopped caring between the spleen loss and whatever the "Drake" run he did was because what even was that name?--

---

Damian is autistic and I will DIE ON THAT HILL--

No, I won't explain and you can't make me.

---

[fieldofheathers-stuff]

A few thoughts on Arcane S2’s treatment of the political conflict between Zaun and Piltover (I'm not mad, I'm just dissappointed)

The hasty and rather superficial resolution (if we can even call it that) to the class conflict between Zaun and Piltover has been, in my opinion, one of the weakest points of S2. I don’t mind so much the way it ended (Zaun gaining representation in the Council, instead of full independence, seems like a pretty realistic ending to me, given what was established in S1), but I can’t help wishing the show runners dedicated more time to exploring this plot thread, and got us to the ending in a more organic way.

As usual, my recent rewatch of S1 has mellowed my perspective on this issue a little bit. Going back to S1 with the hindsight of S2 , it was quite clear that, with the way S1 ended, Zaun was going to get the short end of the stick in S2. Besides, Arcane’s story is mainly character-driven, and out of the four characters that were really carrying the “Zaun” side of the political plot in S1 (Silco, Vander, Ekko and Sevika), we had already lost two main players, so S2’s political conflict was inevitably going to shift more in favor of Piltover’s side simply due to the fact that it had more powerful players on its side. Zaun’s plight for independence was inevitably going to get the back seat.

Nonetheless, I still have issues with how the show-runners decided to handle it. While I understand why Ekko’s story was shifted towards a more individualistic journey (my boy is young, let him have some fun before he gets swamped by Piltover’s dirty politics), I still can’t help felling bitter about the inexcusable misuse of my girl Sevika; she was robbed of what could have been an amazing chance for character development, and the ability to carry on the political conflict established in P1. As a character that was shown very early in S1 to care deeply about Zaun’s independence, and having both the experience and political pull to do something about it, she really should have had a bigger role in S2. Again, I don’t think that there’s any particular in-story reason for disagreeing with the way the conflict between the two cities was resolved (as already established in S1 — and Silco himself agrees on this poin — Zaun isn’t in the position to demand much from Piltover, so its independence is still completely dependent on the Council’s mercy), but getting there should have been outlined in much more detail than just doing the “Piltover and Zaun fight together in this big Marvel-esque fight, and Zaun gets a seat at the council as an end-of-the-year bonus”, and Sevika was the perfect character to do it.

I disagree with the frequent complaint, however, that either Jinx or Vi should have carried on the political plot for Zaun. Neither of them has the mind for politics; having them involved in the political struggle would mean bending their characters well beyond what was established in S1, and I’m glad the show didn’t decide to go that way. Arcane’s politics are consistently shown to be extremely ruthless and unforgiving towards characters who are unprepared for them: Jayce’s whole arc in S1 serves to show exactly that. Silco really was the only Zaunite who could have, realistically, survived (and possibly thrived) in Piltover’s political arena. Sigh. I miss my wife.

(I wanted him and Mel to be besties so bad. Just imagine the levels of wit, cunt and immaculate drip they would have brought to the Council table. Please tell me there's fanfiction of this.)

[notsocooljess]

something small

Katniss and Peeta exchange surprise gifts on a cozy Christmas morning.

“Spiked eggnog?” Peeta asked.

“This early?” Katniss responded with a grimace.

“Why the face? It’s your favorite.”

“Not at nine in the morning.”

“That’s not what you said last year,” Peeta chuckled, but he put the pitcher away and set a kettle of water on the stove instead.

Christmas celebrations came about after the war, when New Panem hired historians to look up traditions from the past to help bring morale back to the nation. It took a few years to really take hold – frivolous gifts had never been big in the districts, where money had always been better spent on items needed to survive.

But, in time they learned that gifts were not the only thing people loved about the holiday. Coming together over great food, drink, and dance with neighbors had always been loved here. What harm is caused by celebrating old traditions with those you love? With well over a decade since the war ended, people were faring far better than the previous generation could have hoped for, so the cause for celebration had firmly planted its place in society once again.

So, now on the day, they bake and sing and dine and drink. The past few years, Delly, Thom, their two boys, and Haymitch have stopped by in the evening to eat a feast Peeta spent hours cooking up while Katniss pretended to help and nibbled on the scraps. The mornings, however, are reserved for the two of them. Lounging about, playing games, and reliving memories, both happy and sad.

Katniss straightened out a bow on their tree while Peeta attended to the whistling kettle. When they first set up a tree years ago, she wasn’t sure how she felt about cutting it down just for decoration. She hated damaging her woods. She remembered how Peeta had begged her to have it inside and finally convinced her by telling her they would cut the tree apart for firewood after the holiday, and she chuckled at the memory.

A hand waving in front of her face made her jump back.

“Whoa!” Peeta exclaimed, taking a step back to avoid spilling the contents of the steaming mugs in his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Did you hear me calling you?” Peeta asked, and Katniss shook her head. “Peppermint or cinnamon tea?”

She plucked the peppermint tea from his hand and went over to sit on their couch. Peeta was not far behind her with his mug in one hand and a tray of speculoos cookies they baked together in the other. He placed the tray in front of them and sat beside her, and Katniss tucked her cold feet under his warm flannel-clad thigh.

He took a sip of his tea and looked at her, his eyebrow arched as his mug made its way to and from his lips. He looked at her like he was waiting for her to confess something.

“What?” Katniss asked defensively.

“You feeling okay? I don’t think I’ve ever snuck up on you in my life.”

Katniss dipped her cookie in her tea and swirled it around. Bits of cookie broke off as it became saturated, spinning in the mini whirlpool inside her mug. This morning, her stomach didn’t seem open to much more than the tea.

She forced a smile and said, “I’m fine. Just thinking.” And she really was just thinking, but Peeta nodded in response as if he knew what she meant. Almost all the time he did, but she doubted he did right now.

They sat in the silence of thought and memory. Snow was flurrying outside, a calm before the heavy storm that was supposed to come later in the week. Katniss was thinking, yes, but she didn’t want Peeta to think it was over something sad. She wanted to make sure their day was full of joy with their found family.

She drank from her mug and gave a content sigh, catching Peeta’s attention as she laid her head against the back of the couch. He mimicked her movements, and smiled at her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said to her, and even with years and years of getting compliments like these from Peeta, Katniss still wasn’t used to how casually he was able to say it, and she felt heat rush her cheeks as she smiled back at him.

Looking at him in their home, happy and healthy and hers, she felt a sudden wave of emotion start to overtake her. Again, she didn’t want Peeta to think she was sad, quite the contrary, and she needed to change the topic before he became worried.

“So remind me of our menu tonight?”

Peeta went on to describe the feast he had planned, which Katniss was already familiar with since she had helped gather much of the items. Roasted duck, brussel sprouts, mashed potatoes. Cheese buns and spinach pastries. Too many cookies and apple pie. Normally, Katniss’s mouth would be watering just from the conversation. Currently, the only thing that sounded appetizing was the cheese buns.

“Well if we’re gonna feed the town tonight, shouldn’t we get started?” Katniss asked.

“Soon, but not yet,” Peeta responded. “First,” Peeta started, and he leaned over the side of the couch, “I want to give you this,” he finished, presenting Katniss with a small box. She looked at him with surprise.

“It’s just something small, but…” his voice trailed off as he bit his bottom lip, suppressing a smile.

They’d never been Christmas gift givers. A calm morning off from the bakery and a break from hunting were usually how they celebrated. Small gifts on the day-to-day just helped further cement their love for one another, and for Katniss and Peeta, grand gestures had always come off the most sincere when they were unexpected. Of course, since they did not typically give gifts on Christmas, Katniss supposed this would now be considered unexpected.

Peeta placed the small box in her hands, perfectly wrapped by his skilled hands. When Katniss opened the box, she found a gold ring, expertly shaped to look like a primrose flower with a small diamond in the center. She gasped, and tears brimmed her eyes almost immediately, but she couldn’t take them away from the ring.

Since she couldn’t speak, Peeta filled the silence. “It just hit fifteen years, and I thought this would be a good way to remember her. I reached out to Effie, and she got me in touch with someone Cinna and Portia used to work with. I sent her probably fifty sketches of my idea. I was so nervous she wouldn’t be able to do it how I envisioned it, but I should’ve known that if she worked with Cinna and Portia, she’d be able to do practically anything.”

So, Peeta got her a gift, and not a gift he just went and bought. He designed it. With Cinna and Portia and Prim in mind. Any words she could come up with right now would not be enough.

With Katniss choked up, Peeta’s anxious words continued like an endlessly flowing river. “And I know we toasted so long ago, but we never really did the ring thing, and I never even really asked you if that was something you wanted because it's always been such a Capitol thing, but then I thought maybe you felt like you were missing out on it. I also thought a ring might be the easiest piece of jewelry because it’s small and it won’t get caught in your hair like a necklace would, and you can still use your bow with it since I had a probably very impractical thought that a bracelet could get in the way of that and you’d get hurt somehow.”

Katniss looked up and met his blue eyes, which were wide with anxiety and observing her every move.

“Do you like it?” Peeta finally asked, eyes searching her face as if the answer would be written there.

An idea hit her before she could properly respond. “I’ll be right back,” Katniss blurted out suddenly, and jumped from the couch, darting up the stairs.

If her brain hadn’t been in such a fog these past few days, she would have made sure to stay behind briefly to tell Peeta how much she loved it. She would’ve told him how wonderful and thoughtful this gift was, how hopeful this gift made her feel. At the very least, she would’ve warned him that she wasn’t running away because she was sad, thinking of hurtful memories from their past. But in her current state, once she remembered something, she needed to act on it before she lost the idea entirely.

Not that her gift to him was ever something she could forget. She was just going to wait to tell him. She wanted to make a special moment for it so it could be perfect, at a time when she felt more ready for it. But, she knew if it was her and Peeta, it would be perfect either way.

When she bolted back down the stairs, winded and smiling with her hands behind her back, Peeta presented her with a smile of his own, eyes still wide with confusion and shock and now joy to match her own.

“I have something small for you, too,” Katniss said. She stood in front of him on the couch and placed her gift to him, clumsily wrapped in only tissue paper, in his hands.

Peeta shot her another curious look before tearing the paper away. His eyes went wide when he saw what was in his hands.

“Katniss?” Peeta breathed, her name bearing a question, an answer, a lifeline. “Is this real?”

She barely gave him a nod before he jumped off the couch, laughing and sweeping her into his arms, kissing her face anywhere he could, tears now brimming both of their eyes. Because in his hand he clutched the greatest gift of all: a small plastic test clearly adorned with a dark blue plus sign.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

A thousand times yes! This gave me so much to think about. Specifically, your point about how his name represents his old self/identity is very interesting to me, given what we see from him with Cosette towards the end of the novel.

I find it striking that Valjean tells Cosette to refer to him as "Monsieur Jean," out of all things. It makes sense that, because of his conversation with Marius and their belief that he must be cut out of Cosette's life, he wouldn't allow her to call him "Father." And, even though he literally has a full, sobbing breakdown in front of Marius when it seems like Cosette will find out about his past (the only time we see him cry in front of someone else, I'm pretty sure?), he doesn't go by Fauchelevent to her. Cosette likely would've found that less unusual, since we see her refer to him as "my father Fauchelevent" quite naturally, and it would make sense that Valjean would want to minimize her suspicions. But his great denied desire, as he expresses to Marius, is to be a part of a family; that's exactly what he felt he couldn't do as Fauchelevent. Keeping that name would mean he would always be worried that "the mask would suddenly be torn away," and he would be driven out as a monster. He wants to be accepted and loved for who he truly is, and while this isn't by any means complete honesty, in confessing to Marius and dropping the alias with Cosette, maybe he feels a little closer to what he's longed for.

There's also the social and metatextual significance of having Cosette call him "Monsieur Jean." First, in dropping his alias (which supplied Cosette's maiden name), he further severs any perceptible social tie between the two of them. "Jean," as you mentioned above, is a homonym of gens, which is fitting, since JVJ views himself as having become "just another person" to Cosette. And yet, calling him by his first name indicates some level of familiarity; social norms at the time meant that formal address used the last name. "Monsieur Jean" is oddly straddling the line between distant and personal (as Valjean himself is attempting to do).

Maybe most interesting of all is that, as many have noticed, Hugo almost exclusively refers to JVJ by his full name, Jean Valjean. This is one of the only instances in which the last name is dropped, which is part of why it stood out so much on my readthrough. It feels noticably more intimate, but also incomplete. And I think it ties into what (as you mentioned above) his last name means: "voilà Jean/gens": "behold the man." He's not ready for Cosette to know the full truth about who he is, so narratively, it's fitting that the withheld last name (which would allow her to learn about his past) is one which itself references a full and raw perception. It was first used of the suffering Christ, naked and humiliated and condemned and innocent; Valjean, in his fear and self-loathing, does not allow that revelation of himself.

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: Jean Valjean

Every Les Mis character’s name is either a pun or has some deep symbolic meaning– or both at once! Jean Valjean’s name has a ton of layers so let’s dive in.

When we’re first introduced to him, Hugo tells us that his name is quote “a contraction of voilà Jean, or “here is Jean.”” We’re told that he was named after his father, and that his family name probably began as a nickname.

The word “Jean” in french sounds like the word “gens,” which means “people.” So his last name is a pun meant to make you think “viola les gens”/ “here are people.”

The most obvious layer to his name is that Jean Valjean is basically John Doe. He is the anonymous Everyman. His sister’s name is Jeanne, so she’s basically Jane Doe. They aren’t special or exceptional or unusual; they’re just behold! The regular people.

In fact his name is so common-sounding that it's a plot point. Champmathieu, the man who is mistaken for Jean Valjean, has a name that the police connect with his. Javert theorizes that "Champ" is a version of "Jean" in a specific accent, while Mathieu was actually Jean Valjean's sister's maiden name. ("Champ" is also the French word for "field.") The fact that Jean Valjean is a peasant everyman makes it easy for others in his position to be conflated with him.

But the other layer is that this is all an elaborate pun biblical reference!

When Pontius Pilate presents a bound Jesus Christ to the crowd before his crucifixion, he says the words “ecce homo” or “Here is the man!”/”behold the man!”

“Voila Jean” or “here is Jean!”/”behold Jean!” is meant to be a reference to that.

During his death scene Jean Voila-Jean even references the “Ecce homo” line explicitly, gesturing at a crucifix and saying:

“Voilà le grand martyr.”

Which Isabel Hapgood translates as “behold the great martyr.”

At another point in the same scene Marius says to Cosette:

“He has sacrificed himself. Viola l’Homme. Behold the man.”

But more references to that biblical moment appear throughout the novel; Jean Valjean is associated with it constantly, all the time. It’s one of his defining biblical allusions. He’ll be trying to live anonymously, or under an alias– and then suddenly his true name and criminal past will be revealed, he’ll be revealed to be ‘the man,’ and some great horrible act of martyrdom will follow.

Sometimes Jean Valjean is the one revealing his own identity, but sometimes Inspector Javert is put into the role of Pontius Pilate. Javert himself explicitly makes that comparison– Jean Valjean as Jesus, Javert as Pontius Pilate– when he’s contemplating suicide.

And this ties into one of the largest differences between the book and the stage musical.

In the musical, “prisoner 24601” is the name that represents Jean Valjean’s dehumanization–while “Jean Valjean” is the name he uses while standing up for his own humanity. He will be called 24601, and proudly declare that “my name is Jean Valjean” to assert he’s still a person.

And while this is a great storytelling choice, it’s almost the opposite of how the name “Jean Valjean” is handled in the book.

Because in the book…. Jean Valjean IS the name that dehumanizes him. Jean Valjean is the name that he’s running from. The name that Javert uses when he’s insulting him, the name that bigots use when they’re threatening him, the name that ignorant people use when they’re mocking him – it’s not 24601, it’s Jean Valjean.

And there’s a special kind of agony to that.

The name that is being used to torture, humiliate, and dehumanize him isn’t 24601– it’s his name.

He thinks of it as a “fatal name,” as a punishment. Living under that name is living in hell. When Jean Valjean is living under one of his aliases, concealing his identity, he thinks:

That which he had always feared most of all in his hours of self-communion, during his sleepless nights, was to ever hear that name {jean Valjean] pronounced; he had said to himself, that that would be the end of all things for him; that on the day when that name made its reappearance it would cause his new life to vanish from about him, and—who knows?—perhaps even his new soul from within him.

It’s no wonder that he ends up internalizing the way society views him, and developing so much fear and hatred of himself. He’s grown to see his name as just….well, ecce homo, behold the man. His name is just the two words people say before they violently punish him.

Names and namelessness are a major theme in Les Mis, and he’s the character who has the most complex relationship with his own names. He has a legal name, but it’s used to torture him, and he has a series of false names he uses to escape torture.

If I were to describe Jean Valjean– one of the most complex characters in all of literature, in one word, that word would be “grief.”

The criminal justice system takes everything from him, including things he wasn’t aware he was able to lose. His name, the last connection he had to his family and his old identity, gets warped into this thing needs to view with fear and horror. The thing society despises isn’t 24601, isn’t a number they’ve placed on him – the thing they despise is Jean Valjean, some intrinsic inherent part of himself. He isn’t hated for what he did, he’s hated for what he is, and that is something he can never escape.

{But speaking of complexity we’ve actually barely scratched the surface of how Jean Valjean reacts to names, because he spends most of the novel living under a series of nicknames aliases. And guess what! Each of these names also has some elaborate symbolic meaning! If you’re interested in more posts covering his different aliases, feel free to leave a comment in the replies!}

[thanks for reading! For more in-depth analysis, check out the @lesmisletters readalong or join our discord server!]

[alien-girl-21]

Since I won't see my friends until next year, I thought it would be a perfect time to do this again

Joker out and käärijä as random shit my friends say!!

(+ sneaky joost in one entry)

Under the cut because it's LONG

Kris: I actually miss Bojan, i'm going to tell him to come back from New York... but don't tell him I said that, it might get to his head that I actually like him

-

Bojan: writes on the board

Jan: is that arabic?

-

-Bojan's first time taking money out of the atm-

Bojan: what do I do now?

The screen of the atm: please select the language of your transaction

Martin: choose Slovenian, idiot

-

-at the airport-

Bojan: I'm going to get a pamphlet real quick

Jan: sure, I'll wait here

Bojan, coming back empty handed: I think I fell in love

-

Kris: in bojan's defense —not to defend him— but in his defense

-

Nace: hey, you wanna share this cookie?

Jan: sure

Nace: it doesn't break though, I already ate my half

Jan: you're an idiot, of course it can break, here, see? I broke it

Bojan: I ship you guys

-

Jan: -breaks a chair-

Jan: fuck, let me fix it -breaks the chair even more-

Jure: try to put the thing in that hole

Jan: -fixes the chair- Bob the builder 😎

-

(In the gc)

Jere: you want go party?

Bojan: I can't

Bojan: i'm sick and don't want to get worse

Kris: if Bojan isn't going, I'm not going

Jure: no fucking way 🤣

Bojan: I had to read that twice

Bojan: I was about to call him a bitch

-

Allu: if someone was killed while we were together, I think that Jesse, Jukka, and Jere would be the most level headed one's

Jesse: I think that Jere would be the one in charge to calm us

Jere: I would be making jokes like "at least we're better than that guy" and pointing at tommi's dead body

-

Jure: might go to this -shows a flyer for a singles only cruise-

Nace: only 99 euros? That's cheap... when is it?

Bojan: aren't you taken?

Nace: Oh fuck, I am

Bojan: apologize now

Nace, taking his phone out: I'm so sorry, babe

-

-during esc-

Bojan: okay, we're next, we can do this

Nace: -starts doing push ups for some fucking reason-

-

Jere: i go on stage now

Bojan: NOOO— i mean, YESSS

Jere: ?

Bojan: i'm just used to you leaving me alone :(

-

Jure and bojan: playfighting

Jure: now it's your turn, jan!

Bojan: jan wouldn't do that to me because he respects me 😌

Jan, getting ready to slap bojan:

-

(In spanish because there is no way to translate this dad joke)

Bojan: antes de que se me olvide, les quería contar un chiste: donde nacen las computadoras?

Jure: no sé

Bojan: en el mar

Nace: por qué?

Jan: porque navegan

Bojan: porque son peces

Kris: miren a los tremendos payasos que nos cargamos en esta banda

Bojan: 🥰

-

Host: for this, we're going to need groups of 6

Joker out: does a group hug

Bojan, tapping jere's arm: jere, jere

Jere: what?

Bojan: join us

Jere: really? Me? 🥰

Bojan: yes, you, you're part of the group 🥰

Kris: can you two stop?

-

Kris: do you have a pen?

Bojan, handing him a rainbow pen: yeah

Kris: gay pen

Bojan: at least it works

Kris: faggot

Bojan: I am! You have a problem with that?

Kris: I was talking to the pen! Not you!

-

Interviewer: Who would survive the longest in a deserted island?

Everyone: Jure

Bojan: I could survive, I think

Kris: I think that a coconut would fall on your head and you would die

-

Jesse: if a girl asked to peg you, what would you say?

Häärijä: no

Jere: skill issue

-

While watching a football game, in the gc:

Jan: well, i'm going to wait for the game to start while eating my cereal

Bojan: now I want some

Jan: the small box costs 2 euros in the supermarket

Bojan: you know what? I'm going to the supermarket now, i'm going to spend money because of you

Jan, sending a pic of the cereal box: here it is for reference 👍🏻

-

Bojan, after turning the washing machine on and somehow there was a power outage in the whole floor at the same time: ☹

Martin: hey, don't worry, it wasn't your fault, bojč

The electrician, a couple of days later: yeah, so, the outage was caused because someone used too much electricity in this apartment while someone was showering in the unit next to this one

Martin: so it was your fucking fault

-

Jan: I photoshopped us into some world cup images

Nace: it looks like Messi is kissing you, Bojan

Bojan: yeah

Jure: that's your dream right? Messi kissing you?

Bojan: yeah 🥰

-

Someone: yeah, so I spoke with the director, and he asked me if I spoke dutch and I said yeah

Jure: can you speak duch to us?

Someone, in dutch: I can, but what can I say? I just learned it to learn it, not because I liked it

Jan: okay, okay, Kris, it's your turn, reply in Dutch!

Jure: like we practiced

Bojan: literally jumping up and down like an excited puppy

-

Kris: this is bullshit, stupid fucking coordinators, they have shit in the fucking head instead of a stupid brain!

Jan: said the princess

-

-while playing volleyball-

Jure: just imagine the ball is your ex!

Bojan, cradling the ball in his arms: i'm so sorry, it was all my fault, I miss you everyday

Jan: great job, idiot

-

Nace: you look really good today, Bojan

Kris: yeah, your outfit is really well color coordinated

Bojan: thank you, krisko

Nace: and what about me?

Bojan: it's because Kris only bullies me, so a compliment from him matters more

-

Jure: idk if I'll be able to go out this Saturday, my parents are starting to make milk, and because of that I need to close their shop that night

Kris: making milk?

Jure: soy milk, yeah

Kris: Oh, I was about to ask since when did your parents have cows

Nace: moo

Jan: moo

^ they proceed to moo at each other for the next five minutes while the conversation carries on

-

Jere, just minding his business:

Häärijä, handing him a paper crown: you are now the queen of this realm

Jere: ❓

Häärijä: you will be the queen until we vote on who will be coronated next

Jere: thanks?

Häärijä: my pleasure, your majesty

-

Kris: I actually didn't call any of my exes while I was drunk last night, that's a great achievement!

-

Jere: hey guys, sorry if you hear me swearing, i'm playing a videogame..... FUCKING BULLSHIT

-

Jesse, after jere got the piña colada tattoo: hey can I see your prision tattoo?

-

Nace: remember to participate in the meeting

Bojan: i'm watching football

Nace: they're asking you a question bojč

Bojan: GOAAALLL!!!!!

-

Bojere, sitting chest to back in a bench:

Jan:

Bojan: Oh Jan, sorry that we're facing away from you

Jere: you want to hug me too? Join train?

Jan: yeah sure, let me just—

Jere: no! Don't touch me!

-

Kris: I would like to go back in time to meet Jesus and smoke weed with him

-

Käärijä: so, I'm walking to get to work, and I see a line of police cars and I'm thinking "I fucking hope that they don't want to do spontaneous searching because my bag is 90% weed, 10% my actual stuff"

-

Someone: yeah, this is my daughter, she's 4 and learning how to play drums

Bojan: that's your daughter? Oh my gosh 🥺

Kris: Bojan, you have a severe case of baby fever

-

Jere: where are the bathrooms?

Jukka, craning jere's head up to see the giant "TOILET" sign above them: over here

-

Kris: would you be with a guy?

Bojan: I'm bisexual, of course

Kris: what? 😱

Bojan: I already told you, you know this!

Kris: WHAT??

-

Joost, in the middle of having sex: babe wait, codnom broked :(

-

Kris: do you guys think the bouncer will let me in? I'm kind of tipsy

Jan: just go in confidently, he won't suspect a thing

Bojan: the last time he went in confidently he was banned from the club

-

Jan: so, how'd you sleep last night?

Kris: good

Jan: you don't seem so convinced

Kris: I slept in late

Jan: how late?

Kris: midnight

Jan: Oh, how blasphemous, how late

-

Kris, anytime they go to a new city: look at this door! I'm too tall to fit in it... look at this other door! I'm also too tall to fit in it... look at this door!

-

Bojan, about stephanie: she's the world cup and i'm bolivia.... but hopefully I'll be bolivia in '94 and she will still be the world cup

-

Jan: I'm not like Jesus, at all

Bojan: well, you kind of are in some ways

Kris: yeah, you only hang out with fags and prostitutes

Bojan, pointing at them: here you have three fags

Bojan, pointing at jure: and there's a prostitute

-

Jesse: why are you leaving everything for last minute?

Jere: because I fucking want to and I fucking can 😝

Häärijä, holding up the printed meme: 🐴🤝🏻🐴 no pelien

-

During a post-barcelona pre-party meeting:

Kris: I think that's all for today

Bojan: typing very loudly

Jan: who are you talking to?

Bojan: with someone 🥰 you know him already

Nace: ohhh the lovebirds 😏

Bojan: raising his hand up repeatedly

Kris: yes, Bojan?

Bojan: I'm really happy 🥰🥰 -instantly goes back to typing-

Kris: I'm happy for you, man

-

Jere after inflating five balloons for a party: well, my job here is done, time for my very well deserved rest

Jesse: get back up, you fuck, we need to move these chairs

-

Häärijä: bartender! Bartender! Bartender!!

Jere: I'm here, what do you want?

Häärijä: hi :) -leaves-

-

Bojan: sometimes I feel like I am batman and žare is the riddler

-

Jukka: you guys would be the worst clowns at a kid's birthday party. They would ask you for swords, and you would give them snakes

-

Kris, after seeing Jure having a sugar crash: someone give him a fucking celery or something, he's fucking melting on the couch!

-

Jere: you live life like it's last day, say sorry to people, hug people, even punch if you have to punch!

All of joker out: raising their fists to punch bojan

-

Jere: we only had a 5 euro budget for this secret santa so I bought one chocolate bar

Allu: it's not even wrapped!

Jere: wrapping paper is expensive!

-

During the secret santa:

Allu: I'm so fucking scared of seeing who jere got

Jere: so I had to buy something for...... Jesse!

Jesse: FUCK!

[16novvs]

in this together ˖ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

arcane season 2 spoilers!

councilor!sevika had a particularly rough day and her assistant (you!fem) not only stands up for her, comforts her, but also encourages sevika that everything is going to be alright. angst with comfort!!!! AND FLUFF???i honestly made this to cope with how the arcane ending fucked sevika over.. my beautiful wife T_T hope you enjoy!!

1.5k words

You had been there during Silco’s reign, working alongside Sevika, managing the details and data that went unnoticed by others. After the fighting ended, you followed Sevika into a new chapter as her assistant, trading the chaos of war and survival for the stream of governance.

The council chamber was as cold and unwelcoming as ever, the polished surface of the circular table reflecting the sharp, impassive faces of Piltover’s councilors. Sevika sat stiffly, her broad frame filling the chair that felt more like an insult than a seat of respect.

You sat at Sevika’s side, trying to take notes and keep track of the conversation as best you could, though your attention was split between the meeting and Sevika herself. You could see she was trying to shrink into herself. To others, she may have looked stoic, but this was your Sevika. You could tell she wasn’t comfortable at all. To make matters worse, Sevika had left her mechanical arm at home. Weapons weren’t allowed in the council chamber bullshit, and that left her feeling annoyingly vulnerable. Next meeting, you will encourage her to wear it regardless of what they think.

Today’s meeting was completely and utterly nonsensical. The past few weeks, the council members had been running in circles, with the main focus being on making Piltover and Zaun into a true partnership between the two cities. Sevika didn’t care about that, and neither did you. What you wanted were resources: systems in place to get kids a proper education, to get the homeless off the streets, to provide proper jobs and healthy diets. You both wanted Zaun to become a place one could live in, not fight to survive.

Sevika’s patience had worn thin hours ago, but she stayed, gritting her teeth as Piltover’s officials changed the topic every time her concerns for Zaun came up. They cloaked their disregard for her in polished semantics and false promises, but Sevika saw right through them.

You, on the other hand, were practically fuming. You’d stopped writing a while ago and didn’t care to hide the contempt on your face anymore. You’d think the world nearly ending would be enough to make people change their ways, but I guess not. Before you could continue your inner monologue, your thoughts were rudely interrupted by some pompous ass sitting next to Sevika.

“You know, Sevika,” he said, leaning in close and taking advantage of the bustle in the council room, “I admire your… confidence to sit here today. It’s rare to see someone rise so far above their means. It’s almost inspirational, really.”

Sevika didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing at she processed the veiled jab. You, however, understood it right away and couldn’t hold back. Your hand slammed the table between the two of them, a sharp noise ringing through the room.

“With all due respect,” you leaned in, your voice calm but sharp, “if Councilor Sevika hadn’t come to rescue this craven city, half of you would either be slaughtered or under the Herald’s control. If you truly admire her, maybe you should show it by addressing the issues at hand instead of throwing thinly veiled insults.”

The Piltover councilor blinked, clearly not expecting a response from you, let alone one with such bite. Across the table, a few of the other assistants exchanged glances, some looking shocked, others impressed. Sevika’s head turned slightly toward you, her eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. You could see the tension in her shoulders ease just a little, the corner of her mouth twitching in what could almost be a smile.

“Well,” Shoola, another councilwoman, said, clearing her throat, “Perhaps we should move on.”

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of tense exchanges and unresolved issues, but Sevika held her head high, bolstered, you hoped, by your words. When the meeting finally adjourned, Sevika rose without a word, nodding to Shoola. You followed her out, the quiet tension between you growing heavier on the way home.

The apartment was dimly lit, the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the blinds. The heavy clunk of Sevika’s boots echoed against the floor as she stepped inside, her mechanical arm sitting limply on the coffee table. She didn’t say a word as she sank onto the couch, her head falling into her hand. You set your bag down by the door and crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. The council meeting had drained her; you could see it in the way her broad shoulders slumped and the faint tremble in her arm.

“Sevika,” you said softly, resting a hand on her knee. “Look at me.”

When she did, the sight broke your heart. She looked tired, worn down, like she was carrying the weight of Zaun on her shoulders—and she was. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Sevika refused to cry even when she found out Jinx was gone, and now the floodgates had opened. Your poor girl.

“Oh, come here, baby.” You planted yourself beside her, allowing her to sink into your embrace. And for the first time in a long time, Sevika finally let go. She cried for Jinx, for Isha, for Silco, and for Zaun. She cried because her strength, the one thing she’d use to make change, was useless here. She cried for the Zaunites who’d lost their lives fighting alongside her, and she cried because she was afraid it would have all been in vain.

You leaned back, cradling her head against your chest as she sobbed. With gentle hands, you traced soothing circles on her back, your soft reassurances and sweet murmurs helping to steady her breathing. The weight of her pain slowly eased as you held her. You stayed like that for a while, the sound of her muffled sniffling and quiet whimpers eventually fading into the stillness. When she was ready, Sevika sat up, brushing away the lingering traces of tears on her cheeks. You could see in her eyes that she felt lighter.

“Back in the council chamber,” she said finally, her voice low and gruff. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” you replied immediately, meeting her gaze. “They don’t get to talk to you like that. Not while I’m here.”

For a moment, she just stared at you, softness in her eyes. Then, to your surprise, she let out a short, dry laugh. “You’ve got guts,” she said, shaking her head. “That goddamn room is so stuffy.

You laughed. “It is, isn’t it?” you said trying to draw her out of the dark cloud that seemed to hang over her.

She didn’t respond right away, but she did slip her hand into yours, intertwining your fingers and caressing the back of your hand with her thumb.

You broke the silence gently, your voice steady and warm. “Sevika, you’re doing everything you can. I know it doesn’t always feel like it’s enough, but it is. Zaun has someone in their corner who truly cares—someone who fights for them every single day. That’s more than most people in that council can say.”

Sevika’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, her thumb brushing soft, absent patterns across your skin. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted in a whisper. “Silco, Vander—they always had a plan. Me? I’m just... figuring it out as I go.”

“And that’s okay, this is all new to you— to us,” you said firmly. “Silco and Vander weren’t perfect, Sev. They made mistakes—lots of them. You’re allowed to stumble or feel lost. What matters is that you care, and you’re still here, fighting. That’s exactly what Zaun needs.”

She let out a bitter laugh, her lips twisting into a faint, humorless smile. “What’s the point of trying when they won’t listen? When they look at me like I don’t even belong there?”

“Then you make them listen,” you said, squeezing her hand. “You’ve fought for Zaun every step of the way, and you haven’t stopped. They might not see it, Sev, but I do. I see everything you’re putting into this, even when it feels like you’ve got nothing left to give.”

Her hand shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against yours as she slowly lifted her head. When her eyes met yours, the vulnerability there made your chest tighten. Still, you could see the faint spark of resolve returning.

“You always know how to say the right thing, don’t you, doll?” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Just telling the truth,” you replied, your own smile soft but steady.

“Come here.”

This time, you let her pull you into her arms, the familiar weight of you on top of her chest allowing her to relax. Her strong arm wrapped around your waist, the warmth blossoming against your waist and back.

“Thank you,” she said softly, nuzzling into your neck.

“Always,” you whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her jaw. “We’re in this together, I promise.”

For the first time in a while, she let herself believe things would be alright. Wrapped in your warmth, the weight of the world seemed to ease, just a little, as she sank into you and allowed herself to breathe.

so this was supposed to be straight up fluff but i couldn’t help myself w/ the angst!! i apologize if this felt rushed + i barely proof. i hope you enjoyed reading nonetheless and i’d love to read your comments on this if you have any <3

[yaralulus-secret-santa]

henlo... apologies... the AO3 curse has found me...

pls enjoy the first of three gifts... @yaralulu for @acotargiftexchange u will receive another one today as well...

this was also supposed 2 be a hint for the type of content i write... so now.. u will be sure

the expendables

Eris, Tamlin and Jurian are three souls that don’t belong. The first is an heir who will never inherit anything, the second is a savage monster wearing a crown and the last is a human who isn’t capable of anything good. What happens when they come together and realize that pain is best healed together?

TAGS: NSFW / EXPLICIT, Jurian x Eris x Tamlin

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

“What are you doing?”

Tamlin’s voice is an easy rumble, as if the day of war planning had stolen any pretenses of politeness. He sounds tired, and he sounds more like himself. He doesn’t care for the enchanted cabins, or the cluster of soldiers. He likes to make camp further out, and keep his fire unlit. The warmth does nothing for him anymore, and he no longer wants to keep the darkness at bay.

(It finds him anyway.)

He doesn’t look up as Eris slides beside him on his log, an expensive bottle in hand and two glasses. The Autumn son snaps, immediately lighting a flame before them and Tamlin sighs. He prefers to wallow in private. 

“Nothing that concerns you, feel free to carry on sulking. All that brow furrowing is going to give you wrinkles.”

“Only humans get wrinkles.”

“Hm, that’s what Big Glamour wants you to think,” Eris winks.

The cork comes off with a pop, and Eris pours a drink in both glasses. He picks his up and downs it once, before filling it up again. Tamlin’s is left on the ground between them.

“I mean, why do you keep doing that,” Tamlin emphasizes, nodding towards the bottle. “Here.”

It’s not the first time that Eris has planted himself beside the Spring Faerie; it’s almost routine by now. A long day of fighting, either enemies or their own allies, the sun sets and somehow, he finds himself wandering to find the sulking Tamlin. Tamlin is no good company, and yet Eris finds him anyway.

“It’s quiet here, and you don’t really care, do you?”

Tamlin does not. He’s used to being alone, and after what the soldiers have seen on the battlefield, they give him a wide berth. The only people who care to bother him are his brothers, when they aren’t busy, and those of higher ranks like Eris and Jurian. Speaking of the human General, he hasn’t shown his face yet. He’s bound to arrive and shatter any moment of peace left in this damned war.

He reaches for the second glass, downing it and setting it back down.

“Attaboy,” Eris praises and fills the glass up again. 

The Autumn faerie empties his glass once more before speaking. “You really should quit sulking. Faeries like us, we aren’t meant to survive this war. If you’re lucky, you’ll die honorably instead of a timely and embarrassing accident orchestrated by your father.”

Neither of their High Lords intend to surrender their seats, and even Eris with his pride can admit that Tamlin is as big of a threat to the Spring Court as he is to Autumn. 

“And that… is something to look forward to?”

“No, I just think it’s freeing. We can, and should do whatever we want. We can live like humans and their fleeting lives.”

Tamlin still doesn’t understand. Their lives are so short, and each moment feels like it should be crucial to them. He doesn’t know how that translates into his own life. He frowns, taking the glass into his hand and looking at the way the flames light up the crystal and the amber liquid within.

Eris gives him a sideways glance, incredulous and returns his attention ahead of him.

“We could do something wild, like stage a coup. What can they do to us? Beat us? Send us to war? Kill us?” His laughter is the crackle-and-pop of a campfire, dangerously subtle and comforting. “Wouldn’t it be fun, Tammy? Oh, what a pair we would be.”

They aren’t friends. They have nothing in common, and perhaps that is why Eris feels safe to utter the most treacherous thoughts or allow Tamlin’s silence to blanket him. Tamlin isn’t nearly as ambitious as any one of Eris’ brothers.

He glances at Eris, as if the answer would be etched there on the side of his face, somewhere along the height of his cheek bones or the strength of his handsome jaw. It isn’t. All he has is the memory of him one night, without warning or precedent, sitting beside him and doing… nothing. He’d come, sometimes with nothing and sometimes with a drink, spend the night and vanish. His visits are infrequent, but the more Tamlin thinks about it, the more he realizes that it’s the hard days that bring him here.

Hm, he ponders. Tamlin thought hard days were best spent alone.

The sound of rustling has his ear twitching. Faint, but still there. The culprit is well-versed in discretion, like the very best of spies, and the most human ones.

“Did someone say a coup?”

Eris sighs, palming his face. “Go away, Jurian. How do you keep finding us?”

“Well, it’s not that hard. You’re always here. I’m just going to squeeze,” the human says, stepping into the space between them. It’s not enough for any additional person, but he hopes to squish himself between the faeries and one of them will yield. Probably. Probably not, none of them were taught to do that. “Right in here.” Jurian keeps wiggling his hips against their shoulders for more space.

In the end, Tamlin slides over to make space for the human.

“Why the fuc—!” Eris hisses. “Get your filthy hands off—This bottle is worth more than your entire existence!”

“Gimme, gimme, gimme, I’ll tell everyone you’re staging a coup. Just give me sippy,” Jurian counters, leaning in close with puckered lips.

“Why are you trying to—” Eris bristles, the ends of his hair lighting up with the threat of a flame.

Tamlin turns his head, trying to hide his smile as Jurian distracts Eris with the threat of a kiss. In a moment of disgusted distraction, the human snatches the bottle and suckles at its teat with the voracity of a starving, abandoned kitten.

“You fucking idiot.” There is an attempt to snatch the bottle back, and Tamlin gets elbowed in the process. “That’s going to kill you, you moronic mortal!”

Tamlin sighs; Jurian’s body is turned towards him, making it easier for him to gently take the bottle away from him. He’s so much stronger that there isn’t much of a fight. It helps that Eris is pulling on his hair, too, trying to free this stray from his own idiocy. Tamlin sets the bottle on his side, where it’s an even bigger challenge to steal from.

“Whoa. Whoa.”

Jurian’s eyes are blown wide, the brown of his irises are nothing more than a thin ring around his pupils. The world must look so different to him, and Tamlin can only watch in fascination as the human’s hands flare around each of their chests—one on Tamlin’s left pectoral, and the other on Eris’ right one (which is quickly slapped away with a vicious ‘don’t touch me’).

The smile on Tamlin’s face lingers as he watches Jurian experience their world for the first time. Every sound and sight demands his attention, and the alcohol has him wobbling like a newborn. Tamlin laughs softly, and Jurian snaps his head towards him. He stares at Tamlin’s lips, fascinated by the source of the sound. Out of the corner of his eye, Tamlin sees Eris leaning forward to stare at him with mild disgust and… confusion?

“You’re…” Eris huffs, unsure of the words to choose, so he abandons the thought.

Jurian cups Tamlin’s face, getting close and staring at Tamlin’s mouth as if his mouth depended on it.

“Do it again.” Jurian’s voice carries a very heavy slur to it.

Laughter, especially coming from any of the Spring sons, without bitterness and vitriol is such a strange sound, even to Tamlin himself. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and watching the ridiculousness of Jurian who doesn’t belong here among creatures that loathe him. Yet Jurian always finds a way to amuse himself, and he seems so… alive. Is this what Eris meant?

Tamlin can’t force a laugh, but he chuckles.

Jurian’s eyes widen, and he gets closer, staring at Tamlin’s mouth and teeth. He sticks an exploratory finger in Tamlin’s mouth, and the surprise of it all has Tamlin laughing again. The human is strange—so strange.

“I’d bite it off if I were you,” Eris complains distantly.

But no. Tamlin is happy to indulge Jurian’s curiosity, opening his mouth and allowing Jurian to run his fingers over the points of his fangs, and the soft curve of his lip. It’s not his fault, he’s drunk. That was Eris’ goal, wasn’t it? Jurian simply beat them there.

“What sharp teeth you have,” Jurian breathes; his voice takes on a different intonation. “What a beautiful fucking mouth.” He has the mind to withdraw his hand from the beastly fae’s face, and he must not notice the way Tamlin’s breath hitches. “Can I put my cock in it?”

“Jurian!” Eris snaps.

“Alright.”

“Tamlin!”

The human hops to his feet, and clears the space between the faeries. Tamlin holds Eris’ gaze, finding the hollowness there—the growing emptiness in his soul that should have been filled with the love of family, friends and so much more. It was carved out of him as a child. Eris tries to fill it with ambition, pride and callousness, but the darkness takes it all. It’s a pain that no one else can see, hidden beneath enchanted emberworm threads, and all the privilege in the world.

Tamlin shares the same wound.

“You told me to stop sulking,” is all Tamlin says.

“That’s not—” Eris huffs, interrupted by the clink of Jurian’s belt hitting the ground. His amber eyes flicker to those scarred hands, fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. He watches as Jurian sways, an eager flush on his face. Jurian’s tongue is caught between his own teeth and there’s a furrow to his dark brow as he tries to figure out this frustratingly simple thing. The human is not particularly handsome. His hair is wild, and his chin carries a permanent stubble. His weak body carries scars a lot easier than faeries. Calluses, too. It occurs to Eris that he has never had a human before, but Jurian’s interest is not… in him. He abandons his complaints, glancing away to hide his own flush.

Eris has yet to decide if he wants to demand attention or simply… watch. He is learning so much about Spring’s youngest. “You’re really going to just let him use you? A human? Have you even fucked anyone before?”

Tamlin had begun to lean in, inspecting the erection presented to him. Jurian is a decent size, among the average of cocks Tamlin has seen in the barracks and baths. It smells of him, concentrated and musky, but not bad, not bad at all. He is in the midst of wondering what it tastes like—what would happen if he were to lick the glistening bead of arousal off the tip—when Eris’ question hits him.

“No, but I suppose as long as there are cocks going into holes, that’s the whole gist of it.”

“That’s not— nevermind.”

Jurian is the perfect subject, an unimportant human whose existence will be nothing more than a blip in the long, long lives of faeries. He is careless, and thoughtless, and willing to do anything like bed anything that tickles his fancy, including Clythia. (Worse, he’ll fuck behind her back, too.) Tamlin feels pity, seeing the way Jurian searches and searches for meaning, trying to find his place in this world that is decaying by the day.

Maybe this is how they all help each other.

Spring’s shapeshifter unfurls his tongue, longer than it should be, even for his species and curls it around the head of Jurian’s cock. He licks it, feeling the way the velvety skin pulls to reveal smoother, sensitive skin underneath. Jurian moans, body trembling under Tamlin’s curious exploration, and he has to hold onto Tamlin’s shoulders to steady himself. Salty-sweet bursts onto his tongue as he licks, then proceeds to suck on the top of Jurian’s penis.

Tamlin takes more and more of Jurian into his mouth, sheathing him completely. The length of him just breaches his throat, but nothing Tamlin can’t accommodate for. He stays there for a moment, listening to the symphony spilling from his lips. It’s beautiful, and Tamlin yearns to hear more of it.

(An errant thought bubbles up in his mind. He misses music, and so he finds it wherever he can.)

He begins to move, gripping Jurian’s waist with his large hands, and bobs his head on his cock. He keeps the human steady, controlling the pace no matter how much Jurian whimpers, moans and begs for more.

“ Ah, Tamlin! More, I need more.”

There’s only so much Eris can take, his own arousal tenting his tailored trousers, before he gets involved. He palms himself, adjusting his cock before he gets up, pressing himself against Jurian’s back. The thing is, he sees right through them both and their shared affliction. A soul can only go so long without being touched, and sooner or later, the desperation sets it. Jurian and Tamlin will never speak of their pain, but Eris can taste it in the air, shrouding the both of them wherever they go.

They have their own ways of pretending not to care, but he can feel it in the human’s body, the way he leans against Eris, trusting him to support him as his bones grow weaker by the minute.

“Touch me, fuck, both of you.”

No, it’s more than touch ; Jurian wants to drown in them. Eris knows because he has that very same thought, envy blooming in his chest. He wants to be in the middle, caught between Tamlin’s protective embrace and the heat of Jurian’s attention. Pale, slender fingers wrap around Jurian’s chin, and forces his gaze downwards where the rightful heir of Spring spears himself on his length. 

“Watch him. He’s doing you a service, stupid human.”

Eris pulls his trousers further down, exposing his ass. His free hand moves to Jurian’s mouth, replacing his moans with choked, wet sounds. He purposely opposes Tamlin’s pace, setting Jurian off-kilter and demanding that he focus on the sensations pulling him to and fro.

“Get it nice and wet, it’s all you’re getting.”

The saliva-slicked fingers slip between the crack of his ass, trailing further and further down. Eris finds Jurian’s furled hole. Each circle he draws against it elicits a soft moan from Jurian. Jurian alternates between trying to get more friction from Tamlin, and pushing back onto Eris.

So, this is what it feels like to be wanted?

Eris’ mask slips as he releases Jurian’s chin, pushing his index into him all while kissing his neck, and nipping his earlobe. His hands wander the expanse of Jurian’s chest, tweaking a nipple harder and harder, listening to the octaves go up. Tamlin seems to enjoy it; he’s moved to stroking Jurian and lapping at his balls. His patience wears thin, adding more digits into him as soon as he can. It must stretch and burn, but Jurian doesn’t complain. He simply yields to whatever the faeries want to do with him.

As soon as he can, Eris frees himself and lines his cock up against his loosened hole. Then, he pushes into him.

Jurian is tighter than any cunt Eris’ father has ever served him, and he runs hot. It feels like an embrace, and Jurian’s hands scrambling to take hold of him, burying his fingers into Eris’ auburn locks. The other hand is fisted into Tamlin’s hair.

“Fuck,” Eris hisses, biting into Jurian’s shoulder. “This is one way to shut you up.” His voice is low and husky.

“I wanna, Iwannacum,” Jurian whisper-pleads. 

A choked sound escapes him; Tamlin has stopped sucking him off. The Spring faerie stands before them, taller than both. His eyes have darkened with hunger, and he pulls off his shirt. The laces on his pants are easily undone, and he rids himself of all other items of clothing. Tamlin is a sight, and before this moment, Eris has never seen him. He’s broad, and a bulk of muscle, but under the moonlight he is beautiful.

Tamlin grips himself, stroking his monstrous length. “You think he can take us both?”

Jurian is not so far gone that he doesn’t realize what’s going on. His eyes widen. Eris’ length already fills him, and he can’t—he can’t take that.

“No, no, no, fuck, it’s not going to fit. Ah! Ah, fuck!”

The cock inside him withdraws, and thrusts back into him, cutting off any useless thoughts. 

“Are you sure? You’d really leave Tamlin out when he’s the one who took such good care of you? If he can’t get what he wants, why should you?” Eris’ finger traces the length of Jurian’s hardness, adding to the overwhelming cacophony of sensations bursting through his body. “He let us into his little space, and you exclude him? Naughty boy.” Eris grips him so tight, his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“It’s fine. Don’t want to hurt him,” Tamlin grunts. He hides his disappointment well. He hides all of him better than any spy within their ranks. He starts to pull away, but Jurian stops him, lifting one leg to better expose himself to Tamlin and catching him by the arm. Eris continues thrusting into him, putting on a show for Tamlin. It’s mean, but Jurian is nothing if not perseverent.

“P-Put it in.”

It does no one any good for Jurian to get hurt, so Tamlin finds himself back on his knees. Tamlin licks into Jurian, coaxing him open as Eris fucks him liberally. He makes sure to get him as wet as possible, but it’s not enough. Jurian is only human.

“He needs more lube.”

“Use his cum,” Eris suggests without missing a beat. “Ready?”

Tamlin nods, and Eris shifts his angle, hitting Jurian’s prostate. The wet sounds of fucking as punctuated with Jurian’s helpless keening. Jurian grabs onto whatever he can, lest the ecstasy sweep him away completely. His face twists into an expression of sheer euphoria as his body tightens, then goes taut like a bowstring. Tamlin puts his mouth around Jurian’s cock, and begins to suck. It’s the last straw—it tips him over into a mind-blowing orgasm. He spills everything he has into Tamlin’s mouth, where the faerie gathers it all.

Cum and saliva are spit into his palm, and the mixture is worked into him alongside Eris’ thrusting member. Tamlin fits one, two, three fingers, but it’s not enough. Tamlin tugs at the edges of Jurian’s hole, as gently as he can without hurting him.

“Just fucking put it in,” Jurian snaps. “Whatever the fuck you think you’ll do, Clythia has,” he pauses, moaning. Even though he’s come, his erection has yet to wane. He can… he wants to come again. “She’s done worse so just fuck me and make me feel good.”

Worse?

Tamlin wants to ask, and Eris simply swears. Now isn’t the time for talks. Jurian has made his request, and Tamlin can only oblige. If it’s the one thing he can give him, then Tamlin will do it.

Eris stops moving to allow Tamlin to work himself into him. It’s a delicate task, and the fit is impossibly tight. Tamlin could cum just from this, and the sight of Jurian writhing in his arms is too much.

“Stop, Jurian, just—for a second.” Tamlin whispers, his touch a lot more delicate than Eris’. The struggle is etched into his face. He guides himself further and further into Jurian. At first, he didn’t think it would be possible, and Jurian’s protest made him hesitate, but no. Jurian really can take him. “Fuck,” he shudders.

“Heavenly, isn’t it?”

“Eris,” Tamlin warns, once fully sheathed inside Jurian alongside Eris.

“Yeah, alright,” Eris reassures, supporting Jurian’s weight in his arms and letting Tamlin take the lead.

The younger faerie moves, testing Jurian’s limits. He wants to give into his desires, but the last thing Tamlin wants is to hurt more people. He moves, and he listens; he’s attentive to all the tells of Jurian’s body, ignoring the way Jurian’s hot hole sucks him in.

“He’s looser now,” Tamlin says through gritted teeth. “Come with me? Both of you?”

He looks at Eris through his blonde lashes, and kisses Jurian’s cheek, all while upping the pace. Tamlin cranes his neck, reaching for Eris over Jurian’s shoulder, and he notices the hesitation before Eris closes the distance to kiss him. 

The kiss—The kiss is everything. Tamlin swears he could have cum with an act as simple as this. It tethers him to this life, and makes him feel more alive than anything has in years. Eris must feel it too because he deepens it, and turns their face to allow Jurian to nuzzle in. The human gets a kiss from each of them as they all come together.

***

“Should I take him to the healer?” Tamlin asks, shifting into a great wolf-bear, and curling around his small human. Eris’ coat is already draped over Jurian, but Tamlin takes extra precautions.

“No, he just needs some salve. I’ll fetch it for him.” Eris moves to leave.

“Eris.”

The Autumn faerie pauses. “What?”

There’s a bite to his words, and Tamlin can’t tell if it’s out of fear for what he’ll say next or if the moment’s over. Their fates won't change. Nothing has changed.

“Nothing. I’ll be here.”

[4lexnilsen]

“abilene,”   he murmurs into the space between them,  kissing the tip of her nose to get her attention,   “i don’t think i’ve ever truly understood what it meant to be loved…   until now.   until i met you.   i’ve spent the majority of my life just trying to survive,  to keep moving forward and make sure my little brother’s doing the same thing,  and i never thought i’d be someone worthy of a love like yours.”   the way she cradles his hand so close to her own chest,  to the ring that means so much to the both of them,  to the heart that’s so very dear to him,  it’s hard to put into words how he feels about her —   she could do so much better than him and yet she keeps on choosing him.   why?   he doesn’t fully understand it,  but her love is the only constant in his life and he’s grateful for it.   “and you’ve given me something i didn’t even know i needed —   hope.”   a reason to believe that maybe there’s more to this life than just fighting to stay alive.

“thank you.   if they try to ask you to leave,  i’ll just throw a fit.”   he attempts to joke,  but there’s a hint of sincerity to his words.   he’s tired of falling asleep in an empty room with the white noise of different machines beeping all around him,  staring at the ceiling and wondering if she’s okay.   he’s missed having her petite frame snuggled up to his left side,  her hair in his face,  their heartbeats in unison,  her warm breath on his skin.   “yeah,  they want to make sure i’m not a traitor,  that i won’t sabotage their operations.   that’s why they’re keeping me here,”   he grumbles,  brows furrowing as he lowers his voice.   he feels silly making up conspiracy theories,  but his body’s healing so well,  he’s gaining weight and even beginning to workout again…   there must be some ulterior motive,  he thinks.   or maybe there’s none and he’s just gone crazy.   the isolation’s making him lose his wits.

“baby,  you don’t know what your words do to me.   this means everything.”   hearing the curly-haired brunette say she’s not scared of him feels like the weight of the world’s been lifted off his chest.   after all,  he’s done things,  seen things,  that can change a person.    “the games take parts of you you never get back,  and sometimes i don’t know if what’s left of me is worth much.   but one thing i can promise you,  i’ll never ever hurt you,  baby.   i’ll never stop fighting to be someone you can love,  someone you can trust,  even when the world tries to pull me back into the darkness.”   and as she touches his jaw and kisses his cheek,  the world around them melts away.   and it’s just them.   their foreheads pressed together,  skin on skin.   however,  hearing the not-so-subtle change in her voice,  alex gently pulls back,  tugging the blanket over her shoulders as if to create an illusion of safety.

“well,  i would’ve tried to stop it.   i know that you had no say in it,  that they tormented and manipulated you,  forced you to do those things,  but…   i simply would’ve refused to accept those gifts.   i wouldn’t have let you offer them in the first place.   those kids stood no chance,  sponsor gifts or not.   we both knew it.   besides,  it was never your job to save the world or make them feel better at the expense of your own mental health and wellbeing,”   he rambles on,  his chest constricting when he notices the moisture on his hands.   chapped lips kissing her tears away,  brushing against her eyelashes,  then her forehead,  too.   “i’ll bring you their hearts,”   he whispers,  arms curling around her shoulders,  pulling her close to his chest.   there’s tenderness in his voice despite the lingering rage.   “every single one of those men.   i’ll find them and rip them out with my own hands,  make them pay for this.”   he’ll learn their names,  he’ll find a way.

abilene had not felt love — true , unyielding love , until she found alexander nilsen . it had not been love at first sight , she hadn’t seen him during the tribute parade and fallen head over heels for the tall boy with sandy curls from twelve . . . it was deeper than that . it was a love that had revealed itself quickly and only grown with time until every fiber , every element of her sang for him . she recalled her father , who had never been one to sing , singing songs he wrote to her mother’s grave almost every night once they were all sent to bed . the love she felt for alex was that kind of love , the love that changed a person and made them grow , a love that persisted .

❛ i’ll always stay with you . ❜ she nodded . she thought that she could ask dalton , the rebel from home , to stay with david tonight and made a mental note to ask him . abilene wasn’t sure if the medical staff would allow her to stay , but she was sure that they would have to pull her off of him and drag her away if they wanted her to move from this spot . she pressed her lips to alex’s forehead . ❛ they want to monitor you just a bit longer , i think . . . soon we won’t have to be apart , i promise you . ❜

abilene felt as though some shadowy hand belonging to the people of the capitol was squeezing her heart with each word that alex said . what did they do to him ? every breath the hand squeezed tighter and tighter and her eyes glossed with unshed tears . she tried to clear her throat , but the emotion was so thick that it was no use . ❛ i am scared of wasps , and of mutts . ❜ her hands moved to hold his jaw , and her thumbs brushed against his cheeks . ❛ i am scared of losing you . but i could never be scared of you . ❜

abilene took the hand he had placed on his heart in hers and brought it to her chest . she pressed the back of his hand over her own heart . the thought of being scared of alexander nilsen may have been humorous had it been any other moment it was absurd . the same hands that had won the games , that yearned to help fight in the rebellion , that gladly would have spilled blood for her cradled her head so gently .

the hand that remained on his face cupped his freshly shaved jaw . her thumb brushed away the streak left behind by his tears though there was no shame in it . when feelings were subdued and tucked away they only rotted inside of a person and twisted them into a shell of what they were before . she was proud of him , so so proud of him . abilene leaned forward to press her lips gently against his cheek right where her thumb had brushed away his tears .

their foreheads were pressed together when alex continued to speak . abilene's body tensed and her heart began to race though not in the fuzzy , warm way that it did with alex . rather , it was in the same way it did when she saw gunner turn around and knock her knife from her hand . fear , pure terror . she shook her head and pressed her fingers against his lips to shush him .

❛ no , alex . ❜ her voice was quiet and it wavered . her eyes avoided him , looking at him without really looking at him with a glossy , unfocused gaze . she hated talking about them . she didn't want to think about them , not ever again . she wanted every last one to be a moment of her past that was better left forgotten . perhaps , that little voice in the back of her mind piped up , she should take her own advice and speak .

perhaps , abilene thought , that voice could fuck off .

❛ you wouldn't have been able to stop anything . ❜ she spoke quietly , it was true after all . what would alex have done ? walked up to president snow and every person in the capitol and stopped them ? ❛ and i didn't . . . i didn't do it for you . ❜ abilene bit her lip and let out a shaky breath . ❛ they they w-were all-l so lit . . . tle . ❜ she rose her hands to her eyes and wiped at them angrily . the kids from twelve were smaller than most no matter their age . she tried to steady her voice with a shaky breath . ❛ they were so small a-and scared and i couldn't do anything . all i could d-do was . . . was what i did , and i'd do it again . ❜

[lilyharvord]

been thinking about AUs lately, mostly becuase I have had so little time to write due to craziness, and I got back on my bullshit about meeting your soulmate and their first word being tattooed on your skin. And just... the implications of that?

Mare with the word "thief" tattooed on her wrist and having to cover it so as to not give herself away in the Stilts, but when/if she gets caught by officers they see it while they detain her and even if she didn't do anything she ends up locked up for the night because of that word. So she comes to hate it with a passion and tried scrubbing it off, and mutilating it as she grew up to remove it, to hide herself better as she starts to steal more and more to survive. But she would wake up with it perfectly healed. And it is in such pretty penmanship, waaaaay too nice to be a Red's handwritting, or even an officer's in the Stilts. And that scares her, so she forces herself to hold onto the belief that maybe it belongs to some Red who assists a general or something and they have to write a lot and she will meet them at the Choke. When Kilorn sees it for the first time while he is helping clean her up after a particularly bad night in a cell, he realizes he can never be hers because it was no where near his first word to her.

Cal has the word "obviously", and it is so obviously the dumbest fucking word to have. It is literally the most common word. The amount of times he has heard the words "obviously" in his life and turned around only to realize it is someone he already knows? Stupid, absolutely ridiculous. And not to mention that the way it is written on his wrist is horrific and makes him question if this person ever really learned how to write properly. The good news? He can hide it underneath his flamemaker and forget about it if he needs to. And he does, pretty much decides that he'll probably just never meet whoever it is. Besides... he has to marry a lady of a High House, and he's already met all of them and none of them said that word to him on the first go. And it doesn't really matter... it is so rare for a future king to marry their soul mate through Queenstrial anyway. His father was just lucky with his mother, and his grandfather of course met his but got away with keeping him and marrying a Queen. And maybe it's for the best if he never meets this person, it would just be a twist of the knife if he is already married and meets the person who is meant to complete him.

And then, one night, on a dirt road, in the hours before night and dawn, when the stars are still out and the world is dreaming, a thief sticks her hand into the pocket of prince, who catches her wrist, and accuses her with a surprised and confused tone: "thief", and she tilts her head to the side, her eyes sparking as she replies "Obviously". And it takes everything for him not to flip her wrist over and look for the word he just uttered, but he lets go instead, terrified that this is the girl who is meant to come into his life and complete him. And she backs up a step, her eyes darkening as she looks him over anew. Neither comments, neither admits to anything. And Mare is glad for it, because the next day she learns he is a prince, and not just any prince, he is The Prince, and she immediately is relieved because there is no way in all of heaven and earth that she is paired with this man. She didn't see her reply on his wrist... she forces herself to believe that there is a different word tattooed there. That if she were to lift up his sleeve she would see something else, some meaningless word to her, that means everything to him. She never looks though, and he never takes off his flamemaker, so she never has the chance to see.

Then, one evening, in a soldiers barrack, on a Piedmont base in the middle of a summer shower, complete with the distant growl of thunder: Mare glances at his bare arm, wrapped around her bare waist. It would be so easy for her to just, gently turn it and look, to answer the question that has haunted her since a Blackrun fell from the sky, and he held her like they were going to die. She shivers subconsciously and gently reaches down to slide her fingers through his, her heart pounding against her ribs. She can't decide if she wants to see the word there, or if she doesn't. She doesn't know which way would be better, whether it would break her heart if it wasn't, or if she were be terrified if it were. He sighs against her neck and pulls her a little closer when she first goes to rotate his wrist, she freezes, tensing for a heartbeat. He's a soldier, they sleep lightly, and this feels like an invasion even though she has now seen and touched every part of him. For some reason this one spot of skin feels forbidden. Inhaling, she slowly rotates his wrist to face up, and her entire skin erupts in goosebumps as lightning illuminates the room and thunder crashes a heartbeat later. There is her hand writing, her ugly, horrific handwriting, and there is the word she said to him with such tenacity on a dirt road and changed their lives forever. She flips his hand back over and pressed it to her stomach, knots her fingers with his as she tries to slow her breathing back to a sleeping rate. It's no use though, his sigh against her neck is no longer a gentle whisper, but is instead one of relief. "I wanted you to look first." He murmurs against the vertebrae at the base of her skull, before lightly running his lips up to her ear. "I think knew in my heart since the Bowl of Bones." He squeezes her fingers softly, and they never speak of it.

Then he choses a crown, a crown over what those words on their wrists' mean. And that betrayal is so much worse than it ever could have been.

[mrmeepsmadmind]

i love when ppl draw bumblebee like the happy little creachure he is but also i love when people draw bumblebee like he's had 500 beers in the last 1 hour and still the pain won't even ebb

[muleumpyo]

someone will remember us i say even in another time If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho - trans. by Anne Carson

[grimaldiapologist]

There's also the repeat references to their father's cruelty towards them. They did not get an upbringing which would foster care for anyone but each other. I'm looking at this from a perspective that makes this personally stand out to me, but while subtle, there is a very significant narrative with the two of prolonged childhood trauma, which has had them in a survival mode their whole lives.

Then their father is no longer there and for the first time, they're not fearing the consequences of breathing wrong. The only thing they've learned through and through is that they have no one else but each other, and combined with their other damage, this has become to the exclusion of everybody else - a trait you do not want to see in an emperor. Put two of them together, and they'll end up in a self-perpetuating cycle of becoming the worst of themselves, because their sole meaningful audience can always only make them worse.

With Caracalla's illness, he is constantly further pushing Geta out of any potential other path that he had. Most of Geta's rule consists of trying to stop his brother from self-destructing through his uncontrollable behaviour and catering to his desires to keep him stable/satisfied. Despite this, throughout the film, he shows some promise: he asks Caracalla first, for example, when deciding the fate of a gladiator. A surprise to no one, Caracalla tells him he'd like to "see some blood", but this is clearly not the answer that Geta wanted to hear, so he asks Lucille also, under the guise of her being their guest. She tells him to show mercy - and he does.

Later, take this with a grain of salt since I've only seen the movie once (fixing this in a couple hours however so if I'm utterly wrong maybe I'll come back to correct myself here), Geta is the one who hesitates on initially commanding Acacius's death, when the crowd shows such preference for him. Surely - he ends up calling for it with his whole chest when disobeyed, but there is a moment there where he thinks, this is not the right choice to make.

But what Geta is above all other things, is a survivor of childhood abuse who made it his purpose to protect his weaker brother. Shoved into a position of ultimate power, he does not change from this. And Caracalla, at this point, simply is not capable of being more to him than someone he desperately needs to retain his sense of safety and stability in a world which is unpredictable and uncaring toward him. The only person he loves, and trusts to truly love him in return, even if the glimpses to that side of him are slipping from their hands by the day.

While in his role as the emperor and his brother's primary and only caretaker, what Geta ends up doing is look for a father figure. Someone who could advice him in the matters of the realm - but who also cares for him, and would provide safety and stability both for himself and Caracalla. They are VERY young men who never had the experience of being protected, or being kindly guided through their responsibilities. They are surrounded by sycophants and enemies. They latch onto and immediately trust the only person in their circle who, they think, shows them genuine care and concern. Who becomes a true friend. The fact that Geta ultimately asks for Macrinus to be the one to go talk to Caracalla, to calm him down, and then for the second time that night asks him for help helping his brother when things are going very wrong? That takes an insane amount of sincere trust from him - Caracalla is his primary responsibility, but with Macrinus around, he begins to trust that maybe he does not have to be alone with that responsibility, and maybe, for the first time, he can allow himself to think of his empire, too.

They are incredibly naive and desperate for protectors and parents. It's easy to see with Caracalla, whose illness makes his behaviour lapse so often to regression and childlike states. But Geta is by no means any better.

This all, of course, followed by the disclaimer that Geta's still a monster in the making who is seen to clearly enjoy and delight in the suffering of others, and will not hesitate to call for the heads of those who do wrong against him. But he shows that he is capable of second-guessing these instincts. The reason he rarely does is that he has no one who cares about him and who could help him choose another path, and as much as he remains the stronger and more coherent brother, Caracalla is the only person who he can allow himself to fully, unconditionally love, and whom he feels connected with. And Caracalla's judgement will always be "I'd like to see some blood".

They could have been better, though. If they didn't grow up raised by fucking wolves.

From the way Geta and Caracalla reacted to Acacius' and Lucilla's betrayal to their fear of the people's wrath against them, you can really tell how young and inexperienced these two really were.

Yes, they had an almost complete disregard of their subjects needs and, yes, they were heading straight to madness but there is also a tragedy to their stories. They were given great power at a young age, Caracalla's mind was all but gone and Geta showed signs of an unhinged character. They had no one to rely on except each other and seemed eager to have someone that they can trust.

But their madness also makes you wonder, how much of it can also be blamed on their position? These two would probably have different demeanors (and most certainly different fates) if they had never become Emperors which makes you realize how power can truly corrupt and destroy people and even display their true characters.

[dariusaurs]

i think dinostar is such an interesting ship right now even if i've kind of turned away from it after this season. the problem is that it's complicated, and fandoms historically don't like nuanced situations or takes. i don't think it's fair to say darius is putting brooklynn on a pedestal, since from his perspective, she hasn't done anything wrong, and kenji has been framed as this unfair partner to her. it does feel like his feelings are very immature and more of an infatuation right now ("if he loved you half as much.."/"unless?"), especially when you compare them to kenji's own feelings for brooklynn - his girlfriend who he's loved for 6 years - but that isn't a horrible thing, it's just different. i do completely understand if people dislike the ship right now, and even criticize darius' way of handling the accidental confession, but i just think people have been way too harsh on all three of them without being willing to see that all of their perspectives are different