#and screaming at them like my parents would have

[swappermanent]

Normal Kids

“I’m 19! I’m old enough to make decisions about my own body!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the kitchen walls. My chest heaved as I stood across from my parents, their expressions a cocktail of disbelief, frustration, and something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe?

My mom crossed her arms tightly over her chest, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry, we just… we can’t let you do that.���

“Let me?” I spat, the word tasting bitter. “You can’t let me? Do you even hear yourselves? This isn’t something you control! This is my life. My body.”

Dad rubbed his temples, his fingers digging into his skin like he could will the conversation away. “You’re too young to make a decision like this,” he said finally, his voice low but strained. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” I shot back, feeling my hands shake. “I’ve spent years figuring this out—every sleepless night, every time I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself, every time I wanted to scream because I couldn’t be who I am. Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mom finally looked up, her face pale but her eyes blazing. “This isn’t about us not loving you. We just…” She paused, her voice trembling. “We don’t understand why you have to keep doing this to us.”

My stomach dropped, but I held my ground. “This isn’t something I’m doing to you. This is me—this is who I am. It’s not a phase or a rebellion or whatever else you want to call it. You’ve already been through this once with Liam. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t learn anything?”

Dad flinched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. Liam, my older brother, had been their golden boy until he came out as gay a few years ago. It wasn’t pretty—he’d waited until he was moving out to tell them, probably because he knew exactly how they’d react. The disappointment in their eyes, the long silences, the occasional outburst when they thought no one else could hear… it had been brutal. But Liam had stood his ground, just like I was now.

When he left, I’d thought it couldn’t get worse. But then, a few months later, I’d come out as a lesbian. Their reaction had been less dramatic that time—probably because they were already so exhausted from Liam—but it wasn’t exactly warm, either. They’d treated it like a wound that would heal if they just ignored it long enough.

But this… this was different. A few weeks ago, I’d finally found the courage to tell them I was trans. And the look on their faces when I said those words—it was like I’d detonated a bomb in the living room.

“First Liam, and now this,” Mom had whispered that night, her voice shaking. “Why can’t we just have normal kids?”

That phrase had been replaying in my head ever since. Normal kids. Like there was some checklist of qualities that made you acceptable, and Liam and I had failed to meet every single one of them.

Now, as I stood in the kitchen, I felt that familiar mix of anger and sadness bubbling up. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “But I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to make you comfortable.”

“Why can’t you wait?” Dad said, his voice softer now. “Just give it a few years, until you’re older. Until you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am sure,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I’m not going to waste any more time being someone I’m not.”

Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. My parents exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in my mom’s expression—something that looked almost like understanding. But then it was gone, replaced by the same tight-lipped resolve.

“We just need time,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… a lot.”

I nodded, biting back the sharp response I wanted to give. I knew I wouldn’t change their minds tonight. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop fighting. For Liam, for myself, for every other kid who’d ever been told they weren’t enough—I wasn’t going to give up.

For months, I begged and badgered my parents to let me start transitioning. Every conversation ended in a brick wall—excuses about my age, about not understanding the “gravity” of my decision, about the costs. They controlled the insurance, and they paid my college tuition. Without their approval, I was stuck. Trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine and a life that didn’t feel like it fit.

But then, one evening, they relented.

“We’ve… been thinking about your request,” my mom said hesitantly over dinner. I immediately froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

My dad chimed in. “We found a clinic that might be able to help.”

I blinked, surprised but cautious. “Really?” I asked, my voice laced with doubt.

“Yes,” my mom replied, forcing a smile. “It’s… unconventional, but we think it might be what you’re looking for. They specialize in full-body transformations.”

Something about her tone set me on edge, but I didn’t press. I was too desperate for their approval. If they were finally agreeing to help me, I wasn’t about to question it. The only condition? Liam had to take me.

I love my brother. He’s my rock, the only person who truly gets me. So, I didn’t mind the idea of him tagging along. In fact, I was relieved to have him there. I told myself that having his support would make this feel less terrifying.

The clinic was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t a sterile hospital or some dingy back-alley operation. It was sleek, modern, and impossibly fancy. Marble floors, pristine white walls, the faint smell of lavender in the air. The kind of place you’d expect celebrities to visit for some high-end spa treatment.

A woman in a crisp white suit greeted us at the front desk. Her smile was warm but unnervingly perfect. “Welcome,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged. We were led into a private lounge, where they offered us water and reassured me that the procedure was safe and effective. A doctor arrived shortly after and explained that Liam and I would be separated for a brief consultation. That seemed odd, but I didn’t overthink it. Maybe they wanted to talk about medical history or something.

The moment I stepped into my consultation room, my gut told me something was off. It wasn’t the room itself—it was just as fancy as the rest of the place, with plush chairs and soft lighting—but there was an odd energy in the air. The doctor who entered was an older man with kind eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine.

“This isn’t your typical hormone therapy clinic,” he began. “What we offer here is… revolutionary. Instead of months or years of transitioning, we provide an immediate solution.”

I frowned. “Immediate?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “We specialize in body-swapping technology. You would be able to inhabit a different body entirely—one that aligns with who you truly are.”

My stomach flipped. “Body-swapping?” I repeated, barely able to process what he was saying.

The doctor nodded, his expression calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “In your case, your parents have arranged for a body that they believe would suit you. Strong, male, conventionally attractive. We’re ready to begin the process, provided we have your consent.”

My heart was pounding now. “What body?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Your brother’s,” the doctor said simply.

The room spun. “What?” I croaked. “You’re saying… you want me to swap bodies with Liam?”

The doctor nodded again. “Yes. Your parents thought this would provide you with the life you’re seeking—male, straight, and socially acceptable. Liam has already been sedated and prepped for the procedure. He’ll retain his memories and sense of self, but he’ll wake up in your body.”

My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. “Does Liam… does he know about this?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “He doesn’t need to. He’ll adapt in time. All we need is your consent.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. This was insane. They wanted to rip apart my brother’s life without his knowledge, without his consent. It was horrifying. And yet… the image of Liam’s body flashed in my mind. He was everything I’d ever wanted to be—handsome, muscular, confident. I imagined the life I could have in his shoes. The ease, the acceptance. The chance to finally feel right in my own skin.

“You’ll be happy,” the doctor said, as though reading my thoughts. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I clenched my fists, my heart racing. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, that Liam didn’t deserve this. But at the same time, the temptation was undeniable. How could I say no to something I’d dreamed of my entire life?

“I…” My voice wavered. I glanced at the door, imagining Liam just a room away, completely unaware of what was happening.

But the thought of waking up in his body, of finally feeling at home, was too powerful to ignore.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

The doctor’s smile widened. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight. Not the kind that dragged you down, but something grounding, solid, like my body was finally my own. My eyelids fluttered open, and my heart skipped as I caught sight of my arm resting against the pristine white sheets. Strong, defined, dusted with dark hair that caught the soft light streaming in through the window. I flexed my fingers experimentally, watching tendons shift under the skin.

It felt… right.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, and ran a hand over my chest. The sensation of my fingers brushing through coarse hair was electric. My pecs were firm, rising and falling with each breath, and I couldn’t stop myself from tracing the ridges of muscle down to my abs. Every touch felt like discovering a secret, a hidden part of myself I’d been waiting my entire life to meet.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. My breath hitched. Liam’s body—no, my body—looked even more incredible in motion. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, the kind of build that turned heads. I stood slowly, marveling at the way my thighs tensed with the movement, the muscles taut and powerful beneath the skin.

I stepped closer to the mirror, placing a hand on the glass as though I needed to prove this was real. My other hand drifted up to my jaw, rough with stubble. I dragged my fingers across it, savoring the gritty sensation. The shadow of a beard framed my face, making my features sharper, more defined. I tilted my head, flexing experimentally, watching my shoulders and arms ripple with strength.

A shiver ran down my spine as I splayed my fingers across my chest, the dark hair soft yet coarse against my palm. My nipples stiffened under my touch, the sensation sparking an unfamiliar but intoxicating heat. I trailed my hand lower, tracing the faint line of hair that led down my stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath my fingertips.

I turned to the side, marveling at the broadness of my back, the way it tapered into my hips. My hand skimmed over the curve of my biceps, then down to my forearm, where veins snaked beneath the skin, pulsing faintly with life. Every inch of me felt alive, thrumming with energy I’d never known before.

A sudden laugh escaped my lips, low and rich, surprising me with its depth. I couldn’t help but grin, running a hand through my hair, which was thick and slightly messy from sleep. The movement flexed my arm, and I turned back to the mirror, caught up in the intoxicating sight of strength and masculinity. This was me—finally me.

The knock at the door was soft but purposeful, and when I turned, the nurse from earlier stepped in. She was petite but poised, her blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail, her cheeks tinged pink as she glanced at me. I realized I was still shirtless, standing in all my glory, and I couldn’t help but smirk. The confidence in this body felt second nature, like slipping on a well-tailored suit.

“Just checking to see how you’re feeling,” she said, her voice warm but a little breathy. Her eyes lingered on my chest a beat too long before darting away, her blush deepening.

“I’m feeling incredible,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave. “But you probably hear that a lot.”

She chuckled nervously, her hands fiddling with the clipboard she carried. “Well, we do aim to please.”

I stepped closer, the smooth strength of my legs propelling me forward effortlessly. “You’ve done more than that.” I flexed my arm casually, the muscles swelling under my skin. “I’m guessing Liam—uh, I—had an arms workout yesterday. Feel that.” I offered my bicep, and her eyes widened slightly before she hesitantly reached out.

Her fingers brushed my skin, and I tensed the muscle, watching her expression shift as she gave a quiet, appreciative gasp. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s… impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “All yours to admire.”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away. Emboldened, I let my hand rest lightly on her waist. Her breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of her body through her scrubs. My touch was gentle, but I knew the strength behind it was unmistakable—controlled, deliberate, intoxicating.

“You’re incredible,” I said softly, my thumb tracing small circles on her side. She shivered under my touch, her gaze locking with mine. The tension in the room was electric, every second stretching out tantalizingly. My hand drifted lower, just brushing the curve of her hip.

I reached for the waistband of my pants, ready to strip down and revel in this moment fully when—

The door burst open with a crash, and I whipped around to see myself—my old self—standing there, wide-eyed and furious.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

[sophism84]

Don’t be mad but I feel so horrible but I hate my parents my dad is evil. I HATE THEM I HATE THEM!!! My mom after Aaron had twisted my arm behind my back and told me I was staying with him they both held my hand on either side of me. I felt so trapped I didn’t know how with both of them I would ever be free. That’s like tryin to ask which hell is worse? I have to support both of them and they just tell me how crazy I am one beats me one shoves pills down my throat and takes me to the mental hospital all the time.

Yeah you came home and we had knives ready I was ready for you to come home.

but you told them I was crazy and took me to the mental hospital I the lasy told me the only reason I kept my kids was because of you. I was trying to get us away from all of you. But I had to financially support you.

You trained this into me. You threw cold water on me, laughed at my pain, abused us all. Did we really need all that cough medicine? Or did you just keep us dosed up??

Huh??

What kid chooses their nightly cough syrup?

You told me my rape was my fault. You blamed me for my own abuse. You kept me being abused. You kept us being abused. Aaron drugged and raped me. Beat me w my baby in my arms, and hold twist my leg and the laugh when I would cry in pain.

I wish I fought back harder. I wish I had been stronger than him and not paralyzed in fear. And even when I did cal the police about being pregnant and assaulted they didn’t arrest him! They never arrested him!

Top security clearance?? Why would you ever trust such a man???

They don’t deserve to walk the earth.

I’m so sorry I let them beat me down over time. And isolate me from everyone that actually loved me.

I’m sorry I wasn’t better. I’m sorry.

I was afraid for you when I was showing up everyday. I was worrried. I called everyday they just told me to eat but how do you eat when you’re worrreid?

I needed to get them away from him.

But I’m just always crazy. Or paralyzed w fear. I was so weak.

I’m so sorry I didn’t do better. I should’ve just killed them when I had the chance. I held a knife to my mom’s neck when I was little but I couldn’t do it. I chickened out. I wanted my mom to love me. Why? Was she like this?

Your greatest influences are those that are closest to you.

I hate you all! You lied to me. Told me I was crazy. Shoved pills down my throat and stole my diaries. I lost myself. Because I had to return to what broke me the first time.

You’re all just evil I hate you

I hate Aaron’s parents too. You made him into what he was and paraded me around your living room. Well you sure tore me down the first chance you got! I wish I could scream and you would all cease to exist! I hate you forever and always don’t forget that!

I will not defend you or help you or ever see you ever again unless I’m dragging your body into a fire. Where you belong

[just-a-ghost00]

Mirror, mirror on the wall

What does this connection reflect back to you ? What do you see in each other that either uplifts you or drags you down ?

To find out, select one of the following groups. You can either choose based on the imagery or the number. This reading’s content might be triggering. Read only if you are okay with it. Keep in mind that this is a general reading.

Group 1

5 of swords, knight of cups, Self love, Death rx, Sugilite - Stretch the limits of your imagination - You are not your emotions, Memories comfort us "I seek out happy people who inspire me to be great."

This reading feels very personal. I felt a pang in my chest as I was shuffling your cards. And the more I saw the picture that was being depicted, the more I felt like crying. I feel like a lot of you have spent most of your life repressing your emotions and feelings for the sake of others within connections, whether those were platonic or romantic. Specifically, I picked up on wounds surrounding a masculine parental figure. When interacting with this person, the truth reflected back to you is that you shouldn't have to fight for someone's attention or love. This connection helps you heal a feeling of unworthiness that stems from your childhood. It also reflects the fact that a relationship shouldn't be thriving at the expense of your own well being and happiness. That a connection should be a safe space where you can feel free to be yourself and expand in a way that feels good for you. That you shouldn't have to pretend to be someone else to be accepted.

What you see in this person is that a partner is supposed to uplift you, not hinder you. You see that going after your dreams and doing the things that make you happy isn't a crime. You learn that your emotions are valuable and are nothing to be ashamed of. In this person, you find a shelter. A place where you can lower your mask and shield to be your unapologetical self without fearing retribution. In this person, you see a friend. Someone that is willing to listen to what you have to say and help you see things from a brighter perspective instead of finding every reason why this could go wrong. You learn that your opinion matters. That your interests aren't useless. That it is safe to cry, to be sad or angry, to feel unmotivated or scared or uncertain. That you shouldn't have to apologize for how you feel or for who you are. In them, you find a confidant.

The reality that this connection reflects back to you is that your friends, your family, the people you admire and give your attention to may not be having your best interest at heart. Nor do they provide for you the safe space you need. That they take more than they give and never say sorry. This connection teaches you the importance of your own love and perception of yourself. The importance of re evaluating your boundaries, of being authentic and surrounding yourself with the people that are going to value your true essence instead of trying to dim your light and shape you into something you are not.

Extra - What do they see in you? | Page of cups, The Sage, Black Tourmaline - Protect your light, Relieve the pressure, "I am ready to go big rise up and step into my power."

They see a person with a kind and pure heart, who yearns to love and be loved equally. Someone with big dreams and goals that they never dared to achieve. A soft hearted individual whose potential goes beyond anything they could ever imagine and is afraid to share it with the world. They see a lot of sadness too. Fear even. But more than that, they see a lot of wisdom and grace. A level of maturity that cannot be rivaled. They see someone that has been holding back for far too long and deserves to be able to let go of everything that has been hurting them. Someone that needs protection because of all the pain they've been through. Someone that's tired of fighting and screaming for peace. They see someone who's afraid of opening their heart to love again, who would rather guard their heart strongly even if it meant being alone forever rather than risking getting hurt again. But at the same time, they see how much you crave to put an end to all of that because at the end of the day, you're just like any human. You want that fairytale ending.

Group 2

"I celebrate all the grateness in my life." 3 of wands, 7 of wands, Sunstone - Take back your shine, The Weaver rx, Love rx, Stand up for yourself, Yes!

I get a lot of root and sacral chakra energy from this group, which to me may relate to fears surrounding stability, material possessions, intimacy and the body. In past connections, you or your person may have dealt with a lot of people that abused them either for their possessions, their status or their body. You may also have dealt with people who cheated on you or people who did not accept your differences but still took advantage of you. I don't know why, but I kept wanting to mention the other person instead of focusing on your energy. So maybe you and your person have dealt with very similar wounds and situations in your life. The truth that is being reflected back to you is that being different isn't always a struggle. That in a connection, your boundaries should always be respected. That not wanting the same things as your partner doesn't make you a bad person. That you have the right to say no. You are also learning that you cannot control every aspect of the connection. That sometimes, in order for things to be working, you'll have to let your ego aside and find a common ground that is comfortable for both parties. You're also learning that needing space or going after your goals are things that can be beneficial both to you and your partner, that you shouldn't have to choose between both. You're learning that being on your guards all the time isn't in your best interest and that in order to receive you must be able to give as well. The truth reflected back to you is also that not everyone is out to get you.

In this person, you see a call for the unknown that challenges you but also motivates you. You see an opportunity for change and wisdom. You see an invitation to appreciate life at the fullest and an encouragement to open your heart to the present moment. This connection teaches you to take a leap of faith and walk forward with confidence, even if you do not know what the future holds. It teaches you to see all the little things in life that are worth rejoicing about and fighting for. It pushes you to embrace all your quirks and faults, even those you think your partner wouldn't like. To look at the future with hope in your eyes and disregard any person that might stand in your way or try to get you to doubt yourself. This connection inspires you to stand tall and proud and cultivate optimism. It helps you feel safe in your body and comfortable in your shoes. For some of you, it has opened your eyes about your sexual preferences and your identity. Some of you may have realized that you were queer thanks to this connection. For others, you are healing wounds regarding physical intimacy : you may be learning to embrace the fact that being physical with someone is something that isn't your cup of tea and that there's nothing wrong with it. Some may be discovering and exploring new aspects of their sexuality that they didn't get to try before because they were taught to be ashamed of their body, of their desires. This connection leads you to uproot any belief system that was hindering your light and drive. Also, you are learning to love your body more and cultivate your creativity.

Extra - What do they see in you? | Treat yourself eat whatever you want, 4 of wands, Reflect, Cavansite - Expand your consciousness, "My high vibe thoughts create health in my body peace in my mind and love in my heart."

They see someone with such energy and love for life that they can't help but smile. They also can't help but to recognize your strength and limitless potential. This person sees you as their equal. They see in you someone that has all the qualities in life to be successful but also all the qualities that they look for in a partner. They see your trustworthiness, your ambition, your optimism and creativity and they love it. They admire your wit and communication skills. They see your strength and your ability to persevere though the road is difficult. They see a person that will never give up no matter what people throw at them. And because of that, you have all their respect and support. They see how hard you try to make a name for yourself and embody the best version of you. They see your charisma, your curiosity. Every aspect of you that makes you you, in simple words. They just love all of you and they want that for themselves.

Group 3

"I breathe calmly and easily. I am safe in this moment." Page of wands, The Star, Versatility, Speak Truth, I can only count on myself, Stand up for yourself, Hiddenite - Claim your happy place

Through this connection, you're slowly realizing that you were made to believe that in order to make it through and thrive, you should hide your light and pretend like you didn't exist. Especially for those of you who were assigned female at birth. The truth that this connection reflects back to you is that it is safe for you to exist, make noise and take room. In this case, I am picking up on rejection wounds. You are also learning that you don't have to carry your load all alone. That asking for help is more than fine but more importantly that you don't need others to be told who you should or should not be. For a lot of you, I feel like a parental figure was very controlling around you and didn't let you make your own decisions. They always tried to make you feel less than or lead you to believe that you couldn't succeed without them. You are healing those wounds through this connection. It also reflects back at you your own creative power and wisdom. It shows you that the truth of your destiny lies within you and not outside of you. It encourages you to speak louder and find your voice in life's chatter. To write your own story.

It reflects back to you how people around you trigger your foundations and create a space for you that is unstable, unsafe. How their own lack of discernment and self confidence is affecting you, your dynamics with the world and your power to manifest your desired reality. It shows you that you don't have to abide by the rules to be respected and recognized. Actually, you don't even need to be recognized by anyone except yourself. This connection shows you the value of your own beliefs and desires, and gives you the strength and determination to fight for them.

Extra - What do they see in you? | Ace of cups rx, The Explorer, Turn your tongue 7 times in your mouth before speaking, Sodalite - Deepen your intuition, "I seek out happy people who inspire me to be great."

They see a lot of curiosity and drive to become a better version of yourself. They also see your fighting spirit and rebellious tendencies. They see that you want to surround yourself with things and people that make you feel good. That you are constantly seeking to improve. That you have gathered a lot of wisdom through experience and you're able to use it whenever trouble arises. However, they also see that you've put up walls around your heart that a hard to see through. They are aware that those walls, built to protect yourself, also prevent you from finding true happiness. They see that you are not emotionally available right now and that is a fact they cannot ignore. This person understands your need to protect yourself and admires this aspect of you. But they are also worried that this defense mechanism will stand in the way of your connection. They see that they should have to be very careful around you if they want to be able to earn your trust.

[princessfbi]

48?

48. Rampage

Evan Buckley was on a rampage. A stress, anxiety fueled, chronic overthinking headache, probably hangry induced rampage. Not to mention exhausted.

Eddie was just waiting for the inevitable crash to come. He had money on it being in the middle of reorganizing their closet or when he decided to change out the bedding in their guest bedroom for the third time.

The strong arm that curled around his shoulders didn’t have to work very hard to get him to move and he sighed as he let Tommy pull him down until Eddie’s back was pressed to his chest and his arms were wrapped around his middle.

“Should we be concerned yet?” Tommy asked as he pressed a kiss to Eddie’s temple.

The vacuum cleaner blared on again with a whine.

“Not yet. But if he starts muttering about making another trip to IKEA, I get his arms and you get his legs!”

Eddie felt the huff of Tommy’s laugh and sank into his embrace as their legs tangled together.

“When I told you two to make the house your own, I don’t think I was expecting quite so many designs of cutlery.”

That had been an adorable if not mildly frustrating meltdown to watch from Buck as he stressed over which of their silverware to use for dinner as if anyone would be looking. But whenever either one of them tried to mention it, a spoon was wielded at them while red rimmed eyes begged them to be serious. It wasn’t until Tommy had thrown Buck over his shoulder and carried him up the stairs to their bedroom that he managed to get any sleep.

Of course that had been after they’d both taken their turns with him with the mission to make Buck forget the entire English language let alone the word salad fork but the point was he got some sleep.

Eddie would just be glad when the stupid holiday was over.

“I’m surprised you’re not more stressed out,” Tommy murmured in his ear and Eddie drummed his finger on Tommy’s forearm.

“My parents aren’t…” Eddie breathed out a sigh. “I never once questioned if they loved me. My pops and I could scream at each other until we were hoarse and my mom really knows how to just take you out at the knees. But I knew they loved me.”

The figure of his stressed out boyfriend passed the doorway as Buck obsessively vacuumed behind the cabinets.

“He didn’t have that. It was always a question for him. This is the first time he’s going to be the center of attention with them.”

Which was why they were in the middle of an Evan Buckley hurricane. One dinner. One Thanksgiving. One meal where Buck and his parents are sitting down without Maddie as a buffer and they were there for Buck. To see his new home, his new life, his new everything.

Same for Eddie.

It just made sense to get the holiday and the introduction to their new life to their parents. Surprisingly, neither of their parents seemed surprised when they told them about each other and Tommy; about how they were incomplete without the other and it just… made sense. Eddie flat out refused to call them a throuple. It sounded like a stupid Instagram trend. Buck was his boyfriend. Tommy was his boyfriend. Eddie was theirs. Boyfriends. A family, Buck had suggested and neither of them let go of Tommy until that wet sheen over his eyes went away.

Still, Eddie couldn’t help but feel a little bad that his and Buck’s folks were getting special treatment while none of Tommy’s family would be in attendance.

“I am not subjecting either of you to any of the Kinard clan ever if I can help it.” Tommy had said when they’d brought it up and that had been the end of that discussion.

Still, it had been Tommy’s house first. He probably hadn’t meant to invite Buck and Eddie’s familial drama along with their furniture when he asked them to move in with him.

Tommy made a noise that Eddie couldn’t quite place even as his arms tightened around Eddie’s middle.

“He says they’re trying,” Tommy said and Eddie forced himself to push down his own feelings so he didn’t color Tommy’s experience with the Buckley’s.

He deserved to make his own opinions.

“They are… in their own way.”

Still, Eddie had been the one who had seen the way their secret had gutted Buck from the inside out and made him question everything he’d ever known. Eddie had been the one who had heard Margaret tear the nursing staff and Philip into a new one when they suggested she rest while Buck had been in the coma. Eddie had been the one to bite his tongue instead of asking her why suddenly she could care now and not when Buck was conscious and needed to hear it. Eddie had been the one to see Buck question over and over again why he was the one who lived, why he deserved to be there, and all those moments of doubts stemmed from them.

They were trying but Eddie wasn’t sure he was quite ready to forgive yet.

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

I've been working on this fic on and off since I saw season 7 and at last I got it finished!! The idea has been haunting me since I saw the finale... what if Callum actually completed the spell that trapped Aaravos in the coin?

“The second it’s done, he’ll kill me. You won’t have anywhere to go. No ‘vessel’ to control. You’ll be trapped again… forever. That’s the destiny I choose. The one I write for myself!”

Callum squeezed his eyes shut, and when they opened, they locked on Rayla. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away, not wanting to miss an instant of seeing his face. Not wanting a single second where he couldn’t see the plea in her gaze.

“I would have stayed with you forever.” His voice was a whisper now, only for her. “I would have spent thousands of peaceful days with you, and it would have been the greatest joy I could ask for.” He drew a shuddering breath and managed a smile. “But this way, you’ll still get thousands of peaceful days. And that makes me happy enough. I love you, Rayla. Be brave.”

“Callum!”

Her scream was drowned out by the sound of his voice as it rose with the words to the spell. A purple beam poured from the staff in his hands, and as soon as it touched Aaravos, he began to dissolve. Wisps of green melted from his body, stretching his form, pulling him apart until he was nothing but smoke.

As the last of Aaravos was absorbed into the coin, there was another bust of light— but not from Callum. In a streak of energy in every color of the rainbow, Ezran appeared on Zym’s back, a blade in his hand.

That blade, Rayla thought wildly, it looks like—

“Ezran?”

Rayla’s eyes snapped to Callum just in time to see him fall to his knees, the black in his eyes receding— only to be replaced a second later by searing white.

“Runaan,” Callum gasped as the white faded again. “Do it— do it now—" He doubled over, convulsing in time to the flickers of light in his eyes.

Panic seized Rayla, forcing her half out of her saddle with absolutely no plan for what to do after she fell. Could she throw her own body in the path of Runaan’s arrow? Could she help Callum fight the possession back?

“Runaan, please,” Callum wheezed.

Runaan’s eyes flicked from Callum to Rayla before coming to rest on Ezran. A tear fell from his eye.

“I’m so sorry,” he told Callum, his voice breaking. “I can’t.” And then, in a tone so quiet Rayla almost wondered if she imagined it: “Not again.”

Callum let out a piercing yell that distorted halfway through, deepening into Aaravos’s cry of triumph as light beamed from his eyes once more. Callum— Aaravos— laughed with enough unbridled, malicious delight that it took him two tries to get to his feet and grab Viren’s staff.

“Oh, this is too good! I thought your soft heart was all your own, Rayla, but it turns out it’s a family trait!” All at once, the glee dropped from his face. “Your parents would have done well to raise you better. In this world, all a soft heart is good for is getting you killed.”

He moved the staff so quickly that Rayla didn’t realize he was drawing a rune until its blast was speeding towards her. She leapt on instinct, pain shooting up her ankles as her feet made contact with the ground. It was nothing compared to the ache in her chest when she turned around. Her mount hadn’t been as lucky as she was.

Runaan sent an arrow shooting at Aaravos’s shoulder, but he dodged neatly, drawing one of Stella’s portals in the air with his staff and leaping through it. It deposited him directly in front of Rayla, who barely dodged the stream of fire he conjured. Pressing a hand to her singed hair, she rolled to her feet and whirled around to face him.

“You’re stronger than him, Callum, I know you are!” she cried. “Fight him off! Please!”

Aaravos laughed, bolts of lightning splitting from his staff. “Foolish child. Your beloved was warned of the consequences of performing my magic again.” A fork of electricity struck Rayla’s leg, and she fell to the ground with a scream. “He! Is! Mine!”

“Callum, come back to me!” Rayla barely recognized her voice, the words high and fractured. “You said you’d do anything for me!”

Aaravos inclined his head. “Did he? How sweet. You know, I can’t feel any stirrings of his will inside me at all. What do you think— should we give him some proper motivation? Venus frigoris!”

Cold, burning cold, blinding, agonizing cold. Rayla’s spine convulsed, her body contorting as a scream ripped from her throat. Other screams reached her ears, Ezran, and Runaan, but they were so far away—

The relief came all at once, her muscles relaxing, the cold fleeing, and she collapsed into sobs.

“Hmmm… no. I still can’t feel any resistance from him. Do you believe me now, assassin?”

Last time, Callum had screamed for her, had run for her, had held her face while her blood froze and taken on Finnegrin with nothing but his bare hands to make it stop. Now he stood over her with his lips curled in amusement.

There was nothing left of Callum anymore. He would never have hurt her if he had any power to stop it.

Assassin. Aaravos had formed the word carefully, mockery infused into every syllable. He would never expect her to go through with it. She could take him by surprise. She could end this.

She would never be able to live with herself. But the world would live on.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut, curling her hands around her blades behind her back.

“My heart for Xadia,” she whispered.

Aaravos inclined his head. “You’ll have to speak up if you want your final words to be remembered. Go on; I’m listening.”

Rayla flicked open her blades— and the tip of a sword appeared in Aaravos’s chest.

In Callum’s chest.

The white light in his eyes receded, leaving the beautiful green Rayla loved so well. They locked on hers for a second before fluttering closed as he dropped to the ground, sliding free of the sword to reveal Ezran with his hands on its hilt.

There was an eternity within a second in which everyone stood frozen. Rayla, paralyzed on the ground. Callum, dead at her feet. Ezran, a horror in his eyes that defied description or comprehension.

Then the blade fell from his hands, clattering against the stone, and the world woke up.

“I’m sorry.” The words were almost unintelligible through Ezran’s sobs as he fell to his knees. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry— I’m so— I’m sorry, I’m so—"

At last, Rayla managed a single breath, one that rattled in her broken chest, and managed a single, hoarse word. “Why?”

Ezran raised his ravaged face to hers. “Rayla, I’m sorry, I’m so—“

“Why didn’t you let me do it? I was going to do it. He’s your brother, and I’m—"

“You’re not a killer, Rayla.”

The words lacked the hysteria of his apologies. But Rayla had never imagined hearing that kind of absolute despair in the voice of a child.

“Neither are you!”

“No. But I am a king. And my first duty is to my people.” Finally, his voice broke again. “All but one.”

Rayla took his hot, soaked face in one hand and Callum’s stiff, cool hand in the other. She pulled both of them close, holding the three of them together one last time, even as they shattered.

…

“I’m going to kill you!” Callum roared.

He lunged for Aaravos, who was too stunned by his sudden movement to dodge his punch in time. Callum drove another fist into his jaw, and another, before Aaravos recovered enough to kick him in the stomach, sending him sprawling backwards. Callum drew a breath, then another, heedless of the pain, and forced himself back to his feet—

Only to find himself paralyzed, mid-lunge.

“That is enough, human.”

Callum screamed through his locked teeth as a head appeared in the stars above him— one whose nose was roughly the size of Callum’s whole body, and who glowed so brightly that it hurt to look at him.

What the…?

Frozen as he was, Callum was able to take in his surroundings for the first time. Both he and Aaravos stood on a transparent platform that floated in an endless night sky.

The head in front of him disappeared, and another appeared to his left. “You have accomplished many impossible feats,” she told him. “But even you cannot kill one who is already dead.”

Aaravos scoffed. “You can’t kill me. No one can. I will merely return to the stars, where I will bide my time for a paltry seven years.”

“No, Aaravos.” That came from a head on Callum’s right. “Had you been fatally wounded in a vessel, you would merely have returned to your true form. Had your true form been pierced by the fangs of an archdragon or the blade the humans call Nova, you would have returned to the stars. But you were mortally wounded by the Novablade in a mortal form. As such, you have forfeited your immortality.”

For the first time, Callum saw true fear in Aaravos’s eyes.

“No— no! That is not possible!”

“It does not matter whether or not you believe it,” the first head who had spoken told him. “You will know the truth of it soon enough.”

“But we are prepared to offer a compromise.” This came from the head to Callum’s left. “We will return you to the stars, if you return your key.”

“Key?”

Callum hadn’t realized he was able to move again until the word fell from his lips.

“Indeed, human. A key to all the magical secrets of the Startouch elves. It was given to Aaravos for safekeeping, long ago, but he has hidden it from us for millennia.”

“With good reason.” Aaravos locked eyes with Callum, his terror replaced by an equally unimaginable expression: pleading. “They call themselves dealers of cosmic justice, but they are little more than tyrants. They killed my daughter— a little girl with only the best of intentions— for giving magic to humans. The order they want to protect would leave your race powerless! If they have access to the knowledge they seek, the whole world will feel the consequences!”

“That is our offer, Aaravos,” the first head said, his voice emotionless. “Give us the key and return to the stars. Or keep it, and be erased along with it.”

“He doesn’t have it. As I do.”

As one, the full attention of the heads turned to Callum. It was… disconcerting.

Callum pulled the Key of Aaravos from his belt and held it out to them.

“That does not belong with you,” a head that had not yet spoken said sharply. “Return it to us, human.”

“I want the same deal you offered to Aaravos. I’ll give it to you if you return me to life.”

From beside Callum, Aaravos actually growled. “Are you really so selfish, mage? Would you allow these despots to strip you of everything just to buy yourself a few more years?”

“Not for me. For Rayla.” Callum closed her eyes, but her devastated face remained. Her screams still rang in his ears. “She’s lost enough. I won’t let her lose me too. I won’t let her suffer any more.”

“You fool!”

Callum opened his eyes again, looking past Aaravos and up to the heads once more. “Do we have a deal?”

They were silent, seeming to have some kind of mental debate. Then the first head spoke.

“We accept your terms. Give us the key, and we will return you to life.”

“But do not think you can escape cosmic justice,” said the head on his right. “You have not bought yourself a life. Merely extra time.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Callum tried to sound respectful, contrite. Inside, he burned. Whatever time he’d borrowed would be enough— he’d make it so. After all, as one of the judges herself had said, he’d done many impossible things. What was one more?

He released the key, and it floated up to the head above him, where it disappeared into light.

“It is done,” the head announced. “You will be returned to your mortal form. And you—” he turned to Aaravos— “will be reunited with your daughter at last.”

Aaravos rose into the air as if yanked by invisible strings, writing all the while. “You have no idea what you’ve done!” he screamed at Callum. “No idea what I’ve sacrificed to save you from this future! You have doomed—“

But he didn’t get to finish before he burst into light.

When the searing glow receded, the stars and the heads and Aaravos were all gone. In their place was the most beautiful face Callum had ever laid eyes on, even as it was swollen and tearstained in a way that drove spikes of pain through his chest.

“Rayla,” he rasped.

The word was almost inaudible by the time he pushed it past the emotion choking his throat, but her eyes still snapped to his.

“Callum!” she shrieked, throwing herself at him with enough force to send him sprawling back against the ground. He could only manage a wheeze as he hugged her back, and she pulled away quickly.

“Your wound— did I make it worse? How are you even— you got stabbed— you were dead—"

“Yeah. I know. Luckily, even the cosmic judges couldn’t resist my charms.”

Ezran appeared beside Rayla, his eyes as red as his tunic. “You talked them into letting you come back?”

“More or less.” Callum’s fingers brushed the pouch in his belt where he had kept the Key of Aaravos, now decidedly empty. “Turns out I still had a bargaining chip they wanted.”

“What…?” Rayla started, but Callum shook his head.

“I’ll explain later.”

“Callum…” Twin tears squeezed their way out of Ezran’s swollen eyes. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry—"

“Hey, hey, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Callum reached out, wiping the tears from his brother’s cheeks. “You did the right thing. I’m so proud of you.”

Ezran managed a wet laugh. “That’s so messed up.”

“Yeah, well, so are we.” Callum reached for Rayla’s hand with his free one, and she entwined her fingers with his. “But you know what else we are? Still here. We’re here, and Aaravos isn’t.”

“We saw a shooting star,” Rayla rasped. “Janai said it crashed in the Midnight Desert. Does that mean… is Aaravos…”

“Aaravos isn’t a threat anymore. Not now, not ever. Apparently, the Novablade was enough to kill him if he was bound to a mortal form.” Callum glanced at Ezran. “You see what I mean? You did it!”

Ezran wiped his eyes with shaking hands and managed a small laugh. “We did it. The three of us.”

“Oh, not this again. I know I spent part of our first trip as an egg, but I still counted. And who do you think flew Ezran here in time to kill Callum? The four of us made a difference. Actually, the six of us, since Bait and Stella deserve just as much credit—"

Callum leapt into Rayla’s lap and Ezran ducked behind them, all three of them whirling to face Zym. He stared back at them, perfectly straight-faced.

“Zym,” Ezran said slowly, “did you just…”

“Talk? Yeah. I figured it out a while ago, but I was just… waiting for the right moment. Was that not it?”

“Since you were bragging about how you helped kill me, I’m going to go with no,” Callum said drily.

“Come on, Callum.” Rayla dropped a kiss on his head, then beamed at Zym. “There’s no time like the present.”

“All right, all right.” Callum held out an arm to Zym. “Come here, you.”

Somewhere among the stars was an all-powerful, immortal race of elves with the knowledge they needed to force their will upon all of humanity. Somewhere in the future was a day when Callum would face the end of the time he’d borrowed. Somewhere beyond this tower were cities that needed to rebuilt, bodies that needed to be buried, alliances that needed to be made.

But there was no time like the present. And right here, right now, was the last of the dragonguard and the king of Katolis, the prince of the dragons and the first human primal mage, all clustered together in a knot of limbs and tears and laughter, holding each other together with their love.

And it was all they needed to make a difference, come what may.

[rainbowcarousels]

In a break from my regularly scheduled lack of programming, I wanted to talk about how Angeal's rose tinted 'memory' in Ever Crisis. As I was going through things, some thoughts occurred to me and I want to collect them.

I think Jenova has a habit of integrating memory without understanding the individual relationships that cause code shifting in conversations or even the major differences between characters. Lucrecia as she portrays her is Mother, she's not Lucrecia as a person, she's a designation and part of the grouping of this being what a mother sounds like is based on Jenova's limited experience with the subject, especially with modern humans. The memory has the same feeling as Cloud's 'memory' of Nibelheim at the beginning of Rebirth, right down to a photograph and that's because those are Zack's memories but twisted and edited just enough to pass for Cloud's.

Angeal's relationship with the townsfolk when he was supposedly quite the thieving toerag of a kid screams of fantasy of being accepted and beloved. Heroism for him is producing crops, it's making sure his parents are taking care of and feeling accepted as part of a community where he grew up in poverty. It's rose tinted because it's literally rose tinted glasses.

I would bet that was not remotely his mother's reaction to him joining SOLDIER. We're saying Gillian Hewley, the woman who wouldn't talk about her experience to the point of death, who ran off with Angeal as a baby to try and get away from all of that, who preferred to live in poverty rather than take a single gil of Shinra's money, would have a) cared about Angeal's SOLDIER uniform looking sharp, b) ordered the 'finest materials straight from Midgar' and c) when Angeal expresses worry over dirtying it, would giggle and say it was fine when should just make him another? Does that sound like the same woman or does it seem like a fantasy of what he wished would have happened?

I'm going to go further here and say that in fact, it's much more likely to be in line with Genesis's mothers reaction and I'm wondering if either a) Jenova got them mixed up because of the close quarters or b) Jenova just characterised it as Mum Behaviour and went with it, assuming it all sounded roughly the same when the difference between Angeal's mother and Genesis's (and Lucrecia for that matter) is vast in terms of personality and relationships. Either way, I think this is again one of those little edits where she's using one memory to patch another.

Having now looked at some of the better quality pictures of a younger Gillian below, I am now more convinced than ever that the other Nibelheim scientist we see with Hollander in the opening film of First Soldier is Gillian. For me, this pretty much confirms Jenova had close proximity to the mamas (and Genesis's biological mother who SE need to stop gatekeeping because saying it's a secret is making me feral) and could have patterned their behaviours between that and the pre-existing J-cells.

The next FS part cannot come soon enough, I am fascinated by this turn.

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

...sighs

looks like i owe my sibling 10 dollars ← betting that the sonic 3 episode would come out

(the following is my live reaction:)

so Costco, eh? and with Meggy, Melony, Mario, and Bob? This will be interesting

as always, you gotta have your conveniently placed "World's Biggest Meat Grinder" there ofc 😌↕️

Bob... PLEASE REPHRASE wtf dude

not in this economy, no (not even eggs are worth it)

new bed? wait what happened to the...oh

"you're not my friends anymore" [*gets war flashbacks*] oh god, there was Mr Puzzles, then Tari, and now Melony got this line

"Ink, they reused old audio before" and yet the pattern is there. Puzzles and Tari feared that they were gonna lose the people they held dear. And if Melony had this as a nightmare, the same can be said. As to why, hmmmm *game theory theme starts playing*

uh anyway here's Melony being cute :)

fun fact for the day: NEVER LEAVE MARIO AND BOB UNSUPERVISED

can we get them in those kid backpacks with leashes?

Meggy, what are you talking about? We HAVE to get the racecar bed!!

also Meggy don't say that word, the fandom's already going insane over the steam and flareglow mystery as it is ← says a theorist who has already gone crazy

y'know I should've suspected a racecar bed to be an actual car (I was close tho)

never thought we would get this Mario and Bob dynamic again and y'know what? I'm all for it! It's a nice different flavor of chaos I could get used to

It IS important, it's to see the mattress's durability and stiffness bc back pain is just awful (there goes your spine). plus, we aren't getting one that was found by the dumpster

can we get a pillow fight in an episode? SLEEPOVER EPISODE?

things would've been worse if we were in IKEA, Meggy

oh... we got Leggy again...

well, a new thing is that she can change at will. BUT I think it kinda defeats the purpose of Leggy "off to a better place" back at WOTFI 2024. I think it could've been done better at a different episode when her past trauma overwhelms her and turns into Leggy, even more if Mr Puzzles escapes and finds her. I know for a fact that no one has gotten therapy and Meggy did say in the New Year's Special that those were traumatic memories.

Basically what I'm saying is: Meggy thinks her trauma (as well as everyone else's) is past them bc Mr Puzzles is in solitary confinement when it's really not, and THAT will eventually reach a certain limit ← this could've been executed better if Leggy wasn't in this episode and let Puzzles marinate some more, hopefully that makes sense

also Leggy's screams kinda give me sensory issues but that's me thing ANYWAY BACK TO THE EPISODE

ofc if you find the perfect bed, you're already dead asleep :)

THERE'S THAT LINE AGAIN, I'm telling you it's foreshadowing

AND AGAIN AUGH

love the Danny Phantom theme add-in

...WAIT NONONO YOU CAN'T JUST LET IT PASS BY WITHOUT ME NOTICING THE SAME BED USED IN WESTERN SPAGHETTI

"...Ink" Just let me me have my moment of exaggeration, I'll come back to sanity in a second

hey, i'm just living proof that a theorist brain can go haywire at the smallest things

"I work everywhere" Shroomy 🤝 Karen

FLASHBACK TIME YESSSS

...oh....can we talk about this for a second?

The fact that Melony's past has been recontextualized again and again, it somehow makes sense. Well, kinda.

All of Melony's memories are through HER point of view. We can take the conversation between her mom and dad as true but we might not know how far this problem is.

Hear me out: in the role of a child, you would view your parents as friends (depending on how much you see them caring for one another) since the concept of romantic relationships/marriage is a bit more complex to know at that age. It's why Melony interprets her mom leaving them as the friendship ending between them, "you aren't my friend anymore". Again, Melony was pretty young when it happened but it truly stuck with her, and this mentality of "friendship ending = losing them forever" as she had it with Axol Jr. in that nightmare (the closest thing to Axol when she lost him) and then to her friends.

Now, I'm not sure if I should include the memory trip from Revelations (bc of her not remembering having a family at all) but regardless, I think Melony blames herself for her parents separating in the first place. It's normal for children in a scenario like this to believe they are the cause. As said in Revelations, Melony thought she was a "bad daughter". And in the nightmares she had, SHE believes to the cause of losing those friendships as well.

There is still that gap of time between her growing up to when she debuted on the show so the question is: did she leave her dad behind bc of the past guilt she had? And perhaps had even more guilt afterward to leave her dad by himself after everything?

The image of a perfect family in Revelations and her being the "bad daughter that has forgotten about her family", it's pretty sad to think about, and no doubt I feel bad for her :(

EVERYONE NEEDS THERAPY STAT

Mario being the voice of reason, we love to see it

guys, it's not a baby smh /silly

oh good Melony's okay... right?

and the episode ends, we got a bed at least :D y'know, it's just another Saturday

Congrats to alex-dolmatescu2-0 (here on Tumblr) for your art being featured at the end credits! 🎉

we're just not going to think about the implications as to why the Team decided to pick it for this episode, still great fanart tho :)

also this,

i think it was an editing mistake lol (...or IS IT? jkjk)

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Well, chat, this is a good episode. I wouldn't say that it was a life-changing, plot-driven episode but it was okay.

Ofc I did love the Mario and Bob dynamic and some depth on Melony. There were definitely things, like the Leggy part, that could've been executed better/be placed in a better episode.

The year has started so I don't expect much to be absolutely perfect from the Team, they're trying. I still enjoyed it, don't get me wrong.

Then there's stuff whacking at my theorist brain but we don't need to talk about that.

And apparently, we got a new member on the Team, Max Sturz (also known as WizardzWiz)!

They're the writer and storyboard artist for the SMG4 show so hello, welcome! Very excited to see what they're gonna be working on in the future!

(so for future reference, I'm gonna call them Wiz)

That's all from me. I'm just gonna be in my little tent until SOMEBODY responds to the steam + flareglow mystery. Remember: numbers always go first, and I'll see you guys on the next one!

[gorbo-longstocking]

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

Playlist

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.

—————————————-

Tag list: @snazzynacho

[colourfultears]

frank iero guitar yap post

hello...i am still trying to figure out what the hell i am doing with this blog because i truthfully am so super new to tumblr and don't really get what i'm doing.. BUT i know a lot about guitar so i will scream into the void i guess!

i'm gonna put a cut because i think this will be long and its mostly just for me anyways LOL :D

so i've been playing guitar for around like 8-ish years because my parents put me in lessons really young, but i started off playing classical (nylon strings, tchaikovsky arrangements, the whole shebang), but i really didn't improve at all because i simply didn't give a fuck about the instrument until i became an epic teenager

but i moved music academies, moving to electric guitar and starting piano around 2 years ago. so fun!

anyways, all of this prologue to say that essentially guitar, piano, music, as a whole has become my entire life and the only thing i really spend my spare time fixated on.

a few months ago, my teacher suggested that i get a new guitar because i had grown out of the shitty $200 (AUD hahahah) strat i was playing on, so i looked towards some higher quality options and after playing almost every guitar in the shop, i eventually ended up buying an epiphone les paul custom in the ebony colourway.

HERE IS WHERE IT GETS RELEVANT LOL: ray and frank are huge proponents of the epiphone LP lines (in that, they play them live and in recording) which i always found so fascinating because, why not the better...higher-end...gibson...original??

for anyone that might not know but might care :P, gibson (a guitar manufacturer) were the original producers of les paul style guitars. epiphone (another guitar manufacturer) produces REPLICAS of gibson guitars. the biggest difference?, the price (some would argue quality, but that price tag is pretttyyy crazy to me..). gibson guitars are handcrafted in america, and are therefore much more expensive, selling in australia, typically, for upwards of 5-6k, but reaching bounds of like 9000 dollars :O WHEREAS,,, epiphone LP's are mass produced in china, retailing for a USUAL max of 2-3k, but very possibly lower than that.

but yeah, frank's famous 'pansy' guitar is an epiphone les paul custom in the alpine white cw. it's important to note that there are literally only two colours available for this particular guitar.

i know that frank owns both colourways of the lp custom, obviously the pansy guitar, and i'll link some pics of the ebony one he owns too!!:

i looooove the sweet sweet joyous whimsical beautiful pansy, but i am such a sucker for this colourway, and i accept my ultra bias because i own it LOL.

when it comes to ray, he owns epiphone LP's but he seems to lean towards the standard line instead of the custom line, for a more classic kinda feel. you can definitely tell his personal taste in guitars especially through the finishes he chooses like hahaha i wouldn't be caught dead playing a cherry burst, but he absolutely fucking rocks it. it reminds me a lot of him in that one interview talking about how his roots in playing guitar are in metallica, pantera, and whatnot and. maaaaaann you can feel it in how he plays but also in the guitars he picks.

in my personal taste, i would literally kill to have frank's collection but also i HAAAATE the SG body shape and he owns a couple (i think..) like...stop...before i get violently ill. i find them so incredibly ugly, sorry patrick stump! abysmal collection, i still love u tho king xx

ANYWAYS THERE WAS NO POINT TO THIS IDK I DON'T UNDERSTAND TUMBLR OK THANKS BYE

[moonshinesonic-moonstarslight]

They say he looks like his mother. Her hair, her nose, her face.

He wouldn't know. She died giving birth to him apparently.

They say that he looks like his father. His eyes, his smile, his stature.

He can see it, kinda. But at the same time... He really doesn't.

Luo Binghe had always imagined his parents in his youth. And tried to guess what he got from them.

He always thought he got the curls they were so proud of. That they loved the fact he had them too.

He always thought he got their smile. That they were embarrassed about, but would have seen it beautiful on him.

He always thought he got their hands. Warm and scarred from hard work and desperately clinging to what was theirs. Hands that made him and longed to hold him even though they weren't able to.

He always thought he got their eyes. Maybe not the color, not anymore not after the seal's removal, but the shape. And maybe their lashes too. He had once thought that they might be able to see through his eyes even though they were gone because they were the same. (He doesn't think that they are the same now, but deep down he still wishes for that shared sight that would never be.)

He always thought he looked a lot like them. But he never thought that he would be an exact match.

Now that he thinks about it... He never imagined two people for his parents. He always knew that it took two to make a baby, but he only thought of one person.

A person who he had only seen in dreams.

Was it fun, my son?

A person who knew his faults and his blessings better than anyone else.

I'm sorry that it ended so abruptly. But we had to end it. I had to bring it to a close.

A person who watched over him from the very beginning.

For how far it went from what I originally planned... I can't say that I regret writing it.

A person who might have made mistakes and ended up hurting him as a result.

Because I love this silly, messy, utterly insane story of yours.

A person who loved him, even from afar.

Now that it's done. How about we write another one, my son? One where you have a chance to get strong and to be loved early on?

Luo Binghe wanted nothing more than to meet that person.

I think a transmigration story would be the best set up for that. But who would be the isekaied fool? They need to be intelligent, but dumb, like emotionally dense. Snarky, points out faults of the original story but would care enough to finish it. And of course, love my Bing-er.

But he won't be able to would he?...

... Oh, Bing-er... I can't go to you like that. But maybe...

A crack of lightning, the smell of burning flesh, the screams of a newborn babe.

Not excat, but it's as close as I can do without people having enough clues to doxx me.

Green eyes and brown curls. A face like his but different at the same time. Hands that were worn by work and were greedy and possessive.

Now, I must warn you my son. This copy of me will not be around you that much. Not until it is found out he is working with demons. I do have some rules on how this transmigration set up should work after all.

Luo Binghe can work with that.

Good boy, Binghe. Shall we get started?

"Sounds good, Dada. Can we play now?"

Of course, Bing-er.

Luo Binghe might never actually see his parent. He might not ever be able to be more than a beloved creation kept tucked away in a ready made world.

But that doesn't mean he couldn't still know them and see what stories will come.

After all, Daddy's stories were the best.

[totthoughts]

BakuDeku Fic Recs: A/B/O

This one was a fun list just because I am a slut for a good abo fic :). Please, feel free to tell me if you’ve read any of these or if you like them as much as I did.

A Mate’s Worth: 98K words; Katsuki came to the Omega Shelter as Kirishima’s moral support. He wasn’t looking for a mate nor licensed to claim a mate from there. It should have been a quick, boring trip.

But then he ran into Deku—someone he hadn’t seen in close to eight years—in that same Shelter for Abused Omega. Walking away alone had never been an option.

the relationship between katsuki and izuku is precious; however, izuku is very dependent on katsuki. you’ve been warned

taste like green sugar: 16.5k words; Even if he knows Dynamight as his Kacchan, it's not like he's enough for such alpha.

A top hero. A ranked one hero.

Why would Katsuki want him?

He's chubby. He's ugly. He has freckles all over his body, blotches of brown dots littering his body.

He's far from perfect. So he knows people have the rights to belittle him for all they want.

—

What he doesn't know is the capacity of Katsuki's capability to ruin those people's lives.

this fic was intoxicating, and it is a series!!! both fics are really great, this one is my favorite out of the two

be warned, large age gap and izuku is still in school

influenced: 9.4K words; "Just admit that you only started appreciating Midoriya when he became the strong omega that everyone wants to mate."

Katsuki stares at Hanta, and then tilts his head to the side. His lazy smirk on display.

"Yeah, sure," words he decides to reply.

It's not like these people need to know that he got a hidden camera planted inside Izuku's room, middle school years, way passed before Izuku got a quirk.

It's none of their business.

i fear the key to my heart is a possessive katsuki

izuku is a sassy boy and we love

pussy to die for: 4.2k words; "Ayo.." he addresses the crowd again, eyes not straying away from the underwear. "Who the fuck own this?"

The crowd yells. Multiple hands wave, screaming that they own the undergarments.

Katsuki grips his mic with a new found determination.

"You all fuckers find me at the backstage after the con, Imma need to know who owns this so I can knot and knock them up!"

Then, Katsuki puts on a show of sniffing the fabric before he sticks it on his cargo pants' pocket, ignoring the deafening scream of his fans.

Whoever owns this underwear, he needs to find him.

fanfuckingtastic. their relationship isn’t really a relationship, but katsuki is so fucking hot in this and izuku is a fucked out cutie

this is truly for the horndogs

The Alpha’s Eye Candy: 87.8k words; Because Katsuki Bakugo has such a picky alpha and hates most the people he deals with in his daily mafia business, he never excepted any marriage proposals and didn't care to entertain those who wanted him. He didn't get along with anyone and was too busy to worry about a mate, about marriage, about anyone but himself.

So, to get everyone to shut up, he lets his mother find him a pretty, quiet, and obedient omega. Izuku Midoriya married him only to be his eye candy for others, but instead he became so much more than either of them expected.

this is a pretty new fic and i love it! it reads like a story and the characters work so well with one another.

momo and camie are awful, but it fuels the story so well

katsuki and izuku’s relationship is so wonderful from start to finish, and the it develops so naturally

genuinely a great fic

Let me know if you all like any of these because I’ve got more great abo recommendations, but I didn’t want to post too many just in case you all hate this shit.

I’ve also been reading a lot of bakudeku parenting fics and they are simply too cute. I’ll likely post those next, or maybe even some bakudeku with a healthy sprinkle of class 1-A shenanigans.

[callme-naomi]

Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now

Warning: angst, manga spoilers

Summary: the graveyard has a lot of stories to tell, if only anyone would stop and listen. However, some stories are best kept hidden from the living.

You may have heard stories, gossips, rumours, from the living. But even the graveyard has a lot of stories to tell, if only anyone would stop and listen.

Yes, you read it right. The land full of the dead has more to tell you than anyone else could. It has been a silent witness to countless events, the silent listener to tears shed at night, and the flowers showered in the morning, and words of regret and longing spoken.

It will tell you the story of the boy with pink hair, who comes by in the morning, and spends hours. It's not that he has a lot of time to spare. It's because he has a lot of people to visit. To tell them he misses them, to tell them he's sorry he couldn't do more.

Even the birds stand still as the happy-smiley boy lets down his defences and goes to his grandfather's grave, then his teachers', then his brother's, and so on, all the while his face being washed with tears while he lays down a flower. The very air halts to carry his whispered words,

"Grandfather, I miss you."

"Sensei, nothing's the same without you."

"Nanamin, I'm so sorry I couldn't save you. I promise, I didn't take the easy way out."

"Choso, I wish we had more time together."

And he wondered if the words he spoke were heard by anyone but him.

The graveyard will tell you the story of the spiky-black-haired boy, his steps masked in the darkness of the night, his heart heavy as he walks towards the family he never had, and the family that slipped through his fingers. Regarded as one of the strongest of his age, all his powers left him as he crumbled to the ground, eyes emptily staring at the graves holding pieces of his heart.

He lived for them, and now that they're gone too soon...

He conflicted between screaming his rage and pain out, and simply crying as his gaze roamed over his parents' graves. Guilt and grief seeped through him as he approached his sister's grave, the girl who, despite having no powers, chose to protect him, always.

And then, at his teacher's grave, who cared for him like his own, despite not being obliged to, not caring for the family rivalry, and still loving him till the very end. He hated himself as he looked down on his hands, stained with the invisible blood, and even though he knew he was powerless to stop this death, and it wasn't his fault, for him, it didn't change the fact that his father figure was gone too soon.

And the man who, despite being heavily injured and losing an eye, put himself in the way to save him, who fought till the very end and even in his last moments, prioritized others over his self. Who left the world with unfulfilled dreams

At this age, when children go to the park with their families, this boy goes to the graveyard, with a burdened heart, to his family six feet under him, but still too distant.

Leaving behind a mere idea of what could have been.

And the graves will also tell you the story of the young doctor, her eyes rimmed with dark circles, her hands heavy with the uncountable lives she saved, who comes to lament the lives she failed to save, and the people she used to think would be with her forever, but left her alone in this cruel world.

The doctor, tired, allows a sob to escape as she stands in front of the graves of her classmates and juniors, reminiscing over the joyful memories they made, the trips and rules they broke together, and the beautiful sunny days of their friendship, not even having once thought that nobody will make it to this day. That one day, there might be no one left with her to remake those memories.

She hated all of them for leaving her alone, yet she loved all of them for making those few years of her life worth living.

The graveyard has more to tell, but some stories are best kept secret from both the living and the dead bodies.

What it can never tell you is the story of two best friends, separated by the harshness and cruelty of the world, united in death, mere one year apart.

What it doesn't know is the story of the man with the broken dreams, who is now at peace, with the joy and freedom he struggled all his life to find. Who is now united with the best friend he lost all those years ago.

It doesn't know, either, the story of the sisters, who lost their lives trying to bring back the father who saved them once, and are with him together, forever.

Nor does it know the young girl, who was her younger brother's entire reason of living, but was ruthlessly killed in a violent turn of events, who is free from the world where she was never wanted.

Some things are best kept secret, as the best friends and the man with the broken dreams, and the girls and twins look down upon the people they left behind. Their students, their brothers, their friends, the living, who do not know that the dead see their acts of love and remembrance, whose love for them will never diminish, who are always so proud of them and can't wait to see them again.

But if it means they get to live the life they never did, then not knowing is best, after all. If it means they won't end their lives to end their wait, then they can wait a bit longer.

[lilyofthevalleyys]

it’s terrifying when the abused becomes the abuser

[anna-scribbles]

they should've been at the club(infertility treatment centers)

[pushing500]

Welcome to Sparks, Ivy. Kwahu has been looking forward to meeting you properly, and don't worry about Mechi. I'm sure he'll warm up to you in time.

Ah yes. Babies cry and vomit. Delightful. At least little Ivy has been healed of her grave infant sickness now! Thank you, Healer Mech Serum!!

Kwahu carried his new ward to her lovingly constructed bedroom and fed her some of our yak's milk. No more lattes for a little while, sorry boys. You understand how it is.

Ivy is going to settle in well here, I think ❤️

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[bvckbiter]

i love shamelessly yoinking fantasy-action ideas from other media. ethan fights with a whip like trevor belmont. silena has hot pink iron gauntlets like the zag aspect of the twin fists. kelli has claws and hair that can extend and harden like drolta tzuentes. alabaster has geralt-sized swords despite probably being half the weight and can also move it telepathically like [insert any xianxia cultivator here].