#felt the need to share this one

[dondonten]

[lil-lemon-snails]

sometimes you just need to hear it v some stills below the cut v

[e-vasong]

I did ask George Rexstrew some Cameo questions, and while I half-wanted to hoard them for myself, I figured it was only right to share the love! :D

The big hits for those who can't (or don't want to) turn audio on:

For love languages, touch is a pretty strong no. Acts of service and quality time are his primary love languages. Also, he may not realize it, but he would actually love to be on the receiving end of gifts, because it would "surprise him." He hasn't gotten a lot of gifts over the course of his existence!

Edwin hates/dislikes a bunch of stuff, but the things I found most interesting were: abandonment; Satan's star; being late; loud chewers; and tobacco pipes.

"Loud chewers" threw me off, but then I remembered that he got devoured alive for 70 years straight so it makes sense again.

"[Hates] girls...☝️ he's not a misogynist, though." AJSHDKJASDHK

[hanafubukki]

Lilia wondered if you knew what it meant to be loved by a fae. Did you truly?

To be loved by a fae meant to be worshipped.

To be loved beyond eternity.

To have lasting memories that would never fade.

To be found in all lifetimes until the end of eternity.

Silver and Sebek knew, having grown with faes and learning their culture.

Silver, even as a human, had learned and readily accepted it but he grew with such knowledge.

Sebek had grown knowing such from his mother and grandfather, even his father knew what it meant to be loved by a fae and willingly accepted it.

Lilia watched as you dozed on Malleus’ lap, the prince stroking your hair with a loving gaze upon you.

You, who were loved and cherished by him and Malleus, two powerful faes who made nations tremble at their power.

Lilia knelt by your side, kissing your forehead. His own blessing mixing with Malleus’s, marking you theirs.

Lilia knew that in time you would realize what it meant to be loved by them, maybe you already had.

After all, you loved so gently yet passionately. You loved with your entire self. It was only proper for that love to be returned just as intensely.

He knew you would never come to danger, not with them protecting you: the Dragon and the General of Briar Valley.

You were also protected by the Knights of the Future King of Briar Valley, both of whom considered you family.

You were loved and cherished, and will continue to be so by all you have come to know and will know.

And of course, especially by them.

Tagging @masquerade-of-misery my fellow comrade of this ot3 🫶💚

[nipuni]

Photos at Madrid's Victory ball! 💃

We attended our first ball! It was such a dreamlike experience!! It was also our first time doing Regency reenactment so it was a challenge. We haphazardly put together some looks, had a great time learning more about the fashion and the dances and met a bunch of lovely people from all over the world. The palace was stunning, the live band was wonderful and the food delicious, it was an unforgettable night 🥰

[wildsaltair]

Nightmare

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff)

Word Count: 2.3k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted

Author’s Note: Up until now I've never posted any Maximus fanfiction because it's always just sort of been something I did for my own enjoyment, but this is one that I don't mind sharing :) @streets-in-paradise inspired me by sharing some Maximus love with me, so this is dedicated to her (and all you other wonderful people who have made Tumblr a place where I can share my passion for this wonderful man)! There's a lot of love poured into this fic, so I hope y'all enjoy it :)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You are not surprised to learn that Maximus has nightmares. The details of his past are something you can only guess at, though he has alluded to the terrible battles and bloody escapades that haunt his memories. You also know that his refuge in your home is the first peace he has known since he was a child.

But you are not prepared for the sheer forcefulness of his first nightmare. He’s asleep next to you in bed, pale blue moonlight filtering through the window of your room, but you are awakened by his movements in the middle of the night. He’s jerking back and forth, his face twisted in a look of concentration, agony, and terror. You can’t help the fear that rises in your throat at the sight.

He makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, one hand gripping the sheets tightly enough that his knuckles turn white. Blinking yourself into consciousness, your heart tightens at the sight. Even all these miles and months away from battle, still his past pursues him in dreams.

His next convulsion shakes the bed, and you instinctively reach out to him, hoping to wake him from the nightmare. It proves to be a mistake the second your hand presses onto his shoulder to shake him awake.

His eyes fly open at your touch, but it’s abundantly obvious that he is not awake, still seeing visions of whatever memory he was in a few moments ago. The look in his eyes is one of pure survival instinct, of a desperation that breaks your heart.

A split second later, you’re flat on your back, and the full weight of his body is pinning you down against the bed. You barely have time to register the shock of his swift movement before you realize that you did not wake him up. Blinded by memory, all he can see is his opponent, and the thought drives you to panic and try to wriggle out from under him.

Grinding his teeth, he grips both your wrists in his left hand and restrains them above your head effortlessly, despite your struggling. You call out his name softly, then more loudly, but still he is lost in the nightmare.

You thought you had tasted his strength before, when he’s made love to you and demonstrated how easily he can hold you in whatever position he chooses, but this situation gives you an entirely new perspective of his strength. A second after flipping you over, his right hand is around your throat, his thumb pressing into your jugular with enough force to crush it.

You’ve never been afraid of him once, but in this moment, without a single hint of recognition in his eyes and all his power focused on choking you, you are so terrified you can barely react. You can’t even use your hands to try to push him away.

Knowing that you may only have a few seconds to react, you gasp out his name as loudly as you can, the word immediately drowned out by the pressure on your throat. Your vision is fading to black a moment later, all the feeling in your hands gone from his vise-like grip.

But your strangled cry reaches past the fog of his nightmare somehow. The pressure on your throat releases, and his eyes widen suddenly, letting you know that he’s finally awake and realizing what he has been doing.

You can never forget the look in his eyes at that moment. All the terrifying forcefulness, the single-minded fierceness, the brute strength that made him such a force of nature on the battlefield — it all vanishes in a split second, dissolving into a gaze of such horror and regret that it shatters your heart instantly. You know that from this moment forward, he may never truly trust himself with you again, a thought that devastates you for him.

You can’t move for a moment, still struggling to catch your breath, and the look of horror in his eyes only increases as he pushes himself off you. He seems torn between the need to gather you in his arms and the fear of hurting you as he just did. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

You draw a ragged breath, reaching out one hand toward him desperately. “I’m all right,” is all you can manage. “I’m all right.”

You try to push yourself to a sitting position, but you find that you simply cannot, still so shaken from thinking you were about to be choked to death by the man you love, who you know would rather die than cause you any harm. His hands are trembling wildly when he reaches out to steady you.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he says, his own breathing so erratic that you wonder if he can feel your pain. “I couldn’t see you. I didn’t know it was you.”

He’s repeating himself in absolute shock, his eyes scanning every inch of your face, your neck, your arms to see what damage he’s done to you. His shaking only worsens, but he doesn’t lay a hand on you during his frantic checking over you for injuries, just lets them hover as if he’s afraid to touch you again.

You manage to sit up this time, steadying yourself with a calming breath and trying to give him a relaxed smile. “I know, I know,” you murmur, reaching out to brush your hand over his ruffled hair. He almost recoils at your touch.

“I could have killed you,” he whispers, involuntarily shifting himself to the edge of the bed away from you.

You keep running your hand lightly through his hair, determined to reassure him. “Of course not,” you promise. “You were only dreaming. It was just a dream.”

“It was just a dream,” he echoes, but not in agreement. “A dream of a battle in which I almost died. In which I killed so many men I could never count them.”

You don’t betray a single hint of fear, just scooting forward to close the distance between you. You use both hands now, framing the sides of his face as his eyes search your face desperately.

“I’m perfectly all right,” you assure him with a smile. “See? No harm done at all.”

“You don’t understand,” he insists vehemently, his voice breaking. “I could have killed you. I didn’t know it was you. I only saw my enemy and thought of killing him.”

Seeing how shaken he is, you push forward and clasp your arms around his neck to steady him. He still doesn’t touch you, doesn’t return your embrace. You can feel his whole body quaking in your arms.

“You don’t understand,” he repeats. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I don’t need to know,” you whisper in his ear, stroking his hair rhythmically in the way he always responds to.

He actually pushes you away this time, his hands gentle on your forearms as he puts space between you again. His eyes are blazing, his face as white as your sheets. “You don’t know,” he murmurs again, dropping his hands. “I could snap your neck with one twitch of my wrist. I could break your wrists, your ribs, your spine as easily as I can hold you down.” He holds his hands up in front of you, eyes wide and haunted. “You have no idea what these hands have done.”

“I don’t care what they’ve done,” you argue, seizing his hands with yours before he can pull them away. This time, though, he doesn’t make a move to pull away, freezing in place while he watches you carefully. Slowly, intentionally, you kiss the backs of both his hands, his knuckles, his fingers, to demonstrate your words. “I know you, and I love you, no matter what you’ve done.”

He shakes his head, though his eyes drift closed at the touch of your lips on the base of his palms. “No,” he half-whispers, “no, no.” Your heart tightens seeing him so tortured, knowing that all this anguish lurks beneath his stoic exterior every day, hiding so you can’t see it. “I should never have risked you like this.”

“You’ve never risked me,” you insist. “You’ve never done anything but protect me.”

“Until tonight,” he counters sharply, his eyes flashing open and fixing on yours with his typical intensity magnified. “It only takes one time. I should never have taken the risk.”

You can read the meaning behind his words — that he thinks he can’t trust himself to sleep next to you. The thought of giving him up, especially for this reason, is utterly unacceptable to you.

“I am not afraid of you,” you tell him firmly. Your words seem to affect him, because the tension in his shoulders lessens fractionally. You kiss his hands again and again, then rest your cheek against the roughened skin that you love so much.

“You should be,” he replies softly, the severity in his voice already decreasing. You can see the waves of exhaustion and sorrow washing over him, and you reach out your arms to enfold him again. This time, he accepts your embrace, folding his arms around your waist gently and resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. His skin is burning hot against yours, his arms still trembling.

“I could never be afraid of you,” you whisper. “I could never be afraid of the man who has protected me and cherished me. You have treated me so gently, so tenderly all these months. Never once has it crossed my mind to be frightened of your strength.” You press a kiss to his shoulder, then the side of his neck. “I take pride in having the heart of a man so strong, so capable. I know you would never hurt me.”

He shifts you in his arms, lifting you slightly to align more easily against his body. You can feel the deep, shuddering breath he draws while he thinks about your words. “I would never mean to hurt you,” he replies, “but in a dream, I cannot tell the difference between memory and reality.”

“I believe you would be able to keep yourself from truly hurting me,” you reassure him, threading your fingers into his hair at the base of his neck. He reacts to your touch with a hand sliding up your back to cradle you closer to his chest.

“And if I could not?” he whispers in response, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck. “If I should wake and find you dead by my hand?”

You shake your head, feeling tears spring to your eyes. Any fear you felt in the moment while he was holding you down is completely gone, lost in the tender embrace he holds you in now. “I do not believe the gods would allow such a thing to happen. Not to you. Not to us.”

He releases a shaky breath, one that glides across the exposed skin of your neck. He ducks his head to press a kiss to your collarbone, letting his lips linger there in a way that makes you shiver in his arms. “I am honored by your trust.”

You smile in response, dragging your fingertips lightly down his sides, over the deep scar that slices down his ribs. “I could never trust another man on earth as I do you,” you reply. “My only fear is that I may drown in the love I see in your eyes every day.”

He kisses your collarbone again in response, then moves upward slowly, pressing his lips to the soft hollow of your throat, then the underside of your jaw at your pulse point. Lifting you up effortlessly with his hands hooked under your arms, he repositions you so that you’re straddling him.

He then rests his fingertips, feather-light this time, against the sides of your neck. He strokes his fingers over each mark they left, then presses the softest of kisses against each one. Goosebumps break over your skin at the intimacy of his actions, of the wordless apology in every touch.

He lowers his forehead against yours, eyes closed as he breathes you in. “I do not know what blind fortune allowed me to find you,” he murmurs, touching his lips softly against the corner of your mouth, “but I thank them every moment for the gift of holding you like this.”

At your affectionate smile, he finally gives you the ghost of one in return, though his eyes are still haunted. You suspect that he will retain that haunted look for some time, no matter how many reassurances you offer.

As the intensity of the last while calms, he shifts you in his arms again, cradling you gently and laying you back against the pillows. He leans up on one arm, facing you, and you reach up a hand to stroke the side of his face. His expression softens again, giving you a look of utter fondness and devotion that makes your heart melt.

He leans forward slowly, as if asking your permission, and you gladly grant it. His lips touch yours with a gentle brush, then a bit more pressure. His tongue slides across yours in the way that always sends shivers up your spine, and one of his hands reaches up to stroke your hair, the other resting lightly on your waist. He kisses you once, twice, three times, each one more tender than the last, then lets his lips linger against yours for a moment more.

“I love you,” he says softly that you barely hear it, but rather feel it against your mouth.

“I love you,” you return, “more than I can say.”

One last kiss, and he finally lays down beside you, his face mere inches from yours and his arm folded across your waist. He takes his time in going back to sleep, choosing instead to gaze at your profile in the soft moonlight, but sleep finally takes him. And when you finally close your eyes, content to sleep peacefully beside him again, it’s to the sound of his even breathing and the warmth of his protective embrace.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

[luvlyycy]

"you're kinda ugly.. in like— a pretty type of way." you mumble, poking at law's cheek. his arms are wrapped firmly around you as you lay in his lap, his nose scrunched up as he looks away from the television to you.

"thanks? you're not ugly at all."

you shake your head, "ion mean looks, baby. you're jus an ugly person. you're kinda mean, rude, nasty, but you're really thoughtful," you place your palm flat on his cheek, noticing how he stopped smiling.

"I am?"

you nod, "you care so much about your family, about your friends, all the people close to you. so, you're just ugly on the outside but pretty on the inside", you smile at him and he slowly smiles back, gulping down the lump in his throat he didn't know was there.

he's so lucky to have you, someone as pretty as you with someone ugly like him, he thinks. he leans down, silver necklace tickling your skin as he places his lips on yours— sneakily attempting to hide his tearing up eyes..

[rollercoasterwords]

i know that the scars were largely added by fandom & aren’t even part of r’s actual description etc etc but one thing i would love 2 see more of in depictions of that is like. scars that are not faded & pale & flat…scars that r puffy & raised & dark & red & contort the skin around them & just generally look uglier & more alarming by conventional beauty standards etc. perhaps i am projecting a bit but depending on the severity of a wound scars can take a very long time 2 fade & there’s no guarantee they’ll ever be fully flat & pale, & especially in contexts where r is getting new scars due 2 repeated transformations etc i think it would be cool 2 see more representation of scars in different stages of healing & scars that heal differently

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

okay they seriously outdid themselves with the new SAB weapon set this year. just LOOK at these things!! my hands are going to die a noble death collecting them... but it will be worth it.

[marstonsboy]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston & Jack Marston, Jack Marston & John Marston, Jack Marston & Charles Smith, Sadie Adler & Jack Marston, Mary-Beth Gaskill & Jack Marston, Simon Pearson & Jack Marston Characters: Jack Marston, Abigail Roberts Marston, John Marston, Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption), Sadie Adler, Simon Pearson, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Arthur Morgan Additional Tags: Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Gun Violence, Blood and Injury, Minor Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Adult Jack Marston, Jack Marston Needs a Hug, he gets hugs :), Family Reunions, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption (2010), Van der Linde Gang as Family (Red Dead Redemption), Hurt/Comfort, Afterlife, Red Dead Redemption (2010) Spoilers, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Time Skips, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Arthur Morgan's Journal, and his hat!, both get passed down to jack, i had tb kill abigail im sorry, the red dead revenge cycle and how it kills everyone it touches, Writer Jack Marston, 5+1 Things, High Honor Jack Marston Summary:

Ma squeezes his hand, her face pale and reddened around the eyes, her grip shaky and weak. She shudders with a cough. “You— you’re a rotten man, John Marston, you left us again.” She sounds like she might cry, and her eyes are unfocused. “You promised you wouldn’t leave us again.”

Jack says nothing. Pa has been dead for years now, and judging by Ma’s delirium in her sickness, she’ll be joining him soon.

As he squeezes back, he chooses not to correct her. She’s out of it, confused and suffering, and him confusing her further won’t help matters at all. “I know,” he murmurs instead, quiet, feeling like he’s wearing shoes that are two sizes too big. “I’m sorry.”

(Or: Five times someone mistook Jack Marston for his father, and the one time they didn’t.)

[myokk]

More regency au💓

Ok so I’m DYING of laughter at these male fashion plates I found of Regency clothing & I needed to share them😭😭😭😭😭

I have LITERALLY NO IDEA what the artist was going for and I love it😇🙏

(and also to show that my regency pictures are period-accurate & Bridgerton is really NOT jajajajajjaja)

[justghoulythingz]

“Y’make a habit ‘a sittin’ on old fellas’ laps, huh? Or maybe them youngins are jus’ too polite t’put you in your place.” Warm breath caresses your ear, breezing through your hair. “There’s a nice spot on the floor in front ‘a me. ‘S got a couple l’il dents that match the knobs ‘a your knees.” Forcefully, he bounces one leg, and you have no choice but to bounce with it. Hmmm.

“What are you waitin’ for, dumplin’? Permission?”

[mitamicah]

I decided to clean out my screen shot folder on my laptop so I bring you here a random collection of silly and/or adorable pictures xD

[quibbs126]

I had some mental wires cross the other day and it basically came up with the idea of: AU where Megatron and Megatronus Prime are the same guy, he just changed his name

I know one of the wires was Animated, and I assume the other was One or some other continuity with the 13

So Megatron originally was a Prime, with the idea he was one of the rulers of Cybertron alongside the other 13, being a council of sorts. But at some point he turned on the other Primes for whatever reason, probably killed one or two, founded the Decepticons and started the war. And also this caused the Thirteen to basically dissolve as a group, even if some of them are still alive

He changed his name from Megatronus Prime to just Megatron, both because the other Primes basically discharged him from the group after his betrayal, and because he himself wanted to cut ties and association with them. Though his demotion is more in name only, as he’s currently too powerful for anyone to actually take away the power being a Prime grants him

Oh and with that, in my head here Prime is a high status and something someone becomes, not just by taking the name but there’s physical changes too, essentially being an upgraded form. But they’re also not immortal or gods and the Thirteen might not all be the first Transformers, direct creations of Primus. Don’t know where Megatron falls into that category then, but he is a Prime and has been for a long time

Optimus meanwhile is someone only given the name “Prime” after Megatron’s betrayal and after the Thirteen are dissolved. I’m not sure if he’s the only new Prime after the dissolution, because again I like the idea of other Primes being around, but he’s at least the first new one. He might also be the one with the power to appoint new Primes, since he holds the Matrix which is what makes them

I really need to stop coming up with random AU ideas, especially when I know I’m not going to use them. They’ll just be there for a few days and then I forget all about them. *sigh*

To be honest, I think part of the problem is I never think of them outside of Optimus and Megatron, and maybe a couple other characters like Elita and Starscream. I need to work on that

But I at least wanted to share this one, because I don’t think I’ve heard the concept and I also don’t think I’ve seen much of the idea of Megatron at some point being a Prime, not even in Shattered Glass, and the idea tickles me

[t-w-i-l-l-e-r]

Stagedorks romance is “uses those plastic segmented plates with animal faces made for children so the food doesn’t touch” guy x “mixes all the food into one big slurptastic sludge” girl and baby. That’s true love to me.