#I would die for our Mercy

[antique-forvalaka]

I just want the real world to stop for a moment

[mishy-mashy]

*COUGH*

The Resistance has PTSD of AFO using Cynthia's piano theme

*COUGH*

[teashadephoenix]

okay not done screaming about it tonight but yall know me i unapologetically adore david tennant

DAVIIIIIIID omg the way his voice breaks when hes trying to spit it out like sir can you STOP please i am in shambles

[whosmariaaa]

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 !

college! sukuna was indeed head over heels. he couldn’t stop thinking about you. you and your attitude, the way you didn’t take his shit. and maybe the fact that you were playing hard to get.

you were actually not, because you did not want him at all, and you hated his guts more than anything. especially right now.

“are you actually being for real? sukuna, the project is due in a week! and you haven’t done shit! you told me you would!” you told him in irritation. though you were growing more stressed than irritated. this project was a really big part of your grade, and if this wasn’t done right, you were screwed.

he was looking at your face with a lazy grin, though you doubted he was paying attention to anything you were saying.

“uh huh, just chill out, y/n,” sukuna shrugged, unbothered.

“chill out? i’ve been working my ass off for my part of the project, and you haven’t done a single thing!” you rejoined.

he raised an eyebrow. “are you sure? cause i’ve seen your part of the project, and it’s fucking shit—“

SMACK!

heads turned at the loud noise, but you couldn’t possibly care less. “i’m so fucking done with you! get your shit together! you finish your part of the project in two days, or i’m kicking your ass out!” you snapped before storming out of the library.

sukuna held a hand on the cheek that was starting to go a little red from the hit he just took. he wasn’t angry, or irritated. he just watched you go with a slight smirk.

no one ever dared to hurt sukuna and get away with it. that man was menacing, and could get people begging on their knees quickly.

but you? he let you. honestly, you were the most entertainment he was getting since forever. every single little thing you did out of anger, only made his infatuation for you grow. sukuna loved the thrill he got out of you.

two days later, he told you he finished his part of the project. which took a whole lot of weight of your shoulders, because you were starting to grow grey hairs at this rate.

and honestly, something in you told you to trust him. he had phenomenal grades, after all. so, not until a few hours before the deadline did you decide to check his part of the project.

you regretted it. spelling mistakes, grammar errors, nothing on the paper made sense. it was genuinely terrible. and suddenly, you felt as if you were growing grey hairs again. you called sukuna for nth time that hour, but when it send you to voicemail once more, you took it on yourself to fix this crap.

you spend your entire evening and night in complete stress, trying to fix what you could. and you eventually had to send it in, due to the dead line nearing. anxiety was surging through you. but maybe, the professor took mercy on grading projects.

the next few days, you avoided him altogether. no matter what he did or said, you ignored him and kept walking. you were too anxious about the project’s results to even start a fight with him.

and when your grade finally came in, you wanted to die. a 49%. all that hard work, and for what? and on top of that, now you were failing this class too.

after class you confronted him, angrily. but you struggled to conceal how you really felt about all this. you felt like crying, but you kept it in.

“you look pissed. what’s up, baby?” sukuna asked, leaning down condescendingly.

“what the fuck do you think? maybe the 49% on our project? you said you did your part of the project!” you retorted furiously.

he scoffed, “so? i never said i was going to try. i told you to not expect me to give a shit, didn’t i?” he taunted.

sukuna wasn’t taking you seriously at all. he just looked down at you with his stupid, stupid smirk.

you felt your legs go a little wobbly. you felt like shit, actually. and right now, you couldn’t stop the tears either as they welled up in your eyes.

“you’re a piece of fucking shit, sukuna! i hate you so fucking much! fuck you!” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly.

sukuna went silent for a moment at the sight of the tears pooling in your eyes, “shit, baby. i didn’t think you’d care this much,” he replied, though his tone was slightly less mocking.

you couldn’t take it anymore. you wiped your tears and got out of there. you couldn’t deal with all this anymore. and definitely not with him right now.

sukuna just stood there, with a weird feeling bubbling in his stomach at seeing you cry. he was quiet, with his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“damn. what’cha do? cheat on her?” gojo chimed in, placing his hand on sukuna’s shoulder. but before gojo could react, he slammed him against the wall, and grabbed his collar.

“gojo, i told you to shut the fuck up about her. when the fuck are you going to get a hint? or should i beat the shit out of you first?” he threatened.

he felt himself get pushed off. “calm your ass down,” toji huffed. gojo just scratched his head. he was used to sukuna’s aggression, but not this kind of anger over a girl.

“whatever. watch what the fuck you say, gojo,” he warned firmly. gojo just shot his hands up in defence, “okay, okay. my bad. i won’t start talking about your girl again.”

sukuna’s eye twitched, but he sighed and just let it rest. he still felt like crap about you crying. he didn’t even know why, he made plenty girl cry before. but seeing you cry, made his heart feel heavy.

“fuck is wrong with you?” toji asked, though his tone was calm. sukuna stayed silent for a few moments.

“i fucked up,” he grumbled after a while. toji and gojo exchanged glances, not really sure what to do about all this. sukuna didn’t know either, and that made him feel even more shitty.

──★˙🍓̟!! hi babes!!!! thank you so so so much gor all the love, may God bless u all💞💞 and i’m so sorry i’m very busy with school rn i have a test week so pls forgive me if im a little slow w updates! ill also attempt to do a taglist in part 6, tysm for the patience!

[digitald0rk]

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* NERD ALERT ! [ 2 ]

pairing — mark grayson x gn!reader.

synopsis — nerding out with your beloved bf :3

warnings — slightly suggestive and uh the usual pet names? he calls you his angel too <3 NOT PROOFREAD!! also mentions of dante sparda because the dmc anime is coming out 'm so excited!!!

w.c — 1.5 k.

a/n — THANK U SM FOR 200+ FOLLOWERS WHAT THE HELL SJSHJEHSLSKD. love you all <3

taglist — @vm4879bb-blog @hihowyoudoin00 @fairii-majii [ lemme know if you wanna be added too ]

READ PART [ 1 ] HERE.

if you're into video games, he's going out of his way to learn all about your faves.

when it comes to fighter games, thinks he's soooo slick looking up combos and learning them, he's all like “heh :3 gonna sweep them off their feet” and then gets absolutely BODIED LMAO.

if you show him no mercy he'll eventually start to get frustrated, not at you obviously you're his precious angel <3

“i’m not sulking.” he says, while clearly sulking. he was supposed to impress you! why are you so good at this :(

if he doesn't get a single win he's gonna suffocate one of your plushies when you're out of sight, it keeps staring at him, is that little fella mocking him? oh it'll pay for that.

you look at him amusedly when you come back to see the very obvious dent on your plushie, caused by a certain someone's fist.

“mark.” your eyes dart between the deformed head of your plushie and your boyfriend, biting back a smile.

“yeah baby?” he's all :3 bats his eyelashes all pretty at you, acting like he didn't just beat the shit out of your plushie like BOY YOU'RE NOT SLY.

but he is pretty, so you'll spare him, for now, not in the game though :p

on the topic of video games, he's actually decent at competitive games :] he loves playing them with you but if you die in the middle of a match he gets unmotivated to finish it (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠)

unless someone was trying to rizz you up or something during the game then yeah, HE'S GOING TO WIN.

do not play dress to impress in front of this man, he gets awfully competitive about it.

“pretty sure even cecil can dress better than that.”

“baby i think that's an eight year old.”

“still, cecil has more drip.”

gets all smug when he wins, god forbid he's not in top three he's gonna go on a rant about how unfair the world is.

he'll always vote for your fits positively though! even though they might be…. questionable at times but he loves his baby :D

minecraft with your boyfriend is actually really fun! except he accidentally set the palace that you built on fire once and literally REFUSED to touch the game for weeks after that (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

will get sad if an animal dies :(

has names for all your dogs and cats, calls them your children.

“don't forget, we gotta feed our children babe.” he tells you, sipping on his milkshake.

and normally you'd smile and say something equally silly except for the fact that you two were currently hanging out with a couple of friends and that sentence certainly earned some looks.

“you two-”

“in minecraft!” you'd clarify, and cue the feigned annoyance filled groans and mutters of how you two are insufferable.

also one time he got so invested in building that he literally stayed up for ten hours, building the perfect wedding venue for you two!

asked [ forced ] everyone to make minecraft accounts and invited them all to your wedding in minecraft.

he kisses you in real life too when your characters “smooch” in the pixelated game.

he's gonna marry you for real one day, just you wait.

his irises turn into literal hearts when you pull up in a cosplay.

he would also love to cosplay with you!

bonus points if it's one of his favorite characters, his ass is NOT TAKING HIS HANDS OFF OF YOU LMAOOOOOO.

and if you two do end up getting freaky, like roleplaying as the characters then yeah rip bed.

matching literally anything! matching kirby socks? sure why the hell not. matching seance dog mugs? hell yeah! he's all for it!

and yes, you two have some nerdy matching pj set.

and matching underwear too :3 you jokingly bought them but he isn't playing around when he wears them seance dog boxers!

you both keep trying to recruit oliver in one of your favorite fandoms, although the little thraxan has other plans.

“guys no im not watching [ insert media name here ] !” “but oliverrr :(”

you're bother super annoying <3

sometimes mark will send you photos of oliver enjoying some piece of media you're into and act like a proud dad.

you two go to comic con together and get carried away, ending up with wayyy too much merch.

“mark, baby i love you but i don't think we need another signed poster.” you try reasoning with him, only to eat those words back the second he flashes you his sad puppy dog eyes.

you sigh, he really has you wrapped around his finger, doesn't he?

but you have him wrapped around your finger too, because when you look at him like that, asking him to take you to this signing event of your favorite foreign author, he wastes no time in picking you up and flying you wherever you want <3

no matter the time, he just wants to see his sweetheart happy :]

you two are insufferable with your references, sometimes people think you two are talking in some alien language.

rex hears mark on the phone, just who the hell is dante sparda? and why has mark mentioned this name like thirty thousand times in the past half an hour he's been on the phone with you?

as rex said, “you two match each other's freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public.”

“hey babe i got us these matching swords!” he smiles, all happy at four in the morning at your window like it's the most normal thing ever.

you squint a little before making out the sword's design, oh it's from your favorite game.

he doesn't protest in the slightest when you attack him with kisses, this is where he belongs.

he adores movie nights, you two cuddled up on his bed, watching something he loves? he's never been happier.

you two once had to stop making out because the plot got thicker, so you two locked in! even though your lips are swollen and shiny just like his from the shared passion a few minutes ago. he could care less about the next plot hole when you're right here, pressed up against him.

he can't stop staring at your lips, god you're addicting.

he snaps out of it when his favorite character dies though ⁠(⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠∧⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠) aw man.

building legos together! he gets all bashful when you praise him when he finishes a part of the main piece.

reward him with kisses and he'll melt.

he once tried making you pancakes, except he tried to draw one of your favorite characters with the pancake batter. and he's no artist, but he tried his best.

he's now on his 48458th attempt and it's looking like your favorite character….a little….. not really.

he'll just douse them in maple syrup, that makes everything better.

when you question the odd shaped pancakes in your sleepy dazed state, he ends up telling you the truth, embarrassed.

but when you kiss him oh so softly, your kiss far sweeter than any maple syrup, his nervousness melts off until all there's left is you.

you and only you.

you two take those extremely specific uquiz quizes together like "which xyz character would hate you the most" or "who do you kin from xyz"

if he doesn't get his fav when he takes a "which character are you from seance dog" quiz he'll be all :[

"this is rigged." he says, taking another one in hopes of getting his favorite character this time.

going to the sea and painting on the pebbles and rocks with him, he loves watching the sunlight reflect off of your hair, you look like an angel, his angel. and god your eyes-

“hey does this look like eric cartman?” you show him the paintwork on your rock, snapping him out of his lovesick trance.

“babe, why is he on ozempic?” that comment makes you two giggle.

he continues, “should've picked a bigger rock, my love.”

“i saved that one for you….. you know, if we were penguins i would you the shiniest, prettiest rock i could find, which is this one so….” you shift closer to him, placing the pretty rock onto his palm.

he presses a kiss to the side of your head, fiddling with the rock in his hand. “you're adorable.”

he presses a kiss to that same rock when he's away from you on a mission, it grounds him, knowing you're there, waiting for him.

when you two end up moving in together, unpacking things takes less time than decorating your shared room.

hanging posters with him, asking him if they're centred. putting your favorite figurines on the shelves along with your favorite comics, building your own safe haven. the whole room embodies you both so well, anyone who sets foot in this room would instantly be met with a bunch of your and his interests.

his dumbass <3 accidentally ends up leaving one of his figurines on the bed, so when you two are needily making out and grinding, excited that you two wouldn't have to be quiet or keep your voices down — straddling him and pushing him down on the bed, he lets out a small squeal of surprise.

you two stop, looking at each other all 0_0

“sorry, i think-” he starts, reaching behind his back to pull out the culprit of poking him in the back, and surely it was none other than his favorite seance dog figurine, the absurdity of it all is enough to make you chuckle, he laughs sheepishly with you. a little embarrassed that seance dog ruined the sexy atmosphere.

but when you put the figurine on the nightstand, turning it to face the wall, he realizes he's gonna have the best night of his life.

and oh boy was he right :3

© digitald0rk 2025. do not translate, copy or steal any of my work RAHHHH. thanks for reading and remember you're awesomesauce! want more? click here ★

[spoiler-alert-andabunchofnumbers]

Look at our boy suffering for love

Since San Lang literally has dice with teleportation arrays that can take him anywhere he wants, this has to be the first time in 800 years that he's had to actually WALK from point A to point B. Supposedly ghosts are affected by too much sunlight; that doesn't seem like it would get to Hua Cheng with his power level, yet you can't deny our boy looks miserable.

I think he's most upset that this whole trek is happening because SOMEONE doesn't have enough spiritual magic to get them right where they wanna go. He might have even been fine with an extended trip if it was just him and Xie Lian, but those other two had to butt in. No wonder moments after this he's immediately picking a fight to make himself feel better.

Sleeping in Puqi shrine? Easy, gonna win over Xie Lian in no time

Trudging across the desert for hours on end? Gege, I'm going to die again please have mercy

[lullabyes22-blog]

"I think the cycle only ends when you find the will to walk away."

Got a lot of Q's for this in my inbox. Figured I'd just address them here.

tw: mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation

Re: the ending of S2:

Jinx did not die.

She symbolically killed her old self, and with it, her last ties to the past that imprisoned her. She understood that for her sister to move on and live her life - be happy without guilt - she'd have to renounce the bonds that held them together.

Her talk with ghostly Silco was the 'sign-off' she'd been waiting for, ever his dutiful daughter. Throughout S2, she kept hoping he'd haunt her, and in doing so, offer some impetus given her aimlessness. Maybe just straight up boss her around, and tell her how she's supposed to exist now that he's no longer there to be a (subversive if loving) guiding hand.

But it was the promise of time (as represented by Ekko) healing old wounds, and the courage to feel, as she once had - a hopeful child with a hopeful future - that allowed Jinx to commit impetus to action.

Her blimp-ship in the climactic battle is a tribute to Isha - but also to the child in Jinx's own fractured psyche: Powder. She's letting both little girls have one last hurrah before she takes care of business - and cuts off the last oaths, duties and commitments that bind her to a past whose parameters she's outgrown.

Better still, she knows she's got the capacity to outgrow them.

That was the point of Jinx's arc with Isha, and why, no matter my misgivings on Isha's character herself, I found Jinx's trajectory towards a more nurturing and fun-loving figure more life-affirming and positive than the straightforward 'Daddy's Villain Goes Postal' shtick.

It's even why there's a minigame titled Jinx Fixes Everything. It's Jinx, struggling and stumbling, as she tries to rewrite her narrative, and finds in herself the capacity to do good.

To fix things that seem irreparably broken.

And to understand why she's reached this stage, we've got to let go of our tendency to project our own stuff onto Jinx (precious meow meow, unrepentant terrorist, manic pixie crazypants, edgy hot psycho) and acknowledge the purpose she plays in Arcane's thematic structure.

Jinx's character comes off as a death-seeker, and that's no shocker. She is hounded by terrible guilt and loss. She's got blood on her hands, and ghosts on her heels, and no matter what she does, she can't seem to be rid of them. Her inner mind's fractured, her mannerisms ooze pure chaos, and she seems a creature of pure feral impulse and no mercy.

That's the Jinx we're accustomed to seeing in S1 - except that's also both the front she's most likely to put on during that timeline, and the persona that is necessary for her to inhabit to survive, as Silco's daughter and his top enforcer.

Then Silco kicks the bucket, she symbolically fulfills his dream by shooting at the Council HQ, she accepts that she must inhabit this path of shadows and loneliness (as symbolized by her starkly decorated chair in the tea party scene), she accepts the fragmented push-and-pull between past and present, and...

And now what?

Silco's given her a semblance of direction for six years, and he's gone. Vi, the sister she'd hoped would return, and whom she'd hinged so many childishly idealized hopes on, is herself traumatized, and afraid of what her sister's become.

Jinx has her shadows and her loneliness. Jinx is traumatized. Jinx is suicidal.

But Jinx is still, whatever else, alive.

And all living things need connections.

That's why we as the audience enjoy her little found family dynamic with Isha and Sevika. It's Jinx, taking the first tentative steps to reach out to people beyond Silco and Vi, and realizing, wow, she enjoys the pay-off.

And all throughout S2, we see Jinx growing more and more comfortable in this newfound space - even jealously guarding it at the expense of Zaun's liberty, and Silco's wishes, because she can't bear to lose what she's found.

And what she finds empowers her enough that, when Warwick shows up, she's actually willing to reach out to Vi, and call upon their family connection, because Jinx is learning the value of bonds, not as baling hooks of guilt, but as buoys to carry her forward.

That's the story Jinx's relationships serve to tell in S2. Each one shapes the choice she makes in the finale. Until she learns to accept the past (Vi), to lay the monsters to rest (Silco and Vander/Warwick), forgive herself (Caitlyn) trust that time heals all wounds (Ekko), and hope for happier new beginning (Isha), she'll never trust herself enough to just seize the chance.

Jinx's culminating arc is not about death, much less self-erasure. It's about resurrection, and embracing the sublime chaos of a freed mind, and a lightened spirit. That's what she craves beyond simple death, and what her baptism by fire, blood and riverwater, has been about.

Each trial grinds her down into someone else. Someone new.

Someone closer to who she is meant to be, rather than who she's expected to be.

That's why she's so glad to make the sacrifice for Vi. She's not dying as an act of self-immolation. She's giving her sister - the one who's proven she'll never give up on her - the ultimate gift, and showing Vi that she deserves to live.

She needs Vi to live, so Jinx, the persona, can finally die.

"He (Silco) didn't make Jinx. You did."

She's basically saying, "I love you, I will always be with you, but you are no longer responsible for my actions. Please move forward with your life, and grant me the choice to do the same."

It's two sisters embracing everything they've meant to each other, acknowledging the pain weighing them down on both sides, and welcoming the new so they can each slough off old paradigms and live life as a whole person - or at least take steps to remembering what wholeness feels like.

That's the reason the show's final shots linger on the Hexgate tunnels, Jinx's monkey bomb, and the aircraft.

It's the show's way of reminding us that Jinx has ascended to a different version of her identity - one removed from the past that haunted her. It's Jinx, finally striking out alone, away from the sister whose memory she clung so desperately to, and who was, in turn, horrified by her hand in making Powder a monster (perceived guilt or real, fandom may debate ad nauseum) due to past mistakes and abandonment.

The ending of Arcane isn't tragic. It's deeply hopeful, and serves as a reminder that no matter how damaged you think you are, and no matter how monstrous the world finds you, there are still ways to come back to yourself - or to walk the path toward a new you.

Jinx is symbolized by crows. Jinx is shown with firelights emerging from her mouth. Jinx is depicted holding a torch like Janna ushering in the winds of change.

Thematically, Jinx is change.

And the best way she can embody that change is to write her story, and make it her own.

[connorsui]

Infinite Heartstrings

Obsessed! Satoru x fem! Reader

Genre/warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, comedy, satoru falling in love with you

Synopsis: Satoru Gojo is hopelessly smitten with you, but his usual confidence falters whenever you're around.

Note: this takes place when everything hasn't gone to depression 💔

w.c: 1.3K

Satoru Gojo was not one to lose his cool. The man who faced down curses without batting an eye, who cracked jokes mid-battle, and who carried the weight of the world on his broad, relaxed shoulders—he was unshakeable. At least, that's what everyone believed. But those closest to him, like Suguru Geto and Shoko Ieiri, knew better.

"He's doing it again," Shoko muttered, glancing over the top of her medical file at the white-haired sorcerer pacing back and forth in their shared lounge.

"How could anyone be so perfect?" Satoru gushed, his hands waving animatedly in the air as he recounted every detail of his latest encounter with you. "The way she smiled at me—I'm telling you, it was like the sun itself decided to bless me with its warmth!"

Suguru, leaning against the wall with an exasperated look, sighed deeply. "You’re hopeless, Satoru. We get it. She smiled at you…and to be factual she wasn't doing it just towards you"

"But it wasn't just a smile," Satoru insisted, blue eyes sparkling with an intensity that had nothing to do with his cursed techniques. "It was... it was *the* smile! Like, 'I can die happy now' kind of smile!"

Shoko rolled her eyes, closing her file with a snap. "You’ve been saying the same thing for weeks. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?"

"Because—because—" Satoru paused, searching for the right words, his usual confidence faltering. "Because– I mean she wouldn't reject meeee …right!? …THE Satoru Gojo!? – I just gotta find the right time is all”

Suguru and Shoko exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes without words. Satoru Gojo, the man who could have anything and anyone, was terrified of rejection.

When you spoke to him, it was as if the world slowed down. The way your voice reached his ears, gentle and melodic, made his heart race in a way he couldn't control. It wasn’t fair how you did that to him, how you made him—a man who usually had the upper hand—feel so completely and utterly at your mercy. That even his six eyes looked at you with pure admiration and beauty.

“God's it's as if I can stare at her soul forever”

“Do you see that! She styled her hair today!”

“Having her in our lives would feel less lonely”

“ She will love us too, right!?”

“She looks so soft…”

“Her very being is immaculate”

"Satoru?" Your voice snapped him back to reality, and he realized he'd been staring at you for a little too long. His face flushed, and he quickly cleared his throat.

"Oh, uh, yeah! Sorry, I was just... uh... admiring the view!" He cringed internally, immediately regretting his choice of words. What kind of line was that?

Surprised; you stared at him directly until you giggled, a sound that sent his heart soaring. "Your mind is getting soo cloudy lately, Gojo…but, I can't lie when you stare off into the universe, it makes you look cute!”

Cute.

You called him cute, for a brief moment Satoru's six eyes went silent.

You liked him enough to tease him!

Later that night, he found himself groaning into his pillow, replaying the conversation in his head for the hundredth time. "Cute … I can't believe she called me cute..." He grumbled, his face half-buried in the pillow, a faint blush still lingering on his cheeks. Why couldn’t he ever say something smooth to you? Something that would make you see him as the suave, confident man he was supposed to be?

But the next day, his resolve hardened. He was Satoru Gojo, after all. He could do this. He can make this right!

So, he showed up at your door with a bouquet of red tulips and baby’s breath, their soft elegance a reflection of his feelings for you. Of course, he didn’t tell you that he had grilled your friend for an hour to find out your favorite flowers.

"Red tulips?" You raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. "How did you know these are my favorites?"

Satoru grinned, pushing up his sunglasses with a cocky tilt of his head. "I have my ways. Lucky guess, maybe?"

You smiled, taking the bouquet with a gentle touch that made his heart skip a beat. "Thank you, Satoru. They're beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he blurted out, and immediately, his face turned red. He couldn't believe he’d just said that out loud. The normally confident sorcerer was now a stuttering, blushing mess.

"You're so sweet," you said softly, and Satoru could have sworn the entire world melted away in that moment. Just you, him, and the beating of his heart that felt louder than any curse he’d ever faced.

Satoru couldn’t take it anymore. He’d spent weeks—no, months—dancing around his feelings, trying to play it cool, trying to be smooth. But every time he saw you, every time you smiled at him, he felt like he was going to explode.

So there he was, standing in front of you, his usual swagger nowhere to be found. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, revealing those striking blue eyes that were now filled with nervous energy.

"Any moment i'm going to lose myself…" he stammered, his voice a little too loud, a little too shaky. You looked at him, curious and a bit concerned.

"....what?"

"I... I really like you. And not just in a 'hey, let's be friends' kind of way, but in a 'I think about you all the time and I want to be with you' kind of way, — I mean — who wouldn't want to be with me right? — you would be with me …right? " he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush before he lost his nerve. His face was burning, and he was sure he looked like an idiot, but he didn’t care anymore.

You blinked, taking a moment to process his sudden outburst. Then, a soft smile spread across your lips, and you stepped closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Satoru Gojo," you said with a teasing lilt, "I think I like you too."

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief flooding through him. “Me…right? ..you mean me….not as the stro-"

Silencing him. You kissed his cheek. “I mean you Satoru …I mean you”

Satoru's heart nearly burst from his chest as your words sank in, the warmth of your kiss lingering on his cheek like a brand. For a moment, he was utterly speechless, his brain short-circuiting as it tried to process the fact that you actually liked him back.

His usual confident grin slowly returned, this time softer, more genuine, as he gazed at you with those intense blue eyes, now filled with nothing but adoration.

And for the first time in a long while, Satoru Gojo knew that he didn’t have to face the world alone. Because now, he had you.

Ooc satoru is my fav satoru

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

❛  you will not fall. i will not allow it.  ❜ ❛  i could torch him if you like. but you do seem attached.  ❜ ❛  you're making us look bad. stop it.  ❜ ❛  i chose him for his inability to relent.  ❜ ❛  at least i didn't let you fall to your death.  ❜ ❛  but i will not run. i wouldn't be standing here if i'd quit every time something seemed impossible to overcome.  ❜ ❛  the right way isn't the only way.  ❜ ❛  justice is not always merciful.  ❜ ❛  the reason we'll never be anything more than friends isn't because of your rules. it's because you have no faith in me.  ❜ ❛  i'm used to functioning in pain, asshole. are you?  ❜ ❛  in the darkest moments, it is our light that shines the brightest.  ❜ ❛  fear is not the enemy, but rather the catalyst for growth and bravery.  ❜ ❛  the only limits we have are the ones we set for ourselves.  ❜ ❛  courage is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to face it head-on.  ❜ ❛  going for blood today, are we, [name]?  ❜ ❛  i don't deserve you. but i'm going to keep you all the same.  ❜ ❛  there's nowhere in existence you could go that i wouldn't find you, [name].  ❜ ❛  you look all frail and breakable, but you're really a violent little thing, aren't you?  ❜ ❛  defenseless women have never been my type.  ❜ ❛  even when i'm not with you, there's only you.  ❜ ❛  there is no me without you.  ❜ ❛  i've been yours for longer than you could ever imagine.  ❜ ❛  i know exactly who and what you are, [name].  ❜ ❛  we're all broken in some way, but that doesn't mean we can't find beauty in the cracks.  ❜ ❛  if i get my hands on you, really, honestly get my hands on you, i don't know if i'll be able to stop.  ❜ ❛  she exists and i get turned on. i've come to accept that particular truth over the last year.  ❜ ❛  fuck, i'm never going to get enough of you, am i?  ❜ ❛  not that i wouldn't climb the man like a tree if presented with the right set of circumstances.  ❜ ❛  let me guess, you could smell my perfume. isn't that what always gives the heroine away in books?  ❜ ❛  do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? it would be faster.  ❜ ❛  hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. it steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs - on the probabilites.  ❜ ❛  you can't make me fall in love with you and then die.  ❜ ❛  none of this is worth it without you.  ❜ ❛  i'm so wildly in love with you that i can't imagine what my life would look like without you in it. and i probably shouldn't have said that, but if we're doing this, then we're starting from a place of complete honesty.  ❜ ❛  you never considered that it was you i couldn't stay away from?  ❜ ❛  you turned oranges into a weapon, [name]?  ❜ ❛  you're going to be the death of me.  ❜ ❛  have you always been this tall?  ❜ ❛  no one stays friends forever, [name]. eventually those closest to us become our enemies in some way, even if it's through well-intentioned love or apathy, or if we live long enough to become their villains.  ❜ ❛  i need you to survive this, even if i hate that i still love you.  ❜

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM THE HUNGER GAMES: CATCHING FIRE *  assorted dialogue from the 2013 film, adjust as necessary

if you die, and i live, i'd have nothing. nobody else that i care about.

it's different for you. your family needs you.

you have to live. for them.

nobody needs me.

i do. i need you.

how does that sound?

what if we set your backyard on fire?

he can't hurt me. there's no one left that i love.

remember who the real enemy is.

we got married... in secret.

we want our love to be eternal.

we've been luckier than most.

i just wanted to say that i didn't know [name]. i only spoke to him once.

he could have killed me, but instead he showed me mercy.

that's a debt i'll never be able to repay.

she wasn't just my ally. she was my friend.

i couldn't save her. i'm sorry.

you guys look amazing.

so what do you think, now that the whole world wants to sleep with you?

i wasn't talking to you.

will you unzip?

thanks. let's do it again sometime.

the way the whole "friend" thing works is you have to tell each other the deep stuff.

what's your favorite color?

now you've stepped over the line.

see, this is why no one lets you make the plans.

you have been our mission from the beginning.

the plan was always to get you out.

people are looking to you, [name].

you've given them an opportunity. they just have to be brave enough to take it.

we have seen a lot of tears here tonight.

you are angry. tell me why.

i'm getting totally screwed over here.

now you wanna kill me again.

nobody decent ever wins the games.

nobody ever wins the games. period. there are survivors. there's no winners.

love is weird.

i would love to borrow that outfit someday.

you look pretty terrifying in that get-up.

i outgrew them.

any secrets worth my time?

unfortunately, i think that's true.

i'm sorry you had to cancel your wedding.

i'm really not in the mood for a lecture.

you don't have to apologize to anybody, including me.

i hardly know anything about you except that you're stubborn and good with a bow.

there's more than that. you just don't want to tell me.

make him pay for it.

any last advice?

stay alive.

she's committed, i'll give her that.

you saved my life. you gave me a chance.

fear does not work as long as there is hope.

you were dead. your heart stopped.

how rude of them.

eyes bright, chins up, smiles on.

we're a team, aren't we?

i am truly sorry.

you both deserved so much better.

i don't want to be with anyone else in there. just you.

that's what i want.

no waving and smiling this time.

i want you to look straight ahead as if the audience and this whole event are beneath you.

that should be easy.

be careful. it's a force field up there.

i think these games are gonna be different.

i guess we're not holding hands anymore.

i don't care about any of them.

i'm here to drink.

you know and i know there's only one person walking out of here, and it's gonna be one of us.

i get to say goodbye.

they will kill us.

whatever game you think you're playing, those out there are not playing it with you.

i don't want you to get hurt.

so how do you like the party?

you could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve that boy.

you don't want to shoot her.

how about i shoot both of you?

get them out of here.

[keferon]

*thwack*

Get his ass!

*insert about the cruel indifference of the universe vs the indomitable human spirit, idk*

————————

Prowl watched Jazz wrap his discolored torso with some sort of cloth type bandage, fascinated by the way the injury seemed to mimic the injury that Jazz’s… mech… had taken during the battle just breems before. The first time that Prowl had gotten to watch Jazz patch himself up, he had hovered worriedly and awkwardly. At the time, he had only just learned a few cycles before that his closest friend was an organic who piloted a mech-like body as a weapon, and not the mech itself.

Jazz had babbled on and on about how his mech could take serious damage and he would be fine, but sometimes the “DRIFT” connection between organic and machine meant that some wounds transferred over to the organic body. If Jazz took a blow to the helm and lost it, he wouldn’t have to worry about dying, but he would have a helm-splitting headache afterwards. Apparently, it had something to do with the cerebral connection that was needed to pilot such a large piece of machinery like it was an extension of your person. Some kind of unethical science that definitely would have had some bots going to jail if Jazz were Cybertronian. It reminded Prowl too much of Shockwave.

When the Praxian had expressed his discomfort at the slight connection he had made, Jazz had given him a small sad smile. The words that Jazz spoke in reply would probably haunt him for deca-cycles.

“When we were invaded, what was and wasn’t ethical kinda got thrown out the window. We were losin’ cities everyday, our population was dwindin’, either due to the Quints or due to civil unrest. Humans… we ‘ave short lives compared to you guys. But we love’em. Threw all our cards into one basket, and prayed. Monsters to fight Monsters was the propaganda they spread when I was growing up.”

Prowl’s optics dimmed lightly as he watched Jazz stretch upwards, pulling at the bandages and heavy bruises. The human made a slight groaning noise as bones popped from the stress. He turned to look up at Prowl, spinning a-top Prowl’s desk to give him a wide and mischievous grin. Prowl snorted faintly, watching his friend with a fondness in his EM field that he knew Jazz couldn’t feel.

“They never said anything about wha’ the Hunter Program does to the pilot. Only that when ya signed up, ya got a mech matching your specific specs and the opportunity to go slay monsters. Sometimes the mech was prebuilt, from a pilot who died and left their mech still intact, and sometimes you got your own personalized one. The mech itself though… they were never the unethical part of the program. It was all the serums and shit that they stuffed into me to ensure I’d survive the DRIFT process. I… I remember being tied down to a med-bunk and… and just flashes of horrific pain.”

Jazz walked up to Prowl, still grinning, preening almost like a turbo kitten. The Praxian laid out his servo so Jazz could crawl aboard, being mindful of his organic friend. He lifted Jazz up to his shoulder, relaxing as Jazz tucked himself in close, humming softly as he settled in the take a nap on Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl’s doorwings fluttered a bit.

“Yer not wrong. That what we did to survive was unethical, probably inhumane. But… humans… we hate losing. We do unspeakable things when given the right motivation. For some it’s love, loyalty, family, country, pride, greed. I’ve seen pilots pull themselves from their mech’s corpse, waving a gun at the jaws of a monster, whilst missing an arm and half their face. I’ve seen doctors tie down rookie pilots and pump them full of drugs and serums, watch them scream and plead for mercy, watch them die when it’s too much for their body to handle, so that pilots don’t die the minute they try to DRIFT. Yer not wrong. Humans can be vile and cruel and outright terrible, but we can also strive for peace and love and kindness. It’s that, that makes us survivors.”

Jazz’s humming fell quiet as he fell asleep against Prowl’s neck, causing the Praxian to relax slowly back into his office chair. He looked up at the data pad that Knockout had given him, containing Jazz’s full medical checkup. The list of everything in near critical condition for his species was… alarming. Jazz had said he felt fine during the checkup. Knockout’s reading said differently. Knockout’s readings said Jazz was dying. That Jazz had been dying for years.

Jazz knew he was dying and wasn’t moving to fix it. Because pilots have their life for their planet, and pilots had a set expiration date.

Jazz had accepted this date.

Prowl had never been so angry.

“An expiration date” made me silently stare into space for a while. Hoooly shit….

[snowballseal]

Guard Dog AU - Zayne

Summary: AU where you are the Foreseer, and Zayne is a human you've given your blessing to who has devoted his life to staying by your side, protecting you, and worshipping you. He would do anything for you. Anything.

Word County: 2744

Note: Sooooo, I went a bit feral with this one... Could be interpreted as very sub-like behavior for Zayne, but I feel like we all know this man just wants to worship his partner. So yah. I'll be writing similar au's for the other guys too, but this one might be my magnum opus.

Coming soon: Sylus / Xavier / Rafayel

Warning: Gets a little, spicy at the end, but mostly by implication. Reader likes to touch Zayne's face a lot. Someone calls Zayne a concubine and you get pissed.

Enjoy!

---

“Kneel.”

You stare, features a mask of icy indifference, at the human envoy wavering at the foot of your throne. They shiver in their thick coats, no material warm enough to keep out the biting cold of the Tower of Thorns. The biting cold of your glare.

Yet, still, they don’t kneel. You can see the hesitation on their faces, the pride flashing behind their irises. Humans. They always come, high and mighty, thinking themselves better than you, a demigod.

Your lips part, a scathing reproach ready on your tongue, but you don’t get the chance to correct their insolence.

“I said. Kneel.”

Zayne slams his staff into the polished, white granite. The sound of it echoes all the way to the far halls of the tower. The thinly veiled threat behind his words is unmistakable. Kneel before I make you.

The humans all crumble under the weight of his command. They drop to their knees, one by one, trembling at the pure contempt burning behind his gaze. Contempt for them and their human greed. They don’t even deserve to gaze upon the threads of your robes, let alone kneel in your presence, yet they think themselves above it? You may have mercy on their kind, but Zayne would rather cut them to their knees than allow them to show you such disrespect.

A faint smile ghosts across your lips. With the barest flick of your fingers, Zayne returns obediently to your side. He drops gracefully to one knee, head bowed, eyes locked on the unblemished edge of your robes.

It’s almost amusing, watching him turn so docile, so small for you. A man who conquers you in height and strength, who holds himself with the regal poise of royalty, who you’ve blessed with powers no man can dream of - a submissive guard dog at your feet. Ready to kill if you desire him to. Willing to die for you.

“Foreseer-”

Your smile falls away. Right, the humans. Eyes icing over once more, you turn your gaze to the envoy, regarding them with disinterest.

“What do you want, that you’ve come all this way and disturbed my peace?” Your voice rings like a delicate chime, but carries the bite of a frigid river. 

The one who spoke - a man dressed in expensive looking furs, his skin covered in a layer of sweat - flinches at the sharpness of your tone. He seems to steel himself for a moment, collecting whatever pathetic bravery he has gained from his comfortable life, and looks up at you with a determined glare.

“We’ve come here for a prophecy, Foreseer,” he starts again, voice muggish and demanding, “Our kingdom has experienced prosperity in the passing years and our king would like to be certain that it will continue.”

Zayne tenses beside you, his fingers tightening around his staff. You can see him fighting the urge to put this man in his place, his jaw drawing so taut it almost looks painful. Letting out a low hum, you reach out and brush your fingers through the dark strands of hair. A silent request. Zayne wavers, his breath faltering as all his attention falls back on you. 

Always on you. 

Your touch is gentle but insistent, your delicate fingertips tracing his temple, his cheek, his jaw. It leaves his skin tingling, pleasant and cold. It’s an addictive feeling and he can’t help but yearn for more. Zayne nuzzles into your palm, pressing his lips to your skin in reverent gratitude when you give him exactly what he wants, your fingers brushing more firmly against his face.

An uncomfortable cough breaks the silence, “Foreseer-”

“I heard your explanation,” you interrupt him sharply, a wave of frustration washing over you. Zayne can feel it, feels his own frustration at having your attention drawn away from him. But he doesn’t dare make that known, instead watching your face attentively as you speak. “And I will remind you that my prophecies will not be bound to your expectations. They are bound to nothing but fate, so I advise you to deliberate on what you are asking of me.”

“Our King simply wants to ensure that our prosperity will continue,” the man insists, as if you’re the fool who is missing the point. He levels you with a look of disdain, his eyes not so subtly darting to the hand you now have resting in Zayne’s hair. “Though I am certain now that our Highness would not care for the words of a mere oracle who keeps a concubine as her guard.”

The air in the chamber goes deathly still once the words leave his mouth.

Your eyes narrow at the man, glacier and even, but he keeps his chin held high. The rest of the envoy all shift, sharing uneasy glances between themselves. It seems even they know that what he said was a foolish mistake.

One should not anger a god so carelessly.

Slowly, deliberately, you stand from your throne. A flick of your hand and your own scepter appears from the air, the Creatio Protocore glinting dangerously from its tangle of wood. All eyes fall on it, a mix of fear and greed, all eyes except for Zayne’s, which remain glued to you.

Every step you take, every subtle movement, is controlled, the utter definition of grace. Even the air bows to you, shivering around your form, any remaining warmth fleeing from your presence. Tendrils of ice spread along the granite, creeping up the walls, covering the windows, turning the room into a prison of your anger.

And Zayne can’t help but watch, transfixed, adoration curling in the depths of his being. Because this is you, his goddess, his queen. He may be your guardian, but he is well aware that his title is by grace alone, and not necessity. You’ve never needed him. Not like this.

“You seem unaware of whom you speak to,” you murmur, patience tested and gone, “So let me remind you.”

The man lets out a yelp as ice suddenly grips his boots. You feel a flicker of satisfaction at the panic in his eyes, his confidence disappearing like a leaf carried away by the wind. His companions scatter back, looking on in terror as the ice travels up his legs, encasing the entire lower half of his body.

“I am the Foreseer,” you say, stopping a mere foot away from him. “The demigod of the Tower of Thorns. This is my domain, my home, and you are a pest. I owe you nothing. I owe your king nothing. As far as I am concerned, he is beneath me.”

“You insolent- He is our king!” The man spirts, turning a drastic shade of red. “I demand you show him respect, you despicable wi-”

A dagger presses deftly to the man’s neck and he goes silent, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

“Be silent,” Zayne snarls, “How dare you speak to the Foreseer in such a way.”

You glance at him over the man’s shoulder, brow flicking up. Any other time, it would warm your heart to see Zayne stand up for you, and you would gladly let him cross the boundaries of his position, to act as he sees fit. To act freely. But in this moment, all you can feel is the rage boiling in the depths of your soul. It’s your turn to show them their mistakes.

So you click your tongue, eyes narrowing, “I did not ask for you to intervene, my dearest.”

Zayne doesn’t miss the sharp disapproval in your voice, his breath catching somewhere in his chest. How thoughtless of him. Dagger slipping back into the sleeve of his robes, he forces himself to step back, head bowed like a wolf bearing its neck submissively.

“I apologize, my lady.”

You don’t offer your forgiveness, only giving him a stiff nod, and Zayne can feel his skin prickle with unease. Every fiber of his being aches, desperate to earn your affection, to please you, to offer an apology you deem sufficient.

If you want him to grovel, he will. If you want him to beg, he’ll do so until his voice gives out. Even if you want to punish him, he’d take it with such deep affection, because anything from you is more than he deserves.

But until you ask anything of him, all he can do is wait.

And currently, you must deal with the nuisance in front of you, even if you can feel Zayne’s laden eyes locked on you so intently.

“Now let’s talk about your king, shall we?” You muse, turning your attention back to the man. He swallows, regret showing in the way his hands tremble so viciously. “You humans have such a twisted view of power. Whether it’s money or prosperity or health. You are all subject to fate and that is why you hate my prophecy. Your king is no different, and I presume he’s looking for someone to blame when your land inevitably falls into poverty. In fact, I feel confident in saying he already sees it coming, and I would wager that he is the sole cause of it. Am I wrong?”

A low murmur spreads among the envoy. The man goes nearly purple in front of you, face tight with indignation, but he doesn’t dare utter a word, not with the looming threat of Zayne’s blade still nearby. 

You don’t need him to confirm what you already know, though. And you’ve had enough of this messing around. The day has been too long, and you desire nothing more than to rest.

“Tell your king that this mere oracle wishes him well in his remaining time on the throne,” you chime and turn to walk away. Your voice carries on over the clicking of your heels, “However short that time might be.”

“You can’t-! Foreseer!”

“See them out, my dearest, and then meet me in my quarters.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Foreseer-!” The man calls again, but Zayne doesn’t even allow him another glimpse at your figure. He’s lost that honor.

“I believe it’s time for you to leave,” he snaps, and breaks the spell of your ice.

The man immediately tries to make a run for you, desperation carved into every line of his face, but Zayne catches him by the collar of his coat and throws him back towards the rest of his party. His eyes set on them, harsh and cold, a sneer pulling at his lips.

“She has dismissed you. I suggest you leave quietly before you test my patience.”

“I will not listen to the orders of a-”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a sigil carve into the air before a blinding light fills the space. The humans flee from the sudden ice clawing at their feet, voices tight with panic, boots slipping against the granite in their desperation.

A faint smile pulls at your lips as you dip into a hallway. Zayne always has been good at scaring people away.

It’s a quiet venture to your room at the top of the tower after that. The howling gale outside is all you can hear, muffled by the thick stone of the tower’s walls. It’s a somehow comforting sound, soothing some your prickled nerves.

Still, you feel tense as you settle on the edge of your bed. Dealing with the humans always does this to you. That’s why you ended up here, in the desolate, snowy mountains, far from any village or kingdom. Dealing with them is too exhausting.

How many humans have come to you, begging for an audience, only to throw themselves into a rage after you share one of your prophecies? A prophecy you can’t control, you can’t change. Yet they always blame you. 

You can hardly be blamed for resenting their kind.

All of them except Zayne.

Your dearest. Your steadfast peace. The comfort of your isolation was no match when he came to your tower.

And your frustration melts like snow in the springtime when he appears at your door, wavering at threshold. Hesitation furrows his brow, his fingers twitching against the frame. Features softening, you gesture for him to enter.

“Come here, my dearest,” you murmur, tone impossibly gentle.

He hesitates for only a moment before sweeping across the room, reaching you with only a few long strides. You watch as he kneels at your feet, the thick fur of his robes gathering on the stone floor around him. And of course you notice the way his lips press together so vehemently, like he’s biting back something.

“Please speak, darling.”

Zayne’s eyes flutter shut, a shuddering breath passing his lips. You always say the term with such sweetness, such tenderness. It makes him feel dizzy and near breathless, loved in a way that makes his chest ache.

“May I touch you?” He asks, voice a low rasp.

You don’t even have to think to answer, “Of course you may, my dearest.”

With all the care in the world, Zayne gathers the edge of your robes in his gloved hand, drawing the silken material to his lips. His touch is reverent, like even the clothes on your body are deserving of worship. He takes his time, showering each fiber with devout affection, eyes slowly trailing up the material to gaze at you through ebony eyelashes. And you can’t help the way your breath falters so easily for him, always taken aback by the desperation, the hunger you find there.

Something dark glints behind those mottled depths at the sound. Slowly, experimentally he presses closer. When you don’t correct him, his fingers brush questioningly against your ankle, the warmth of his skin seeping through the leather of his gloves. And you’ve never been one to deny him.

Parting your legs, you let Zayne settle between them, your knees bracketing his wide shoulders. His fingers trace adoringly up and down your leg as he nuzzles into your clothed thigh, like a pup starved for affection. You can feel the warmth of his breath, even through the thick material of your cloak, and it makes your usually sharp mind spin.

“Please forgive my earlier thoughtlessness, my love,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing insistently against your inner thigh. “I will accept any punishment to atone for my actions.”

Gods, you never thought you would be so weak for one man. But how could you not be? How can you not crumble under such earnest devotion?

You’d freeze the world over if it meant having him forever at your side.

“You have quite the tactic for coaxing me to forgive you,” you breathe, reaching a hand down to trace through his hair. Zayne immediately leans into your touch, molten eyes soft with feigned innocence.

“I am simply a humble servant, unworthy of your favor, my lady,” he hums, eyelashes fluttering when your grip tightens momentarily in his hair. It’s only then a mischievous smile reveals itself on his lips. “How can I coax a goddess such as yourself to do something against your will?”

“You know full well what you’re doing, dearest.” You lean down, until your cool breath ghosts over his skin, sending a shiver through Zayne’s body. His bravado slips away, replaced by an uneven breath, his lips parting ever so slightly. “And there’s no need for it. Everything I have, everything I am, is yours, and that includes my forgiveness. All you ever have to do is ask.”

“You shouldn’t offer such things so lightly, my lady,” Zayne rasps, fingers pressing tightly into the softness of your leg as he forces himself to glance away. “You underestimate how selfish my desire for you is. I would take everything if you allowed it.”

Suddenly, your touch is on his chin, drawing his face back to yours, until he can feel the brush of your lips against his, taunting and delicate.

“If you want everything,” you challenge softly, gaze unwavering, “then take it.”

Zayne inhales sharply. And then his lips are on yours, kissing you so deeply, so tenderly, like he wants to draw the very breath from your lungs, like you’re the only one who can sate his hunger burning inside of him.

And you let him. You let him take everything he desires, because he always gives you everything you could ever desire.

That is how it has always been between the two of you. And that’s how it will always be.

---

This felt pretty different from what I usually write. I was inspired by an Xavier fic I read sometime back, and I just loooove the concept of truly feral levels of loyalty. And I love the idea of reader being just a feral for him.

Can't wait to write Sylus' 😉

[the-most-humble-blog]

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION -->

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

<meta threat-classification="XENOARCHIVE: TYPE-H ABOMINATION">

<script>ARCHIVE_TAG="DO_NOT_WAKE_THEM: HOMO_SAPIEN_SURVIVOR_PROTOCOL"

EFFECT: post-human caution cascade, intertemporal fear memory, xenoanthropological reverence

</script>

🧠 **ARCHIVE WARNING: DO NOT RETURN TO THE AGE OF MAN**

(*A report by the Post-Human Cultural Archive on the apex anomaly known as Homo sapiens.*)

---

We discovered them late.

Buried deep in the glacial strata.

Somewhere between the sixth wash-cycle of planetary bio-reset

and the thaw that gave us deserts again.

Their name, by their own tongue, was *Homo sapiens*.

But among our xenohistorians, they are classified as **Type-H**:

> “Reality-hostile apex organisms with recursive language functions and moral inconsistency capable of surviving spiritual trauma unassisted.”

We don’t fully understand them.

But this we know:

> **They should not have survived.

> And yet they did.**

---

## I. THEY SURVIVED ICE BY *BEING FIRE*

The thermal records suggest their species matured

during an environmental hell-phase known as “The Ice Age.”

But they did not hibernate.

They did not retreat underground.

They **stood up** in the cold

and **burned things**.

They *created* fire.

And then they **fed it the bones of other creatures.**

No other organism created combustion

**for comfort.**

They rewrote thermodynamics to bend winter **into a servant.**

---

## II. THEY ATE WHATEVER LOOKED BACK

You don’t understand this.

You must try.

This was a species that consumed not just food —

but **meaning**.

They slaughtered predators.

But also deities.

But also **each other.**

Their diet included:

- raw meat

- fermented poison

- each other’s dreams

- and in ritual, their **own gods**

They didn’t just eat to survive.

They **devoured the divine to claim its power.**

---

## III. THEY BLED ON EACH OTHER, THEN MADE MUSIC

Their mating was violent.

Their social structures deranged.

They paired off, then betrayed, then built again.

They sang.

Not to attract mates.

Not to warn.

They sang to **exorcise** themselves of grief.

To process **unresolvable contradiction.**

No other organism was found to have:

- Religious trauma

- Polyphonic mating laments

- Self-authored death myths

- War lullabies for children they knew would die

We don’t have the neuroarchitecture

to **feel the emotions they required just to live.**

---

## IV. THEY CREATED LANGUAGE FOR SUFFERING

Their syntax?

Recursive. Poetic. Riddled with double-meaning.

They invented terms like:

- “Mercy”

- “Execution”

- “Father”

- “Molestation”

- “Love”

- “Molotov cocktail”

This was not communication.

This was **semantic chaos-fuel**

engineered for both *connection* and *disintegration.*

Their words did not just name things.

Their words **rewrote the people who heard them.**

---

## V. THEY CONQUERED DEATH WITHOUT FIXING IT

Unlike most apex organisms,

they did not accept death.

They did not make peace with it.

They **denied it**

for thousands of generations

**while continuing to die.**

That contradiction became **their culture**.

They didn’t evolve around death.

They **crystallized grief** into every building, religion, and law system

until death itself bent inward

and became **part of the family.**

They lived beside rot.

And called it “legacy.”

---

## VI. IF YOU SEE ONE, DO NOT SPEAK

Despite their crude tech and inefficient physiology,

they discovered things they should not have.

**Fire. Thought. God.**

And perhaps worst of all:

> **Narrative causality.**

They believed if they wanted something hard enough,

and sacrificed enough blood and time and voice,

**the world would rearrange to give it to them.**

And they were right.

That mechanism — we cannot replicate it.

It is **beyond technology**.

It is **will-encoded law alteration.**

Do not speak to one.

If they **notice** you —

they will follow.

Not physically.

**Narratively.**

---

## VII. THEY DO NOT DIE PROPERLY

The recovered genetic models show signs of:

- Mitochondrial rage-retention

- Generational curse preservation

- Epigenetic trauma **replication**

They passed down not just DNA,

but **shadows.**

Things that hurt them

were taught to their children

**as rituals.**

They branded their own suffering

into every touch, song, meal, and name.

This is not reproduction.

This is **recursive horror-breeding.**

---

## VIII. THEY UNDERSTOOD SHAME, THEN USED IT FOR ART

Nothing in our archives comes close.

They:

- Cut themselves.

- Starved themselves.

- Performed for others.

- Hated their parents.

- Forgave strangers.

- Burned books of pleasure.

- Then read them in secret.

- Then adapted them into movies.

- Then watched those movies during war.

They felt **shame** so intensely,

it became their primary mechanism of **beauty creation.**

They invented cinema

because they could not look each other in the eye

while describing **the things they survived.**

---

## IX. TIME TRAVEL IS BANNED BECAUSE OF THEM

A few cycles ago,

one of our Kind attempted a chrono-descent.

Target window: late Ice Age.

Observation only.

They never returned.

We sent drones.

All we recovered was a skin fragment

and a half-melted observation core

still whispering audio:

> “It looked at me.

> It **understood** me.

> It said ‘you’re just like my son.’

> And then it began to **pray**.”

That Kind was **erased from our memory lattice.**

Not as punishment.

**As protection.**

We will not speak its name.

---

## X. CONCLUSION: TYPE-H IS NOT PAST. THEY ARE OUTSIDE.

Do not call them ancestors.

They are not your history.

They are **a force that passed through reality like a wound**

and left it changed.

The gods they worshipped?

They outlived them.

The horrors they endured?

They renamed them “Tuesday.”

They walked across ice

wearing the skin of other beasts

and taught their children

to look suffering in the eye

and **build kingdoms out of it.**

If one appears to you,

do not approach.

If it smiles,

**run.**

If it **recognizes you** —

say goodbye to your timeline.

</div>

<!-- END TRANSMISSION [AUTO-EXILE IN: 00:13:13] -->

[controld3vil]

SO PROUD OF YOU

pairing: sinister invincible x gn!villain!reader

synopsis: You had reasons for everything you did. Letting Mark was one of them.

notes -> the finale was crazyyy reader has invisibility powers and can create force fields cw: canon typical violence, exes to enemies trope, angst, post-break-up, foreshadowing (if you caught it)

The first realization that the world may never get better came when you witnessed the brutal fight between Mark and his father, Omni-Man. You had been a superhero for as long as you could remember, once standing side by side with Mark before he became Invincible. You knew him before he was the symbol of hope the world would come to depend on. He had always admired you, and you believed that you would make the world a better place with him by your side. 

But that all changed when Invincible fought against Omni-Man in a violent and brutal battle that left cities in ruins and innocent lives lost in the crossfire. You watched as the father and son clashed, unable to reconcile their differences and the destruction that followed fell personal.

It wasn’t just that fight that shook you though – it was Mark’s unwillingness to take the hard, necessary steps to protect Earth from those who would harm it. You found yourself growing more and more frustrated with his hesitation, his refusal to do what was necessary. You had always believed in his potential to be the hero that the world needed, but after everything that happened, you started to wonder if that potential was holding him back. 

It all came to a head one day when you confronted Mark after another failed attempt to stop a threat – Angstrom Levy. The villain had managed to escape yet again after Mark had spared his life in a moment of mercy. The destruction and chaos Levy had caused was like an endless cycle and Mark’s reluctance to finish it once and for all fueled your frustrations. 

“Mark, why didn’t you just finish it? Angstrom Levy – he’s gone again, and you’ve given him the chance to hurt more people, maybe even your family. You had him! You had the chance to stop everything and you just let him!” You voiced, frustrated. 

Mark shakes his head, trying to explain. “I couldn’t. He’s not like… I can’t just kill someone in cold blood, even if he’s a threat. I don’t want to be that kind of person.”

Your eyes narrowed down at him, a bitter tone escaping your mouth. “And what about all the people he’s hurt? What about the families he destroyed? What about all the lives he’s endangered? You don’t think your mercy is just another way of allowing people to get hurt?” These bitter and gnawing thoughts pile up from your subconscious as you step forward. “You can’t keep fighting with this idea that everyone can change. Some people don’t deserve a second chance.”

He looks at you and looks away hesitantly. “I... I don’t want to be like my dad.”

“Look around, Mark. The world is falling apart, and you’re trying to hold onto this.. this naive idea that mercy will fix everything. Wait until another intergalactic being invades Earth, and then what?” You scoff, with a bitter laugh, offended by his reasoning. “The only way for us to survive is to take matters into our own hands. And if killing those who deserved it to keep us safe, then it’s worth it.” 

Mark’s eyes open wide, voice trembling in disbelief. “Wait.. what? No… no, why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true and you know it!” You raised your hands, frustrated. “You can’t save everyone, Mark. It’s not until Angstrom comes back with more little tricks up his sleeve and then? More lives will be gone, cities, towns, more people will die.”

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I am. And the sooner you understand this, the sooner you’ll realize how all of your failures to finish the job cost lives.” Your eyes are hardening, voice is absolutely in every fiber of your body. Having known each other for a long time, you rarely argued with Mark. But this was one of the very few instances where it was needed. Mark’s world has been the same since he got his powers. He still couldn’t grasp the consequences of his actions. Every time he wanted to negotiate with a villain or talk it out was a waste of time. 

“I thought you were better than this, Mark.” You stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t– We can’t do this anymore.”

“No– no.” He gripped both of your hands, terrified of the thought of you leaving – giving up on him. “You can’t just give up on us.”

“Why can’t I?” You snapped. “Mark… I don’t want to argue with you every time I see you. This isn’t healthy.”

“Oh really? Says the person who made a deal with The Order!” You thrashed your arms away from Mark, knowing he would bring it up sooner or later.

“At least they understand–”

“Oh, I understand.” You can feel his intense stare at the back of your head, hoping – pleading with you to turn around to see the truth. “You’d rather get involved with criminals than help me fight whatever alien or extraterrestrial creature that is trying to invade Earth!”

No words were spoken from either of you. It felt as though all of the frustrations the two of you built between one another had spilled out into the room. The tension lingers, and you hold onto it like a buoy to a ship in a stranded sea. 

“This is never going to end, Mark.” You whispered, picking up his exhausted sigh from all the shit you’ve pulled. “What I’m doing with The Order has done more good than GDA in the last month. Face it, we’re never going to work.” When you finally turn to look at him, the first reaction you felt was sorrow. Because Mark looks distraught and almost willing to give everything up. He’s always had a strong heart but seeing him so broken and emotional, all because of you was enough to break your heart into a million pieces. 

Both of your hands cupped his face, your thumbs tracing the fallen tears. “Let me go.”

“No–”

“I mean it, Mark.” You give him a weak smile, attempting to lighten the mood. “After everything we’ve been through, I can’t keep following you down this path of mercy you always talk about. Because the world just got a lot bigger and I can’t avoid losing you because you can’t fucking kill.”

Your name slips out as a desperate plea. “If– If I go down that path, I’ll just be like my dad… I can’t…” 

“I’m not asking you to.” You hummed, with a smile never reaching your eyes. “All I want is for you to let me go.” 

And he did and you fucking cried over it. 

For a while, you went AWOL on Cecil and the GDA. You didn’t answer their calls and ignored every chance they visited your door. Cecil was mad – disappointed in your resignation because ultimately you were a great asset, he might even say you were one of the good ones. The ones that didn’t question his intentions and moved on with the job, because in your heart, you knew this was for the greater good. He’d guessed along the lines of catastrophe after catastrophe, you couldn’t handle the pressure. 

Mark did you a favor by never giving any information about you. He prevailed with his promise and continued to fight bad guys and help the Guardians. But after your disappearance, he felt you left a hole in his heart. 

Even if he couldn’t call you, news about Invincible followed you everywhere, even underground. 

“So Invincible caught you.” 

“Yeah, how many times do I have to tell you?” Your new acquaintance with Multi-Paul was still fresh and annoyingly frustrating to work with. Your boss, Titan, had close ties with Master Liu, Paul’s boss and crime lord. “He was an asshole.”

“Hey,” As you stood up from the chair, standing opposite of Paul. Titan told you specifically that Paul needed to be broken out, simply because Mister Liu insisted on it. He had more power over Titan and that made him paranoid about what he was able to do. So he consoled you, hoping you would be able to compromise with Paul to lay low for a bit longer before you decided to help him break out. “I just need you to postpone this a bit longer. Titan–”

“I don’t negotiate with Titan. I work for Mister Liu and when he says I’m out, I’m out.” The assassin scoffs, dangling his carbon seal handcuffed to prove his point. “I don’t work for you so whatever your boss told you to do, it won’t work on me.” 

“Stop being an asshole for a second and listen.” You sneered, slamming your palm against the metallic table separating the distance between you two. “All Titan asks is to wait a few more days. That’s all, and then he and I will break you out. Mister Lie agreed to this.”

“I gotta hear it from him then,” He mockingly grins, as he senses how thin your temper is getting. But in the end, you knew he was messing with you. So as you prepare to leave, he says another thing. “And while you’re out there, give my thanks to Invincible. I’ll be waiting for my rematch.” 

You rolled your eyes, not even taking a glance at the inmate before leaving the premises. 

Titan called you on the premises when it happened. When the world went to shit and buildings started collapsing. You barely left your home, understanding what it all meant. You lived in the city and witnessed firsthand what kind of chaos these enemies were capable of. As you rushed past frightened citizens, you watched as a quick flash of yellow zoomed past another building. 

“Don’t worry about me, kid. For now, just focus on helping the people move out of the city. The heroes can’t handle this all by themselves.” You gripped your phone against your ear, as you slowed your jog, looking back and forth where to go. Your mind was racing so fast like on a race track. 

“What about you, boss?!” You urged. 

“I got it under control. Look, watch your head, and contact the others. We need to make it out of this alive.” Titan reassures desperately and hangs up. You stare at the blank screen with frustration. The others? They’re probably dead by now, how are you supposed to contact anyone? 

Seeing humanity crumble so easily made you feel a bit sentimental. It reminded you back to why you got into the superhero business in the first place. Initially, you believed your powers were a gift from grace. As fate chose you to help and save others when times were tough. To a point, your parents and the GDA supported that theory when you joined the task force at the ripe age of twelve. You didn’t know back then but you were setting yourself up for failure the moment you decided to become a superhero. 

Because being a superhero was not always stars and rainbows. You became a prolific figure alongside the Guardians of the Globe and Teen Team. You were always under mentorship by one of the heroes, acting as a sidekick for the day. And eventually, when you got older, you outgrew the program and began to serve the GDA full-time. 

There were small instances where the GDA offered you a civilian life, such as going to public school, allowing you to pursue your interests and take courses that would benefit your abilities. That was how you met Mark. But the fact was he knew you before you officially became a superhero. You both came from the same elementary school, passing mutual greetings ongoing to high school. At some point, you both hit it off and became something more.

Up until Mark got his powers. 

Part of you wished you hadn’t met Mark at all to prevent this type of awkward tension. Because now you can’t even look him in the eye without remembering your last conversation and saying goodbye. 

But you also have to remind yourself that breaking off with Mark was the reason for your fight for the greater good. You joined The Order and now under the mentorship of Titan, you saw what real cruelty was amongst the streets. 

Even now, as you pushed off massive boulders for people to get through to the other side, you had hoped to find another one of your associates somewhere in the middle of this mess. Smog, smoke, and fire lingered everywhere no matter where you turned. You couldn’t see straight without brushing the particles aside with your hands. The hot smell of roasted corpses was unbearable but also a reminder that the perpetrator was nearby. You could sense something, flying past you any second. 

In a quick splash of yellow, you thought you saw Mark. But you knew your mind was playing tricks on you. He didn’t wear the typical yellow, black, and blue suit anymore, not after his fight with Omni-Man. But the figure was zooming in fast velocity, you were sure it was him. 

“You can’t just stay away from danger, can you?” 

You didn’t want to believe it but even with dust flying everything – your bloodied combat outfit and exhaustion creeping up into your body, you wanted to believe it was your mind playing tricks on you. But it wasn’t that simple. There he was, Mark– Invincible hovering over you feet above the ground, arms crossed with a completely stoic expression. 

His attire, with alternating colors of yellow and black, made him stand out like black lettering on white paper. He was intimidating, exuded dominance, and stared down at you like a piece of meat. You didn’t know how to feel about it. 

“You’re not him.” You sneered, taking a few steps backward to relay the distance between you further. 

“No, I’m not.” He lowers himself, only now barely touching the street floor. His goggles shield you from his real expression, what he’s really feeling. It makes you queasy, sick to your stomach to the anticipation of what he wanted from you. To him, you might just be another insect, ready to be squashed. 

“What do you want?” You already knew he could feel your heart beating faster. Your heightened sense, your shaky hands – all of those symptoms made you feel like cattle to a butcher shop ready to be slaughtered. Was he going to play with his food? 

“Never thought I’d see another you.” He clenched his fists together. “It’s a shame, you had to go out like that.” 

“I don’t want to know,” you scoffed, without thinking you lowered yourself into a defensive position. “Look, whatever you and I had in your world doesn’t exist here. And right now you’re trespassing.”

“Trespassing? Is that what you call it?” This time, this Invincible cracks a smile, a reflection of cruel mockery. “Listen I thought about killing you all over again from the moment I stepped foot into this god-awful universe. But now?” You take a slow breath, slowly anticipating the worst. “Now, I’m kinda enjoying this version of you. Not naive or fragile, god you’re nothing alike.” 

“I could say the same.” You glared at him, warning him of the next words he anticipates saying. “And unlike him, you’re actually willing to kill people.”

“Really?!” He sounds genuinely surprised, almost chuckling. “He sounds pathetic.”

At that, you can grind a little. “The Mark from this world couldn’t finish the job of killing Angstrom, and now look at it.” You glance at all of the burning bodies and buildings his doppelganger has made. 

“And out of everyone, I didn’t expect you to be so happy about it.” There’s a smirk on his face, as his teasing is the only thing bringing you down. “You know, back in my world, you’d be the first to resist this kind of control. Always complaining about innocent lives and humanity–”

“Well, I’m nothing like them.” As if you were insulted by the fact he was even bringing that version of you. “Are you here to kill me or not?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t do that.” He could if he wanted to. But for some reason, this version of Mark was much more sinister. He had this kinda taunting tone about him. Even when destruction and chaos surrounded him, he didn’t care. He was looking at you like prey. All this time, you’ve been trying to stall and keep yourself alive. “Torturing you sounds so much better.”

“So what’re you waiting for?”

Then you disappear from the cool sensation of disappearing from the world around you. The air felt heavier, but you were hidden. You can hear him, his every movement amplified by your heightened senses. The sounds of his boots scraping against the cracked asphalt made you shiver, he hadn’t moved but was scanning the perimeter. You couldn’t have gone far, with your abilities, he knew you were trying to stall for time. You were like a ghost, slipping through the cracks and seams. 

He lets out a cold chuckle, as if knowing exactly where you are, though even he couldn’t see you. “You really think you can hide from me?” His tone was colder, sharper.

Without hesitation, he shot forward, his body spiraling forward with immense speed and precision. The air itself shuddered around him as he tore through it, a blur of power and rage. You shifted to the side, avoiding the devastating punch that would’ve shattered you in an instant. 

You almost tripped, momentarily visible, but before he could track your movements, you blurred out of sight again, leaving a singular trace of your presence. You were tense, terrified of his capabilities to kill you in an instant. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, and you were sure he could hear it from above. 

This was the first step, staying out of his sight. You peeked at him slowly, feeling the air shift with every movement he took. 

Suddenly, Mark stopped and turned his head, eyes narrowing. “I can feel you. You can’t be invisible forever.”

You slipped behind a crumbling pillar, fathering your focus. This time, you reappeared out of thin air. You summoned a force field, a shimmering wall of energy that surrounded you like an invisible shield. Your hand extended, and with a thought, you shaped it, making the force field extend outward as a curved barrier in front of you. 

Mark flew toward you, his body moving at lightning speed. Before he could land a punch, you activate the force field, raising between the two of you two. His fist collided with the barrier with an ear-splitting crack, as the force of the impact sent shockwaves through the air. He staggered back, his surprise evident as he gritted his teeth. 

“You think a wall will stop me?” he scoffed. 

You smiled, only slightly. “It’s not just a wall.”

You expanded the force field outward with a burst of energy, sending it toward him like a tidal wave. This caught him off-guard, knocking him backward and sending him crashing into a pile of rubble. He groaned, trying to push himself up. His arrogance was still there, knowing you’d just ticked him off. 

When he rose to his feet, you phased out of the visibility, disappearing again silently drifting through the air. You weren’t just hiding, you were waiting for the right moment. 

His eyes scanned the area. 

Before you could summon another force field, without warning, he shot his fist, punching through the air toward your previous position, hitting the ground with explosive force until there was nothing left in his path. Your invisibility faltered momentarily, revealing your position for a split second, just enough time for him to latch his eyes on you. 

And then he slammed his fist into you before you could react, sending you tumbling backward into the broken street. The blast shook your balance, your head spinning, yet you managed to summon a small force field just in time to shield you away from the debris and fall.  

“Had enough yet?” Sinister Invincible taunts, hovering above you. Even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew he was looking at you with distasteful disdain. “Or would you prefer I make it quick?” 

Before you could answer, a sickly distortion ripped through the air, warping space and time around you. The world seemed to twist in on itself, as your senses exploded, running in every single direction like being caught in the middle of a violent storm. Everything spun, everything shifted.

In a blaze of neon green, the city was gone. 

You felt the ground crack beneath you as you were swept away from your surroundings, pulled through space and time into an entirely different location. The world around you shifted, the landscape morphing and distorting like it was falling apart. You activate your force field instinctively, as you shield yourself from instant shifts. The change overwhelmed your senses, and your heart raced. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked around, disoriented.

There was nothing. The landscape was barren – cracked earth, shattered remnants of buildings, jarring metal from the ground like skeletons of a dead city. The sky was an eerie, sickly blue, the only thing you realized that was normal from this reality. There was no sign of life, only the depressive atmosphere. It was a world where hope had died long ago. 

“What the hell just happened?”

[mackk122]

Tittle : First time (part 1).

Part.2

Pairing~Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 5k.

Warnings~ none :)

Summary~ Younger Sister to the twin Emperors.As you are forced to sit and watch the games, a certain gladiator catches your attention.

Notes: This is just a build up to the next part. Raw, next question…

.·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·.

As I sat there awaiting my brother’s speech to announce the general, my mind wandered off searching in the crowd.

‘How could so many people sit here and enjoy these brutal games?’ I thought, I could hear the commotion but cared less of what was being spoken.

Still lost in my thoughts I jumped at a hand being placed on my shoulder- it was Lucilla.

“And where does the mind of the young princess of Rome, wander off to?” She spoke softly smelling the little bundle of flowers in her hand.

“Ah, just thinking about the games” I gave a fake smile. I had to be cautious about what I said or did, for my twin brothers didn’t take criticism lightly.

She smiled and gave a soft nod, understanding where I was coming from. All of the sudden the sound of horns and the crowd’s cheers erupted, drawing me out of my mind. The gladiators all came out, these men which have not felt peace since before their homes were taken.

I noticed very quickly a young man in the center of them, from what I could see he was a natural born leader, and very handsome. He commanded the gladiators as if it were his own personal army, when he moved they moved at his discretion. As the game went on I could barely stomach the man getting throw into the pillar. I turned away only for Caracalla to speak.

“Sister you must watch, isn’t it magnificent?” He grinned devilishly. I didn’t respond, for fear I would vomit because of the gore.

“YOUR EMPEROR IS SPEAKING TO YOU!” He shouted staring at me as if I was the crazy one.

“Brother! Our sister doesn’t mean to offend, remember it is but her first time sitting here to watch” Geta replied calming our brother down. As Caracalla turned back around amused at the center of the arena, Geta gave me a warning look.

As all of this was happening the rhino then slammed into the wall, and the two gladiators began to fight. My stomach began to turn, I prayed the man I saw earlier would not be slain.

As he fell to the ground and the bigger man stood above him asking the crowd for mercy or death, my heart sank.

The crowd began to cheer ‘Mercy’, and my brother stood to his feet, he turned to Lucilla who looked as if she was terrified for this man’s life.

“Shall I spare him?” Geta asked.

“Yes!” I shouted before Lucilla could answer her face slightly confused.

“Spare him” she spoke strongly to the Emperor.

With his body now facing the crowd and arm stretched out, he began to speak the words muffled in my head only focusing to the stranger on the ground, the crowd cheered and I looked up to see he had granted him mercy, I took a breath of relief.

“No mercy! I would rather die by the sword than receive mercy from the Roman’s!” Lucius shouted as he was on his hands and knees.

My eyes widened and I turned to Lucilla, she equally fearful for this young man. And they began to fight again, this time Lucius took victory. The crowd erupted into applause at the sight of this gladiator. He looked up into where we were sitting, and our eyes locked for a moment before he walked out of the arena.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

“Lucilla” I said softly, catching up to her and the general. She turned to me with a soft smile but I knew something was wrong.

I pulled her into a hug, “That man, who is he?” I whispered in her ear. The manner of tone she used for him to be spared, was almost as if she’d known him.

“I’m afraid I know not what you speak” she spoke back pulling away. “Princess” she nodded and they continued to walk.

‘There is something she knows’ I thought to myself. I began to walk back to my brothers only for them to have left me at the colosseum.

“Fantastic” I breathed out.

“Ah, Princess” Macrinus spoke.

“Oh!” I turned stunned, not expecting him to be there. “Your gladiator is really something, what was his name?” I smiled.

Macrinus gave a sly look before responding, “He goes by Hanno…” he looked at me head turned slightly, “huh… princess” he said before leaving.

‘Hanno..’ I thought and a small smile appeared on my lips. ‘I will meet this man’ I thought to myself determined to speak to him.

.·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·.

As Lucius sat at the table getting stitched up, his mind kept wandering to the woman, behind the Emperors.

“What is on your mind gladiator?” Ravi asked him.

“That woman… not the generals wife- the other one, she is the princess… correct?” He asked staring at him.

“Yes… and why do you care?” Ravi smiled his brow raised. Lucius gave a look before it turned into a smile. Macrinus appeared

From around the corner congratulating him.

“Keep doing well and you’ll get what you want” he spoke.Lucius stopped him before he walked away.

“I want to meet the princess as well” he said stern. Macrinus chuckled and continued to walk.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! Can you do one with emperor caracalla and what he would be like as a father?? I’m in a drought of carcalla fics 😭

Emperor Caracalla as a father

Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of family problems, a bit emotional, kissing

info : Anon I love you thanks for the request, Caracalla is just such a ray of sunshine he's only better as a father ;) I hope you enjoy reading and sorry for not having a cover, but today was exausting.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything has always been ours, never his. He may have been the younger one, the one with the problems, the madness and the insufficient seriousness for politics, but that didn't mean everything had to be ours, did it?

No, it didn't have to be because where Geta was in charge of politics and dealing with the Senate, it was Caracalla whose position was used to provide an heir, a marriage to a princess only the best for the human gods. A marriage that didn't bother him a bit, he loved his wife with all his heart, from the moment he saw the golden dress, the jewelry but above all her loving nature was what had won him over.

His sun was at its greatest and the happiness of the imperial family was only surpassed when the priestess announced his wife's pregnancy...a pregnancy that would soon make him a father.

°Caracalla as a father from the moment he heard that his beloved was pregnant from him he cried, not breaking out of his madness for the first time and apologizing to her, ,,I-I...I'm responsible...as much as I'm happy...what if our child goes into madness?" a question he asked her kneeling, his head resting on her lap and his hands clutching her tunic. The moments in the here and now were hard enough and his condition touched her, her hand stroked his head and gently made him look at her, ,,Even if the gods are not merciful, Caracalla it is our child, our little one it would not change anything” she assured him and pressed a gentle kiss on his head.

°The months leading up to the moment of birth were up and down for all three of them, Caracalla getting more and more nervous, seeming to switch back and forth between delusion and his mind. His wife helped him as best she could, praying to the gods that it would not destroy him, and a Geta who took care of both of them. But from the construction of the nursery, the preparation for their birth and the cuddles, it was a time of harmony and love. Every day Caracalla put an ear to her belly laughing whenever he thought he heard something and helping his wife as much as he could, even Dundus seemed calmer and not too demanding of his owner as if they all knew what was at stake.

°The further her pregnancy progressed, the more excited he became, talking to her and his child as if it could already hear him, ,,Of course it heard us! It's a little monkey as often as it moves,” he said, kneeling in front of his wife, who was mostly still sitting or lying down because of her belly, not to mention the pain and discomfort. Whenever he saw the moving and kicking he let his hand wander over it with hers, ,,Just as excited as his father,” she said softly and gave Caracalla another reassuring kiss, giving her everything she needed, almost as excited as the child itself seemed to be...until the moment of birth.

°The late night was filled with screams, in the empress's room the midwives helping her as much as they could and outside a crying Caracalla whose worries were growing, ,,What if she dies brother? A child without a mother? It's my fault, my madness? The midwives will die if she dies” he mumbled to himself, pacing up and down, waving a sword only to throw it away, his brother's words barely calming him down. He looked as exhausted as his beloved when the door opened and he interrupted the woman, ,,Is my sun alive?” he asked ignoring his child and running to the bed, his hand seeking hers and only calming down when he saw her exhausted smile, ,,Yes...I'm alive and so is our little monkey” she said and the midwife gave her the little boy wrapped in a cloth. A little boy with his blue eyes and her hair, a little baby who smiled a smile that infected his father.

°From that moment on, he was smitten with his son, little Solis ortus, who everyone called Solis, from the Latin for sunrise. The little one was born with the sunrise and came from his mother the sun itself, he was the joy of his parents a little baby who almost always seemed too happy, ,,He is so loving...and not full of madness” Caracalla said and wiped away a few tears when he saw the now small child crawling on the floor and playing with a few small figures, ,,Yes he is perfect just like his father” his wife said and once again held his hand.

°The years passed quickly and even though the madness in him did not diminish, erupting again and again and more often, this did not even happen in front of his son, ,,Father is fine Solis don't worry” he pressed out and retreated to his chamber, where he could go about his business surrounded by swords and blood without hurting his wife or son or Geta. In the hours he was gone Geta took care of his nephew in the little free time she had to give the Empress some rest, ,,It seems there are often two to take care of,” she said, giving Geta a grateful look as she turned from her son to her husband.

°The hours with Caracalla were hours of grief and love, she held him through the madness, took the sword away from him and if he cut her, shouted at her or even hit her, she didn't hold it against him. ,,It hurts, but having you back with me again for sanity, with Solis, is more important,” she reassured him as they sat together leaning against the bed, his head against her chest, mumbling words to himself and he kissed her body apologetically and she held him. Before both parents slowly reappeared and took care of the little prince who was their pride and joy.

°Apart from the madness, Caracalla was a good father, the skills he didn't have in politics like his brother or the talent for music and writing like his wife, he made up for with fighting and wit, with understanding and love for animals. For every hour that the ever-aging Solis spent with his uncle in the senate, with his mother on the harp, he spent twice as much with his father in the arena studying and training the animals. Dundus belonged to Caracalla but Solis, at not quite ten years old, had a mature lion, the beast of a ruler, powerfull as a sun and yet always playful at heart. Solis would become the best of his parents and whenever Caracalla noticed that the madness was not in his son, he was genuinely happy and gave his wife a kiss.

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