#and I feel like we all need a reminder sometimes

[leighsartworks216]

Kiss Me

Sylus x fem!Reader

I need to go back to bed ough

Warnings: fluff, light angst, drunkenness, drinking, crying, cuddling, self-esteem issues, self-worth issues

Word Count: 975

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Sylus holds a wine glass in one hand, holding it to the side as you climb onto his lap. Legs on either side of his, body arched to align with his, face ducked down to stay close to his; you truly are a sight to behold.

"Kiss me," you demand. Your hands trace his jaw, feeling his skin, the warmth underneath it.

He grins softly. It's not quite a smirk, though it holds that same smug amusement. His hand holds your hip respectfully. Fingers tug down the hem of your dress to keep you decent.

"I don't think that's a good idea, sweetie."

You frown. "Why not?"

Oh, you sweet thing. Your eyes keep flickering about his face, lingering on his lips, his eyes, his lips again. He takes his sweet time sipping from his glass. A slight tint of red stains his lips, licked away by his tongue. He can see the way your eyes glaze over as you stare.

"You're drunk," he reminds you. "You almost polished off my nice, expensive wine. Did you forget?"

The wine wasn't important. It was expensive, aged to perfection, sitting on the rack waiting for the best occasion - and you had him refill your glass before he even finished his.

He doesn't envy the headache you'll have come morning.

Your thumbs run along the flat of his cheeks, stroking back to his sideburns, before you slip your hands around his neck and into his hair. You scratch so sweetly at his scalp. He should stop it, stop you from so effortlessly turning him into putty under your attention. But he doesn't.

You brush your nose against his. Your breath carries the subtle notes of the wine with it. "'M not that drunk. And you're pretty... Kiss me, please."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Something dark flashes across his eyes. A fleeting shadow. If it were not his lap you were in right now, how quickly would anyone else give in to you, with you so demanding and beautiful? "Because you're drunk," he insists again, softly.

You huff in annoyance. "Is that the only reason you're gonna give me? Told you already, I'm not that drunk."

"It's the fact you've been drinking at all, sweetie." You roll your eyes, turning your head away at the rejection. He grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger, drawing your attention back to him. "I want you to be completely sober for our first kiss. Is that such a bad thing?"

You blink at him dumbly for a moment. "First kiss?"

"Mhm."

A beat, and then those gorgeous lips are curling into a wicked little grin. "'First' implies that there'd be more."

He releases your chin to brush loose strands of hair from your face. "And I want you to be sober enough to remember every single one."

"But if we kissed now..." You lean into his touch like a cat, rubbing your cheek against his hand before he can pull it away. "... we could have another first kiss later."

He chuckles. "You really want this, don't you, kitten?"

You whine with a nod. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you draw yourself into him, resting your head on his shoulder and nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt.

"Sometimes it feels hard to love you," you admit in a whisper. "You have everything. And I have nothing. Nothing to give you to- to make it worthwhile. Cuz that's what you deserve."

His heart aches. He sets his glass aside to hug you in return. Your words become slurred as you continue speaking, slow and messy. But genuine. He wishes he had the will to silence you now, to hear it all when you're of sound mind. But he's weak to this truth and the desire to hear it at your most vulnerable.

"But I want to... I want to love you so bad. And I do. So much... But I have nothing. The only thing I can give you is..." You wave a hand limply at your body. "This mess."

You sigh, hiding your face in his warm neck. He leans his head on yours. You sniffle quietly.

"Would kissing me make you happy?"

He squeezes his arms tighter around you. Readjusts so you're sitting more comfortably across his lap instead of straddling him. He even grabs a blanket with his Evol to wrap it around your shoulders, tucking the corners in so you're protected from the cold in your little black dress that drives him wild.

"Being near you makes me happy," he answers. "Seeing you, hearing you, talking with you - everything about you makes me happy. I don't need your body to be happy. You don't need to throw yourself at me to love me."

You sniffle again. Hot droplets of water fall to his skin. Your voice shakes. "But would kissing me make you happy?"

"When you're sober," he begins slowly, carefully, "and I kiss you for the first time, I'll be the happiest man in the universe."

"Really?"

He gently pulls you from his neck. You've got tears already staining your cheeks. Makeup running, lip trembling. You're so beautiful.

He leans in. Your breath hitches in your throat, though he can't tell if it's from excitement or to fight back another sob. His lips brush your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, squeezing out tears that gather on his lips. They linger there for several seconds, before he finally pulls away. His hand comes up to hold your other cheek, wiping away the evidence of your overwhelming emotions.

"If you can remember that, you can cash it in for the real deal," he says, teasing and light, but with the weight of genuine care and concern. "Alright?"

You nod. "Alright."

He draws you back into him. "Now get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @leiakitty @loliesaregreat

[hivemuthur]

If you’re comfortable, can I request Viktor dating hcs where reader has adhd? If not, that’s fine!

Hi Anon! Here's your HCs!

ViktorXADHD!Reader HeadCannons

viktorxgn!reader general, fluff and again we have Viktor setting impossible standards for real-life partners (for me, I'm the partner :v)

author’s note: I wish I was this kind of partner guys :')

word count: 0,8K

—

✧ Viktor notices almost immediately that your mind moves fast—sometimes faster than even his own. He finds it fascinating, the way your thoughts jump from one topic to another, connecting things he wouldn't have considered.

✧ When you start rambling about a new hyperfixation, he listens intently, chin propped in his hand, soft smile on his lips. If it's something he can research, he’ll surprise you with a fact about it later, just to see your face light up.

✧ “You know, I read something about that,” he says casually, and the way you snap to attention fills him with warmth.

✧ He isn’t bothered when you interrupt him mid-sentence; he knows it’s because you’re engaged, not because you aren’t listening. That being said, if he really needs to get a point across, he’ll gently cup your face and say, “Lásko, let me finish.”

✧ If you forget important things—appointments, meals, deadlines—he doesn’t scold you. Instead, he subtly helps. “Did you eat today?” he asks while placing an apple in your hand. “You have an appointment tomorrow morning, yes? I will set an alarm for you.”

✧ He understands how frustrating it is to want to do something but not be able to focus on it. If you’re struggling with executive dysfunction, he sits with you, offering quiet encouragement. Sometimes, just knowing he’s there makes it easier.

✧ You tend to leave things half-finished, starting a new task before completing the last. Viktor doesn't mind; he simply places a bookmark in your abandoned book, keeps your projects organised, and gently reminds you where you left off.

✧ “You were working on this earlier,” he says, nudging a notebook toward you. “Shall we finish it together?”

✧ If your hyperactivity manifests physically, he lets you fidget with his fingers, his cane, even the hem of his sleeve. He likes it—it means you feel safe enough to do so.

✧ On days when your thoughts feel like an untamed storm, Viktor grounds you. He speaks softly, rubs soothing circles into your palm, and reminds you to take deep breaths.

✧ Viktor notices when you’re upset before you even say a word. Your usual energy dims, your gaze lingers unfocused, and your hands fidget more than usual. He doesn’t press you to talk—he knows that sometimes, finding the words is the hardest part.

✧ “We have three options,” he says, brushing his fingers against yours. “We talk about it now, we do not talk about it at all, or I will check in with you again in an hour.”

✧ The relief you feel is instant. He doesn’t need you to spell out what you need; he gets it. And when you squeeze his hand in silent gratitude, he simply squeezes back.

✧ Viktor doesn’t complain about your habit of draping half your wardrobe over the back of the chair. To him, it looks chaotic—but to you, it’s a system.

✧ “Why do you not put them away?” he asks, genuinely curious.

✧ “Because they aren’t dirty, but they aren’t clean either,” you explain.

✧ He nods as if that is the most logical thing in the world. “Ah. A liminal space for clothing. Understood.” And he's never brought it up again.

✧ Keeping the house organised is a delicate balance between Viktor’s methodical nature and your tendency to misplace things.

✧ He has congratulated himself more than once for coming up with transparent food containers.

✧ It's a small gesture, but got you tearing up. “You brilliant, brilliant man,” you say, bewildered, stacking them up in the most visible spots on your kitchen shelves.

✧ At some point, Viktor realised that opened food items exist in a strange limbo in your mind—neither fresh nor expired, just schrödinger’s groceries.

✧ His solution? A red marker pen, always within reach.

✧ Every milk carton, juice bottle, or half-used sauce now has the date of opening scrawled on it in his precise handwriting.

✧ “You are absurdly efficient,” you admit, watching him carefully mark the oat milk.

✧ “Efficient?” He smirks. “No, I simply dislike the phrase ‘I don’t know if this is still good, smell it for me.’”

✧ You fall asleep best when there’s something playing in the background—a podcast, an audiobook, even a video you’ve watched a hundred times.

✧ At first, Viktor found it odd, but now? He’s grown used to it. If anything, he finds the murmur of voices comforting when you fall asleep curled into him.

✧ He even takes the time to pick something out for you if you’re too tired to choose. “I selected a lecture on quantum mechanics,” he says with a small smile. “I expect you will be asleep before the introduction is over.”

✧ He doesn’t see your ADHD as a flaw. He sees you—brilliant, creative, full of energy and passion. And he loves you for it.

[zeel-zzz]

Red Rose Surprise

[a rosekiller kid fic]

BARISTA BARTY | ROSEKILLER | WC: 2.7k

i'm not sure why no one's written a rosekiller kid fic, but i give you this. i will definitely expand on this because i just love this idea so fucking much.

"Stupid strawberry milk."

If Barty was allowed to say one thing publicly without the risk of being fired from his place of employment, he'd probably say fuck big companies who ruined coffee shops for regular ass people. 

Sure, the big coffee chains have been around for years and it’s not like he knew what ordering coffee was like before them, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t despise them.

At least they were taking away the really insufferable customers, or that's what his boss liked to say. The only reason she can say that is because she doesn’t have to deal with them. 

Barty’s known to have a shit attitude. This is especially known in the coffee shops that employed him so many years ago. He doesn't take shit from anyone, and who have been going long enough know that Barty doesn't fuck aroud. 

He’s pretty sure Rosmerta is using his bad attitude in some marketing scheme.

“Stop by The Three Brews and get uniquely insulted by our prickly barista as he makes you latte art.”

He has to give it to her if that is actually what she’s doing, it’s one hell of a marketing tactic.

Still, it doesn’t mean he enjoys dealing with the annoying customers, and sure, he does know how to make the complex orders, and yeah he technically can make them, but it's not like he wants to. There’s a menu for a reason. Barty was not going to make a triple shot latte with a fraction of every type of milk substitute they had in stock. 

I mean, he could use the syrup pumps when people wanted hyper specific orders, but there’s a reason why they were placed so far back. Barty wasn’t going to walk all the way back there when the next customer just wanted an espresso. Getting orders out quickly got him tips and tips were what paid for his lunch.

What really worsened them was Rosmerta's seasonal menu, because now if Barty said they ran out of something they could just point to the menu’s seasonal options. 

“If you’re out, why are you still offering it? The least you could do is take it off the menu."

Apologies Susan, he wasn't aware someone could simply wipe off the words from their laminated menu that was placed in front of the cash register.  

He also hated the menu because it meant he had to put even more effort when serving. It’s not like you could serve a ‘Heart Flutter’ with a frown. It ruins the atmosphere or whatever.

Sometimes he wishes he would’ve just taken Regulus’ money, at least then he wouldn’t be forced to work the morning before Valentine's Day listening to the same romantic pop songs as he wiped down the coffee machine for the umpteenth time. 

One more hour, he just had to hold off for one more hour.

The door chimed and Barty only rolled his eyes when he heard the soft clicking of metal rings rubbing against each other.

“If you're not gonna order, you can make your way out, Sirius. I'm not dealing with your shit today.”

Barty could feel the judgemental stare of a mother on the other side of the counter. If it wasn't for the fact that he was still on the clock he would've flipped her off already.

“You can't kick me out Crouch, Rosmerta loves me.”

“Rosmerta loves using your face to draw up business. Hurry up and get behind the counter before we get told off again.” Barty threw him an apron that Sirius was just barely able to catch.

So, the thing was Sirius didn't actually work here, and technically he wasn't allowed behind the counter, but it's not like Sirius needed the money and Rosmerta wasn't going to keep him from working for free. 

“Are you still pissed off that I'm ditching you to go out with my super tall, super smart, super hot boyfriend tomorrow.” 

Sirius pulled his hair back carelessly before tying it up. Only Sirius Black could present an effortless look with no actual effort.

“Do I need to remind you that I've already had the pleasure of enjoying your super tall, super smart, super hot boyfriend.”

Barty had in fact had a go with Sirius’ boyfriend some couple months back. They hadn't known each other at the time, and Barty was certain that if he hadn’t hooked up with Lupin that night, Sirius and Remus would have never even met. Sirius’ entire relationship existed because of Barty.

“Don't talk about Moony like he's a piece of meat.”

“Oh, so only you can objectify him?”

Sirius nodded as he took off his jacket to hang on a hook and tied his apron. “Boyfriend privileges, but you wouldn't know about that would you Crouch.”

He wouldn't actually, Barty Crouch Jr wasn't known for settling. Not a single one of his relationships lasted longer than three months, at least if you didn’t count Emmeline Vance, who Barty tends to go back to every couple months when she’s single.

Sirius didn't count Emmeline as a relationship.

Barty could only roll his eyes before he started on the next order, cappuccino, no foam. He wanted to kill someone.

And so it went for the next half an hour, Barty rotated from creatively insulting one of his regulars and resisting the urge to pour the frothing milk on some prick's head. 

“Fuck this, I'm taking a break, call me if you don't know what your doing.”

Sirius waved him off before he turned to the cash register with a bright smile, his loose curls falling to frame his face. Barty wasn’t even surprised when the woman began to stumble with her order, Sirius had that effect on everyone.

He was sitting across the counter when a little girl walked in all by herself.

Bright blonde hair held in two crooked pigtails. A set of plastic butterfly wings that were sliding off her shoulder, her face decorated with glitter and star stickers. He was pretty sure that the smudged paint around her eyes was supposed to resemble wings as well. It was the sparkling princess skirt and mismatched shoes with untied laces that really pulled the whole thing together.

She was already heading towards the display case, eyes focused on the pastries that had been delivered earlier that day by the local bakery.

Sirius leaned over the counter when he noticed who Barty was looking at. 

“Hi sweetie, you see something you like.”

The girl looked up at Sirius with a nod before she pointed at one of their last brownies. Barty bit the inside of his cheek, he was really hoping that someone wouldn't take it before his shift was over.

As if to sense his despair Sirius looked over at Barty in question.

Would Barty be generous for the first time in his life and sacrifice the last brownie to the little girl who had her face pressed against the glass, or would he be a selfish prick and break this little girl's dream?

Barty sighed before gesturing for Sirius to give it to her.

He hated kids. He hated seeing their round faces with their big eyes.

Oh, but the smile that broke out the moment Sirius handed it to her in a napkin was heart melting. Barty couldn't help but laugh at the way she began to jump around in joy. Her little wings flapping with each jump she made.

“Luna, there you are. What did I tell you about running off on me?”

The girl turned around proudly presenting the brownie she had just received, “Evie look, brownie!”

Barty hadn't even noticed when the guy walked in, too focused on making sure she didn't slip on her untied shoelaces.

He was tall, and that was saying something because Barty was tall. He might not have been Remus Lupin tall, but he was definitely tall. He also had blonde hair, nearly platinum. Barty was almost in awe of how good it looked on him. He didn't know many people who could pull off platinum.

Silver septum ring with plenty of other piercings on his ears. Each one carrying silver jewelry. Barty couldn't help but think that gold would've suited him better.

“I can see that angel, but I only have enough for one treat right now. You're going to have to choose if you want this or your red rose surprise.”

The girl, Luna, pouted, and Barty wanted to groan. Kids were his weakness.

Sirius looked over at Barty unsure of what to do. Barty only mouthed his response.

“The brownie's on the house.” Sirius gave the customer that charming smile of his as he rested his arms on the counter. This was the real reason Rosmerta kept him around. Always so charming that Sirius Black, no one could resist him. 

“My boss just loves fairies, and she told me that every fairy who visits is supposed to get one treat for free.” 

Luna beamed up at Sirius before turning around to the guy, Evie, and sticking her tongue out before turning back to Sirius.

“I want a red rose surprise.”

“I don't think we have those here.”

Evie let out an exaggerated sigh before he kneeled in front of her. “Imma have to work my magic little moon. Why don't you go pick a seat and enjoy your brownie while I get that red rose surprise.”

Fuck it all to hell, ‘little moon’. Kill him, kill him now. End his existence before he ends up falling in love with a complete and utter stranger.

There was something that needed to be known about Barty.

He found people who were good with kids attractive. And he didn't mean it in a ‘Oh, wow. That's so cute. You're sweet and protective.’ kind of way, but more like, ‘I don't care if it's biologically impossible. I want to have your kids so that I can see you do this for the rest of my life.’ kind of way.

Regulus says he's absolutely mental and this is a result of his daddy issues, while Sirius says that it's perfectly reasonable because it's exactly how he feels about his own boyfriend.

Seeing this super hot guy talk to this little girl like she was the only good thing in the world made his heart race a little. A strangely weird feeling because even though he's felt this way before, it's never gotten this intense.

His friends find the dichotomy between what he's like and what he finds attractive absolutely hilarious, because Barty liked pretty people. He liked sweet looking people who take control of a situation with a smile on their face. A big contrast to Barty who was covered in tattoos, used cheap black box dye, and had a shitty ass personality, or so he was told.

His last boyfriend would disagree, but Sirius refuses to listen to anything James Potter had to say in regards to Barty. Skewed perception was his reasoning. 

“Cute kid, is she your's?” Sirius stood back up and eyed Evie as he stood up, blue eyes following Luna as she sat down at one of the booths.

“My sister's, actually. I’m babysitting today.” 

“Oh, and what, no girlfriend to help you out.”

The guys smiled at Sirius and Barty wanted to roll his eyes. 

Although in a fully committed relationship, Sirius Black was incapable of not flirting with their customers. He's probably the reason why Barty has to deal with so many annoying customers. Charmed by Sirius and insulted by Barty, only at the Three Brews.

“No one at the moment, but Luna’s a good help in getting people interested. Someone's bound to find me worth sticking around for.” He smiled at Sirius and although Barty couldn't see just how lethal it was he could definitely see its effects by just how red Sirius was getting.

It wasn't by much, but no one's been able to get such a reaction from him since he's gotten with Lupin. It wasn't often when Sirius Black could be brought to blush, and if someone ever did manage it, it was a sure fire way to get Barty interested.

Sirius looked over at Barty and Barty took it as his cue to go save his friend from possibly ruining his newly established relationship.

The transition was quick and simple. Barty pulled Sirius back and told him to check on that order Rosmerta had placed for sandwiches for the incoming lunch rush. Sirius barely had time to wish him luck before he was pushed to the back where the phone was.

“Good morning, I'll be serving you since my coworker doesn't know how to keep from drooling when he sees a pretty face.”

And fuck did he have a pretty face. Barty was going to need more than luck to get through this.

“Well, I'm not complaining. One pretty face replaced by another, nothing to be disappointed about.”

Red alert, red alert! This is not a drill! Why the hell is this guy flirting with him?

“Um– what would you like to order? We have plenty of Valentine's Day specials if you're feeling festive, but we do have regular coffee if you aren't looking for anything fancy.”

Barty looked over at the little girl who was carelessly kicking her feet as she broke off a piece of the brownie. He was kinda regretting giving it to her now. He could really use some chocolate to ease the nerves that were eating at him. 

“Do your Valentine's specials have strawberries?”

No, no, don't do this to him. He really didn't want to make anything too difficult. He already had to make three of those today and tomorrow that all he would be doing.

“Some do.”

“Okay, then, do you mind just putting regular milk in a cup, adding some diced strawberries and whipped cream with strawberry syrup on top. It's my niece's birthday today and I always get her one of these, but the last place we went to ran out of strawberries.”

“So, the red rose surprise is just strawberry milk.”

He shrugged a little, “It's what my parents used to do for my sister and I on our birthday. I guess I'm just following the tradition.”

Oh, he was so fucking screwed.

“Yeah, I can make it work, Evie.”

He laughed and Barty could only stare at him as he covered his face in embarrassment. 

“It's Evan actually.”

“Barty.”

“Well, thank you Barty, you just saved my day and made her birthday ten times better. How much would it be?”

And Barty knew the moment he made eye contact, he was done for.

“It's on the house, a gift for the birthday girl, and you if– if you want something?”

“No, I'm good for now, but thanks.”

Evan smiled and Barty swallowed nervously.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

“Yeah, no problem. I'll have your drink ready to go in a moment.”

Evan nodded his head before he turned around and sat next to Luna who was now staring at him with wide eyes and head tilted to the side. As soon as Evan sat down she turned to him and pointed at Barty before gesturing at her cheeks. 

Evan laughed for a moment before looking over in Barty's direction. They made eye contact, Evan winked at him and Barty quickly turned around to get that drink ready.

Strawberry milk, strawberry milk, strawberry milk.

How the hell was he supposed to make strawberry milk?

“Hey Barty, are you okay? Your face is all red.” 

Barty jumped at Sirius' words

“Relax, it's just me.”

“You know how to make strawberry milk right? I mean the pretty kind that you see all over Instagram and shit.”

“Yeah, I used to make it for Reggie. Why?”

“Teach me.”

“What?”

“Teach me how to make your stupid strawberry milk.”

“I can just make you some.”

“No, you have to teach me so I can give it to that little girl and then when Evan sees how good I'm at making strawberry milk he'll have no other choice but to marry me so I can keep making strawberry milk.”

Sirius blinked at him before laughing. 

“Evan? Is he the reason why your face is all red like that?”

Barty wanted to strangle Sirius or drop to the floor and die, preferably both, but not necessarily in that order.

“Fine, I'll teach you how to make it, but first go wash your face. You're as red as a strawberry right now.”

Barty could only hang his head in embarrassment when he saw his reflection on the mirror. Bright red, strawberry red.

Stupid red rose surprise. 

Stupid strawberry milk 

Stupid Barty for falling for some guy named Evan.

tags: @the-person-that-did-that @saiichai

[cjsmalley]

Anne Summers:

“What?” Buffy said disbelievingly, sure she had misheard.

Giles polished his glasses harder, “Travers was quite clear; if you don’t take the child, the Council will have no choice but to dispose of her permanently.”

Buffy looked out into her backyard, watching Hope and Spike play a rousing game of chase; with Dawn in the college dorms and Willow and Tara moved into their own apartment, they had the room.

With Danny paying the bills, they had the finances as well.

But another kid? A legit Potential? A half-demon Potential? Hope was only six and just showing her mutant ability consistently, copying everyone around her when allowed.

“What’s this girl’s demon half?” she asked, crossing her arms as she watched her Mate and their daughter play.

“It’s—” Giles made a phlegmy sound before shaking his head, “translates as ‘The-Ones-Who-Feed-On-Emotions’. She’s like a vampire but instead of bloods she eats—”

“Feelings,” Buffy finished shortly, “what feelings, Giles? Happiness? Sadness? Is she part Dementor?”

“Any feelings,” Giles replied, “but, from our research, positive ones directed at her are best for her development. Positive emotions in general are better than negative ones. But she also requires formula and does soil herself.”

Buffy nodded curtly before whistling; Spike left Hope to play by herself and came jogging into the house, “What’s goin’ on?”

Giles explained the situation again.

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow, “Well, Buffy, ‘m game.”

“You really think we can handle another kid?”

“Honestly, Slayer? Didn’t think we could handle one; but we’ve done alright by her, what’s another one. Hope’s in school most of the day anyway.”

“But remember those first few months?” Buffy reminded gently, “if not for our friends we would’ve fallen apart. And Anya and Xander are trying for their own.”

Spike snorted, “Not like I could forget that; demon girl’s too honest sometimes. But we still have the witches and ol’ Rupert. And the whelp needs the practice still if they’re tryin’ fer a sprog. We did alright. An’ ‘sides, could you really live with yourself if they kill a kid an’ you coulda stopped it?”

Buffy sighed; he was right. There really was no choice to be made.

“We need time, to explain this to Hope, to have a Scoobie meeting, to get the gear we need, but we’ll take her,” Buffy told Giles, “tell Travers a week. And if she comes to us injured or anything like that, there’ll be Hell to pay, several of them.”

“Of course, Buffy,” Giles agreed.

Later that night, the Scoobies all gathered around a meal. Buffy stood up, gaining their attentions,

“So, Travers contacted Giles,” Buffy began, to groans, “I know, I know. But he had a…good reason.”

“Are they paying you yet,” Anya questioned.

“No, sadly.”

And then Buffy told them what was happening.

“I thought Mommy and Daddy couldn’t have babies,” Hope spoke up, ‘cause Daddy’s penis doesn’t work right.”

Buffy had decided to be very blunt with her daughter when she asked questions about the human body; blunt but age appropriate. So Hope knew most girls had vaginas and most boys had penises and together they made babies using a special dance with the penis inside the vagina. She also knew that Spike couldn’t help make babies like most boys even though he and Buffy could do the special dance.

“We’re adoptin’, Mite,” Spike replied to her question, “do you ‘member what that means?”

Hope nodded, “It’s when a Mommy and a Daddy make a baby but can’t take care of it so they give it a new Mommy and Daddy. Like me! My original Mommy and Daddy are dead so Uncle Danny brought me to you and Mommy!”

“Very good, Hope,” Giles praised, “now, this little one your parents are adopting is extra special. She’s half demon and could be like Buffy when she grows up.”

“A Slayer?” Hope cocked her head; she knew all about her Mommy and Daddy’s night job, that they fought monsters, “how can she be half-demon and like Mommy?”

“We do not know yet,” Giles answered, “but the Council, you met them when you were younger, they needed to give this girl a new, special Mummy and Daddy so they asked Buffy and Spike. Because of you, really.”

“Me?”

“Well, yes,” Giles said, “they have proven able and willing to handle your abilities so it is hoped that they can handle the girl’s more…unique qualities.”

“Yeah, her vampire powers,” Xander snorted, “doesn’t anyone else find it suspicious that they just happen to have a half-vampire kid for Buffy and Spike?”

“She’s not half-vampire, not really,” Willow shook her head, “she’s an emotion eater. Not a blood-drinker.”

“Still, G-man explained her as an emotional vamp,” Xander argued lightly, “the Powers-that-Be must love these two or something. But, yeah, Buffy, of course we’ll help.”

“So will we.” Tara added for her and Willow.

“I’m in,” Dawn nodded.

And so, plans were made, and necessities were bought and soon a Council flunky dressed as a Social Services Worker was handing over custody of the nearly newborn girl who didn’t have a name.

She was blonde and blue eyed and could easily pass as a Summers child, lack of green eyes notwithstanding.

Spike seemed pensive as he took in the baby without a name before looking up to Buffy, “Slayer, Buffy…could we…perhaps…name her after my mum?”

“Of course,” Buffy agreed before questioning, “what was her name, Spike?”

“Anne…her name was Anne.”

Buffy smiled softly at her Mate and said, “Anne Summers…Annie…yeah, that sounds perfect. Guys,” she turned to their friends, allowing Spike a moment to compose himself, and older daughter, in Willow’s arms, “meet Anne Summers.”

The positive energy that resulted kept Anne fed for days.

Wished Away 9

Tylers meet Phantoms:

“Christ, Mum,” Rose said as she took in how Jackie, Pete, and Tony were dressed, “we’re just meetin’—”

“Royalty!” Jackie squeaked. They were all done up like they were meeting the Queen at Buckingham Palace itself!

“Honestly, Mum, they don’t care,” Rose rolled her eyes, grabbing her mother’s wrist and tugging her through the console room and to the wardrobe room, “I told ya ta dress casually. Let’s just hope the Ol’ Girl has clothes fer ya.”

It took about an hour to get everyone redressed, in things much more casual but still nice, before Rose led them back to the console room.

Jackie was clearly anxious, “Are ya—”

“’m sure, Mum. Danny an’ Sam don’t do formal unless they have ta. Unless you’re an annoying subject or someone threatenin’ war, ya don’t even have ta call ‘em by their titles. They’re just Danny an’ Sam ta family.”

“Lookie what I found,” Jenny bounded from the innards of the TARDIS, holding a tiny bike helmet.

She went to her toddler uncle and put it on him, making sure it fit right, “Landings in the Realms are worse than normal ones. The TARDIS does Her best but the Realms give her…nausea? A headache? She just doesn’t do good.”

“Oh, goody,” Jackie said lowly, hugging a strut for dear life already.

“Let me protect Anthony,” Bad Wolf came out, holding out her arms; without hesitation, Pete handed his son over.

Bad Wolf settled Tony in her arms, against her chest and shoulder, and then spread her feet and crouched slightly, clearly bracing for impact; she stayed steady even as the TARDIS began Her flight.

Everyone else was thrown about the console room, the Doctor and Jenny barely holding on to work the console, but Bad Wolf and Tony did not move an inch.

The landing was rough, just as Jenny said it would be, throwing even the Time Lords to the grated floor before the TARDIS stopped quaking.

Jenny recovered first and stood up, rubbing her shoulder, to peek out the doors, “We’re in the Palace. Uncle Danny and Aunt Sam are waiting…”

Slowly, everyone picked themselves up and Rose reemerged, straightening with some popping from her knees.

Jenny led the procession out, racing to hug a man and a woman, “Uncle Danny, Aunt Sam! How’re you?”

Danny and Sam chuckled and hugged her as one, “Good, doing good. You?”

“Perfect!”

She let go of them to drag Jackie, who was hesitant, forward, “This’s my Gran, Jackie. Mum’s side, duh. Completely human. He’s my step-granddad, Pete, and Mum’s holding my uncle, Tony.”

“Yer Majesties,” Jackie tried to curtsy even though she was in trousers, “an honor ta—”

“Oh, enough,” Sam chuckled, “didn’t they tell you? We don’t do formalities with family.”

“Family?” Jackie’s eyes were wide, “I know Rose said—but—”

“We count Clockwork as family,” Danny explained, “and he’s claimed the Doctor as family. The Doctor and Jenny. Rose’s basically married in by this point. Common-law, you understand. That makes her family our family. Welcome to the Palace, your home in the Infinite Realms.”

“My god,” Pete muttered, somewhat disbelieving.

“Not a god, not yet anyways,” Danny winked.

“Where’s Dani?” Jenny burst out, “Is she still in school?”

Sam grinned, “With Anakin, in the nursery. We let her stay home today.”

“Oh, Gran! Can I introduce Tony to Anakin? Please!” Jenny nearly begged.

“Anakin’s our youngest,” Danny explained kindly, “around Tony’s age, actually. We also have a nanny looking after them, Nanny Clara. He’d be perfectly safe.”

“Well…” Jackie looked to her husband, who nodded, “if you’re sure.”

Jenny cheered and took Tony from Rose, dashing off with him deeper into the Palace.

“Jenny knows the Palace as well as anyone,” Sam assured, “and if she gets lost, she can flag down a servant for help. She’s heading directly for the nursery. It’s the most defensible part of the Palace.

Danny stood up, helping Sam, “C’mon, we can talk over food; stay close, Tylers. Doctor?”

“Rose and I can bring up the rear,” the Doctor agreed, taking Rose’s hand as they began walking.

The Palace was a gothic masterpiece, in a very literal sense, though even Sam had wearied of all the gloom and had sought artists and artwork to fill the halls, soft, plush carpets and tapestries to keep the warmth, glassworks to fill the once barred windows. Statues and busts dotted the hallways, some classical, some avant garde

Masters had given their masterpieces, their magnum opuses; they were paid handsomely of course, in either coin or material.

Oils, watercolors, acrylics, textiles, glass, all created for Her Majesty the Ghost Queen. For His Majesty the Ghost King.

It wasn’t yet a riot of color, nor would it ever be, but it was more alive.

Jackie gasped and the group stopped, turning as one to see what had captured her attention.

“When they said the family was huge…”

Ah, it was the most recent family portrait; all the children were gathered around Danny and Sam, all in formal wear.

“We…sometimes people sell the souls of children to me,” Danny started, causing her and Pete to whip around to him in horror, “I know, it’s horrible, isn’t it? But anyways, we adopt the kids. Only Dani—Danielle—isn’t adopted.”

He pointed out each child and gave their backstory.

“Good Lord, you were young!” Pete said at Damian’s story.

“Old enough to be king,” Danny shrugged helplessly, “it…it wasn’t easy, we had help, so much help, and we made mistakes…”

“All parents do,” Jackie told him softly.

“So we’ve been told,” Sam smiled just as softly, “and we’ve learned and made new ones with each kid.”

Danny coughed and continued to point out kids and tell stories, until all had been covered and then they moved on.

As they neared the dining room, Danielle and Jenny joined them with each holding a toddler.

“Oh my,” Jackie said, taking in the Anakin Skywalker; she knew who he grew up to be, or would have if he had not been adopted.

“We’re hungry, Dad,” Danielle said.

Danny waved them into the dining room where the smaller table was already set for a meal; there were two chairs with booster seats and Jenny and Danielle put Tony and Anakin in them before sitting beside them and helping them get food.

The group chatted over the meal, Jackie and Pete slowly relaxing at how easy going the Royals were, and generally had good cheer.

After the meal was done, Jenny asked, “Do we put their photo up on the family wall now? I know you’ve got me, Dad, and Mum…”

Danny chuckled, “We can, if they’re okay with it.”

“Family wall?” Pete questioned.

“We keep walls of pictures of the extended family,” Sam explained easily, “you know, like Rose, the Doctor, and Jenny. Harry’s and Neville’s parents. Damian’s paternal birth-family. The Royal Portrait is just the immediate royal family. The walls are for everyone and everything else.”

Danny and Sam led the group out of the dining room and down another hallway; the walls were plastered with photographs. Some were professional, most were candid and amateur.

A common camera sat on a small round table; a high-end camera but nothing too expensive or professional.

Danny picked it up, saying, “If Jackie, Pete, and Tony don’t mind—”

Jackie decided it would be a family photograph and dragged the Doctor in; Rose and Jenny came without complaint.

Danny took a set of pictures.

After that was done, it was decided it was time for the Tylers to leave, taking pity on the still disgruntled TARDIS.

They were, however, invited to the next family gathering.

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter XVI - Brundisium

Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. But you both have taken vows that make sure your paths may never cross. Until they do.

Aka a fix-it fanfic where Acacius survives the Colosseum.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 49k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, Smut, First Time, Oral Sex (f receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Slight Breeding Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Pining, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist // Ko-Fi

notes: hello babes! i am so excited to share this chapter, it's another one that had me doing a lot of research. that being said, i just wanted to put out a reminder that while i try to make this somewhat accurate to customs and actual life in 210AD, i take some creative liberty (the same way gladiator does) so please don't take everything in this fic as historically accurate! and now have fun, love you ♡

vestibulum - entryway (sort of)

Chapter XVI - Brundisium

You don’t plan to visit the shops again before leaving Beneventum. In fact, you don’t even think about them again. The only reminders of your trip out of the cage are the fruits still sitting in the worn bag the vendor forced on you and the sinking pit in your stomach. At least the fruit actually comes in handy because when it is time for the evening meal, you can claim a stomach ache and stay in the upstairs room instead, feeding yourself on apples and grapes.

Very briefly, your mind entertains the look Acacius’ face must carry when he shows up for the meal to find you absent. You would have thought he may come upstairs, may at least check on you. After all, he claims you're his responsibility. There is a tiny part of you that is actually disappointed to not hear his footsteps on the upstairs landing again throughout the evening. His room must be close to yours, one of the many doors leading off to the sides of the atrium.

The next morning, you are up before dawn. And so is your guard. Stationed right outside your door, leaving you not the slightest chance of escape. So Acacius kept his word. Guarded at all times. No more sneaking off. And this trip could very well last many weeks, if not months. Lovely.

“It is quite early,” the bearded man states quietly when you step out of your room, already fully dressed. Sleep just wouldn't come tonight. Sometimes you feel like it does more easily in the tents that, despite offering less comforts than a villa, feel closer to nature. Moonlight filtering through cracks between the heavy drapes, cicadas playing in the distance. You’re certain tonight will be better.

“Yes,” you say quietly, not exactly wanting to wake Acacius or the couple of the house and alert them to your plans. You ponder your words for a few moments before nodding toward the stairs. “I wish to pay a short visit into town. To pray at the temple.”

You can see the man weighing his options. You’re sure that Acacius has left very clear instructions. But to your surprise, he nods. “Very well. But please wear a coat. And only a brief visit. We need be here when your carriage arrives.” You find your coat and a colorful scarf before he can change his mind and step into the morning air, the cold more noticeable at this time of day. There is still dew covering the gardens, the sun only starting to rise.

The soldiers nod as you and your guard pass them and you try to push the upset at this notion out of your mind. Instead, you focus on your goal. The temple is empty when you reach it and despite the slightly different architecture and circumstances, it makes you feel a bit more at home.

“I will wait by the door, my lady,” the man hums quietly, retreating into the shadows, even though you are sure he is still keeping a watchful eye on you.

You kneel and say your prayers, finding that if you close your eyes and take a deep breath, the memories that are awoken feel so close that you seem to be able to touch them. Vesta’s temple back home. Your room. The streets of Rome. The people of Rome.

It suddenly appears to you that the only person you truly know so many miles from your bed is Acacius. That none of the townsfolk or soldiers even know your full name. They don’t see past the veil, nor do they care to try.

Your personal guard opens the heavy oak doors for you after you return to his side and your eyes flick to the left, toward the main street that is slowly starting to come to life.

“May I interest you in a sweet treat?” No matter how gruff and broad and scary a man is, you doubt there is anyone in the empire who doesn't enjoy an occasional sweet. And you are counting on him to be the same.

You can feel the man pause beside you. “My lady?” He asks, his face betraying no emotion as he turns to face you. You give him a smile, nodding toward the street.

“The bakery over there. I would like something. If you are already guaranteeing my safety, the least I can do is see to your rations.” You explain, as if buying a man that has been assigned to guard you against your will sweet treats is the most normal thing in the world.

It is when you have secured your baked goods and are heading back onto the street, the sun now fully risen, that you spot the small cart of fruits. Early shoppers are already haggling with the old man, discussing the prices of his apples and you fumble with your coins, picking a few golden ones and sneaking them into the man's coinbox in passing. You don't miss your guard’s eyes following your movements, raising a brow. When you are out of earshot, you let out a small wince. “Please do not tell.”

You can see him pause for a moment, his gaze staying fixed on the road before you. Then, he shakes his head ever so slightly. “I don't see how it concerns me.” You almost think you see a tiny smirk play around his lips.

You’re already back on the grounds, watching as your carriage is being loaded and prepared for the next part of your travels when you turn to him. “May I ask your name?”

He still doesn't smile but nods. “Rusticus.” Then, he bows ever so slightly. “At your service.”

*** You find very quickly that Rusticus is not a fan of conversation. But at least he does not bother you. He keeps his distance, stays respectful and if having him around means Acacius will stop bothering you, you are more than glad to make the trade.

The nights in the tent do indeed bring more sleep, but the days are long and daunting. The weather starts to look up two days after you’ve left Beneventum, the sun coming through more often and the temperatures rise more and more the further south you travel. The moment in the gardens, with Acacius trailing his fingers over your stola and the stars shining above you seems as far out of reach as Rome.

You haven’t been told how many days this part of Via Appia will take but you feel a small jolt of excitement the first time you can spot the sea from your carriage. You can hear the waves rolling in at night and it is the first time you dream of him.

It feels like Acacius is standing in your tent, like he is stepping toward you with gentle steps, pushing the curtains to the side to settle beside you. You know it must be a dream because he looks younger, like less worries rest on his shoulder. Like he hasn't collected all the scars that litter his body yet.

His red toga rustles in the soft breeze that is brushing through your tent and you reach out to touch him, your hand finding his cheek, tracing the stubble of his beard that is, even in this vision, starting to grey in a few spots. You open your mouth because you want to speak, because you have so many things you need to tell him. But then you see him shake his head and your chance passes like the waves in the distance.

“Go back to sleep, Dulcissima,” he whispers and you can only nod, your eyelids drooping. You try to fight it, willing yourself to sit up and wake yourself properly. But you are merely met with your curtains and your hand tangled in them, and with Acacius nowhere to be seen.

When you leave your tent the next morning, greeting Rusticus with a small nod, you spot Acacius almost immediately. He is surrounded by his highest ranks, one hand tapping against his thigh in a slow rhythm. You hate that you know the gesture, that you know it is what he does when he’s anxious. Which no one else would ever see in him. He’s holding himself proudly, giving his white and gold armour the moment it deserves. It’s how you know that today will mark the end of your land journey, unless you’re much mistaken.

Acacius seems to be on his best looks and behavior whenever you reach a big town and make halt there, which certainly has something to do with very important people and very important politics. You don’t care much for either.

His curls look even more lush and bouncy today and as you watch him from the safety of your carriage as he steers his white stallion with practiced ease. You long to reach out and run your hands through them, twirl the curls between your fingers until you find the small streaks of grey that are beginning to show. He felt so real last night, so close. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll at least have him in your dreams.

Via Appia leads you straight into Brundisium, a town surrounded by high, stone walls on one side and the sparkling blue sea on the other. It doesn't feel unlike Beneventum a few days ago but the difference in class is immediately noticeable. Many of the houses look well cared for, not rarely with gardens equally as tended surrounding them. The streets off to the side lead up and down, those that face east letting you sneak more glances at the sea in the distance. Something must be happening in the town because you see decorations being handed around, preparations of some kind taking place.

Once again, it is only a selected few of the soldiers that accompany the General and your carriage behind the town walls, the majority of them likely setting up camp in front of the gates. You wonder if they have a view of the sea, if you will. Whatever room Acacius will lock you up in in this town, it better have a good view.

“Thank you Rusticus–” You say politely out of habit when you step out of your carriage once it has come to a halt, holding onto the hand that has been extended toward the door. To your surprise, for once, it is not your personal guard that is helping you descend.

Up close, the two griffins on Acacius’s chest seem to reflect the rays of sunshine even more, like he himself is shining rather than sol above. You drop his hand so abruptly that your fingers brush past his fine golden bracers. The metal has been warmed up by the heat of his body but the touch somehow almost seems to burn you.

Acacius’s eyes fly to yours, the trace of concern evident. You watch as his brows furrow slightly and there is another emotion in his face that you can’t put your finger on. “My lady?” He asks quietly, beckoning you onto the piazza in front of you. It’s a subtle way to remind you that you are not alone.

Soldiers are dismounting their horses around you, those of high ranks shaking hands with men that wear large coats and expensive jewelry. The sight fits the stories you’ve heard of Brundisium. A town that has profited greatly from the trade that passes through it, from ships bringing spices, soft fabrics and other exotics. A wealth that the townsfolk clearly likes to show off.

The space in front of you is dominated by two large columns, stretching up into the sky. You consider them for a moment, not used to seeing columns this large that do not serve any purpose. “Do these predate the Empire?” As you step closer to try and read the inscriptions, you feel Acacius shift beside you.

“They mark the end of Via Appia,” he explains gently while you begin to round the stone pillars together, his gaze wandering up and down along the smooth stone.

“Or the beginning,” you add without really considering it. A street works both ways. Trade wouldn't be trade if it didn't. So the end of the street really is just a curve, one that sends you back along your way.

“I believe that is why there are two,” Acacius nods thoughtfully as he stops beside them, his eyes now back on you. “Because it could be either.”

“Or both,” you mumble, holding his gaze for a few moments. To your surprise, he doesn't withdraw or correct you. Instead, he nods again, his eyes fixed on yours.

“Or both.”

This time around, despite the many important people that practically trip over their feet trying to get Acacius’s attention, your domicile is not shared with any rich family. Carefully navigating past the soldiers still unloading, the General leads you across the piazza and toward a large villa to the right.

You take in your surroundings, realizing that the bustling activity is more than what you made it out to be at first glance. Off to the sides, several tables are being set up, almost like altars, candles and small items placed on them that you can’t quite make out from distance.

Acacius follows your gaze, a small smile spreading over his face. “Have you attended Compitalia before?”

You shake your head at the question. “No. Not really, at least. I’ve read of the celebrations down here being much larger. It is not as much a custom in Rome, is it?”

“The people of Rome have many festivals to attend,” he says softly and you wonder if he is also thinking about the fact that you celebrated the last one together, that Bona Dea was the start of whatever this between you has grown into. “Compitalia goes back far beyond Rome. Maybe as far as the Vestals.” He looks at you for a moment. “But it was banned for many years. Emperor Augustus brought it back, but it was never as important in Rome as it is in the countryside.”

“It is for the Lares Compitales, right?” You recall. Part of your training was learning about all the festivals, partly for knowledge and partly because the Vestals tend to many of them. Not the Compitalia though.

“Yes. The household deities. Those of the crossroads and public streets. Each neighborhood has their own.” Acacius points over to separate altars being erected, all of them sitting above a crossroad. “Tomorrow, they will ask the deities to have mercy and good will for the year to come. I visited Brundisium during the festival once before. It was lovely. There is music and dance and honeyed cakes. It is a festival of the people.”

You can’t help but listen eagerly, even if you still feel a grudge towards the man beside you. But his experience, the distances he’s traveled and cultures he has witnessed along the way are fascinating. It feels more like what you'd imagined your own travels to be like, too.

“This is where we will stay,” Acacius leads you past the gates and up smooth stone steps into the vestibulum of the villa. The high ceilings, decorated with coffers and small mosaics that show scenes of ships and the sea, make you realize that this dwelling is very much to your taste. You can hear a fire cackling somewhere in another room and the noise of the crowd outside lessens as you pass through the hallway that leads to the atrium. You turn your head to the side– and pause.

Almost on eye level, you are met with a small epigraph. It is not the first one you’ve seen at the entrance to a villa but what strikes you is the name below the quote.

You hear Acacius’s steps die down beside you and then he sighs deeply, stepping toward the wall. “You really are curious, Dulcissima,” he hums and you try and ignore what hearing the nickname from his lips does to your insides. It’s like a fire has been lit.

“I like to learn,” you state matter-of-factly. “It would be a shame if I returned to Rome the same as I was.” You watch his shoulders tense slightly at your words and despite Acacius’s face not being visible to you, you feel that he is following his own train of thought.

“Yes. It would be.” He traces the words that are engraved into the stone with his fingers, his touch following the curves so gently as if he were the one to write them.

Noctes atque dies patet atri ianua Ditis; sed revocare gradum superasque evadere ad auras,

hoc opus, hic labor est. Pauci, quos aequus amavit.

His voice is quiet when he begins to read and somehow, you can feel that he is not really here when he speaks those words. That he is somewhere else. You’re just not sure where. 

“The gates of hell are open night and day;

Smooth is the descent, and easy is the way:

But to come back and view the cheerful skies,

In this the task and mighty labour lies.”

“It is Virgil. The poet,” you hum, taking a few steps toward the epigraph so that you are side by side with the General.

“Forgive me my prejudices but I am surprised a Vestal has read Virgil,” he says softly, turning back to you, his eyes taking in your face, your hair, your veil. Everything.

“I am surprised a General has,” you counter with a small smile and to your surprise Acacius doesn't stop the emotion from showing on his face this time, a small laughter leaving his lips.

You both chuckle quietly as he leads you further into the atrium, one that opens up to a beautiful view of the sea to the east and that of the town to the south. The other sides are lined with high archways and an artistically worked staircase that leads to the upper floor. 

You stroll through the open space, glancing down into the streets below and the altars taking shape on the street corners, a few people hanging decorations in front of their doors. And suddenly, you feel naïve. Because you were so eager to learn about the festival and the town and Virgil that you completely forgot that you are not allowed to experience any of it up close.

“That quote,” Acacius begins, seemingly oblivious to the thoughts that are occupying your head, despite the fact that you feel like you are screaming them. “It is engraved into a wall in one of the rooms on Palatine Hill.”

You frown as you both come to stand beside the edge of the atrium, a gentle breeze blowing around you now. “I must not have seen it when I was there.” You keep your voice quiet, like you are not sure if you’re allowed to mention that you have been in his house. In his bed.

“No, no you wouldn't have.” Acacius’s voice is equally low but it doesn't sound like he’s afraid. He sounds sad. “Lucilla is the only one who ever enters that room. I have only seen it once or twice, when she refused to leave it after–” He sucks in a sharp breath. “It was Lucius’s room. You may not remember, he was–”

“Her son,” you finish quietly, letting your gaze drift over the horizon like you are waiting for something to appear on it. “I remember. I was there, that day.”

You feel Acacius turn to you and when you do the same, the familiar frown is back on his face. “You were there when Maximus was killed?” He stares at you in disbelief. “You only could’ve been–”

“Young,” you agree quietly. “I was pretty young. It could have been only the second or third time I went. It was not– it was not pretty.”

“You hadn't taken your vows yet?” Acacius enquires softly and you shake your head.

“No. No, it was before.” You haven’t really thought about it in recent years. And you suddenly realize that you haven’t thought enough about how close Acacius was to everything, how he was fighting on the front lines of an invisible war.

You send a silent prayer of grace to the gods for making him a General rather than a Gladiator.

“She is a very strong woman,” you add quietly. “A very smart one too.”

“All women are smart,” Acacius blurts out, his face changing again as he leans against one of the columns, looking back out at the sea. “They would not survive any other way. Men on the other hand…”

“They can be a bit more difficult.” You are not sure if he is speaking of other men or himself, if this is his way of a non-committal apology. You are still pondering your words, trying to come up with a clever response that will maybe make him reveal his intentions when he speaks again. 

“You will sneak out again, will you not? To see the festival?”

“Yes.” You mirror his position, leaning against the column beside him so that you are face to face. The worries are still decorating his face but he still nods.

“Then don’t. I–” He holds his hand up when you open your mouth to protest. “I will take you. We can go together.”

“Alright,” you agree, trying not to let your body show how your heart has suddenly started beating out of rhythm. Maybe he still cares for you. At least enough to let you experience something outside of your cage. By his side.

[yey56]

Hey I just wanted to say I really love your Harley and believe you're the only one who got his character so far.I am also in love with your y/n and how you didn't make her perfect or useless.Not to be a bother but can you show or tell us Harley and y/n's relationship after their first kiss or just any of their general interactions?Whatever suits you,thank you.

It doesn't bother me at all, thank you for asking and I so happy I got Harley right. 💖💖

HARLEY SAWYER X PSYCOLOGIST READER

AFTER KISS HEADCANNONS

The first thing you noticed was Harley's hand on your face, caressing your cheek. He was only going to quickly clean near your lip but after feeling your jaw, your face, brushing his fingers against your neck he couldn't resist to cup your cheek.

The other hand fell down to loosely grab your waist. He was getting closer and you could feel his breath on your lips. You slowly put your hands on his shoulder, testing how he would react.

"Harley" you mumbled, you lips brushing his. That was enough for him to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips moving together, not in perfectly or coordinately way, but in your own way.

You tightened your grasp in the fabric of his shoulder as he fully envolved your waist with his hand while the one that was on you face fell down to your neck where he started caressing.

Finally you both separated from the kiss, both of you agitated but still close. His hand was still on your cheek and yours still on his shoulders

You looked at him again and got close to give him another short kiss. "Do you have any appointments left for today?" Harley asked you. "Yes I do, I still have to supervise Kissy Missy, she hasn't been responding lately"

"Good, come to my office after that, we have to discuss this in depth." He let you go and while you went to the enclosure of said toy, he remained still in the corridor looking at you intensely.

HEADCANNONS After the kiss:

At first sigh, there wasn't much change, maybe the staff of the company noticed you being closer than usual.

Now, Doctor Sawyer and you were seen together very often. Maybe not all lovey dovey but together nonetheless. The caretakers saw often Dr Sawyer accompanying you when you needed to go to Home sweet Home to talk with the children.

Once Ludwig joked to Sawyer that you two seemed glued together and Harley only shrugged not denying anything.

Now that you two had already acknowledged your feelings, little things he did for you sometimes became the norm and started becoming part of your routine.

For example: When you were finishing a design late at night in his office (you often spend time together in each others offices) and he was finishing surgery reports, he would offer you the sofa to sleep in.

Once you were asleep he would raise his gaze from the papers and look at you. Some nights, he would even approach you and touch your face very lightly, not wanting to wake you up.

Quiet moments like this made him calm and let him forget, just a little, about all of the chaos and restriction that your jobs were.

In the nights that he was in your office, he would be just behind you with his hand on your shoulder, looking at you writing and archiving some documents. Caressing your shoulder, then the back of your neck and sometimes, if he was feeling kind enough, he would massage the back of your scalp with his long, cold fingers.

Another thing that became more regular between you both was physical contact. He wasn't a touchy person. Hell he even felt repelled to it sometimes, but one thing he loved was the back massages you gave him.

He had a very tensed back and it felt like heaven whenever you would untangle all of the knots.

So he payed you back giving you head massages. He was probably the only person allowed to tangle and touch your hair. You two just melt into each others arms when you had contact.

Another thing that was common now was that you would do little task for each other. Like for example, Harley reminding you that you needed to drink water. You were so concentrated into your work that you just forgot how much time it had been since your last glass of water.

You sometimes shave the little stubble he had on the sides of his face, styling his facial hair so he would look all put together. This also applied with the hair. You cut his hair and mantain it in the way he liked.

One night that you miraculously ended your work sooner than expected he invited you for dinner.

The restaurant was a fancy one, both your salaries permitted you to be there.

The night went by very calmly, you talked about work and what projects you had in mind. At some point you started talking about your experiences in collage...

The night continued to go on until you both finally went to your apartment. You lived in a good neighborhood and your place was nicely decorated. The first thing Harley though when entering your apartment was you. Everything in there screamed you.

You invited him to a few drinks and gave him some reports and books about investigations on child psychology so he could study his experiments on a deeper level.

The drinks were forgotten on the table after a few sips.

He barely talked while you ranted for minutes about techniques to manage anxiety crisis or stress attacks that sometimes overcame the toys on the prison.

He looked at you, talking and talking. It was always like this. You talked nonstop and he would listen, but lately he also started admiring you. Your hand gestures, you movements, your words slipping due to talking to fast...

You stopped talking when he started to gently stroke your neck with a precision only a surgeon could manage to have. He started naming the muscles, nerves, veins and arteries that were in your neck

With each name he said, he got closer to you to the point of feeling his lips touching your neck.

He repeated the list of names but now kissing each place he named while laying you on the sofa of your living room.

There's no need to say that the night didn't end quickly.

————————————————————————

Another thing you both got used to do was taking books from your offices. Harley had anatomy books and autobiographies in his office and you had sociological, historic and anthropological ones.

Often you would spend your breaks in each others offices reading in the sofa, just enjoying each others presence.

The staff already suspected that you two were either together or at the verge to be. Hell even one of the children had drew you and Harley sit together in a chair while interviewing him.

Stella went to tease you about the drawing, and insisted on you keeping it.

At some point some guards started to joke about the two of you being together.

"Where is Dr (Y/L/N) right now, we have matter to discuss with them?" Leith asked to one of the guards accompanied by Stella

We need to discuss with her some changes on the home sweet home caretakers" Stella added.

She is in the observation room 007, accompanied by Dr Sawyer, sir" He responded cordially.

Both executives went to said room while the guard looked sideways to his coworker who was chuckling to himself.

"What are you laughing about" He asked, questioning what had his companion found that it was so funny

"Nothing, just wondering how Dr Sawyer would react when 'Mrs Sawyer' gets taken by these two for a reunion. I bet five dollar he will accompany them when they get out." He was now laughing a little bit louder but covering his mouth.

"You shouldn't be talking about that kind of stuff. If either of them hear you you might be the next dinner of Boxy Boo." He couldn't believe his coworkers audacity. He wasn't being discreet at all and that might cost them their jobs and life's.

Just as the guard predicted, the four executives went to the upper levels. Apparently Harley insisted on supervising the changes on the environment of the potential experiments children

-Unedited-

[rats-n-roaches]

sooo i was playing jinx fixes everything, and in act ii, we find a letter written to sevika. jinx doesn't comment on it

Sevika, You're still in mourning, I get that. Silco meant a lot to you. He meant a lot to all of us. To the city of Zaun. But just because he's gone...it doesn't mean we can't realize his dream. There's gotta be a way forward, to continue his work. And well, like I said...he meant a lot to you. When you're done burying yourself in a bottle, come find me. You know who. You know where.

and i haven't seen anybody talk about this, because WHO??? this letter is found in silco's office, set sometime after the prison break, pinned to a board sevika's been using to track all the things going on. she probably put it there as a reminder; she needs to mourn, but she can't get stuck in her grief.

it reminds me of how she said "[she] and [her] old man didn't always see eye to eye..." and she implied that she had to leave and cool down, but she always came back when she was ready.

obviously the person who wrote this knew sevika and was familiar with her. maybe they knew about that detail of her father, and sevika's need to be alone before she can jump back into things. i think most of zaun sees sevika as silco, an extension of him. cold and cruel, largely unfeeling.

but this person empathizes with sevika. they speak to her softly and tell her there's still hope.

we don't really see sevika be friendly with anyone. i could only think of a few people who don't despise her, but i feel like adding all my thoughts about her relationships would make this post too long so. part two soon maybe

also tell me your thoughts!!! i love seeing people yap about sevika

[maririari]

(pointless rant)

kinda bums me out that 2 outsiders (or whatever you call them), MSI has been watered down 2 merely its band members and their actions, which i think is understandable, but the music is often overlooked . sometimes u can't post abt ur appreciation of the music without some1 saying "ermm isn't the band members problematic" or like "it's such a good band but the members r problematic😞" - which i, AGAIN, understand, but it's been said and repeated so many times that it's just annoying . we don't need constant reminders, we are aware, and we don't rlly want you bringing up kinda irrelevant stuff when we just want 2 talk abt the band as a music and an aesthetic .

i've been avoiding MSI 4 many years bc all i saw and heard was negative stuff, but once i actually got into it, it honestly helped me thru a lot (ik it's corny but idc) . they have such versatile songs and is very unique, which is what i like about them, not whatever the members did, and i wish more ppl realized that . obviously most ppl r normal enough 2 not support and condone such disgusting actions . use ur brainz maybe? idk

the hate is understandable, but it's no use sending death threats 2 teens who just wanna enjoy music . every1 is constantly trying 2 one up each other with their morality and it's getting annoying bc all they do is harass ppl thinking they're doing smth . especially on tiktok lmao

as much as i am obsessed with MSI, it all comes with a sense of guilt n shame and i wish i could stop feeling that way . i constantly feel the need 2 say "i don't support the band! i don't support the band!" EVERY FUCKING TIME and it's annoying, not only 2 me, but 2 MSI fans, and every other ppl alike . i don't have 2 state the fuckin obvious 24/7 just bc some pissbabies think they're saints bc they harass random ppl on the internet . like yeah okay it's iffy when some ppl put a celebrity on a pedestal and defend and deny their actions, but i'm sure we've got bigger fish 2 fry . go send death threat 2 a groomer or smth please

[mastermindmiko]

Mornings

pairing: Harry Potter + reader Warnings: bad dreams, death, lmk if you find anything else Summary: A morning with Harry word count: approx. 850

I woke up and it was one of those rare occasions where I turned to find Harry not lying beside me. I sit up, and sigh, knowing what must’ve happened. I go to the bathroom near our closet and brush my teeth, quickly washing my face as well. 

I open the door of our room and the smell of pancakes invades my senses. I can hear the low humming of Sirius’ radio, and recognise one of the songs playing as Sirius’ favourites. I know who the nightmare was about at least. 

I sneak up behind him and wrap my arms around him. If this was only a few months ago, he would've jumped, terrified by the action. I try my best to always remind him that he's safe now, it’s over, but that can only do so much. 

He flips a pancake onto a plate, and turns around to kiss me. He rests his chin on top of my head, and squeezes my body. I ask, “You okay?” 

He doesn’t answer, he only smiles, as he presses a kiss to my head. We stay like this for a few minutes, in situations like this, I like to give Harry his time. He moves away from me and makes a final pancake. 

I sit down on the kitchen counter, and excitedly await the food. He places a plate in front of me, and in the middle of the counter maple syrup, chocolate syrup and honey. I make a mixture of the three and start eating. Harry sits beside me with his arm around my shoulder. 

“Thank you.” I say once I’m done with breakfast. Harry’s been done for a few minutes and has been watching me. I've told him several times not to do that since it’s creepy, but the boy just won’t listen. Harry smiles and presses a long kiss to my lips. He sighs, “Do you know that I love you?” 

“Yes, Harry, I do. And I love you too.” I reply, and grip his hand in between both of mine. His eyes turn sad again for a moment, and I can’t help but ask, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not really.” Harry replies, and I nod my head understandingly. I look sadly at my boyfriend. It was unfair that someone as nice and kind as him had to suffer that much, and still suffers now. I squeeze his hand, and reassure him, “I’m always here if you need anything, you know that right?” 

“I know, sweetheart.” Harry says before pressing another kiss to my lips, this one longer and more sweet as I taste the sugary sweet chocolate syrup on his tongue. I begrudgingly part away from him, and stand up. He groans and wraps his arms around my waist. I say, “Harry, I have to go to work.” 

“You don’t have to go to work.” 

“I have to go to work, if I want to get paid.” I retort, and he pouts, “I can get your boss to let you off the hook.”

Harry Potter and the benefits that come with that are something that I will never stop being grateful for. He saved the wizarding world after all, so some people were bound to give him some things, like letting me skip a day of work. 

I head to my room, and change. When I come back, Harry’s staring off into space. I place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he starts, “It was about Sirius…I dreamt of the whole moment again.” 

He doesn’t have to say which moment, I already know which, he’s talking about when Sirius died. I sit beside him on the sofa, and wait patiently as he unravels his feelings. He continues, “Sometimes, I can’t believe he’s gone, and other times, I can’t believe I even allowed myself to think that anyone stays.” 

“Don’t say that, Harry. Every single person in your life who’s gone now would’ve stayed for you. Besides, Ron’s here, Hermione’s here, and you sure as hell can’t get rid of me, if you tried.” I say, and Harry gives me a hug. 

“I wish that we’d met sooner because then you would’ve met him.” Harry says, and I nod my head. I always think what if instead of meeting Harry the first day of work, I’d have met him the first day of school, I would’ve helped him through so much of that pain. 

“I would’ve loved to have Sirius meet the girl I’m going to marry.” Harry mumbles, unfocused, and I tense immediately. My eyes widen, and I push Harry by his shoulders to get a look at his face. His eyes are wider than mine, and he slaps a hand on his face. He groans, “I can’t believe I said that, I’ve been planning this for months, and I just ruined the bloody secret.” 

I grin wider than I already have, and I take his hands off of his face. Harry relaxes when he sees my smile. I bite my lip when I feel the smile begin to grow uncontrollably. Harry says, “Try to forget this moment, so when I actually propose, you’ll be surprised, okay?” 

“Okay.”  a/n: Hey! if you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

[emmedoesntdomath]

”bro, chill. you’re not the main character, okay?”

bitch-

what if you are? what if you are the main character? what if the whole world is centered around you? what if you’re the one with the montages and the hot love interest and the witty one-liners? what if it is literally all about you?

or- better yet- what if you’re not the main character, but the side character that everyone WISHES the story was about? what if you’re not the golden trio, but the marauders? what if you’re the chandler or phoebe to a monica or rachel? bucky barnes to steve rogers? nikolai lanstov to alina starkov?

what if you lived your life like you were the main character? it’s not arrogant, or selfish. you don’t have to be the side character, and you certainly don’t have to put yourself in the back corner for someone who thinks they deserve the spotlight.

live your life, dude.

[theanonymousninja247]

Strife

Personal project for the most talented

@imagine-darksiders

(if y’all like to read the most wholesome and thought provoking stories PLEASE for the love of pizza, I HIGHLY recommend reading her stuff)

I hope I did him justice because I honestly believe that we would be the best of friends. Very much would like to give him a hug 🫂🧡

[lightwise]

Figured I would reblog this for anyone else who needs this encouragement.

I think most people who deal with ongoing pain/health issues feel this way at least sometimes. I know I do—I often think about and long for the version of myself that I know is achievable, because I experience it sometimes, or it was how I used to be before things happened to me, or it’s what I’m like when I feel like a “normal” person for once every month or so 😆. I often mourn what I think I could accomplish if I didn’t have any health issues or didn’t have so many days that have to account for pain and difficulty. But the reality of our circumstances means we aren’t able to feel that way or exist in the world with that freedom and joy as often as we wish. It’s a dichotomy we have to grieve, and remind ourselves that when we are at our “best” is true and real and we should enjoy it when we can, but that even when we’re not, we are not incapable or undeserving or unloveable. All the ways that you show up in the world are valid, loved, and needed here, even when some of them are harder to experience and push through than others ❤️

When I have a good day I have more energy and I feel all goofy and silly (in the best way). And I have so much fun, I feel kind of different.

It makes me wonder, if I wasn’t in pain would I always be like that? I love that version of me.

[brown-little-robin]

it went fine yesterday btw :}

[lale-txt]

it's been over a week but i legit haven't stopped thinking about this

[nyan-bynary]

I fucking LOVE when stories portray gods as being marred by love and pain that's so fucking beautiful like YES this immortal is broken forever bc they know what pain is now and they can never go back to un-knowing it they've been defiled by our messy loving human hands all over them and they will never be what they once were and they fear turning back into it now too bc they're aware of how naive they were

[demigodofhoolemere]

Me through most of Boom: Wow, this is a really solid dramatic episode.

Me when Moffat needlessly sprinkles in anti-faith sentiments without specifying that it’s blind faith in bad things that the Doctor doesn’t like, which makes it come off like the Doctor is just against religion generally: