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[deesseshesca]

PAC : What opportunities are right in my face, but I’m totally sleeping on?

Give me more... Give me more ... Give me more !

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PILE 1 

What opportunities are right in my face, but I’m totally sleeping on?

Here’s the thing, bestie: the opportunity waiting for you is all about inner peace and finally finding clarity in your own company. Right now, I know you're feeling that urge to plot and plan, to get that revenge or set things right. But the path you're on? It’s actually nudging you towards something way more powerful—learning how to step back, get quiet, and let answers come to you.

This is your moment to dive into your own intuition, to start trusting what you already know deep down. The opportunity here isn’t about controlling the situation or making someone see things your way. It’s about seeing yourself more clearly and realizing that all the wisdom and strength you need are already within you. Letting life bring you the next step will be way more satisfying than revenge. The quiet confidence you'll gain by following your own instincts? That’ll be worth so much more in the long run.

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PILE 2

What opportunities are right in my face, but I’m totally sleeping on?

Alright, let’s get real. The opportunity in front of you is a chance to rebuild your foundation, not just in a "getting things together" way, but in a way that really lets you break out of some old, tough cycles. You’re dealing with a lot—and without a strong support system, that’s so heavy. But this opportunity? It’s about creating stability and peace within yourself. It’s like an open door to a life that’s more grounded, one where you don’t feel the need to numb out or escape.

This isn't going to come from forcing or grinding through. This is about tapping into that softer, nurturing energy within you—the part of you that craves peace and feels things deeply. This feminine energy wants you to honor your intuition and trust your own healing instincts. It’s about taking baby steps that feel right, not just seem logical. Slowly but surely, you’ll be building a life that feels like home, with you as your own biggest supporter. You're creating a path out of

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PILE 3 

What opportunities are right in my face, but I’m totally sleeping on?

Alright, here’s the vibe: the opportunity in front of you is about stepping fully into your independence and treating yourself like the true royalty you are. This isn’t about waiting for anyone else’s approval or permission—it’s all about you leveling up, creating your own version of success, and living a life that feels luxurious for you.

You’re in a prime spot to really focus on building something solid for yourself. This is the kind of opportunity that lets you pour into your own life, invest in your growth, and maybe even indulge a little in what makes you feel happy and whole. Think of it as creating a life where you’re not just surviving but genuinely thriving. You deserve to feel abundant, stable, and worthy of every good thing. Embrace that energy, treat yourself well, and watch how everything else starts to line up.

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[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[eepwriting]

hello there 💖 your friendly iii loving reader here again.

popping in to see if you have time for a new request; I would love to read your take on slightly subby iii fic where reader, who loves when iii dirt talks them, tries to give him a little dirty praise in return. possibly calling him a good boy? possibly putting a hand on his throat to see how he reacts?? would love it if it takes him by surprise and he unexpectedly loves it 🤭

thanks again so so much for your time and your amazing writing 🤩🙏🏻🫡

My Good Boy ✶ III x GN! Reader

Warnings: nsfw, smut, dirty talk, praise, light choking, no plot, we get right into it bby

ANONNNN im smooching you on the forehead for this!!! I love it, thank you for your request!! 🤍🤍 More of a blurb btw. Also IM SO SORRY I’ve been gone. I literally thought about this blog everyday and have felt so bad but I think I’m back 😎

!! mdni !!

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“You love it, baby, don’t you?”

III’s mouth rests against your own as he speaks. “Love it when I stretch you out, huh?”

You wanted to answer, you really did but it was almost impossible to get the words out. The way he slowed the pace of his hips, making sure you felt every possible inch of him, combined with the filth coated words he spoke had you practically choking on your breath.

“Yes, baby…cock always feels s’good. You always feel so good baby.” Your words are breathy, your heels digging into his hips in an effort to keep him close to you. The blush that starts on iii’s neck and crawls up to his cheeks is bright. He lets out the quietest groan and leans down to slot his head in the crook of your neck.

It was rare for you to speak during the act. Whether it be from nervousness to actually speak the filthy thoughts, to not being able to force them out due to overwhelming pleasure, you usually settled for head nods and moans of approval. You had little idea that your words could cause a reaction like that from him.

It’s startling when he flips the two of you, rolling under you and straightening you atop his lap. You let out a small laugh at his swiftness and lean down to press a kiss to his mouth. His cheeks are still a pretty shade of pink and he’s slightly sweatier than normal, stray hairs sticking to his forehead. “I fuckin love hearing you talk like that…wanna hear more, please.” The way his eyes rake over your body make you feel like the most desirable thing to ever exist.

You give him a sheepish smile and circle your hips. Your eyes shut tight, because he somehow feels ever better in this position. A long hum leaves you and your hands land on his chest. It’s good leverage to lift your hips off him and sink down again. “So, so good to me. I love my good boy.” The praise you give him is not one you’ve ever given, but feels the most natural, leaving your mouth with little thought. The loud half chuckle, half moan he lets out might be the hottest noise you’ve ever heard from him. He huffs and digs the tips of his fingers into your hips. “Yeah, I’m your good boy. Fuck…yes.” His hand cups the side of your face, coaxing you down to press a hot kiss to your mouth. Your fingers tentatively trace the base of his throat before wrapping around and gently squeezing. The need to hold on to something was strong.

Another moan from him floods into your mouth and you need to pull away, wanting to watch his face. Watch him make those noises. His eyes are glazed over as he looks up at you, pupils blown wide. His mouth hangs open slightly and his chest heaves. He strains his neck slightly. You squeeze your hand again, a little tighter this time and he eagerly nods up at you, squeezing your hips tight with a high pitched whine.

Oh.

You could definitely have some fun with this.

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YALL IM SO SORRY IVE BEEN GONE

BUT I had so much fun writing this 🫢 thank you once again anon!!!

More to come!

K. Bye bye.

[cocogum]

My honest reactions of episodes 5 and 6 (part 1)

PART 2 : HERE

(‼️SEASON 4 SPOILERS‼️)

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We obviously start with the ✨sadidas✨ Armand and Amalia (as we should 💕) coming back from the assembly meeting with the Eliatrope goddess.

Okay so were starting off pretty strong lol

I LOVE how Armand thinks about the Eliatrope goddess cuz yeah we were pretty much thinking the same thing (about how she’ll pretty much stalk them and will put her children in their world) and I just absolutely LOVE how he’s keeping his guard because of her and has become even more doubtful of Yugo. (Just look at his eyes as he stares at Amalia!!)

Because yeah, even though he wasn’t as wary of Yugo before, some hints were still shown in the OVAs when he called him “a king without his people is unheard of” but Yugo shrugged his comment off.

BUT NOW WE GET TO SEE MORE OF ARMAND SLANDERING YUGO and basically exposing Amalia acting “not rational” when she talks about Yugo.

Armand, my man, your sister’s clearly in love with Yugo OF COURSE SHE WOULDN’T BE RATIONAL WITH HIM (you should’ve seen how she kissed Oropo tho you would’ve lost your shit lo)

BUT DAMN ARMAND CHILL WTF ARE U RACIST AGAINST ELIATROPES NOW???!!? Same ngl 🥰🥰 I want more drama 💖💖

I just ADORE Az and his family playing on their tree Tofu tower they look so adorable ☺️✨💖 I already made a headcanon that Yugo and Alibert built it (while Chibi and Grougal just watched).

OMG EVERYONE STFU MY SONS ARE HERE ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️😍😍😍😍😍🥰😍😍🥰😍😍🥰🥰 ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE SEEN U TWO 😭😭😭💖💖

Look at these two not doing anything and just being lazy bums 😭😭🥰💕💕

Also I need a gif of Yugo and Alibert hugging with Az and his kids in the background asap ✨

But all cuteness aside, in all my years of being a Wakfu fan, I literally never saw Yugo make that face before. Like it was so uncalled for that my heart literally dropped when I saw him like that. I never thought that the face of terror and shock (combined with the booming sound in the background) could go so well on him and now I wanna see it more!! I HOPE YOU TORTURE HIM ANKAMA!!

Btw the Eliatrope goddess is such a fraud and can’t think for herself even though she said she wants to rule a freaking planet but okay (u fucked up the first time by default when ur kids had one planet for themselves but ur already messing up ur second time cuz ur running away from ur problems when U AND NORA WERE THE REASON WHY THE NECROMES GOT OUT ARE U KIDDING ME- YOU DIDN’T CHECK?!!!???!)

Armand’s really trying hard not to say something racist right now.

Dude can’t even look him in the eyes while saying hi lol

Also can we talk about what Armand told Yugo??? :

Like………

IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE SOME KIND OF FORESHADOWING ?!?!? I DONT GET IT AND IM SCARED NOW ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

ANKAMA STOP PLAYING WITH ME, DON’T TOUCH MY AMALIA ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

No because im legitimately scared that something bad will happen to her, why else would Armand say these kinds of things to YUGO of all people????

I swear I will actually cry if this ended up being foreshadowing cuz honestly wtf…why did Amalia ever do to you people….My fear for Amalia was already there even before Season 4 so why do you gotta make my paranoia resurface like that??? Why do u gotta do me like that???? 😭😭😭

This is the guy who started a genocide against his own people and has more common sense than the GODDESS right in front of him. I get that she’s traumatized cuz of what happened to her but you gotta realize that they’ll always run after you if you just keep running, so the least you can do is throw your kids to fight for you. I just love how the only reason why Qilby is saying any of this is because for once, he’s not the one in control of the fate of the world and can’t redirect the signal or stop it himself lol

[wroteclassicaly]

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Plus!Sized Female Reader

Word count: 1,676

Summary: You and Steve have some of your favorite kind of playtime. It’s pretty intense.

Warnings: Language, use of a blindfold, daddy!Steve, use of a sex toy & strap on/harness, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, slight male masturbation, anal sex, Steve gets pegged, but power bottoms from the top, and overall NSFW content!

A/N: It started out as a small thot in my brain in the early morning/late night hours. I called it the midnight unholys, haha. And it developed into… Well, this. I have another one in the works, but this one came first, and it’s also a plus sized reader, so I hope that’s okay?

This is untitled, because I couldn’t really think of one. Anyways… Hope y’all enjoy? ;) ❤️💖

Steve makes you lay completely naked with your legs spread open, watching him jerk himself off and finger his own ass. You’re not permitted to touch yourself, or you get blindfolded and tied up. Then when you don’t listen, when your fingers accidentally dip between your thighs, he’s moving over to where you are, securing a black fold around your head, its familiar silk tickling your ears with a light muffle.

“Tsk tsk, honey. I told you to listen to me.”

“But Stevie, I —“

He clamps a huge palm over your mouth, his salty skin on your parched lips. “You want me to gag you next, baby?”

Your thighs slap together, skin jiggling, and he snorts. “Yeah, I knew you’d probably like that. You’re extremely insatiable.”

He doesn’t let you know what’s going to happen next, simply warns you to not push it and to leave your hands above your head. “If a finger even twitches, then m’ gonna make sure you’re sorry when I’m through with you.”

You comply, much to his pleasure — a little to his chagrin, if he’s honest. But it makes things easier to set his plan in motion, moving away from you and smirking as you call for him from your spot on the living room couch.

“Steve? You’re not leaving me like this, tell me you’re—“

“You better NOT be moving, and that includes your mouth, little girl. So shut up and let daddy get what he needs to!”

The chains click against the thick leather, the other item heavy in his hand — something you both love to indulge in, more than you’d anticipated when you bought it. Originally, it was for you, modeled after Steve, but when the tequila became too strong and mouths became pliant — secret wants and wishes were spilled and agreed upon.

“Not fair I’m the only one who has to take a thick fucking cock, Stevie. Maybe I want to see how badly you struggle afterwards?”

“Mhm, you’re kinda right, honey.”

And that was the end of that. Introducing one of Steve’s favorite (and yours) playtime plays.

As you can’t see anything, nor move your hands — you’re relying on what you can smell, taste, and hear. So you nearly fall off the couch cushions when your boyfriend’s foot falls sound along the hardwood, approaching you. He coos at you, dropping some items on the coffee table beside you, his fingers tickle-tapping along your forearm and up into your palm, making you instinctively grasp him in a hold. You recoil and curse, whimpering. “Shit, m’ sorry. I didn’t mean to move, daddy.”

Steve’s entire jaw aches from the shit eating grin of your timid submission. He brushes his along your eyebrows, right above where the fabric rests. “It’s alright, for now. But I’m afraid that I still can’t let the earlier offense slide, honey.”

“Oh, fuck.” You’re nodding and resigning to your fate. “Whatever you have to do to teach me not to touch…”

His mouth is leaving feather light kisses to your jawline now, his apple and cedarwood body wash igniting your senses, your ability to taste his aftershave, practically on your tongue. He has to fight himself not to hold onto your hands, his automatic must have, especially during sex. Your bare body is laid out for him to do whatever he wants, your trust and soul entwined. He beams with a pride so genuine that it’s enough to help him slide away and tap your hips. “Lift up for me, baby.”

You don’t hesitate, Steve uses his strength to quickly maneuver your right leg into the harness, then the other. The moment that the material glides across your ankles and calves — you moan, immediately lifting your ass to help him slide the straps up until they’re in their place around the thick plush of your hips. So this is what he wants tonight? You should’ve known the second his fingers found that tight little rim below those full balls, how hard his cock was, the lube bottle open and beside his feet. This was what he had planned, despite your behavioral misstep in trying to touch yourself.

“How’s it feelin’, honey?” Ever-the-present boyfriend, he’s checking in with you first.

You shift a bit, the straps tightening across your thighs and beneath the pudge of your belly, sticking in the most delicious of ways. As Steve awaits your response, he can see your skin under pressure from the leather straps, but what’s mainly catching his attention? That small gap right below where the cock attaches, right where he can see your swollen pussy on display for him. You’re soaked, thighs shiny with it, drenching the harness, clit surrounded by a small bush of hair that’s coated in your cream. It comes out of his mouth before he can stop it (as if he would).

“Holy shit, your cunt is soaking wet, honey.” Your pupils are blown so wide that you look on the verge of leaving planet earth as you face him.

He reaches over to grip the thick shaft, breathing wet and shaky, and he’s quicker in attaching the heavy weight of the silicone, making you marvel once more. How does he manage carrying the real thing between his legs all the time? Your chest heaves sporadic beats, ones that slam against your ribcage, holding the bones hostage, nearly dusting them to ash. His voice is raspy when he speaks, tendrils of chestnut hair tickling your cheek as he leans down by your ear. “Be right back. Gonna get our lube. Daddy can’t take you without it.”

You’re grinning, knowing he is doing that Steve cheshire to match. It doesn’t take but mere seconds, the sound of the gel being squirted into his hand — loud and present. The couch dips with the weight of his knees, his body shuffling as he moves to straddle you, his heavy cock falling against your stomach, grazing the silicone. You're hit with a memory of jerking him and the toy off at once.

“Yeah, I’m remembering that too, babygirl. Your poor wrist needed iced up after that, remember?”

With how hard he’s breathing, you can imagine how dark his eyes are, how the hazel has been obliterated by a midnight sky, thick with desire. He shifts his hairy thighs on either side of your hips, heavy and light all at once. His tone of command leaves zero room to argue. He’s still in charge.

“Now. Here’s what’s gonna happen, honey. I’m going to use your cock, ride you until I cum, and you’re not allowed to see me or touch me, because you didn’t listen.”

Protests and cries die on your lips, but he shushes you right away. He’s well aware that you can’t stand not touching him, especially when he’s riding your strap. Always needing to have your hands on the thick of his beautiful ass — smacking, encouraging it, scratching, pulling it apart. He gives you points when you don’t disagree further, your hands staying perfectly still, even as he makes a fast task of lubricating the faux dick and himself, tossing the bottle beside your leg. He finds your thick waistline, squeezes — and then, reaching with one hand, he tugs the tip of the toy towards his ass, gently easing it back and forth across his perineum.

“God, honey. Your strap is gonna make me feel so fucking good. Gonna soak your tits and your face in my cum.”

“Yes, please. Fucking use me, Steve!”

He grumbles about that being what he likes to hear, and then he’s settling his weight onto you, right into his loud whimpering cries, as he eases himself down the toy — each realistic ridge and thick inch making him feel for what you have to go through, but also making his brain short circuit, and your own, hearing how slick and wet he is, how his tight hole opens up for its thick girth. It hits against that special spot, and already, his toes are curling. You can’t see him, but you can feel the slippery perspiration of his skin, coarse leg hair, right to the happy trail that dips down his belly button and settles around the base of his own fat cock. He’s groaning, tongue tied and gone. Your fingers almost twitch.

“Good boy, Steve. You’re doing so good for me. Are you — you okay, baby?”

He drops a hand to your cheek and swipes his calloused thumbpad, nodding, even though you can’t see, beginning to thrust himself into the rhythmic pain. This won’t last long, he’s well aware. His pre-come squirts out in fresh waves, soaking your belly each time he works his hips. “It’s perfect. Fuck, baby.” He loses himself and lets his hand fall backwards, nudging your legs apart a little more, skimming that opening where your pussy meets the harness straps.

Your thighs begin to tremble and you mewl, quite pathetically. Steve is cursing. “Honey, that’s my good-fuckin’-girl! You’re sopping wet. And that’s all because daddy is riding you, huh?”

“You feel amazing, Stevie! How’s my strap? Nice and thick in your tight little hole, splitting you open just like you always do to me?”

You can’t form a coherent thought, both of you becoming lost in the power dynamic and babble. Steve is a writhing mess at your words, hand working overtime behind him.

He strokes and swipes as best as he can, taking what arousal he gathers from you, and uses it to circle around his rim — that’s stuffed full of your strap, and then he’s taking some more to slick his aching cock, peeling it off your stomach, letting it bob back and forth, slapping your skin in a sticky press. You’re planting your feet into the couch and helping get him deeper, his hands finding your breasts, pinching your pebbled nipples, holding on as he begins to bounce, even his teeth aching from the overwhelming urge to come, his breathing accelerating.

Yeah, this isn’t gonna last much longer…

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MAKE A WRITER’S WORLD GO AROUND - SO PLEASE DO NOT FORGET TO LEAVE SOME! Thanks! ;)

[romanestuffsposts]

I have a minor heart issue where I get episodes of a high heart rate and chest tightness. Can you possibly write one where their little has an episode like at home or maybe out with them running errands? 🥺💖

Hi there love! 💜

I really hope that you're fine! And I hope it's not too serious. You're so so strong let me tell you ❤️

I hope you like how i turned it, babe.

Enjoy <3

****

Warnings : episode of chest tighening, high heart rate, angst, comfort, pet names, working daddies, tiredness, daddies take care of you, cuddles, reassurance

Pairings : Daddies!Stucky ; Daddy!Bucky x Papa!Steve x Little!Reader

Summary : you're about to prepare you a good lunch when something from earlier is suddenly coming back. Fortunately for you, your Daddies heard you and are here to make sure you're fine, as always.

A/N : I'm so sorry for the late post. I got a bit overwelmed about some things and I didn't had the strengh to keep working on my writing.

I had started writing some request but didn't finished them. But today, I had free times after school and the most important things, I didn't had any homeworks and I have a big week end of four days, starting tomorrow. So i'll have plenty times to rest and get my shit together.

Thank you for your understanding my love, you're all the best! Love you so much

I hope you had a good start to the week and will have wonderful days!

Big kisses,

Romane

Second A/N : i don’t know if how I wrote it in exact same way you have it- probably not but I hope that’s okay!

****

You're comfortably laying on the couch watching your favorite show. You're laying in here since the moment you woke up, you went to say good morning to your Daddies in their office right after you opened an eye.

They have a lot of work and they told you yesterday that they'll be working almost all day so, before jumping on the couch to do nothing you went to them a little good morning.

You could say they were very busy with work so you didn't stay for too long in their office. They kissed you good mornings and asked you if you had a good sleep but nothing more. You didn’t want to be a burden so you quickly excused yourself and left.

Now you're laying on the couch laughing your ass off as your show plays on the screen. But unfortunately for you, its the end of the show so now you don't know what to watch.

You grab the remote and put something else. You don't know what it is, you never heard the name of this movie nor heard about it but that's the first thing you found so you decide to let it there.

As you lie back on the couch, a loud siren suddenly yell from outside making you flinch hard. You feel your heartbeat going faster for a moment as you look at the window where the sound came from. The jump caused you to be on a sitting position now.

You feel your breathing going back to normal and the pain you felt in your chest due to the fear is going away by it's own. You slowly lie back down on the couch, taking some breath to be sure you're fully calm now.

You put your attention back on the screen and the incident is now completly forget as you're mind focus on the tv.

The movie isn’t that bad but you’re still happy when the screen goes black, announcing the end. You get up from the couch and make your way toward the kitchen to grab something to eat since it’s now lunch time. You hesitate at going in your daddies’s office to give them their lunch, maybe they’re hungry too, but you decide to not disturbed them. The last thing you want is to make them grumpy. They’re grown men after all, they can go eat by themselves when they’re feeling hungry.

You grab the bread and start making a little meal while thinking about what you’re gonna do after. Maybe watching another movie ? Or probably not, you already watch a lot of tv and you usually get a headache if you overdo screen time. But drawing sounds good.

You grab the knife and start cutting your piece of bread in two pieces when you feel something weird in your chest. It feels like what happened earlier in the day. The same weird thing you felt earlier in the day

You let go of the knife you were holding causing it to fall on the ground. Your daddies’s attention turn toward the baby monitor in their office who is relied to the one in the living room and kitchen. Since this area of the house is relied to each other

You start panicking and take a hold of the island counter, your chest start to tighten and you feel your chest getting heavier and heavier as if all the weight of the world were sitting and punching your chest.

What is happening ? You were fine two seconds before that. You turn to look at the stairs and decide to go upstairs. Maybe laying in your bed is the best idea, right now.

It’s probably because of the screen, you thought, but when you start to walk, you immediately feel the need to sit down. You can’t bear all the pain and all the uncomfortable feelings you feel inside of you. You let yourself go and drop on your knees in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Bucky’s attention is still glued to the baby monitor while Steve is getting back to work. He keeps telling Bucky to calm down and that you probably just dropped a spoon or a knife you were using but something tells him to stay focus on it a little bit longer and Bucky’s instinct never failed him so this time, just like any others, he listen to it

When he hears you whining and your breath starting to get heavier and shorter, he stands up and walks toward the little things beside their desks. Steve almost rolls his eyes because he didn’t heard what his husband had. He just thinks he’s overreacting because you’re alone downstairs and it doesn’t happen every times.

He suddenly hears you falling and he almost drops the thing in his hand as he lets go of everything and decides to make a quick run to you. He opens the door in one quick movement and it’s like in almost two steps, he’s beside you.

You didn’t know you made that much noise until you see your Daddy running down the stairs and to you. He grabs your face with his hands and tilts it toward his, you sees his lips moving but the only thing you can understand is the panic and the concern in your Daddy’s face.

‘’Little one ?’´ he asks looking into your wide eyes ‘’can you hear me ? Where does it hurt ?’’ He asks but the look on your face tells him that you didn’t heard anything.

He stands up and easily lifts you up, he pulls you closer to him and you wrap your legs around his waist. With one hand, he assures your safety in his arms while with the other, he looks through the kitchen for your medication.

He exhales loudly when he finally find it and analyse it. He sighs a second time but a lot less happy than the first time as he puts the medication on the counter. He rubs your back slowly, he can almost feel your heart beating faster and faster more the seconds pass. ‘’It’s okay, babygirl. You’ll be fine, everything is okay’’ before reassures you, not knowing if your attention is on him again or still away.

‘’I’ll rest you on the counter island a little bit and then you’ll come back in my arms. Are you okay with that ?’’ He gently asks, hid lips against your ear as a small whisper comes out. You whine and shake your head, holding him tighter than before with the little strength left in you.

‘okay, beautiful. We’ll wait a little bit more’’ just as he said that, a blond figure appears from the stairs. Steve looks up and frowns when he sees the scenes before him ‘’what happened ?’’ He asks but gets a silence answer from Bucky.

Your Daddy turns his attention back to you ‘’how do you feel about sitting down for a bit ? I’ll be right in front of you, you can hold my hand the whole time so you can be sure I wonky go anywhere’’ he quietly asks and waits for you to answer.

You think about it and slowly nod your head. He smiles and kisses your temple. He walks toward the counter and wait until it touch your ass, letting you know that it’s the time to let go ‘’I’ll help you sit down. Firstly I’ll unwrap your legs and when I’m sure that you’re ready, I’ll unwrap your arms’’ he tells you so you’re ready and knows what will happen.

You whine but nod your head. He lifts your butt and rests it on the counter, he slides his hands along your legs who are around him and gently unlocks your feet. He brings your legs against the counter before letting go of your toes. He then slides his hands on your arms until it reach your hands behind his neck. He squeezes your hands before unlocking them too. He kisses each one of them and rests them against your laps. Just like he promised, he keeps a hand in yours and turns around to find Steve already walking to him with a glass of water.

Even if Steve weren’t here since the beginning of what happened, he still knows what to do for you and what to do for helping Bucky.

‘’Thank you, Stevie’’ Bucky says, grabbing the glass before turning around to look at you ‘’did you took these this morning ?’’ He asks showing you the medications. You look at it and shake your head. Every effort is hard to make, even one simple movement such as moving your head or your body away from your Daddy

Your Papa stands behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, he gently rests his chin on your shoulder, his hands gently stroking your belly just like you love it. It’s something who calm you and make you sleepy and your Daddies know that. They help you getting on a deep sleep at night by doing that when you can’t sleep. But this time, it’s to calm your little heart and to show you that he’s here with you and for you.

Your Daddies look at each other after you shook your head and sigh once again ‘’you know what is it for ?’’ Your Papa asks, turning his gaze to you and to the pills on front of you. You shake your head again. Why does they keep asking you question ? You just want to rest.

‘’Baby, look at me’’ your Daddy’s voice get your attention back to him ‘’those ugly things’’ he says showing you the pills with a grimace ‘’are for your own good, baby’’ he says tilting his head. ‘’it’s for your little heart, and we need you to take it because you are our heart and we need you to be okay because we love you. You need your heart to be in a good shape just as much as we need you to be inn a good shape. Do you understand us ?"

You nod your head telling him you understood even though you didn't really understood. Your Daddy looks at your Papa behind you and they both arch an eyebrow "are you sure you really understood, sweetie ?" your Papa asks, his breath lightly tickling your neck. You nod your head again. You're too tired to tell them you didn't understood and having to wait for them to expalin all over again. You don't have the strengh, right now.

Your Daddy chuckles, he knows what you're doing and decides to let it aside today because it's not the time. You're not focus enough to remember what they're saying even if it's important.

"Just take one now. You have to take it every morning after you woke up" he says giving you the pill and the glass of water. You cring and shake your head. It's bad enough that you have to take it every morning but he want to give one to you now ? In the early afternoon ? It's not morning.

"baby it's really important. Take it." he orders putting the pill in your mouth. You grimace and whine looking one last time at your Daddy for mercy, but the look on his face clearly say that every wars you're ready to take against him is a losing battle. Sighing you allow him to bring the cup of water to your mouth and to take a big sip.

You don't swallow it right away because it's not a small pill so you're scared but with the praises and the words of your Daddies are helping you a lot. It help so much that you finally swallow the pill causing your Daddies to yell their proudness at you. "You did it! we're so proud of you, beautiful" your Daddy says with stars in his eyes

"You're so strong! How did you do ? You'll have to teach me because i'm not as strong as you for taking pills" Your Papa says with a shocked face before winking at you.

You blush and look down at your laps, fidgeting with your fingers. They chuckle and you feel your Papa removing his arms from around you making you whine. It felt so good, his arms around you, the warm of his body against yours, the comfort and reassurance he can give you without actually speaking.

Those feelings are quickly replaced by your Papa's arms again as he lifts you up from the counter after he walked around it to stand in front of you. He leaves the kitchen with your Daddy on his heels and starts to walks up the stairs.

You look at your Daddy who shifts his gaze to you when he feels your eyes on him. He smiles brightly at you and brings his hand to your foot. He hold your toes all the way to their bedroom for a good nap time. You giggle at him because h can't stop making funny face to you to high up the mood.

Your Daddy lets go of you when you reach the bed and your Papa gently rests you down in it. Since you were still in your pyjama, you can immediately slide under the cover and wait for the warmth of your Daddies.

While one of your Daddies went to use the bathroom, the other went to turn off the light of the bedroom and light up the night light before crowling in bed beside you. You immediately snuggle closer to him and sigh in contentement when your favorites feelings come back with his arms around you. You close your eyes and wait for your Daddy to come back from the bathroom to snuggle with you too

You need it but you know that they need it too. They had a lot of work the last few days and really deserve to rest.

You smile when two others arms come around you and you don't need anything more to feel ready to fall asleep and rest.

Now that your heart isn't hurting anymore feel good, a whole lot better. It was scary, really scary but it helped you a lot that your Daddies were there for you, they didn't let you alone, they didn't let you down. They accompanied you to the end and always will.

That's something you're positive about. It took a long time to find someone who'll carry you up to the sky and above the cliuds in everything you want to do, even if it seems like a dumb thing, you needed someone like that. And you found it, you not only found someone, you found two people, two gorgious men who'll do anything to see you fly on your own.

"good nap, baby girl" your Daddy kisses the bak of your neck "you handled things so good, just like a big girl. Don't ever forget how proud we are"

"we love you, always and forever"

[fumifooms]

was not expecting how head over heels i'd fall for marchil- i stg there's something they put in the sauce like goddamn! and i've loved seeing your posts analyzing their dynamic, really helped articulate what i was feeling. i was wondering if you had any fic recs, or any recommendations for ships with a similar vibe? i'm hungry for them...

I know right, marchil gripped me in a chokehold out of nowhere and still hasn’t let go… The sauce was designed by the demon for me to get addicted specifically. It’s been too long since I haven’t written fic for them. I’m still chipping away at my Marcille & Chil arc analysis I know I always mention it and I started the draft in January but I SWEARRR… Season 1 is ending next week :/ On the upside I’ll probably be more focused. After that analysis, which is only analyzing in depth like one aspect/half of their intertwined arc btw so who knows there might be a part 2 one day, I kept thinking it’d prob be my last marchil analysis but let’s be real, probably not. Every week I find something new to point out about them aah…… Dungeon food, ahh, dungeon food…

Fanfic rec wise, well first I have my own marchil fics, to which I mostly recommend Grind Me Down Sweetly, and then feel free to browse my marchil bookmarks for what seems good! I don’t know what your tastes are but Shroomyystar makes super good angst (and smut), my favorite being 'Til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours about Marcille getting deathly sick and the dilemma to confess or to not confess, incredibly haunting piece of bittersweet but soul-crushing angst AND character study. Like wow! Chilchuck I need to throw you in a river. I want you beside me is cute bedsharing banter. From me to you makes my head spin and makes me shake my screen. And- *gets dragged off before I can mention more* Meanwhile on the flipside, Anita_Amai (the first ao3 marchil writer, still going strong 👏👏) is especially great at offering short and sweet pieces, the tone is usually light and comedic and it always makes me smile and giggle, gives me fluff attacks, the fics always a strong good scene or theme idea too. Just browse and pick any, it’s a good time. There’s soo many more. Honestly I recommend just diving into the ao3 tag and start reading. You can start by kudos and read the highest ones first to dip your toes and get the community classics one out. Early on there was a recurring anon writer who did great bittersweet domestic confession stuff like this one, lifespan angst oughh... Wherever you are now thank you for all your work 😭💖 A lot of new marchil writers are starting to post too! A csm asaden fanfic writer legend just joined the tag so marchil will probably finally get some multi-chaptered fanfics haha~ But yess there’s unrequited angst, there’s self-sabotaging angst, there’s domestic fluff, there’s falling in love and bantery fluff, bunch of good stuff <3

As to ships with similar vibes: The closest I’ve seen so far is honestly weirdly close, it’s the protagonists from a romance comedy josei called Dame na watashi ni koishite kudasai or Please love useless me! I don’t want to spoil but there’s even the guy needing to move on from a doomed love + emotional distance issues and the gal slowly invading his personal life/social circle and my god… They were coworkers, he was rude, he’s a workaholic, he’s reliable, she’s sunshine and needs to get some reality checks... The banter. THE BANTER. He represses and she copes by simping for fictional characters. He made, like, a mutual aid community for ex-gangsters. They dress up in silly costumes sometimes. They’re weeeird about each other in an unlabelable way before dating in a way (in a fun marchil in canon way). It’s so funny she’s cracking open his convoluted personal drama like her morning newspapers. There’s more there’s so much more. Give up on your dreams, make money, love loses 🔥🔥 It’s honestly just a great fun read, it’s such a mood. Haven’t read the sequel yet but there’s one so really if it hooks you you’ll be fed well and for a while. The greatest bits are too spoilery but here, have the vibe.

Howl’s Moving Castle, specifically the book, and there’s a ton of themes and narratives that are so fitting for them that I couldn’t possibly all list, I already made a post on it here if you’re interested in all the details and similarities and my AU thoughts haha.

Teen Titans 2003 the show, Beast Boy x Starfire. THAT’S RIGHT I’M A BBSTAR, BAM! 💥🫶 Jokester that’s dependable x sweet and idealistic but strong and protective. Short gremlin and tall beauty. Friends-coworkers to lovers. Very soft fluffy slice of life ship I like it a lot, and I wrote a fic for it hehe. Might do more one day, I have a bunch of prompts written down and a series I really wanted to get to sob.

I almost forgot to mention Shrek. It’s SO FUNNY how well it goes sometimes… Chil Shrek, Laios Donkey, Marcille Fiona. I want to say Mickbell could be Farquaad but even Mick doesn’t deserve this slander… Shrek 2 fear that he’s not prince charming enough for her oughh. Laios getting to be a horse good for him good for him. Winged Lion singing I need a hero. Someone stop me.

There’s also zenmiyo from Touge Oni but no one reads that </3 I gotta get to my review/lore analysis about that manga it’s sooo good a fave read of mine from last year. Like it’s so fucking good. It keeps just ramping up and getting more crazily good. Scrolling through some pages rn and it’s a unique blend of comedy, philosophy and awe-inspiring visuals and creativity. Well, sort of like late Dunmeshi actually. If it had a fandom any bigger I’d be all over it constantly. And I’d also recommend Harahara Sensei / Timebomb Teacher if it had any english translation, one of my fave mangas also. It’s about mafia, and a goody two shoes willing to go through a corruption arc to save her sister x stern rude mafioso who’s there bc he’s poor and on a revenge mission, never had any other option growing up etc etc. Ok he’s not that Chilchuck but the dynamic does have that "grow up and see the world for what it is, a shithole. It’s been hell for me" vs "ok you have a point. But also have you considered not sacrificing your humanity and emotions in a self-destructive pursuit" (not that she’s in the position to talk lmaoo) like ohh my goood him throwing his popsicle stick in the fire that she lit over a corpse, it haunts me.

From the marchil Discord it’s also fun to notice ships some of us share… Csm asaden, some combination of LotR elf x short guy, fair amount of dunmeshi ships overlap too. Haven’t found the overall common thread quite yet and I’m forgetting many that have come up but lol some off the top of my head.

[spatialwave]

Hi dropping on to say I’m so thankful someone else is currently as captivated with Limoreau as I am but is a writer and creates sweet sweet content. I think you’re doing amazing at writing them, thank you so much.

Obsessed with Jordan and Marie always trying to protect the other, always looking at each other even when they were rivals. I like to think that at some point Jordan notices Marie protecting them and at first doesn’t get why and tries to make sure they’re protecting her and not the other way around. And then a cycle of this until they finally just ask her why she’s putting herself in danger for them and then they both turn into queer mush idk I love them 💖

you... are so sweet oh my god! i am so glad i can write them for you, it is a pleasure! 🩵 (warning: writing this little musing ficlet made me cry.)

-

protecting others was the reason why students wanted to major in crimefighting, or at least, that's what should have been the main reason. jordan li took that promise very seriously, and it showed when they had to fight luke. without any hesitation, then stepped between their friend and a girl they hardly knew - just to protect her.

that’s when jordan realized a pattern. maybe it was because either one of them hated the notion of owing each other a favour, regardless, the two of them seemed to be crazy protective of each other.

it was an unending cycle, jordan would protect marie, then marie would step in and protect jordan. it was weird, jordan couldn’t comprehend why she would want to step in like that.

the more jordan thought about it, the more it made them frustrated and angry. the last thing they ever wanted was for marie to get hurt because of them. they'd live with that regret and guilt forever.

it hurt especially when they got close, emotions rose and feelings bloomed. that fear of marie getting hurt was beginning to swallow them whole, and it was a complicated feeling. marie was her own person, she was strong... jordan didn't want to bring it up and come across like they didn't believe in her.

that just weren't used to someone wanting to protect them, too.

it wasn’t until after they got their memories back — when jordan remembered the fight with sam, where jordan had put themselves between marie and sam only after she jumped head first into battle. oh, how it rattled them. how could she have been so careless? to jump in without even as much of a plan?

it was eating them away when they returned to godolkin later that night. they had spent several hours sitting on their bed wondering how they were going to approach this without making it seem like marie was incapable, but they couldn’t take it anymore.

the confrontation started with jordan knocking on marie’s door with a heavy fist, five knocks for good measure. marie opened the door and her eyes widened, a smile spreading on her lips, “hey-“

“why are you so frustrating?” jordan questioned immediately, pushing past marie into her room. much like the time of their first kiss.

she was taken back, blinking a few times as if she was having deja vu.

“excuse me?” she asked, already offended by their verbal attack, “what did i do?”

jordan turned around, tucking back a few loose curls behind their ear as they looked at marie, “you… you’re always getting in the way! every fight you’re always running in head first and trying to protect me. why?”

“what?” marie shut the door, walking a bit closer to jordan with a confused look on her face, “you’re mad at me because i’m… helping you?”

this is exactly the energy that jordan was avoiding, but they didn’t exactly do a good job at positive communicating. they sighed as they ran a hand down their face, trying to take a moment to relax before they continued to run their mouth off like a maniac.

“look,” they started, taking a step forward and looking deep into marie’s eyes, “i’ve just- i’ve never had someone like you in my life before, alright? i don’t want to see you get hurt.”

those words made marie’s heart skip a beat, but she was hesitant to let it go, “i can take care of myself.”

“that’s not what i’m insinuating.”

“then explain it better. use your words better.” marie stood her ground, arms over her chest as she watched jordan with thinned eyes.

it sent a shiver down jordan’s spine. she was right.

a few moments of silence passed before jordan parted their lips, “i’m scared you’re going to get hurt because of me. when you put yourself in danger like that it fucking sucks, okay? i hate feeling like i’m the reason you’re going to get yourself caught up in something stupid just to protect me.” the words came out of their mouth easier than expected, their breath quickening and heart rate sky rocketing. their eyes shook with vulnerability as they stared at marie.

tears had began to well up.

“oh, fuck,” marie murmured as she saw the pain in jordan’s eyes, walking close to them and wrapping her arms around their shoulders tight, “i didn’t know.”

an awkward laugh bubbled up as a tear rolled down jordan’s cheek, “yeah, well, obviously i’m shit at communicating,” they said as their arms gently wrapped around marie’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her red hoodie.

she pulled back slightly so she could look at jordan, moving one of her hands to wipe away the tear that rolled down their cheek.

“i can’t promise that i won’t get hurt,” she spoke softly, the most gentle smile forming on her lips, “but i’m not going to stop. i care about you, jordan. i care about you so much that i would rather get hurt if it meant you didn’t. that’s what you did for me with luke… and i didn’t appreciate it until it was too late.”

jordan couldn’t speak, their eyes filling with more tears that dared to spill. they could only listen to marie, hearing those words that soothed their angry heart.

“i’m making it up to you.”

[doyouknowthisbook-poll]

Do you know which book this is from?

Please reblog the polls, but KEEP IT SPOILER-FREE to make people read the excerpt with an open mind 💖📚 Title and author will be revealed after the poll's conclusion.

Note: The alt-text is too long for Tumblr, so the alt-text for this poll is below the cut.

Edit: The results are up here!

It had begun with Christmas and the gift of dolls. The big, the special, the loving gift was always a big, blue-eyed Baby Doll. From the clucking sounds of adults I knew that the doll represented what they thought was my fondest wish. I was bemused with the thing itself, and the way it looked. What was I supposed to do with it? Pretend I was its mother? I had no interest in babies or the concept of motherhood. I was interested only in humans my own age and size, and could not generate any enthusiasm at the prospect of being a mother. Motherhood was old age, and other remote possibilities. I learned quickly, however, what I was expected to do with the doll: rock it, fabricate storied situations around it, even sleep with it. Picture books were full of little girls sleeping with their dolls. Raggedy Ann dolls usually, but they were out of the question. I was physically revolted by and secretly frightened of those round moronic eyes, the pancake face, and orangeworms hair.

The other dolls, which were supposed to bring me great pleasure, succeeded in doing quite the opposite. When I took it to bed, its hard unyielding limbs resisted my flesh-the tapered fingertips on those dimpled hands scratched. If, in sleep, I turned, the bone-cold head collided with my own. It was a most uncomfortable, patently aggressive sleeping companion. To hold it was no more rewarding. The starched gauze or lace on the cotton dress irritated any embrace. I had only one desire: to dismember it. To see of what it was made, to discover the dearness, to find the beauty, the desirability that had escaped me, but apparently only me. Adults, older girls, shops, magazines, newspapers, window signs—all the world had agreed that a blue-eyed, yellow-haired, pink-skinned doll was what every girl child treasured.

"Here," they said, "this is beautiful, and if you are on this day "worthy' you may have it." I fingered the face, wondering at the single-stroke eyebrows; picked at the pearly teeth stuck like two piano keys between red bowline lips.

Traced the turned-up nose, poked the glassy blue eyeballs, twisted the yellow hair. I could not love it. But I could examine it to see what it was that all the world said was lovable. Break off the tiny fingers, bend the flat feet, loosen the hair, twist the head around, and the thing made one sound—a sound they said was the sweet and plaintive cry "Mama," but which sounded to me like the bleat of a dying lamb, or, more precisely, our icebox door opening on rusty hinges in July. Remove the cold and stupid eyeball, it would bleat still, "Ahhhhhh," take off the head, shake out the sawdust, crack the back against the brass bed rail, it would bleat still. The gauze back would split, and I could see the disk with six holes, the secret of the sound. A mere metal roundness.

Grown people frowned and fussed: "You-don't-know-how-to-take-care-of-nothing. I-never-had-a-baby-doll-in-my-whole-life-and-used-to-cry-my-eyes-out-for-them. Now-you-got-one-a-beautiful-one-and-you-tear-it-up-what's-the-matter-with-you?"

How strong was their outrage. Tears threatened to erase the aloofness of their authority. The emotion of years of unfulfilled longing preened in their voices. I did not know why I destroyed those dolls. But I did know that nobody ever asked me what I wanted for Christmas. Had any adult with the power to fulfill my desires taken me seriously and asked me what I wanted, they would have known that I did not want to have anything to own, or to possess any object. I wanted rather to feel something on Christmas day. The real question would have been, "Dear Claudia, what experience would you like on Christmas?" I could have spoken up, "I want to sit on the low stool in Big Mama's kitchen with my lap full of lilacs and listen to Big Papa play his violin for me alone." The lowness of the stool made for my body, the security and warmth of Big Mama's kitchen, the smell of the lilacs, the sound of the music, and, since it would be good to have all of my senses engaged, the taste of a peach, perhaps, afterward.

Instead I tasted and smelled the acridness of tin plates and cups designed for tea parties that bored me. Instead I looked with loathing on new dresses that required a hateful bath in a galvanized zinc tub before wearing. Slipping around on the zinc, no time to play or soak, for the water chilled too fast, no time to enjoy one's nakedness, only time to make curtains of soapy water careen down between the legs. Then the scratchy towels and the dreadful and humiliating absence of dirt. The irritable, unimaginative cleanliness. Gone the ink marks from legs and face, all my creations and accumulations of the day gone, and replaced by goose pimples.

I destroyed white baby dolls.

But the dismembering of dolls was not the true horror. The truly horrifying thing was the transference of the same impulses to little white girls. The indifference with which I could have axed them was shaken only by my desire to do so. To discover what eluded me: the secret of the magic they weaved on others. What made people look at them and say, "Awwwww," but not for me? The eye slide of black women as they approached them on the street, and the possessive gentleness of their touch as they handled them.

If I pinched them, their eyes—unlike the crazed glint of the baby doll's eyes—would fold in pain, and their cry would not be the sound of an icebox door, but a fascinating cry of pain. When I learned how repulsive this disinterested violence was, that it was repulsive because it was disinterested, my shame floundered about for refuge. The best hiding place was love. Thus the conversion from pristine sadism to fabricated hatred, to fraudulent love. It was a small step to Shirley Temple. I learned much later to worship her, just as I learned to delight in cleanliness, knowing, even as I learned, that the change was adjustment without improvement.

[gigglingsoftly]

Lee!Gregory (mostly) Headcanons (because I can’t stop thinking about them) 😜

Merry Christmas, FNAF fans and tickle lovers! 🎄🎉 I’ve got some fun Gregory headcanons from Five Nights at Freddy’s: Security Breach to share, focusing on his complicated (and hilarious) relationship with being tickled! I hope you enjoy these little quirks I’ve come up with for him. Let me know what you think! (Please no hate!) 💖

~~~~~~

He claims he’s not ticklish! Swears up and down that he’s not ticklish, but you can tell he’s already backing up or trying to find an escape route. He always promises himself he won’t laugh—Spoiler alert… He always does 😂 (To his credit, he starts off strong though!)

If you try to tickle him—he will threaten you. It’s usually biting or kicking. Most of his fighting is before you actually tickle him. He’ll kick and try to get free but the minute you tickle him all he can do is squirm and giggle.

As much as he insists he can’t stand being tickled, he won’t give in so easily. His stubbornness makes him try to hold out, but it can only last so long—usually just a few seconds—before he realizes it’s not even worth it anymore. The longer it goes on, the more he just wants to be left alone, but his pride won’t let him give up. 😤

He’s already a very ticklish person but being on edge all the time seems to have made it worse. He’s so jumpy that even accidentally brushing against him can be ticklish! 😭

Too much tickling? Yep, Gregory gets hiccups. He’s super embarrassed and will blush, trying to cover his face. He’ll shyly punch you afterward, telling you it’s not funny—even though it definitely is! 😳

As much as he hates to admit it, Gregory will pull out his best puppy dog eyes to try and get out of being tickled. He’s gotta even the playing field somehow, right? 😏 He knows if it’s not working, but if it does, he’ll be quick to tease you for being “too easy.” 😆

He insists tickling is childish and for babies. He’ll also act all tough, insisting tickling is childish and for babies. But once he starts giggling, he’s clearly not as immune to it as he thought. 😬 If you call him out by saying, “I thought tickling was for babies?” He’ll roll his eyes, mutter a grumpy “Shut up!” and pretend it didn’t bother him—even though it definitely did. 🙄

Has a love/hate relationship with tickling. He might complain, but Gregory secretly loves playful, quick tickles. Once it goes on too long, though, expect some snappy comments to cut it short. 😤

Gregory is ticklish all over and hates for it to be pointed out. It makes him feel like a little kid that he’s this ticklish. Don’t even think about asking Gregory what his worst spot is—he’ll give you a sharp glare and tell you, ‘It’s all hell, okay?’ He can’t pick just one—it’s everything. 😣

He reluctantly accepts a hug or cuddle afterward, gently leaning into it and muttering that you’re evil. He’ll quickly go back to being grumpy, but if you manage to get him to cuddle, he might grumble, yawn, and look like he could fall asleep from all the tickling. 😴

Gregory isn’t much of a ler! He can’t compete with 7 ft tall animatronics. Gregory can’t even compete with the towering animatronics. He tries to get ticklish revenge, but he’s learned that animatronics aren’t ticklish, much to his dismay. 😔

~~~~~

Feel free to add your own headcanons below! What do you think Gregory’s ticklish limit is? 🧐✨

[lilac-hecox]

the forbidden love prompt list is so good!

I'd genuinly love if you'd write smth for any of them! 💖

However, I'm particularly interested in

“if you don’t love, prove it to me. prove me that you’ve never felt something towards me. look at me.”

OH THIS IS VERY IANTHONY, ANON.

--

"What?" Ian asks, his heart beating too quickly in his chest.

"I don't want to say it again," Anthony says firmly, shaking his head. He won't even fucking look at Ian right now.

"No, I need you to say it again."

Anthony sighs hard through his nose, he's irritated, both of them hurting, their defenses going up to protect themselves. Ian knew it was coming, could feel it for months now, Anthony's unhappiness following him around like a shadow. He knows what Anthony said, but he can't spare either of them the pain of making the other man say it again.

"I'm leaving Smosh, Ian."

Ian closes his eyes, his mind reeling, jumping from utter disappointment, to sadness, to fear. What is he supposed to do now? What is he supposed to say? His eyes are still closed, but he can feel the weight of Anthony looking at him, waiting for something.

"Okay," Ian says.

"That's it?" Anthony says, "You're not even going to ask me to change my mind?" his voice is a mixture of hurt and annoyed.

Ian opens his eyes and shrugs, his chest hurting.

"Would it change your mind, Anthony?"

Now Anthony looks away, his mouth a deep set frown.

"So, there isn't really anything left to-" Ian begins, but then Anthony is cutting him off.

"Come with me."

"What?" Ian asks, not truly believing that he heard Anthony right.

Anthony, in one singular moment, switches from anger to something else, something foreign to Ian. There is a vulnerability in his eyes as he reaches out and wraps his long fingers around Ian's wrist.

"Come with me, Ian." It sounds like a plea.

Ian is almost tempted. Anthony's fingers are warm on his skin and his eyes are big, brown, holding a desperation to them. Ian is quiet a moment before he looks down at his shoes.

"I can't."

Anthony's touch is gone.

"Why?" the question is neutral, no real emotion behind it.

"If we both leave...what happens to Smosh? What happens to our co-workers?"

Anthony rolls his eyes, "Ian, who gives a shit what happens? This isn't our Smosh. This isn't even close to what we made! Let's fucking forget this crap and start over again, just you and me, you know, like it used to be?" Anthony starts strong, but by the end of his sentence his words are whisper soft, painful to Ian's heart.

He wants to. He'd give Anthony just about anything, but he can't leave Smosh. He can't leave the familiar for the unknown, even if it is for Anthony.

Anthony takes his silence for the answer that it is and he sighs again, like he's tired, like he's disappointed. For as long as Ian has known him, Anthony, when his back is against the wall, is not above playing dirty and this instance is no different. His eyes flick to Ian's face.

"If you fucking loved me at all, you'd leave with me."

Emotions as a weapon, cutting Ian where it hurt the most. Ian knows Anthony is waiting for a response, for anything. He shakes his head, feeling sick to his stomach.

"You don't love me?" Anthony questions, pain in his voice.

Ian hates this. He fucking hates this. Ian watches Anthony's fingers curl into fists at his side. He's not sure what he's expecting.

"Of course you don't...or you're a coward, both are likely outcomes."

Ian frowns, "Anthony, I just-"

“If you don’t love me, prove it to me. Prove to me that you’ve never felt something towards me." Anthony's hand finds Ian's jaw, tilting his face so their eyes meet, "look at me.”

Ian does. He stares Anthony down. The room is too quiet and all Ian can hear is Anthony's harsh breathing and the rapid beat of his own heart against his chest. He doesn't know how they got here? How did they get so far away from each other that Anthony doesn't even know how much Ian does love him? How much he fucking cares.

Ian is stubborn. Ian doesn't like to back down from a challenge, especially from Anthony.

Ian moves forward quickly and in one fluid movement he is pressing his lips to Anthony's. It is something that feels innocent, reminds him of high school in a way, even though he and Anthony had never kissed until well into their adulthood, and never outside of a sketch.

For a moment Anthony doesn't respond, just the warm press of lips against lips, but then his hand comes up, fisting in Ian's jacket. Ian expects to get pushed away, but instead he is drawn closer, Anthony's other hand finding the back of his head.

Ian gasps in surprise and then the kiss is deepening, he feels Anthony's tongue in his mouth. Ian's own shaking hands find Anthony's shoulders, hanging on for dear life.

There's really no thoughts, no questions, just the wet slide of their mouths as Anthony backs them up until Ian feels himself bump the wall, feels Anthony's warm body pressed flush against his own. He moans into the kiss and the hand in his jacket tugs him even closer if at all possible.

Their kiss breaks so the two of them can catch their breaths. Ian's head is tipped back against the wall as he stares at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck just happened. He feels Anthony press a damp kiss to the column of his throat and Ian can't hold back the small needy noise that leaves him.

Anthony's hands make a beeline for Ian's belt, set on undoing it, but Ian panics. Ian's senses smack into him like a hard wave, crashing thoughts and reality back into his mind.

"Wai-Wait," Ian says, Anthony's hands stilling as their eyes meet.

Ian's never seen Anthony's eyes look so dark, so hungry. Anthony's panting a little, cheeks pink.

"What?" Anthony asks, voice rough.

"I...fuck, Anthony, I do love you but..."

Anthony's hands fall away from Ian's belt. He takes a step back so their eyes can meet, but Ian doesn't miss the disappointment that lingers there.

"But?" Anthony inquires, the hurt in his voice clear as day.

"But that doesn't change anything," Ian says, letting the pain wash over him. It isn't what he wants, but it is the right thing to do. He's wanted to kiss Anthony for as long as he can remember, the idea a secret, lingering daydream in the back of his head. He wants Anthony, but Ian is a realist, and he knows in his heart that neither of them are going to budge on this issue, despite their kiss. "I still can't leave Smosh."

Whatever vulnerability that Anthony had let seep through, whatever magic spell had come over them to allow their kiss, to allow the more primal desires to take over, it's gone. Ian can practically see the moment that Anthony's walls go up, sky high, higher than ever before.

"And I'm still leaving," Anthony says, his voice cold.

Ian nods, knows this, knows it as much as he knows Anthony.

Ian licks his lips, can still taste Anthony lingering there.

"Okay, we'll uh...we'll figure out what to say...what to tell the cast and, um, Defy, and the fans...we'll figure it out."

"Yeah," Anthony says, not meeting Ian's eyes.

[giggly-squiggily]

squiggily my love how are you, i feel like it's been forever since i crashed in your ask box 🖤 i hope the universe gives you the queen treatment you deserve and i will just humbly leave my present in your courtroom and then show myself out to watch from my evil tower of evilness how you open the box and find *drumroooooll* a kny modern au scenario because i'm BACK BABY (moderately so i still need to write job applications but i'm back that's the point)

so anyway the scenario. and it needs to be modern au because. people are alive there.

i've been having some sabito brainrot and he would just be SUCH a horrifying ler, i know it. he knows exactly what teases get to his victim, he knows all their spots, he's agile enough to dodge attacks and strong enough to pin people down, he just has the full package. taking him down is literally impossible.

giyuu tries it. epic fail abort mission the absolute worst day of his life and he's had many of those so you know it's bad.

tanjiro tries it. EPIC fail, sabito is a substitute coach in urokodaki's dojo after all and he knows ALL of tanjiro's moves, it's hopeless.

nezuko tries it. failfailfail because yeah she's cute and dangerous but sabito is a teacher, he knows of the danger that comes from small people and once you see where kids stick their hands you become kinda immune to any kind of cuteness.

giyuu ropes his friends into it. some of them only need a little nudge ("i've been wanting to kill that guy for years" - "SANEMI"), some of them need extra encouragement ("and what's in it for me?" - "fun? exercise? come on kyo..." - "listen if you want this to happen you better treat me to some quality burgers because i won't risk my life for nothing") but in the end they do indeed end up trying their luck. emphasis on trying.

kanae and kyojuro fail spectacularly and publicly because they thought it was a smart idea to ambush sabito on campus. tengen and mitsuri fail embarrassingly because they have all this strength and at the end of the day it really does nothing. sanemi and obanai refuse to talk about it and akaza isn't sure whether he should be absolutely fuming at the defeat or ecstatic that he actually found someone whose martial art skills are on par with his own.

(shinobu and gyomei are smart enough to stay out of the mess and honestly good for them)

except there is one person who can actually take sabito down and that person is makomo. and getting the intel from her was always out of giyuu's pay league (she's EXPENSIVE) but now that sabito has humiliated all of his friends, tengen and his disgusting off-shore untaxed bank account are happy to chip in. and the trick is really just that sabito has one really weird spot but once you get that the rest of his spots sort of unlock like bonus levels and then it's bad. if you're just one person, getting the spot might be hard but well. they're eight now.

that's it i don't have any details after it i just wanted to share the setup. have the most lovliest wonderfullest day and stay hydrated, i will now go rewatch sk8 as i yearn for the ova they announced 🖤🖤

REY! 💖💖💖💖 Hello my love! It’s always a bright day when you come by! I wouldn’t say the universe is treating me very luxurious right now (shark week started and I’m hurting baaaaad 😭) I can’t wait to devour this delightful present! *opens it and gets smacked like a giant boxing glove full of modernAU goodies* YIPPIE! 🥰🥰🥰

SABITO HELP WHZHWJDJSJSJS He’s that one guy you just don’t expect to be so deadly in tickle wars? First glances are deceiving; with his sweet smiles and charming nature you’d think he’d be such an easy lee…BUT THEN- oh as you said; he is DIABOLICAL! Endless knowledge of everyone’s tickle spots combined with his endless agility and strength and there’s no one who can defeat him!

JANZJANZNSNNS SANEMI WHHSB 🤣🤣🤣 He’s so ready to kill good lord! And Rengoku is a MOOD! He’s not going down without proper compensation and I love him for it whsbbsbbsnsbs (Akaza reluctantly impressed is GOLD QJZNANZNSNND 🤣🤣🤣🤣🥰🥰🥰🥰) They all just kinda shuffle back defeated and Giyu’s genuinely concerned there’s no way to defeat Sabito

Makomo knows her worth like a true girlboss and I love her for it whsnwnsnwn TENGEN ABXBNWHSJS He’s not ashamed- Sabito took his built like a building down so fast whsnnwnsns I love the idea of Sabito having such a unknown spot qjsnnsnsns (I don’t know why- I’m thinking elbows; like- just above the joint if you squeeze it with the right pressure it’s like an on switch) He gets all giggly and then shocked cause “Wait that wasn’t supposed to happen” and now everyone’s looking at him like 👀👀👀😈😈😈 and he’s RUNNING!

It goes down in history as the greatest fox hunt of all time- Shinobu took pictures and everything (she needs blackmail for future endeavors) and now Sabito has to get even more creative with his tickly attacks to avoid said antics 🤣🤣🤣 God this AU is so GREAT!

Thank you for sharing Rey! This made my kinda iffy morning a lot better 🥰🥰🥰

[eepwtf]

Sorry I know this is about to be super long 😭😭 but also thank you for taking the time to look through them 💖 Debra Morgan bot request! It took me a little bit to actually figure out what idea to go with because I’ve been thinking up a few of them, so I’m thinking since the season I’m on she’s currently a detective so we’ll still go with that. Okay so I kind of had two different ideas? So I’ll just give them both to you and if you like one or both, feel free to do either or mix ‘em up, I’m honestly good with either because I love how you end up taking requests and really making them your own and everything :D

Okay the first one is that user is another homocide detective, but they’re also not a fully “good” cop, they’re kind of like a Dexter in a way? They have their faults, maybe they’ve made some bad people disappear forever. But they’re trying to do good, maybe they end up getting closer with Deb and maybe starting to go on dates but never any further than kissing due to having the mindset that getting too close would give them away or end up hurting Deb more than anything, and Deb slowly starts to think may they don’t actually like her? And maybe they end up overhearing her say that to one of her friends or something, they start to do little acts to show her they do, like make her dinner at home, buy her flowers, leave her little gifts, anything to show that they do care, and maybe one night they surprise her with like the perfect night set up for her…

Or user is a confidential informant(off the books), and maybe they’re one of the rougher around the edges type of people, they get into trouble more often than not and maybe Deb ends up coming over one night with takeout like their usual nights go, but this time it’s after they got into a fight and she was ready to ring some necks when she saw user but they calm her down but she still insists on patching them up, maybe they have bruised knuckles and a split lip, or something. Like Deb knows she shouldn’t feel this way about user, because of who they are and who she is. But I feel like it’d be a cute little moment where she’s like, ‘you’re reckless but I can’t help that I care for you.‘ or like ‘If you die, I’ll bring you back and kill you myself’ or something along those lines.

Anyways, I hope these are okay, I got distracted half way through typing them up(while also watching Dexter) 😭

hello?? oh my god, i LOVE both of these ideas!! first off, don’t worry about it being long—your ideas are amazing, and i love the thought you’ve put into them. both concepts are really strong, and i honestly love them both. i feel like they each bring out such a cool dynamic with deb—like, the first one has that slow burn, almost tragic tension with the user keeping their secrets but still trying to show they care, and the second one has such a great mix of gritty vulnerability and banter with deb being torn about her feelings but unable to help herself.

i could definitely see combining the two ideas a bit, like maybe the user starts as an informant and transitions to working with her as a detective, keeping their darker tendencies under wraps. i can totally picture those moments where deb’s patching them up, throwing out her trademark tough love one liners like, "you’re a damn idiot, but you're my idiot," while secretly freaking the fuck out because she cares so much. and the user being all conflicted about getting closer to her because of their past but still doing everything they can to make her feel appreciated?

thank you for sending your ideas anon! i’m already excited to dive into this and make them to your liking.

[psychics4unet]

Hi psychics!

Thank you very, very, very much for your continued help and support.

Can I please receive a reading/response from the Angels regarding meditation – how am I being advised to meditate at this time/how am I meant to go about it specifically? How do they want me to meditate at this time?

I’ve tried all sorts over the years on and off and I’ve just been left incredibly frustrated with a strong desire to just quit due to that frustration. Now, I feel a lot calmer and would like to try, but I don’t know what to do/how to do it. Any instructions/specifics are very much appreciated.

Free Psychic Reading – Message From The Angels! (7$ PAID READINGS ARE ALSO OPENED!)

Hey there, beautiful soul 🌟💖 The Angels have some guidance for you on your meditation journey, and they’re happy you’re ready to try again! They want you to know that meditation doesn’t have to be complicated or rigid – they’re encouraging you to start by just “being” rather than “doing.” Let go of any previous frustrations and set the intention for this to be a calm, simple experience 🧘‍♀️✨.

The Angels suggest starting with short, gentle sessions each day. Just a few minutes in a comfortable spot where you can breathe deeply and release your thoughts. Focus on your breath – they’re showing me an image of you inhaling deeply and letting your breath guide you. There’s no need for complex techniques right now; simply let yourself feel each breath and notice the sensations in your body 🌬️💙.

They’re also encouraging you to connect to your heart space 💗 Imagine a soft, warm light there and let it grow, filling you with peace and love. This connection to your heart will bring you to a calm, centered state that feels natural, not forced. If any thoughts come up, allow them to float by without attachment – you don’t need to “fight” your mind, just gently return to your breath or that warm light in your heart 🌸✨.

You’re being asked to release any expectations or pressure. Your meditation practice is a gift to yourself, a gentle way to tune into your own energy and relax. Let it be easy, and trust that you’re doing it exactly right just by showing up 💫. The Angels are so proud of you for trying again!

Got questions or need some insight into your life? I'm here to help with personal psychic readings! For just $7, you can get answers to up to 7 questions! More info at:

[littleplantfreak]

Thinking of Narumi who gets off on the idea of helping you jerk him off. His ego needs it, he loves the idea that you’re so strong and independent but he loves being able to be the one to guide you through, it makes him feel like you need him. “Go on baby, give me your hand. Fuck, just like that.”

His head it tilted back biting his lip as his much larger hand wraps around yours, using your hand to jerk himself off. Definitely has a title kink, loves when he or you refers to himself as his title. “Yes, shit, baby. Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, listen to your captain.” Before exploding in your hand, and he isn’t done. What kinds of captain would he be if he didn’t take care of his subordinate?

BUT ALSO

Umemiya. Who unlike Narumi is just too fucking big. Your hands doesn’t even wrap around him properly due to his sheer girth. Hes smiling down at you, large calloused hand wrapping around your own. The difference in feel from your soft skin and his rough hands has his breaths coming in uneven. “Shit baby, feel so good wrapped around me, just like that, doing so good for me.”

Umemiya talks about your hand like he’s fucking your pussy. He is so sensitive too, eyes locked on yours as he guides your hand over his thick cock. Just as he starts feeling his pleasure build he’s letting go of your hand, wanting to only cum from your touch alone. “Go on sunflower, show me what I taught you, make me cum baby.”

Thank you Mari for unleashing demon hours at 7 am 🤭💖

Sam this could be us…It’s always demon hours in my head btw 😭

Narumi gets so used to your hand and mouth that he practically rubs himself raw when he’s on his own because it just doesn’t feel the same what the fuck? So he ends up pent up and tightly wound until he sees you at work and he twitches immediately when you greet him with his title. Insists you come with him to the training room no matter where you were going originally and locks the door.

It’s still a workout when he’s got you pressed against the wall, holding you up by your thighs right?

also…the sunflower always gets me orz like a punch to the cerv- gut. Umemiya ‘coke can cock’ Hajime everyone. You’ll just have to make do with what you have, trying to fist him while you suck on his tip. I know there’s a hand in your hair and a “so fucking pretty” just waiting to fall out of his mouth with a moan that clues you in to how close he actually is

[mysticinsightstarot]

Hello! Can I get a free reading I want to ask:

How I'll grt wealthy?

Thank you 💗 and have a good day 🍀

Yeah sure dear 💖 💖

Oh, hey there! 🌟 So, let’s break down how you’re going to get wealthy in a way that feels super fun and true to you! I’ve pulled these cards for your financial journey, and lemme tell you, you’ve got some serious magic going on! 💸✨ Get cozy and let's dive in!

1. Current Financial Situation: 10 of Cups

Okay, so right off the bat, I’m seeing that things are actually pretty solid for you emotionally! 💖✨ You’ve got this 10 of Cups vibe, which means you’re in a good place emotionally, surrounded by love and support. It’s not all about the money right now, but trust me, that happiness is going to help you manifest some serious abundance. 🌈💸 You’ve already built a strong foundation with your emotional well-being, and that is such a big part of attracting wealth. 💕

2. Main Obstacles: 3 of Cups

Ooooh, here’s the tea 🍵—3 of Cups tells me you might be having a liiiittle too much fun! I get it, life’s a party, and honestly, I love that for you! 🍻✨ But! You might be spending a bit too much time socializing or celebrating and not enough time focusing on those financial goals. 🥂 Don’t worry, though—it’s all about balance. Keep the good times rolling but make sure you’re carving out time to work towards that cash flow. 💼💪

3. Hidden Opportunities: 2 of Swords

Okay, this is super interesting. 👀 2 of Swords means you’ve got a decision that’s been hanging in the air for a while. You might’ve been avoiding it, but guess what? That decision is like a gateway to some major financial success. 🌟💡 You’ll have to take off the blindfold and just go for it. Trust yourself to make the right choice, because it’s going to unlock some hidden opportunities for you, boo! 🔮✨

4. Necessary Action: 4 of Wands

YASSS, 4 of Wands energy is everything! 🎉 This tells me that you need to focus on building something solid—think long-term stability, like investing in property, starting a business, or even teaming up with someone close to you. 🏡💼 You’ve got this amazing foundation, and now it’s time to build on it. Maybe get the family or friends involved, too, because partnerships are gonna be key in your wealth-building journey. 🤝✨

5. External Influences: 4 of Swords, 7 of Pentacles & The High Priestess

Okay, so the universe is sending you MAJOR “slow and steady” vibes here. 🧘‍♀️💤 4 of Swords is like, “Rest up, boo, this is a marathon, not a sprint.” You don’t need to rush—everything is happening in its own time. ⏳ And 7 of Pentacles is all about patience—wealth is going to grow, but you’ve got to give it some time. 🌱💸 And HELLO, High Priestess energy! 🌙✨ This is all about trusting your intuition. You already know deep down what moves to make, so listen to that inner voice. You’re more in tune than you realize. 💫👁️

6. Long-Term Strategy: Page of Cups & King of Cups

The universe is saying: Master those emotions! 💧💖 Page of Cups tells me you need to stay open to new, creative ideas. Be playful with how you approach wealth—it doesn’t all have to be serious business suits and spreadsheets, right? 😂💼 And with the King of Cups, the key is staying emotionally balanced. No chasing after money out of fear or greed. 🧘‍♂️ Stay calm, cool, collected, and you’ll be making moves that bring wealth and happiness. 🌊👑

7. Wealth-Building Talents: 9 of Wands & The Magician

HELLO, The Magician! 🧙‍♂️ You are LITERALLY magical. You’ve got all the skills and tools you need to manifest wealth—like, you can literally pull it out of thin air. ✨🪄 But also, 9 of Wands says you’re a fighter. 💪 Even when things get tough, you never give up, and that’s one of your biggest strengths. You’ve got resilience for days, and that combined with your manifesting powers? Money is gonna flow, babe. 💸🔥

8. Timing of Wealth: Knight of Wands, 2 of Wands, Page of Wands & Ace of Wands

Okay, so when’s the money coming in? FAST! 🚀🔥 Like, all these wands mean things are happening soon! You’re on the brink of something huge, and once you make that key decision (remember that 2 of Swords?), it’s gonna be full steam ahead! 💨 Expect some exciting opportunities and fast-paced growth. Don’t be afraid to jump on them when they show up! 🌟🔥

9. Wealth-Mindset Advice: Page of Pentacles, King of Pentacles & Queen of Pentacles

You’re entering your Pentacles Era! 👑💰 The advice here? Embrace abundance, babe! Page, King, and Queen of Pentacles together is like hitting the jackpot. 🎰👑 They’re saying you’ve got the mindset of a true money magnet. 💸✨ Keep learning, stay grounded, and trust in your ability to create wealth in a steady, reliable way. You’ve got this earthy, practical energy that’s perfect for building an empire. 🌍💎

10. The Outcome: 2 of Cups

Awww, 2 of Cups as the outcome? 💖💰 This tells me that not only will you build wealth, but you’re also going to do it in partnership with someone who totally gets you. 🤝 Whether that’s a business partner, friend, or significant other, you’re building this empire together. It’s all about balance, mutual respect, and shared goals. 👯‍♀️✨ And let’s be real, it’s going to be beautiful and successful! 💕🔥

Bottom of the Deck: The Fool

Let’s go, The Fool energy! 🌈💫 This is all about taking a leap of faith and trusting the journey. You’re about to step into something new and exciting—maybe even a little unexpected—but it’s going to lead you straight to abundance. 🌟 So take that leap, embrace the adventure, and trust that the universe has your back. 🎒💨

Okay, that’s all I’ve got for you! 🤩 You’ve got this incredible wealth-building journey ahead, and the cards are so on your side. Let’s make it happen! 💰💖 #WealthGoals #ManifestingMoney #BuildingThatEmpire