#and like i’m not blaming them it’s for their best
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I hope whoever decided to read Id is enjoying it. I had a random thought for the class: how big is it? Like did only one classroom get Isekaied, or did a whole graduating class get it? Like the Class of 2018 or something? I’m assuming it was a singular class since even towns can have a sizable year for students. That can be a lot of characters to try to create. Not impossible, just a lot of work.
MC: rouge-ish, stealth, wild magic(?), mild immortality?, disguises, Heroes’ Shadow
Prez: leader, commander, fighter, strategist
Tomboy: fighter, pretend damsel in distress
Bully: barbarian, orc in laws
Prepper: ranger-ish, survivalist,
Mama: logistics, underworld connections, torture encouragement
Goth: Outerplane connections (warlock?), craftsmanship (of an undecided sort)
Clown: support, morale, bard, jack of all trades
Football jock: Paladin
Flower girl: potions, poisons, botany
Queen Bee: insect control(unwanted)
Influencer: cult creation(unintentional)
Skater: slacker,
Chess student: Pokémon summons, tactics
Art student: scouting magic
Teen Mom: lore keeper, record holder, divination, domestic support, fairy friend, mother
Baby: cuteness, defend at all costs, morale booster
Rat: size shifting, mascot, food vacuum
I think I got all that right at least. Lemme know if I missed something and I’ll edit the list. That’s 16 characters not counting Baby and Rat so far. Nor any Fantasy Land characters. Theatre and nerd kids were mentioned, and one otaku, but I haven’t seen anything else come up for them. I know I introduced Skater, but not quite sure what to do with him. I had a thought about him becoming a sort of messenger/runner to put his skater skills to work, but also not entirely sold on that.
Do we have a straight mage character decided? I know all the Party have a degree of magical ability, but did someone decide on who would dump all their points into sorcery? I can see Otkau mayhaps going that direction, going all Elder Scrolls/Elden Ring Sorcery would be right up an otakus power fantasy but then again what kind of otaku is Otaku? Does Goth get anything from her Patron other than cell phone service? I wouldn’t mind seeing her become a bit of a cross between Teen Titans Raven and Frieren. From my understanding she’s not a physical type so spells would work for her fine.
Thanks to this post I was granted a couple thoughts regarding a piece of technology that I have tragically overlooked which is a goldmine for comedy and usefulness: Goths Phone and her bargain. Whatever her deal was to get cell service, assuming that she accesses earth’s internet, this also implies that her phone has unlimited battery as well. So the Party calls home first thing they can so they can let everyone know that they’re alright. Then they take turns with it when they’re feeling homesick. They can also use it to get blueprints of various devices and designs, certain details of things like the best metals to prevent infection, search videos explaining certain subjects, use it to video and photograph their adventures, and so on.
I can’t decide what’s funnier: either a) she is now a walking cell tower that the Party uses. (A kinda short one at that, especially compared to how tall Mama is. Are we really sure they’re actually siblings let alone twins? I know that’s what they say but can you blame me? Are we sure their parents didn’t just snatch another baby out of her cradle?) So the Party has the advantage of using their phones to a limited degree, mostly for sending messages to each other since communication is vital in this world. Each person using her as a reference point whether they have service or not. The closer the better of course. Instead of having three bars they say they have ‘three Goths’. Awake she’s most ‘receptive’, asleep less so but you can still get a signal, unconscious/hypnotized/etc. has zero. Or maybe just the tiniest bit so the Party can track her down if necessary.
Or B) her phone is the only one that works and so the Party kinda ‘take turns’ using/stealing/borrowing it for various reasons. To call their families when feeling homesick, reference some history or scientific tidbit for their current situation, take pictures/videos of certain books/places/things/etc, how the football team is doing, check for updates on their favorite fanfiction, etc. They barter and trade for Phone Time creating a sorta sub culture surrounding the Phone. Goth is all dramatic when she doesn’t have her Phone.
I didn’t come up with situation A until I was halfway through writing this.
~
Goth, in the fetal position and murmuring, a dark haze surrounding her: Life is suffering. To deny suffering is to deny existence. And so we are inextricably linked to it.
But why? Her Phone has been borrowed so Influencer can use it to stream. Hence she has been bereft of her phone and now is bored.
Influencer: And with that we’re going to have to start wrapping up this Stream! Thank you for taking the time to teach us about this local board game, Mr. Farmer.
Farmer: Mah pleasure Missy! Anything to help out ta Heroes Party!
Chess: Less heroes and more normal teenagers right now. And thank you for showing me how to play this game! Now if I can just find someone else to play it with.
Farmer, looking at Goth: Ar ya sure that one is alright?
Influencer: Oh she’s fine, she’s just being dramatic. She does this every time.
Farmer: Ah, like a catto ya? One tha didn’t get tha cream?
Chess: Yep! We’re trying to find a pair of cat ears to make a little headpiece for her when she’s like this. Here’s your silver.
Farmer: Silver?! Milord I can’t-
Chess: No lord stuff, we’re just normal people right now. I know we agreed four copper for the board game, but the rest is for taking time out of your day and being so patient with us. Think of it as a thank you gift.
Influencer: Mr. Farmer, do you want to say anything to the people on the other side of this?
Farmer: I just talk to tha little box ere? And they can see me good ya?
Influencer: Yep! Just like we talked about earlier!
Farmer: Ah thanks ya folks fer listen’ to an old man go on about his favorite game. Er, is that good or?
Influencer: All the stuff on the side? Oh that’s the other people talking. They’re all saying thank you for being on this stream. A lot of them seem to be interested in making this game back home and trying it themselves.
Farmer: Ah! You’re all too kind!
Chess: Here, let me walk you back to the village.
Influencer: Be safe Chess! And so what did you all think? An interesting game for a small farming and logging village so far from the road ya? And all handmade too! Kinda makes me wonder how many games our own world used to have like this that have been lost over the generations….I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that HotdogMan. You know the rules, I really don’t want to ban anyone…. Yes we’ll try to bring the game back with us so Earth can play with it as well.
Influencer: Ohhh~ that is so nice of you! However this isn’t a normal stream….Yes I’d love donations just as much as the next gal but in Fantasy Land there is no way to access a Patron- Patron, Patrón, Petrol, Patren. Pttthhh! PATREON! Ugh, what are words? Yeah, we can’t access any of that money. And Fantasy Land doesn’t accept Visa or PayPal either.
Influencer: Well I’d love to stay and chat more but my Time is running out here so we’re going to have to wrap up! As always a great big thanks to Goth and her Patron…..um……Chat I haven’t even started attempting the name and you’re already making fun of me!!😭…..There are like no vowels in its name so of course it’s hard! Ugh, ok here goes. Thank you Ktchre-, no Cacgken- guh, Crushzu- argh…. I know how to pronounce Cthulhu Chat, its name is not Cthulhu. I wouldn’t be made fun of by y’all if its name was that simple….. No PolyPomPoms, it’s an Extraplanar Entity. Gender isn’t a thing with it. No its gender isn’t fluid, either. How do you get even fifty genders in the first place? That doesn’t- The point is it doesn’t have one!… No I don’t know how that works and quite frankly I’m not going to ask.
Influencer: As always: stay safe, be nice, be awesome, and hopefully we’ll be here again next week! Fantasy Land Adventures signing off! Bye~!
After packing up her setup Influencer walks over to Goth.
Goth: -even when the sky is overripe, it withholds its bounty. Thus here we are, bereft of its-
Influencer: 🙄Alright Goth, here’s your phone back.
Goth: Life has returned! The sweet succor of-
Influencer: 😑 And here I thought I was bad. Or that Bee was annoying when she couldn’t get her Java anymore.
Goth: You know, I was thinking…
Influencer: Dear god, please not this again.
Goth: There is a way to do this without all this torment and suffering.
Influencer: 😓Of course it is.
Goth: A path that would benefit both our desires.
Influencer: Don’t say it Goth, don’t you dare say it.
Goth: You could-
Influencer: I’m warning you!
Goth: -make a pact with my Patron.
Influencer: AAAARRRRGGGG!! We’ve been over this a gazillion times! No!
Goth: It’s excited to talk to you! It wants to help! I’m sure it can give you a wonderful deal! Probably better than what I got…
Influencer: It -wants- to make me its Chief Cult Leader! It -wants- me to convert everyone into its cult! Just like every one and thing else around here! I got enough problems fending off every blasted religion, cult, government, and organization out there, don’t you start harping on me too!
Goth: Cmon, what’s a half dozen cults?
Influencer: I’m still not over that little ‘celebration’ in that one town. I can only imagine how bad it could’ve been if Clown didn’t help me reword myself to make it just a drunken celebration instead of something worse. Remember I almost got that one Holy Order nearly come down on our heads for that? I am not starting up anything else if I can help it.
Goth: Don’t act like you’re special there, we all have nearly run afoul with many such groups. Remember when Prep killed that one holy animal thinking it was just a random Fantasy Land critter? Or when Football flirted with the wrong Lady in Waiting? Also you don’t seem to mind the Base.
Influencer: Because they tried to sacrifice me, so I had no choice! Thank goodness MC ungagged me there. Base is reasonable only because Mama and Prez got things under control! I can’t handle that kinda pressure.
Football: Here you two are. Where’s Chess?
Goth: He’s walking that farmer back to his village.
Football: Hm. Prez wants everyone in the Command Tent. We’re due for another Meeting.
Influencer: So soon? I thought we were going to have that Tuesday?
Football: That was the case, but since it’s Prez I’m sure there’s a good reason for it.
Goth: Alright then, let’s go. Hey Influencer, just think about-
Influencer: We are done talking about this!!
Football: Er, what did I miss?
Goth and Influencer: It’s nothing.
Football: Right. ‘It’S nOtHiNg!’ Geh, women.
The standard 'entire class gets isekai'd to a fantasy world and the outcast MC is basically discarded' anime setting, where the MC, now assumed dead, decides to instead help the class of Heroes in the shadows, making sure they live up to what the people need.
However, the entire class knows that he's alive and are hellbent on dragging that son of a bitch back into the spotlight and to give him the recognition he deserves.
(And maybe because he was basically the entire class's Little Guy™.)
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Tim Through the Years - The Proposal
Series Masterlist (part 10)
Summary: Tim finds the perfect way to propose. 0.9k+ words
Tim has been trying to wrack his brain on how to propose. He found the ring because of Angela and now he doesn’t know how to ask the woman he loves to marry him. Because of the incident when he got the ring, everyone has an opinion on how he should propose, and it’s giving him quite the headache. Lucy has been talking non-stop since she found out and expressed all of the ideas she had. So here he is, hiding in the interrogation room, trying to think of the perfect way to ask. Tim’s phone starts to ring and he answers without looking to see who is calling.
“What?” Tim asks gruffly.
“Hey baby, is this a bad time?”
Tim freezes; it was you calling him and not Lucy as he thought. “No, not at all, what can I do for you?”
“We’ve been having issues at school of someone stealing other people’s lunches. Today they stole my whole lunch instead of a couple of things. Everything is just gone; would it be possible to bring me some lunch? I really don’t want to eat cafeteria food.”
“Of course baby, I’ll grab some food from your favorite place”, Tim replies softly. He can tell you’ve been having a rough day just by the sound of your voice.
“Thank you so much! I really appreciate it, I love you! See you soon.”
“I love you too.”
When your phone call ends, he sees he has a few texts he missed from you earlier. They were pictures of different drawings your students did and they all centered around you and him together. Tim knows that you love your students and they mean the world to you. You always boast about how much your students grow and how proud you are of them. That’s when Tim has the best idea ever.
You slump in your seat after your phone call with Tim. The kids were in the gym before they were going to head to lunch. There has been a lunch thief in the break room and even if you leave your lunch in your classroom, some of it gets stolen. You’ve never had your whole lunch stolen - matter of fact, no one has, so it looks like the thief has stepped up their game. You have your suspicions of who stole your lunch: your coworker Dennis has been causing all sorts of problems. He cheated on his wife with a student's mom, and now he blames his ex-wife for why his kids don’t want to see him. A rumor you were told was that he was a massive alcoholic who took out all his stress on his family, and he had a gambling problem. You want to make a super spicy meal for him to eat so he will stop eating your lunches since Tim puts a ton of effort into making sure you eat a balanced meal every day.
You check the time and see that it is time to pick up your class before lunch so they can grab anything they need. When you walk into your classroom with your students, you see Tim sitting at your desk with your lunch. The class all squeals and runs up to Tim, asking him all sorts of questions. Your class loves it when Tim visits and thinks he’s a superhero.
“Hey guys, I’m just here to have lunch with your favorite teacher.” Tim has a smile on his face while he talks to your students.
That’s when your class turns to you and declares they want to use their marbles to have lunch with the both of you. You use marbles as a reward system to encourage good behavior, and they can choose what they want within reason.
“How about instead of me taking your marbles, I’ll give you a free pass because you have been so well-behaved today.”
The class cheers and goes to get their lunch stuff, so you send a classroom aide to go with some students who need a hot lunch. Tim hands you your stuff and when the aide returns with your students, you tell her you are going to run to the bathroom and be right back. When you return to your classroom, all your students are suspiciously quiet. Lunch goes smoothly, with you and Tim talking about your guys' day and the students talking amongst their friends and asking questions here and there. Once lunch ends, the students say goodbye to Tim and you kiss Tim on the cheek before telling him you’ll see him at dinner tonight.
It is getting close to the end of the day when the fire alarm goes off, which is weird because there was no drill planned for today. You calmly walk your students outside and do a head count of your students. After a few minutes, police and fire arrive, and all the kids talk about how cool they thought the trucks were. That’s when you heard your name called from one of the police vehicles' microphones.
“Y/N Winchester.”
Everyone grows quiet, and all turn to stare at you. Your students run toward the vehicle, and you run behind them to try and stop them. You freeze because your students are standing behind Tim, who is on one knee.
“Will you marry me?” all your students shout together with massive smiles on their faces.
“Yes!”
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Great! If you don't mind, may I request for some Yan shadow milk cookie with an amnesic reader?
I had the idea of reader already knowing his pre corruption or past self (like the last fic) but when the corruption began and he was sealed away reader asked the witches for a wish of erase all the memories of him to take all the emotional pain away
And when they cross paths once again reader would just not remember him or have blurry memories about them two together
I hope it's not an odd scenario if you want to add or change it a little it's totally ok ♡
Thank you so much! Your last fic was awesome ☆
Have a nice day 💛
yes of course !! and thank you , i’m glad you like my work ! *\(^o^)/*
abstraction : short scenario of yan. shadow milk cookie w/ amnesiac reader !
tw : yandere shadow milk cookie, light psychological manipulation, obsessive & possessive behavior
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ After your captor had been cast away, you were almost at a loss for what to do. The image of him had been seared into your mind, plaguing you into sleepless nights—you swore the same familiar shade of blue imprinted itself into your very vision no matter how hard you tried to rid all trace of his presence.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ So you resorted to the only option that would grant you even just a sliver of peace in the onslaught of what had become the reality of your life.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ With a somber heart, you came before the Witches, pleading with them desperately to wipe away your memories revolving around him—no matter how insignificant and brief.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ And so it was done.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ The massive gap within your memories was filled with a placeholder, memories of the war caused by the Beasts replacing them—with the image of him only being a muddled and indistinguishable blur at best, yet even that eroded away with time.
——————————
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ Upon his first taste of freedom after what could only be described as a millennia—Shadow Milk Cookie was brimming with glee at the prospect of meeting you once more.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ He was quick to isolate you from the rest of your peers—But oh, could you really blame him? He hadn’t seen you in so long!
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ Yet, his excitement slightly faltered upon a daunting realization. You didn’t retain even a semblance of the moments he had so lovingly built with you.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ At first, Shadow Milk Cookie thought you were merely messing with him, a meaningless yet amusing attempt to drive him away—but upon digging into your memories, the truth unraveled itself before him.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ Well, that was disappointing.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ But not to worry!~☆
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ He'd be a bad lover to give up on you over something as miniscule as this—No, no, something like this was merely a small hindrance in your destiny with him. A small thorn in his path.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ He’ll gladly take up the role as the ever-so benevolent beholder of your shared history, whilst crafting new memories now that he finally has you back in his grasp.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ For what was the need for rush? In this rift of space, he’s the one in control. Everything bended to his will, and you would be no exception.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ For now, he’d play into the act of a hurt, and misguided “evil” cookie that loved you to the ends of Earthbread! Centuries of this.. unguided mindset had taken a deep root into your very essence, staining your perspective on him as a whole! Truly tragic…
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ Alas, it couldn’t be helped! Still, he was the Beast of Deceit. The might of those flimsy Ancients paled in comparison to even just a quarter of the deeds he could perform, much less the one with a puritan savior-complex. Shadow Milk Cookie grimaced at the thought, before the expression disappeared just as fast—shaping itself back into a friendly smile towards your nervous and uncertain form. He could fix that in no time.
˗ˋˏ꒰ঌ So as one of the many gestures in proving his eternal adoration for you, he’ll start with happily washing away the impurities they’ve casted onto you.
#yandere shadow milk cookie#yandere x reader#yandere crk#yandere cookie run#writers on tumblr#shadow milk cookie x reader#flash fiction#cookie run x reader#he’s actually so fun to write
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Hi @x3n0-lik3s-t0-dr4w of course! (Also I’m BEGGING YOU, PLEADING ACTUALLY please don’t send images with your asks— They’re very cute images but It seems to cause an issue on my end for answering :((( )
also large yappening below because I had SO many thoughts about this au of an au- Including name swaps!
So more 2p! Black or like… In this case Luximae (Mae for short!) I’ve also calling this specific flavor of 2p + Sunshine Suburbs “Bright Bastion” since like… Luximae sort of takes Mr. Sun’s role in Sunshine Suburbs in gathering the main cast in a place (In this case instead of a town its a bunker… ) The world here is so much worse- A practical apocalypse due to Blood moon (Ms. Moon / Imago) and North Star (Mr. Sun), Two gods that Mae had ascended because he thought it’d be a nice gesture to give them the power to change things since their previous lives where rough— But alas! They blame him for not saving their families so now it’s EVERYONE’S PROBLEM!
Luximae basically gathered sprunkis to save their lives but he’s so much less powerful due to like… A similar thing to Sunshine suburbs Black / Tenebrae’s name being suppressed and his refusal to accept sacrifices (whilst Black wolfs them down like he’s never been fed). So he has help in the form of his acolytes who are kind of magical girls (gender neutral) and while everyone in the bunker knows Mae’s name he only gave his trusted acolytes weapons who are, Joy (Jevin) , Tera (Sky) and Blythe (Wenda) who’s jobs are to protect people in the bunker, go out to find supplies or rescue people from the Blood moon’s undead hordes/ North star cultists/ probably just not great dudes and whatever Luximae needs done— Though he cares alot for what happens to them especially Joy who’s been with him the longest (and is still alive) and also because Joy has a tendency to overwork himself to exaustion and flying into slightly uncontrollable rage when Mae cries (fanatic behavior! But also Joy is like “YOU MADE MY LORD AND BEST FRIEND CRY! YOU WILL DIE NOW!”).
anyways thank you for the ask! (And listening to the yap)
#digital art#artists on tumblr#sprunki#sunshine suburbia au#sprunki2p#Bright Bastion au#Sprunki black#sprunki jevin#sprunki sky#sprunki wenda#sprunki mr sun#sprunki oc#Imago
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I was an active participant in the ace/aro discourse on the side of aces and aros and tbh the reframing of it as “mean stinky asexys bullying trans women” is… this wasn’t history so historical revisionism isn’t right. Tumblr lore revisionism?
1. We saw multiple TERFs admit they became TERFs after becoming ace exclusionists because they found the arguments they were making for kicking asexuals and aromantics out were also arguments they could use against trans people.
2. I can think of multiple transfems who supported aces and aros. This may be a blind spot on my end, but the only transfem exclusionist I can think of was discourseprincesa who later turned out to be lying. She claimed to be an Afro-Latina Jewish intersex trans lesbian and every time someone tried to call her out from the perspective of a different marginalized group she’d suddenly reveal she had a connection there too. She was infamous for being a raging ableist who regularly suicide baited and harassed people, sometimes to the point of panic attacks and mental breakdowns, but her accidentally posting on the wrong blog where she’s honest about being a cis perisex white woman was what got every exclusionist to finally stop supporting her.
3. Wait, I almost forgot the other transfem who was an ace exclusionist. She was best known for dating the person who accused aces of stealing the color purple from bi people. Aside from those two, the majority of aphobes I saw and encountered were cis women, transmascs, trans men, and nonbinary people who either didn’t list their agab or were afab. This is not surprising when you’re on a website that is predominantly those who were afab. These demographic numbers would look a lot different if it took place on Reddit.
4. The entire ace discourse was nothing more than a site-wide bullying campaign against asexuals and aromantics, with any Ace or aro who was too open about their orientation risking getting mountains of anon hate and harassment, suicide baiting, etc., and even something as harmless as “cake and dragons” was open to receiving a slew of aphobic bullshit, to the point where aces and aros basically couldn’t have anything. We saw a lot of aces and aros go from being out and open about it to suddenly being so much quieter and hesitating if they even wanted to go to queer events at all, as they learned from years of harassment that they weren’t welcome there. Given how one post that sticks out to me is a person saying that if they saw an ace lesbian holding an ace flag at pride they’d punch her for it, I can’t say I blame them.
So, that’s all entirely from memory! I’m sure someone else can fill in additional details if they’d like.
Important history right here
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Hi I’m wondering if you can do 007n7 x reader x 1x1x1x1 Fluff, Maybe even headcannons of all of them taking care of coolkid.. 😼😼
"ah yes. me. my partner. and the personified derivation of shedletsky's hatred" -007n7
🍔007n7 x reader x 1x1x1x1❎ fluff headcannons 💝💞 ft. 🍭 c00lkidd
007n7 and 1x1x1x1 do not get along. the former may try to be friendly and act the bigger person, if only for your sake, but the latter likes to be difficult and exasperating for 007n7 to deal with. the only thing that they can mutually agree on is you
007n7 is gentle and sweet with you, he's essentially your husband and he likes to think of you as c00lkidd's other parent since he raised him alone. he's very openly affectionate! with them, you have a dynamic similar to a nuclear family
1x1x1x1 is teasing and sardonic, but they listen (though begrudgingly) to you when you scold them for it. while his tone is harsh, his actions and attitude to you in comparison to others reveal he likes you more than he lets on. hatred, like love, is a feeling of passion after all. though 1x1x1x1 won't ever say they feel 'love', you can be certain they don't completely despise you, and that's saying something.
007n7 calls you honey, my love, dear, and a bunch of other sappy nicknames typical of a couple. it's not corny, it's cute!
1x1x1x1 either calls you by your name, little one, or "theirs" if 007n7 isn't around. sometimes he'll refer to you by a god-awful terrible pet name to be an ass
you all frequent the park and bring c00lkidd along. he terrorizes the other children and out of you three, you're the only one who tells him to stop because 007n7 is an absolute enabler parent who makes excuses for him and 1x1x1x1 is a d1 instigator. this is another one of the few things they agree on
"he just wants to have fun with the other kids, honey! sure he's a liiittlle too excited, but there's nothing wrong with that!" "let them run for their lives." "HE'S MAKING THE OTHER CHILDREN CRY."
because of your partners, c00lkidd is very used to having his violent ways. but you know he's a good kid with good intentions, so you need to play the role of the responsible parent and tell him he's doing something wrong. and that fellow children do not, in fact, like to be hit. or choked. or pushed during tag. you're very likely the only reason that he acts semi-normal
007n7 always cooks, with occasional help from you and c00lkidd! 1x1x1x1 is banned from the kitchen ever since he tried to cut vegetables with the daemonshank. don't blame him, shedletsky never taught him how to cook. blame john!
c00lkidd likes to boast to his classmates that he has 3 parents and they could all totally beat up everyone else's parents
he's gotten into a few disputes with the other kids because of this, and once you all had been called to his school to discuss his behavior. though, the moment the faculty saw 1x1x1x1, they immediately dropped it and assured that c00lkidd behaves well. you weren't convinced, and lectured him anyway when you got home
c00lkidd's favorite game to play with his parents is hide and seek. he counts to 10, immediately finds 1x1x1x1 who isn't even attempting to hide, then they tell c00lkidd where you and 007n7 are hiding. he always wins!
1x1x1x1 is definitely c00lkidd's 'fun' parent, they share the most interests and behaviors. thus, he's usually in charge of babysitting him
007n7 loves quality time and physical touch because he think it's the best way to bond. 1x1x1x1 likes gift giving because the gifts speak for his affection when he can't. though his gifts are usually more cryptic rather than sweet and cute trinkets... hope you like twitching and terrified mice
1x1x1x1 is your scary dog privilege. you like to go on late night walks with him because he acts like a repellent for creeps.. and people in general
they're a surprisingly good listener, and especially like it when you have something to complain about. he revels in your hatred and likes to join in the hating
their life's mission revolves entirely around the destruction of their creator. even so, you always assure them that they are more than his shadow. he thinks it's naïve and cute that you think you can derail him from his purpose using puny words, they act like they're listening so that you continue comforting wasting your time
secretly, he does enjoy it when he can hog all of your undivided attention. as if it's only you two and nobody else. they're greedy like that
you have movie nights together, and you sit in the middle of the couch between the two. 007n7 likes action, romcoms, sci-fi, and comedy. 1x1x1x1 finds thriller/slasher and drama appealing. c00lkidd likes action and comedy, similar to his dad. it's always up to you to choose, because the other three alone wouldn't be able to come to an agreement
sometimes 1x1x1x1 sends c00lkidd to beg you for something like getting takeout for dinner or a puppy because 1. they probably want it but you're more willing to listen to c00lkidd and 2. they like to be a headache
whenever you kiss 007n7, c00lkidd loudly screams "EWWW!" and covers his eyes. 1x1x1x1 does the same, then cackles at your unamusement
whenever you kiss 1x1x1x1, 007n7 jumps to cover c00lkidd's eyes because 1x1x1x1 turns an innocent peck into a full-blown makeout sesh
a/n: i' never realized how starved 007n7 fans are until i posted the drunk 007n7 fic to ao3 and a commentor got very excited ARE YALL GOOD?
#forsaken#homicidalporkchops#forsaken x reader#007n7 forsaken#007n7 forsaken x reader#1x1x1x1 forsaken#1x1x1x1 forsaken x reader
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Hank Voight x Reader
So um about Justin's dad...
Smut..sorry not sorry? Daddy issues!
“Justin, are you sure this is cool with your pops?” you asked him as you climbed in the backseat of the car. You cut your eyes at the woman driving “Woah, who are you?” she grinned “Erin, you must be Justin’s friend Y/N” you nodded as a smile slipped onto your face “Oh you’re Erin, I’ve heard about you”
“Good I hope” she replied as she pulled out onto the road after you were buckled in. You laughed “Yeah, Justin spoke pretty well about you. Never mentioned his proxy sister was fucking gorgeous though damn” Justin turned in the seat to look at you “Easy tiger, she’s got a boyfriend” you rolled your eyes “Can’t blame a girl for trying, can ya Voight?”
He shook his head “You’ve always been a damn flirt” you grinned “I think you’re just sore I never took you up on all your flirting back when we first met” Erin looked between the two of you “Oh do tell” Justin shook his head “Don’t you dare” you winked at her “I’ll buy you a drink while I’m in town and tell you all sorts of embarrassing stories you can hold over him”
When she pulled to a stop in front of a house you bumped Justin’s shoulder “Pretty decent place” he grinned “Yeah, pops does alright with CPD” you looked at Erin “You’re in his unit, aren’t you?” she nodded “Yes ma’am. You get a chance to stop by. I'll show you around the precinct” you grinned “Oh I’ll definitely take you up on that” Justin shook his head “Her boyfriend works in the unit too” you shrugged “I’m sure he can’t blame me for thinking she’s hot?” which caused Justin to roll his eyes but Erin simply grinned “Oh I like her”
You grabbed your backpack and Justin grabbed your duffle so you followed the two of them inside. “Yo pops” Justin called out as the three of you made it inside. You heard a deep, gravely voice that went straight through you called out “Kitchen” and a smirk slipped onto your face “Damn” they both looked your way and you shrugged “That man should do audiobooks or something. He’s got a good voice” Justin shook his head and dropped your duffle at the foot of the stairs “Come on”
You followed him into the kitchen and got your first look at the infamous Hank Voight. Broad shoulders, nice smile, brown eyes and all around a good looking man. “Damn” you repeated causing a grin to slip onto Erin’s face as Hank looked your way “You must be Y/N” you nodded and held your hand out “Yes sir but to be honest I’d probably respond to anything you called me”
Erin cackled and Justin turned bright red. Hank simply looked amused. “I’ll be sure to remember that sweetheart. Make yourself at home. Erin we gotta get to work” She nodded and bumped your shoulder “Get my number out of Justin’s phone. Me and Jay will buy you lunch” you nodded at her but your eyes were currently watching Hank walk out “Ok”
You heard her say something to Justin then she started laughing harder before her and Hank left. As soon as the door closed Justin turned towards you “What the hell was that?”
You shrugged “What?” he waved around the room “You just hit on my father!” “He’s hot!” you defended and he looked mortified “I tried to get with you for a year and a half!” you grinned “And you are hot Justin. You really are but your dad is…well he’s daddy” and his mouth fell open “I can’t believe I invited you to stay here. I should’ve left your ass at a hotel”
You grinned “Aww come on Voight! I’ll buy you breakfast!” he shook his head “You better be glad you’re my best friend” you laughed and grabbed his arm “See? You’ve already forgiven me”
The first few days you were at Hank’s was easy to ignore just how attracted you were to your best friend’s dad. He was working a case that had him gone from early to late. You’d gone to the precinct to have lunch with Erin and her boyfriend Jay who as it turned out was as gorgeous as she was with just as good of a sense of humor.
Hank had ended up showing you around and introducing you to the unit and the house sergeant Trudy Platt. Something about him walking you around with his hand on your lower back and warning everyone he introduced you to that they better be nice had you damn near dripping and the man had been a perfect gentleman,sadly.
After that you stayed clear of the precinct considering you knew about the case and could use that as your reasoning instead of “Oh if I come there many more days I may very well beg Hank to bend me over his desk” because one would go over so much better than the other”
It was friday night and you were laying across the bed in the room Hank had let you use while you were in town. You heard a knock on your door and glanced up from the book you were reading “Yeah?”
Justin popped his head in “Erin called, the unit is grabbing drinks. You in?” you shook your head “Naw, I think I’ll chill here. If you think it’s ok for me to be here by myself” he shrugged “Don’t see why not. We’ll be at Molly’s if you change your mind” you nodded “Thanks Voight” he grinned “No problem” after he left you turned back to your book.
______________
After about an hour you ventured downstairs in search of something to drink. You didn’t bother putting more clothes on considering you’d been lounging in a camisole and boxers. You figured Hank was out with his team and Justin would’ve let you know if he was back. You got to the base of the stairs and turned to go into the kitchen but when you walked past the living room you heard Hank’s voice “Well nice to see you’re comfortable in my house”
You gasped and jumped to see he was sitting on the couch, the tv on in front of him to the hockey game. You felt your face warm “Shit, sorry Hank. I um I didn’t know you were home.I'll go put more clothes on” he shook his head “Don’t on my account sweetheart”
You noticed how his eyes trailed over your body and felt your thighs clench from the weight of his gaze “I’m gonna grab a water” he nodded “You watch hockey? Game just started” you nodded “Yeah” you walked to the kitchen and grabbed the water then walked quickly back to the living room.
You sat down on the couch leaving a cushion between you and he cut his eyes at you “I’m not gonna bite or something sweetheart” you laughed lightly “What if I want you to?” then your eyes widened when you realized what you said. He turned to face you “What was that?”
You sat the water on the coffee table and shrugged “I said what if I want you to bite me?” his eyes went from yours down to your lips then down to your chest where your breasts were damn near falling out of the top of the camisole “You’re the same age as my son” you nodded “And yet you just checked me out”
He looked up to your eyes and shook his head “You don’t know what you’re asking for” you grinned “Oh I think I do” he raised an eyebrow “You want this?” you nodded “Oh I’ve been thinking about it since I met you”
He stood up and held his hand out “I don’t fuck on the couch, I’m too old for that shit” you took his hand with a smile “Then by all means Mr Voight lead the way”
__________________
Hank’s hands were rough but smooth as they ran over your body, his lips following their path. Light sighs escaping you. When he slid into you, those sighs turned into moans of his name.
Your hands gripped his shoulder begging him to not stop. His hands went to your thighs, gripping hard enough you were certain you’d have bruises the following day but you could’ve cared less. All you could think about was how it felt as his cock brushed inside of you with every thrust, his fingers teasing your clit as he whispered in your ear “Look at you, pretty little thing begging to fuck me. Might just have to keep you”
You nor Hank had realized that Erin had decided to come by with Justin after Molly’s or that they’d come in downstairs. The moment they walked in the sounds of your moans hit their ears “Oh fuck Hank,please don’t stop..oh fuck..right there”
Erin’s mouth fell open and she quickly covered it with her hand to muffle her laughter as they stumbled out of the house. Once they were outside she slapped Justin on the shoulder “Dude your dad is fucking your best friend who turned you down!” Justin glared at her “Shut up and go home to Jay!”
@mcreadsstuff
#hank voight x reader#hank voight x you#chicago pd fanfiction#chicago pd fic#chicago pd fanfic#hank voight smut
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By Primus’s Will Pt.3
A/N: I’m sorry for the long wait between chapters! I’m currently moving and have been swamped with completing art commissions to help fund said move. ^^
TW: talk of wounds, blood, talk of death
"Thank you human." You looked up at him, still nervous over the fact that an alien robot sat in your garage.
"Y/N. You can call me Y/N" He nodded and closed his eyes, continuing to let you try and work on his side.
You wiped some of the sweat from your forehead and put the dirty rag over your shoulder. You had gotten his bleeding to stop temporarily, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. Especially if he woke up and tried to leave.
Turning and looking at out the door to the shed you saw the trail of blue “blood” beginning to dry and stain the floors of the shed. You filled a bucket with water from a tap in the back of the shed and tossed the water onto the concrete floor. You grabbed a brush broom and began to scrub at the spots.
You heard sirens racing near your house and looked back towards the road. An ambulance came racing towards your shed, nearly running you over before transforming into another tall robot.
“Where is Optimus Human!? He needs my attention!” You pointed into the shed, where he had to lean down to see into the building’s doorway and he dashed inside kneeling to look at his friend.
“I’m guessing you’re who he referred to as ‘Ratchet’? I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” He stayed silent, studying Optimus’s wounds and your handy work of his bandages.
“I tried my best to bandage him up. I don’t know how your bodies work-“ He turned around quickly and stared at you “Do you always talk so much? You know nothing about us yet you seem so calm and collected. Does our presence not scare you?”
You flinched at his words, realizing he was right, but you were scared at the two gigantic beings in front of you. “Trust me, I am absolutely terrified. But your friend was hurt. And bad. I don’t know where you two came from or what you’re doing in my garage. But I don’t want you to lose a friend because of a bad fall from space.”
You turned and started to leave the garage, huffing to yourself when a voice called out. “Wait Miss/Mr. Y/N. I want to thank you, and I want to apologize for my friend, we've grown custom to not trusting everyone we come across. And our situation is not very common, so your level-headedness during this has been surprising to say the least." You paused as he spoke, still facing the door to leave, and shook your head. "Don't worry about it. I can't say I blame him." You turned and walked out of the garage, still hurt by the quick judgement from Ratchet. “Stay here as long as you need. I’m going to close these doors so nobody can see you from the outside. If you need me, open the door and honk your horn once. I’ll hear you.”
Before either of them could say anything else you closed the doors and went into your house. The hot air of the desert was thick and you were happy to get back inside and cool off in the comfort of your home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Optimus’s POV ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ratchet watched every step Y/N took, careful to make sure they didn’t try to do anything hostile against either of us. Trusting somebody entirely new, and of a different race, would be hard. Not only for Ratchet and I, but for every other Cybertronian who came to Earth and tried to form any kind of alliance with the humans.
“Ratchet-“ A cough rattled through my chest, making an awful echo in the garage. I covered my mouth, drops of energon falling into my open palm. “Lay down Optimus. Your condition is only getting worse, I need to patch you up immediately.”
“If you hadn’t been so worried about talking to that human maybe you would be in better sha-“ I looked up at him as he caught himself, before groaning as Ratchet pulled out a large chunk of what looked like a rock, it’s tip covered in bright blue fluid.
“She/He patched you up well enough to keep you stable.. Impressive..” Ratchet dropped the rock and began working, his large hands working efficiently and quickly, stopping the bleeding much better than it had been before. “If it weren’t for Y/N, who knows what condition I would’ve been in by the time you arrived.”
He nodded, keeping his eyes focused on my side as I sat back up, making sure the wound stayed closed. “Y/N seems wonderful Optimus, They do, but we can’t go trusting a random Human just because they helped us. We’ve never had good luck with humans, all they want is to destroy us and use us for parts.”
Wrong. Bumblebee had a wonderful Human friend, he was the first scout sent here, instructed to stay hidden amongst the humans. Until a decepticon scout had managed to track him down. “How is Bumblebee? Have you managed to fix his speech yet?”
Ratchet turned away, sighing. “No, his voice is..irreparable. I’m still baffled he even survived that ambush.” If only I had been here to protect him. “And what of his human?” He looked back at me this time, shaking his head.
“Unfortunately she didn’t make it. Bee is lost without her, they were partners for 3 years. And he blames himself for her death.” I couldn’t help the frown that spread across my face. “I could’ve saved them both.”
“Optimus-“
“I could’ve saved them, Ratchet. It’s my fault Bee is injured, and it’s my fault that his friend passed away.” The door to the garage slid open, and Y/N stood there, refusing to make eye contact with Ratchet.
“I want to know who you are, and what you all are fighting for.” They turned to look at Ratchet, scowling at him. “I can help more than you think. And you can use this garage for whatever you may need.”
Tag List: @jaguarthecat
#optimus tf x reader#optimus x reader#transformers optimus#optimus prime#optimus x you#ratchet#transformers x reader fanfiction#transformers x reader#transformers fanfiction#transformers#fanfic#tf fanfic#tf x reader#bumblebee#transformers x reader angst#x reader
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Happy Birthday!! I’m sorry your birthday leaves you with mixed feelings, but I hope this celebration helps direct them towards the happy side of things💖 Can I please request a bouquet of tulips regarding Matt and the stray animals of Hells Kitchen? Cats, dogs, even possums and raccoons? Heck, how does the devil of Hell’s Kitchen feel about pigeons?
Aww, thank you so much, lovely 🥹🤍 And thank you for your request(s)!!
These headcanons were actually so much fun to think about.
Here’s your bouquet of tulips!
Matt Murdock and The Strays of Hell’s Kitchen (Headcanons)
Event Masterlist | Matt Murdock Masterlist
I feel like Matt is the kind of person who doesn’t usually pay much attention to the animals around him because most of the time, they’re much quieter than the people of New York City, so when he encounters one he won’t let them throw him off his game. However, our Devil of Hell’s Kitchen definitely has his favorites and least favorites.
The stray cat that keeps appearing on his fire escape? He doesn’t want to admit it, but he kind of enjoys the company. He’s fascinated by how easily this tiny ball of fur started trusting him once he started feeding it some tuna. Cats usually don’t find him off-putting when he’s in the suit, and he likes that. He likes petting them, too because cats purr at a frequency that perhaps is soothing to his senses. And if he finds one that’s hurt? You best believe he will take it home, clean it (although that’s a fight he often loses), and patch it up. And he’d drop those who are really bad off at a shelter to make sure they get taken care of.
Matt Murdock and cats (especially orange ones) have a lot in common, so I think they’re the kind of animals he enjoys being around, even though they annoy the shit out of him. He’s just incredibly touched-starved, and having a stray cat dote on him just makes him feel a different kind of way. He certainly wouldn’t mind if the same stray cat came back to him on the regular. He’d adopt that fur-ball without even realizing, and suddenly he’s a cat owner who gets cuddles every night. Using his tie to play with it before he can buy toys? You bet! Finding a vet to nurse the poor thing back to health? Matt Murdock to the rescue. Would it be easy with his sensory issues? No. But he turns into a cat person nonetheless. It’s better than being alone, anyway.
I also think he doesn’t mind dogs. They’re active, they’re fun to play with, and they’re very empathetic. Sometimes a little too empathetic for his taste. He may have shut down Foggy’s and Karen’s idea for him to get a guide dog, but that’s because he is insistent on shouldering everything on his own and accepting help—even if it’s from a dog trained to support someone with his disability—doesn’t sit right with him. It’s an issue. Anyway, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like dogs! You best believe he’ll make sure the stray dogs of Hell’s Kitchen end up at an animal shelter. If you remember Season 2 where Matt searches for Frank and finds the dog instead, he is good with them. They listen to him. They respect him, and he respects dogs. I can see him bringing home a stray eventually, just because he knows what it’s like to be alone and Matt hates the fact that others have to suffer the same fate. He’d have to make sure the dog gets along with the cat though.
Possums? It’s a complicated relationship. I headcanon one bit him once while he was, once again, lying half-dead in a dumpster and the poor thing got spooked by this grown ass man trying to climb back out, so it bit him. He had to explain to Claire that no, he was not bitten by his opponent, it was actually a possum, and she laughed at him. He’s not their biggest fan, but he also doesn’t despise them. I feel like Matt would be open to reconciliation though. Like, they’re just trynna survive on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. He can’t really blame them for that.
Same goes for raccoons. His sense of smell is so sensitive he can smell every last item of garbage they’ve had their noses in, but they’ve never hurt him. He doesn’t necessarily pay attention to them when they cross his path, but he definitely wouldn’t want to stay close to a raccoon for an extended period of time.
I don’t know why, but I feel like Matt’s the kind of guy who feeds the pigeons outside the courthouse. He’d take the breakfast Foggy got him and share it with them, even though it’s technically not allowed. And Foggy would definitely need to call out, “Matt, stop feeding the pigeons!” Before security has to intervene. That may change though if one ever decides to poop on him. New suit? Ruined. He’d never feed them again.
Bonus: I like to think he despises spiders, mostly because he can hear them crawling over walls and stuff, and that’s just a sensory nightmare. If you’ve ever had one crawl on you, you know that feels fucking terrifying, and I imagine Matt would feel the same way. Unless they’re a daddy long legs chilling in the corner, eating all the flies (which he also despises), he will exterminate them. God can forgive him for that one.
#matt murdock#daredevil#matt murdock headcanons#headcanons#matt murdock fluff#lizzi’s birthday bouquets 2025!#charlie cox
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Pleaseee angst with Sebastion 🙏🙏
Did my best, hope this will do ♡
Warnings: angst, need of pills
Sebastian never thought life would turn upside down the way it did, but it surely did.
When the late nights approached, Sebastian often found himself lying wide awake, staring up at the ceiling. Nothing could make him fall asleep again, not when the thoughts made their way to his mind.
All of the contemplating whether his choices were mistakes, and, well, some of them were. He wished he had done differently with Solomon because not only did he lose his uncle, he lost his sister as well. She sends some letters from time to time, still telling him she loves him, but she wishes to not see him, at least not now. It has sounded like that in the past couple of letters, and Sebastian is certain that she will never want to see him again. It was a year ago everything happened, and he hasn’t seen her since.
The anxiety crept up Sebastian’s spine, the sweat pearling on his forehead. Panic grew like a knot in his stomach only by the thought of not seeing his sister again. And not only did all of these thoughts about Anne affect him in a negative way, but they affected you as well, and Sebastian was well aware of that. He tried to talk to you about it, but he was determined that you didn’t understand. You begged him to let you in, to talk about his feelings and what was going on in that pretty head of his, but all he did was push you away—and, of course, by that he felt guilt as well.
He twisted and rolled in bed, trying his hardest to fall asleep again and not thinking about everything he messed up all the time, but it wasn’t even worth bothering to try because he knew this night, as well as every other night, would end up the same—no sleep.
He got up from bed and went straight to the hospital wing. Nurse Blainey had given Sebastian pills for sleep before; might as well try to get some again because sleep was nowhere near Sebastian’s mind right now. Unfortunately, nurse Blainey couldn’t give it to Sebastian; there had been too many times, and last time he promised her to go to St. Mungos to get the prescription instead.
He made his way to the astronomy tower, a place where he could take deep breaths and somewhere he could be alone. His mind was still contemplating all of the stupid decisions and choices he had made in his life. He grabbed into his pocket and pulled out a picture he always carried with himself—a picture of you and him.
He knew he did you wrong by pushing you away, though he was scared of losing you. But by pushing you away, it would maybe not hurt as much the day you actually were done with him.
“You have to stop, Sebastian.” He turned his head to the door, and there you were. He shook his head and pocketed the picture again when you approached him. “What are you doing here, Y/N?” His tone was low, not in the mood for whatever was coming.
“You have to stop blaming yourself. And stop pitying yourself. What’s done is done. But nothing will get better by pushing me away, because I’m not going anywhere. If you don’t want me in your life, you have to tell me, but before that, I won’t leave.”
Sebastian sighed, not bothering to look at you. He shook his head and parted his lips just as he was about to speak, but your words stunned him.
"I would burn this world for you if that would've satisfied you, Sebastian. I would burn the earth we're walking on if that would've made me enough for you.”
© cvrcingjonnie 2025. Feel free to like, reblog and comment ♡
#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow#hogwarts legacy fandom#hogwarts legacy fanfic#fanfiction#sebastian sallow x you#hl fanfiction#sebastian sallow x reader
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Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter One
Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader
Summary: Everyday, you woke up and performed the steps necessary to complete your routine. It was monotonous, like clockwork, as you traveled down the tracks laid out for you since birth. With a mind uncontested, you found yourself graduating college before you were legally an adult, and at the behest of your controlling parents, you continued on to medical school, then further on into a surgical residency at a nearby hospital. You had always wanted to help people and this was the best way to do it.
So, why, with everything you had ever wanted at your fingertips, were you so unhappy?
Maybe that was why when you awoke in the past, surrounded by farmland instead of your blankets that you decided to ‘just roll with it’ rather than scream. That was your motto now as you were unceremoniously dropped from your assigned path onto untrodden ground with no hope of going back. So, even when you saved the life of a soldier and were carted off into the heart of the corrupt Roman Empire to be the twin emperor’s new physician, you barely batted an eye.
After all, you would do anything to save your patients.
Tags: Time travel, transmasc reader, no use of y/n, eventual polyamory, no incest, period-typical attitudes, Caracalla doesn’t have syphilis but he has PTSD, mentions of slavery, both historical accuracy and historical inaccuracy, obsessive behavior, eventual smut in later parts, medical inaccuracies,
Read on AO3
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Authors Note: Hiiiiiii, I’m back at it again, starting another fic. Those freaky gingers have bewitched me, let me tell you. Anyway, some important things to note about this little fanfiction that I feel the need to clarify before we get into the real meat and potatoes.
First and foremost, Geta and Caracalla won’t show up until chapter two. Maybe even chapter three, it depends on how much more set up I write, so if you want to wait ‘till then to read this, you’re welcome to :3
Two, and very important, unlike my other fics where the reader is trans, but referred to with they/them pronouns or neutral language, this main character will be referred to with he/him pronouns and masculine language in the text because, as a plot point, they are assumed to be a cis man. Along with this, they have three descriptions in the text. They have dyed green hair — original hair color shan’t be mentioned — they have top surgery scars, and they have a vagina. I miiiiight make an accidental reference to heights (ex. ‘ooked up at him/looked down at him) but I will try my hardest to not.
While their real name will never be mentioned in text for self-insertion purposes, Geta and Caracalla come up with the nickname ‘Alga’ for them due to their green hair. It means ‘seaweed’ in Latin. It also means ‘something of little worth.’ :) So, that is how they’ll be referred to. Generally. It’s either that or ‘medicus’ or ‘physician’ or ‘you there.’
Third and finally, I am a huge nerd and fan when it comes to the Roman Empire. As a society, they have a bunch of hangups, taboos, and beliefs, mostly around sex, that I find incredibly funny and will pepper in here and there. I will try to make this fic as historically accurate as I possibly can using all the resources I have at my disposal (google, a few academic texts, and my best friend whose studying classical history) but there’s no guarantee I get all of it right. Half the reason I’m using a modern character as the main POV is so they have an excuse not to know things 😭 Also when it comes to conjugation of Latin words, please, PLEASE give me leeway, I haven’t taken a Latin class since high school.
All that said, I hope whoever reads this fic enjoys it, because that is my main goal. Writing is seriously a passion of mine and my favorite part about it is sharing it with people. That means YOU person reading this, I think you’re awesome.
Okay I’m done talking, on with the show!!
Chapter One ///
This dream sucked — because that was what this was, a very bad dream — and, if you had to guess, it was the worst dream you had ever had in your life. Which was saying something. As a surgical resident who did most of their studying in a hospital, you were chronically sleep deprived and had a lot of stressful material to work with. Whatever aid you used to help you get some semblance of rest had a tendency to give you weird dreams. Very, very weird dreams. You had a few recurring ones, like being chased by a sentient pool noodle — whatever that meant — and several where the ghosts of your patients blamed you for their deaths — far more self explanatory than the pool noodle — but none quite like this one.
Out of everything you had ever experienced in your bleak and desolate mindscape, this dream was long and boring. That was its only crime. Along with being terrifyingly vivid, of course, which you didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about. If you were any less logical, you’d almost be convinced this was reality. That you had woken up in a small farming village, close enough to the capital of one of the most infamous ancient empires that you could see it on the horizon. Sometimes, when the sun set, you would stare at the shadow of Rome dancing upon the skyline. It was beautiful, albeit impossible. Sure, the people who surrounded you only spoke Latin, and they didn’t trust you as far as they could throw you, but it wasn’t as if that mattered. Soon, you would awake in your bed, one day closer to your exam and the beginning of the rest of your life.
Why did the thought only fill you with a sinking sense of dread? Being a doctor was everything you had ever worked for. Helping people, saving people, it was your purpose, the very reason you were born with your exceptional mind. It was your destiny, so why did it feel like you were marching to the gallows?
You shook your head to rid yourself of these thoughts. Focus on the present, focus on the dream, it was far easier than the constant ever present march of time. It was why you were so certain that the predicament was a figment of your imagination. Time hated you, constantly pulling on your leash, dragging your forward even as you dug your heels into the muck. It would never, never move backwards. Not for you.
Never for you.
A low groan of despair rumbled in your throat as you tried your best to wash your filthy scrubs in a nearby river. The water wasn’t murky, but it wasn’t clear either. Unsurprising, considering the nearby village used this water for practically everything. They were close enough to the city to have access to aqueducts, carrying waste hopefully further downstream. You were determined not to think about it. Any other denizen of this small settlement would wash their clothes themselves. The village was too small for a fullonica, and you were pretty sure they were mostly meant for the wealthy. That said, you also knew that Romans used urine to wash clothes — thank you to the ancient civilization classes you took for fun — and you’d be damned before you let a random person’s piss touch your scrubs.
Outside of work, at least.
With your pants rolled up to your knees as you waded deeper into the water, you continued to do what you could to clean the few clothes you had on you. Considering you only had a little bottle of soap you stole from a hotel a few months ago, it was easier said than done. You wanted to ration what you had in case this dream went on for much longer. Just because this was a fictional scenario conjured by your stress addled mind didn’t mean you weren't going to go about things logically. You had already been asleep for three days now, who knew how much longer this neverending dream would last? Perhaps forever. The thought of avoiding reality as you waste away in your bed was far more comforting than it should have been.
A loud shout echoed to your right and you fought the urge to shoot a nasty glare at the <i>obviously</i> young soldiers goofing off several yards away. Well, young was a strong word, they were the same age as you. Probably. You couldn’t really tell considering how staunch you were in your decision to not make eye contact. Out of the handful of men playing in the water, they were all naked. It wasn’t that nudity bothered you, you were studying healthcare for Christ’s sake, it was the unfortunate fact that soaking wet, muscular hunks were a particular weakness of yours. You weren’t sure the soldiers would appreciate your ogling, the villagers already avoided you like the plague. Judging by the dirty looks you received from some of the, unfortunately armed and notoriously xenophobic men, they’d heard enough about you to be wary.
You let out another sigh, your scrubbing becoming a tad more vigorous. Soapy bubbles rose to the surface of the water and your face was screwed up in concentration.
This particular Roman century had arrived at the village only a half-day after you did. From what you could pick up from eavesdropping, instead of being sent to North Africa to get a little conquering done, their legion was shipped to Gaul to put an end to some dissent. Once that was over, the officer in charge received orders to head back to Rome so they could be sent to North Africa with the rest of the troops. They had only stopped at the village for a last bit of rest before their next assignment. Or something. You had been noticed, and you had scurried off the second you realized you were caught.
Letting out a small huff, you examined your scrubs and decided that they were as clean as they would get. Once you were back at shore, you wrung out the fabric the best you could before laying them flat on a rock beside the only other outfit you had, aside from the one you were wearing, to dry in the sun. Another bark of laughter drew your eye to the soldiers playing like schoolboys in the river. Weren’t these men hardened warriors of one of the most regimented militaries to exist? Surely, they should be more disciplined. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile that caused your lips to twitch upwards. Even thousands of years in the past, and in your dreams, humans were the same as they had always been.
The sun was warm, hanging overhead like an unripe cherry tomato. You closed your eyes to bask in it a bit more than necessary. Your skin prickled, indicating that there were eyes on you, though you didn’t particularly care. No footsteps approached you and the sound of laughter didn’t stop, so you figured you were safe enough to show your belly. You didn’t realize you had laid down until you felt grass tickle the back of your neck. Perhaps a little nap wouldn’t hurt. A dream within a dream would be rather funny, you thought as you fell into a light doze, lulled by the sound of soldiers playing.
You didn’t know how long you slept for. It was the sound of panic that woke you, sending you upright so fast, your head spun. The first thing you noticed was the merriment had stopped and had given way to an oppressive sense of desperation. You looked in the direction you had been avoiding all day to see a gaggle of soldiers, some clothed, some naked, dragging an unconscious body onto shore. One man was running with his tunic halfway over his head in the direction of the village, yelling for the centurion in charge. You were moving before you could stop yourself.
“Make way! Make way!” Your Latin was shaky, but not the worst in the world. While you were sure your accent was strange, you knew you were at least understandable as some of the men turned to block you from getting any closer. They didn’t look particularly pleased at your arrival, eyeing both your hair and your odd attire with an air of skepticism. You didn’t have time for this. “I am a doctor. A physician. I can help him, we must act fast.”
One of the soldiers raised a singular thick eyebrow. “A physician, you say? You look like no medicus I have ever seen.”
“Does that really matter?!” You shouted, your voice a harsh bark. The longer this went on, the less of a chance you had to save this man. While you were nervous to plow through the wall of stout muscle that blocked you from your prospective patient, you realized you might have to.
The soldier looked like he wanted to say something more, when an authoritative voice broke through the ranks. “Let the man through! We have lost too many as is without losing another to a few hours of games.”
Every head snapped in the direction of whoever spoke. All except yours. The second you saw a gap in the crowd, you slid through and fell to your knees beside the drowned man, the one you determined to save.
First thing you did was check for responsiveness. It was out of habit mostly. A tap on the shoulder, a shout, another tap. He didn’t respond, that was unsurprising.
When you checked for a pulse, you found none, so you began chest compressions. Placing your hands together on his chest, arms straight, you began to push. The rhythm came to you naturally — you had made sure to pay attention in class, and this wasn’t the first time you had done this. Despite the fact that you knew no support was coming, that if you couldn’t get this man back by yourself, he would die, your head remained clear.
Do not lose sight of your goal, do not lose hope, go until you can’t anymore.
After thirty compressions, you took a deep breath, pinched his nose shut, and tilted his head back, placing your mouth over his. You heard a few gasps, and even a cry of disgust as you pulled back to push another breath into his lungs. Determined to pay the growing crowd no mind, you placed your hands on his chest and began to pump his heart again.
This went on for… like with your nap, you didn’t know. All you knew was that you were drenched in sweat, your arms were sore, and your breath coming out in harsh pants. Thirty more compressions, you inhaled a ragged breath and pushed oxygen into his lungs once more. If this didn’t work, you’d have to call it.
There was a hand on your chest, shoving you away, a watery cough filling your mouth with spittle before the drowned man flailed back to life. You didn’t take offense to the harsh treatment. He had woken up to a kiss. That would startle anyone. You rolled him over on his side and rubbed his back as he hacked up a lungful of murky water and whatever he had eaten for breakfast.
“You’re back,” You muttered softly, as comforting as you could. “Breathe. Slow and steady. It feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”
The man met your eyes, his own a startling shade of honey, a confused, but grateful, smile on his lips. “I thought I was gone.”
“Yeah, we all thought that!” A soldier with a shaved head nudged him roughly with his toe. “Medicus here worked a miracle with his lips.”
A hand reached down to clasp your shoulder, shaking you firmly, if not playfully. You looked up to see a man with floppy blond curls grinning down at the man you just saved, his lips pursed. “The kiss of life!”
You let a small, uncomfortable laugh titter from your mouth. Being surrounded by so many people was awkward, and their banter was even more so. You felt entirely out of place. Rather than focus on that, you fixed your attention back on the man you saved.
“What’s your name?”
“Sextus Aelius,” He answered, voice hoarse.
With a small smile, you gestured to another soldier to hand you a nearby tunic. Sextus — you wouldn’t laugh about his name, you wouldn’t — had begun to shiver, even in the hot sun, and you wanted to keep him warm. Not to mention he was still naked. You tried not to study him too much, focusing on the sharpness of his jaw and the gentle slope of his nose rather than his nudity.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sextus, I am—” You were cut off by a cacophony of noise, a few whistles interspersed within. A bit of heat rose to your face when you saw Sextus’ bewildered expression. “I fear I have made a blunder.”
To your relief, he merely laughed. “Aelius. Call me Aelius.”
“Right. I apologize, Aelius. How do you feel?”
Once you had given him the tunic, he slipped it on over his head, covering his modesty — not that anyone but you seemed to care all that much about it. When he stood, two men came to his side to steady him. Despite this, he still offered you his hand. It would be rude to deny him, though you didn’t feel comfortable accepting help from a man who had been, by many’s standards, dead a few minutes before. You gave him a small smile and pushed yourself to stand on your own.
“I could be better.” His grin was lopsided, the boyish kind that showed off his teeth. It was endearing enough for you to be proud of saving a good man, rather than a mere man. When he spoke next, there was no small amount of awe in his voice. “You saved my life, I am not sure if that is something I can repay.”
A snort pulled from your throat as you waved him off. “No repayment necessary, I only did what needed to be done.”
Aelius looked about to argue when he paled, his gaze flickering behind you. There was a creeping sensation of unease crawling up your spine, similar to when you had earned your parents displeasure. Standing behind you was a presence, one with enough authority to cause the men around you to stand at attention.
Thankfully, it didn’t seem directed at you. For now.
“What is the meaning of this, boy? I allow a bit of slacking off and you go and die on me?” It was the voice from before, the one who commanded his men to let you through. Taking a guess, you’d say this man was the centurion leading this particular century back to Rome. You didn’t dare look behind you, you didn’t dare move. Anything to keep his frustration off of you. It didn’t last long. A large hand clasped you on the shoulder, grip firm, but not harsh. “And to be saved by a foreigner! You should be on your knees thanking him for whatever trick on the gods he played at your behest.”
“That is unnecessary,” You tried to argue, only for the centurion to give you another shake.
“A humble medicus at that! Lucky boy! Very, very lucky!” He let go of you and gestured for Aelius to be taken elsewhere. “To the tents with you while I think of a suitable punishment. No man has died and lived to tell the tale on my watch, so I must be creative.”
Aelius, at least, looked ashamed, though the man with the floppy blond hair leaned down to whisper in his ear, a smirk dancing on his lips. Whatever was said earned him an elbow to the ribs. Men never change.
Before they could get too far, you found your voice. “Monitor him through the night! Fetch me if he stops breathing again!”
It was only once you heard the affirmative did you relax. Which lasted a moment before the centurion turned you around so you were facing him. His gaze was hard and his arms were crossed over his chest. Unlike the men before, the centurion was wearing his full armor, save for his helmet, another thing you were thankful for. You were not easily intimidated, but this man? He could crack you like a peanut.
After a moment of sizing you up, his eyes trailing from your clothes, so different from his own, with trousers instead of a tunic and a graphic t-shirt in an alphabet he knew, but words he couldn’t understand, to your green dyed hair. He didn’t seem impressed. In fact, he seemed suspicious.
“Lucius Marianus.” Unfurling one of his hands, he held it for you to shake.
With an awkward smile, you took his hand and introduced yourself. His grip grew a bit tighter at the sound of your obviously foreign name. You fought the urge to run away.
“A pleasure, Marianus.” This time, you called him by his second name, determined not to make the same mistake as earlier with a less forgiving man.
“Where are you from?” Quick and to the point, you could respect that. Logically, you knew that this wasn’t real, that ultimately, this was your dream and you held all the power, but there was a little voice in the back of your head telling you to be careful. “Are you a citizen, a slave, or a free-man?”
Licking your dry lips, you let your hand fall to your side, shoving it in your pocket before Marianus could see that you had begun to shake. “I am from a country far away. Across the western sea, farther than any have ever gone. I am a citizen of my country, but not of Rome, and I am no slave, so I suppose that makes me a free-man.”
“You suppose?” He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. “Well, I ‘suppose’ I won’t assume you’re a liar and a runaway. If I hadn’t just witnessed that…” Marianus paused, searching for the right word, and you hoped it would be one you recognized. “Technique of yours, I would figure just that. Tell me, medicus, what exactly did you do to one of my men?”
“I, uh…” Your tongue felt too big for your mouth. Whatever answer you gave this man, it better be satisfactory. All you could hope for was that the truth would be enough. “His heart was no longer beating, so I pressed upon his chest as hard as I could in the same rhythm that his heart would take.”
Marianus nodded, his expression contemplative. “And the kiss?”
“It was not a kiss!” The words burst forth before you could stop them, your face flaring even hotter. This entire conversation was reminiscent of one you would have with your father, and Marianus’ disapproval was getting to you more than it should. “I was breathing air into his lungs. I inhale, pinch his nose shut so the air doesn’t escape through his sinuses, and then blow into his mouth. If his chest rises, I am doing the procedure correctly.”
“Still, an intimate gesture to bestow upon a stranger.” His lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. You got the feeling he was teasing you now. “From what I can gather, this technique of yours mimics the functions of life in order to coaxe the spirit back into its vessel.”
You blinked, opening your mouth to argue with scientific facts. A beat passed before you snapped your jaw shut with an audible click. Better to not look a gift horse in the mouth. “I, uh, yes. It does. That is exactly it. You are a very intelligent man, Marianus, perhaps a career in medicine is calling your name.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, medicus.”
An awkward grimace pulled at your lips. “Right.”
Marianus was both unmoved and undeterred by your lame response. You expected him to leave you be. After all, despite the fact that you saved one of his men from drowning, you were still an outsider to both the village, the army, and Rome. In your head, he owed you nothing, all you did was your duty and you expected nothing in return. Marianus seemed to think otherwise.
“Where have you been sleeping, medicus?” With a sharp nod of his head, he gestured to your duffel bag and drying clothes. “I assume outside in the heat considering how poorly you are spoken of in town. Looking and speaking as you do, it’s no wonder anyone is hesitant to even allow you to sleep in their barn.” Again, the edges of his mouth curled upwards. “You are far more useful than previously anticipated. For once, I am happy to have my assumptions proven false.”
“Um, thanks?”
“Fetch your belongings, there are more men waiting to be your patients back at camp.”
You blinked, dumbfounded, before a sharp raise of Marianus’ black eyebrows broke you from your spell. If there were more people to be treated, you didn’t have to be told twice. With a bit of pep in your step, excited to have something to do rather than waste away in tedium, you stuffed your, now dry, clothes into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. Marianus eyed it with no small amount of reservation.
“Do you carry any weapons?”
You thought about your taser and pepper spray tactically placed in an easy to reach pocket on the side. “No. As a doctor, I consider myself a pacifist.”
Marianus snorted. “A good way to die.”
“Better to die giving life than taking it,” You replied easily. This wasn’t a lie. While you didn’t fault other’s for violence — how could you fault human nature? — you would rather heal before harm. A part of you hoped to balance the scales, do enough good to make the bad seem worth it. It was a lofty goal, one you tried not to dwell on. So long as you managed to help even a single person in your life, you would be happy, though you’d never confine yourself to such a meager goal. “If you don’t mind me asking, do your men not already have a doctor to treat them? Why take on a stranger’s help?”
“We did. He is no longer with us.”
You frowned. “A shame. Lose one soldier, and you only lose one man. Lose a doctor and your losses double. I never met him, but I’ll remember him fondly.”
“You’re soft. It’s a shame.” His words made you raise your eyebrows, and, when you looked at him, there was pity in his dark eyes, though it was only there for a second.
Marianus clamped his hand on the back of your neck and began to steer you in the direction of the camp. With few trees in sight, only lush farms and tall grass, the countryside was a sight to behold. You glanced over your shoulder to see the river and the village disappearing in the distance. While the road the two of you walked on was dirt, it was well trodden, no stones or holes to trip over. This truly was the Roman Empire. How your mind managed to conjure an image so beautiful and so unmistakably alien was beyond you.
“Has there been anyone caring for the injured?” You asked.
“Our veterinarius has been doing what he can, though I don’t like it. These are men, not animals.” To punctuate his displeasure, Marianus spit on the ground.
You nodded placatingly as you approached the first cluster of tents. Some of the soldiers recognized you, though you didn’t recognize them in return. Word traveled fast when you save someone’s life, you supposed. “I’m sure he’s doing his best.”
“His best is not enough,” Marianus grumbled.
Before you could respond, the stench of infection and sick filled your senses. If you hadn’t done clinicals or worked in healthcare while you completed your studies, it would have caught you off guard. Instead of blanching, you took your last deep breath of clean air, and braced yourself as much as you could. Marianus almost seemed impressed by the determination on your face as you pulled back the flap of the tent, joining a frazzled looking man — the veterinarius, you assumed — in his rounds.
All you could do was your best, and you intended for that to be enough.
Even as a student, you had steeled your heart to the worst suffering had to offer. Growing up as you did, with parents more interested in results than feelings, it became all too easy to turn off your bleeding heart and do what was necessary. By now, it was as simple as breathing.
Your bedside manner was gentle as you helped a few men, too injured to move, drink water from a ladle. If you were any less busy, you would have insisted it be boiled. Marianus would likely scold you, it was unrealistic for an entire century to boil water for every sick man, let alone every soldier, no matter how sound your advice was. Posca would do for now, as it always had.
For hours, you worked tirelessly, cleaning wounds and calming fevers. You were lucky modern medicine wasn’t all that you studied. In order to help as many people as you could, you focused on ancient and holistic practices as well, though you had an easy preference for the tried and true methods. There was no denying that you were a medical prodigy, a genius for all intents and purposes. It wasn’t that you had an ego — well, maybe you did — it was the fact that it was the truth. You had graduated college before you had turned eighteen and gone through medical school soon after. Right now, you were the youngest student going through their surgical residency in your state, perhaps even the country if you dared to let your pride swell. All of this, your parents would call their doing, that you would be nothing without their guidance.
You grimaced in the middle of setting a skinny man’s broken arm. Better not think about them now, it would only serve to stress you out even further. For all your skill, you caught yourself floundering inside the medical tent, Marianus watching from the entrance as you flitted from patient to patient, and the veterinarius sitting back to take a much needed break. While you had some supplies on you — a stethoscope, a sphygmomanometer, a Taylor hammer, none of which you’d utilized yet, a bottle of antiseptic, some ibuprofen, and three clean syringes — it wasn’t enough for you to feel comfortable. Which was ridiculous, this was your dream, you could do whatever you wanted.
Then again, if that was true, then why were you fumbling through even simple procedures? You didn’t feel comfortable using more invasive methods, not unless you had no other choice. The likelihood of survival was low, even with your steady hands. Perhaps this was a nightmare, a look into what life will be like once you were done with your schooling. Your slumbering mind was preparing you to be the failure you were always meant to be.
Shaking your head, you focused your attention back on your patient. No one seemed to notice your lapse, not even you. You were quite good at multitasking, mixing self-deprecation with stringent work ethic like a talented seamster. The skinny man was lucky it was a clean break, and even luckier, it wasn’t his humerus, which would have been more complicated given your lack of equipment. A bit of sweat trickled down your forehead as you stood, surveying the men around you. You had done well given the circumstances, but you still couldn’t help but feel as though it wasn’t enough.
Nothing was ever enough.
Even dreaming, you felt tired.
Three men had infected wounds. One was oozing pus, which apparently was a good thing according to the veterinarius and Marianus, though you still took care to clean the wound thoroughly. Another man had a fever due to the infection, and, after washing your hands, you took care to clean it as the other. After much reassurance that it wasn’t poison to Marianus — consisting of taking one yourself — you also gave him an ibuprofen for his fever, though you decided you were going to ration them unless it was an emergency. The third man was a bit harder, enough necrotic tissue forming around the infection that you considered surgery. For now, you introduced maggots to the area, a treatment Marianus seemed to approve of, if not with some disgust. In the morning, you would check the wound, and then surgically remove the decayed flesh if the maggots didn’t do enough.
Four men had broken bones, one, his arm, another, his finger, and two, their leg. That was simple enough, if not time consuming getting all the bone fragments to set properly. While you would have much preferred a cast to a splint, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
That wasn’t even to mention the handful of other men with various ailments that filled the tent. Apparently there was someone quarantined elsewhere, suffering from dysentery. According to the veterinarius, the treatment for that particular disease was rest, fasting, and dehydration, which you were in the middle of giving him strict instructions to keep the man as hydrated as possible, it didn’t matter how quickly he discharged it, he needed to be drinking as much water as he could. You didn’t hold out much hope he’d make it, though you’d be damned before you gave up on someone who needed you.
It wasn’t until Marianus clamped his hand on the back of your neck and began to steer you towards the tent’s exit did you realize how exhausted you were. Your eyes burned and your head throbbed. If you were any less of a man, you would have taken one of your ibuprofen to ease the dull ache in your temples. Ultimately, you decided against it. If there came a time when they were necessary and you had run out because of your own weakness, you would never forgive yourself.
“You did well, medicus. Better than I expected, you are very skilled at what you do,” Marianus said as he led you deeper into camp. By now, it was dark, well into the night too judging from the full moon directly overhead.
How long had you been working?
“Thank you. I am usually better than that. I fear my nerves of being in such an unfamiliar country are getting to me.” With the heel of your palm, you scrubbed at your face.
Marianus frowned down at you. “Keep your foreignness to yourself, medicus and you will go far. Though, that will be hard to do with hair like yours.” He looked you up and down, hesitant curiosity creeping into his features. “That strange color… it is not natural, is it?”
A laugh bubbled from your throat. “No, I dyed it. Green is a color I am rather fond of.”
“I am fond of red, but you do not see me painting my hair that color,” He grumbled under his breath, and it reminded you so much of the comments some of your superiors made, that you giggled.
Before you could respond, he gestured to a tent with an outstretched arm. A lantern was on inside, casting the shadow of the single occupant, who was busy sitting cross-legged and writing what seemed to be a letter. While you had reservations of interrupting, Marianus did not.
“Out here, now, boy!” The shadow visibly jumped before pulling back the flap to reveal Aelius. He looked as tired as you did, and truthfully, he stank to high heaven. You struggled not to wrinkle your nose so as not to offend him. Aelius seemed like a nice man.
“Sir?” Was all he managed before Marianus continued to bark his next set of orders.
“Since the two of you were acquainted earlier, and the fact that you were supposed to be monitored, you’ll be bunking together. In the morning, we set a course for Rome.”
You blinked. Did that include you? While you wouldn’t mind getting out of the village and seeing more of what this dream had to offer, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of uncertainty. There was no telling how long this dream would go on, nor how vast it was. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you strolled ‘out of bounds,’ so to speak. Would you be trapped in an infinite void until you awoke? The thought was enough to send a chill down your spine.
“And I will remain here,” You finally said.
Marianus barked out a laugh. “No. You will join us. I still have a use for you.”
As much as you didn’t want to abandon your current patients, you would rather not push your luck any further than you already had. Crossing your arms, you met Marianus’ furrowed brows with your own. “And that use would be?”
To your right, Aelius made a little noise. Your gaze flickered over to him, catching his motion for you to cease, before you ignored it and fixated back on Marianus. He was looking at you like you’d lost your mind. At least enough to question him. A bit of discomfort made your skin itch, you always hated earning the negative attention of a superior.
For a moment, you feared that Marianus would yell at you until the sun rose. He puffed up, shoulders squaring and his lower jaw jutting out before he deflated with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his angular nose. “You are too soft for the army, medicus, and you are too foreign to hope to set up your own clinic, especially without citizenship. There is very little hope for you in the Empire.”
You looked away, feeling cold even as a summer’s breeze blew against your skin. An argument began to boil in the back of your throat, an insistence that this was a dream, so none of that mattered, but you managed to swallow that poison before it could spew out of you.
Marianus paused, waiting for you to respond. When all he received was a defeated look, he continued, “There is, however, hope for both me and you. The emperors require a new physician and I believe they would be taken by your skill and your…” He looked at your hair again. “Novelty. In return for discovering you, if they choose to take you on, me and my men will be rewarded.”
“I see,” You muttered. Perhaps this was the route your dream wanted you to take. At the end of it all, there was sure to be a lesson or even a vision of sorts that could help you in reality. All you had to do to get it was allow the plot to pull you forward. “And Rome is not far?”
Marianus’ features softened, bordering on fondness, guilt, and pity. “Barely a day’s march, medicus.”
“I will go, then. To Rome with me, I suppose.” Though you smiled, when you turned to Aelius, he stared at you as if you’d been sentenced to death.
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Tag list: @snazzynacho
#geta x reader#caracalla x reader#gladiator x reader#geta x you#caracalla x you#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#HOLY FUCK FORMATTING THIS WAS HELL#if this doesnt post in the tags im going postal
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TALK POST FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOREVER!!! hi guys!!!
art has been So hard for the past few months… like way harder than ever… the only art i do is for school at this point :[ i barely even doodle!!! it makes me really sad……. i think a lot of it has to do with my mental state. keeping it reaaall i’m currently in one of the worst emotional points in my life and have been for a while but Ugh!.. it’s gonna be okay in the end… aside from that i think it’s also art class that’s made it all so hard …
for those who don’t know, i’ve been in special art schools since 6th grade, like, schools you have to audition to be in… it’s been great!!! i love(d) meeting likeminded people and being able to relate to each other in a bunch of different ways!! i’ve made SO many friends and so many good memories!!! i’m now in my senior year of high school, half way through… it’s the final stretch for realsies! and i’m reflecting on how the art programs have made me feel about art….
there are SO many benefits that came with the programs minus meeting new people… my art wouldn’t be at the point it is at now without the lessons and expertise and critiques i’ve received from my teachers. i’m grateful i was even accepted into those classes in the first place!!!!!
the main gripe i have with everything tho is how CRAZY it kills your creative flow and enjoyment for art in general… i don’t necessarily blame my teachers, they’re just doing what they’re taught! but i feel like what they’re teaching is wrong in lots of ways…
they put mindsets on students that just… don’t make sense? “art block isn’t real! just draw!” art block isnt just not being able to draw… “every piece you make should be better than your last!” you shouldn’t have to constantly try to one-up yourself!
it’s just all these standards left and right that you have to meet to “be successful” and for your art to be “good”. all of my art classmates and even from the grades below me agree that it’s certainly not the best!!! i can see why everything is the way it is, it’s for improvement and building skill, but i think it’s more damaging than helpful…
i’m SO nitpicky about my art. it’s hard for me to feel proud of things anymore because there’s Always something wrong with what i’m doing… and the way you have to compare yourself and your creations to other people as a grade to begin with is UGH! it’s just teaching students to be SO hard on themselves when art is literally just creating something!!!
the way your art looks shouldn’t determine your value, success, or even worth. art should be FUN!!! it’s a visual extension of yourself. it’s meant to be created with any intention in mind… it’s a reflection of YOU. it’s YOUR unique touch… it shouldn’t have to fit in any criteria!!! you should do what makes you happy!!!
art school can be a blessing but also such a buzzkill… i enjoyed it a lot but it also broke a part of me and it’s really unfortunate… i hope one day i will be able to reverse all those mindsets and relearn my love for drawing. i miss it so so so much…
my lesson to you guys is to not stop… do what makes YOU happy. don’t do things just to look good to others, try to impress YOURSELF. or don’t! just create! because your art is YOU. treat it nicely and don’t ever lose it!!! you can do ANYTHING! you can MAKE anything! if you really think about it, everything’s possible!!!
i think i would word everything better if i was on a stage with a microphone… i think i missed a lot of points too but i hope you all can get the gist of my perspective…
all i know is that i’m not going to be doing any professional art stuff in the future… it suits me better as a hobby!!! i want to be a nurse instead!
no more art school ranting… despite my poor mental health right now, things haven’t been all that bad!!! i hang out with my friends a lot and that’s made everything so much better! i love my friends!!! i love playing games with them and talking with them and going places with them SOOO MUCH!i also have a super amazing partner now too!!!!! they’re the best partner i could ever ask for!!! fun fact, over summer they watched bfdi to get closer with me when we went back to school ISNT THAT SO SWEET AAHHH also our nails are currently painted fireafy colors!!! we are matching!!! so cute… i appreciate them indulging me whenever they can HEHEHEHEEE
anyways i think i’m done talking now…. i’ve said my piece! i haven’t been active for a while So this is catch up time!!! ok bye!!! do something that makes you happy today!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! or tonight!!!!!!!! or afternoon!!!!!!!!!!
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A closer look at Simon "Ghost" Riley's interpersonal guilt
chapter 1
ghost/soap 1,365 words - ao3 Tags: guilt? mentions of abuse, complicated feelings.. hello this is my first fanfic in like 5 or 6 years. its hopefully gonna be part of a series.
Simon “Ghost” Riley considers himself a man sewn together by his mistakes. Every decision, right and wrong, has led him to become who and what he is today. Since his birth, he’s made nearly every mistake he possibly could. If he was one to believe in separate timelines and alternate realities, he’d think he was the worst version of himself out there. Despite this, he's still able to recognize that he's made some good decisions. He’s defused bombs, sniped terrorists and saved countless lives by doing his job. But those feel weightless in comparison to the sheer amount of loss he views himself as responsible for. Tommy, his nephews, countless soldiers and civilians whose names he doesn't know but faces he’ll remember forever.
Point being, Simon doesn't deem himself a good person, despite the frequent assurance from people around him that he’s an honest (enough) man. He thinks he was a good kid dealt a shitty hand, but that kid has long since rotted away. Although, if you asked that kid if he felt like a good person, he probably wouldn't know how to respond. He would take far too long of a pause between the question being asked and his inevitable, “oh, yeah. ‘Course I’m a good person.” Because realistically, at least at the time, he’d never done anything to make him a bad person. Maybe sometimes he was selfish, but that's just how kids are. Maybe it was the fact that he was born into an unkind environment. A den of snakes, the last place a child should have to be. Households like that breed uncomfortable feelings. Maybe Simon was born with a seed of evil deep in his heart that has yet to have the opportunity to corrupt him fully. Maybe he just needs to go to therapy.
He’s also thought that maybe he’s just too close to his current self to view things objectively. Maybe when he’s older and retired he’ll pity this present iteration in the way Simon pities his teenage self. Realistically, that's where he’s headed. Sure, he’ll have regrets… but that's just a part of life. Especially a life like his. He knows what the team thinks of him. Price thinks he’s a good man. He makes sure to assure him of this whenever he notices Simon having an ‘off’ day. He knows Gaz and Soap like him, but they aren't exactly privy to his life before becoming Ghost, at least not enough to clue them into what he really deems as ‘Bad’. Price does know this, yet he still insists that Simon is one of his best. Not pure, not without blame or blood, but still good. Somehow, despite how much he tells his captain, Simon still manages to persuade himself into believing that he's wrong. John Price, whose judgement he trusts nearly wholeheartedly in every other situation… he doesn't believe. If he really thought about it, he might be able to recognize how absurd that really sounds. But he doesn't. So it remains unresolved.
This is how he thinks whenever he has a moment alone that lasts just a hair too long. When he's shaving, taking a shower, or buzzing his head. When he can't fall asleep, which is more often than not. When he’s on leave, eating a microwave meal all alone. At the gym if he forgets his headphones, or if his sniping position reminds him a little too much of home. Wherever home is.
He hates silence, despite how often he surrounds himself with it. Which, he thinks, is one of the many reasons that Johnny has managed to lure him in. He talks. A lot. Not too much, but a lot. He keeps the comms warm and manages to bring out Simon's chatty side. He’s somehow able to talk at the perfect times, as if he can sense when Simon’s brain starts to steer him down a dark, well trodden path. He tells a shitty joke, or nudges Ghost's knee to make some snide comment about a private he saw trip on his way to the heli, and suddenly everything is okay again. He makes things easy, and Ghost feels a little pathetic over the whole situation. Especially because he knows it’s fucking effortless for the Scot. Easy as breathing-- he's probably not even aware how much of a crutch his presence has become. Times previously taken up by brooding and reliving painful memories have now been filled by Soap prattling on about some larger than life feat of his. Or even worse, Simon will lie awake in bed and think about him. That stupid mohawk and the scar on his chin. He keeps forgetting to ask where that came from. None of this is to say that Johnny makes Ghost feel like a good person, because he doesn't. But he does fill up the space that previously allowed him to think too hard about his own morality. And, at least right now, that might be more useful.
Johnny is bright in more ways than one. He’s smart, one of the smartest people Simon has ever met. But he's also bright. Bright as in painful to look at. Like the sun, at least to Simon. Not based on looks (although he is quite handsome), but on… demeanor, maybe. The way he carries himself. Simon hasn't been able to put a finger on what he's trying to describe. His confidence, his… charm. John MacTavish is something else entirely. Separate from what, Ghost isn't sure. They’ve only known each other for about four months, which is one of the many reasons Ghost finds this… fondness for the sergeant so frustrating. Because he was hooked from day one. It took no time for Soap to worm himself in the spot between Ghost’s lungs and his ribcage. It's one thing for him to be attracted to the man. He's been attracted to plenty of soldiers in the past, but he typically does nothing about it. And most of them haven't been on the same damn task force as him. He's a professional, for Christ's sake, and those feelings are almost always fleeting. But they’ve never felt like this. Luckily he's good at keeping quiet, especially in situations like this.
He doesnt idolize Johnny. He knows he's not perfect. You don’t get this high up into the SAS by keeping your hands clean. But he’s sure that whatever Soap has done is nothing in comparison to his mountain of mistakes. Gaz has hinted that he may return his feelings. Ghost always chooses to take this as either Gaz being a right prick, or those feelings simply being lust. It can't be anything more than that, he won’t allow for it. He's not even sure that Soap likes men. He's never caught him with a woman before, but that doesn’t mean it hasn't happened. But that's not really important in the grand scheme of things. Ghost would never get involved with him. At least that's what he tells himself every time something particularly… tempting occurs.
Like that time they were trapped in a closet together. It was all knees against groins and pained grunts. It was only 45 minutes but it felt like hours. Soap was chewing gum, making loud smacking noises. It got to the point where Simon nearly knocked him upside the head. As soon as Ghost snapped at him to quit it, Soap stuck it beneath one of the shelves behind them. They made eye contact the whole time. Not a word of protest. It seems innocuous, but given the man's reputation of being… insubordinate, his eagerness to follow orders was surprising. If everything was right in the world he would have kissed him right there. They talked about nothing for the remainder of the time, whispering close in each other's ear as to not be caught. They both smelled rank, yet neither of them mentioned it. Safe to say that was all Simon thought about in bed for several weeks afterwards.
Anyways, Simon doesn't want Johnny to become another mistake in his past, whatever that means. So he’ll remain where he is, firmly planted on the already blurry line between colleague, superior and friend.
#ghostsoap#ghoap#simon ghost riley#simon riley#john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#soapghost#my writing <#finally! the tag is being put into proper use#cod#cod fanfic#idk
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“Gawk all you like,darlin’.”
Between them, some things remain the same and that is a comfort all on its own. Time will erode any misgivings he may have, idiosyncratic or not, and eventually he’ll be able to talk freely to Vash about the many things about himself, this strange new world, and the future. Eventually.
Wolfwood closes his eyes, failing utterly to suppress the sigh that rises past his lips as he leans into the warmth of Vash’s hand. A smirk punctuates the squeezing of flesh, and when he looks back out to meet Vash’s gaze after they part from their unhurried kiss, he wonders how much more the world could demand from Vash the Stampede before it let him be fucking happy for once.
Always something. Always someone. It would not be the first time Nicholas has admitted to himself that he needs Vash just as much.
They each hang onto their burdens a little longer. Vash may be equally unforthcoming with answers, but Wolfwood isn’t in a hurry to be anywhere in particular. Vash’s weight is a comforting blanket, as is the warm, soapy water swirling at his waist as he lazily runs a hand through his own hair to dislodge the many days of traveling alone caked into the strands.
“You let them–” Wolfwood starts, an unbidden growl unfurling with his curled lip. No, Vash didn’t let anyone do anything. Who would give Vash the choice to live quietly? As quickly as his anger flares, reality douses the flames. Nicholas’s brow remains deeply furrowed. He knows better than to mistake self-preservation for cruelty. That’s all it was. The powers that now ruled this planet, Terran or Federal, didn’t care about Vash’s feelings or what he had already given, they were more concerned with ensuring that Vash didn’t blow them all to hell or follow in the footsteps of his brother.
He understood their fear, understood what Vash was capable of, and that he cannot toss the blame squarely at their feet makes him feel sick to his stomach. Vash, of course, knew all that and he chose to go. To atone for his mere existence.
The greatest cruelty that humanity inflicted upon Vash the Stampede after everything he had done was to isolate him from everyone he had suffered so terribly to save.
“You won’t have to go anywhere alone, Vash.” They both know he cannot promise forever, so he doesn’t. He would have liked to. “For as long as I’m here.”
Wolfwood tilts Vash’s chin up between his forefinger and thumb, offering a faint smile to those glistening eyes. “Hey, yer gonna go to bed all puffy-eyed if ya cry now, Tongari. Neither of ‘em will come after ya anymore, right?” His eyes narrow briefly with the implication that they’d have one very irate Nicholas D. Wolfwood on their hands if they tried. Not the circumstances he would have wanted to break out the Punisher for, but he isn't about to spare the firepower.
“Maybe…there’s a way Home can help ya talk to your sisters again. They managed to help me, after all. Well.” He laughs, one short huff. “Just make sure to tell me if ya get tired of hearin’ the sound of my voice if I’m the best you’ve got.”
"Hmm-hmm, I could gawk harder if you'd like," Vash hums, noticing the way Wolfwood seemingly doesn't want to talk about something so sensitive and delicate as his heart. They don't need to talk about it right now—honestly, all Vash wants to talk about is Wolfwood. He wants to hear about his years awake, the sights he's seen, the people he's met.
He supposes that, now that he's thinking about it, he wants to know what Wolfwood thinks of this world that they both had a part in saving. The future of humanity is here and bustling, and the world is ever-changing. Before Vash slept, he heard that the next big project would be an ocean. With water and life and maybe even an island or two...
... However, Wolfwood definitely won't like the answer to his inquiry. Vash hides a tense frown by dipping his head beneath the water one more time and allowing both of them to scrub at his full head of inky hair. Once again, it's not nearly enough time to think of a softer way to answer his question, and it's definitely not worth his time to sugarcoat it while speaking to the man who can see through his bullshit the most.
Vash takes in a deep breath after he finishes rinsing, then turns on his knees to face Wolfwood in all of his glistening glory. He can't help but run his greedy hand to cup the man's jaw, slide down his neck, shift over his heart, and he finishes by, of course, gently squeezing that left pec fondly. Yep, despite the internal changes, he's still the same Wolfwood. Vash's fingers slowly comb through the hair on his chest as if lost in a warm memory.
Still thinking, the Independent leans forward to give Wolfwood a soft, tender kiss—so unlike the one in the cave that had been full of tears and fear and depravity... This one is calm, quiet as he gently takes the ex-priest's bottom lip between both of his. Vash separates from him, though he doesn't want to, then searches Wolfwood's gaze as if reading a book, chuckling quietly to himself as he slumps onto his hip at the bottom of the tub and finally rests his head on the man's collarbone, lips to his neck with more soft kisses.
"Yeah, uh," the timeless Plant sighs, sounding nothing but concerned as he continues, "After... Meryl and Milly passed, I had enough of the bounty hunters, so I turned myself in. Earth and Gunsmoke fought over who got to dole out my punishment, but it was eventually decided that they... both would?"
He slides further down into the soapy water, gripping Wolfwood's thigh to keep himself stable. His mouth is nearly fully submerged, but he, after a heavy pause, lifts his chin up to continue.
"It took the Earth colonists a while, but they made sure I couldn't ever communicate or rejoin with my sisters again. They had enough Independents and Plant engineers to keep Gunsmoke running, so there was no need for me to have that ability anyway. Then they... made sure that when I enter my own Last Run, it won't cause 'catastrophic damage'—their words."
Now comes the part that Wolfwood really wouldn't like to hear... maybe he can just... temper it a little, avoid giving great detail...
"That took twenty years, I think. I dunno, it was all kind of a blur," Vash dips partially underwater again and sighs bubbles to the surface. "Gunsmoke, um... Well they didn't really have laws regarding capital punishment for Plants. They wanted to kill me at first, for all of the... the disasters that I..."
He swallows a hiccup, willing himself not to cry—never to cry. Not about himself, not when Wolfwood is here and he doesn't need anything else...
"They locked me up someplace secure and gave me a life sentence in solitary confinement."
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#will delete later#yall i actually feel like im losing my mind#have really been fighting my depression the last couple days#it’s so fucking stupid cause i don’t even have depression#but i just recently like within this last week#lost the friendship i had with a couple of long term mutuals#who i kinda shared things with.#and now without them i have no one to talk to or support#and like i’m not blaming them it’s for their best#but i’m just considering if i should take up sh again just so i have an outlet#cause my mind fucking sucks#and tbh i can’t imagine myself happy in 5 years.#i know what i want but idk how to get there.#and i’m very fucking alone and hate myself and feel like i need to lock up my personality so no one can see
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Why do you think the tides have slightly turned from "Elia deserves better than Rhaegar" to shipping her and Rhaegar together? Like what is the psychology behind these people because I've seen some of them like/reblog anti Rhaegar posts while also shipping Rhaegar x Elia at the same time.
hey anon! my thoughts are a bit messy, but i’ve done my best to explain them coherently :)
so, rhaegar was the best man anyone could have when elia was alive, and most people want the best for their favs. he was considered the most handsome, didn’t have a bad personality, and he was crown prince—meaning elia was almost queen, which is often seen as the greatest role a woman can have. the narrative also treats rhaegar as a beautiful, tragic, haunting figure, and elia actually had this very aesthetically pleasing man all to herself at one point! she was married to him, had children with him, and her life was so close to perfect! but rhaegar just had to go and ruin it. 😠
for many elia stans, if rhaegar hadn’t fallen in love with another woman (they want him to have been a completely different character), then everything would’ve been perfect, and elia would’ve had the best, most desirable life. however, that’s not what happened—elia met a very tragic end, and as a result, these stans feel double the bitterness. because of this bitterness, they blame rhaegar for everything (even though it’s not logical to do so), but he’s just too ‘perfect’ to let go of. so, for years these stans have made rhaegar revolve around elia, filling his tag with posts about her out of bitterness. so, i do believe that this obsession with rhaegar x elia has always been there, but i think it’s become a more favorable stance on the elia stan side of the fandom because of a mix of reasons.
plus, rhaegar is one of the few canon relationships we know elia had, since she’s not much of a character. because of this, and the fact that most people don’t like to stray too far from canon, most elia stans are forced to focus on rhaegar, which has created an echo chamber. basically, if a sentiment about elia and rhaegar’s relationship becomes popular, then the whole elia stan side of the fandom will likely regurgitate the sentiment. (also, this desire to stick close to canon is likely why the elia x arthur ship was so popular. while it’s a total crack ship, it had good aesthetics, and since elia and arthur at least knew each other, it allowed the stans to create their perfect fanfiction whilst sticking it to rhaegar. but remember, elia was actually married to rhaegar and had children with him, so while arthur is cool, rhaegar was always ‘top dog,’ meaning arthur would never be able to match up to rhaegar to most elia stans. also, the arthur x elia crack ship is likely her second most popular ship, which just shows how little elia stans have to work with, so they’re always forced to eventually return back to rhaegar for a lot of things.)
however, even if the elia x rhaegar ship gains more popularity, these stans will never stop hating rhaegar because he wasn’t ‘perfect’—and he wasn’t perfect because he didn’t love elia. plus, rhaegar loving another woman and supposedly kidnapping her is what began the war that led to elia’s tragic death. that’s bitterness times 1000. and while i don’t actually blame rhaegar for the war, i do think that this is how an elia stan sees it. i also don’t view rhaegar’s complex relationship with elia as a bad thing—it’s actually a very realistic take on an arranged marriage between two decent people. but most elia stans will never be able to get over the fact that they almost had everything, which is why many have it out for lyanna, as they consider her a thief who ruined their ‘perfection.’
tbh, that might be why so many elia stans are so obsessed with the idea that rhaegar only got with lyanna because of the prophecy—they don’t want to believe that rhaegar actually loved a different woman and not their perfect self insert elia. that’s a bit mean of me… but i don’t know what else one would call the ‘elia’ elia stans have created.
now that i’ve laid all those thoughts out, i’ll try to explain why the tides seem to be turning… i think it may have something to do with the ‘targaryens are all evil and bad’ sentiment losing popularity. i think this shift has occurred due to a mix of factors, such as years of fandom fights and fandom cycles leading to the targs being more liked now than before. it helps that canon doesn’t actually condemn the targs/favors them quite a bit, and the influx of new targ fans from HOTD has also contributed. this combination of reasons seems to have shifted the way the mainstream fandom discusses all the targaryen characters, including rhaegar. so, with this shift, it’s only natural that some elia stans/elia x rhaegar shippers—who’ve always been there—are using this opportunity to push their agenda. while these stans still hate rhaegar and see him as the bad guy, they just can’t let go of him. and as the mainstream fandom moves away from the anti targaryen sentiment, these smaller corners of the fandom, which tend to be echo chambers, are also affected, which has therefore led to a rise in rhaegar x elia shippers and the ‘shifting tide’ that you’ve also noticed.
#‘if only rhaegar did this’ is a very common sentiment amongst elia stans#most stans have always had the ‘if only’ mindset#‘if only elia survived’ easily leads to ‘if only rhaegar didn’t run off with his whore’ as the targs become less hated#it’s kinda a pipeline? rhaegar anti plus elia stan leads to rhaegar x elia shipper who still hates rhaegar#another reason that a lot of this happens is because elia and the martells plus dorne are the good ‘others’ a person can like#while the targaryens are the ‘bad others’ one can safely hate as they’re white & have a bit of demon symbolism + come from an ‘evil’ empire#the targs also ruled over everyone so a lot of fans like pushing all the blame onto them for all the problems#however the targs are cool and they’re hot af and being royalty is the best! so they’re the ‘bad others’ one can safely hate#but people still want their aesthetic and want their favs to have what the targs had. all the cool magic + the aesthetic + danys monikers#so people can convince themselves that it’s okay and logical and right to hate the targs but most ppl will still connect their favs to them#of course… things have been shifting in the fandom which i’m very happy about#and all of these sentiments are combined and compressed when it comes to rhaegar and elias relationship#so any big shift on how the fandom views the targs will always affect the way rhaegar and elias relationship is viewed#it just so happens that the targs aren’t the evil dragon nazis anymore so it’s kinda okay for elia stans to ship him with her#i’m not gonna go through my tags and make sure they make sense so i’m simply hoping for the best#anyways… i hope i didn’t digress too much. i just found this shift so interesting so i couldn’t help myself#asoiaf fandom critical#anti elia stans#rhaegar targaryen#anti rhaegar x elia#house targaryen#valyrianscrolls#pro rhaelya#lyanna stark#rhaegar x lyanna#anon ask#thanks anon this was a fun topic to cover#i recently found a really old post about both elia and lyanna and boy… it was quite discusting to read#elia stans kinda cycle from ‘elia deserved better x crack ship with shallow aesthetic’ back to elia x rhaegar while shitting on rhaelya#just know that rhaegar is always the bad guy to them! the sentiment on lyanna will go from hot to cold but rhaelya is always bad as well!
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