#I wonder if he would be quiet if he heard that

[kedsandtubesocks]

cosmic love

Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

summary: a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

tags & warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, MAJOR GLADIATOR 2 SPOILERS. time travel AU, magic elements, pining & yearning, fluff but with touches of angst, implied age gap (Acacius being older than both reader & Marcus), light use of gendered language, bi!Marcus Acacius & bi!Marcus Pike, brief mention of death & existential questioning, spicy themes, smut (threesome, m!oral, one moment of spitting) M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship, no use of y/n

word count: 7.5k

a/n: I’m sorry I blame the gladiator statue pics we got & yeah now here we are lmao, this fic literally wouldn’t be here without @pedgito & @perotovar - i can’t thank you two enough for all the help i love y’all tremendously, also a sweet special tag for @morallyinept ily too… And lastly - thank you for reading, you’re what makes this so special and magical ♡

The statue that arrived with the newly updated Roman exhibition at your museum has gained attention.

As a guide you enjoy seeing all the new faces here to check out the freshly opened installation. The heightened foot traffic has kept you and your co-workers busy, but it’s been a nice welcome.

Your eyes drift to the statue now.

General Marcus Acacius stands slightly weathered yet still commanding in his bronze glory, towering among the room with all the grace a powerful Roman Army commander would be.

You learned he conquered countless territories and countries in the name of the Ancient Roman Empire. Eventually though, he was caught in a conspiracy to overthrow the ruling emperors and died within the eyes of the coliseum, the whisper of a gladiator’s death.

Now you readily explain this all to tour groups like the one you currently guide.

“Oh, he’s cute.” One of the elementary school girls currently giggles to her friend. The other school children gasp around her, teasing her.

“It’s okay. He is pretty handsome, isn’t he?” You reassure her. The girl seems bashful but relieved at your agreement.

It wasn’t just you. A local internet influencer stopped by and even made a video about the statue being her dream guy.

Even as a statue, the General is eye-catching.

The bronze figure captured his likeness bewitchingly detailing the soft curls of his hair, a lovely sharp nose, mountainous strong broad shoulders, and a pensive stare looking out to a distant horizon. He’s a man of unwavering beauty.

You constantly want to smack yourself for being wistful over a piece of art.

“He’s definitely the most attractive statue I’ve seen.” A familiar smooth sweet voice melts into the room’s quiet softness making your heart jump.

Approaching you with a molten smile and eyes twinkling in the low museum lights, Marcus doesn’t seem real at times.

A regular visitor, you first met him when he accidentally crashed one of your tours. Wholesomely thoughtful, but also being a charming yet slightly know it all, he was quick to join in on commentary of the paintings. With his Disney prince-like smile and earnest eager energy, you couldn’t dare shoo him away.

Now you happily seek his company.

“He’s become like a hot new celebrity here.” Joking, you nudge towards the General’s striking figure.

“I can see why.” Marcus whistles low. “Like look at those shoulders.”

You snicker as a bubbling fondness swells in you.

“He unfortunately died a tragic death.” Marcus comments, cloudy and mournful.

“Yeah, I heard. That means this guy is a bad boy.” You nod.

Marcus snickers at your comment then playfully nudges you with his elbow.

Later, all your co-workers beg you to ask him out to coffee.

“He’s totally got the hots for you!” Your favorite co worker often tells you, but you wave her off.

Marcus is just sweet. He’s kind and considerate, engaging to all the workers here. Besides, you don’t want to assume he possibly likes you and maybe ruin the precious friendship you have with him.

However, your favorite coworker shows up a few days later with a solution for your stale love life.

With a cheeky bright grin, she hands you the cutest pink velvet pouch in the break room.

“It’s called a love wish tea.” She declares.

She grabbed a pack of them at the local occult shop after the lovely witch who owned the place swore it worked.

“It calls in your heart’s desires and hey, it worked for me! That’s why I still have a pack left over!” She proudly recommends.

You roll your eyes but appreciate the gift.

Shoving it into your bag, you don’t give it much thought.

Then the cooler cozier weather settles in, the perfect time for museum dates. Strolling along the floors keeping a watch on everyone it’s hard not to notice the intake of couples. Some are intertwined beside each other staring fondly at a painting together, while others happily take photos of the other being silly.

A taste of loneliness fills you, but gently you sweep it away focusing back on work. Especially since tonight you’ll be locking up.

Already craving some extra caffeine, you glare seeing the break room depleted of any sweet salvation.

The small velvet pink bag in your bag immediately comes to mind. And at this point you think, why not. it will at least keep you awake.

Immediately out of the pouch the tea bag releases a soothing smell, a rich floral blending with delicate touches of a fruit scent, possibly pomegranate. You’re now excited just to taste it, love wish or not.

The tea steeps in your tumbler cup allowing a faint rose color to float into your water. Of course the tea is pretty too.

And the taste? Rich, lovely and warm, like a romantic valentine-like themed drink. It doesn’t reward you with a sensation of being in love, but instead you feel at peace.

After a few sips, you return to the floor.

There, Marcus sits on one of the benches in the Roman exhibition.

Curled over a leather sketchbook, he’s every bit the personification of a scholarly beautiful artist straight out of a romance novel. His face glanced up then back down to his sketch. Diligent concentration paints over his gorgeous face.

Cautious, yet eager, you approach.

He’s sketching a portrait of the General. The sharp edges of the charcoal, the smudges meant to mimic shadows, along with capturing the striking slopes of the General’s features - it’s fantastic.

“You’re amazing!”

Your compliment causes him to jolt slightly spooked, and you rapidly apologize. Once he catches sight of you, Marcus sighs with a dreamy relieved sleepy grin.

“Just sketching, nothing too crazy.”

You take a seat besides him on the bench.

“You captured his likeness so well already.” You’re in awe at the sketch.

Marcus laughs a bit nervously. It’s hard trying not to swoon at the light rose blush coloring his cheeks. He’s stunning.

“I bet General Acacius would be flattered.” You grin then glance back to the statue.

Marcus turns to follow your sight.

“Nah, he strikes me as a big relief fan.” Marcus comments thoughtfully.

The bad art joke isn’t lost on you, and you snicker beside him. Among the giggles you catch Marcus staring at you, the softest boyish grin tugging his lips.

The world melts into a splendid focus all on him.

This isn’t good. You can’t be thinking about possibly leaning in to kiss cute visitors while you’re still on the clock.

“Hey… so I’ve been meaning to ask if maybe we could-”

His phone ringing cuts Marcus off causing you to shoot up from the bench. Jumping on the call, Marcus seems apologetic and almost sad as you wave him bye to him.

Closing time approaches. You and your co-workers do one final look around the rooms. Marcus is nowhere to be found.

The Roman exhibition now sits sleepily still.

The dim glow coats the general’s statue, a glistening chopper. Even with the chips and weathering of time, he stands glorious as you stroll closer.

He really must have been something fierce for the empire to immortalize him in such grand fashion.

“You must’ve been a pretty amazing man.” You mutter mainly to yourself, gently touching the base of the elevated display platform he rests upon.

You wish him a good night and head home. You try not to think of stunning statues or cute museum visitors.

Next morning you’re woken up by a call from work, a frantic one.

“The fucking hot ass statue is missing.” Your co-worker hisses.

You don’t believe it till you see it.

But you’re knocked breathless at the sight.

General Marcus Acacius is missing. The once grand presence he added to the room is absent, vanished, as if plucked from the air itself.

It’s almost unnerving to see the once elevated space now hauntingly vacant.

Chaos brews humming all around. Copes scurry around everywhere, and plenty of people stand outside curious to what’s going on. A controlled whirlwind fills your museum. Various officers keep the scene roped off.

The museum decides to close for the rest of the week to let the police handle as much as they can. You adore the museum truly, but there’s one spot you love the most. Right by the break room leading from various different doors is an outdoor courtyard. It’s become a place of solace.

The bubbling dread has you stepping out here one more time. The sky above looms with a cold front approaching and casts a somber shadow over the space even more.

The shrubs rustle off the side among the thick greenery, and you figure it’s a bird.

“It’s you.” Until a new voice speaks to you. Rich, heavily accented and smooth, it startles you.

You wonder if you’re imagining things.

The man is dressed in Roman attire, elaborate white armor adorned with ornate gold pieces. Glorious graying curls frame his ethereal aged face.

How did a cosplayer manage to sneak in?

He stares so directly at you it frightens you a bit.

“You’re the one who’s voice I heard…” he continues to speak. “It was like I was asleep, drifting away. Then you woke me.”

“Sir, how did you manage to get in here?” You ask, trying to stay as calm as you can.

“I do not know. I simply woke and found myself in this strange place.” He explains with a furrowed brow.

You wonder…is this a strange bit the museum is maybe trying to pull off, and they didn’t tell you.

He steps forward now, and instinctively you walk back cautious. The man must take in your reaction because his face, his handsome face that now looks vaguely familiar, frowns. He holds his hands up defensively.

“I mean no harm. I just need to know what happened to me.”

Someone calls out your name, sounds like your boss. “Come on let’s head out.”

The stranger repeats it and how smooth his voice is, your name rolls off his tongue.

“I am General Marcus Acacius, and I am in need of your assistance.”

That makes your brain scratch.

“Wait, what?” You turn to him confused. “What did you say your name was again?”

He repeats it firmer.

Marcus Acacius.

As in… General Marcus Acacius.

There’s no way.

“Oh, so you’re an actor.” You deadpan.

“I…am confused? I’m no performer. I promise you that.” He almost sounds huffy.

You gotta give him credit. The guy stays in character pretty well.

“You shouldn’t be here, actor or not.” You tell him, heading back inside. Of course this man follows you in.

At the sight of the glass door and the movement of it, he pauses stunned, like he can’t process it. You almost want to laugh.

“You’re pretty good, even though you say you’re not an actor.” You tease.

He frowns hard not enjoying that.

“Either tell me what is going on or I will find a man who will.” He snaps loud and your eyes go wide.

His memorizing face scrunches up in frustration. Dark amber eyes are coated in fierce anger.

“I wake up in a strange place filled with artifacts and see people dressed strange. What is going on?” His voice rises confused, panicking.

Either he’s the most amazing actor ever or…

No.

It can’t be.

Too many thoughts swirl in your head like angry bees trying to make your brain explode.

You need a minute. So you grab the mystery man’s arm, practically dragging him to follow you.

“Excuse you? Where are you taking me?” He demands.

“Somewhere safe.” You half lie.

Unfortunately your boss stops you. His worried eyes catch sight of the man in the armor. You’re quick to explain he’s an actor, upset about the missing statue.

“I am not a-”

You shush the strange man harshly. Your boss, hesitant and worried, surveys him.

“He shouldn’t be here.” Your boss says firm.

“Yup, and I was just showing him the way out.” You happily explain.

Thankfully your boss gets called away, and you make your escape.

“Are you abducting me?” He demands harder.

“Look, I’m the only one here who might be able to help you.” You hiss back.

“I am the commanding General of the Roman armies.” His voice blooms stronger when you reach the lobby. “I will find my way around.”

You swallow hard. A small but chaotic idea quickly jumps into your mind, and you decide to put it into action.

So, you hold the exit door open for him. The man nods to you, then strolls out. You follow him.

The towering skyscrapers, the rush of the cars, the stretching concrete roads, it becomes an overwhelming sight while the man whips his face around eyes wide and in shock. His face falls, aghast and disoriented.

That unrealistic conclusion you thought of - you think it might not be so realistic. Because the man turns to you wearing petrified horror, terrified confusion of a man in an unknown world that no actor could truly capture.

Reality smacks into you like a bag of nails.

This man is truly the great General Marcus Acacius.

The missing statue now full man summoned to life.

Someone yells your name.

Your heart drops. Of course Marcus arrives at the worst time. He jogs up to you dressed in what looks like a gym outfit.

“I heard about the statue.” He says worried then his eyes immediately grow cloudy and confused as he catches sight of the strange Roman dressed man.

“Is he… a friend of yours?” Marcus asks hesitantly.

“It’s complicated.” You blurt, panicked.

General Acacius stands still very stunned trying to take this new modern world in. Stumbling, he returns to your side, clutching your arm like you’re the only one who can steady him.

“I…” Acacius begins then stops mid word, still trying to process a reply. Until he catches sight of Marcus.

“You,” The man surveys Marcus with narrowing eyes. “You seem familiar as well.”

This is getting out of hand.

“Okay time to go.” You rapidly try diffusing the situation, moving General Acacius away from Marcus.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Marcus questions, persistently following behind while you head to the parking lot.

You scramble out a lie that the strange man is an old friend you ran into who just came back from a play.

“I told you, I’m no performer.” Acacius insists still. You also discover he’s built like a wall and trying to wrangle him into the car proves to be Herculean.

Swiftly, Marcus firmly snaps out your name. His tone is different, urgent and enforcing. It turns you into a statue yourself.

Comedically, you’re practically halfway shoving Acacius into the car but now stand frozen. He notices the shift in tension quickly.

“Are you frightened of him?” Acacius mutters concern, surprisingly concerned. “Because I can dispose of this man.”

You shake your head no.

Swallowing hard, you finally look Marcus dead in the eyes.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” You admit.

“Try me.” Marcus rebuffs, serious as steel.

So you sigh, what more do you have to lose now?

“General, can you please tell him who you are.” You then allow Acacius to speak for himself.

The ancient Roman clears his throat and announces his full title and name. The younger and modern Marcus’s face twists confused with a hint of concern.

Suddenly his eyes go wide. He catches on fast, figures it out quicker than you did that’s for sure.

This cute casual museum visitor you have a slight crush on is now your accomplice and partner in crime.

At least…now you don't have to deal with an ancient Roman General being brought back to life from stone alone.

— °˖➴ —

Marcus’s apartment is lush and cozy, filled with so many books and records. The warm walls, sleek modern design, make your place feel like a hole in the wall. Having a roommate, you couldn’t just bring home a very confused man out of time. So thankfully Marcus offered his home.

Now you’ve practically been living here with General Acacius trying to figure out what happened.

Acacius takes things rather well, almost in stride. Fitting for a general that explored new territories and had to face the unknown chaos of war.

The fridge fascinates him the most. You had to stop yourself from laughing seeing him open and close the refrigerator door like a child wondering if the food inside would disappear.

Marcus has a vice for candy, specifically sour ones. Seeing General Acacius try one and the disgusted face of twisted torture is a memory you’ve replayed over multiple times.

But unfortunately no one can figure out what brought the statue to life and him here.

“I’m a man. Not a statue.” The roman general clarifies.

“You are now, but we gotta figure out why.” You sigh exhausted while Marcus readies breakfast for everyone.

He’s been an incredible host. It’s been hard not lingering on how domestic and warm he is within his own space.

Especially when there’s also an archaic man looking just as handsome walking around in a tight white t shirt Marcus lent him.

Surrounded by two unbelievably gorgeous men has been a double edged sword, a blessing and curse.

General Acacius reminds you of a mountain, ever powerful, sturdy and unwavering with the change of seasons. Yet there’s still an open vulnerability to him. You’ve seen it in how grateful he’s been and how eagerly he’s tried absorbing all about this new world.

Whereas Marcus reminds you of a river, beautifully flowing, always adaptable. But he surprises you with how direct and firm he’s been, almost protective in keeping you and Acacius safe.

You also don’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes sometimes flicker to sneak a glance at the older General. You can’t blame him.

Acacius fills out modern clothes sinfully. Watching him navigate everything with a certain poised grace is attractive. While Marcus has become endearing and patient, incredibly welcoming to this new hiccup in his life. You haven't felt this comfortable with someone in so long.

Truly a river and mountain now exist in your life, and you want to stay in their atmosphere more and more.

But you can’t get tangled in the budding emotions growing for these men.

You need to figure out how to help Acacius.

“Once I get back to the office, I’m hoping I can try to find something that could maybe help.” Marcus clarifies while grabbing his work bag.

You’ve learned much about him these past few days. Like he enjoys a good run, used to be a swimmer, has a soft spot for strays, surprisingly loves football -

Also that he’s a well known FBI agent.

You realized you never once asked what he did for work, and you’ve known him for months.

“You have feelings for that man.” Acacius announces once it’s you and him alone in the apartment. You almost spit out your drink.

“We’re friends, that’s all.” You huff.

This Marcus doesn’t seem to believe you, and gives you a very modern dry eyed side glare that makes you roll your eyes.

“I’ve seen the way he watches you, the look of a man in love.” Acacius continues.

“Well I see the way he stares at you too, pal.” You reply back before you can even realize what you said.

Your words do their job stunning the general.

“He is too young for an old man like me.” Acacius rapidly fires back.

“You’re not that old.” You clarify. “If anything you’re distinguished, mature.”

“You are too kind, dear lady.” He chuckles.

You ignore how fast warmth spreads through you a dangerous wildfire just hearing him.

Your phone ringing makes poor Acacius jump. Though, it’s progress from the confused shout he used to yell whenever the phones rang.

Your boss explains that unfortunately the museum will have to stay closed the rest of the month for further investigations, and everyone’s information has been sent in to check for any suspicious activities.

It sounded serious.

Dead serious because after that phone call, you get called by the police department to head in for a few questions.

You have nothing to hide, except you did.

Because in theory you technically did and didn’t steal the statue. You just know the cops wouldn’t take your explanation.

The interrogation room you sit in is coated in a bleak serious air making you fidget worried. This is also the first time you left General Acacius alone at the apartment and that worry picks at you.

Then two officers walk in. One an older distinguished woman who gives you a nod then the other… a rather striking man.

Hawkish nose, clean shaven face, kind eyes, he smiles soft at you.

Marcus.

The agent that walked in is Marcus.

You try not to stare, but it’s hard. Dressed in an official suit and tie, the badge he wears, he sits across for you a striking professional handsome agent.

The woman introduces herself as one of the head local detectives of the case and the man accompanying her is from the FBI, specifically the head of the art crimes division.

Marcus wasn’t just an agent but someone that important.

You can’t deny how extra attractive it makes him.

“Agent Marcus Pike.” Polite and sweet he outstretches his arm to shake your hand like you’ve never met him before.

The questions are very basic.

Where were you the last time you saw the statue? Do you remember any recent guest that stopped by that maybe seemed suspicious?

You answer as truthfully and as best as you can, while also hiding the ancient Roman sized man truth away.

“Funny enough,” Agent Pike comments. “It does seem like this statue just seems to have…I don’t know, grown legs and walked out itself.”

You weakly laugh at his joke. You don’t miss the tug of his lips trying not to grin.

You leave the room as if you stepped out of a strange pocket dimension. Then again these past few days have felt strange and disorienting.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the head of some FBI art division?!” You let Marcus have it when you both return back to his apartment.

“Is that dangerous?” Acacius asks curiously.

“I don’t know.” You sigh.

“No…This is good.” Marcus clarifies. He even picked up apology pastries. General Acacius greedily snags a cheese danish and moans in pure delight once he takes a bite.

It’s hard to ignore how incredibly sexy he sounded.

“It means I can keep looking in my records for any previous instances of situations like this, or if there’s any leads on the case I’ll know.” Marcus patiently explains.

That calms you enough.

Days pass, and Acacius grows restless.

He doesn’t sleep well, snapping at you and Marcus often more. He mourns the loss of a world that’s passed, of a wife he lost. The grief comes in waves. You and Marcus try comforting him, but Acacius reminds you of a caged tiger, restless and fanged. You understand. Being cooped up in a strange home in a strange world must be exhausting.

So Marcus and you agree to have a nice weekend out with him.

General Acacius fidgets in the cozy cream knit sweater that stretches over his broad body, but damn does he look incredible. So does Marcus in his scholarly sleek coat.

This trip also works as another opportunity to do more investigating. The nearby bookstore is the first stop. Acacius gasps seeing the stretch of books.

“Pretty impressive, yeah?” Marcus smirks, and you grin agreeing. He decides to take a look at the art history books here for any information he might have missed.

You unfortunately get side tracked with the many books in front of you and slightly wander away from Acacius when one catches your eyes.

But you quickly find your way back to him.

The elder Marcus stands stunned like a ghost among the classical literature holding a thick encyclopedia.

“I knew of what happened to Rome after you and Pike told me. But seeing the grand colosseum like this… it’s a specter of ruins now.” He mutters while taking in the photo of the ancient landmark.

“I am glad. There should be no need for more death matches.” His voice weighs with the heaviness of centuries past.

You agree, happy he shuts the book and returns it back. You’re about to dive into the Ancient Rome section yourself now until he speaks again.

“What if I am not the same man these books speak of?” The older Marcus questions hollowed.

That stuns you.

“What if the man who died many years ago… is not me?” His voice wavers.

Existential dread looms off him a dark storm growing stronger.

Marcus turns the corner smiling bright. But quickly he immediately notices the shift in atmosphere, and his face falls as he mouths asking what’s wrong.

You let General Acacius speak from the heart.

“What if… I am not me? What if I am not the real Marcus Acacius?”

His face is weighted with fear, raw and open making him appear lost and so small for someone powerful as him.

“I believe it’s you.” You reassure him gentle. “I’m sure Marcus does too. Besides… who says you can’t be the same man?”

There are pieces of yourself that you’ve left with people, even some bits of you have gotten snagged in certain places or tied to certain objects. Who says a piece of Marcus Acacius truly resided in the statue and simply woke up. And if that’s the case, then that means he’s as real as ever.

You explain all of this best as you can to Acacius. Those deep steady eyes of his waver transforming into molten earth. Your hand moves down to squeeze his stronger large warm hand.

He squeezes back tight.

“Besides the man that died is still you too. You’re allowed to be both.” Marcus jumps in with the most tender voice

“That does not sound true.” Acacius mutters.

As modern has he’s slowly become, you think it still might be too hard to explain dimensional or reality theory.

“This philosopher I read about once said something along the lines of, if you think, therefore you are.” Marcus clarifies. “You exist here and now. And sometimes that’s all that matters.”

You realize both you and Marcus slowly have huddled around General Acacius. You on one side and Marcus on the other, barricade to support your General as much as you or Marcus can.

Acacius sighs, watery, taking it all in.

Your heart aches for him. It overwhelms you, causing you to gently rest your head against his shoulder and letting your hand rest on his back.

Marcus also moves closer, placing his hand right besides yours, gingerly touching your hand.

Among the books you and these two rest simply in the stillness of the moment. You feel something hook deep in your chest, a feeling you can’t fully express.

After, Marcus treats everyone to his favorite taco truck. It's infectious seeing Acacius’s spirits brighten again. He again moans delicious when he takes his first bite. You don’t miss the awkward cough Marcus makes.

But the tacos are amazing and the cooler weather covers everything in a comforting dreamy cloud.

“I want to explore this world as much as I can.” Acacius declares with resolution and shining gilded hope.

So you start bringing the Roman general out with you more.

The museum is still being investigated, so you take the chance to enjoy the days, especially now with Marcus Acacius by your side. He enjoys your smaller apartment, becomes a fan of cooking shows fast.

Marcus and you discovered he isn’t big on sushi but has a notorious sweet tooth. Acacius embraces everything now with more gusto, a vibrant curiosity about many things, especially food. It’s endearing.

General Acacius also proves to be a lovely companion when you go grocery shopping.

“So many spices.” He says in awe in the aisle.

More people arrive and you try maneuvering your cart through the traffic. General Acacius catches on quick. Staying close to you, he places a comforting hand at your lower back and the other against yours in the cart. Shifting his body against yours, he’s a protective shield until you’re out of the thicket.

It sends the wildest hum of sparks throughout your body that persistently stays. Acacius stays firmly beside the rest of the trip.

For a man out of time, he’s open for conversation. The check out worker seems to blatantly ignore you while she happily and very openly flirts with him.

You don’t say much, ignoring the possessive emerald eyed sense of jealousy threatening to rise. He bids the flirty cashier a good day along with an elegant head nod. You keep quiet heading back to the car.

“That woman, she gave me a strange note with numbers on it.” General Acacius comments cautious, almost worried about what they could be.

You almost trip on the way out.

“Her number, she gave you her phone number.” You explain simply.

Of course you have to elaborate what that means and how it’s a modern way of signaling someone is attracted to you.

“Truly?” His handsome aged face scrunches up confused.

“What can I say? In any year you’re a catch.” You try not to sound wistful.

“I’m an old man not from this time. I have nothing worth for anyone to desire me.” Now he sounds dejected, somber and serious.

“Okay, besides being absolutely one of the most gorgeous men ever, you’re kind. Incredibly loyal and brave. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Earnesty floats off you.

His face drops, your words finally settling within him. The soft streams of grays in his luscious curled hair and rustic beard, the beautiful scars he wears that tell of his victories…

The statue truly was not able to capture the magnetic pull of this man.

Acacius’s eyes flicker across your face. You swear something shimmers in his deep earth eyes. His gaze flickers down for a split moment, as if he’s glancing at your lips.

Then your phone rings with a text, and you sigh.

This precious bubble you’ve been in, this newly woven existence with these two gorgeous men, is one you want to stay in forever. It’s warm, easy, and feels too nice to leave.

But work eventually crashes in.

The museum finally reopens but with the Roman exhibit closed still. The missing art has brought in more foot traffic to the museum. But what surprises you is seeing Marcus at work now while he works. You and him share sweet secret smiles to each other.

Even with work getting busy for you and him, you’ve been texting with Marcus frequently. It’s even been amusing being on the phone with him and Acacius cries out surprised hearing your voice.

Your mind drifts to them again as you daze off a bit at work.

“So, did you ever drink that tea I gave you?” Your favorite coworker asks, interrupting your daydream.

The confusion must be evident on your face.

“Ya know… the sweet love wish tea?” She grins like a pleased cat that’s about to catch a canary.

An abrupt realization barrels right into you, a fierce horned bull almost knocking you out at the knees. You can’t believe a possible magical tea maybe brought a statue to life. But with that statue now a very real ancient Roman man you’ve been harboring - anything is possible now.

“Can you tell me where the shop is that you got it?” You rapidly ask her.

Your next day off you head down there immediately, not even taking either of your Marcus boys.

The sweetest shop owner greets you warm and welcoming. You compliment her lovely silvery lavender hair.

“Oh it’s to hide the grays.” She winks, and you grin.

But the nervousness rises because you don’t even know how to approach the question you have.

“Something seems to be bothering you.” Of course she notices but speaks with a gentle tone.

Your heavy sigh must say it all. Very sweetly she pulls out a stool by the register and settles in waiting to hear your story.

Even with her welcoming smile, the hesitation pulls at you. But you manage to gently explain what happened without revealing the dizzying truth.

“So I drank the love wish tea. And something… someone I never imagined would come into my life did. So now I don’t know if there’s a way I could probably send him back to what, to where, he was.” You tell her.

The shop owner hums in deep thought, crossing her hands over her chest nodding.

“Is it a ghost? Did you call in a spirit? Are you in love with a ghost?” She asks flat out without hesitation, and you almost laugh.

She’s half right in a way.

“I’m thinking…possibly the one thing that came to mind that I would do first is to do an unbinding spell. Whatever is keeping this man here, the separation of that would be what sends him back.” She says jumping off her chair, waving at you to follow her through the shop.

You quickly scurry behind her.

Grabbing a pack of two candles, the ritual she describes is simple enough. Tying a string around the two candles, lighting them until they burn, which in the process would burn the thread, theoretically severing the tie of Acacius to this world.

“And you said it was the love wish tea you drank, yes?”

You nod, and she nods back in understanding.

“What that tea is meant to do is call in your heart’s desires, simply allow the universe to bring whatever magic it seems fit to your life…But it also isn’t doing it forcefully.” She explains.

The tea is known to work because it calls in someone who desires the same thing you do, almost like a little nudge in the matchmaking department, a magic magnet.

“It works because someone else is also receptive. But of course, there is no need to stay with whoever is brought to you.”

Her words sink into a deep corner of your heart. You wonder if that meant Marcus Acacius longed for a better future, and it’s why the tea worked on him.

Thanking her graciously, you take the candles and a few cute stickers she has by the counter.

“I hope everything works out for you, gorgeous.” Her warm smile becomes a comforting hug.

You hope so too.

But the way your stomach twists, a part of you realizes… what if you don’t want Marcus Acacius to leave?

It’s selfish - but you want this trio of you, him and Marcus Pike, to last as long as it possibly can.

Driving to Marcus’s apartment, guilt and selfishness fight each other tooth and nail. You don’t know if this unbinding spell would work, but it would be a start.

With the spare key Marcus gave you, you let yourself in.

There on the couch you catch the quickest glimpse of both men heavily making out with the elder Marcus greedily holding onto Agent Pike’s sharp jaw. You wonder if maybe you’re seeing things, but the image knocks you breathless.

The younger and modern Marcus, who halfway was on the elder General’s lap immediately, bolts away as if electrocuted.

On the table, you spot two glasses of wine.

They both stare at you, caught red handed. Immediately though, you scramble out apologies.

“I should have called and-”

Marcus says your name. “It’s.. it’s okay.”

You feel so foolish right now. You didn’t even think that they had a thing, and that you were possibly the third wheel.

“I can leave. I totally understand.” You really do.

“No.” Acacius orders, saying your name, firmly shaking his head as he rises. His eyes rusted steel swords that pin you to where you stand.

“This started because of you.” He adds.

Wait.

Because of you?

“Wait, are you guys drunk?” You even voice your confusion.

Both Marcus men shake their heads no.

“We were just talking about you, about us.” The younger Marcus explains.

“And it took us some time but we both desire each other. And we both desire you.” General Acacius simply interjects, and Marcus coughs stunned.

You wonder if you’re the one who’s been brought to life in another time.

“Honey, please don’t feel pressured if you don’t feel the same.” Marcus, wonderful Marcus Pike, ever understanding and eternally good.

“I’ve liked you for so long. Even tried to ask you out a couple of times, just got a bit of cold feet. It just unfortunately took an ancient Roman to get me to finally say something.” He laughs weakly, boyishly nervous.

He’s liked you all this time.

You don’t say anything, don’t think there’s any words you can say just yet. Simply the emotions overtake you.

You head first to the younger Marcus and kiss him with a fierce tug at his shirt. He happily pulls you into him and sighs into your lips.

A soft but large hand runs up your back, and the sensation makes your body bloom.

“You both are so beautiful.” The older Marcus mutters dripping with adoration.

With a squeeze to Marcus’s shoulder and one final soft kiss, you pull away then melt into the general’s waiting arms. His mustache tickles you as his lips kiss yours, but it’s divine.

Their hands all over you touch every inch they can. You’ve never felt this desired, never been the epicenter of affection and passion like this before. You just as eagerly try grabbing at either man with as much clawed possession as you can.

They’re both yours now after all.

Tumbling into the bedroom it’s like something out of a dream, blissful and deliciously decadent, but so real with how heated your body feels.

Both men start kissing your exposed skin, with one licking at your neck from behind and the other readily nipping at your exposed chest. Your mind melts in bliss.

“Marcus,” you sigh.

You’re rewarded with two beautiful groans, different in tones it becomes a symphony you want to hear forever.

In the blurry of haze, the sticky syrupy desire, you and the younger Marcus follow each other peppering multiple kisses on Acacius’s chest as he falls onto the bed.

You and the modern Marcus work together, conquering the beautiful golden exposed landscape of Marcus Acacius’s chest. You tenderly press your lips against the various scars then happily move to kiss the younger Marcus.

The delicious sighs from General Acacius fill the room, a hypnotic soundtrack.

Soon your lips start traveling further down across his body. Your fellow lover follows your trail, kissing and kicking every inch of Acacius. You and Marcus reach his cock twitching in the loose sweatpants Acacius has grown fond of.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans as he drags the older man’s cock out.

Fuck is right. Thick, girthy and dripping already, you already ache to have him inside in any way.

“Both of you are little fiends.” The elder Marcus croaks breathless. Confidence surges in you as you lick across his length, relishing in the taste of his skin.

Marcus’s tongue also licks with you along your other lover’s cock, even moving across your tongue. The louder groans coming from General Acacius only spur you and Marcus on.

Greedily your eyes flicker up towards the towering force of a warrior. The beautiful older man’s eyes blown black, desired drenched galaxies looking down at you and Marcus like prizes he wants to conquer himself.

It makes you dizzy, completely possessed, and you kiss your way down to one of his thick large heavy balls. You tentatively lick. Acacius initially hisses until his voice melts into the loudest primal groan when you start sucking.

Your sweet Marcus immediately follows your lead, dragging his mouth down as well. You and him simply devour Acacius, licking back and forth across your lover’s balls and each other’s mouths.

Marcus quickly starts stroking your lover’s thick cock. It’s heaven being among these two, allowing yourself to get lost in the golden ecstasy.

When Acacius reaches his release you greedily lick up his cum that spilled against his skin, and he groans. Once you sit up, you reach for Marcus’s cum covered hand and begin to lick and suck his fingers clean. It’s then your sweet Marcus that suddenly grabs your mouth with the same hand, pulling your face towards his.

“Don’t swallow baby, I wanna taste.” He mutters with blazed out eyes.

Hearing that you almost come on the spot.

You sit up and slowly allow your spit and the milky cum into Marcus’s waiting mouth.

“Gods above.” The elder Marcus moans carnal.

The rest of the night consumes you in a wanton haze.

Sweaty, exhausted, but floating on a cloud, you sink into the bed with two men barricading you in their arms.

“I’m surprised you were…open to this.” You say to Acacius who chuckles a bit.

“I have loved others before, some included men. One was even a fellow General who died tragically among the same coliseum walls as I once did.” He explains gently.

You kiss his chest softly in understanding.

As you and these two lie curled into one another on Marcus’s lush bed, it’s like a new door has opened.

You and Marcus eagerly ask your General about his days in ancient Rome and his travels across the old world, about the true story of how he got his scar. Ever the steady man, Acacius answers all questions he can.

In the middle of this warm incredible double Marcus sandwich makes you giddy. But Acacius’s deep comforting lull of a voice, Marcus’s soft hands stroking your skin, create a cocoon drawing you to sleep faster than you realize.

A soft kiss comes to the top of your head.

“Rest. We will be here when you wake.”

Nodding through a yawn, you happily kiss them both goodnight. But just before you fall into the depths of sleep, you catch the two talking.

“What… will happen if I do not return to stone?” Acacius speaks first, so low and cautious you wonder if you’re dreaming already.

“I… I guess the statue will remain incomplete, stolen.” Marcus answers truthful but gentle.

A moment passes.

“What if I do not wish to return to stone?” Acacius clarifies.

You hear Marcus inhale sharp.

“I’ve longed for peaceful days away from the brutality of the frontline. And now… it’s here.”

A thick hope shines through the older Marcus’s voice, slipping past your ribs to piece your heart.

Movement shifts the bed, arms reach across for each other and seem to cage around you more.

“You’ll always have the final say. You get to make that choice. Neither of us would ever want to force you or take that away from you.” Marcus’s molten words are coated in pure understanding.

“I wish to stay here… with you and her.” Confidence, solidified resolution, radiate from the General’s voice.

The bed shifts again, and you hear them exchange the softest kiss.

“We’ll have to make sure to tell her in the morning.” The modern Marcus sighs dreamily. His hands again start rubbing your arm soothing, as if he can sense you’re fighting sleep.

“Of course. We must never forget our lady.” The older Marcus agrees.

His words along with a soft kiss to your forehead become the final push that allows sleep to settle.

— °˖➴ —

“So you’re telling me mister head of the art crimes department will be okay with a statue staying stolen and missing forever?” You smirk amused while Marcus drives down the familiar roads.

“Hey it’s no Vemeer’s Concert, but I’ll live with it.” Marcus playfully smirks and shrugs.

The investigation on General Acacius’s missing statue had run cold. There was no indication of a break in or forced exit. From the surveillance tapes, the video recordings simply shimmer, distorted for one moment, and then the statue is gone. As if it vanished into thin air.

Or is simply currently sitting in the back seat of the car taking in the world and power of a motor vehicle.

“You hear that, General? Our boy said you’re not valuable.” You tease.

“I don’t mind and I can agree.” Acacius replies bored, making you laugh. The green sweater he wears compliments him and brings out the streams of grays in his hair. You and Marcus have loved seeing him embrace modern clothing more than ever.

“That’s not what I meant.” Marcus rolls his eyes.

You snicker even more.

The occult shop arrives, and the candles feel lighter than ever in your bag, especially knowing you’re here to return them.

“Seems like you didn’t need these after all.” Your favorite lavender haired shop owner says with a coy smirk. Her eyes stay locked on your men exploring the aisles.

“A two for one deal? I'm definitely advertising that for the tea.” She adds eagerly, and you hide a laugh behind your hand.

If only you could tell her the full truth.

You return to your boys, enjoying the way Acacius seems to be a bit petrified among all of the occult objects.

“Are you sure this witchcraft is safe?” He asks worried, snd Marcus smooths by rubbing his back.

You grin.

Love, affection, might be the strangest but most beautiful magic after all.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Hey I was wondering if you could do a Franco colapinto x indy car driver reader because I really need to see both obsecions combined:)

Miles apart — Franco colapinto x Indy car driver reader

Word count— 1056

Fluff/angst

The sound of Formula 1 cars whizzing by filled the air as Franco Colapinto wiped the sweat from his forehead, the hot sun beating down on the paddock in the middle of the summer season. The thrill of the race was always there, but today, a small weight settled on his shoulders. He adjusted his race suit, the fabric clinging to his body, soaked with the tension of the weekend. This race was critical—not just for his rookie status in Formula 1, but for his future, and the pressure of expectation was hard to ignore.

His gaze flicked to his phone, almost instinctively, though he knew he shouldn’t. He hadn’t heard from you since the morning. Every time he checked, his heart would skip at the thought of hearing your voice, reading your words.

“Good luck, baby. I know you’ve got this. I’ll be cheering from the other side of the world!”

Your words felt like a lifeline. They were the quiet anchor that grounded him in the chaos of race day. He had never felt the weight of the distance between them more than he did today. You, his partner, were miles away—fighting your own battles in the high-speed world of IndyCar, tackling different tracks, different challenges. Your race weekends were never in sync. His F1 schedule rarely aligned with your IndyCar races, and when it did, the time zone difference only added to the difficulty.

But you were always there in his thoughts. Whether it was a text during a break, a late-night phone call after a tough practice, or a simple good luck message before the race, it was these moments that kept him tethered. He could almost feel the pull of your presence, despite the miles between them.

Franco glanced at his phone again, but before he could tap the screen to reply, his engineer’s voice crackled over the radio. It was time. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and tightened his gloves. He was here to race. He couldn’t let distractions pull him away from what he needed to focus on.

As he made his way to the grid, the noise of the crowd and the roar of the engines overwhelmed him, but his thoughts were still with you. He imagined you in your own world, preparing for your race at the IndyCar circuit. Your steely focus, the way you slipped into your zone the moment you climbed into your car. He admired you for it, respected it, and couldn’t help but wish you were here, beside him.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Y/N L/N was gearing up for her own race. The track was a familiar stretch of asphalt that felt like home. Her engine purred beneath her, and the cars around her blazed ahead, each lap pushing her harder. But as she navigated the oval, her mind couldn’t help but wander back to Franco.

She checked her phone after the first stint of her race, a short break in the action. “Nervous, but I know I’ll get through it. Wish you were here to keep me calm.”

“Just remember, you’re always good enough. You’ve got this. I’ll be cheering for you, even if it’s from the other side of the world. Same as always.”

Your words always had a way of settling the chaos in her mind. It wasn’t just your support—it was your understanding. You knew exactly what it was like to race under pressure, to be constantly pushing, battling for every position. And despite the hectic schedules, despite the exhausting travel, you always made sure to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

But still, the longing was there. The absence of Franco in the moments she needed him the most, the quiet yearning for his presence. You’d seen him in the cockpit, his focus razor-sharp, his drive unmatched. And you knew that no matter how successful you were, the distance between you both felt impossibly wide at times.

After her race was over, Y/N headed back to her hotel room. She hadn’t won—again—but she had placed well, and in this series, that was something to be proud of. Her mind, however, wasn’t on the results. It was on Franco. The feeling of loneliness, of missing someone who truly understood the weight of what it meant to race in the spotlight, weighed heavy on her.

Her phone buzzed, a notification flashing on the screen. Franco.

“Hey, I made it through,” Franco’s voice crackled, slightly muffled from the noise in the paddock. The background buzzed with engines and reporters. “It wasn’t easy. I could’ve used you here to calm me down.”

Y/N couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. She had become so used to his voice, even through the static of race weekends. It was grounding. Real. “You didn’t need me, Franco. You’ve got this.”

“I know,” he said, a light chuckle following his words. “But it’s different when you’re not around. I always do better when you’re here, even if you’re just in the stands cheering.”

The honesty in his voice made her heart ache. “I miss you too,” she whispered, not wanting to admit it aloud but knowing he felt the same way. “I wish I could be there. You know I’d be with you in a second.”

“I know,” he replied softly, the sound of distant voices filtering in through the line. “But you’re doing your own thing, and you’re killing it, Y/N. I’m proud of you. Always.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sound of his voice wash over her. “We’ll figure it out. Next time we’ll find a way to be at each other’s races. I can’t wait to see you race in person again.”

Franco’s voice held a note of quiet resolve. “We will. I promise.”

The connection felt different now. Less of a struggle, more of a shared understanding. Yes, the distance still hurt, but the bond between them was unwavering. Their careers were taking them to different places, but they would always find a way to bridge the gap.

“I’m just one race away from seeing you again, Y/N,” Franco said with a soft laugh. “Just wait.”

Y/N smiled, feeling the weight of his words settle into her chest. “I’ll be here. Waiting.”

[inkedcerulean]

an alliance in waiting | chapter two

jacaerys velaryon x fem!frey reader

summary: after the war is finally over, you meet the prince.

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war & death

general notes: semi-non-canon-compliant. rhaenyra permanently succeeds in taking her throne. jace and baela are not betrothed. ulf and hugh do not betray rhaenyra. helaena lives. following canon, daemon, aegon, and aemond are dead.

reader does have a backstory, but she has no name or descriptors. i have added some minor ocs (her siblings) and some of them do have silly names, but so are some of the names in asoiaf.

jace taglist: @hotdhoe @chimmysoftpaws chocotorta2027 @drvcosstuff @emilly-adopted-mcmann @charlottelaffin @suniika @princessofthereach @twilightzone24 @ghizlana @yohanseyebrowmole @fairyjuhak22 @francislovergirl @viserraslawyer @ackerman0-0

TWO YEARS LATER

Morning light seeped in from the high windows of your chambers. You shivered; there was a chill in the air, even though it was mid-spring. Muffled footsteps told you that the handmaidens scurrying about. You paced around the room, taking in the quiet of the early hour.

The door opened then.

Fara, your handmaiden, widened her eyes. “My lady…” she began.

“Good morrow, Fara,” you said, smiling, though however forced.

Fara was carrying a tray with a snood. “Might the lady want to have her hair out of the way when she goes sailing?”

“Yes.” You think of the dozen times that you had forgotten something for a journey or for the day in the towers, and Fara had always been there to remind you. “It always escapes me, doesn’t it?”

Your dress, which Fara helped you put on, was gray and muted, but you much preferred simplicity. The shawl over your dress was wolf fur from the North, protective for the bracing breezes. The Prince was soon to arrive, as Fara told you, and you could not help but feel an anticipatory fear of him.

You stepped out into the hall to break your fast in the Great Hall, your footsteps quick and loud. You kissed the five of your siblings on the cheek, who were already seated, albeit groggy. Your mother most likely forced them to get up, to save herself from any embarrassment of not having the host family up first before the guests.

Thimbus and Dannis, your youngest brothers, were looking at you expectantly.

“Sister,” Gunther started. “Are you nervous at all about the day’s schedule?”

“Yes, I am,” you said, not wanting denial to stir up any teasing.

“That is wise,” he responded, splitting his roast ham in half. “I will miss you when the day finally comes when you will be so very far away from us.” Despite his kind words, the familiar mischievous look graced his face, as if he found your lack of agency amusing.

Marsella and you exchanged a look of quiet camaraderie; you smiled to thank her.

It was hard to believe that the wedding would take place in about a month. Weeks ago, when the guest list had been presented to you, you had looked over it with a transformative pain in your gut. This was all too real. The arrangement was made two years ago, but that time had moved quickly in your own waiting.

As you looked out your window to the Green Fork, you remembered how you dreaded this day at first. It was a cautious thing, facing a dragon and its rider. The Dance of the Dragons, as the maesters were keen on calling it, was infamous for its violence in dragonfire. But the war was no longer, and your betrothed unharmed, or so the maesters said. You heard whisperings of a scar on his neck. The specifics were unknown to you, but you were curious as to find out if the Prince was willing. 

Though curious as you were, you could not help but wonder what violence you were marrying into. Calm as you tried to be, you were still anxious. Your mother would not have secured this if she thought it was a danger, so you had no choice but to trust her.

“The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of Dragonstone has arrived.”

You hesitated for a moment, looking down at the crumbs on your plate. The food in your stomach was turning. After taking a deep breath, you got up to treat with your parents and the Prince on the bridge outside. As the guards led the way, your heartbeat quickened. Although they were there to protect you, you felt as if they were leading you into a dark pit of which there was no escape.

The first thing you saw when you took your first steps outside was the dragon. It was not as monstrous as you imagined, his frills the color of the orange pastries you loved, and scales as green as the hills around you. You held your gaze eye-level.

Queen Rhaenyra had sent twenty of her men, two dragonkeepers, and two of her Queensguard to oversee his stay. Many at the Twins thought it aplenty, but you could not blame her; times of war bred caution. That was not something so easily shed.

You stood at the West Tower, your lady mother and lord father beside you, looking out as the Prince now stood before you, his men behind him. There were several things you noticed about him: his short stature, his striking red cape perched atop his shoulder, and the furrow of his brow that was because of the sunlight, mayhaps.

“Good morrow, my Prince,” you said, curtsying.

“And you, my lady,” the Prince said. “The Riverlands have not much changed since I last set foot here,” he continued, looking at both of your parents. His gaze drifted from you three to the Green Fork ahead. A flicker of amusement visibly phased over him. Perhaps, you thought, that he was thinking of how he won the Crossing for his mother. 

Your mother spoke. “This time, I hope, is a much less distressing reason.”

“I will see to it that it is.”

“We are glad that you are here, my Prince,” you said. “And that the rightful queen took her place on the throne, as she should have long ago.”

“My thanks to you.”

You nodded.

“How fares King’s Landing?”

“Well. My mother sends her greetings in good faith.”

“To her as well.”

You and your parents began with a tour of the Twins. You approached Jacaerys, giving him a curt nod. “We would like to begin with a tour of the castle, if it pleases Your Grace.”

“Yes, of course,” came his reply.

You followed both the guards and your parents to the Water Tower, walking next to the Prince with a few feet’s distance between. It was not difficult to keep pace with him. 

The Water Tower was the lone turret that stood at the center of the bridge, equidistant from both towers. It was where all your guests stayed. Your friends and their families would frequent this accommodation. Until two years ago, when you had a falling out and the war started soon after. You had written letters to them in this peace time, and had gotten only some responses. And from this, a great despondency grew within you.

Would this be the same with the Prince? You had held your friends near to your heart, but time and abandonment had turned your heart to stone. If, gods be cruel, there was another war, would it take your to-be husband from you too? And to be partners in marriage was no cure to your loneliness. You wanted romance but needed friendship, and you feared that your wishes for the latter would go unanswered. A betrothal would only distract you.

You ascended up the curved steps in silence. It had been so long since you’d been here that it felt intimate yet foreign. How could it be, that this was part of your own home, and yet you felt uneasy in this space? His experience in this new place for him was a microcosm of your own future; you were soon to be sent somewhere new for eternity.

The guest chambers of the water towers were generously furnished. When there weren’t any guests, Thimbus would sneak out here at night, for he often swore that these featherbeds were more comfortable than your own.

“Here are your chambers, my Prince,” your mother says.

“This looks very comfortable indeed,” he smiled.

The Prince stood there, several feet away from you and your family. He looked somewhat out of place there. It was then that you realized that it was silly and foolish to think of proceeding with the courtship in your home rather than at the Red Keep. Choosing to show your heart to a stranger and how lonesome it really was, compared to a bustling setting where people and distraction were common, was a shameful, impractical choice.

The boat departed when the air was still chilly. Your parents had left, which you were grateful for. However, the only presence that remained were Prince Jacaerys, and the guards, who remained mute.

You took advantage of the ample room on the small boat as you sat next to the Prince. It was turning into a beautiful day and the wind was calming, but the same could not be said for your nerves. You knew that it was impolite to stay quiet for so long, but you could not think of anything to say.

“I have not taken a boat in some time,” Prince Jacaerys said, looking around you. “I had forgotten what it’s like to travel by air.”

You turn to look at him. “You sailed in King's Landing?”

“A little, the first time I lived there. Ser Laenor taught me all he knew.”

You looked out at Vermax flying in the distance over the hills. Many times you had seen birds fly in the same area, but now there were none; it was a simple, banal sight then, but now you ached for the mundane. Would everything in your life be replaced by the Prince’s company?

He noticed that you were looking at his dragon, and he told you about how Vermax’s egg was put in his cradle, and how when he was a boy, he would train him in the Dragonpit with the supervision of the dragonriders.

“The day I taught him to breathe fire, he burnt a goat. I was happier before than after the fact. Proud of the fact that he burnt a goat alive, but saddened to see what remained of it.”

You nodded.

“Would you like to meet him?”

“Now, you mean?”

“After the boat ride. I can inform one of my guardsmen to go to the dragonkeeper to feed Vermax. He is more temperate if he has just had a meal.”

You chuckled, though it was a small distraction from such a prospect. It was inevitable for you to cross paths with his dragon one of these days, and you felt it was more convenient to make your introduction sooner rather than late. Imagination could sometimes be more monstrous than reality.

“I would like that,” you said.

Prince Jacaerys smiled, close-lipped but apparent.

It was dusk by the time that you both made your way to the western hills. There were stone steps leading through and a few trees littered through the landscape. You looked up at the clouds, then down at the steps. At quiet times like this, it was easy to see everything as gray and sullen. This, you thought, was the reason why it was one of your house colors, the blue towers on an expansive gray field. The dragonkeepers made their camp here to keep watch on the dragon.

At once, your ears perked up to the sound of the dragon’s call. You startled imperceptibly, and Jacaerys eyed you. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said.

You both carried on in silence, though it was uncomfortable for you because of your reaction. You then spotted a flash of orange amongst the green, and then you saw golden eyes peering at you.

One of the dragonkeepers, to the left of Vermax, bowed before the Prince and yourself. He greeted Jacaerys in High Valyrian and then turned to you. “My lady.”

You curtsied at him.

Jacaerys approached before you, walking slowly but with confidence. If it weren’t for his eyes, Vermax looked asleep, his head pointed low on the ground so that some blades of grass brushed his chin. The dragonkeeper was near, seated on a log now.

The Prince came to a stop. “Dohaeris, Vermax.” Without hesitation, he reached out, placing his hand on his snout. Vermax’s mouth curved upwards, closing his eyes as he breathed like a cat purred. You saw the gentleness of Jacaerys’s manner. He stood straight, proud, but not overbearing with it.

He turned towards you, the movement swaying his shoulder-clasped cape. Keeping his other hand placed on the dragon, he held his other hand out towards you and raised his eyebrows. You stepped forward and took it, letting him lead you all the way to his scales. They were coarse against your skin, but you kept them there.

“Iksis ziry jāre naejot kipagon?” asked the dragonkeeper, frowning.

You frowned too, though for the reason of not understanding what he was saying.

“Lo jaelza naejot,” he responded. “Would you like to ride with me?” Jacaerys asked.

You imagined it, taking to the skies on a marvelous creature. You knew the power that you were being offered, even though you were only borrowing it.

“He is beautiful,” you said. “But if it does not offend you, I will forgo.”

“Offend me? Why?”

“Rejecting an offer from the Prince is generally ill-advised,” you said.

He smiled, pleasant and comely indeed. “You needn’t worry about that.”

[daisymbin]

second chance romance 12. "every song reminds me of you."

woozi gets writers block after his breakup with y/n and realizes how much color and life had when they were still together. he would do anything to get back together 🥺

why does this already sound so heartwrenching :(( thank you for requesting this, lovely!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // jihoon's m.list

second chance prompt #12: "every song reminds me of you."

jihoon had spent weeks staring at his keyboard, fingers hovering but never pressing. the notes he usually heard in his mind came in fragments—disconnected and hollow. every song he tried to write felt incomplete, as if missing the heart it used to have. as if missing you.

he sat in his studio late at night, frustration burning in his chest. “why can’t i just—” his voice cracked, and he slammed his hand against the desk.

the memory of your laugh, your voice humming along with his music, filled his mind. he swallowed hard. you had been his muse without him realizing.

“why didn’t i fight for you?” he muttered under his breath.

a knock at his studio door startled him.

“you’re still here,” seungcheol said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“don’t start,” jihoon warned, leaning back in his chair.

“i wasn’t going to. i was just wondering how long you were planning to torture yourself.”

jihoon glared at him, but seungcheol didn’t flinch.

“you should talk to her,” seungcheol continued, arms crossed. “you’ve been miserable since the breakup, and it’s obvious she’s the reason you can’t write.”

“it’s not that simple,” jihoon snapped. “i hurt her, cheol. you don’t just come back from that.”

“it doesnt have to be this hard either. you don’t know unless you try. you always overthink, but this—this is different. just go. tell her how you feel.”

“and if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“then at least you’ll know you tried.”

jihoon clenched his jaw, his heart pounding as he weighed the possibility of facing you again. seungcheol’s words echoed in his mind long after his friend left, and eventually, he found himself standing outside your door.

the door creaked open, and your face appeared in the gap, your expression soft but full of unspoken emotion.

“hoonie jihoon?” you said his name like you couldn’t believe it, like you thought you might be dreaming.

his breath caught. “hi.” his voice was barely audible. “i… i know it’s late. i wasn’t sure if you’d even want to see me, but—” he faltered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice quiet, tinged with sadness.

“i don’t know how to say this,” he admitted, looking down at his feet. “but i couldn’t stay away anymore. i needed to see you.”

your lips parted, your eyes scanning his face for answers. “jihoon… it’s been months—”

“i can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice breaking. “every song reminds me of you. every melody, every lyric… it’s all you.”

your lips trembled, tears forming in your eyes as you tried to keep your composure. “you can’t just show up like this after all this time. do you know how hard it’s been for me?”

“i know,” he said quickly, his own voice thick with emotion. “i know I don’t deserve another chance. i know i hurt you more than i can ever apologize for. but i’m a mess without you. i can’t write. i can’t think. everything in my life feels empty because you’re not there.”

you looked away, tears slipping down your cheeks. “why did you leave me, jihoon? you didn’t even fight for us.”

“i was scared,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “of how much you meant to me. of how much losing you would hurt. but i didn’t realize that losing you anyway would destroy me.”

you let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you wiped your face. “i don’t know if i can trust you again. you broke my heart.”

“i know,” he whispered, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. “but i’ll spend the rest of my life fix it if you let me. i’ll prove to you every single day how much you mean to me. just… give me a chance.”

you stared at him, his words sinking in, the raw desperation in his voice breaking down the walls you had built around your heart. he took a deep breath, his eyes glistening. “i don’t want to live without you anymore.

your tears fell freely now, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. after a long moment, you nodded, the smallest movement, but it was enough.

jihoon’s shoulders sagged in relief, his eyes filling with tears. “thank you,” he whispered.

you stepped back to let him in, and as he crossed the threshold, he hesitated.

“i mean it,” he said, his voice trembling but steady. “i’ll spend every day showing you how much i love you. i won’t mess this up again.”

as you closed the door behind him, the weight of the past began to lift. it wouldn’t be easy, but in that moment, with jihoon standing in your home again, you felt the first flicker of hope.

and for jihoon, the music in his heart finally began to return.

[oacest]

Hi I would like to delve deeper into the oasis lore and was wondering if you have any book recs ?

I read that the supersonic book (containing all the interviews from the doc) is quiet extensive, and obvi from the sources themselves, but maybe you have other Recs that you found interesting?

we were delighted to get this ask, bc yes yes YES we DO have loads of opinions on the oasis books! Be aware that most of these cover sort of the same time period (my spirit mourns for an in-depth book dealing with the mid-to-late aughts). Presumably every publishing house in the UK circa 1996 was offering book deals to randos if they heard the name "Oasis", but these are the best ones (there are, if you can believe it, many more):

The Supersonic interviews are a definite rec -- they're exhaustive, cover way more than the doc suggests, and feature a lot more voices too. The editing job is astounding. Definitely be aware while reading that the interviews were conducted in 2015; with Oasis especially, facts and feelings change depending on time, mood, the wind, whether one is hungover, etc

Brothers from childhood to Oasis by Paul Gallagher. If one never reads any other book on Oasis, they should read this. In fact, no one is permitted to have an opinion on Noel or Liam without having read it. Paul has his blindspots, as one would expect with any sibling, but he also ofc knows his brothers and what makes them tick in a way no one else on the planet does, so!

Oasis: what's the story? by Ian Robertson. This one is somewhat controversial; the author was a bodyguard/security coordinator for Oasis and people understandably have opinions on that. Imo he's a good enough writer that he has a very clear authorial voice and perspective, which makes any worry about being fed lies moot so long as one has a brain. I appreciate he also takes some artistic risks in this book. Also, regardless of his flaws as a man or employee lol, he has a keen, at times painfully empathetic read on Liam specifically. iirc he was the only person who wrote about Oasis in those early years who had a front row seat to Liam's voice/throat problems, which lends a somewhat Cassandraic air to the whole book.......

Getting high: the adventures of Oasis by Paolo Hewitt. Oh, Paolo. What can we say. You have to read this one because it covers so much ground, just be aware it's badly written and the author is quite biased towards Noel. (I say this as a Noelist myself)

Was There Then: A Photographic Journey by Jill Furmanovsky. This is a photography book (and a fucking beautiful one) but it also has a TON of text background. Critically, it offers a perspective on the band/brothers missing from all the rest in this list -- that is, the view and impressions of two women who worked closely with the band (Jill herself and Daniela Soave, a music journalist)

Oasis, definitely by Tim Abbot. This one had a lot of personality and abbot was a creation guy so he knew the band pretty well.

Take Me There: Oasis' Story by Paul Mathur. Mathur was a Melody Maker journalist who followed them around in the early years. He had a pretty fair take on them.

The Truth: my life as Oasis's drummer by Tony McCarroll. So, obviously Tony hates Noel, like. A lot. You have to approach this book like you're giving a hostile witness a cross examination lol but THAT SAID, he does cover stuff missing from other books like pre-deal Oasis.

[dnickels]

I don't think Gibson gets enough credit for how skillfully he extricated himself from the sodomy allegations. Long post to follow ->

The evangelical mindset is "we are constantly under siege from both invisible powers and our fellow man (and even one's own thoughts), every waking moment is nonstop spiritual battle" so Gibson framing himself as too weak to refuse advances (without spiritual backing, naturally) is a brilliant play for Irving's own anxieties while also putting him in the position to be the shepherd rescuing one of his flock. A direct appeal to the Victorian bourgeois savior narrative, expertly played. He's given Irving a script so familiar and one he's so eager to act out he doesn't for a second question its veracity.

And now we depart to the realm of pure speculation (oh boy my favorite) but I always wonder what exactly Gibson told him, and how much it actually corresponds to what we hear Irving scold Hickey for. I wonder if something got lost in translation (Irving heard what he wanted to hear which is not quite the same as what's actually being said). I think Gibson is perfectly capable of shopping Hickey to save his own skin no question, but that scenario doesn't quite jive with how surprised/concerned he is that Hickey and Irving apparently had a chat about the situation. Surely Gibson didn't think he could say "I was coerced" without some kind of follow-up? It could be a feint, he's just acting to try and keep Hickey from holding a grudge (I think Gibson knows with brutal clarity that you do not want to be on Hickey's shitlist) but his reaction reads to me like he's seeing his fib start to spiral out of control. Of course, one of the grand themes in Terror is people not being as smart as they think they are (or, more charitably, that even well-conceived plans often shipwreck on the shoals of human unpredictability) so it could just be an example of a reasonable plan blowing up on contact with an unreasonable person, as individuals are a universe unto themselves and truly unknowable to each other. Or maybe he really didn't think Irving would do anything, because he asked him to keep it quiet? Maybe that's how it usually goes, everyone agrees to keep it quiet-- sobering thought.

Still, it intrigues me to think about Irving as the wildcard in Gibson's plan, not Hickey-- bringing baggage to it that Gibson didn't include in his calculations. I wonder if Gibson heard the lecture, how many of his own words would he recognize? I can see the shape of a communications breakdown, where a tactful "the temptation was overwhelming, I couldn't resist him" becomes "he used overpowering force" or "I didn't come forward because I was afraid" becomes "he threatened me into silence". Not unreasonable assumptions for Irving to make, honestly, I just think its interesting to play with the idea that they are assumptions and not part of Gibson's ass-saving explanation. Just no accounting for what happens in the pressure-cooker of the evangelical brain!

Obviously the darker read here is that Irving can't understand a messy gay situationship despite spending years at sea is because he is homophobic (while desperately refusing/denying/fighting his own desires) or was himself party to coercion, either towards himself or someone else.

I just think its interesting to think of how it might have played out if Gibson and Hickey been surprised by say, Hodgson instead-- who might have given them a stern "I don't want to catch you two not at work again" but otherwise let the matter slide, or Little, who I can see loading them down with donkeywork but refraining from escalating because doing so means talking to Crozier and Oh God, Please No.

I keep coming back to the question of whether or not Gibson was ready/intending to burn Hickey as badly as his lie makes it seem. While I think he's perfectly capable of it, but it seems like such a risky move when his confession (owning what Irving has no real proof of, I'm more familiar with the early 19th century legal situation on land but the standard of proof for sodomy specifically was actually pretty high) could just as easily backfire on him rather than exonerating them both. We only have Gibson's word that he acted for their mutual benefit, and even if he's telling the truth it seems like stepping on a landmine: no one seems to think Hickey would hang on his accusation, so he's going to still be around after a potential flogging and presumably pissed off. Obviously its a bad situation all around but I am so curious about his own risk/reward accounting. For me, I really enjoy imaging him trying to play master manipulator to Jirv who is absolutley not a player and mostly lets Jesus call the shots. Very funny to me to be so ambitious and skillful and willing to play the Great Game but it all comes to nothing due to human folly. Thesis moment.

[captn-trex]

angel of small death

Howzer x F!Reader / Twi'lek!Reader 

word count: 6.1k / 24k

part one | part two | part three

description: after the rise of the Empire, Howzer finds his position on Ryloth to be precarious at best, but his attention is drawn from his troubles when he finds himself captivated by a new politician’s arrival

warnings/tags: 18+ !!! strangers to lovers, mutual pining, more angst in this part, kinda miscommunication-ish, political thoughts/discussions, mentions of clone rights/autonomy, smut in part three

a/n: a little treat for the technical devotion readers in this one (I'll post the final chapter soon I promise), by way of my clone OCs Oscar and Teddy (the loml)! yeah its never mentioned in TD now that I think about it but they’re from howzer's squad on ryloth so… enjoy my baby boys :)

masterlist | join my taglist

Howzer’s whole body felt stiff, and he was sick of it.

Cham was on a comm call with a delegate from the senate, and things were not going well, but all Howzer could think about was getting back to the barracks and sinking into his bunk, tuning out the world and letting sleep take him. It was well past the time that he should usually have been let off duty, as had been the theme of the past few days.

He just wanted to sleep. He hadn’t slept properly in those few days, and he could feel how much it grieved his body. His eyes threatened to close, and he had to pinch himself in a spot between the pieces of his armour to refrain.

After what felt like hours, Cham finally finished the call, the blue hologram figure disappearing and engulfing the room in darkness. It seemed that Cham hadn’t realised how late it had got, but Howzer certainly had. He just remained quiet until he was dismissed. He didn’t have the energy to discuss anything right now, and he hadn’t been paying much attention to begin with. When he was let out of the building, the slight chill in the air was a welcome feeling, brushing against his skin and soothing some of the irritation he felt.

He wasn't irritated at Cham. In fact, he didn't know exactly what he was so irritated about at all. He knew that it was heightened by his lack of rest, but it didn't soothe it much to know that fact. He stretched his neck out as he walked, tipping it from one side and then the other, cringing when he heard a few pops. He'd never been so sore in his life.

His feet took him towards the barracks without much thought, the rest of his body complying for the knowledge of the semi-comfortable bunk that awaited his return.

Howzer loved Ryloth. He loved its climate, it's landscape, its people. Most of all, he loved this time of day; the sun about to lower beneath the horizon, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair, the way the trees swayed gently and made a noise akin to sighing. He loved the way the planet looked as it wound down for sleep.

He wished that he had more time in his life to appreciate it. He had hoped that it would come after the war, that there could be time spared among the peace, but now he found himself being stretched thin in new and foreign ways. He knew he wouldn't get the chance, maybe ever, and the realisation made his jaw grind.

He thought more about what you had said the other day by the lake, about a bill to give clones rights, potentially getting paid for their work, or having the ability to leave the Imperial army. For the first time, Howzer wondered what it would be like to not be a soldier. If he was in control of his own fate, what would he do?

He would stay on Ryloth, he didn't even have to consider anything else. Maybe he'd make up for lost time, travel the planet and explore, find every untouched corner and bask in the evening light without the weight of a galaxy at war on his shoulders. Maybe he'd have a stall at the market, maybe he'd have a family, and his kids would play in the street, kicking up water in the fountain while he watched with that certain kind of smile that he only saw on the faces of parents.

It was wishful thinking, and that's all it was.

Deep inside, he knew he'd never see the day where he was liberated. He clenched his hands into fists as the anger that had been being nurtured in him all day finally rose up to the surface.

It wasn't fair. He'd given so much to the Republic. He'd given his life, he'd lost men, he'd fought with his bare hands for the people that they were supposed to protect, and all the while, the Senators in their ivory towers were the ones who decided his future, his fate. It wasn't fair and he was tired. He was so tired.

Thinking about it only made his head ache. He supposed that was why nothing would ever change. If the clones were kept in a state where they couldn't afford to think about their place in the galaxy, then they could be forced to serve with very little pushback.

Howzer made it to the barracks, his journey having only having made him even more irritated than he had been when he left the senate bureau. He let out a sigh of frustration, trying to relax before he'd have to deal with the chaos of his brothers. He didn't want to snap at them for something that wasn't their fault.

As he strode towards the door, his attention was caught by the noise of a page turning, and he looked over to see you sat beneath your usual tree, a stylus in hand and working it against the page of your flimsibook. He stopped walking and watched you for a moment.

He hadn't seen you since taking you to the lake that day, and even though he was tired, he was now itching to talk to you again. He couldn't help but think that your company might calm his angered thoughts.

You hadn't noticed him yet, and he debated not bothering you, but he quickly lost that argument with himself when he saw you smile at something you'd written. It was so effortlessly charming that his feet started moving on their own, carrying him over to you. When your head lifted and saw him approaching, however, your smile instantly dropped and you slammed your book shut. Howzer halted, unable to stop the pang of hurt that arose in his chest.

“Sorry” he blurted out, “I didn't mean to disturb you”

He turned on his heel and began to walk away before you called his name.

“I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting you” you said, beckoning him back, “did you need me for something?”

Howzer frowned. He wondered what could have made you think his relationship to you should be so transactional, that he would have to have a reason to talk to you besides wanting to.

“No” he shook his head, “I always see you out here though. What is it you're writing?”

“Uh…” you trailed off before you even began, looking down to your book and then back up to him, “it's… well, I— it's just…”

Howzer lifted a brow at the blush that spread over your lilac skin, “you don't have to tell me”

You looked relieved as soon as he said that, “sorry, it's just… private, I suppose”

“I get it” Howzer nodded, “Well I should—”

“Would you like to sit down?” you asked him, patting the spot beside you with a hopeful smile.

Howzer's heart did a small jump, and he walked back over to where you sat. You collected your robes up on one side, draping them over your knees, allowing him to sit close to you. He tried to hide his smile as he sat down, close enough that his shoulder brushed against yours.

He rested his head on the trunk of the tree as he sat back, his breath leaving him slowly as he felt the last rays of the sun hitting his skin and warming him.

“Everything alright?” you asked.

He hummed an affirmative, “just tired”

“I'm not surprised” you commented, “if you've only just got back”

“Yeah” Howzer breathed out, opening one eye to look at you, “how do you know when I usually get back? You been watching me?”

You laughed at the inquisitive edge to his voice, looking down to your lap as you shrugged, “I see you around, the pauldron makes you stand out”

Howzer smiled and closed his eye again. He could already feel his irritation being quelled. The sound of your laugh, the wry curl of your lips, and the twinkle in your eye taking his mind from his previous worries. Your presence distracted him so easily, so much that he hadn't even realised that he was falling asleep until you were waking him up again.

The sound of your voice calling for him brought him out a dream that he soon after forgot. You were stood above him, your expression a little worried, and he blinked a few times as he came back into consciousness fully.

“You should get to to bed”

“Right, yeah” he muttered, taking his head from the tree trunk.

You held your hands out, palms facing towards the sky that now twinkled with the suns of systems far away. He took them gently, letting you help pull him up from the floor, and once stood he looked down at your gentle smile with a fondness. You were close, almost chest to chest with him, and both of you were yet to let go of each other. Howzer skimmed his thumbs over your knuckles, and then stepped back, dropping your hands.

“Let me walk you back” he said quietly, then lifted his hand to cover his mouth as he yawned.

“I think I'll be walking you back today” you replied amusedly.

Howzer huffed a laugh, his eyes darting to the door of the barracks, “I'm only going over there”

“Well maybe I don't trust you not to fall asleep again before you get there”

When his eyes found yours again, he saw more seriousness written into your expression that he had anticipated. It twisted his stomach.

“I'm fine” he murmured, dragging his eyes away as he felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“Mhm, sure”

He didn't want anyone worrying about him, and especially not you. You had bigger things to worry about, and the thought of you pitying him made him feel sick.

“Really, I'm alright” he insisted, trying to sound sincere.

You sighed, gazing up at him with a little tilt of your head.

“You needn't pretend, Howzer” you said softly, “we're friends, aren't we? I'd like you to be honest with me”

The admission of friendship made him wake up a bit more, his eyes brightening, back straightening him to his full height.

“I will be fine” he spoke honestly, a tired smile accompanying his words.

You offered him a smile in return with a slight shake of your head, “you promise?”

Howzer couldn't help the way his lips curled into a smirk. He held his hand up, all fingers curled into a fist but his fifth one, “pinky promise”

A grin spread across your face, lighting your eyes up as a delighted laugh bubbled up from your chest. You hooked your pinky with his, and Howzer had to bite back his own grin so he didn't look utterly ridiculous.

“Go on” you nodded your head over to the door, “go and rest”

“Yes ma'am” he muttered in a mockingly irritated tone.

Truthfully, your actions were tugging at something deep within him, each word pulling his chest taut. You actually cared about whether or not he was okay, and while it wasn't a grand display of affection, it was more than Howzer had received from another person.

You chuckled slightly, “Goodnight. Captain”

Howzer was wholly unprepared for your next act, and he almost let his knees fold and send him tumbling to the floor when you raised to your toes and planted a soft kiss to his cheek. The shock was evident on his face, and he knew his short breath betrayed him when you rocked back onto your heels and smirked at how flustered he was.

He had never been this affected by the actions of another another person like this. Frankly, he wanted to wipe that smirk right off of your face. In fact, all he could think at that moment was how he wanted to have you unable to even form words, at his mercy so the only sound able to pass your lips was his name. Howzer immediately scolded himself for the flurry of thoughts, all birthed from a simple kiss on the cheek. Maker, he needed to reel it back.

“Goodnight” he breathed out.

You tipped your head to him slightly, and then you were gone.

He watched your figure recede, and let his eyes roam down the back of your robe, a deep green dress that held tight to your torso and hung down past the belt at your hips. You turned to look over your shoulder, and gave him another smirk when you caught him staring.

It was then that he heard whispering coming from behind him, and his head whipped around to spot the culprits. As misfortune would have it, the two most meddlesome troopers under his command were stood in the doorway to the barracks, hissing and elbowing the other to be quiet. Howzer sighed. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation to navigate.

He strode over to the pair of them, and they straightened on instinct, though both of them had an expression that betrayed their intrigue.

“Go on, say what you're going to say” Howzer crossed his arms over his chest, struggling not to laugh himself as the two younger clones glanced to each other.

“Are you two screwi—? OW!” Oscar's prying was cut of by a swift kick to the shin by his brother.

“Sorry sir, we were only interested in knowing your relationship to the lady” Teddy explained less crudely, and a small chuckle left Howzer's lips.

They were quite the pair, and against his better judgement, they were among his favourite brothers. Oscar had a permanent case of head stuck in the gutter, but Teddy was always there to put him in his place, the more sensible of the two. Really, they were two sides of the same coin, both of them every bit as nosey as the other.

“She's a friend, not that it's any of your business” Howzer asserted, pushing past them to enter into the barracks.

“Told you” Oscar barked a laugh, causing Howzer to raise an eyebrow at him.

He turned to Teddy, “what exactly did he tell you?”

“He said that a clone like you wouldn't be able to handle a woman that ‘fine’” Teddy spoke candidly, a grin on his face at getting to rat out his brother.

“Oh, and you could?” Howzer asked the first clone, who admittedly looked a little apologetic until he got the chance to show off his practiced act of bravado.

“Absolutely” Oscar smirked broadly, his hands resting on the back of his head as he leaned back into the wall, “when she's tired of you, send her over to me and I'll show her a good time”

“Please” Teddy rolled his eyes, “you wouldn't know a good time if it socked you in the face”

“Shows what you know” Oscar prodded his brother in the stomach, “being socked in the face isn't a good time”

Howzer knew Oscar was all talk. He had seen his many attempts of hitting on women in their infrequent trips to the bar, and it was some pretty poor work, all clichés and boasting. It was lucky he was good with a Z-6 rotary, because off the battlefield he was sorely lacking. Teddy was a little more of a sensitive soul in comparison to his batchmate, weary of treading on other people's toes — Oscar being the exception.

“That's not—” Teddy sighed, “maker, you're stupid”

“Only as stupid as you, brother”

Oscar let them continue their good natured bickering, laying down on his bunk and letting out a deep sigh. It wasn't the most comfortable thing in the galaxy, but Howzer was thankful for it in that moment.

His thoughts quickly dwelled on you. It was almost alarming, how quick his mind travelled there when given the freedom to think about anything. As he unclipped the pieces of his armour and slid beneath the sheet of his bunk, the only thing on his mind was your smirk. That maddening expression had its claws in him, tempting him in a way that he desperately tried not to acknowledge. You had just called him your friend, and you were far above him in the grand scheme of things, he couldn't afford to think like that.

Despite that, the expression burned into his brain, taunting him, begging him to give in, and his brain conjured up lewd images without his permission. He pushed them away, but they still lingered despite his attempts.

Howzer gulped. He was in big trouble.

The next few evenings were among the most relaxing times that Howzer had experienced since the end of the war, however ironic that seemed to him.

He sat with you under the tree, and at first neither of you would speak all that much. You sat opposite him, facing him so that he couldn’t see what you were writing in your flimsibook, only looking up to him periodically. Howzer took that same time to rest, and then as the evening turned to night, the comfortable silence turned to pleasant conversation.

You asked about his opinion on a number of matters, and he was embarrassed to admit to you that many of them were things he had never considered before. You didn't treat him as deficient for it, though, instead you helped him form his opinions in asking more questions.

You were very intelligent, that much was obvious to Howzer now. You seemed to have a vast base of knowledge, and you had a certain way with words that told him you were educated, but it was a lot more than that. You were empathetic, which he felt was a better scale for measuring intelligence, especially after the senate discussions he had listened to over the last few weeks.

None of those senatorial representatives had a single kind bone in their body, and their views seemed plainly misguided and frankly stupid for it. You were the antithesis, and that was probably why he was so drawn to you from the beginning.

It was getting harder to pretend that you had no effect on him, and it seemed like you knew that, that you were trying to make it harder. In every conversation, you seemed more flirty than in the one before, and Howzer was beginning to think he wasn’t imagining it. He couldn't return the advances. He was deathly afraid of reading the situation wrong, and he wouldn't lose the comfort of your friendship just because he got a bit ahead of himself.

When he arrived at the tree one day after being let off duty, and you weren't there, he was more than a little confused. You had been there everyday since arriving on the planet, and for a moment he was stricken with a nasty feeling that something was wrong. He waited beneath the tree for a little while, but it was quickly becoming apparent that you just weren't going to be joining him today.

He thought about where you could possibly be, and it crossed his mind that you may just be at your residence. In spite of the thought, he found his feet carrying him out of the city.

The sun was blinding, just beginning to make it's descent below the horizon and lighting the pathway between the trees of the forest as if directing him to the correct place. This walk had always calmed him, so even if you weren't waiting at the end of it, it wouldn't be in vain.

As he approached the lake, he saw the way your robe was laid out on the floor, as if it had been discarded, and at first his heart jumped to his throat. A few more of your belongings were there, your flimsibook and stylus, jewellery and boots. Luckily, before he could get too worried about what might have happened to you, he heard his name called.

His gaze whipped over to the voice, and his eyes laid upon you, treading water in the shaded part of the lake. He could feel the way his heart jumped, beating faster in his chest at the sight.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping towards the edge of the lake.

“Taking a dip” you said simply, “you want to join?”

Howzer paused, giving you a somewhat exasperated look, “I really shouldn't”

“Why not?”

Howzer knew why he shouldn't. It was grossly inappropriate, even being friends with a senate official and spending time with them off duty was most likely frowned upon. This felt different though.

“Well, I, uh— I don't have the right… attire” he tried to reason.

“Neither do I” you shrugged.

Howzer’s mind was reeling. He was trying desperately to keep his thoughts in check, but that taunting smirk was decorating your face, and it was probably his greatest weakness.

“Come on Captain, live dangerously” you called over to him, your voice particularly coquettish.

He watched you carefully, trying to find any indication of your intentions in the way you looked at him. It was strange, you were still so hard to read, but he felt like he could see right through you at the same time. You were toying with him in some way, but he couldn't tell why.

His fingers took the lead, and started unclipping his armour with your eyes following his movements, watching as every piece slid from his body. By the time he was peeling back his blacks, revealing tanned skin that very few people had seen before, he couldn't help but think that the way you were drinking him in was far from innocent. It sent a thrill through him, but he was still weary of his thoughts betraying him.

When he'd stripped down to just his underwear, he waded into the water tentatively. It wasn't freezing, but it certainly wasn't warm, and he couldn't stop the way he shivered. As the bottom of the lake fell away, he swam over, joining you in the shade.

Seeing you up close was electrifying. Maybe it was that he hadn't ever seen you without all of the usual opulence of your senatorial garb, or maybe it was the fact that you were only wearing your underwear, but he relished in seeing this different side to you. You were beautiful, and usually it was acknowledged alongside your prestige, but now it was in spite of the absence.

With any identifying items stripped from you, you were just a person, as he was. Suddenly you didn't seem as terrifying, your gentle smile inviting and natural, and Howzer could feel himself becoming even more entranced by you.

“What brought you here today?” you asked.

“I, uh—” Howzer was having trouble focusing, but he realised that he came looking for you, and something about your expression told him you might know that, “you weren't under the tree, I just wondered where you were”

“Why's that?” you tilted your head to the side a little, feigning innocence.

Howzer bit the inside of his cheek as he watched you for a moment. He wouldn't ordinarily speak the truth, but everything about the situation was clouding his mind.

“I like spending time with you” he said honestly, and your eyebrows raised, “is that a surprise?”

“Not exactly” you spoke thoughtfully, “I just didn't expect you to say so”

“Why’s that” he mocked the tone of your voice, which drew a laugh from you that made his smile grow.

“Well, you're usually very restrained”

Howzer raised a brow, shifting marginally closer to you, “restrained?”

You bit the corner of your lip a little, “guarded, then”

“Hm” Howzer hummed, narrowing his eyes, “well… I am a soldier”

You smirked, “that you are”

Howzer cocked his head to the side, as if to ask what was going on in your mind. He felt that he knew you better now, but you were still such an enigma to him. For all that you were calling him guarded, he could only think of a handful of times where you had completely relaxed around him, and spoke in a way that was discernibly candid.

Before he could ask what you meant, you swam closer to him, a lot closer to him.

“How did you get these?” your tone was softer as you reached out and touched the scar on his chin, and then the one on his cheek, rubbing your thumb across it gently.

Howzer could feel the heat of your body through the water with you being so close to him, and the feel of you caressing his face was just too much to deal with. He couldn't speak, and when you looked into his eyes he had to gulp down the saliva that was pooling in his mouth.

“Explosion” he managed to get out, “shrapnel. There— there was a kid, I—’

He found his words stuck in his throat, your gaze and your touch holding them captive as he became absolutely mesmerised.

“You… what?” you prompted, snapping him from his trance.

“I was protecting the kid… from the blast”

The edges of your lips lifted, your eyes crinkling a little, “that's very honourable, soldier”

The word sounded undeniably affectionate, like a nickname of sorts. You took your hand away from his cheek and swam backwards slightly, and Howzer let out a breath that he hadn't realised he was holding in.

“It's just what any clone would have done” he reasoned, his tone a little flippant as he denied your claim.

“Hm” your gaze was scrutinising as you thinned your eyes at him, “I think you're just being modest”

Howzer chuckled, a slightly nervous sound that didn't suit him, “I don't feel very modest right now”

He had said it quietly, more to himself than anything, but you laughed anyway.

“I can look away, if you want?” you teased, and his cheeks heated as he rolled his eyes, forcing his gaze away. “I'll spare you” you grinned, swimming away towards your discarded clothes.

Howzer tried desperately to pull his eyes away from you as you emerged from the lake, but with the way the water was sliding from your skin, crystal droplets that twinkled in the sun as they followed the contours of your body, he simply couldn't.

Suddenly he was struck by how inappropriate this was. He shouldn't be seeing you like this. If anyone found the two of you like this, unclothed and having been so close to each other — whatever the context — he couldn't be sure what would happen to him.

It was forbidden for clones to form relationships, to give themselves to someone other than the Empire, and the Republic before that. You knew this, Howzer knew you did, you must have. You had campaigned for clone rights within the senate, there was no way you didn't know that it was prohibited to get close to him in that way.

Suddenly nothing made sense anymore.

Either you had never been flirting with him in the first place, which was admittedly fine if not a blow to his pride, or you were a whole lot crueller than he had realised. He didn't truly believe that you were capable of a cruelty such as that. He knew you to be kind, he knew you to be caring, far more caring than any Senator he'd ever met. Though, at the end of the day, you were still a politician. Perhaps it didn't matter that you seemed to be concerned with things such as clone rights or the other changes you sought to make to the Senate, perhaps you were still as removed from the general public that you sought your own desires above everything else.

The idea of that being him, however it had excited him previously, now filled him with disgust.

He dragged himself from the lake, quickly dressing in silence, even as the water made his blacks stick to him uncomfortably. He didn't look over at you, some form of animosity washing over him that he tried to brush away. It felt uncomfortable, he didn't want to feel this way about you. It didn't feel right, it was incongruent with how he truly felt, but that was what made everything so confusing.

“Is everything alright?”

He glanced over to you, your expression conveying concern as you did up the final buttons of your robe. Howzer forced his eyes away as he slipped his pauldron into place, “fine”

The word sounded bitter, and he cringed at the harshness of his tone.

“Are you sure?” you asked, your hand laying on his forearm and stopping his movements.

He looked back up, and the compassion in your eyes only sought to make his head spin with conflicting thoughts.

“You shouldn't have done that” the words fell from his mouth without permission, and the way you receded from him, your expression wounded, he raced to add, “I shouldn't have”

Your brows drew together slightly, “done what?”

An enervated noise escaped him, not really willing to admit his feelings for you, especially if he had entirely misread the situation.

“We can't be… close. It's against the rules, against my… code” he mumbled out, his words not sounding as definitive and confident as he wished.

“Oh” your face fell even further, “right, of course. I apologise”

Howzer’s heart lurched at your hurt expression, knowing that he was the one who had caused it. He watched you gather your things, slipping your jewellery back on and with it your authoritative demeanour and stony politician’s mask, and his heart clenched tighter in his chest. You grabbed your flimsibook and stylus, and before he could speak up again to explain himself, you had given him a curt nod and were walking away.

His hand stretched out as if to grab you and stop your leaving, but you were much too far away for that now. He felt a fool, reaching for something that could never be, and a painful sight of his own making.

The next day was difficult, for everyone.

The dispute between Cham, man of the people, and Senator Taa, decidedly the opposite, had reached its climax. It was at the stage of all out disagreement and discussion had given way to argument. There were raised voices, pointing fingers, flaring nostrils, and it was bordering on name calling. Howzer didn't know how to cope with it.

He was inclined to step in and hold both parties back, even if they were at opposite ends of the large wooden table, but he knew that was well beyond his jurisdiction. Everyone else had joined in, not as outwardly outraged as Cham or as vehement as Ora Free Taa, but more animated nonetheless.

Everyone, except you.

Howzer watched the way your teeth ground together, eyes cold and darting around at the other delegates, and he could tell you were far angrier than he'd ever seen you. He wanted to reach out and offer some kind of support, a natural instinct, but he couldn't do anything of the sort, and besides, you would scarcely look at him.

It hurt, as much as it was necessary.

He knew that he had done the right thing, ending whatever there was between you before it began, and for that, he was proud of his restraint, but with the way you turned your gaze from him at every juncture, it certainly didn't feel like it.

So he watched on, his stomach twisted in guilt and his heart reaching out for you despite it all.

Your lip twitched as one of the other senate officials said something so morally reprehensible about the people of Ryloth and how they were viewed by the new Imperial senate, that Howzer actually let out a tiny gasp. Another official backed them up, and soon almost everyone was giving their two credits, the tone of conversation turning more and more sinister as it was being allowed to breed in the hateful speech that was being spewed.

“Stop!” you suddenly shouted above the racket, leaping up from your seat, a fist clenched and slamming into the table.

The room fell silent, and you breathed heavily for a moment before you spoke up again, your tone vicious and scathing.

“I cannot sit by and listen to this hateful drivel any longer. Ryloth deserves better than this, our people deserve more than all of you as their leaders. Do none of you have hearts? Can you not see that acting this way, choosing to go through with these plans, will only drive our planet further towards poverty, towards insecurity and scarcity, is that really what you want for our people?”

Howzer could feel his heart beating out of his chest. Your sudden display of passion and empathy for your people made his knees feel weak, threatening to bring him to the ground. You commanded the room, all eyes turned to you and hanging on every word. He knew that you cared more than the average Senator, but seeing you showcase it made his admiration grow once more.

“Aren't you just an aide? Why should we listen to you?” one of the other Twi'lek's asked, and you released a humourless laugh that sent a shiver running down Howzer's spine.

“I am a senate representative, sir. Do you know what that means?” you asked facetiously, and Howzer's eyebrow raised, an impressed smirk playing on his lips, “I am above you, and you will listen to me when I tell you that your way of thinking will be the downfall of our people. It's people like you that make me—”

“Stand down representative” the firm voice of Orn Free Taa called, and your head twinged to the side to send him a sharp look.

“Senator, surely we can't allow—”

“We will allow nothing, only I can and will decide what action to take. You have no power here, you're nothing, not while I am around” he spoke fiercely, and you backed down immediately, like a wounded animal at the mercy of its predator.

It was hard to watch, the way you sunk into your chair after being scolded, belittled in front of everyone. Your posture was slumped, your face turned downwards and an embarrassed blush scorching your cheeks. Your eyes snapped up for a moment, just enough to catch Howzer's sympathetic gaze and then to tear them away again.

The session was concluded shortly after, the setting sun quelling any arguments as everyone wished to leave the tense environment and get back to their homes for some peace. As soon as you were dismissed, you sped right past Howzer, storming from the room with a deep frown that made his worry for you grow.

He ran after you once everyone else had filed from the room, speeding through the bureau halls and bursting out into the courtyard. You were halfway across it by the time he caught up to you, calling your name even though it didn't make you slow your hurried pace.

Howzer gently grabbed your wrist, tugging on it inadvertently when you didn't immediately stop. You swivelled around, a thoroughly displeased expression contorting your features. His words failed him, not knowing how to comfort you in that moment.

“I'm so sorry” he said earnestly, “he shouldn't get to treat you like that. You're not nothing, don't let his words hurt you”

“I don't care about that” you scoffed, “it's his actions that hurt me, and the way that none of them actually seem to care about what happens to this planet”

“I know, I know” Howzer nodded, his tone soothing as his thumb brushed over your pulse point, “I'm sorry they won't listen to you”

Your eyes dropped to where his hand still enveloped your wrist, bringing your other hand to cover it for a moment, before you removed yourself from his grip.

“Thank you, then” you gave him a tight smile, and as much as it was strained, he could tell it was genuine.

“Can I walk you back?” he asked quietly, locking eyes with you and finding a reluctant tenderness.

“No” you replied curtly, swallowing anymore words that could have found their way past your lips, “goodnight Captain”

For the second day in a row, Howzer watched you walking away from him, your feet carrying you with the same grace despite your more hurried steps. He felt awful that he had thought so lowly of you the previous day, that he had even entertained the idea that you were as selfish and self-important as the other politicians.

He decided then, stood in the middle of the square, that he hated the sight of you leaving him, and that thought would continue to fester uncomfortably within him for the foreseeable future.

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565 @heidnspeak @mae-lou-ron @burningnerdchild

[forestfrolickingfairy78]

Request: LU: Legend realising Time is the Hero before him

Artwork credits go to Jojo

I really hope you like it! I tried to write this as best as I could, I enjoyed writing this scene a lot, let me know what you think! Albeit did make me want to cry. Very much. I wish him happiness.

Legend knew the colour of death.

Before meeting his brothers, whether they’d agreed to be from blood or spirit the memories he kept of the people he loved were a testament to the fear of losing what he could recall of them. It started with the voice of his uncle, that day when all he had left to hold onto was the last words that couldn’t trace back to anything. The people he’d met on the path contorted by the fate to keep sealing and saving the world around him. The most heartache was the disillusion of the girl by the sea, finding himself exhausted by another cursed Odyssey. When she held him, gentle and sweet as the water he thought for a moment there was some reprieve in this constant manoeuvring, but it all it left him with was the blank canvas of a water-coloured painting, faded into a dream.

 It was cruel, how much his life had been pupeetered between this illusion of joy, plotted by the stroke of darkness while getting famished on the sweetness of a fleeting life. He didn’t have anything left of Marin, but he always possessed the power to travel between darkness.

The other heroes wondered why he’d always remark with spite, always shutting down the chance to find comfort in each other’s presence. Afterall, they were bound by this cycle of violence, pulled away from any chance to lead life normally. He envied them in some way or another, and the day the Hero of Time had led them into their home he found himself aching for what they had. A quiet and red envy grew as he watched them embrace each other,  speaking about what their future would be like when his had been stolen from him.

At least they all had someone, didn’t they?

Now underneath the red sky, peeling skin of flames bled another evil, testing their strengths. Legend looked up at the darkness, charcoal horizon swallowing their sights. They were outnumbered now, struggling to hold onto the sword. Sky felt his fingers weave from underneath the sword, glimmering a hopeful blue, but it wasn’t enough.

Legend tasted blood, wiping his mouth and tried to feign strength towards the monsters. Lizalfos, Skeletal bodies circling them without eyes, teasing their fall. What use was he without them? He knew he wasn’t weak, but he couldn’t ever be as strong as them, let alone the old man still holding up. His sword clashed aggressively against the beady eyed monster, breathless.

He looked over his shoulder, yelling at the younger one.

“Get up, you’re the only one who can save us!” A hard kick managed to knock over the enemy, but slowly, he was falling to his knees.

Legend didn’t think he would witness a sight like that, dragging himself forward. This was the only way he’d manage to fight, a hot flame of anger pushing strength, but today he couldn’t evoke that.

“Legend, get up!” He heard the old man before him, leaning over his sword, opening his eyes to the redness.

“I’m sorry…I’m tired.” The older hero had heard his quips, his quiet anger but never this genuine exhaustion. They were all so tired.

Time leant down to him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Veteran-“ he paused, unsure what words to comfort him. In his eyes he saw the maelstrom of an ocean, threatening to spill. Behind those tempered words he could see the reflection of himself, young and afraid.

“I know, I need to keep going. I know!” Legend hated how his voice betrayed him, unable to steel his tone any longer. His hands tried to grip the sheathe, lacking power.

“I’m with you, you’re not alone.” Time wasn’t sure how to help, he’d respected the younger hero’s space, and in a way maintained it. If he had known that he was the hero who had caused his world’s darkness, it would shatter him. Legend tried to breathe, coughing from the smoke and fire.

“I know you’re there for me, and everyone. But I didn’t want to get close, not when it’s always ended in people, I love getting taken away from me.” Legend wiped his face, salt tears tracing down his skin, chaffing his skin. He felt foolish letting himself cry.

Time looked towards the Monsters, slowly heaving themselves up from the temporary death. It was how it would always be.

“That’s a sentiment we share.” Time spoke, closing his eyes for a moment. He let the words sink, when he’d first said that to Malon. When he’d promised himself at Legend’s age. It was how they kept their hearts safe, and again it was reflected in the hero that suffered because of him.

Time faced him, letting himself sigh.

“I’m sorry, you deserve better than this.” What he understood was the current moment, unfolding like another apocalypse. You’d think after a dozen choked skies, you’d get used to the colour it bore, but the silence only thickened.

“Why are you apologising? We’re all suffering.” Time didn’t speak, feeling the burden grow like a shadow between them.

“What is it?” Legend tried to find the older man’s gaze, but he would not look at him, slowly turning away his heel.

“For not letting you have the life, you deserved.” He left the words to manifest their meaning, but Legend realised it quickly. A churn in his gut slowly understanding the grief in his voice, a grief that he would inherit.

[hpalways]

in another lifetime

charas: timebomb drabble (ekko x powder) synopsis: as ekko thinks back to his journey from the other universe, he wonders and regrets what could've been in this timeline. warning: spoilers a/n: arcane hurt me so now i have to write angst for it LOL, they are my unbecoming frfr i miss them sm. also heard theories that jinx is still alive (im coping BYE) tho so maybe ill have to write another thing where he finds her

That singular night was still vivid in his mind to relive through, over and over again. From the strobing lights to the taints of her blue hues glimmering mischievously, he could just about see it if he closed his eyes. She was so close to him, so beautiful in a white, pure dress that he could not look at anything else. Her cute little dance moves that slowed down time for him and the sway of her short blue hair. Just a reach of his arm... would he be able to feel her warmth?

Of course not. It was now a memory to be tucked away. In this cold, sad world that he fought to survive in, he could not save the one he desperately wished to.

Ekko raised his arm toward the stars in the sky, laying there. So far yet so close. The stars represented her, burning bright until the very end.

When he first heard news that Jinx was gone, his gut dropped down to levels of hell, a torment of agony and lament drowning him in waves. How could it possibly be? She was the one that always came back from the dead to haunt him, a thorn to his side he could not get rid of. But now, she was gone, the moment he tried to reach out to her again.

He wondered.

He wondered so bad.

Boy Savior she called him. It made him so angry back then. So angry he turned his back on her, accepting the fact that he would never see the same girl he once was so close to.

But now he wondered if he gave up on her too soon.

Deep down all along, Powder was in there. The pain that she endured to live the way she had, she did everything to survive. But his cowardice could not face that. He could not see the suffering or the light that had disappeared from her gaze. The glimpse of her scared face beneath his grasp during their fight looked so much like... Powder. And yet, he still could not save her. Instead, he watched Silco carry her away, for her to continue the path of destruction.

When he found her there in her hideout, prepared to end it all, he could finally see the scope of it all. No longer was he shrouded in an endless cycle of rage and resentment, and for once, he could see it with a clear vision.

He should have tried harder -- to be at her side, save her of the demons that chased her.

She had painted him of her colors, her touch tickling his skin as he watched the furrow of her concentrated brow. Jinx was different from Powder in the other timeline, more rough and shrivel, her scowl imprinted on her lips. He realized he didn't mind it though.

Then they went off to war, only for one of them to return.

He... missed her.

Now all that was left of were his spiraling thoughts, of what ifs and regrets.

He pressed his fist against his forehead, feeling the heat of tears swarm from the corner of his eyes. Where he had been with Powder in the other universe on the same rooftop overlooking Piltover, he was now alone, the quiet unbearable.

Powder's words rang in his mind, a push for him to keep going.

"Sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind."

[gaysparkler]

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here

Title from Andrew Marvell's "The Garden" Read on AO3 Spoilers for the choice directly following "A Warden's Best Friend" under the cut!

Rook was pacing. Emmrich could hear them go from room to room withing the Lighthouse – and no doubt in the courtyard, though there was no way he could be certain. There had been an air of disquiet around them, and that, Emmrich could say with certainty, was due to the number of difficult decisions they had been forced to make. As a Watcher, Emmrich knew how sheltering the Grand Necropolis could be. The “choice” boiled down to which classes to take, which role to ascend to, which tasks to do for the day, what to eat for each meal.

Not which city should be saved, and which should burn. Not thrusted with the fate of the world in their hands.

Emmrich wondered if he could even handle it half as well as Rook had, though part of him wondered how much was hidden away from them all. From him, despite his and Rook’s not-so surprising closeness.

Perhaps, then, it was not surprising to see Rook push past the doors to the laboratory, their dark circles remarkably worse than usual. The door closing behind them was heavy and loud in the previous quiet of his reading. They stood in the middle of the laboratory and fidgeted with their glove in silence, mouth twisted in a frown. The sound of Emmrich’s book closing seemed to make Rook remember why they were here.

“Could I help you with anything, Emmrich?” They spoke again before Emmrich could answer. “Please, I just—I need…something normal. Something real.”

In the dim light of the room, Emmrich could see tears pearling in Rook’s eyes. He carefully set his book aside before standing and gently approaching them, as if the wrong move would send them running.

“It’s not much,” he said as he extended a tentative hand towards Rook, “but there are some bones that could use some sorting.”

Rook let go of their glove to grasp Emmrich’s hand, and nodded. A tear slipped. Emmrich watched it slide down their cheek, leaving a trail of kohl in its wake. Before he could think, he raised his other hand to Rook’s face and caught the tear with his thumb.

“I—” he stammered, “please forgive me—”

But Rook only closed their eyes and leaned into his touch, wisps of jet-black hair falling across their features, weightlessly. Emmrich heard them take a slow breath in, and out.

“I can handle some sorting,” they finally said, keeping their eyes closed. “I wouldn’t be worth much as a Watcher if I couldn’t.”

“Now, now. None of that.” He tapped Rook’s cheekbone with his thumb before slowly sliding his hand away from their face so he could fetch the adorned box containing the unidentified bones he had brought with him from the Necropolis. He carefully placed it on his examination table, and gently tipped it over so the bones would spill, without rolling too far, on the marble. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rook worrying at their bottom lip. The weight of the world, on such delicate shoulders…

“Right,” he said, cheerfully. “We’re all set!”

Manfred, on the second floor, gave an excited hiss. And that was what Rook needed to crack the smallest of smiles. They made their way to the table, on Emmrich’s opposite side, and the moment they started their work, the tension in their face and body disappeared. Something normal, usual. Something that did not generate an impossible amount of doubt, guilt, and hypothetical similes.

“Thank you,” Rook whispered without looking at him, their voice rough with tears.

“You are most welcome, my dear,” he replied as he watched their fingers deftly and carefully handling each individual bone, and already beginning to separate them in neat categories. In that moment, Emmrich wished he could have seen Rook fully in their environment, in the Necropolis. To see them fully immersed in their work, how their necromantic talents manifested outside of combat, know them as they are—pressures of apocalypse removed. But would that truly be the person in front of him now?

Emmrich finally reached forward, his fingers brushing against Rook’s, and joined them in their meticulous sorting.

-

Their work finished and laid out in precise reconstructions (partial, in some cases) on Emmrich’s slab before them, Rook finally looked up at him, and to his heartbreak, fear remained in their eyes. Emmrich laid his hand on one of few cleared areas of the table, his palm up and inviting.

“Rook?” he softly called. Their hand found his.

“Pénthos,” they said almost in a whisper. “My name.”

An old Nevarran word, before the trade tongue was favoured.

Mourning.

Their dark eyes, sunken in purple deep as bruises, said everything he needed to know.

Do not let this be forgotten. I beg you.

“Pénthos,” Emmrich repeated, inclining his head towards them. “You look tired. You should sleep.”

They scoffed. “Everyone’s been telling me that.”

“Then that should provide you with enough evidence to lend it credibility.”

“I know that,” Rook—Pénthos sighed, “I know…that I should sleep. I just—I can’t.”

And just like that, the tension that Emmrich worked (not so) hard to dispel returned to their body. Pénthos began fidgeting with their gloves again and picking at their lip—and it broke his heart. He wished so dearly there was something, anything he could do to help once more and then—

Manfred appeared behind them, holding a tray of freshly brewed tea.

“Well,” Emmrich said, “may I invite you to stay for tea?”

Pénthos smiled again, the brightest thing he had seen all day (save maybe for Manfred’s jewelled eyes, but he would tell neither—not yet, anyway) and replied, “I would love to.”

“I have heard that resting with good company can almost be as beneficial as a night’s sleep.”

Pénthos chuckled. “Did you, now?”

“I have, of course, my sources!” Emmrich pointed to a specific section of the many bookshelves lining the walls, somewhere on the second floor. Pénthos’ smile turned into a full laugh, and the lines of tension slipped away, even if just for a moment.

[yoshi17here]

̤̮ ₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩ʚGrateful Hearts & Thanksgiving Startsɞ̤̮•‧₊˚ ⋅♡

YOSHIˎˊ˗: OMG I wrote so!!!!! much hope you guys like ittt!!

word count: 1130

paring:non idol jake x non idol y/n

---___ •ᴗ• ___--- •ᴗ• ---___ •ᴗ• ___--- •ᴗ• ---___ •ᴗ•___--- •ᴗ• ---___

I could feel my heart racing in my chest as I stood in front of Jake’s house, the crisp autumn air brushing against my cheeks. The leaves were turning shades of gold and red, a perfect fall day to be surrounded by family. Jake had been talking about introducing me to his parents for a while, but this was different—it was Thanksgiving dinner.

The pressure of meeting his family felt heavier than usual. Thanksgiving was one of those holidays that meant a lot to people. It was about family, warmth, and gratitude, and I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Would they like me? What if I didn't fit in?

Jake squeezed my hand, his comforting touch grounding me in the moment. He could probably feel my nervousness, and with that signature smile of his, he reassured me, "Don’t worry, Y/N. My parents are going to love you. Plus, I’ve been telling them so much about you. They’re already excited to meet you.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I trusted Jake completely—after all, we'd been dating for a few months now, and it was clear that we had something real. But the thought of meeting his parents... that was something else entirely.

Before I could overthink it, Jake opened the door, and the warm, delicious scent of Thanksgiving dinner wafted out. “Mom, Dad, we’re here!” he called out with that carefree energy of his.

His mom, a kind woman with soft features and a welcoming smile, appeared from the kitchen. She was wearing a cozy sweater, and her hands were covered in flour from what looked like baking. Jake's dad followed close behind—tall, with a warm and serious demeanor, but I could see the gentle spark of affection in his eyes as he looked at Jake.

“Y/N!” Jake’s mom exclaimed, immediately pulling me into a tight hug. I froze for a second, unsure of what to do, but then I relaxed into the embrace. Her hug was as warm as the house, and the scent of cinnamon and rosemary made everything feel homely.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said with a bright smile. “Jake’s told us so much about you!”

“I’ve heard so much about you too,” I said, my voice a little shakier than I intended. “Thank you for having me over.”

“No need to thank us, dear,” she said, pulling back but still holding onto my shoulders with affection. “We’re so happy Jake found someone so kind and wonderful.”

“Mom,” Jake groaned from behind me, but there was no mistaking the grin on his face. “You’re embarrassing me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s okay, Jake. Your mom’s really sweet.”

Jake’s dad, who had been standing a little behind with his arms crossed, finally spoke up. “Welcome, Y/N. It’s good to meet you.”

His voice was deep and calm, and I could sense the respect he had for me already. There was no judgment, just a quiet warmth. I smiled, a little nervous but trying to keep my composure. “Thank you for inviting me. I’m really excited to be here.”

Jake’s dad nodded and smiled slightly. “We’re glad you could join us. Dinner will be ready soon. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

With that, Jake led me inside, and we were immediately surrounded by the comfort of family. The dining room table was beautifully set, with plates of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, turkey, and a dozen other dishes that made my stomach rumble.

“Go ahead and sit down,” Jake said, pulling out a chair for me. “I’ll get the drinks.”

I sat down, feeling both nervous and excited, as his parents finished putting the last touches on the table. Jake returned with a bottle of sparkling cider and began pouring drinks for everyone.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Jake’s dad said again as he sat down at the head of the table. “Jake’s been happy ever since he started dating you.”

Jake’s mom added with a wink, “We could tell he was in love the moment he started talking about you nonstop.”

I felt my cheeks flush. Jake glanced at me, his eyes sparkling with affection, before he quickly reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “I love you,” he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

“I love you too,” I whispered back, smiling.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of laughter, stories, and delicious food. Jake’s parents were easy to talk to, and I found myself relaxing more and more as the night went on. His mom shared funny stories of Jake’s childhood, and his dad chimed in with his own memories of their family trips. I could tell that family meant everything to them—and I was starting to see just how much Jake was a reflection of them: kind, thoughtful, and filled with love.

After dessert, which was a homemade pumpkin pie that tasted like heaven, Jake stood up. “Alright, we’ve got one more thing to do. Y/N, you ready?”

I looked up at him curiously. “What’s going on?”

He grinned mischievously. “We’re going to play a game! A family tradition.”

I laughed nervously. “Okay, I’m game.”

Jake’s mom brought out a box of cards and began setting them up. “It’s called ‘Thanksgiving Trivia.’ We go around the table, ask questions, and everyone has to answer. Whoever gets the most right wins.”

“I’ll warn you now,” Jake’s dad said with a knowing smile, “Jake’s unbeatable at this game. Don’t let him intimidate you.”

Jake smirked proudly. “I’ve got a good memory, that’s all.”

We played for hours, and in the end, Jake did win—but only by a few points. We were all laughing by the time the game was over, and as the evening wound down, I realized that I had felt so comfortable with Jake’s family. They weren’t intimidating at all. In fact, they made me feel like I had always been part of the family.

As we left their house, Jake slipped his hand into mine. “See? That wasn’t so bad, right?”

I smiled up at him, my heart full. “It was amazing. Your family is wonderful.”

Jake grinned, pulling me into a quick kiss. “I’m glad you like them. Because you’re stuck with us now.”

I laughed, feeling a rush of happiness. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as we walked to the car, the autumn breeze carrying the scent of fallen leaves, I knew that this Thanksgiving was one I’d never forget. The warmth of Jake’s family, the love we shared, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who cared—it was the perfect start to a new chapter in our lives together.

[gottagobackintime]

I liked that we only got to see Trent look at Colin this episode. Having him observe Colin and then deciding what to do feels like a very Trent thing to do. Yes, Colin kissing Michael where anyone could see is bad if he wants to keep it a secret. And that's a conversation that I'm not getting into now. BUT, what does Trent actually know about Colin in terms of being out or not. He knows that Colin isn't out to the public, obviously, because it would have made headlines. But he doesn't know if Colin is out to his teammates and leaders. We know he isn't but Trent doesn't. He saw Colin and Michael kiss and he heard what Colin said in the latest episode. Yes, Colin brought Michael to Sam's restaurant and introduced him as his pal, his wingman. Trent could have heard that, he was sitting close by, but did he? I mean every shot we got of him he was clearly deep into his own conversation with various people at his table. Would he have picked up what Colin said, and remembered it? I don't think so.

So he observes Colin, because now he knows something new but not enough. And I know that a lot of you feel like Trent should warn him, tell him that he saw them kissing. But honestly, Colin is an adult who knows that there are no out players. He knows that it would make headlines, he knows he's not out to the team, and he still chose to kiss his boyfriend in an alley. Sure he could have been drunk or just wanted to kiss his boyfriend, consequences be damned. But he still chose to do it. So Trent has two choices, act like Colin doesn't have a clue what it's like being gay, telling him he needs to be careful because people can see him if he's kissing his boyfriend in public (which would honestly be condescending) or he doesn't say anything, he waits and sees how Colin acts, to see if he should mention anything to him. Trent has clearly chosen the latter option for now and we'll see where this goes.

There's also the "is Trent gay or not" aspect, I say he is. And if we're going with that assumption we also have to think about, is Trent himself out? Or rather, is he out to people at work. Because coming out isn't a singular event, you'll always come out. Every time you meet someone who doesn't know who you are, you'll have to decide if you're going to come out to them or not. I'm leaning towards him, not being in the closet, but rather him keeping his private life to himself and being open with friends and family. He's not hiding it and he's not ashamed, he just doesn't tell anyone, because it's not relevant when he's at work. And I say that as someone who loves reading fanfics where he is an openly gay sports journalist.

Where am I going with this? I don't know, I never know what my point is. BUT, I do think that we'll see similar scenes of Trent just observing Colin until perhaps the Amsterdam episode. And that's where he tells Colin that he knows and/or that he's gay himself. And then we might see Colin confiding in him and Trent might help him with a statement for when he's ready to tell the world. Because I do believe that he will tell the public. I don't know if it will be because he's been outed or he's doing it of his own free will. I don't really mind, I think they'll give us something that will rip our hearts out either way. But I am a believer in "gay mentor" Trent Crimm, giving Colin someone "in the business" to confide in.

[bmpmp3]

the really beautiful landscape/skyscape animation in makoto shinkai's works tends to be the big thing i see focused on and that is understandable and deserved like the weather and lighting effects are unREAL but i do think we should also appreciate how absolute insane the plotlines of his original movies get. at least two movies with in universe catastrophes with major ecological implications. the guns and explosions. theres that one movie i havent seen yet with the guy who turns into a chair (?)

[starpros-sunshine]

I think the reason I'm so uncomfortable in conversation with cis men is because in my life the image I've grown up with is that from the American movies and while there's so much to be said about how women in those are basically objects or exclusively love interests or just Really Really forgettable I feel like there's also something to be mentioned about how most of these men are all the same pseudo-tough-guy character that's cool and suave and sexy and the only emotion he's capable of is nonchalant banter (it feels worth mentioning that the American movies I'm referring to are all from the last century I have no idea if that's changed in these last years but a gut feeling tells me no) and I also barely talk to the guys from my grade so the result of kind of growing up with that is that I just genuinely can not imagine real cis men with a complex inner emotional landscape. Maybe this is also an empathy thing but I genuinely can not imagine most cishet guys doing normal people things in their free time that aren't gaming or going to the gym or...idk. making music too I suppose. It's quite comical really but I just can not imagine cishet men with interests or doing stuff like having crushes and it's so strange because I know for a fact I am generally speaking not a sexist person but this little tidbit of apparently just not being able to view cishet men as normal people? Can't get that to go away even if I logically know it's silly. There's a point in this post about how toxic masculinity is a huge issue and affects even those not affected by it and runs really really deep or whatever but I'm too tired to coherently put it together. On the positive side now I get really happy when I see men online talk about how much they love their wives and all that because it's like "wow! Crazy you really are just a normal dude and not some James Bond knock-off like I thought every cishet man was supposed to be! Thank god!"

[domesticated-whores]

choked so hard swallowing my drink down the wrong way that I almost puked and I'm still kinda nauseous hours later, so lol. also, friend (the mutual work friend of me and my man that actually hangs out with him outside of work) witnessed and started saying something about how some people choke on things like that bad enough that it kinda spooks them from drinking and they get dehydrated out of paranoia (no idea if that's true, sounds fake but whatever, he's one of those people yk?) and my dumb ass, full of autism and pure thoughts only, said "damn, if that were a problem I wouldn't be able to put nothing in my mouth, my gag reflex is shit 😞😞" which has probably made it's way to my man. because I'm stupid and was really woozy from coughing til I almost vomited and totally didn't think of what I was saying.

[screampied]

you always had a bad habit of falling asleep—not just anywhere though, but on sukuna ryōmen’s notorious throne. .

he hated it.

he hated how how you hogged up his space.

he hated how your near-quiet snores would echo through his poorly aged walls.

most importantly though, he hated how frustratingly cute you looked . . all scrunched up, curled up in a ball, and occasionally shivering a bit from the cool air that settled against your bare skin.

“tch..” he’d sigh, feeling his muscles ache with each step he took toward you. as usual, sukuna had just returned from some battle and here you were, always waiting for him to return. he’s probably told you over about a hundred times that you could have slept in his private chambers but no—you always preferred his throne. always.

you never told him, but part of the reason why you loved sleeping on it was because of his strong scent that always lingered on the piece of ancient furniture. a musky scent that you’d grow to always miss whenever he wasn’t with you.

“oi. you awake?” sukuna grumbles, and you shift a bit once he lifts you. you could hear him murmuring vexed curses under his breath as he positioned you to lean up a certain way. crimson-velvet eyes bore into your sleeping state and sukuna held back a snickering smile. “pft. ‘course not,” and you felt him starting to trod away with you snugly cradled in his broad arms. as sukuna made his way upstairs, he softly strokes a thumb underneath your nape. “brat. sleep in my bed next time. you’re gonna get back aches at this rate.”

despite his cold-hearted, rough exterior he was always gentle with you. only you. just you.

sukuna carried you in his arms like every other night—sometimes, he wonders if you do this on purpose. purposely falling asleep on his throne just so he could pick you up bridal style, bringing you back to his bed.

each step he took shook your entire body, and you let off a groan in your sleep from the abrupt bumps. “i know. i know little one. just a few more steps.” he rolls his eyes, secretly finding your slumbering state adorable. never in a million years would he ever admit it though.

as the wooden stairs creak—he continues to walk, occasionally looking down at you. right as he’s at the final groaning step, sukuna tenses a bit, feeling your head brush up against his soft exposed pecs.

his fleecy kimono was half open and you’re just buried in his arms, snuggling all against him like a needy cat.

the audacity. .

his pink slit brow furrows as he scoffs at the sight, bringing you inside his quiet spacious bedroom. gently, he starts to lie you down on the mattress but that’s when your arms wrap around him.

“eh? what are you-” sukuna grunts, and that’s when he collapses right against your chest. sukuna deadpans once your warm legs and arms sneakily snake around him—clinging onto him tight like a koala. “keh.. such a handsy pest, even when you’re dead asleep.” he clicks his tongue, letting you drag him further into the bed with you.

sukuna feels a strange feeling pooling near the very bottom depths of his heart.

it’s eerily strange . .

it doesn’t feel like the usual resentment, hatred, or even arrogance he feels toward others ‘below him’.

he finds himself melting into your tender touch, his chin gradually burying itself in your shoulder.

the soreness in his muscles started to subside as he was just on top of you—inhaling your sweet scent, stubbornly grumbling swears in your neck.

sukuna was feeling . . . soft.

he was so closely pressed up against you that he could feel the steady racing beats of your heart. each slow-paced ba-dump! that pumped out of your chest quickened by the second.

was . . he the one making your heart race?

sukuna heard how your shallow breaths significantly slowed, and your arms started to tighten more around his thick neck. he didn’t think he’d ever feel like this. whatever… emotion this was.

sure, he’s had to carry you up to his chambers so you’d sleep more comfortably lots of times but this- this moment felt more a bit different.

“i . . can’t sleep like this, y’know,” the demon breaks the silence, huffing at the awkward predicament he was in. sukuna was currently lying on top of you, hovering over you just so he wouldn’t crush your cute human body. with each longing second passing, he could already feel his limbs starting to ache from just idly hanging over you. “at least let me rest near the side.”

no reply.

sukuna scoffs again, realizing he’s practically talking to himself. but instead of responding with actual words—you cling onto him even tighter, your non-verbal way of saying ‘stay.’

“you’re even more annoying when you’re asleep,” he sighs, pinching his forehead. “fine.. i’ll- i’ll stay like this. here, with you. ‘s not like i plan to go anywher—” sukuna gets cut off once he sees you shifting a bit in your sleep again.

the silence was undeniably loud. with his lips mutely parting, he watches as you get more comfortable, letting off a few heavy exhales.

sukuna starts to ponder to himself. you looked so peaceful . . sound asleep.

he wondered what you were dreaming about. he was so busy staring at you while you slept that he didn’t even notice that he was starting to get drowsy himself. sukuna’s eyelids started to droop and he grunted, letting off an obnoxious yawn.

with watery eyes, sukuna stretches his arms before sinking his face back into your left shoulder. your warmth made him quietly purr into your neck. it was faint, but you heard it.

sukuna even mimicked some of your movements from earlier, softly rubbing his forehead against you as you held him close. “huh. this isn’t . . that bad,” he gruffly utters, his gravely voice pitching.

your chin rests on the top of his head, and sukuna gives you one last glance.

“i. . i love you.” he quietly whispers, thinking that just because you were asleep you couldn’t hear.

but- you did, you heard it all. every word.

little did sukuna know, you were actually wide awake the entire time. you woke up when he was carrying you up the stairs, but you just pretended to be asleep from that point up until now.

a small genuine smile curves on both sides of your crooked lips as your eyelids remain closed. in a sweet groggy voice, you instantly replied, “love you too ‘kuna. it’s about time you finally said it.”

sukuna’s eyes widen as his head quickly rises from against your chest. you’re looking down at him with very much open eyes now and the world’s smugest grin.

his cheeks—they’re burning, flushing with a rosy flamed color and you don’t think you’ve ever seen sukuna ryomen more embarrassed.

“you . . you didn’t . . hear that.”

“i definitely heard it.”

“ugh. i hate you.”

“i love youuu.”

“i… love you too, stupid cheeky human. now go back to sleep. hmph.”