#The character reminds me of him in good ways

[candycandy00]

Finding Love in a Zombie Apocalypse - A JJK Interactive Romance Fanfic Round 2

Read the details about this event here!

During a zombie apocalypse, you meet a group of seven handsome men. Which one will you choose to be your survival/romantic partner?

Vote for the man you want to be eliminated! The man with the most votes will not be killed off in the story, but he will be removed from all future polls and his branching story will be closed off!

Reminder: Vote for the man you DO NOT want to survive with! You are voting someone OUT!

For the first two rounds, I’m not naming the men. You can probably figure out who is who, but that’s part of the fun! I’m doing it this way to encourage readers to vote based on the scenario rather than just automatically voting out their least fave character. Feel free to make guesses about who each man is!

In Round 1, Man #1, Choso, was eliminated!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

You’ve decided to stick with this group for the time being. They’re a nice mix of strong, smart, and caring. None of them come across as creepy or make you uncomfortable, which is saying a lot considering it’s a group made up entirely of men relatively close to your age. 

You spend the evening gathering what supplies you need into a duffel bag you found in the store’s rather scant sporting goods section. At night, one of them insisted you sleep in the stock room and keep the key until morning. He really was very considerate, and none of the others objected. 

The next day, someone makes coffee in the break room. You don’t know which one did it, but it’s the first cup you’ve had in over a week and tastes delicious. With foam cup in hand, you walk over to the front entrance to check the situation outside, only to find the man who called out to you yesterday keeping watch.

Man #1: Choso (Eliminated in Round 1)

He’s standing near the door, slightly to the side, still as a statue until you approach. 

“Want me to bring you some coffee?” you ask, taking a sip from your cup. 

He smiles at you. “Thanks, but I had some already.”

You gesture toward the entrance. “Anything new going on out there?”

“No, just a dozen or so zombies roaming around,” he replies. “They come close to the door sometimes, but with these tinted windows they can’t see much of what’s inside.”

You hadn’t realized they were tinted until he mentioned it, but you suppose that’s why everything looks so dreary outside. 

As you stare out the window, you notice something in the distance. You squint your eyes, trying to make out if it’s just another zombie or something else. As you watch, the figure picks up speed, breaking into a run. 

“Look! There’s someone out there!” you shout, pointing to the figure fleeing toward the store. 

The man beside you looks out through the glass door. “It’s definitely a living person!”

Behind the figure, a large group of zombies, perhaps the biggest group you’ve seen, is slowly giving chase. The figure stumbles, hits the ground, and you feel your heart race. You’ve witnessed zombie attacks before, but it’s always disturbing. And you can’t help thinking that this could easily have been you yesterday. 

You want to open the door and beckon the figure, but that’s not your call to make. You’re a guest with this group, and you don’t have the right to put their safety at risk. 

Thankfully, the kind hearted man beside you makes that choice. He flings the door open and calls out, “Hey! Run this way! To the grocery store!” 

The figure looks up, and from this distance they appear to be a young man. He scrambles to his feet and breaks into another run, a desperate dash for the store. 

You and the man both yell out to him, encouraging him to hurry and keep going. Just as he runs through the door, two zombies that must have been close to the entrance follow him in, shambling into the store.

Man #2:

Before anyone else can react, the large, imposing man who tore the zombies off you yesterday runs by you. With his bare hands he picks up the first zombie by the neck and literally throws it outside. Then he delivers a devastating punch to the second zombie’s head, knocking it clean off its shoulders. 

You yelp in surprise, having never seen someone kill a zombie in such a way before. Someone closes the door and locks it, but the herd of zombies definitely saw the young man run inside, because they’re heading straight for the store. 

Backing away from the door, you glance at the man who took care of the two zombies. “Do you think the glass will hold?”

He doesn’t seem the least bit scared. “Probably not against a horde like that.”

“What should we do?” you ask, trying not to sound panicked as the zombies close in. 

He grins. “You should run when they break in. I’ll tear the fuckers apart.”

Uncertain whether that statement is comforting or alarming, you turn to look at the newcomer. He’s a teenager, probably around sixteen, and he’s panting to catch his breath. 

You walk over to him. “Are you alright?”

He looks up at you, and his face is twisted in horror. “I’m so sorry!” he yells, tears in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have come in here!”

“It’s alright,” you tell him, reaching your hand out to pat his shoulder. “We’ll figure something out. We’ll-“

He swats your hand away. “Don’t! I… I’ve been…” his voice dies in his throat, and he pulls up the sleeve of his shirt, displaying a messy bite wound.

You inhale sharply, your heart sinking at the sight. He’s just a kid! “How long ago?” you ask. You’ve heard rumors that severing a limb with a bite will stop the spread of the virus, but it has to be done quickly. 

“Yesterday,” he answers. 

The man who fought the zombies steps up beside you. “Too long,” he says, his eyes narrowed as he looks at the wound. “We should probably throw him out. He’s no good to us.”

You look at him incredulously. “We can’t do that!”

Man #3:

The man you spoke to yesterday who seemed like a leader, who was clearly a planner, walks over. He looks at the boy, then at you. “We’ll need to discuss this,” he says. 

“Discuss what? What are the options here?” you ask him. “Let him stay or toss him out there to be eaten alive?!”

The man’s smooth expression doesn’t change. “Those aren’t the only options. We could tie him up, lock him in the break room, or even give him a quick and painless death.”

You feel your outrage subsiding. Those sound much more reasonable. You’re surprised he can think so rationally in this situation. “Okay. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

He smiles that same charming, not-quite-genuine smile he gave you yesterday. “Don’t be. Tensions are running high, so it’s understandable. I’d worry more if you were the type to want to throw him out immediately.”

You sigh in relief, then turn toward the boy, who is still muttering apologies. “What would you like for us to do? Restrain you? Or… or make it so you don’t turn?”

The boy looks up at you. “I don’t want to turn! Please, don’t let me end up like them! I’d do it myself but I’m too scared!”

Hearing such a young man say that is heartbreaking. But you understand. If you ever get bitten, you hope someone will kill you before letting you become a zombie, doomed to roam the earth, rotting and attacking others. 

The man pulls a blade from a holster on his hip and approaches the boy. “Are you ready? Or do you need more time?”

The boy hesitates for a moment, then nods. “I’m ready. Please make it quick!”

The man pats him on the back affectionately. “You’re very brave. You can rest easy now. I’ll make sure you don’t suffer.”

The boy is staring at him, and seems comforted. “Thanks,” he says with teary eyes. 

You turn your head, unable to watch. You don’t hear a sound. No scream, not even a grunt. It really must have been painless. When you look back, the man is easing the boy’s body to the floor. He looks thoughtful, maybe a little sad. 

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” you say. 

He’s wiping his blade off on a handkerchief. “Someone has to make the tough decisions, and then carry them out.”

You start to ask why that had to be him, but you remain silent. You don’t like the way he seems to be taking all the darkness and sadness onto himself. But you have bigger things to worry about right now.

Man #4: 

The man you saw standing guard yesterday, who said he wanted to go back to the city, is staring out the windows of the store, watching the growing horde approach. He doesn’t seem scared, only annoyed, as if this is no more than a minor obstacle to his plans. 

“I’m gonna get out of here,” he says, loud enough for the others to hear. “I don’t have time to get held up.”

You look at him in shock. “You’re just going to leave the rest of us?”

He looks at you dispassionately. “A group will draw their attention a lot more than a single person. I’m not getting stuck with these guys.”

You look him up and down, at his sturdy physique. “But, we need you.”

“You ever stop to think that maybe someone else needs me?”

The question takes you aback. You have no answer for him. If he’s that desperate, if he’s willing to wade through countless zombies to get to the city, there must be someone very important to him there. 

“Can you at least wait a little while?” you ask him. “The zombies might give up and wander off if they can’t see us through the tinted windows.”

The man sighs. “Fine. I’ll see what happens.”

You look out at the horde. The first few zombies have reached the front of the store and are clawing at the windows and doors. You shudder as you watch them. You’ve never seen so many before, or so close up in a situation where you can actually get a good look at them. If one is close, you’re usually fleeing or trying to kill it. 

They’re all staring straight ahead, seemingly at nothing. Can they see their own reflections in the glass? Can they even perceive themselves? Seeing them just leaves you feeling empty and sad. 

“Do me a favor,” the man says. “If I ever get bitten, put a bullet in my fucking brain.”

You nod. “Same,” you say.

Man #5: 

The man who gave you the tip yesterday about using duck tape on your arms steps over to the windows to survey the situation. He already has his arms wrapped in a layer of the tape, over top of his sleeves. A few of the others notice, and begin wrapping their own limbs in tape or thick fabric, so you do the same. 

He steps closer to you and takes the roll of tape from your hand, then begins wrapping your forearm for you. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, hoping he can’t hear how nervous the growing horde outside is making you. 

He seems as calm as the more physically imposing men, despite having a more slender frame. “Our best option would be to bang on the glass and draw their attention to the front, then all of us slip out the back way,” he says. 

You glance toward the back of the store. “Should we check to see if they’ve circled around?”

He nods, and the two if you make your way back, through the storage area and to a large drop down gate. You assume trucks come in this way to unload merchandise. But it’s locked up tight and you can’t see anything on the other side. 

“There’s a window up there,” the man says, pointing. You have to use a step ladder to reach it, but you both climb up to look out. 

There aren’t nearly as many zombies roaming around behind the store, but there are definitely enough to be a problem. 

“I think we can make it through, but it’s going to be a challenge,” he tells you. 

You feel fear creeping up your spine. So far you’ve been able to evade most large groups of zombies, but with the store being surrounded, it’s looking like you’re going to have to wade into them. 

As the two of you return to the front, you feel your spirits sinking.

Man #6:

The man with the bright smile comes up beside you as you stare out hopelessly at the zombies gathered at the windows. 

“I’ve seen bigger hordes,” he says. 

You look up at him. “You have?”

He grins. “Sure. They’re not so bad when you realize how slow and uncoordinated they are.”

You appreciate his optimism. But you realize it’s more than that. His confidence rings true, and it makes you feel a little more hopeful. 

“So you think we can get out?” you ask. 

He nods, still smiling, then gestures to where a few of the men are standing in a small circle. “They’re planning our escape right now. We’ve got some real smart guys here, so don’t worry.”

You finally return his smile. “I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he replies. 

Just then you hear something, like tinkling glass. Both you and the man look around for the source of the noise. After a few minutes, you spot a tiny crack in the glass, right where over a dozen zombies are pressing against the windows. 

“They’re breaking the glass!” you cry, backing away. 

The man calls over to his friends, “Guys, put a rush on that brilliant plan!”

They look up and rush over to check the crack.

Man #7:

The man you met in the stock room yesterday is the first to crouch down and examine the crack in the glass. His brow is furrowed as he watches the zombies shove themselves against the window, then he turns to face the others. 

“Everyone, get whatever you need and be ready to go in ten minutes. We’ll take our chances going out the back.”

You already had your backpack ready, so you pull it onto your shoulders as the other men begin doing the same. You feel your heart racing as you prepare for the fight of your life. 

The man is securing his own pack with a strap around his waist and checking the heavy denim sleeves of the jacket he’s wearing. He seems uncomfortable in the fabric, as if it’s not something he’d normally wear, but protection is the most important thing right now. 

“What do you think our chances are?” you ask him. 

He looks around the room. “With this group? Pretty good. If we all stick to the plan,” he adds, glancing at a couple of guys in particular. Then he looks back at you. “Try to stay in the middle of us. We can protect you.”

“Thanks,” you tell him. “I guess I lucked out when I stumbled upon you guys.”

He gives you a warm smile. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

Just then, you hear glass breaking, another crack at first, and then a shattering that startles everyone in the store. Right beside you, the first zombie crashes inside, and the man grabs your arm, pulling you back behind him. 

As the zombie horde begins shambling into the store, the men around you take defensive positions and get ready to fight their way to the back.

Tag List:

@tadabzzzbee @babysoo-meu @atomicweaselpaperapricot

[myownwholewildworld]

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

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 (coming soon) 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

[rosakuma]

DRDT EP 14 Thoughts(spoilers of course 😋)

I’m about to go insane

Okay for starters…..I’d like to apologize to the Hu nation and the Eden!cultprit truthers. To be fair, she was very sus before we clarified Nico’s murder attempt. To which damn Nico, I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt only because it was strange how you held that wire, but it makes sense now knowing the reason. Man I feel awful for a lot of people here in this episode. Nico regrets trying to kill Ace even if they dislike him because he reminded them of the people who hurt Nico before(peers, teachers, and their father OOF). And now they gotta live with having “Almost murder” stuck to their name while also losing a potential friendship with Rose(we NicoRose shippers lost dang it). Poor Rose feeling guilty of her memory being out of shape(the poor girl is traumatized by remembering the clear deaths, I don’t blame her) and getting blames for it. But thank goodness my goat/best girl Teruko with some good old character development came in and reassured Rose that she is useful and it’s not her fault(Us TerukoXRoss shippers fricken WON!). David while still being an ass that I hate(albeit now feel more sympathetic towards) I feel bad for witnessing Arei’s body first….god no wonder why he’s so mad at the killer, I’m pissed at them too. And then there’s Ace….this episode turn me into the 1# Ace Markey defender. My poor man has been suffering this chapter and things keep getting worse for him. He pushes everyone away thanks to his paranoia, has a eating disorder no one notices which is hurting him, was ALMOST MURDERED with no one worried about him(hell Hu fricken defended his potential murder rather than reprimanding them!), and worse of all, the one person he thought who cared about him in this terrible place admitted he doesn’t care if he lives or dies….oh and now he’s being accused of killing Arei. F*ck Ace’s life is so tragic. Oh yeah speaking of the killer. EDEN HOW DARE YOU, I BELIEVED IN YOU!! She is 100% the murder and it makes me so sad and sick seeing how well she’s able to make Teruko take her side. She even hugged her like Min did(I am going to be sick). I will say, Arei would respect the hustle and manipulation though. Well done Eden, you impressed your would’ve been bestie. I might make another post about why Ace can’t be the killer unless someone beats me to it, but yeah it’s Eden. No way Ace is the killer and it sucks how David despite revealing his true colors is still able to manipulate everyone(bro gonna out do Kokichi Ouma man).

[mooncello]

Hi friends. I posted chapter 5 of more than a footnote last Sunday. It's over on ao3.

I'm working through some beats for chapter 6. Unlike some of you magnificent plotters, I hate outlines. They feel constricting to me. And the story shifts and evolves as I write. Characters reveal stuff to me as we spend more time together, and sometimes that necessitates plot changes or deeper subplots. It's also my greedy curious distractable brain. Like: Oh, but what if this happens? What if he did this instead? Truly, squirrel brain. But y'know those lil bushy-tailed fuckers can unintentionally plant oak trees so ... I will follow those acorn trails and play with a new thought or question, even if it wasn't originally plotted, to see whether it has a place in the story. It's kinda like having an ongoing conversation with the story as it's being written. It's humbling af and takes twice as long, I'm sure, than if I wrote an outline and stuck with it. But I've tried the detailed plotting thing, and it just doesn't work for me.

So I don't have anything from chapter 6 to share just yet. But I do have something else. It almost feels like a tease, because I don't know when I'll actually sit down and write the rest of this fic, but I finally figured out what direction lost boys is going. (Sometimes you follow the squirrel, and sometimes you let a story rest to see what emerges from quiet stasis.) I'm excited about it again. Which feels amazing. Here are way more than six sentences from chapter 3, Baz POV:

“How old were you,” I ask softly, “when you first came here?” “Eight.” He switches his hands behind his head and moves his shoulder blades against the earth, like he’s trying to get more comfortable. I have a sudden bolt of reckless courage. “Here,” I say and sit up fully. I scoot closer, angle my body, and wrap my palm around the curve of his head. Thankfully, he understands what I’m communicating and shifts until his head is resting in my lap. I suddenly find Simon staring directly up at me. An easy smile slopes across his face. “Hey,” he says. “Hi.”  I feel my own mouth stretch into a responding smile. There’s a delightful tumble of butterflies in my stomach. Without giving it any thought, my fingers thread through his hair, nails skimming his skull and then pulling away with curls between knuckles. The slightest of tugs. Release. Then I repeat the sequence over and over again. Simon melts against my thigh, and his eyes flutter closed. A tiny, contented moan leaves him, and I grow momentarily dizzy because I did that. That sound was because of me. “Feel good?” I murmur. “Mmph.” I’m glad his eyes are closed and can’t see me smirking. I’m so goddamn pleased. And he looks incredible like this. Relaxed and untroubled, draped over my lap.

tags under the cut!

thank you for the tags today @monbons and @orange-peony

🩵 ✨@drowninginships @valeffelees @run-for-chamo-miles @blackberrysummerblog @orange-peony

@youarenevertooold, @shrekgogurt, @hushed-chorus, @whatevertheweather, @fatalfangirl

@cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @emeryhall, @raenestee

@iamamythologicalcreature, @bookish-bogwitch @thewholelemon, @best--dress, @rimeswithpurple

@ileadacharmedlife, @skeedelvee, @monbons, @j-nipper-95

@ic3-que3n, @theearlgreymage, @theimpossibledemon, @brilla-brilla-estrellita

@facewithoutheart, @larkral, @messofthejess

[crxzytogether]

Lol I wanna address this even tho nobody asked because I’m mad. Like ship whoever you want as yk this person said but leave it out of our tag-💀 my problems more with the fact that they tagged byler for this post than what they said but yk since they tagged us might as well respond.

Firstly, “ideas planted by your community”? Huh? Girl what- you mean our evidence? You mean our analysis and perceptions and ability to interpret what we’re watching beyond surface level? And honestly after season 4 even surface level melodramas not looking too good- Secondly, what harsh truths were brought up? The lies? Your perception of montauk? which idk sounds a lot like mike and wills relationship to me but to each their own… “they’ve been together since pretty much day one”, “they have a deep connection”, “four seasons of character development”?? Do I even need to explain? Who’s been together since day one? Right mike and will, in the beginning of episode 1 before any of the upside down shit even happens we’re shown that their relationship is different from their relationship with the other party members. A fact that’s proven time and time again throughout season 1 where we see how much more Mike is affected by Will’s disappearance(not tryna negate everybody else’s feelings or reactions but it’s clear that we’re supposed to notice Mike cares slightly more or in a different way). As for the deep connections? Season 2 shed scene ring a bell, the first one of Mike’s monologue that’s an attempt to help someone he cares about that actually works and is completely honest, deep connection boom. And that connections emphasized again in s4 with Will being able to encourage Mike and make him feel better and we already know why it’s special on Will’s side and their whole plot-line that season. Next, “four seasons of character development” im sorry what?, season 1 and season 3 maybe are the only seasons I’d consider they had that meanwhile season 4 I’d say they had character regression because tell me how Mike goes from being able to comfort El about her feeling like she’s a monster but then does a 180 not only unable to comfort her but also make her feel worse-(I’m talking about she didn’t look fine in case you didn’t catch that). Back to s1/s3, s1 where they were friends for the most part is the healthiest their relationship has ever been the entire show- like😭😭it literally just goes downhill from there. Season 2/season 3 their codependency I’m- and season 4 El feeling like she has to lie to Mike about her life and Mike unable to comfort her and also hiding his own interests from her. Like sure the bullying thing I get why she’d hide that maybe not really but El lies about so many things😭😭 she feels like she has to lie to keep up the relationship. THAT 👏 IS 👏 NOT 👏 HEALTHY 👏. Like maybe after they’ve both grown separately I’d consider it but as of now? No sir. Also let me remind you how El confronted Angela and asked her to help El keep up the pretence- SHE STILL DIDN’T FEEL SAFE OR COMFORTABLE ENOUGH TELL MIKE THE TRUTH. That’s not healthy for either of them. My byler agenda aside I still don’t think Mike and El should be together. Lastly, “the fact that Mileven IS endgame”, again I’m sorry what? Have you watched season 5? Have you read the scripts or been on set or talked to anybody working on st5 or work on st5 yourself? No? So then how is that a fact- it’s a prediction, an assumption but it’s not a fact. If after season 5 comes out and it did end up becoming true then you could use that phrase but as of now when you have no idea how season 5 is gonna go you can’t call that a fact. Also rip how are you so confident when Mike and Will are literally attached at the hip so far from what we have seen besides the rooftop convo and if that is enough to convince you then yikes- bc we’ve got like 10 of those to convince us so good luck watching season 5 and have a good day ig

[dark-and-kawaii]

Idk if I wanna be pinned under Lofn's brother or son more. Please stop making such beautiful characters

(please continue but also let me read about having them carnally. I'm begging)

Both?!?! Both is good ♡ ♡ ♡ This is incredible and I feel like I’m on cloud nine right now my god!!! I got you babes xoxo

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Pairings: Original Male Characters x F!Reader

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Content: NSFW - Good Fucking - Stretched Holes - Tenderness - One Fucks You Like A Princess - One Fucks You Like A Whore He Loves

⟡ ݁₊ . Zavrik: The one who strokes your hair as you get accustomed to his sheer size, “It's all right, darling. It's all right. That’s a good girl. You don't have to move yet. Let me take charge, just relax... and enjoy it. I won't hurt you, my love. Just lie still, that's all you have to do. I’ll take good care of you.”

And the second he kisses you, you're lost. Drowning in him. Losing yourself and becoming an extension of his pleasure and his passion. He kisses like a dying man. Kisses like you're his oxygen, like he's desperate for you. As if without you, he wouldn't exist.

Your heart, mind and body will never be safer than when you are with him.

⟡ ݁₊ . Aedric: The one who has his hand fisted in your hair, stretching your spasming little hole to the breaking point. He is the one who takes you, over and over until you’re sobbing his name.

And you will sob his name.

You are his, and he will remind you of that again and again and again, until his name is the only thing that you remember, the only thing that passes through your lips, the only thing that fills your mind, and the only thing you crave.

“That's it. Come for me. Say my name, and come for me, lovely. Let me hear how much you love this. How much you love my cock buried inside you. Don’t be shy, let me hear how sweet and dirty my girl is.” Don’t worry, he’ll hold close to him as your body trembles and your mind slips from your control, letting your body fall to his command.

Aedric loves you in his own way, and despite how rough he is you know there’s nothing to be afraid of when in his care. You are safe, and protected.

[dragon-toad]

HOT TAKE : Makarov was a bad father (and a bad grandfather)

I'm expecting a big wave of hate with this one... BUT LET ME EXPLAIN

We can dive into the generational trauma theory : we know Yuri has been profoundly hurt by his wife's death (giving birth to Makarov) and this is a thing we should consider. In most cases, people live with the burden of the death of their partner until they die, which could have been Yuri's case. And the idea that somehow his wife died for his son... Well, angst potential.

Now : death of a loved one + wife who dies giving birth to his son = difficult father-son relationship

And even if Yuri didn't do it intentionally, there could have been a distance between the father and the son, and it has repercussions on the futur.

So yes, it maybe happened completely differently, but let's consider this hypothesis to understand what comes after :

Makarov was raised in the guild, where everybody is friendly. The only thing is his daddy issues. He ends up considering the guild more important, so the thing to cherish and protect at all cost.

Everything is fine.

Then, Ivan enters the game.

I know it's very fun to have an antagonist in the family of the master, the man presented as the most loving, a father for all the lost children, etc. BUT maybe we can go a little deeper.

We sometimes have this idea that some characters are born meaner than others, it allows us to ignore psychology and sociology, but it's not fun.

We can suppose Ivan was born in the guild, like Makarov and certainly Laxus. And as it's shown every single second that Fairy Tail is a very healthy environment, a "big family", so even if Ivan was a bit twisted, he would not have been so mean with his colleagues, provoking his exclusion, and he would have not tried to destroy the guild.

Unless he have daddy issues too. Let's consider : Makarov has a son and the mother is nowhere to be found. Doesn't it remind you of something ? But Makarov know his relationship with his father wasn't awesome, so he tries differently.

So two possibilities can be explored :

1- Ivan is a spoiled child. Being the master's son allows him to do reprehensible things and not be punished after, or not too much, and Makarov wants to give him all the freedom he didn't have. Until he almost kills another member of the guild. Then Makarov is forced to expel him. He takes away the thing that gave Ivan an almost unlimited power, and he doesn't like it. So if he can't have Fairy Tail, nobody will.

2- Makarov prefers the guild to his son. He doesn't know how to raise a kid, what if he screws like his father ? (Spoiler : he does) So when Precht makes him the new master, he puts all his soul into his job. But Ivan wants a father. So he does everything to make his father notice him, to make his father proud. It leads him to dark places, and thus, being strong = being good enough. Unfortunately, it doesn't work, because he ends up expelled. So, by pure rage, he decides to destroy the thing his father loved more than him. (It's my favorite version)

In both cases, Ivan manipulates his son into believing that being strong is the only way for him to be respected, to be seen.

Which leads us to the Laxus part (finally)

It's canon that Ivan pushed his son to be the strongest (to the point he put a lacrima in his body) so yeah, Laxus has daddy issues. But he has gampa issues too.

Let's continue with the theory we built on this post : Makarov doesn't really raise his son, why would he raise his grandson ?

But we see Makarov taking care of a very young Laxus. Thus, Laxus once loved his grandfather. Except Ivan didn't. So we can suppose he decided to keep his son under his control by manipulating him into thinking he has to be the strongest.

Then Ivan was banned.

The problem with an abusive relationship is that the victim thinks the abuser is on the right, which explains why Laxus was all but happy his father was expelled. But he stayed in Fairy Tail, because despite everything, Fairy Tail is his home. But this home is controlled by the man who banned his father (his abuser)

Laxus becomes a rank-S mage, which means he's the strongest. He has all the rights to make Fairy Tail his home, not Makarov's.

Well yes, but no.

Because there's Mirajane, a prodigy so fucking strong she becomes a rank-S mage too. But Lisanna dies, and suddenly everybody loves Mirajane. She even becomes the right arm of Makarov, because she's too weak now to create problems now.

And there's Natsu and Gray, Makarov's little boys. They're noisy, annoying, but they have potential. They have the potential to become stronger than Laxus. And Makarov loves them.

But more important, because there's Erza, who is so strong, so kind, so nice... Who is his grandfather's favorite. The same grandfather who did nothing when Ivan imprisoned Laxus into a psychological jail and who banned Ivan for somebody else's weakness. And Laxus knows it : she is the future master of Fairy Tail. She will steal his home and make it even weaker.

So he has to take Fairy Tail now, even if his grandfather dies in the process. Better, it will make things easier !

But in the end, Laxus loves Fairy Tail. He loves the guild enough to not betray everybody by joining his father's guild.

Laxus broke the cycle. And I don't think it was thanks to Makarov. If Laxus broke the cycle, it's because despite everything, he has weirdos to stick with. The Raijinshuu are a safe place for Laxus, they are strong enough to be his friends colleagues, they don't call him "psychotic" when he tells them he wants the guild, and more important, they care for him.

Laxus broke the cycle thanks to people who cared for him. They even wanted to follow him when he was banned ! But he said no, because he care for them and he knows they will be better in Fairy Tail.

Now, let's consider : travelling must have felt like therapy for Laxus : he's not part of Fairy Tail anymore and he's sure he will never have the possibility to come back, but he will not join his father because he doesn't want to put his friends in danger. So he has to do something by himself, not under the influence of his father. And I believe this emancipation was beneficial for him. He could learn what it means to be himself, not Ivan's son or Makarov's grandson.

I don't think he fully forgave Makarov for his inaction and for loving other more than him, and he's not completely out of Ivan's philosophy, those things need time, but he escaped the cycle.

[graciereadshannigram]

hey fam, my spreadsheet is FINALLY up to date so i am FINALLY getting back to the monthly rec lists! here's the cream of the crop from August :)

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

you can find past recs below:

February March April May June July

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

without further ado, let's go!

Teach Me a Lesson (Already Learned) by whenitstarted

Word Count: 3142 Summary: Will being married to Molly and cheating on her with Hannibal.

Literally just PWP because I wanted to scratch the cheating itch.

Just Thought You Should Know by EarthsickWithoutYou

Word Count: 22370 Summary: Two years after marrying Molly, Will is restless and unhappy, unable to stop thinking about Hannibal and missing his incarcerated cannibal despite all the reasons why he knows it's wrong. One night, things come to a head when Hannibal finds a way to call him. A series of sensual phone encounters begs the question of how long Will can possibly resist the desire which Hannibal so expertly cultivates.

Oh this one was GOOD. I love anything that happens in the three years Will is with Molly. The angst, the porn, chefs kiss.

More Myself Than I Am by StratsWrote

Word Count: 9176 Summary: Everyone has a soulmate. Someone they will connect with on such an intimate level that they are like one mind in two bodies. It comes on the cusp of adulthood, a shared link between two minds. It will start with feelings, emotions shared across the connection. Some people claim senses; smell and sound. Those who are thoroughly, intensely intertwined can claim to send their very thoughts towards each other, although it’s generally considered bad luck to use the connection to find each other sooner than you are meant to.It is a wonderful thing, to know that no matter who you are or what you’ve done, somebody out there will understand you. Or at least, it’s supposed to be.

Soulmate AU! Hannibal absolutely hating the bond at first felt very on brand and this was just very good.

coyote chewing on a cigarette by antiheroblake

Word Count: 5145 Summary: hannibal wants someone to care for him until he’s bequeathed his family fortune, but he doesn’t want to deal with the near-elderly perverts his friend calls their “sugar daddy”. that’s when he sets his sites on the sullen and newly rich will graham

okay if you aren't reading this series, what are you doing?? every. single. installment. is a five star!!!

No It Don't Come Easy by nobetterlove

Word Count: 10759 Summary: Will had the good sense to blush then, both Hannibal’s words and his previous actions making his heart pound hard in his chest. “Actually, uh – “ Will started, his hand reaching back to rub along his suddenly stiff neck. “I told him I was seeing someone.” Blue eyes looked up slowly, Will more than curious as to what Hannibal’s reaction would be. “Well, that’s – “ Hannibal tried to say but was cut off by Will speaking again. “I said it was you. Or implied it, at least.” There was a moment of silence where Hannibal didn’t blink or look away or even breath. Maroon eyes took Will in with shocking efficiency – he felt like Hannibal was everywhere in that moment, surrounding him in all ways possible. “You told Jack Crawford that you were seeing me.” Or: a Hannigram fake dating AU

i'm a whore for a fake dating fic, y'all know who i am.

Oddbodies by toffeecape

Word Count: 72714 Summary: Will is an off-brand sentinel. Hannibal is a reputable guide. What could go wrong?

i knew nothing about Sentinel AUs before reading this one, but i found it was perfectly well explained within the fic! and wow this was SO well done! it fits so well into canon and was just a treat to read.

This Isn't Rapture by moistdrippings

Word Count: 7467 Summary: Will wakes with a fever, and Hannibal prescribes some unconventional treatments.

yeah, just gonna drop this one here.

stink in the nostrils by murdertrout

Word Count: 49137 Summary: Secret Omega Hannibal is not pleased that he has imprinted on Will Graham. He avenges himself on his biology by getting Will Graham put behind bars. But when Will figures out what he’s been hiding and tampers with his suppressants, triggering his first heat, they both get more than they bargained for. Alternate S2b if it were entirely A/B/O porn.

LOVED THIS.

A Most Gentle Death by mokuyoubi

Word Count: 8956 Summary: “What is that?” Will asks tightly.“A blend of benzodiazepines and barbiturates,” Hannibal says. “It will render one unconscious, immobile, and largely insensate.”Will stares at the syringe in shocked disbelief. The shame and embarrassment are still present, but have taken a backseat to dry-mouthed, hopeless longing. Hannibal turns the syringe end on end between his fingers. “Would you like me to administer it to myself?” he asks.

there is something so satisfying about Hannibal not being phased by pretty much anything that Will wants.

A Wolf in the Night by itsbeautiful

Word Count: 3857 Summary: “Leave them on…” Will rumbled, grabbing hair and pushed a head down his stomach. “…and suck my cock.”Hannibal looked up with a dark stare and a head tilt, struggling to catch his breath. “No ‘please?’”“I know…I don’t need to ask, politely or otherwise, to get what I want from you now.”Red eyes glittered with hunger, tongue flicking out to taste the power left on lips.“Isn’t that what you wanted, Doctor Lecter? For me to take what I want from you.”

i'm pretty sure i just love anything this author writes, wow. you don't technically need to have read Transcendent Suffering, but it'll make more sense if you have.

When It Clicks by summerisblue

Word Count: 29838 Summary: Will and Hannibal have been spending a lot of time together lately.Because they’re friends, Will likes to reason. Will likes to tell Hannibal that too, just to clarify. Hannibal might be more than a little frustrated.

this one really hit my "oblivious sugar baby Will Graham" button. i love him so much.

Your Ex by murdertrout

Word Count: 3810 Summary: “What was your last relationship like?”“Uh,” Will says. “Intense.”“Good intense or bad intense?”“Yes,” Will says.“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” Molly says, “but I just want you to know you can.”In retrospect, this is a mistake.--We usually assume that Will clammed up about his past when he was with Molly. But what if actually Will tells Molly way, way, way too much about his relationship with Hannibal?Or, the one where Will starts talking about his “ex" and doesn't stop.

i love when Will is an idiot. this fic was just silly and perfect.

Ball Toss by raiast

Word Count: 22307 Summary: The carnival AU no one asked for. Hannibal accompanies Alana to a carnival and meets one Will Graham, whose game booth is less than above board. Hannibal does not approve.

YES YES YES. i really loved this dark Will!!

Pushing Comfort by lurid_erotic_intimacy (virtuous_contract)

Word Count: 14559 Summary: Habitually, Hannibal keeps his steps quiet as he makes his way to Will’s upper floor. It’s probably nothing out of the ordinary that has kept Will from making their morning session (not a session, a conversation). Still, it’s best to know for certain.Or: Will starts missing his appointments. Hannibal is happy to investigate why. Can be read as a canon-insert. A quite sweet and kink-flavoured getting together story.

this was sweeter than i would have expected it to be based on the tags, but mmmm this hit the right buttons for me!

a world of hurt by divinetheatre

Word Count: 7213 Summary: Will takes it slow, pausing between the strikes to let Hannibal work through the sensations, patient — for now. In time, when Hannibal’s self control wavers, and his knees start to kiss one another after every spanking, Will will pin him open and punish him for that too. Relentlessly.

well, we learn new things about ourselves every single day, right?

i know who you are by divinetheatre

Word Count: 14125 Summary: Will turned again as though the turmoil in Hannibal’s heart had clamored loud enough for him to hear. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. What Hannibal might’ve said, the last thing he could’ve admitted to Will, did not pass his lips. Will strode to him and grasping Hannibal’s face in both hands, kissed him. Deep and hot with passion that did not surprise Hannibal but overwhelmed him. He’d known it would be this way, but he had never been prepared. Not entirely.

Vulnerable Hannibal and Will being the most tender understanding human? Give me moreeeeeeeee.

a sort of madness by divinetheatre

Word Count: 5239 Summary: He chose me.The euphoric mantra echoes through his mind as he drags the panties down Hannibal’s long, slim legs. They open for him. The slick heat betwixt dampens the coverlet for him. What happens to Hannibal’s body after this is because of him.

i had to stop and remember to breathe multiple times during this fic so. do what you will with that information.

Secretary by FragileTeacup

Word Count: 77469 Summary: Will Graham needs a job. Since quitting the FBI, he’s been adrift for months, broken and lost; chasing a desire he doesn’t understand in increasingly destructive ways. What he needs is stability, direction, something to help put his life back in order and quiet the buzzing in his head. A chance encounter with the classifieds might just give him exactly what he needs. Secretary Wanted.Dr. H. Lecter. Psychiatric private practice.Typing and good manners essential.Must follow direction.

THE secretary AU. need i say more??

Layover by raiast

Word Count: 16978 Summary: When Hannibal misses his connecting flight to DC he is forced to obtain a hotel room for the evening. When the last remaining room is seemingly double-booked he realizes that the adult thing to do is generously offer to share the space. And if the other man in need of lodging happens to be a seemingly disheveled, ill-mannered and altogether beautiful stranger, well, that's just fine.

ONLY ONE BED ONLY ONE BED. alternate first meeting AU that i adored.

Scent of a Woman by Devereauxs_Disease

Word Count: 4860 Summary: After the fall, Will assumed he and Hannibal would progress to a romantic relationship. So when Hannibal comes home smelling of fancy perfume, Will is...distressed. How do serial killers handle jealousy and romantic confessions? Not well, y'all...NOT WELL.

they're both so stupid and i love them. Hannibal's behavior had me cracking up because of course he would behave this way.

Will Graham Had a Secret by hannigramsarah (WrightworthSarah)

Word Count: 4442 Summary: Will Graham has a somewhat slutty past. What happens when he meets Hannibal Lecter and discovers his proclivities may not be as secret as he might have hoped?

this was lovely.

Something Borrowed by BelladonnaWyck

Word Count: 11206 Summary: “What’s wrong with your green card?” Will can’t hope to stop the words from tumbling forth - didn’t even know they were about to spill from his mouth when he opened it - and his cheeks flush when he realizes how intrusive and presumptuous that question is.

Hannibal is Hannibal and they are perfet. i need more green card proposals STAT.

Touch by raiast

Word Count: 10902 Summary: From the kinkmeme prompt:"Going into an intense heat, Will volunteers to be shared and passed around by a group of Alphas. Hannibal finds out. Does he stop it from even happening? Sneak in and sign in to join the group?"What happens when an Omega with a voyeurism kink signs up for a Public Heat and his possessive Alpha psychiatrist applies for a volunteer position? Hint: lots of knotting, lots of come, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of bloodshed.

FERAL WILL GRAHAM. i really don't think i need to say more.

put your aching teeth to good use, my dear by wormsin

Word Count: 10516 Summary: alternate a/b/o ending to Fromage. when Will sees Hannibal in his office, bloody but alive, he goes into a feral rut. Hannibal tries to pacify him.

again, feral Will Graham just hits all the right buttons.

Tender by McRibFarewellTour

Word Count: 5117 Summary: "Will loved the violence, of course he did, but he loved Hannibal more, and he wanted there to be a clear distinction between the two. He wanted proof that Hannibal loved him, Will Graham, not anyone else who could be convinced to empathize with a serial killer. He didn’t want to push Hannibal against a wall, he wanted to hold and be held by him."A defense of seeking gentleness in a world of violence.

OUCH. in the best way possible, big ouch.

Husband Under Contract by house_of_lantis

Word Count: 49685 Summary: Count Hannibal Lecter has always enjoyed his bachelorhood and freedom, preferring to live a life as an established gentleman and lord of his estate. But Hannibal finds himself married and the last thing he wants is a clingy, tedious spouse who expects romance and to take advantage of Hannibal’s wealth and social status. Will Graham couldn’t care less about the arranged marriage as long as he can keep his job and keep his dogs. He’s amused by Hannibal’s attempts to manipulate him; and when he finally gets Hannibal in bed, he thanks him for a good time and returns to his own suite. What will Hannibal do when he realizes that he’s completely in love with his husband? And can Will ever see past their marriage contract to sharing a real life of love and passion?

An incredible royalty (kind of?) AU. i love how Will just does not give a fuck about upsetting Hannibal, much to the horror of the house staff.

pretty words from a silver tongue by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 3595 Summary: Will’s hookups (as few and far in between as they are) always end the same; deliberate distance between bodies and a cold, empty bed come morning. No one ever stays the night.

touch starved and vulnerable Will??? sign me UP.

i could love you with my eyes closed by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 2276 Summary: In Will Graham's three and a half decades on this planet, no one has ever made him feel like this.or, Hannibal is a little TOO good in bed, leaving his boy a little... emotional.

relatable content.

Night Calls and Liquid Courage by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 4249 Summary: "How much did you drink, Will?”“All of it.”“All of it, hm? That certainly is a lot.” _________________ Beverly Katz hand-delivers a very flirty, very drunk Will Graham to Hannibal's doorstep in the middle of the night. Drunken confessions and lots of cuddling ensue.

fluffy goodness, what more could ya want?

your touch is my safety by feralwillgrhm

Word Count: 4183 Summary: Will had been touch-starved for a while, but he didn't realise how much he craved it until Hannibal came into his life and initiated touch between them repeatedly. It left him wanting more and trembling at night in bed, but he never knew how to tell Hannibal. That was until he finally cracked. Or: 5 times Hannibal touched Will and he barely kept things together, and 1 time he gave in.

this was so sweet and tender!!

I called your name ‘til the fever broke by omnilegent

Word Count: 4363 Summary: Hannibal tilted his head in that cat-like way of his and said, apropos of nothing, ‘I believe you are experiencing touch deprivation, Will.’Will was not in the fucking mood.‘I touch myself plenty, doctor.’ He snapped, realising what that sounded like after he was already committed to saying it and ultimately not really caring. He couldn’t be bothered for all this dancing around half truths via metaphors today.———Hannibal offers Will a helping hand in relieving his touch deprivation…

can y'all tell i was on a "touch starved Will Graham" kick? that's all this is.

the fire went wild (the flames went higher) by antiheroblake

Word Count: 15359 Summary: will takes hannibal out to make up for the shoes he didn’t get, but when hannibal tries to show his appreciation (and how poorly he can behave), will decides to show him something new

show me the places where the others gave you scars by madeofbees

Word Count: 4957 Summary: Will has a bad time at a bad scene; Hannibal helps.Or: if Will has such a strong empathy response to horror and violence, what would happen if Hannibal immersed him in pleasure?

can y'all imagine if this is what Hannibal had done from the start? jesus christ.

Heal Your Wolf(hound) Well by devotional_doldrums

Word Count: 53396 Summary: From a distance, Hannibal enjoys heightening Will’s sickness. But confronted with the injured man lying in his hospital bed… Hannibal’s not so sure he enjoys it, anymore. Chicken soup (for the serial killer’s soul).

i love getting to see Hannibal actively regret his choices. 10/10.

Crystalline by DruidGurl (DaoistDruid)

Word Count: 59216 Summary: Stripper!Hannibal AU (sort of) The proprietor of a successful restaurant, Hannibal (who may or may not be a serial killer and definitely WAS an exotic dancer in his youth) is coerced by an old acquaintance to take a job dancing at a bachelor party. When he shows up, he realizes a mistake has been made, but he also realizes something far more interesting: the groom to be is hotter than Mt. Vesuvius. Circumstance and intent lead the boys where it always should: into bed. A lot.

GIVE ME ALL OF THE CHEATING FICS PLEASE. Everything in this fic was top tier. Hannibal as a dancer? Hell yes. The dirty talk? Yes. The fucking all night long marathon sex sessions? YES. Will being an absolute SLUT for Hannibal??? YES PLEASE GOD.

all i want is you by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 8892 Summary: We should do something tomorrow."Did you have anything in mind?“It’s your birthday.”Ah, he wishes it were so simple. If Hannibal were to wish for anything, it would be Will Graham underneath him, gasping, moaning, whispering his name while he placed claiming bites on his beautiful, porcelain throat. Such an image is so lovely… and so achingly far away. There is nothing wrong with wishing for it, but if it is a boundary that is never crossed, Hannibal can live with it. He can live this quiet, friendly, occasionally bloody life they live simply as friends if it means he continues to have it.That does not mean Hannibal won’t settle for his second favorite. (It isn’t really settling though; their shared hunts are the greatest adventures he’s ever had.)“Well, there is that dreadful Senor Pérez down at the docks…” _________________ A year after the fall. Hannibal and Will are friends and partners in crime, but nothing more. Hannibal is... fine with that. He is content having Will in any way that he is allowed if it means Will stays.Today is Hannibal's birthday. Will surprised him with a kiss.

This made me want to tear up in a good way. It is so TENDER. God, they are so soft and I love them.

le bel homme sans merci by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 7481 Summary: “La Belle Dame Sans Merci.” Will recites breathlessly.Hannibal lets out a pleased hum. “The painting is a rather whimsical rendition of the muse. Keats’ poem depicts a wretched end for the knight where he awakens alone in the field, abandoned by the love of his life, whereas Dicksee’s work focuses on the maiden’s affection and the knight’s surrender to his own heart. Everything he knows and feels, it all changes when he sees her for the first time." _________________ Hannibal leaves his sketchbook in Will's car. He can't stop himself from looking inside, from wanting to know, but he never expected every drawing to be of him.

Hannibal "accidentally" leaving his sketchbook in the car where Will will absolutely find it? Chefs kiss. THEY'RE IN LOVE.

Whiskey Lullaby by thisisthefamilybusiness

Word Count: 1943 Summary: Hannibal Lecter only gives one apology in his entire life, and it is to the man he never meant to kill, the one he murdered not with violence, not with a knife, not as the Chesapeake Ripper, but with assumptions and carelessness and arrogance, to Will Graham. (Fill for the following prompt on HannibalKink: "Alone on the Water-esque fic? "Will you miss me, Hannibal?" "Until the end of my days, William." For those not in the Sherlock fandom, it's basically a deathfic. You can do it with cancer, like AotW, or AIDS, Will's encephalitis....anything you want. Even maybe Hannibal killing Will and these are their last words? Just. Please. Hurt me.")

OUUUGGGHHHH. Thank you, Serri. Will dies because he's HIV+ and Hannibal didn't know and let the encephalitis get so bad that Will got full blown AIDS. Ouch.

Guidance by jonnimir

Word Count: 3511 Summary: Kinktober Day 30: Gagging + Swallowing.Will acts out at a party, and Hannibal helps him calm down by keeping his mouth otherwise occupied.

Will going into subspace!!! I do love a good cockwarming fic. (also this might be what i need when i'm throwing up an attitude shhhh...)

[dumbkiri]

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐖 𝐁𝐘

𝗕𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗴𝗼 𝗞𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗸𝗶 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

This is an AU where all characters are adults and have families!

“I wanna love you for the rest of my life.” 

He declared so lovingly with his hands holding his wife gently. 

The two of them danced under the moonlight and stars with silent looks from the audience surrounding the both of them. Her beautiful white dress swayed side to side as the two of them moved to the slow melody playing in the background. 

She gave him a sweet smile and removed her hand off his shoulder to caress his face. The words she returned to him made his heart flutter, “Forever and always, Katsuki.” 

He leaned forward and kissed her lips for the hundredth time that night. She felt so warm and real in this moment of his dream. He never wanted to leave knowing what awaited him when he awoke, so he remained in her arms for a bit longer. 

He forgot about his real world problems and indulged in this heavenly dream with the love of his life. She gave him everything he ever wanted. Children that were born with incredible quirks and their best features combined. A house that they built together for their growing family. 

But all good things come to an end eventually. 

“Do you miss me, Katsuki?” She looked up at him with a disappointed expression, her [e.color] eyes dulling out. 

He faltered, but replied, “Of course, I do. I miss you every time I look at our children. Katsumi looks more like you, but Hiro has your personality. When he gets mad, the earth beneath his feet cracks.”

He chuckled at the memory of Hiro’s shocked expression, then the seven year old apologizing profusely for the damage done in the dining room before he stomped away. 

“But he was rightfully mad, was he not?” 

Katsuki’s smile morphed into a frown as he returned his sad gaze to his wife knowing what she was talking about, “It was a misunderstanding, [Name].” 

“He saw you kiss another woman, a woman that isn’t his mother,” She responded quickly as she pulled away from him. Her eyes looked down at the floor and she held herself together, he knew she did this when she felt insecure. 

He wanted her not to feel that way. She was his wife, not some-

“I’m missing, not dead.” 

His heart clenched at the reminder of her situation. 

“You stopped looking for me so you could start a new relationship with someone else. Of course, it has to be with our children’s teacher, huh?” 

She looked up at him and her sad glare poked a huge hole into his heart. 

“Just because you stopped looking doesn’t mean Hiro has. He doesn’t understand what happened with that villain. All he knows is that you came home without me. Now two years go by and he sees you kissing his teacher. Wouldn’t his anger be justified because he never lost hope in finding me?” 

Of course, it’s justified. But Camie kissed him, he didn’t initiate it. He couldn’t because all he could think about was his missing wife. All he could think about was how wrong it felt to touch another woman.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head, “I…I don’t love her, not like I love you.”

Then [Name] inhaled through her nose and said, “But you’re starting to. You don’t need to lie to me and you certainly don’t need to hide this from Hiro. He will understand when you give him time. Don’t let our boy grow up to hate you because you started loving a different woman. Let him understand why you stopped looking for me and why you’re settling for Camie.”

He was settling for Camie as harsh as it sounded, but the truth lied in your sentence. 

“I meant what I said, loving you for the rest of my life,” He took a step toward her with his hands reaching out to her pretty face. 

He held her with a loose grip then he rested his forehead against hers and said, “But our children need a mother. I can’t raise them on my own. Can you forgive me?”

He felt her tears touch his rough hands and he clenched his teeth to hold back his own. He waited for those words, remembering how this dream always ended in heartbreak. But her cruel words never came, instead she gave him a different answer. Not the one his mind usually came up with. 

“Please don’t stop searching for me.”

The way his heart jumped in surprise had him pull back, looking into her [e.color] eyes that had tears pouring down her cheeks like a waterfall. 

She held onto his hands and desperately said, “I’m missing, Katsuki. Don’t lose hope, I need you to keep looking for me. I want to come home.” 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This answer had been extremely different from the one she always gave him. He can remember word by word why she couldn’t forgive him, but now…she begged him to keep looking for her. 

“[Name], is this- Where are you?” 

The urge to ask that question to her felt strong and she shook her head, “I won’t be able to tell you, but I’m closer than you think. So please, keep looking. I don’t want to be with him anymore. I want to come home to you and our beautiful children.”

Her begging made him feel even more guilty for letting Camie kiss him. Then there was another issue that made his blood boil. She mentioned the villain that took her away. His guilt and his anger never mixed well together, it only made him more emotional seeing his wife so vulnerable. 

Katsuki breathed heavily and pulled her into his strong arms with a kiss planted on the crown of her head. 

She looked up at him through his hold and spoke, but her words could not be heard. Her lips moved, yet no sound entered his ears. He lost his hearing in a crucial moment and like a ripple in the water, she moved away from him. 

…

“Hey, old man, it’s morning already.” 

Katsuki woke up from his dream, hearing the voice of his grumpy 13 year old boy. 

Now Hiro looked like Katsuki, inheriting the spiky blonde hair and sharp eyes, but his eyes were the color of his mother’s. The boy glared at his father when he received no response from the man and said mockingly, “Don’t you have a ‘meeting’ with my teacher? She wouldn’t stop talking about it last week.” 

Katsuki groaned and sat up in the bed, his spiky hair unruly like always. His red eyes focused on his son as he blinked the sleep away. 

“I do, but it’s really just a meeting.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Hiro rolled his eyes and moved away from the door shouting, “Katsumi and I are going out with some friends to the park while you have this meeting. Then we’re going to grandparent’s house for dinner.” 

“It’s not like that, brat!” Katsuki shouted back, gripping the bed sheets tightly as he growled out. 

Then he heard his children getting ready to leave the house with no snappy remark from Hiro. 

He rolled his shoulders and neck feeling the pops in his sore muscles. His eyes roamed the master bedroom and thought back to his dream with his wife. 

She begged him to keep looking for her. 

Yeah, he admitted that he did lose hope in finding her. Two years felt like forever without his sunshine and raising kids that looked and acted like her had been rough on his mental state. 

Nevertheless, he needed to grow up and be a better father to them. They already lost their mother, they can’t afford to lose him too. 

As Katsuki was getting ready for the parent teacher conference about Hiro and Katsumi, he heard his children down the hall speaking amongst themselves. Hiro, as usual, didn’t have the need to quiet down his tone while Katsumi tried her best to get her brother to speak softly. 

“Did you really see dad kiss her?” 

“Of course I did,” Hiro bit back, hurt that his sister doubted him. 

Katsumi quickly replied to Hiro in a hushed whisper, “Whoa, hey! Not so loudly, Hiro~ Dad could be-” 

“Good, he should be listening,” Hiro jabbed then moved on to say, “Dad kissed my teacher. Now all she does is gush about how ‘attractive’ he is to other teachers. You know how awkward it is to walk down the hall while our classmates talk about dad cheating on mom? She’s not dead, Sumi. She’s missing.” 

Katsuki heard Katsumi sigh and sadly say, “Yeah, I know. But you’ve seen how dad is…angry and lonely almost every day. Mom…made him very happy back then, so who cares if he’s looking for companionship to fill that hole in his heart.”

“We should care,” Hiro snapped back, “Our mom is out there suffering with a villain. We’re suffering because we miss her. You and I are coping by relying on each other, dad can do the same.”

“I don’t think so,” Katsumi sighed and said, “He can’t even look at me, probably because I look like mom so much. I haven’t seen him smile at me since her kidnapping. He looks at me with regret and you look at me differently too.” 

“What?” Hiro asked, surprised by his sister’s claim, “No, I don’t.” 

“Don’t lie to me!” Katsumi snapped back, her temper just as bad as Katsuki’s when he was younger. 

Katsuki heard Hiro fumble with his words and shook his head at his son’s response. 

“Well sure, it’s hard to look at you, you literally look like mom! But that doesn’t mean-” 

“You two are the worst! It’s not my fault I look like her!” 

Katsuki heard his daughter storm down the stairs and shut the front door loudly, announcing her departure. Then he heard the frustrated mumbles from Hiro, the boy stomping down the stairs and angrily putting his shoes on. 

“Stupid sister,” Hiro grumbled, grabbing something by the door, “she forgot to put her shoes on.” 

Then his son slammed the front door after himself. 

Katsuki took a deep breath in and thought about his children’s conversation with each other. He didn’t think Camie would talk about their budding relationship to other teachers. Didn’t know their classmates whispered about their family. 

Then there was the situation with Katsumi. 

He hated to admit it, but his daughter spoke the truth. Katsuki hadn’t smiled at her in the last two years, not even over her accomplishments. He couldn’t hold a long conversation with her or lock eyes with her. 

But he heard her stories through his mother. 

Coming to a conclusion on how to fix his relationship with his children, Katsuki pulled his phone from his pocket and messaged his mother:

I will be joining for dinner as well. 

Who invited you? 

Does it matter? 

Just know that I’m coming over. 

Gotta talk to the kids about their mother.

Do not drag me into your mess! 

My grandchildren see me as a trusted guardian.

This is serious, old hag. You’re going to moderate the conversation. 

I’m clearly biased, brat! You kissed Hiro’s teacher while still married!

Did you even think about how [Name] would feel?

She’s missing, not dead.

“I’m missing, not dead.” 

His wife’s words from the dream played back as he read his mother’s message to him. 

Yeah, he knows that. But he can’t help the urge to fill the hole in his heart just like how Hiro can’t help acting out against him. They all have different and unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

Yeah, I did. I’m not going to deny it. But I don’t love Camie, she’s just there. 

He didn’t get an immediate response and he stood at the door waiting as patiently as he could. His foot thumped on the floorboard while his bottom lip was between his teeth. 

Then three message popped up instantly:

If you say one thing that I don’t like… I will kick you out of my house. No one hurts my grandbabies!

He smiled at her response and messaged her: I know.

……

Katsuki ignored the stares he received from other teachers and parents that he passed by in the hall. His hands were tucked into his jacket and clenched up from this unwanted attention. God, he felt small from their judgemental stares. He could hear their stupid whispers and he wanted nothing more to yell at them. 

“Hey, dad,” Katsumi called out to him with her head down, “you don’t have to visit my teacher if you don’t want to. My grades are totally fine compared to Hiro’s and-” 

“Sumi,” Katsuki sighed and looked to his left, barely catching her off guard with her nickname. He also hasn’t addressed her lovingly in two years and he hopes to fix this burned bridge between him and his daughter. 

“Uh…” He trailed off and looked away from her surprised look. She was the spitting image of [Name] back in their grade school years. 

‘Damn it, get it together and stop looking like a damn sad man!’ He yelled at himself mentally. 

After getting his composure back, he walked up to Katsumi’s classroom and stopped at the door. He swallowed the lump in his throat and kneeled down to meet her height. She ignored his intense stare, but he gently guided her face to look at him. 

Carefully he said, “I care about your grades as much as I do for Hiro’s. I know you won the prize at the science fair beating Izuku’s nerdy son. You worked hard to put that broccoli boy in his place and I’m damn proud of you for doing that. And I’m…sorry that…for everything.”

Stupidly, he couldn’t apologize properly to Katsumi. 

Luckily for him, his daughter understood what he wanted to say. She blinked her tears away and jumped at him, hugging him with a sniffle. She wanted nothing more than to have an actual conversation with her dad. Finally he was owning up to his mistakes and this is all she really wanted from him.

“I forgive you, dad,” She moved away then tilted her head, “but it will take Hiro a lot of convincing to do the same. You really, really hurt him.” 

Katsuki slumped and said, “Yeah, I know. But I want to make it up to you guys. I need to talk to you guys about something, but it’ll be with grandma too. She can keep Hiro calm and-”

Katsumi giggled and shook her head, “You really think grandma will be on your side?”

The man huffed out a frustrated sigh and stood up to his full height, “Your grandma asked me the same thing, but I wormed my way through.” He took Katsumi’s hand in his rough one and said, “Alright, let’s get this meeting done with.” 

…

Katsuki knew of Katsumi’s accomplishments through his mother, yes. But everything his daughter ever achieved made him super proud. She led the classes with confidence, competed for the top spot of the class with a ‘friendly rival’ and everyone loved her. 

He didn’t know Katsumi was popular among her classmates, especially since Hiro mentioned whispers of their family. God, he felt so stupid and regretted ever letting it get so far. 

“Katsuki,” Camie’s voice had a hint of adoration in it, “what a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t sure if you had time for teacher conferences.” Her laugh echoed in the classroom and it caught the attention of the hero’s daughter. 

Katsumi squeezed her father’s hand as they walked into Hiro’s classroom. She looked around the room and it looked sort of like her own classroom with Mr. Fujioka. Her red eyes then landed on the woman that gradually captured the attention of her father. 

She was pretty tall and slim. Her short hair was a caramel color and Katsumi couldn’t deny her beauty. Did Ms. Utsushimi have something similar to her mother or was her father interested because the hole her mother left needed to be filled?

“I’m trying to fix my mistakes and be a better father for my children,” Katsuki grumbled out and walked over to the two chairs in front of Camie’s desk. He led Katsumi to one and sat down after his daughter did. 

Then his red eyes met with Camie’s soft colored ones, “Is there anything I can do to help Hiro boost his grades? I know he’s failing some of his classes.”

Camie cleared her throat and sat down at her desk pulling up a file of Hiro’s school work. She pulled out some tests and showed the red marks on most of the questions. Then the teacher licked her lips before she explained, 

“Hiro is smart, much like his sister,” Camie compared Hiro’s old work to his current school work, “He would have been in the same class as Katsumi and Sora this year and last year, but I’m sorry to bring this up as it is a touchy topic. His grades started dropping the moment his mother went missing.”

Katsuki already guessed that. 

“Figures,” He mumbled under his breath and shook his head, “I’ll talk to him about his work. Thank you for this.” 

Katsumi stood up from her chair and watched her dad do the same. 

Quickly Camie followed suit and brushed her hair from her face, “If you really want to help Hiro out, you have to tell him to leave the work to the heroes.”

“Huh?” Katsuki gave Camie a sideways glance then turned his body towards her, “What are you talking about?” 

Camie looked down at a nervous Katsumi then back to the father, “Your kids are actively looking for their mother along with Sora. They’ve been talking about the Market and how they can find her in that group.” 

Oh hell no. His confusion immediately turned into a protective anger. 

Katsuki spun around to question his daughter with an angry scowl on his face, “The hell are you guys doing, huh? Do you know what the Market is capable of?” 

“Dad, we-” 

“They hurt children like you!” Katsuki spat then grabbed Katsumi’s shoulders in a death grip, “The Market is a group of villains that should be left for the heroes to deal with, not a dumb trio like the three of you. Do you understand me, Katsumi?” 

The little girl couldn't look her dad in the eyes, not when he looked so mad. He wasn’t even going to listen to her. 

“Katsumi,” Katsuki growled out and shook her a bit to make her look him in the eyes. Then he crouched down and used one of his hands to force her to do so. 

“They kidnap little girls and little boys with powerful quirks like you and your brother,” His eyes flashed with a dangerous warning, “then those kids are sold to the highest bidder. For months, these bidders do whatever they want to these children before they make them fight one another. The ones that lose a fight are disposed of. Do you want to end up in a ditch like them? Katsumi, I asked you a question!” 

“No!” Katsumi cried, tears shining in her red eyes.

The sight of her tears softened up Katsuki’s flaring rage and he pulled her into a hug. He rubbed his hand up and down her back to soothe her, but she kept on crying. He went too far in scolding her and scaring her, but everything he said about the Market was true. He needed her to recognize the danger in trying to find a group like that. 

Katsuki picked her up into his arms and held her gently, looking over at Camie, “We’re leaving.” 

“O-oh, okay,” Camie whispered back and watched the little girl cry in her dad’s arms. The teacher never saw a sight like that before. But she didn’t blame Katsuki for acting out like that. She’s heard the stories and truly fears for her nosy students. 

Children go missing every day, but a lot have been found dead with wounds from various quirks. She couldn’t imagine any of her students ending up like that. 

She couldn’t imagine how Katsuki would react if one of his children ended up the same way. 

……

Hiro’s head hurt a lot. 

The last thing he could remember is walking to his grandma’s house after Katsumi messaged him saying that the conferences just ended. Now his location remained a mystery to him.

 Fear slowly creeped up his back, but he had to stay focused. Fear blinds all the other senses that could help him out in this situation. 

While sitting up, his body felt extremely tired and worn out. His [e.color] eyes looked around his surroundings, but only darkness covered him. 

“What the hell is going on?” He questioned quietly. 

‘Krttzzz!’

A bright flash blinded him and he blinked his eyes to get used to the light that shone on his body. 

A flatscreen tv hung on the wall with the word ‘Welcome’ appeared on the screen. Then a robotic voice spoke to him through the speakers giving him orders, 

“The drug will wear off in a few moments and once your system returns to normal you will go beyond the door to show off your quirk. If you do not comply, you will be terminated.” 

Hiro pushed himself off the floor and the pain in his head gradually went away while he asked himself a million questions. 

He had been drugged. 

He needed to display his quirk once the door behind him opened. 

If he doesn’t follow this order, he will be…killed?

“My dad said that the survivor from the Market is pretty messed up. Said that the boy used his quirk to kill other kids, kids that the heroes found all over Japan in alleys or abandoned places,” Sora's voice echoed in his head.

The door slid open with a swoosh and Hiro’s shoulders sagged in disbelief, “Oh, fuck me.” 

[st1ckart1zt]

Who is the new character on Sonic x Shadow Generations?

This was the question that was going non-stop in everyone's head.

It definitely isn't Tails since Shadow absolute hate him for no reason

Since the game drops in october, i might as well make a theory about it and guess it.

So here are some characters that might be teaming up with Shadow.

Let's start with simple ones

1. Omega

We saw him appear in some of the games(Sonic adventure 2, Sonic Heroes, 06), and he was teamed up with Shadow and Rouge mostly.

2. Silver The Hedgehog

He was also like Omega teamed up with Shadow in 06 game. But unlike Omega he was sent to kill Shadow but teamed up with him to stop Mephiles.

He is also in Sonic and the black knight, a son, Galahad, to Shadow, in other words, Sir Lancelot.

Also, they have some similarities in their personality, powers, and form.

3. Cream The Rabbit

She hasn't appeared in Sonic games for few years now and it might be her who will assist Shadow.

Shadow and Cream seems to have very good relationship together. He acts like an older brother or an uncle to Cream. We can see that in archie comics.

And last one who i think it will shock many Sonic fans and that it will finally make their appearance in the game.

And.................... that character...................................... is.................................... no other than............................

4. Eclipse The Darkling

Yes i know what you're all thinking but hear me out.

Eclipse and Shadow share some similarities towards eachother.

Eclipse is fiercely loyal to his race and is willing to do whatever he can to make sure that they will not go on the verge of extinction. He is at times is playful in cruel ways and even at times mocks his foes while fighting them. He is the only one in Black Death's army to have a free will.

Even though he was created to destroy Shadow the Hedgehog, he decided that it would be better if he can convince him to return to the Black Arms. He often refers to Shadow as "brother" even though they were both created by two different masters.

While Eclipse is loyal to Black Death, he, at times, questions his orders or even tries to make the situations for the Dark Arms better. Sometimes it works, while other times it doesn't. Eclipse cares for no individual that isn't part of his species. He would rather them use them for the good of the Black Arms or just to rid them of their existence. All he wanted is to do right for his endangered race, even if it means destroying another to save it.

He holds a sense of responsibility and greatly cares for the hatching Dark Arms, despite the fact that they are a hive mind.

Doesn't this reminds you a bit of Shadow.

Shadow was created by Gerald Robotnik in order to cure Maria but after Maria's death he brainwashed Shadow by changing Maria's wish.

He also taunted Sonic in Sonic x many times and also in the games too.

After his redemption he starts to care about people around him and he doesn't admit that aloud but he does care. We can see that in archie comics, games and shows.

We can see that in archie comics, Sonic x, 06, Sonic Generations, Sonic Forces, Sonic Prime and etc

The difference between them is:

1. Their form

2. One of them choose to rebel against Black Arms, defeat Black Doom and become better while the other one didn't but still try to get better

3. Shadow didn't care about his kind but cared about his friends and people on Mobius. Eclipse cares about his kind but doesn't care about people on Mobius.

Well that’s it for this theory. Please Share Your Thoughts About This.

[summercreolefanfictioner]

the scent wafts in, her name making him beg on his knees chap 1.2

pairing: dabi / todoroki touya x fem!oc / reader (MODERN AU)

summary: He mentions her name after 6 months in therapy, absentmindedly narrating vivid memories of her. She was the only good thing during his darkest times.

(In which Touya returns home after rebelling against his family for 7 years. And no, it wasn't about forgiveness. He wanted to fix himself because of a certain someone.)

themes: nsfw, domestic abuse, violence, alcoholism, cigarette smoking, toxic relationships, mental health, co-dependency and other related themes (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

notes: for this one, pls keep in mind that touya didn't have much scars on his face; mostly are on his body to accomodate the plot; charas might be ooc since this is modern au

It was after 4 days that he finally revealed about the Todoroki family, the scandalous story of Enji Todoroki, and the abuse they have endured in his hands based on what he had experienced until 19. To be honest, everything wasn't really how they started. Touya grew up seeing Enji so proud of him, prancing him around as his firstborn, the one who will continue his dream of being the number one corporation in Japan with the best workforce and highest earning. Touya was actually more excited to learn more about business at a young age, studying how money worked through stock exchange games and trying to beat his father through crossword puzzles.

Then the next year, Fuyumi was born, and they were almost the same age, separated by months. One could even say she became his twin, and they shared the same room, the same bed, the same food, the same unisex clothes, the same words—just not the appearance and gender. When it was just the two of them, they somewhat understood each other even if Fuyumi sometimes find him annoying because of his silly pranks.

As he tells this to his therapist, he realizes a shocking truth.

Their family was okay back then. There were a lot of good times, and he had a hunch Fuyumi was the one who remembered most of them when it was supposed to be him, the oldest of the bunch. That's why it was a lot easy for her to forgive him. That's why she hoped so much for him to come back.

His favorite memory was of Fuyumi asking him to create a large drawing of the four of them because she wanted to give something to them. She was holding the same blue flowers their mother liked, and after everything was done, the two siblings met their parents at the living area where they were having tea. Enji ruffled Fuyumi's hair and told her to wash her hands after, noticing the dirt around her hands and in her fingernails. Meanwhile, Rei giggled melodiously, her laughter making Touya embarrassed as she patted his head. They were all happy. Everyone was happy.

When did everything go wrong?

"I think it was when... when Father found me pushing myself so hard because I was so devastated at my achievements that he had enough of me," Touya continued. "Whenever things won't go my way, I tend to neglect my body's capabilities. I stay up all night. I don't eat until I get the equation right. There were times when at a young age, I ripped my hair so bad due to stress. They manifested so bad that I resorted to violence."

A child who throws a violent tantrum. Torn apart posters of comic characters. Ruined picture frames and shattered glasses. Fearful eyes halting in time and unable to stop him from overworking himself. Scattered test papers with scores of 99, 98, 97, and 96 flooded all over like a burning reminder.

"I should've listened to Mother and Fuyumi-chan when they told me to have fun instead."

------

After two weeks, the therapist had the guts to ask him about Natsuo and Shouto. He used to evade questions about his two brothers, usually opting for silence or quickly dismissing the man with answers like, "I don't want to talk about them," or "It's not good." The therapist thought maybe Touya would never be able to discuss things about them, but he knew he had to bring them to the table. After all, the eldest Todoroki had mentioned before that seeing them born had been the small flicker of fire that burned their family down.

"Father thinks me and Fuyumi-chan were failures; it doesn't mean Natsu-kun wasn't either," Touya started, remembering the infant Natsuo and his cries ringing around the Todoroki household. Of course, disappointment was etched again in Enji's face, realizing that Natsuo did not live up to his expectations.

Touya could hear his familiar sigh in head, the way he was stoic but Natsuo was trying his hardest to please him. It broke Touya's heart, the way he could only watch his two siblings casted aside like him, thrown away like a garbage because their potential were wasted. In Enji's eyes, they weren't his children; they were experiments with his wife.

"His masterpiece was my younger brother, Shouto," he concluded.

"Do you hate Shouto?" the therapist asked.

Touya could only shrug, not clearly having a definition of what he felt towards his youngest brother. True, he felt so many things about his brother. He was the bane of his existence, after all. He despised him the day he was born, and yet he felt guilty the moment baby Shouto wrapped his stubby hand around his long finger, cooing at the warmth as he opened his heterochromatic eyes and gazed at him cutely. That day, Touya instantly felt a responsibility as his oldest brother, but at the same time, there was bitterness. He knew the youngest would be Enji's favorite; he just knew it, with the way he watched him all this time while he thinks he's not aware.

It will never be Shouto's fault that they weren't the favorites; but blaming him was so easy Touya could get away with it.

Shouto was unyielding, though; confused as to why Touya didn't like him but still trying his bestest to get along with him. He would trail behind him, meekly asking him to play with him, to ask their father if he could play with them for a bit because he wanted to be like the other kids and play. "You should be grateful he's spending time with you," Touya snarked at him, not speaking the next words. Because he wouldn't do that with us; with me. Of course, Shouto was so pure-hearted he just replied him with, "But being with Touya-nii and the others is a lot better. You all get to play other than study."

But studying and being the best was the only thing that kept Touya driving; it would be his downfall, though. Enji found out what he did to himself, knew from his teachers about his wellbeing. Touya goes to school with deep eyebags. Touya gets sulky about his grades. He snaps at the other kids at school. He almost got into a fight with another classmate for trying to cheer him up with his grades. And the next thing, Touya will be dragged to the hallway and Enji would not hesitate to slap sense in his face, disappointment and anger in his face as he beat Touya up for bringing shame to the family, for acting all so childish over some silly grades.

This was his usual routine. His parents would fight. His siblings will help him up to his feet. Fuyumi-chan will take the first aid kit and tend to his bruises. Natsuo-kun will try to shield Shouto away from the scene even though the youngest was already crying his eyes out, not wanting to see him hurt so bad. Don't cry for me, Shouto. Don't be that way with me. I hate you. I hate you the most. Please, don't be like that.

Afterwards, he would play the good son card, would keep his bursting feelings in check, watch over everything he would say and play right in Enji's palm. He needed his approval again, even if the attention was all showered on Shouto. It was damn frustrating, suffocating him the more he watched Shouto endure the beatings as he treated the three of them like nothing. At that moment, Touya wanted nothing to do with Shouto. If he did, he might unleash all these intrusive thoughts.

Fate was a trickster, and Touya would always find Shouto pleading for help, especially to him of all people. "Touya-nii, save me! Please!" It kept repeating like a broken record, haunting him in his dreams. The wet streaks. The runny nose. His tight fisting on his shirt. The way he would hiss his name. The eyes that cried so many times. Touya will never give in; a lie he told so many times.

Touya did give in, and without much thought. Shouto brought back those feelings he wanted; how it felt so happy that someone needed so much from him. He liked it. He felt appreciated. He felt blessed. He felt so free Shouto had no idea how much Touya wanted this for so long. That's why Touya tutored Shouto in secret, teaching him a thing or two about business, about stock exchange, about the Todoroki family, about the Endeavor Corp.—heck, he even laid down the basics of algebra and science on him, ensuring Shouto would be able to comprehend everything at the age of 5 and 6. It wasn't the same as when Enji acknowledged him, but for Touya, this was enough.

Enji knew about it, of course, and he didn't mind... at first. After all, he thought Touya was just helping his brother learn, keeping his mouth shut as he let them be. This aggravated Touya, pushing him slightly to the edge.

"The least he could do was acknowledge me," Touya stated bitterly to his therapist, remembering how Enji praised Shouto's performance instead of telling him how good of an older brother he was.

"So you used Shouto's kindness, is that it?" the therapist clarified.

Touya nodded. "But sometimes, I pity him. I felt those things only an older brother would feel."

There was a palpable tension as Touya gripped his knees to even out his breathing. The memories were getting more vivid than ever he swore it happened yesterday? Or the other day? But he was a lot younger back then. He was 14 when it happened, and he felt his bruises and scars getting more painful, his skin shivering from a certain coldness. Maybe it was Enji's eyes on him. The same eye color he and Shouto shared. He didn't know. He didn't care.

"Sekoto Peak," he mumbled in a trance, flashes of memories where Shouto held his hand and gazed at the view below him.

"Touya-nii, this is where you go often? It's so cool here!"

"Sometimes, I sleep here under the stars."

"R-Really? Do you bring Fuyumi-nee and Natsu-nii here?"

"I haven't."

"Let's go here, the four of us."

"..."

"Please?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"I couldn't bring them all," Touya admitted, gripping his head to force himself to remember. The therapist recorded his responses through his notes as he muttered everything in a fast pace. "I tried to make a plan. I brought Shouto there a few times without anyone knowing. I asked Natsuo and Fuyumi for help. Before we could all go, Father found out. I couldn't speak. I couldn't fight. I was hit by the bokken. They were all crying. Mother tried to protect me but Father slapped her. I could feel his kick and punch in my gut."

"... did he—"

"No. NO. HE WASN'T DONE!" Touya gulped nervously, imagining the scars on his body burning. "They were hot on my skin. It burned my flesh. I couldn't move. I cried and cried and cried. I begged for him to stop. I want him to stop. The hot iron. Everything. I want the world to stop. I couldn't become the son he wanted. I couldn't be Shouto's big brother. I couldn't give them everything."

And when he ended the story, that was when Touya finally cried, sobbing as fuck. He couldn't care about the world or the pitiful gazes. The boy cried so much from bearing all the sins he didn't do.

------

Touya spent a few months in isolation, his thoughts circling around his childhood and all the painful memories. When he was alone, he would write them all down, narrating that one moment in his and Natsuo's shared bedroom where Shouto secretly snuck in and apologized over and over. He kept blaming himself for Touya's pain. Everything was his fault that Touya was hurt so bad, and Touya wanted to agree. It was true, though. He hurt when he was born. He hurt when he got all the glory. He hurt when he became Enji's pride.

He just went silent about it.

Why did he?

It was never Shouto's fault.

"Shouto," he whispered, his hand reaching out to ruffle his hair despite the searing pain in his arms. There was a weak smile gracing his lips, bruised and battered yet patched up clumsily by a crying Fuyumi. "As I thought, I couldn't be your good older brother. Not anymore."

(Touya never knew but after a few years following his rebellion, Shouto went to Sekoto Peak and stared at the same view Touya admired so much, slept under the stars when everything became too much, and wished the four of them could be there together.)

ps. I removed the last part and placed it on the next chap in case y'all confused bcos the post is too long to read

next chap

masterlist

[justalilgiddybibs]

The Animal Game

SFW tickle fic. No like? Click off.

OKAY so this fic is based off of the Bluey minisode “Animals”! The short is adorbies, I watched it MULTIPLE TIMES while writing this. I am now immune to it.

Massive thanks to @hamilton-fluff for giving me the idea! I hope this satisfies your wishes!

As a reminder, this is post-finale, and for those I latch onto @/mythica0’s alternate timeline! Please read their fic “Forgiveness” if you want to be up to speed on that!

OH ONE MORE THING

I have a roleplay blog including these goobers, please do go check it out! It's a regular blog with a lot of non-tickle community members, so be sneaky with any tickle-related asks, but please do flood the inbox! I love receiving asks, it's always a treat.

Also I know I said to be sneaky with it but PLEASE DO SEND TICKLE-RELATED ASKS I LOVE THEM EVEN THO I GOTTA MAKE IT INCONSPICUOUS LMAO (seriously though it's a really funny jumpscare when I get asks like that, please send em in :D)

Characters: lee!Dev, ler!Peri

Summary: Dev asks to play his favorite game while he’s in a lee mood. Peri happily follows through.

ENJOY!

Of all the games Dev and Peri played together, one was pretty much the kid’s favorite. He never admitted he liked it, though.

The Animal Game. Always his go-to during a lee mood.

Speaking of, Peri’s lee mood radar had started going off. And Dev looked on the cusp of asking- but said nothing.

And it was driving him up the wall.

He knew it would make it better if he just asked- but noooo. His brain didn't want his dignity to drop. Dev wasn't a child! He was ten now, he was a big kid! Big kids don't ask for tickles.

But he had to. One way or another, or else this lee mood would kill him.

Dev trotted over to Peri, who was shining the cap of his wand, and tugged on his sleeve. The purple-clad paused what he was doing, turning around, to face his godkid. “Yeah, kid? What's up?”

Dev looked down shyly, trying to muster up the courage to just say it. Peri knew what was going on, but he played dumb.

“Kid, you gotta tell me or else I won't know what-”

“Canweplaytheanimalgame?” He said it really quickly, then ran back and hid under his blanket. Peri stifled a laugh at the way Dev was acting, but then he floated over to the bed, lifting up the blanket and peeking underneath to find an extremely flustered Dev. Honestly, it was pretty endearing. He knew it was the kid’s favorite, and the fact that he actually requested that they play the game was pretty unexpected! So of course, like any good Fairy Godparent, he fulfilled his wish.

“Dev? You ready to play?”

Dev immediately leapt out from under the covers and tried to run away, despite knowing he wanted this. He literally asked for this, dangit!

Peri, however, swiftly grabbed the ginger’s hood, and kept him from going too far. He scooped him up, chuckling at his half-hearted attempts to get away, and brought him back to the edge of the bed, sitting down and setting Dev on his lap. Unfortunately, his jacket had ridden up during his squirming, making him even more susceptible to what was to come.

Thankfully Peri didn't make him wait too long in anticipation before he started.

“One day, there was a lovely big field, with grass flowing gently in the breeze.” Mimicking the wind, Peri blew across Dev’s side, making him squirm around against the sensations, muffling his laughter in his hands. Peri continued.

“When along came… an antelope!” He brought his fingertips together and bounced them along his side again. “Doing, doing, doing, doing-doing-doing!”

“Pfftehehehe! EEEeheehehehaha!” Dev finally let his laughter flow free, kicking his legs away from him.

“But the antelope was chased away by a… cheetah! Brrrrrrrr! Brrrrrrrrr! Brrrrrrrrrr, brrrrrrrrr!” Peri ran his fingers along the same spot, eliciting a squeal and a few giggles each time he did it.

“Then the cheetah got tired, and along came some tiny little ants.” He kept up the silly noises as he walked his fingers slowly across. Dev was in stitches, fighting every urge to thrash around as he squealed and laughed. Gosh dang it, why did this feel so nice? To just let himself laugh till his heart’s content? This was silly!

So why did he enjoy it so much?

Peri’s continued narration pulled him out of his mind.

“But then came an ELEPHANT! Boom, ba-ba-boom, ba-ba-boom, ba-ba-boom!” Peri gently thumped his fists against the ginger.

That’s when he finally broke.

Dev squealed, getting up from Peri’s lap and running off to a corner of the room, a wide smile adorning him as he shut his eyes and leaned on the wall. Peri chuckled, poofing himself next to him, causing Dev to yelp in surprise. The fairy continued, as if nothing had happened.

“Phew! The elephant left. And along came a spiiiderrrrr!” And he spidered along where Dev’s side met his tummy, slowly getting closer to his death spot- which also happened to be his favorite spot to be tickled.

Dev slumped down against the wall, giggling away at the sensations, until Peri fake-slapped the “spider” away. “Go away, spider! No more creepy animals, thanks.”

Dev took the moment to catch his breath, before things got more chaotic. “Aehehehe… phew.”

“Oh, wait! It’s a snake! Ssssssssssssss!” Peri announced only a second later, digging two fingers into Dev’s side. The latter let out another set of squeals and giggles, jumping up again and running off in a state of giggly panic. Peri just poofed right behind him, exclaiming “Frog!” And poking him in the side. “Ribbit.”

Dev yelped and started running around his bed in circles, giggles still tumbling out of him- half because of the lingering sensations, and half because of the sheer silliness and hilarity of the scenario- but Peri just kept on his tail, poking him inconsistently to keep him on his toes. “Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit.”

Finally, he reached out with both hands and scooped up his godkid again, setting him down on his lap once more as he held up the jacket that had come back down to protect him.

“Ah. the frog’s gone, and along comes a pussycat!”

“Oho, nohoho!” Dev exclaimed, as Peri slowly walked his fingers onto the center of his tummy, relishing in the increasing giggles it produced.

“Oh no, Dev! This cat wants to have a nap. She uses her claws to make a nice bed!” And as he finished his statement, Peri scritched and scribbled along the same spot on Dev’s tummy, making cat noises as he did so. The kid yelped and squirmed, laughter getting much, much louder from his death spot being attacked. “AeheheHEHehEhe! PehehehERihihiHi nohoHOHOhohO!”

The purple-clad finally rested his hand in the center of Dev’s tummy, giving him one more break. “Ahh, the cat’s asleep. All is well.”

Dev took in some more, much-needed breaths as he relaxed in Peri’s lap. The two stayed there for a few seconds, enjoying the quiet.

“DINOSAUR!!” Peri exclaimed, using both his hands to scribble along where Dev’s sides met his tummy, taking in a big breath and blowing a huge raspberry right at the center. Dev screamed, his laughter reaching a new octave.

“PEHEHEHERIHIHI! PEHERI THAHAT- NAHAHAHA!!”

Sensing the kid was reaching his limit, Peri blew one more quick raspberry on his bellybutton before setting him down on the bed, poofing up a cup of water for his clearly-tuckered-out godkid, who took it gratefully, lingering titters still spilling out. They sat together for a moment, only broken by Dev’s leftover giggles. Peri was the first to speak again.

“So? How was it?”

Dev lightly shoved him away.

“Shut up…”

“Hey, that’s not nice!” Peri made a fake offended look. Dev just smiled. Thankfully his lee mood was gone now, and he could enjoy the rest of his day without the buzziness gnawing at him.

Perfect.

[alyblacklist]

The Night Agent | Official Trailer | Netflix

Just finished binging this show - really good!  

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!

[just-null]

i have come here to personally thank you for giving me more than i asked for 🙏🏻 i am utterly grateful like IDJFKDKKFODOD 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ it made me so happy the last doodle has my heart he is so cute i will eat him

also there is a DROUGHT out there for us noritoshi fans like im living on CRUMBS its insane and omg dont even talk to me abt how it feels like to be a kashimo and ino lover (altho they are getting a bit more love now) my nori is still underrated :/ sooo hence im asking ur hand in friendship and in exchange i promise to share my hcs with you abt nori my sweet lil meow meow we're in this together 💪🏻💪🏻

also since its October, do you think he likes horror movies? i feel like he can withstand gory movies but its the jumpscares that get him and he wont tell u he's scared when u watch one with jumpscares owkfkdkd imagine him hiding his face against ur shoulder or something 😭😭😭 (i used to do that with my dad when we watched horror movies and i used to be like im not scared😤😤 when he asked if i was lmfao thats where this hc stemmed from)

N. NORITOSHI HIDING IN YOUR SHOULDER OR SUPPRESSING HIS REACTIONS TO THE JUMPSCARES....... WAS IT AN INVOLUNTARY REACTION TO USE YOU TO HIDE??????? WAS IT BUILT UP TRUST????? DID HE GROW USED TO HOLDING ONTO YOU WHEN HE GETS SURPRISED BECAUSE HE WANTS TO MAKE SURE HE HAS HIS VALUABLES SAFE????????? WAS IT A MOMENT WHERE HIS MIND JUST INSTINCTIVELY GRABBED THE FIRST THING HE WANTED TO PROTECT/BE PROTECTED BY???????? OH MY FUCK.

he's probably used to gore and gritty stuff like that since he sees it often being a jujutsu sorcerer and all. not to mention his technique is literally blood. maybe he's desensitized to gore films, the most you'll get from him is a disgusted scowl.

BUT DID YOU SEE HOW QUICK HIS EYE OPENED WHEN HANAMI SHOWED UP BEHIND HIM. YOURE SO FUCKING FR ABT JUMPSCARES. Noritoshi is that guy who wouldn't scream or yelp but gasp really loudly and jump out of his skin.

i feel like they get him most in horror because of the music building up anticipation. if its one of those fake outs where the jumpscare comes a bit after, he's fucked UP. It makes him instantly miffed, as he tries to regain his composure. He swears he's not usually like this, it got him by surprise is all..!

Noritoshi is the type that'd only watch a horror movie if the story is rich and complex. He's the type of guy to like open endings that make you think.. if it's a guilty pleasure movie where all the protags make stupid decisions, he gets annoyed right off the bat.

He's groaning and complaining about how imbecile the characters are, but would still watch it with you because you personally invited him. If he's lucky you could fall asleep on his shoulder or [insert movie cliche here] how could he pass that up? But Noritoshi wouldn't be able to focus on you if he gets twice as annoyed because its a bad movie + jumpscares. it still startles him, but the movie is so terrible, he's embarrassed it got him, especially in front of you!!!

if you get involved and you tell him to quiet down, Noritoshi would shift his focus towards you. like that awkward guy who thinks he's being smooth and lowkey about how he cuddles up next to you. He wants to be the tough guy who's shoulder you can hide in, and he is!! just not.. with jumpscares.......

[creativesplat]

a little doodle of my favourite fire emblem guys (modern au!)