#using this meme again bc it’s accurate

[shrimpybbq]

Their first Halloween as a family of four!!

Does Rafe wear a costume? Does he stay home to give out candy or goes trick or treating w gf and the kids?

Hmmm, I think Rafe would do a costume, but the bare minimum. He would match with Charlie though, maybe his son wanted to be Buzz Lightyear so he dresses as Woody. Otherwise he’s probably going as Patrick Bateman ngl, just bc he forgot to organise a costume and he has a suit that looks pretty similar lying around.

Rafe would take Charlie around Figure 8 for a bit, walking with him to go knock on doors, making sure his son fills up his little basket of candy. His wife had only given Charlie a small basket to make sure he didn’t get sick, but Rafe secretly brings a little bag to put the extra sweets in when it began to overflow, allowing the small boy to keep getting more sweets.

“Hey, this is just between us, ok buddy? You don’t tell your mom about this, or we’re both going to be in trouble,” he tells Charlie, watching him nod with wide eyes.

“I promise, daddy. Secret!”

Maybe the whole family couldn’t go out trick-or-treating that night as Emmy was still too little and too fussy, needing to be coddled into her mother’s chest at all times. They had managed to go out to the country club’s Halloween party for the families earlier in the day, Charlie getting his face painted and running around on the grass, his parents watching on as their son squealed with joy. Rafe sits with his wife as she begins to breastfeed at their table - he gives anyone a hard glare if they even try to judge her for it. That meme of ‘my girl can wear whatever she wants bc I can fight’ except it’s just ‘my wife could literally do anything ever and it’s ok bc I can fight and also accurately shoot a gun’.

When the family settle to eat lunch, they plan their outfits for the next year. Emmy will be bigger then, they say to Charlie, and he excitedly starts to give ideas about a family costume. Rafe grimaces a little at the idea of dressing up again, but knows he will do it for his son anyway, despite the teasing he gets from Topper and Kelce.

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[Spoilers below cut]

Past Ink: Guys, it's fine. This isn't a serious episode, it would be too soon for another arc. It's just gonna be another silly Saturday.

Current Ink: ....

(the following is my live reaction:)

[*unholy screaming*] FOUR NOOOOOOOOOOOO

WOW WHAT A GREAT START TO THIS EPISODE, SCRATCH EVERYTHING THAT I SAID ABOUT THIS BEING A "NORMAL" EPISODE

NOPE I NEED TO PAUSE, I NEED TO TAKE A WALK BC I'M NOT GONNA GET OVER IT, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS COULD LEAD

they're not gonna do it in this episode BUT the fact that goop!4 is being acknowledged in every way possible, we might just have a sequel in our hands

NO NO NO CUT THE INTRO, I HAVEN'T EVEN FINISHED THE EPISODE YET AND YOU WANT ME TO MAKE A THEORY ON IT ALREADY? HOLD YOUR FUCKIN HORSES, I'LL GET THERE GEEZ

anyway, we have to press play...

I'm pretty sure someone already has done a pirate au (no I'm not over what I just watched) and anyway, artists: here's pirate SMG4

Four, you should've read the file name before downloading it [*shakes head*]

Wait, is this going to be a parody of computer buddies? That's actually pretty fun..... OH NO NO NO

Ah, so we are doing computer buddies

Actually, yeah, can we have Mario as president please

love how it says "no one even compares to mario. especially smg4 who sucks booty cheeks [or ass] and mario doesn't"

Observe as the SMG4 fandom gets terrified of the word "perfect" [*screams*]

MARIO MARIO NO NO NO HE DIDN'T SAVE

I felt that in my core omg

as a graphic designer, this hurts

apparently, there's a whole new dimension in our computers, Only in the SMG4 Universe [*cheesy thumbs up*]

We really are getting all the computer buddies, huh? I wonder if KinitoPET will appear

[*silver the hedgehog voice*] It's no use!

BRITISH SMG3

wow what a funny bit... WAIT HOLD UP WAIT A MINUTE, LOOK AT THE MEDIA BOX

the eyes....

w̷̹̓e̷̼̽ ̸̯́n̴̩͆e̵̝̓v̴̼͑ë̵̤r̴͓͛ ̷̭͝l̵̦̎e̴̞͗f̵͉̐ṯ̴͗

and the left eye too... oh god, the EYE OF RA— [*gets shot*]

honestly, Four, you improved your aim ever since Western Spaghetti (ik you also did for PV but that's not the point)

I knew they were gonna bring in buff Luigi again

I'M SCREAMING

THERE IS NO WAY THE TEAM JUST DROPPED THAT ON US, THIS CAN'T BE REAL

ok first off, the fact that Four has a folder labeled "Super SECRET Spicy Memes" is giving "totally homework" folder energy (and I don't want to even think more about that)

hey, Four did say that Three brings some spice into his life (yeah, "rosemary to my bread" and all that jazz)

SECOND, the fact he has an image of SMG3 with him saying "whats the matter smg4 kun?"

THEN the "I know what you are" audio clip...

Four, buddy, you're down bad aren't you?

like "woah smg4's bisexual, I didn't know that", the closet is out of GLASS so we been knew but I DID NOT expect this

having Three be a tsundere is one thing, but FOUR....

🫵🏳️‍🌈⁉️

"they're dating behind the scenes" at this point, yeah

we have to keep going... [*secretly puts this clip on the fridge*]

I hate this so much /silly

[*chaos ensues*] [*sips my coffee*] just another tuesday saturday

GOTTA GO FAST GOTTA GO FAST— [*gets tazed*] i can never catch a break c'mon man

oh hey Swag!

four dollars is four dollars, you got yourself a deal

ok, I'm gonna need everyone to see Four's cute little hops here:

look at him go, my silly little goober :) oh, now you have? then let's keep going

holy shit, this fight scene is so well animated!!! LET'S GOOOO

never thought I'd see the day of seeing biblically accurate bonzi in an SMG4 episode and yet here we are.

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I'VE SEEN IN MY LIFE, I'M ASCENDING

"...but they hugged before" NO YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND

A normal hug, where two people cross each other and are unable to see the other's face since it's over their shoulder, is just as it is: a normal hug. It can be seen as platonic and/or romantic.

THIS is a lot more intimate. 3 and 4's heads touch while they hold each other by the hand. This type of hug is reserved more for romantic partners when the situation leads them to a devasting end, where they face each other to look at and remember what their partner looked like, one last time before they die.

In this case, it makes sense as the computer is collapsing within itself.

"It's not actually them tho." Yes, they're digital copies of 3 and 4 but that's the thing: they're COPIES, acting on what 3 and 4 would actually do

SMG34 shippers, we are eating GOOD today yum yum

but then, that begs the question: would there be a moment where 3 and 4 would reveal their feelings for each other at the worst possible time?

(you guys are not going to be ready for my next episode concepts) What, who said that?

uh anyway them 💙💜 gotta put it on the fridge

I feel for you, Four, but I have a horrible feeling about this

...

Foreshadowing is a literary device—

no seriously, I feel like this could be part of a future arc where a past villain would ruin everything Four has and would offer up a deal when Four would be the most desperate. There's always a catch. Hmm, why does that seem familiar...?

Your life's work or your friends, it's your call, SMG4

:)

HELL YEAH FOUR, THROW IT AWAY (omg just like how he chose Three over the USB, I'm crying dude)

also congrats to Ourstor08954957 for the lovely art in the end credits 🎉 such cute doodles ❤️

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Oh boy, what an episode. I feel like I'm in another plane of existence right now. Everything was absolutely incredible, great job Team!!

Everyone, say THANK YOU to whoever put the SMG34 crumbs in there, we shall treasure it for the rest of our lives. I'm gonna put those moments on my fridge. OH I would love to see the artists draw the SMG34 hug or pirate Four!

Love the fighting scene right by the end and the little details they have added in there. I guess it's "Torture Ink with the Idea that Goop!4 May Happen" day but hey, I'm so normal about it (no I'm not). I've been a bit stressed since finals are coming up so I'm thankful for anything this episode for me.

(If anyone is curious, the WOTFI website is still up and yes, I am logging its status just in case.)

I'm sure everyone is going crazy over this...

"They gay fr :3" [BenJoJoGV, Twitter]

🧍

BEN YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THESE THINGS—

[the-moon-files]

Alright, so I just read through that language barriers post of yours and had a Blast Tm, BUT! Now I have several thoughts that need to be spoken. Firstly, what with english being this really ancient language now, yn‘s basically got a free phd in hyrule, don‘t they?? Predestined for exploration because of their „excellent skills with the language used in the ruins and temples of old, as well as their familiarity with the mechanisms“ or something. The ruin researchers probably beg to have them in their team.

Secondly, apparently accents are really appealing to some people? The chain already finds yn‘s morning voice really hot, but how would they even react to the way they sort of mispronounce the words? Idk too much about how japanese sounds, but maybe they emphasize the consonants too much which makes them sound harsh all the time, or the opposite, too much emphasis on vowels and sounding very soft. Just… brainrot about rambling and not trying too hard to speak perfectly accurately being all it takes to have the boys smitten and kicking their feet.

Thirdly!! What about a yn that knows multiple languages? The chain tries their best to learn english, and then yn comes around the corner like SIKE. THAT‘S NOT ALL OF THEM. YOU WILL NEVER COMPREHEND IT ALL. (That‘s what I‘d do at least.)

sorry for late reply i have a hectic life rn and i got hit by hurricane helene lol

ao3/writing blog author curse is so real u guys, this was like a 100 year not anticpated flood or smth, also we're in the mountains??

anyway gonna assume u mean masc/male reader bc of the reference to this post!! if u want context or a sorta part 1

this is just gonna be a quick reply so i can share anons ideas w/the world tho since ive been hoarding asks 😔

at the very least Wild's Zelda is harassing you

at the very most, every time u guys get near a town or city, u are kidnapped by hylian researchers

just the image of a bunch of nerd hylians mobbing u and fangirling while the rest of the guys, in full armor and swords just stand awkwardly behind lmao

(they get lowkey jealous after awhile i mean what who said that-)

the way Legend, Hyrule, Four, and Twi hover a little closer when you talk

Wild and Twi are practically like excited dogs whenever you speak, perking up when they hear your deep voice, u know, bc u tried randomly talking in the evenings abt nothing and watched them pavlov respond and look to you every time

even when u just started talking about the grass or some flowers

lowkey you accidentally almost mess up their dungeon exploring bc theyre just so used to your accented voice in their heads, just around them, or smth guiding them along, that when they all split up into smaller groups in the dungeon,

each Link pair accidentally starts following a man's voice echoing in the dungeon until they all accidentally converge in a main room and the Link equivalent of the point spiderman meme happens with you in the center with Time, who had been your dungeon buddy (he's laughing at them as every Link goes a little red after realizing they just followed you unconciously)

ur favorite thing to do is leaning down to whisper in each of the pointed hylian ears randomly, just talking about mundane or random things and watching it twitch, some trying to stay still like Time/Twi/Wars/Wild, while others leap away like u burned them lmao Legend/Hyrule/Four, and Sky managing to do both, trying to maintain composure before he inevitably breaks out all red and hides in his hands lmao

(Wind dared you to do it originally, and he snickers every time he sees you doing it again lol)

-

ok but the multiple languages is endless comedy gold

bc everytime a Link thinks he's got it or starts to listen then realize ur actually speaking smth completely different language

u get the most memeable faces of his confusion

like these gems

(four's blue is showing, he's offended u switched languages every other word one time)

they're actually so fed up lmao

☆

anyway sorry for late reply!! I hope u guys are having a good week so far, and ill try to post some more, tho cant guarantee when as the holidays close in for me

(rip my class is also getting near the end too im Stressin)

peace out anon,

🌙

[l0stfoster]

butterfly anon yet again, bc why have I just finally processed something…to speak in memes once more, imagine the megamind ‘no bitches’ meme but instead its ‘more death designs?!’

the potential…..symbolism…..

(I’m such a nerd this is ridiculous how excited I am for metaphor potential)

aNyway, in the death design post I noticed Johnny refers to Death as she, so (as you’ve said death is they / them) was this just retconning/change of mind, or did Johnny not know/perceived death more feminine? (Coughmotherissuescough)

also, even though that post said Johnny’s perception changes, would his be the most accurate? (As Death can mess w/ his death tingle (take that Peter tingle) does that potentially mean Johnny sees Death how they desire to be perceived?

WOAH WAIT HOLD THE DING DANG PHONE

DOTS HAVE BEEN CONNECTED

wait I can’t find the post I might have made this up, dots unconnected thrown in incinerator

Moving on to similar dots, Paul’s ancestor, curse creator, would they not have met death? Wait wait would there have been a discussion? Cause like Death big powerful and this witch just made big curse? Is this in relation to why Death is featureless for Paul?????

(Paul anon if you have thoughts pls join in theorizing, Paul is your blorbo you probably know more)

I love watching you realize things it's so awesome I noticed that Johnny refers to Death as she, so (as you’ve said, death is they/them) was this just retconning/change of mind, or did Johnny not know/perceive death as more feminine? (Coughmotherissuescough)

- Although I personally use they/them when referring to Death, I do feel that they can be referred to with, quite literally anything! It's a matter of a person's own perception, and I also felt like it was better to use a proper set of pronouns for Death rather than calling them it, which takes some of the human nature out of them. I also didn't want to use she/her or he/him at the time because that might make people automatically gender Death as male or female. They're beyond gender, that's a whole-ass borderline god. - Death uses any/all pronouns, call them whatever you'd like! I do they/them for writing's sake; since switching up actively might confuse people. - Johnny usually uses she/her for Death, it's mostly the mother issues. In this AU his mother's the one who 'killed' him, hence his meeting Death.

Also, even though that post said Johnny’s perception changes, would his be the most accurate? Does that potentially mean Johnny sees Death how they desire to be perceived?

- You could argue that Johnny holds the most accurate perception of Death, yes, as the first time they appeared to him was the form they specifically chose to appear to him in. (Novva made a comic for it, but Death appeared very motherly to him) - His perception of Death usually abides by that, but sometimes they're more masculine, or sometimes they don't have identifiable features. Sometimes they're just a void of darkness; something that can surround him and provide a sense of security when he really needs it. He sees Death in his dreams on occasion, so there are multiple instances where she'll change.

Moving on to similar dots, Paul’s ancestor, the curse creator, would they not have met death? Wait wait would there have been a discussion? Cause like Death, big powerful, and this witch just made big curse? Is this in relation to why Death is featureless for Paul?????

- You're pretty close!! The Witch did meet Death once, yes; likely at the end of their life. Usually, you only meet Death when you're in limbo, but I think they can choose to change that. There wasn't much discussion; Death absolutely thought the curse was overkill (we discussed the idea that maybe the witches' partner was killed and the curse was set as a kind of revenge, but it's not canon right now) and unnecessarily made things so much more difficult,, but then Death claimed Johnny, and suddenly they knew the lengths a person would go for those they love. - Death is featureless for Paul because he's never truly thought of them as anything; save for the obvious association of butterflies with her. Once he starts to associate Death with Johnny, Death would likey to change to hold some of his features as well; similar to the way that Dally views Death.

[fexalted]

wip title game: father and forgiver, words never spoken

and you know what, just to induce some randomness, one of the untitled gf ones of your choice <3

wip title ask meme

father and forgiver: answered here!

words never spoken: oh man, so. this is the brain trauma au, aka the au where ford getting repeatedly zapped by lightning during weirdmageddon has degenerative effects, that unfortunately don't become evident until he and stan are already out on the boat. and at the same time, stan starts having more frequent memory lapses

i wrote So Much of this, and it's all v melodramatic and sad, but not all that medically accurate fhfkshfk so looking back on it i kinda cringe bc of that. and esp after learning more about how to depict disabilities in fiction i'm like "man i wish i had done this better." i'd love to go back and give it the rewrite it deserves but it would def be a big task

most of this is straight up angst but here's a lil funny moment i still enjoy:

It's funny, you never really thought of yourself as old—perhaps because you never really expected to live this long—but now you keep seeing signs of your age in nearly everything you do. Your hands are less steady, your steps are less sure, and you find you get worn out a lot faster than you used to. Even your mind doesn't feel quite as sharp anymore. You could almost laugh. You finally stop running, and it all catches up to you in the blink of an eye.

"It's not fair," you gripe to Stanley as you do the dishes one evening. "At this rate I'll be drinking prune juice and going to bed at 8:30 by the end of the month."

"Happens to the best of us, Poindexter," Stanley chuckles a little too gleefully, clapping a hand on your back and making you nearly drop a clean plate back into the sink. "I'm just glad to see you acting your age for once."

"Mm, yes, I'm sure you are," you say wryly, yawning despite the early hour of the evening and the cup of coffee you had with dinner.

"You better rest while you can," Stanley jokes, grinning. "I'm not gonna be picking up your slack once we set sail!"

"Oh? And why shouldn't you?" you tease back, mirroring his grin. "You are the younger twin, after all. Seems only fair you should give your poor older brother a break by doing more of the work." You dry your hands and hang the damp towel around Stanley's neck. "In fact, why don't you start right now by washing the rest of these for me?"

---

gf 5: post-finale fic where ford, worried about the effects of the memory gun, talks stan into getting an MRI. during the scan, stan gets a flashback to being trapped in a car trunk and starts panicking. stangst central babeyyy

btw did you know the magnet is always on. this singular fact cemented my headcanon that ford's metal plate is not magnetic bc otherwise i would have to throw this whole fic in the trash sgfkshfkdjf

anyway here's a tiny paragraph of the aftermath (bc i never wrote anything past it):

You stop just outside the front doors—taking long, slow breaths of crisp September air, feeling the sharp edges of your keys dig into the palm of your clenched fist—and you tell yourself you're only doing so to calm down and clear your head again, and it's not at all because it's taking you a moment to remember where you parked your car.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

idk if you've seen this on twitter but there's an art meme for a winter date that's going around and i thought you might like this

https://vxtwitter.com/uhlillie/status/1731976332467163338

also, thank you so much for your writing! i'm a bit of a lurker but i just wanted to stop by and tell you that in pursuit to and from the sun is my favourite work of yours. that fic solidified my love for luca because i'm so in love with your characterisation of him so much. i love the subtlety of the other unintentionally ignoring him and it's just... really good? it's a favourite trope of mine for characters who need support just not being listened to (and not saying anything) and the consequences of that is always wonderful.

in any case, thank you very much for writing what you write! please do take care of yourself, esp in these trying times (finals, work, holiday obligations, etc)!!

it might be bc i just went silly mode on the $5 dollariest cup of coffee i've ever had, but anon i need you to understand i let out the heftiest most tone-accurate y i p p e e ! known to man the second i read the luca thing

and also AUUUUGH. TAICHOUUUUUUU. UUEEEEUEUEU EUE E he's so cute i need to punt him into the sun

anyways YESSSSS i mean it i do i do! i love when people pick up on how luca behaves and is treated in that fic i do! i don't know if i'll stop being proud of it, even once my writing ability and subtlety improves. ik it's not a great literary classic or anything but i love when i make my writing, fanfic especially, have more depth than initial read. especially since i'm an x reader blog. especially especially when i put aside the time to write big chonky fics like in pursuit.

in a way you could say the bit about the rest of luxiem + reader treating him like an inanimate object to be protected is an allegory for fans babying the livers since that was a thing when i began drafting that fic. cool if you do cool if you don't. ultimately the way i neglected to write his character is a reflection of how the rest of the cast neglected to actively listen to him. i ended up writing a digetic narrator—an unreliable one!—before i learned what diegetic even means lol

i guess you could say that's one of the reasons why it's your favorite trope! because it forces the reader to explore why the lack of attention to these characters causes them to become the way they are, and then analyze the fallout to the cause; especially when the rest of the cast is caught unawares that they haven't been acting as good as they thought. that tends to become inevitable regardless if the author intended it to be a part of the narrative. or, like, not, i'm not here to tell you what to like about your favorites, that's up to you. i think it's times like these where it gets a little too obvious that i'm not a criminal justice graduate like the rest of my colleagues in vsf.

i think i should stop talking before one of the higher-ups can identify which private has been using the computers for rpf again.

a great big thank you anon. i had to go have a big happy yell bc this ask was so sweet and thoughtful. be safe as well! and happy and at your best this winter! i appreciate you muchly

[greayworks]

The Wit Of Heracles

So I'm not going to be one of those Tumblr people who "Um actually did you know the way this game/comic adapted this character from Greek mythology isn't accurate to the cannon?!" because those people tend to have a very meme-like view of mythology and don't quite get that characters who date far enough back to 8th Century BC true don't have a true canonicity and talking about them is more complicated than "Yeah I'm an expert on mythology, I watched a ten-minute youtube video essay that uses memes to communicate they're point"

But something that does kind of bother me with a lot of depictions of Heracles/Hercules in modern media is that he tends to often be portrayed as a brute on the verge of bloodlust 24/7 or a himbo when a good part of how he tackled the labors he was assigned was through his wit despite the fact a lot of people around him perceived him as a simple brute.

In most depictions of how he confronted his labors Heracles was assigned a task that was considered a fools task, and while some he could maneuver through his brute strength other problems could not simply be punched away, when he fought the Hydra he burnt its wounds to stop it's heads from forming back (And in a lot of versions often dips his arrows in its poisonous blood for later), he diverted two rivers to clean Augean stables, and he tricked Atlas into retrieving the apples for him and then back into carrying the heavens.

Again, I am completely fine with adaptions of classic stories and mythology doing it's own thing but I think this bothers me because it represents the issue I have with a lot of people just of using the most famous aspects of a mythic/folklore hero as there whole story. Like Achilles lived a life before his participation and death in the Trojan War.

[solomonomenon]

literally someone else was stating how felix seems to have two sides of him one that he portrays to his fans and another where he might be more manipulative or sly again it was quite surprising bc at first u would think he was more kinder and gentler of a person but actually it kinda fits him bc he can use his image well

what about bangchan and his tendancies for putting the lulu in delulu? i dont know if its a running meme within stay and bangchan or if it he genuinely acts like that and still feels the same way or what. could u pls do a reading of this?

I don't view felix like that though. I don't see him having different sides, layers would be more accurate. I think felix has good self-awareness, he knows pretty well what consequences would come from a certain action that's why he doesn't reveal much about himself. he set his boundaries which I really respect. we only know as much as he wants us to know and that doesn't necessarily mean he has put up a facade or something, the public felix is still him as much as the private one.

as with bang chan, I would approach him the same way I did with felix. he wouldn't be like that with his close friends but it doesn't mean he's becoming someone else in front of camera, this man we are interacting with is still the same as the man we can't see. the most important thing is context matters, time and place matters, he can be playful to that amount because we are just fans, strangers. he wants to do it because he felt comfortable enough and I think that's kind of a good thing.

[sarahinara]

it's like 230am and I've already taken my meds but let's see how coherent I can manage to make this.

first oof omg. okay but the like. conflating of maine and the meta (with sigma & eventually the others) and the meta (without the ais) within fandom is so?? like distressing lmao.

the fandom wiki goes on and on about he was ambitious and conniving and power hungry but I just feel like that's so unfair?

because looking at the leaderboard across seasons nine and ten, I think the main reasons for him climbing the board are due to other people's actions and then like. taking a bullet or twenty to protect the briefcase/carolina during the terrible no-good very-bad heist™, and then once sigma gets involved it sure does seem like he does a lot of whispering in maine's ear. (the whole 'sic him' moment will never not be unsettling asdfghjkl)

BUT! but sigma was supposed to be carolina's and she gives him up so that maine can still communicate with the group but like. a decent majority of them can Already make sense of what he's saying? and sigma obviously has his own agenda like friendo iunno if your interpretation of what maine Means to say is wholly accurate.

I'm gonna get to Washington in a hot minute I just have a lot of feelings ;__; because he's got creativity&ambition via carolina, and then fear and happiness from her too. and then theta was next I think?? then gamma and omega, and finally delta? the order he acquires them in aren't intentional I'm sure but it still has me feeling like the pepe silva meme.

and he has So Many all at once? I mean there's that whole 'oh he was power hungry and that's why he&sigma are scooping all of the ais and tech up' but there's also that like. is it so wrong to want them to all be together? in the scheme of things? do they talk with one another in his head? is it Almost like being part of a team again? when does the mental exertion start to melt his brain and hollow him out into the seemingly single minded Meta? what was it like to suddenly have them all gone again? alone alone alone in his head and he can't even properly use his equipment anymore. absolute bullet in the kneecap no wonder he's so petulant and sassy to wash in s8.

anyways. pfl strong silent aggro tank maine and messy rookie 5ever washington make my heart hurt. they both (wash later, mostly) have that hair trigger tip into sudden sharp violence and Yet that 'my friends are in danger gotta toss myself in front of oncoming bodily harm bc that's how I operate' aspect to them as well. how washington is the only one still sitting in the lecture room while sigma fiddles around with the concept of metastability. like what was That about. those moments in s8 where it's almost back to normal exasperated banter? you can't see it but wash is prolly making exasperated lil bitchfaces all the time?

the whole. whose idea was it to bring the meta back along on the epsilon retrieval quest. his brain is prolly fried and he can't use his armor properly and his more than a little unstable. was it the chairman? surely he must have seen some sort of flaw in sending him back out there. was it washington? insisting that the shell of one of his dear friends needed to tag along with him? was there a trade thrown in there somewhere for maine's sake? would he have wasted away in some unsc prison somewhere if not?

wash knew the meta was likely going to try some nonsense when it came to epsilon (and later beta) and yet!!! and yet they're still a team and duoship weird not quite wary friends again not quite perfectly civil work partners. breaks my HEART!

anyways ;__;

okok putting my thoughts under a read more because this got long LMAO

pre-sigma maine (+wash)

YES justice for pre-sigma maine. when it come to the freelancers and the leaderboard, the only ones who reeeeeally cared about the rankings (that we saw) were carolina, south, and ct. the others mention it at points (york and north had a short convo about it), but they have the most reactions to changes/their placements on the board.

but maine? the guy who just does his job of kicking ass when asked? he’s not the one trying to jump off buildings and compete against his fellow agents (a la carolina after tex shows up), nor does he push himself to perform in the field (a la york after his eye injury). you’re absolutely right that maine probably  climbs the leaderboard because he’s just good at what he does.

I think that’s partially why I love the maine+wash duo so much—neither of them played to the project’s machinations of the leaderboard. wash comments so. many. times. about the absurdity of what they’re doing that partnering with maine is probably a breath of fresh air. no-nonsense, you-charge-ahead-I’ll-cover-the-field, oh-right-my-trackers-thanks—they know their strengths, that they’re good, and don’t need a leaderboard to tell them that.

post-sigma maine aka the meta

sigma is absolutely the source of any ambition for power in maine. at this point, the other AIs in use were omega, gamma, delta, and theta; tex probably didn’t talk to anyone about omega, gamma was just sorta odd, delta was calm but logical, and theta was unassumingly cute. maine didn’t have any reason to be overly cautious about sigma when he first got him, and sigma probably kept up pretences during their initial days in order to gain maine’s trust.

and then he has this AI, this piece of hardware wired into his brain and every thought—maybe sigma doesn’t interpret for maine 100% correctly, but he’s able to convince maine that he does. maybe sigma oversteps his boundaries as an AI, and goes down neural pathways he shouldn’t. then, when sigma whispers to maine, how is maine supposed to know if it’s the AI’s thoughts or his own?

I like to think that maybe that’s why he was able to have multiple fragments at once and still function, unlike carolina. whereas eta and iota kept to the AI-designated areas of their freelancer, sigma had such a handle on maine that his want to become human became maine’s as well, because suddenly he realizes that he feels the fragmentation as much as his AI does.

with each fragment he collects, maybe maine feels more whole despite the strain he’s putting on his body. each new voice in his head is like him remembering how to feel—happiness, fear, trust. when they talk to each other, it’s just like any other time he’s rationalized with himself.

this is when maine becomes the meta. when “maine”—everything he was before sigma was implanted—just becomes another fragment of the alpha, desperate for the other pieces that they lost. I don’t think meta is hollow-minded necessarily, but just an amalgamation that transforms maine away from what he once was.

post-meta maine (+wash)

the EMP goes off and it is so quiet.

I think maine is left reeling, still feeling like a fragment despite all biological evidence to the contrary, and doesn’t remember how to be human anymore. his combat abilities are deeply-ingrained muscle memory, but his thoughts? his emotion? the AIs were so intertwined with his mind that every flare of feeling is new and alarming.

then he meets S8 wash, and it only makes it so much worse. because the angry, betrayed man in front of maine is so conflicting with who he remembers, and he doesn’t have the capacity to process that. wash gives him an order and it’s so familiar and maine knows that he should trust wash, that he wouldn’t have hesitated once upon a time, but his mind is broken and all he can focus on is how quiet it is why can’t I trust you why can’t you trust anyone—

why does maine go with wash to search for epsilon? I think they’re both loose ends for freelancer, but neither with any lingering love for the project. wash is tired of it all; maine is a lost man wandering through each day. wash offers his efforts in exchange for his freedom; maine is offered freedom in exchange for his efforts. the chairman pairs them together because the records are clear—they were a good team, and they won’t come anywhere near freelancer after this.

I think if their goal was anything else, if they weren’t dealing with AIs, then maybe wash and maine could’ve come out from their mission a little better for it. his friend is broken but he’s here, and wash learns how to trust again when he feels that white armor pressing against his back in a firefight; his friend is broken but he’s here, and maine finds his own voice again when they’re killing time between objectives. with time, they both feel less alone.

but they were hunting epsilon, and this is maine’s chance to feel whole again, like how he felt when he had the fragments filling his head. there is no downtime, no chance for either of them to heal with their mission looming over their heads. maine might work with wash throughout S8, but when the opportunity presents itself to collect epsilon and beta? the opportunity to be human again?

he never had a choice.

[queenofnohr]

mannnnnn the reason I stopped translating was from burnout (though I was never treated hahahahah “great” as one might say) but the way people act towards translators is so fucking vile like

on some level I get feeling betrayed because a translation is inaccurate bc obviously, not knowing a language, you trust professionals to translate accurately (I mean why do y’all think I started translating lol)

But liiiiiiiiiiiiiiike. As much as I hate slang being used (unless the type of character is just. Like that. See: osakabehime) (and in this case it’s not because it’s “cringe” but because it’ll severely date a piece where if the original isn’t referencing memes or popular slang then 😭😭😭 rip the translation yaknow) having a human translator is still 1000% better especially regarding things with fantasy elements like do you think a machine translator knows what a Noble Phantasm is. Hint: it doesn’t.

And like. While I wanted change from within the industry to prevent something like FE Fates/if translation from happening again I didn’t want people to lose their jobs???? Or wish harm upon them????? What the fuck???????

Anyway long story short I’m glad I mostly just close my eyes now

[starvels]

tagged by @cassabi to do this On Repeat Spotify meme! thanks for the tag, sweet cassabee.

Rules: shuffle your "on repeat" playlist from spotify/the music service of your choice and post the first 10 tracks.

daedalus by zes: vibey little thing with a fun album cover that reminds me of plucking apart angels like pulling wings off moths as a child

bummer days by liza anne: bouncy and reminds me of 90s female vocalists in the best ways. "when i feel good i think i make myself sad. i wanna feel like i can get out of my own way. i'll stop crying at my own party."

revolving door by kisnou, amethyst: cherry blossom triangle lounge music when you're worried about something and staring out the window at the setting sun and traffic

i am the greatest by elohim: a sing-along anthem. pump yourself up and scream out the sad, it says so in the song, you gotta do it. poptimism! i do listen to it lmfao

thunder by penny and sparrow: put this on and lay on your room and drink a beer and think about moving and leaving your best friend behind because you love them too much, too romo

chosen family by rina sawayama: 200% a song that should be on the soundtrack of a space western novel to movie adaptation like 'the long way to a small, angry planet' by becky chambers

late bloomer by semler: a goosebump harmonica pop songthinking too hard about gender and sexuality and coming to myself too late and losing out on life by not doing things early enough and finding some sort of bittersweet comfort in this song. a fave

somebody else by lucy daydream: a good writing song bc the vocals are pretty autotuned and the beat is very steady so you can sorta tune it out and get into a good rhythm

thoughtless by monica martin: i really like the bridge and the chorus here. it's very citywalking sounds and life retrospective as the camera swings around you energy

gay in the south by susto: funny to end on this song because it truly is what i have had on repeat. it's the title song for that ults priest kink fic i have been working on forever so its been rolling around in my brain over and over. it's got lovely lyrics and vocals and the string and drums are on point. "they promised us you were going straight // to hell when you die. i know now that hell is nothing but a headspace."

+ bonus bc i do think i have been listening to this more than nearly all the others: concerning hobbits (lord of the rings lofi) by chill astronaut. my go-to for reading lotr and also just chill settling down for a good late night convo w friends/doing dishes with sib

overall, this doesn't seem that accurate but what do i know haha. hope some of you enjoyed or got a suggestion or two!

(no pressure again!) tagging: @hanjisoonie @alexenglish @hungerpunch @somekindofsheepl @viudanegraaa @dirigibleplumbing @lomku @sevenyeargap @welcomingdisaster

[terrainofheartfelt]

i’m reading your lovely jenate fanfic rn and one of the details i’ve really been enjoying is the way you characterize the sibling relationship between jenny and dan! and it has me wondering, more generally, how do you picture dan and jenny’s relationship playing out as adults? we don’t really get to see jenny post going to london on the actual show, and i’m curious how things might have changed or evolved between them with them both being on more equal relational footing, so to speak. (i also think i remember you mentioning here that you yourself have siblings, so as an only child i can imagine you probably have a much more nuanced picture of this than i do lol)

ohhhh thank you so much!!! this is something that I actually explore in the next chapter (posting forthcoming), but I'll talk about it now just to get ahead of that lol

I am thinking, in show canon -- and in the canon i construct in this au in which the show ends after Despicable B ;) -- that Jenny sort of...gives herself a clean break from all things New York, including Dan. and Dan, with all his abandonment issues, takes that harder than she probably sees at the time, but completely removing herself is what she needs the most in that moment. and then, a couple years later, they gravitate closer, but virtually.

with their work being so time-consuming and not really on the typical layman's schedule (like, writer and fashion designer lol what free time) they don't really have time to full on talk on the phone or facetime, but they text regularly, often over an inside joke or a link or a meme they need the other to see (because their partner wouldn't find it as funny)

I think Jenny as a grown up would find it easier to talk to Dan first about things over their parents, and vice versa, because their is this sibling kind of thing were no other person quite understands you the same way, and has known you this long and loved you this long. but the love is different from the love you feel with your parents. i'm not sure if this is entirely accurate...but the love feels...more unconditional somehow, because a sibling has more choice in loving you, but less failures of doing so.

and yes! I do have an older brother, our age difference (3 years) is slightly larger than Dan & Jenny's, but my relationship and experience with him informs - consciously and unconsciously - a LOT of how I write Jenny & Dan. Disclaimer: our pasts are not nearly as traumatic as these fake people, and our parents are still together (over 30 years WOOT WOOT), so our life experiences don't exactly line up

but that being said, I look up to my brother so much. and I switched school mid highschool (like jenny but for less fraught reasons) so I went from being "Andrew's Little Sister" everywhere I went to being just Liz, just myself. and that's an adjustment, from always being the little sister to growing into your own person, and I wouldn't have gotten that opportunity without moving schools, and Jenny probably wouldn't have without moving to London.

and my brother and I have followed our own paths and live in different timezones (and regularly different countries, he splits his time between the US and Canada it's a whole thing), but I never don't feel like he isn't there for me. I know with him I always have a place to crash and someone to send me cute pet pictures when I'm sad and someone who is just as worried about my dad's health as I am (again, whole other thing, not gonna get into it bc privacy but yeah). and I am never entirely lonely as long as he is existing someplace in this world. shit I'm gettting emotional just talking about it but,

he's the guy that drove me to my piano lessons and teased me for my music taste and took me to my first punk show and said "that was so good!" after every performance even though he knows nothing about opera. and when I had a 3 month contract in florida and couldn't take my cat with me he fostered Steph and now Andrew is Steve's favorite person and when I was unemployed I crashed in his apt while he was organized for the 2020 Iowa caucus and he crashed on my couch to visit me after I got my job and moved and we smoke weed and recite monty python and joke and laugh together and I can be a version of myself with my big brother in a way that I can't be with anyone else.

so to bring it back to your meta question, lmao, I imagine and attempt to write Jenny's relationship with her big brother in the same way. it's never the same as when they lived in the same house, and that's hard. (because they stopped living in the same house when he was 18 and she 16 and you can never really go back to that), and they each have their own lives and careers and loves that keep them where they are, but they are still always just...their for each other. and, if given the choice, they are the first person to hear the other's good news.

[byebyeballoon]

Potentially triggering topic so I’m putting it under a read more with a warning, here is the reason why I’m not posting memes for Duty After School. (Alexis encouraged me to post this to warn other kdrama fans on here even though I was hesitant.)

I started off really liking the writing of the show, with the kids being kids much like in All of Us Are Dead, and learning about the alien creatures/spheres… and then I watched the finale which was incredibly messed up and made me feel physically ill. Because it is something we see all too often in real life, especially here in America. I was not prepared for it to go that way. And not in a “it hurt my feelings” kind of way like most of my fav shows. It continues to haunt me even though I kept my eyes closed for most of it.

**tw for gun talk and mass murder via automatic weapons**

I had a pit in my stomach when it first alluded to what was happening, bc like many other Americans I know all too well the reality of mass shooters going after classmates in classrooms. Especially all because a boy was so upset that a girl refused his advances, that he physically assaulted her before murdering the class. We’ve seen this happen in multiple cases across America.

The fact that they had to go back and show every single death in detail fucked me up, and left me with a heavy heart. To be honest I looked away for most of it, but seeing those last desperate moments of the kids fighting to try and save one another, getting hit with a spattering of bullets because of an automatic gun, and reaching to try and hold the hand of their peer as they died. I’m tearing up just thinking about it again, because kids go through this in real life. I don’t care that they added that rapping scene with the actors all smiling to the end, it felt jarring to make such a transition. What was the point of that? I feel sick and whenever I think of the show, my stomach drops.

I’m not usually impacted by scifi shows like this, but that’s generally why I avoid some horror stuff, it hits me harder mentally when it’s something that can happen in reality. It’s why I prefer the monster horror or folklore/fantasy usually, bc it’s not real. Anyway, I thought I’d warn others if you’re into fantasy kdramas like me, and can’t handle depictions of mass shootings done by automatic weapons because it happens way too often here in America in real life.

Usually guns don’t effect me in shows if it’s a hand gun, but this was a mass murder with an automatic weapon, in a classroom. I was crying and I don’t often cry these days. I didn’t read the comic, so I’m not sure if it’s the same ending or not, but my god there was no warning. I take that back - I guess there sort of was one when he went after the girl in the previous episode and murdered a classmate to cover it up. But the way he walked into the classroom with that gun. Just like what has happened in countless schools in America. I know other countries find it horrific, the vast majority of Americans also find it horrific. But seeing it portrayed in that show… words can’t convey what it made me feel.

No I will not be engaging in conversations about my misunderstanding of the show. It is a fucked up reality, and I don’t want to see it depicted in such accurate detailing in a show. Part of it may have been to show the horror of what American children go through during an incident like that… but my god they didn’t have to depict it so realistically to convey that. We are all too well aware of what those poor children and classmates go through when these incidents happen.

[lorisystem]

Wanted to do this meme again... i saw it as a repost just now so i dont have the source but i did it before, if anyone wants the template i can probably find it again later.

Wanted to detail about each one cause i& feel talkative

Legend:

Cross = yeah

Big bar = mostly yeah

Small bar = nuance (very little and/or not as a system thing)

No mark = no

"Who are you again" = Ok this all the time but not a system thing just faceblind.

Host/body trans = Yeagh

Dissociates mid conversation = This all the time but afaik not related to switching just. In our own little world a lot of the time + its hard to keep interest in some conversations. Also its hard to understand things said to us sometimes which makes us lose track a lot

Fictives = Not a fictive heavy sys but we do have some. Two full introjects n several half introjects (at least 2 possibly more)

Amnesia = We only get noticeable amnesia in very specific context (if something is very upsetting). Never full blackouts i think? That being said we have a lot of partial amnesia for certain things or periods of time. Like theres periods of time put behind some sort of curtain etc but we remember the main lines or its emotional amnesia etc.

"Whats a system" = Stopped being a thing around like 14 or 15(?) when we met another system. Before that we knew but didnt have the vocabulary

Chaotic headspace = Never been a thing for us. The brain just doesnt have the capacity to run full conversations in background if the focus is somewhere else. Our processing power is. Poor

Motherly figure as caretaker = None are women but yea Déborah n Jyu n even Avrei(/Shun) to some degree all of which are older/parental figures to several alters especially the younger ones

Fusion/integ = As of yet not really but we did get skill displacements which were starting to understand can be a start (host learning an alters skill and becoming more adapted)

Bad at communicating = We thought we were quite good for very long (and compared to somebody who has none. Yea) but actually. Were learning to get better a lot and discovered theres a lot more to learn. Cannot track switches at all for example n hard to discern passive influence. We just have different struggles. On top of that some alters just arent cooperative

Recovering persecutor protector = Yea love to have at least one system cliché . Franca & Zacharie.

No energy = This one is small bar bc i rlly dont think its system related. Also we still have enough energy to fake functionality and mask etc. But it could be better

"You have good imagination" = I imagine this is meant to fakeclaim and while i dont think somebody told me that to fakeclaim my system weve been told it about other things + it is true that we have a good imagination. We are very selective who we tell but yea decided to put that one as a cross bc it still feels accurate

ND = yea. One or two things going on other than plurality

No headspace = Our base headspace is very very simple but it did exist. We created an actual inner world around early HS i think and kept expanding it since. Some part are spontaneous but most of it was consciously created

Denial = small bar bc it doesnt rlly impact us too much anymore. We dont rlly care for external validation anymore

Not out as a system bc no one believes you = Well mostly yea but not only. Its not that i think absolutely noone would believe me bc if that was the only pb i wouldnt care. I just dont want to get harrassed, i need ppl to show me basic respect and not try to hurt me&.

Been fakeclaimed = Yes! A friend fakeclaimed us early on in learning about dissociative disorders bc we didnt tell them details of childhood trauma/said it wasnt traumatic - it was but we didnt realize at the time)

Co fronting gives headache = Never been a thing for us, at least unable to link headaches with switches (theyre not that frequent anyway)

Memory is shit = We are . Hypermnesic,

Everyone or almost is queer = Oh ya definitely. In some way or other

*Pretends to be host* = Yea. Allergic to ppl knowing who fronts

"When did i get here" = OK when i first read i thought this related to splitting and i put nothing cause we can pinpoint the origin period of most alters etc. But. Rereading i think it related to confusion after switching. Was a thing to a small degree for us until like 5 years ago or so and now we very rarely get this. It was never too big but sometimes we did have moments of confusion like "what am i doing? Where am i? Right, going to work... feels weird and out of place" etc. Not too bad

Traumagenic = yea. Always aware of this. We always knew alters were there to help and that they all had specific roles. I kind of remember the feeling of reading roles and being like woah. Yea yea. We had roles the whole time

Sarrey for long text. N inconsistent pronouns. It will happen again

[lemon-russ]

Guilliman when he finds out (I worked hard on this meme I'm using it again lmao)

MARCELLUS!! crossover episode!!!

(Putting the rest under the cut lmao)

btw this is how I'm reading it bc you keep writing whole ass books-

"lol virgin" -Ambassador

Betcher's glands have to be activated, so he's fine - they can spit acid, their spit isn't acid on its own. Imperial fists and Raven guard, however, do not have Betcher's glands at all, so they can't even if they wanted to.

Ah. Right. The catheter. In my fantasy brain land, they don't need the armoring room to take off all their armor, and they don't have tubes in their urethras. But alas, it is more accurate lmfao. You are so brave for afflicting the community with knowledge of the catheters hahaha, poor Cato.

10000/10 as always, your Cato fic is my favorite ❤️❤️❤️ I love how coy ambassador acts, she's so mischievous in her crush, it's adorable.

the voices have made this happen

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3)

(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink (obligatory)

•vaginal fingering

•oral (f receiving)

•mild possessive behaviour

•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices

•mentions of (hypothetical) torture

•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting

———————————————————————————————————

im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3

———————————————————————————————————

Cato is just about leaving.

After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.

It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.

You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.

Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.

You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.

So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.

Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.

Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.

"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.

He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.

Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."

The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.

You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.

Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.

It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.

Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.

"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."

You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.

"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."

Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.

"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.

Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."

"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.

It's merely coincidence, he swears.

He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.

He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.

He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.

Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."

He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.

"Approach."

Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.

Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.

The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.

"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.

It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.

Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."

Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.

And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.

The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.

His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.

"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."

Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.

The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.

But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.

Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.

Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.

The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.

Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.

He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.

The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.

Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.

Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.

Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.

Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.

His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.

He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.

The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.

That being, you.

You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.

You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.

You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.

One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.

He likes to fantasise you like it there.

He suspects you would.

He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.

Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.

If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.

He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.

The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right—but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.

He cannot stand the thought.

The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.

It's suddenly all he can think about.

He has to find you.

The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.

Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.

He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.

He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.

You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.

"Come here," he says, clipped.

You do not.

"Come here."

Again, no compliance.

"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"

"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"

"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."

Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.

"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"

"It's not?"

Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?

Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."

"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."

He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"

"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.

Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.

He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.

Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.

"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"

He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.

He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.

It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.

It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.

He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."

You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"

"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.

You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.

"But you'd done it before?"

And that's just great.

You've expertly found an exposed nerve.

More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.

Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."

You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."

"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.

Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.

"So, to conclude... you where as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."

Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.

He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.

He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.

But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.

Then you smile at him for the second time ever.

Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.

Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.

The silence is a breath of fresh air.

Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little boots practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.

He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.

Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.

He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.

And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.

You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.

If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.

He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side in on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.

This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.

Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.

Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.

You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.

The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.

"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.

A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.

Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.

He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."

You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"

"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."

A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.

"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.

"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.

Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.

Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."

And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.

Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.

He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.

Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.

He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.

One disciplinary option scratched out, then.

But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.

And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.

Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.

He hadn't even been paying attention.

He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.

All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.

Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.

You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.

There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.

"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.

And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.

Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.

The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.

It's as if you expected something else.

He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.

Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.

Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.

He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.

He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.

There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.

He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.

"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"

It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."

"Spit it out," he rumbles.

You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."

Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.

It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.

The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.

Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.

You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.

The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small hugg as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.

Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.

With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.

"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."

You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.

Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.

And squirm you do.

It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.

Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.

Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.

The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.

He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.

Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.

Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.

"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.

Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.

He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.

Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.

You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.

You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.

He raises a confused brow.

"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"

Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"

"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.

Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.

He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'

"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."

Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"

"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.

The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.

The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.

"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.

Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."

"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."

A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.

"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"

Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.

"I didn't say that—"

"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.

"Did not," you huff.

"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."

You snort, but stay silent.

The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.

"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.

Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.

"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.

He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.

You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.

There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.

You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.

Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.

A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.

The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.

He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.

He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.

It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.

Not as close as you, though.

He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.

"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.

It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.

Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.

"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.

Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.

And then everything's fine.

He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.

"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"

He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.

You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.

"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.

"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.

Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.

The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.

"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.

It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.

It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.

Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

OHMKYGOSH YES i j read ur sashisu ramble… and i love love love hearing ab other people’s hyperfixations so don’t worry :33

mainly the fact that none of them could be open or vulnerable with each other …. to be honest i havent looked at sashisu very closely before but this hit me bc. I FEEL LIKE I RELATE SM :; like. i have a best friend who i’ve known since i was a baby but we’ve never ever had a serious conversation once… maybe this is unrelated but that is so tragic because to me friendships really struggle to be strong and stable against one another if you can’t ever show the side of you that’s struggling … being vulnerable w one another is key to bonding :’3

i have some thoughts about them— mainly shoko…. to me it kinda seems like she kept them at an arms length away this entire time on purpose and she still does…. maybe i’m spitballing idk i’m just basing it off the fact that satoru and suguru called her shoko but she still referred to them by surname even ‘til where we currently r in the manga (which. i will also ignore but i cant lie the memes were so funny…) but my thinking is that she did so because. even though we never really saw her much i think that’s it since she was a reversed ct user n probably didn’t have much experience fighting… maybe. hear me out just MAYBE she knew what might become of satoru and suguru since they were so enveloped in fighting and being the strongest, and both of them were so headstrong and arrogant for lack of a better term that she might’ve just… tried to keep herself from getting attached n being hurt even more than she already might’ve been simultaneously 😞😞

that still just makes me so so sad though….. they always looked so happy when they were together… maybe if they could’ve gotten suguru to talk and really listened to him for once…. alas ;; gege is an evil thing

U GET IT RIKO…

i feel exactly the same, i have two childhood friends who im very close to but none of us have ever been the type to really be vulnerable like that w each other and !! i absolutely think that strong connections need that, u need to be able to show even ur weaker side… n i guess the tragedy of suguru’s character is that he never felt comfortable showing his ”weak self” to shoko and satoru. T_T he will always make me cry like no other ….

BUT YES SHOKO !!! ur so valid riko. i love this woman so much n i think shes so interesting to talk abt !! ive been thinking abt the name thing too, i feel like its very telling of the sashisu dynamic; the fact that satoru and suguru ONLY (and i mean only) ever referred to each other w their given names, even after suguru’s defection… and how shoko refers to them as ”gojo” and ”geto” even though gojo still calls her shoko…,

i think its super interesting !! i rly rly wish i was able to read the og japanese manga, bc i feel like so many little language details like that get lost in translation (esp since the official jjk translation is kinda bad lol)… i wish we knew if shoko called them by their given names in high school, i want to think so but we just dont know </3

(i could be wrong but there was a translation on a recent chapter i read where shoko switched between ”satoru” and ”gojo”…… obv i dunno how accurate it is but i think itd be cool if we saw her start calling him satoru :’3 im delusional i still think my baby’s coming back)

but !! regardless i def think ur onto smth. i 100% see her as the type to get very detached to the ppl around her. thats why she seems so unbothered !! even tho she obv cares very much…. i think she loved both of them but she wasnt able to broach that gap between them, and after suguru’s defection i absolutely think she repressed herself even more…..

but its obvious that she still cares for them. like how she started smoking again after gojo got sealed / she found out abt kenjaku using geto’s body :((….

and yes i rly do think sugu couldve been saved if they had managed to open up like that <///3 thats what fanfic is for ig :’3… sob…..