#he’s literally got no business looking like that

[kedsandtubesocks]

cosmic love

Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

summary: a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

tags & warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, MAJOR GLADIATOR 2 SPOILERS. time travel AU, magic elements, pining & yearning, fluff but with touches of angst, implied age gap (Acacius being older than both reader & Marcus), light use of gendered language, bi!Marcus Acacius & bi!Marcus Pike, brief mention of death & existential questioning, spicy themes, smut (threesome, m!oral, one moment of spitting) M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship, no use of y/n

word count: 7.5k

a/n: I’m sorry I blame the gladiator statue pics we got & yeah now here we are lmao, this fic literally wouldn’t be here without @pedgito & @perotovar - i can’t thank you two enough for all the help i love y’all tremendously, also a sweet special tag for @morallyinept ily too… And lastly - thank you for reading, you’re what makes this so special and magical ♡

The statue that arrived with the newly updated Roman exhibition at your museum has gained attention.

As a guide you enjoy seeing all the new faces here to check out the freshly opened installation. The heightened foot traffic has kept you and your co-workers busy, but it’s been a nice welcome.

Your eyes drift to the statue now.

General Marcus Acacius stands slightly weathered yet still commanding in his bronze glory, towering among the room with all the grace a powerful Roman Army commander would be.

You learned he conquered countless territories and countries in the name of the Ancient Roman Empire. Eventually though, he was caught in a conspiracy to overthrow the ruling emperors and died within the eyes of the coliseum, the whisper of a gladiator’s death.

Now you readily explain this all to tour groups like the one you currently guide.

“Oh, he’s cute.” One of the elementary school girls currently giggles to her friend. The other school children gasp around her, teasing her.

“It’s okay. He is pretty handsome, isn’t he?” You reassure her. The girl seems bashful but relieved at your agreement.

It wasn’t just you. A local internet influencer stopped by and even made a video about the statue being her dream guy.

Even as a statue, the General is eye-catching.

The bronze figure captured his likeness bewitchingly detailing the soft curls of his hair, a lovely sharp nose, mountainous strong broad shoulders, and a pensive stare looking out to a distant horizon. He’s a man of unwavering beauty.

You constantly want to smack yourself for being wistful over a piece of art.

“He’s definitely the most attractive statue I’ve seen.” A familiar smooth sweet voice melts into the room’s quiet softness making your heart jump.

Approaching you with a molten smile and eyes twinkling in the low museum lights, Marcus doesn’t seem real at times.

A regular visitor, you first met him when he accidentally crashed one of your tours. Wholesomely thoughtful, but also being a charming yet slightly know it all, he was quick to join in on commentary of the paintings. With his Disney prince-like smile and earnest eager energy, you couldn’t dare shoo him away.

Now you happily seek his company.

“He’s become like a hot new celebrity here.” Joking, you nudge towards the General’s striking figure.

“I can see why.” Marcus whistles low. “Like look at those shoulders.”

You snicker as a bubbling fondness swells in you.

“He unfortunately died a tragic death.” Marcus comments, cloudy and mournful.

“Yeah, I heard. That means this guy is a bad boy.” You nod.

Marcus snickers at your comment then playfully nudges you with his elbow.

Later, all your co-workers beg you to ask him out to coffee.

“He’s totally got the hots for you!” Your favorite co worker often tells you, but you wave her off.

Marcus is just sweet. He’s kind and considerate, engaging to all the workers here. Besides, you don’t want to assume he possibly likes you and maybe ruin the precious friendship you have with him.

However, your favorite coworker shows up a few days later with a solution for your stale love life.

With a cheeky bright grin, she hands you the cutest pink velvet pouch in the break room.

“It’s called a love wish tea.” She declares.

She grabbed a pack of them at the local occult shop after the lovely witch who owned the place swore it worked.

“It calls in your heart’s desires and hey, it worked for me! That’s why I still have a pack left over!” She proudly recommends.

You roll your eyes but appreciate the gift.

Shoving it into your bag, you don’t give it much thought.

Then the cooler cozier weather settles in, the perfect time for museum dates. Strolling along the floors keeping a watch on everyone it’s hard not to notice the intake of couples. Some are intertwined beside each other staring fondly at a painting together, while others happily take photos of the other being silly.

A taste of loneliness fills you, but gently you sweep it away focusing back on work. Especially since tonight you’ll be locking up.

Already craving some extra caffeine, you glare seeing the break room depleted of any sweet salvation.

The small velvet pink bag in your bag immediately comes to mind. And at this point you think, why not. it will at least keep you awake.

Immediately out of the pouch the tea bag releases a soothing smell, a rich floral blending with delicate touches of a fruit scent, possibly pomegranate. You’re now excited just to taste it, love wish or not.

The tea steeps in your tumbler cup allowing a faint rose color to float into your water. Of course the tea is pretty too.

And the taste? Rich, lovely and warm, like a romantic valentine-like themed drink. It doesn’t reward you with a sensation of being in love, but instead you feel at peace.

After a few sips, you return to the floor.

There, Marcus sits on one of the benches in the Roman exhibition.

Curled over a leather sketchbook, he’s every bit the personification of a scholarly beautiful artist straight out of a romance novel. His face glanced up then back down to his sketch. Diligent concentration paints over his gorgeous face.

Cautious, yet eager, you approach.

He’s sketching a portrait of the General. The sharp edges of the charcoal, the smudges meant to mimic shadows, along with capturing the striking slopes of the General’s features - it’s fantastic.

“You’re amazing!”

Your compliment causes him to jolt slightly spooked, and you rapidly apologize. Once he catches sight of you, Marcus sighs with a dreamy relieved sleepy grin.

“Just sketching, nothing too crazy.”

You take a seat besides him on the bench.

“You captured his likeness so well already.” You’re in awe at the sketch.

Marcus laughs a bit nervously. It’s hard trying not to swoon at the light rose blush coloring his cheeks. He’s stunning.

“I bet General Acacius would be flattered.” You grin then glance back to the statue.

Marcus turns to follow your sight.

“Nah, he strikes me as a big relief fan.” Marcus comments thoughtfully.

The bad art joke isn’t lost on you, and you snicker beside him. Among the giggles you catch Marcus staring at you, the softest boyish grin tugging his lips.

The world melts into a splendid focus all on him.

This isn’t good. You can’t be thinking about possibly leaning in to kiss cute visitors while you’re still on the clock.

“Hey… so I’ve been meaning to ask if maybe we could-”

His phone ringing cuts Marcus off causing you to shoot up from the bench. Jumping on the call, Marcus seems apologetic and almost sad as you wave him bye to him.

Closing time approaches. You and your co-workers do one final look around the rooms. Marcus is nowhere to be found.

The Roman exhibition now sits sleepily still.

The dim glow coats the general’s statue, a glistening chopper. Even with the chips and weathering of time, he stands glorious as you stroll closer.

He really must have been something fierce for the empire to immortalize him in such grand fashion.

“You must’ve been a pretty amazing man.” You mutter mainly to yourself, gently touching the base of the elevated display platform he rests upon.

You wish him a good night and head home. You try not to think of stunning statues or cute museum visitors.

Next morning you’re woken up by a call from work, a frantic one.

“The fucking hot ass statue is missing.” Your co-worker hisses.

You don’t believe it till you see it.

But you’re knocked breathless at the sight.

General Marcus Acacius is missing. The once grand presence he added to the room is absent, vanished, as if plucked from the air itself.

It’s almost unnerving to see the once elevated space now hauntingly vacant.

Chaos brews humming all around. Copes scurry around everywhere, and plenty of people stand outside curious to what’s going on. A controlled whirlwind fills your museum. Various officers keep the scene roped off.

The museum decides to close for the rest of the week to let the police handle as much as they can. You adore the museum truly, but there’s one spot you love the most. Right by the break room leading from various different doors is an outdoor courtyard. It’s become a place of solace.

The bubbling dread has you stepping out here one more time. The sky above looms with a cold front approaching and casts a somber shadow over the space even more.

The shrubs rustle off the side among the thick greenery, and you figure it’s a bird.

“It’s you.” Until a new voice speaks to you. Rich, heavily accented and smooth, it startles you.

You wonder if you’re imagining things.

The man is dressed in Roman attire, elaborate white armor adorned with ornate gold pieces. Glorious graying curls frame his ethereal aged face.

How did a cosplayer manage to sneak in?

He stares so directly at you it frightens you a bit.

“You’re the one who’s voice I heard…” he continues to speak. “It was like I was asleep, drifting away. Then you woke me.”

“Sir, how did you manage to get in here?” You ask, trying to stay as calm as you can.

“I do not know. I simply woke and found myself in this strange place.” He explains with a furrowed brow.

You wonder…is this a strange bit the museum is maybe trying to pull off, and they didn’t tell you.

He steps forward now, and instinctively you walk back cautious. The man must take in your reaction because his face, his handsome face that now looks vaguely familiar, frowns. He holds his hands up defensively.

“I mean no harm. I just need to know what happened to me.”

Someone calls out your name, sounds like your boss. “Come on let’s head out.”

The stranger repeats it and how smooth his voice is, your name rolls off his tongue.

“I am General Marcus Acacius, and I am in need of your assistance.”

That makes your brain scratch.

“Wait, what?” You turn to him confused. “What did you say your name was again?”

He repeats it firmer.

Marcus Acacius.

As in… General Marcus Acacius.

There’s no way.

“Oh, so you’re an actor.” You deadpan.

“I…am confused? I’m no performer. I promise you that.” He almost sounds huffy.

You gotta give him credit. The guy stays in character pretty well.

“You shouldn’t be here, actor or not.” You tell him, heading back inside. Of course this man follows you in.

At the sight of the glass door and the movement of it, he pauses stunned, like he can’t process it. You almost want to laugh.

“You’re pretty good, even though you say you’re not an actor.” You tease.

He frowns hard not enjoying that.

“Either tell me what is going on or I will find a man who will.” He snaps loud and your eyes go wide.

His memorizing face scrunches up in frustration. Dark amber eyes are coated in fierce anger.

“I wake up in a strange place filled with artifacts and see people dressed strange. What is going on?” His voice rises confused, panicking.

Either he’s the most amazing actor ever or…

No.

It can’t be.

Too many thoughts swirl in your head like angry bees trying to make your brain explode.

You need a minute. So you grab the mystery man’s arm, practically dragging him to follow you.

“Excuse you? Where are you taking me?” He demands.

“Somewhere safe.” You half lie.

Unfortunately your boss stops you. His worried eyes catch sight of the man in the armor. You’re quick to explain he’s an actor, upset about the missing statue.

“I am not a-”

You shush the strange man harshly. Your boss, hesitant and worried, surveys him.

“He shouldn’t be here.” Your boss says firm.

“Yup, and I was just showing him the way out.” You happily explain.

Thankfully your boss gets called away, and you make your escape.

“Are you abducting me?” He demands harder.

“Look, I’m the only one here who might be able to help you.” You hiss back.

“I am the commanding General of the Roman armies.” His voice blooms stronger when you reach the lobby. “I will find my way around.”

You swallow hard. A small but chaotic idea quickly jumps into your mind, and you decide to put it into action.

So, you hold the exit door open for him. The man nods to you, then strolls out. You follow him.

The towering skyscrapers, the rush of the cars, the stretching concrete roads, it becomes an overwhelming sight while the man whips his face around eyes wide and in shock. His face falls, aghast and disoriented.

That unrealistic conclusion you thought of - you think it might not be so realistic. Because the man turns to you wearing petrified horror, terrified confusion of a man in an unknown world that no actor could truly capture.

Reality smacks into you like a bag of nails.

This man is truly the great General Marcus Acacius.

The missing statue now full man summoned to life.

Someone yells your name.

Your heart drops. Of course Marcus arrives at the worst time. He jogs up to you dressed in what looks like a gym outfit.

“I heard about the statue.” He says worried then his eyes immediately grow cloudy and confused as he catches sight of the strange Roman dressed man.

“Is he… a friend of yours?” Marcus asks hesitantly.

“It’s complicated.” You blurt, panicked.

General Acacius stands still very stunned trying to take this new modern world in. Stumbling, he returns to your side, clutching your arm like you’re the only one who can steady him.

“I…” Acacius begins then stops mid word, still trying to process a reply. Until he catches sight of Marcus.

“You,” The man surveys Marcus with narrowing eyes. “You seem familiar as well.”

This is getting out of hand.

“Okay time to go.” You rapidly try diffusing the situation, moving General Acacius away from Marcus.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Marcus questions, persistently following behind while you head to the parking lot.

You scramble out a lie that the strange man is an old friend you ran into who just came back from a play.

“I told you, I’m no performer.” Acacius insists still. You also discover he’s built like a wall and trying to wrangle him into the car proves to be Herculean.

Swiftly, Marcus firmly snaps out your name. His tone is different, urgent and enforcing. It turns you into a statue yourself.

Comedically, you’re practically halfway shoving Acacius into the car but now stand frozen. He notices the shift in tension quickly.

“Are you frightened of him?” Acacius mutters concern, surprisingly concerned. “Because I can dispose of this man.”

You shake your head no.

Swallowing hard, you finally look Marcus dead in the eyes.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” You admit.

“Try me.” Marcus rebuffs, serious as steel.

So you sigh, what more do you have to lose now?

“General, can you please tell him who you are.” You then allow Acacius to speak for himself.

The ancient Roman clears his throat and announces his full title and name. The younger and modern Marcus’s face twists confused with a hint of concern.

Suddenly his eyes go wide. He catches on fast, figures it out quicker than you did that’s for sure.

This cute casual museum visitor you have a slight crush on is now your accomplice and partner in crime.

At least…now you don't have to deal with an ancient Roman General being brought back to life from stone alone.

— °˖➴ —

Marcus’s apartment is lush and cozy, filled with so many books and records. The warm walls, sleek modern design, make your place feel like a hole in the wall. Having a roommate, you couldn’t just bring home a very confused man out of time. So thankfully Marcus offered his home.

Now you’ve practically been living here with General Acacius trying to figure out what happened.

Acacius takes things rather well, almost in stride. Fitting for a general that explored new territories and had to face the unknown chaos of war.

The fridge fascinates him the most. You had to stop yourself from laughing seeing him open and close the refrigerator door like a child wondering if the food inside would disappear.

Marcus has a vice for candy, specifically sour ones. Seeing General Acacius try one and the disgusted face of twisted torture is a memory you’ve replayed over multiple times.

But unfortunately no one can figure out what brought the statue to life and him here.

“I’m a man. Not a statue.” The roman general clarifies.

“You are now, but we gotta figure out why.” You sigh exhausted while Marcus readies breakfast for everyone.

He’s been an incredible host. It’s been hard not lingering on how domestic and warm he is within his own space.

Especially when there’s also an archaic man looking just as handsome walking around in a tight white t shirt Marcus lent him.

Surrounded by two unbelievably gorgeous men has been a double edged sword, a blessing and curse.

General Acacius reminds you of a mountain, ever powerful, sturdy and unwavering with the change of seasons. Yet there’s still an open vulnerability to him. You’ve seen it in how grateful he’s been and how eagerly he’s tried absorbing all about this new world.

Whereas Marcus reminds you of a river, beautifully flowing, always adaptable. But he surprises you with how direct and firm he’s been, almost protective in keeping you and Acacius safe.

You also don’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes sometimes flicker to sneak a glance at the older General. You can’t blame him.

Acacius fills out modern clothes sinfully. Watching him navigate everything with a certain poised grace is attractive. While Marcus has become endearing and patient, incredibly welcoming to this new hiccup in his life. You haven't felt this comfortable with someone in so long.

Truly a river and mountain now exist in your life, and you want to stay in their atmosphere more and more.

But you can’t get tangled in the budding emotions growing for these men.

You need to figure out how to help Acacius.

“Once I get back to the office, I’m hoping I can try to find something that could maybe help.” Marcus clarifies while grabbing his work bag.

You’ve learned much about him these past few days. Like he enjoys a good run, used to be a swimmer, has a soft spot for strays, surprisingly loves football -

Also that he’s a well known FBI agent.

You realized you never once asked what he did for work, and you’ve known him for months.

“You have feelings for that man.” Acacius announces once it’s you and him alone in the apartment. You almost spit out your drink.

“We’re friends, that’s all.” You huff.

This Marcus doesn’t seem to believe you, and gives you a very modern dry eyed side glare that makes you roll your eyes.

“I’ve seen the way he watches you, the look of a man in love.” Acacius continues.

“Well I see the way he stares at you too, pal.” You reply back before you can even realize what you said.

Your words do their job stunning the general.

“He is too young for an old man like me.” Acacius rapidly fires back.

“You’re not that old.” You clarify. “If anything you’re distinguished, mature.”

“You are too kind, dear lady.” He chuckles.

You ignore how fast warmth spreads through you a dangerous wildfire just hearing him.

Your phone ringing makes poor Acacius jump. Though, it’s progress from the confused shout he used to yell whenever the phones rang.

Your boss explains that unfortunately the museum will have to stay closed the rest of the month for further investigations, and everyone’s information has been sent in to check for any suspicious activities.

It sounded serious.

Dead serious because after that phone call, you get called by the police department to head in for a few questions.

You have nothing to hide, except you did.

Because in theory you technically did and didn’t steal the statue. You just know the cops wouldn’t take your explanation.

The interrogation room you sit in is coated in a bleak serious air making you fidget worried. This is also the first time you left General Acacius alone at the apartment and that worry picks at you.

Then two officers walk in. One an older distinguished woman who gives you a nod then the other… a rather striking man.

Hawkish nose, clean shaven face, kind eyes, he smiles soft at you.

Marcus.

The agent that walked in is Marcus.

You try not to stare, but it’s hard. Dressed in an official suit and tie, the badge he wears, he sits across for you a striking professional handsome agent.

The woman introduces herself as one of the head local detectives of the case and the man accompanying her is from the FBI, specifically the head of the art crimes division.

Marcus wasn’t just an agent but someone that important.

You can’t deny how extra attractive it makes him.

“Agent Marcus Pike.” Polite and sweet he outstretches his arm to shake your hand like you’ve never met him before.

The questions are very basic.

Where were you the last time you saw the statue? Do you remember any recent guest that stopped by that maybe seemed suspicious?

You answer as truthfully and as best as you can, while also hiding the ancient Roman sized man truth away.

“Funny enough,” Agent Pike comments. “It does seem like this statue just seems to have…I don’t know, grown legs and walked out itself.”

You weakly laugh at his joke. You don’t miss the tug of his lips trying not to grin.

You leave the room as if you stepped out of a strange pocket dimension. Then again these past few days have felt strange and disorienting.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the head of some FBI art division?!” You let Marcus have it when you both return back to his apartment.

“Is that dangerous?” Acacius asks curiously.

“I don’t know.” You sigh.

“No…This is good.” Marcus clarifies. He even picked up apology pastries. General Acacius greedily snags a cheese danish and moans in pure delight once he takes a bite.

It’s hard to ignore how incredibly sexy he sounded.

“It means I can keep looking in my records for any previous instances of situations like this, or if there’s any leads on the case I’ll know.” Marcus patiently explains.

That calms you enough.

Days pass, and Acacius grows restless.

He doesn’t sleep well, snapping at you and Marcus often more. He mourns the loss of a world that’s passed, of a wife he lost. The grief comes in waves. You and Marcus try comforting him, but Acacius reminds you of a caged tiger, restless and fanged. You understand. Being cooped up in a strange home in a strange world must be exhausting.

So Marcus and you agree to have a nice weekend out with him.

General Acacius fidgets in the cozy cream knit sweater that stretches over his broad body, but damn does he look incredible. So does Marcus in his scholarly sleek coat.

This trip also works as another opportunity to do more investigating. The nearby bookstore is the first stop. Acacius gasps seeing the stretch of books.

“Pretty impressive, yeah?” Marcus smirks, and you grin agreeing. He decides to take a look at the art history books here for any information he might have missed.

You unfortunately get side tracked with the many books in front of you and slightly wander away from Acacius when one catches your eyes.

But you quickly find your way back to him.

The elder Marcus stands stunned like a ghost among the classical literature holding a thick encyclopedia.

“I knew of what happened to Rome after you and Pike told me. But seeing the grand colosseum like this… it’s a specter of ruins now.” He mutters while taking in the photo of the ancient landmark.

“I am glad. There should be no need for more death matches.” His voice weighs with the heaviness of centuries past.

You agree, happy he shuts the book and returns it back. You’re about to dive into the Ancient Rome section yourself now until he speaks again.

“What if I am not the same man these books speak of?” The older Marcus questions hollowed.

That stuns you.

“What if the man who died many years ago… is not me?” His voice wavers.

Existential dread looms off him a dark storm growing stronger.

Marcus turns the corner smiling bright. But quickly he immediately notices the shift in atmosphere, and his face falls as he mouths asking what’s wrong.

You let General Acacius speak from the heart.

“What if… I am not me? What if I am not the real Marcus Acacius?”

His face is weighted with fear, raw and open making him appear lost and so small for someone powerful as him.

“I believe it’s you.” You reassure him gentle. “I’m sure Marcus does too. Besides… who says you can’t be the same man?”

There are pieces of yourself that you’ve left with people, even some bits of you have gotten snagged in certain places or tied to certain objects. Who says a piece of Marcus Acacius truly resided in the statue and simply woke up. And if that’s the case, then that means he’s as real as ever.

You explain all of this best as you can to Acacius. Those deep steady eyes of his waver transforming into molten earth. Your hand moves down to squeeze his stronger large warm hand.

He squeezes back tight.

“Besides the man that died is still you too. You’re allowed to be both.” Marcus jumps in with the most tender voice

“That does not sound true.” Acacius mutters.

As modern has he’s slowly become, you think it still might be too hard to explain dimensional or reality theory.

“This philosopher I read about once said something along the lines of, if you think, therefore you are.” Marcus clarifies. “You exist here and now. And sometimes that’s all that matters.”

You realize both you and Marcus slowly have huddled around General Acacius. You on one side and Marcus on the other, barricade to support your General as much as you or Marcus can.

Acacius sighs, watery, taking it all in.

Your heart aches for him. It overwhelms you, causing you to gently rest your head against his shoulder and letting your hand rest on his back.

Marcus also moves closer, placing his hand right besides yours, gingerly touching your hand.

Among the books you and these two rest simply in the stillness of the moment. You feel something hook deep in your chest, a feeling you can’t fully express.

After, Marcus treats everyone to his favorite taco truck. It's infectious seeing Acacius’s spirits brighten again. He again moans delicious when he takes his first bite. You don’t miss the awkward cough Marcus makes.

But the tacos are amazing and the cooler weather covers everything in a comforting dreamy cloud.

“I want to explore this world as much as I can.” Acacius declares with resolution and shining gilded hope.

So you start bringing the Roman general out with you more.

The museum is still being investigated, so you take the chance to enjoy the days, especially now with Marcus Acacius by your side. He enjoys your smaller apartment, becomes a fan of cooking shows fast.

Marcus and you discovered he isn’t big on sushi but has a notorious sweet tooth. Acacius embraces everything now with more gusto, a vibrant curiosity about many things, especially food. It’s endearing.

General Acacius also proves to be a lovely companion when you go grocery shopping.

“So many spices.” He says in awe in the aisle.

More people arrive and you try maneuvering your cart through the traffic. General Acacius catches on quick. Staying close to you, he places a comforting hand at your lower back and the other against yours in the cart. Shifting his body against yours, he’s a protective shield until you’re out of the thicket.

It sends the wildest hum of sparks throughout your body that persistently stays. Acacius stays firmly beside the rest of the trip.

For a man out of time, he’s open for conversation. The check out worker seems to blatantly ignore you while she happily and very openly flirts with him.

You don’t say much, ignoring the possessive emerald eyed sense of jealousy threatening to rise. He bids the flirty cashier a good day along with an elegant head nod. You keep quiet heading back to the car.

“That woman, she gave me a strange note with numbers on it.” General Acacius comments cautious, almost worried about what they could be.

You almost trip on the way out.

“Her number, she gave you her phone number.” You explain simply.

Of course you have to elaborate what that means and how it’s a modern way of signaling someone is attracted to you.

“Truly?” His handsome aged face scrunches up confused.

“What can I say? In any year you’re a catch.” You try not to sound wistful.

“I’m an old man not from this time. I have nothing worth for anyone to desire me.” Now he sounds dejected, somber and serious.

“Okay, besides being absolutely one of the most gorgeous men ever, you’re kind. Incredibly loyal and brave. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Earnesty floats off you.

His face drops, your words finally settling within him. The soft streams of grays in his luscious curled hair and rustic beard, the beautiful scars he wears that tell of his victories…

The statue truly was not able to capture the magnetic pull of this man.

Acacius’s eyes flicker across your face. You swear something shimmers in his deep earth eyes. His gaze flickers down for a split moment, as if he’s glancing at your lips.

Then your phone rings with a text, and you sigh.

This precious bubble you’ve been in, this newly woven existence with these two gorgeous men, is one you want to stay in forever. It’s warm, easy, and feels too nice to leave.

But work eventually crashes in.

The museum finally reopens but with the Roman exhibit closed still. The missing art has brought in more foot traffic to the museum. But what surprises you is seeing Marcus at work now while he works. You and him share sweet secret smiles to each other.

Even with work getting busy for you and him, you’ve been texting with Marcus frequently. It’s even been amusing being on the phone with him and Acacius cries out surprised hearing your voice.

Your mind drifts to them again as you daze off a bit at work.

“So, did you ever drink that tea I gave you?” Your favorite coworker asks, interrupting your daydream.

The confusion must be evident on your face.

“Ya know… the sweet love wish tea?” She grins like a pleased cat that’s about to catch a canary.

An abrupt realization barrels right into you, a fierce horned bull almost knocking you out at the knees. You can’t believe a possible magical tea maybe brought a statue to life. But with that statue now a very real ancient Roman man you’ve been harboring - anything is possible now.

“Can you tell me where the shop is that you got it?” You rapidly ask her.

Your next day off you head down there immediately, not even taking either of your Marcus boys.

The sweetest shop owner greets you warm and welcoming. You compliment her lovely silvery lavender hair.

“Oh it’s to hide the grays.” She winks, and you grin.

But the nervousness rises because you don’t even know how to approach the question you have.

“Something seems to be bothering you.” Of course she notices but speaks with a gentle tone.

Your heavy sigh must say it all. Very sweetly she pulls out a stool by the register and settles in waiting to hear your story.

Even with her welcoming smile, the hesitation pulls at you. But you manage to gently explain what happened without revealing the dizzying truth.

“So I drank the love wish tea. And something… someone I never imagined would come into my life did. So now I don’t know if there’s a way I could probably send him back to what, to where, he was.” You tell her.

The shop owner hums in deep thought, crossing her hands over her chest nodding.

“Is it a ghost? Did you call in a spirit? Are you in love with a ghost?” She asks flat out without hesitation, and you almost laugh.

She’s half right in a way.

“I’m thinking…possibly the one thing that came to mind that I would do first is to do an unbinding spell. Whatever is keeping this man here, the separation of that would be what sends him back.” She says jumping off her chair, waving at you to follow her through the shop.

You quickly scurry behind her.

Grabbing a pack of two candles, the ritual she describes is simple enough. Tying a string around the two candles, lighting them until they burn, which in the process would burn the thread, theoretically severing the tie of Acacius to this world.

“And you said it was the love wish tea you drank, yes?”

You nod, and she nods back in understanding.

“What that tea is meant to do is call in your heart’s desires, simply allow the universe to bring whatever magic it seems fit to your life…But it also isn’t doing it forcefully.” She explains.

The tea is known to work because it calls in someone who desires the same thing you do, almost like a little nudge in the matchmaking department, a magic magnet.

“It works because someone else is also receptive. But of course, there is no need to stay with whoever is brought to you.”

Her words sink into a deep corner of your heart. You wonder if that meant Marcus Acacius longed for a better future, and it’s why the tea worked on him.

Thanking her graciously, you take the candles and a few cute stickers she has by the counter.

“I hope everything works out for you, gorgeous.” Her warm smile becomes a comforting hug.

You hope so too.

But the way your stomach twists, a part of you realizes… what if you don’t want Marcus Acacius to leave?

It’s selfish - but you want this trio of you, him and Marcus Pike, to last as long as it possibly can.

Driving to Marcus’s apartment, guilt and selfishness fight each other tooth and nail. You don’t know if this unbinding spell would work, but it would be a start.

With the spare key Marcus gave you, you let yourself in.

There on the couch you catch the quickest glimpse of both men heavily making out with the elder Marcus greedily holding onto Agent Pike’s sharp jaw. You wonder if maybe you’re seeing things, but the image knocks you breathless.

The younger and modern Marcus, who halfway was on the elder General’s lap immediately, bolts away as if electrocuted.

On the table, you spot two glasses of wine.

They both stare at you, caught red handed. Immediately though, you scramble out apologies.

“I should have called and-”

Marcus says your name. “It’s.. it’s okay.”

You feel so foolish right now. You didn’t even think that they had a thing, and that you were possibly the third wheel.

“I can leave. I totally understand.” You really do.

“No.” Acacius orders, saying your name, firmly shaking his head as he rises. His eyes rusted steel swords that pin you to where you stand.

“This started because of you.” He adds.

Wait.

Because of you?

“Wait, are you guys drunk?” You even voice your confusion.

Both Marcus men shake their heads no.

“We were just talking about you, about us.” The younger Marcus explains.

“And it took us some time but we both desire each other. And we both desire you.” General Acacius simply interjects, and Marcus coughs stunned.

You wonder if you’re the one who’s been brought to life in another time.

“Honey, please don’t feel pressured if you don’t feel the same.” Marcus, wonderful Marcus Pike, ever understanding and eternally good.

“I’ve liked you for so long. Even tried to ask you out a couple of times, just got a bit of cold feet. It just unfortunately took an ancient Roman to get me to finally say something.” He laughs weakly, boyishly nervous.

He’s liked you all this time.

You don’t say anything, don’t think there’s any words you can say just yet. Simply the emotions overtake you.

You head first to the younger Marcus and kiss him with a fierce tug at his shirt. He happily pulls you into him and sighs into your lips.

A soft but large hand runs up your back, and the sensation makes your body bloom.

“You both are so beautiful.” The older Marcus mutters dripping with adoration.

With a squeeze to Marcus’s shoulder and one final soft kiss, you pull away then melt into the general’s waiting arms. His mustache tickles you as his lips kiss yours, but it’s divine.

Their hands all over you touch every inch they can. You’ve never felt this desired, never been the epicenter of affection and passion like this before. You just as eagerly try grabbing at either man with as much clawed possession as you can.

They’re both yours now after all.

Tumbling into the bedroom it’s like something out of a dream, blissful and deliciously decadent, but so real with how heated your body feels.

Both men start kissing your exposed skin, with one licking at your neck from behind and the other readily nipping at your exposed chest. Your mind melts in bliss.

“Marcus,” you sigh.

You’re rewarded with two beautiful groans, different in tones it becomes a symphony you want to hear forever.

In the blurry of haze, the sticky syrupy desire, you and the younger Marcus follow each other peppering multiple kisses on Acacius’s chest as he falls onto the bed.

You and the modern Marcus work together, conquering the beautiful golden exposed landscape of Marcus Acacius’s chest. You tenderly press your lips against the various scars then happily move to kiss the younger Marcus.

The delicious sighs from General Acacius fill the room, a hypnotic soundtrack.

Soon your lips start traveling further down across his body. Your fellow lover follows your trail, kissing and kicking every inch of Acacius. You and Marcus reach his cock twitching in the loose sweatpants Acacius has grown fond of.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans as he drags the older man’s cock out.

Fuck is right. Thick, girthy and dripping already, you already ache to have him inside in any way.

“Both of you are little fiends.” The elder Marcus croaks breathless. Confidence surges in you as you lick across his length, relishing in the taste of his skin.

Marcus’s tongue also licks with you along your other lover’s cock, even moving across your tongue. The louder groans coming from General Acacius only spur you and Marcus on.

Greedily your eyes flicker up towards the towering force of a warrior. The beautiful older man’s eyes blown black, desired drenched galaxies looking down at you and Marcus like prizes he wants to conquer himself.

It makes you dizzy, completely possessed, and you kiss your way down to one of his thick large heavy balls. You tentatively lick. Acacius initially hisses until his voice melts into the loudest primal groan when you start sucking.

Your sweet Marcus immediately follows your lead, dragging his mouth down as well. You and him simply devour Acacius, licking back and forth across your lover’s balls and each other’s mouths.

Marcus quickly starts stroking your lover’s thick cock. It’s heaven being among these two, allowing yourself to get lost in the golden ecstasy.

When Acacius reaches his release you greedily lick up his cum that spilled against his skin, and he groans. Once you sit up, you reach for Marcus’s cum covered hand and begin to lick and suck his fingers clean. It’s then your sweet Marcus that suddenly grabs your mouth with the same hand, pulling your face towards his.

“Don’t swallow baby, I wanna taste.” He mutters with blazed out eyes.

Hearing that you almost come on the spot.

You sit up and slowly allow your spit and the milky cum into Marcus’s waiting mouth.

“Gods above.” The elder Marcus moans carnal.

The rest of the night consumes you in a wanton haze.

Sweaty, exhausted, but floating on a cloud, you sink into the bed with two men barricading you in their arms.

“I’m surprised you were…open to this.” You say to Acacius who chuckles a bit.

“I have loved others before, some included men. One was even a fellow General who died tragically among the same coliseum walls as I once did.” He explains gently.

You kiss his chest softly in understanding.

As you and these two lie curled into one another on Marcus’s lush bed, it’s like a new door has opened.

You and Marcus eagerly ask your General about his days in ancient Rome and his travels across the old world, about the true story of how he got his scar. Ever the steady man, Acacius answers all questions he can.

In the middle of this warm incredible double Marcus sandwich makes you giddy. But Acacius’s deep comforting lull of a voice, Marcus’s soft hands stroking your skin, create a cocoon drawing you to sleep faster than you realize.

A soft kiss comes to the top of your head.

“Rest. We will be here when you wake.”

Nodding through a yawn, you happily kiss them both goodnight. But just before you fall into the depths of sleep, you catch the two talking.

“What… will happen if I do not return to stone?” Acacius speaks first, so low and cautious you wonder if you’re dreaming already.

“I… I guess the statue will remain incomplete, stolen.” Marcus answers truthful but gentle.

A moment passes.

“What if I do not wish to return to stone?” Acacius clarifies.

You hear Marcus inhale sharp.

“I’ve longed for peaceful days away from the brutality of the frontline. And now… it’s here.”

A thick hope shines through the older Marcus’s voice, slipping past your ribs to piece your heart.

Movement shifts the bed, arms reach across for each other and seem to cage around you more.

“You’ll always have the final say. You get to make that choice. Neither of us would ever want to force you or take that away from you.” Marcus’s molten words are coated in pure understanding.

“I wish to stay here… with you and her.” Confidence, solidified resolution, radiate from the General’s voice.

The bed shifts again, and you hear them exchange the softest kiss.

“We’ll have to make sure to tell her in the morning.” The modern Marcus sighs dreamily. His hands again start rubbing your arm soothing, as if he can sense you’re fighting sleep.

“Of course. We must never forget our lady.” The older Marcus agrees.

His words along with a soft kiss to your forehead become the final push that allows sleep to settle.

— °˖➴ —

“So you’re telling me mister head of the art crimes department will be okay with a statue staying stolen and missing forever?” You smirk amused while Marcus drives down the familiar roads.

“Hey it’s no Vemeer’s Concert, but I’ll live with it.” Marcus playfully smirks and shrugs.

The investigation on General Acacius’s missing statue had run cold. There was no indication of a break in or forced exit. From the surveillance tapes, the video recordings simply shimmer, distorted for one moment, and then the statue is gone. As if it vanished into thin air.

Or is simply currently sitting in the back seat of the car taking in the world and power of a motor vehicle.

“You hear that, General? Our boy said you’re not valuable.” You tease.

“I don’t mind and I can agree.” Acacius replies bored, making you laugh. The green sweater he wears compliments him and brings out the streams of grays in his hair. You and Marcus have loved seeing him embrace modern clothing more than ever.

“That’s not what I meant.” Marcus rolls his eyes.

You snicker even more.

The occult shop arrives, and the candles feel lighter than ever in your bag, especially knowing you’re here to return them.

“Seems like you didn’t need these after all.” Your favorite lavender haired shop owner says with a coy smirk. Her eyes stay locked on your men exploring the aisles.

“A two for one deal? I'm definitely advertising that for the tea.” She adds eagerly, and you hide a laugh behind your hand.

If only you could tell her the full truth.

You return to your boys, enjoying the way Acacius seems to be a bit petrified among all of the occult objects.

“Are you sure this witchcraft is safe?” He asks worried, snd Marcus smooths by rubbing his back.

You grin.

Love, affection, might be the strangest but most beautiful magic after all.

[chibinasuu]

Hello! I saw your req’s were open >.< so I was wondering if I could ask for a zoro or Sanji x sleepy reader. Specifically where reader is constantly sleepy and NEEDS their naps or they will be cranky like a toddler XD sorry this is just exactly how I am and I think it’s kinda silly <3 thank youu && I love your work

asdjkdlakdj this is such a cute prompt!! thank you so much for the request! i know you said zoro or sanji, but i couldn’t decide so i just did both :) 

hope you enjoy <3

Much-needed Nap

Pairings: Zoro, Sanji x Reader (separate)  Tags: sfw, fluff, established relationship, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

Zoro

“Zorooo,” You pouted from your perch on the bench of the crow’s nest, “How much longer are you going to take?” 

The swordsman in question was doing some push-ups effortlessly in the center of the room, “I literally just started warming up.”

“Oh, come on!” You went over and crouched beside him, poking the hard muscles of his bare back, “It’s nap time.”

He paused and looked at you incredulously, “You already took a nap right after lunch!”

“I can’t help it that I’m already sleepy again!” 

“Well, go take another nap then.” He said, continuing his reps, “I gotta finish this set.”

“But I wanna nap with you!” You whined as you belly-flopped onto his back without so much as a warning, your arms clinging to his neck, “Now, Zoro!”

Zoro, the monster that he is, didn’t even stumble and continued with his push-ups as if there was no added weight of another person’s whole body on top of his.

“Fifty more.” He compromised. “You can stay where you are. Hell, you can just nap like that if you want.”

After a few more reps, he chuckled, “This is actually great training – I could use the extra weight.”

You swatted the back of his head, and with an exaggerated gasp, you joked, “Are you saying I’m heavy?!”

His movement actually stuttered as he burst into laughter, “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you love me anyway.”

“That, I do.”

The motion of Zoro’s exercise had a similar effect on you as a rocking chair, and you felt your eyes getting heavier and heavier. 

“...Forty-eight, forty-nine,” You vaguely registered Zoro counting, “Fifty!” 

He carefully lowered himself onto the mat and you rolled off him, “Ugh, finally.” 

Before Zoro could get up, you draped one of your legs and arms over him, trapping him to your side. 

Zoro laughed, “At least let me get dressed first.”

“No, don’t get up.” You snuggled closer to him, “I’m comfy.”

He squirmed to get you both into a more comfortable position. Now on his back with your head resting on his chest, he said, “Hm. Can’t believe I found someone who likes to nap more than me.”

“Seems like you met your match then.”

“Seems like I did.” He agreed.

It was dark when you were rudely awoken by Usopp’s shouts from below the mast, calling out that dinner was ready.

You sighed as you felt Zoro’s steady breathing, indicating that he was still fast asleep. You might be insufferable whenever you needed a nap, but your man was definitely more so whenever he needed to be woken up from his. 

As you gently shook him awake, his arm, which had snaked around your waist in his sleep, tightened even further. He buried his face into your neck and refused to open his eyes.

You let out another exhale. You could only hope that Luffy had not already inhaled all of the food by the time you two finally got to the dining room.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Sanji

“Hey,” Sanji called out, hands busy filling the kettle to make some tea for the two of you, “Do you want the blue mug or the yellow one?”

You were seated on the dining chair, your body slumped forward onto the table, arms pillowing your heavy head. It had only been a couple of hours since you woke up from your last nap, yet you could barely keep your eyes open now. 

The rain pattered on, the faint sound of it hitting the deck outside and the window of the dining room only added to your drowsiness. 

You had heard Sanji talking to you, but in your half-asleep state, you couldn’t find the energy to give him an answer. 

Sanji, still facing the stove, repeated the question in a slightly louder voice, thinking you hadn’t heard him. 

“I don’t care, Sanji!” You snapped as you put your forehead down on the table and closed your eyes.

Sanji paused, before immediately turning off the stove and putting away the mugs. Tea time could wait, he thought, but first, he needed to take care of his beloved. 

He walked to where you sat and touched your back gently to get your attention.

You lifted your head and looked up at him, about to open your mouth to apologize for your ill temper, but he already had a knowing smile on his face.

“Come on,” he said, offering his hand, “It's time for your nap, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed as you took his outstretched hand, “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Sanji only chuckled while he pulled you to your feet, “I know. You’re just tired, aren’t you?”

He led you to the plush couch on the other side of the kitchen, then sat down and patted his lap. 

You curled up on the couch, placing your head on his lap as you’d done countless times before. The cook’s delicate fingers automatically went to your hair, his gentle strokes slowly lulling you to sleep. 

“The blue one,” you mumbled sleepily, causing Sanji to reply with a confused “Huh?”

“I’d like the blue mug, please.”

Sanji smiled in amusement, “Sure thing, dear. We’ll get the tea brewing once you’re up from your nap.”

He touched his fingertips gently to his lips, then to your forehead, before returning them to your hair, “For now, sleep.”

You obliged, falling into a peaceful slumber, as you always do with him around.

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Clash of the... Bands?

You hadn't intended to sneak up on the Orc War Band. You'd been minding your own business, walking through the forest (sticking to the more secluded areas to avoid the skirmishes and war going on in the distance), when your canteen ran dry. With night falling, you didn't want to look for water after dark.

You came through the brush and were shocked to see a group of four bathing in the stream. They must have been fresh from battle or a hunt, slick with sweat. A little bit of red trickled down into the water, but you couldn't see any injuries.

Most wore fur, crude leather, or even bones as armor. It was no secret that they were muscular creatures. They'd have to be to carry the massive weapons they swung around with ease in battle. Some drew back bows taller than most men, their arrowheads rumored to be elephant tusks sharpened to a point.

Of course, it was one thing to speculate, another to see it in person. Muscular arms and legs, broad shoulders and backs. They may not have had flat stomachs, but you could see their muscles underneath twitch and flex with their movements.

One was twisting bone and feathers into his hair. Another scrubbed dirt and grime, revealing an Olive green complexion. The smallest was collecting glittering baubles. (Maybe jewels?)

And the largest pulled himself onto the back, picking up an axe with a head the size of you arm. Amber eyes narrowed as they fell on you, and you froze, like a rabbit caught out in the open.

Your heart thudded against your chest like a battering ram. Rabbits could literally die of fear. Would you do the same? Before the massive hands of the orcs got to you?

His lower lips shifted around massive tusks. Gold and silver bands gleaned in the setting sun.

"If you'd been an enemy, you would have gotten the jump on us."

His accent was rough, but he spoke Common perfectly.

"I didn't mean it!" You managed to stutter out, pointing to your canteen. It shook in your hand, and if it hadn't been for the strap, you would have lost it to the current. "I'm just passing through!"

"Oh, little hound, you don't just pass by a war band."

"Oh shit is this how I die????" You thought to yourself, swallowing. Your tongue and throat seemed to stick together. The world around your blurred as tears distorted your vision.

"A warrior who can get so close deserves to be celebrated!" The large orc produced a tankard (sporting a nearby kingdoms seal on the side, but you didn't dare comment).

"We're having venison tonight, why don't you join us while we decide our next plan of action?" His smile was geniune, and sent a shiver through you. Although the shaking seemed to helped fan a growing spark of arousal inside you.

"S-sure!"

Maybe diplomacy would get you far enough to live through the night.

[shy-writer-999]

Hihi it’s ur girl! Could I please request a Crocodile x AFAB reader fic where he uses his devil fruit to control the moisture in the reader’s body (aka he makes her wet without even looking at or talking to or being near her). Tysm queen 💜✨🥺

my fair lady!! i’m so happy to write this for u <3 sorry it took so long, i know you sent this request ages ago. what i wrote is short and turns REALLY filthy at the end... hopefully that's okay! ~850 words and not edited much.

cw: afab reader w/gender neutral language. arousal, masturbation, penetrative sex, croc is mean/kind of a dom. minors do not interact -- nsfw content!

When you started seeing Crocodile in an intimate capacity, you noticed... changes. First, he was on your mind 24/7—the sex was just too good, he was too stern and suave, knew what he was doing and knew how to play with your body like you’d never experienced before.

And second, when he wasn’t around, you felt more feral than ever before, uncharacteristically rabid, so much so that you inexplicably got soaking wet and would have to squeeze your thighs together just thinking about him (multiple times a day).

The sudden and intense bouts of random horniness weren’t troubling, per say, but more so intriguing. You’d be minding your business and then out of nowhere you’d start feeling heat bloom between your thighs, sparks of arousal tingling as you quickly turned your panties and upper thighs into a saturated, sticky mess.

It took you far too long to put the pieces together and realize that Crocodile was responsible.

He got a sense of satisfaction out of controlling the moisture in your body with his devil fruit powers, and he had it down to a science. It was easy to make you wet and he happened to know that when he made you aroused, your body followed suit. He could tell that when he made you wet it felt good. Your body was giving into the sensation of wetness and, in turn, stimulating your brain, making you immediately and instinctively aroused. A positive feedback loop of sorts.

What amused him the most (and coincidentally got him the hardest) was using his powers to make you wet in public, when he was far, far away. But if he was up close, he'd study your face, the flush that dusted your cheeks, your shallow breaths, and distracted eyes. When you got to a certain point, he knew you would come to him.

Sometimes Crocodile teased you—he could tell that you needed him, could sense how much of a mess you were making out of yourself (and that he was making out of you), and he’d deliberately take away some of the moisture, effectively drawing out the time it would take before you lost self-control and came to him, begging him to do something about it.

Even more amusing to him was turning you away when he knew you were desperate for him. He’d shake his head, scoff (if he felt like it), roll his eyes or shoo you away to the bathroom. Imagining you taking care of yourself got him off beyond reason.

But when he decided to humor you, when he felt like indulging, he would do whatever he wanted. He’d throw you across his lap and make you beg for more, or make you straddle him on a chair and move you however he liked.

All the while, he made you ridiculously wet, so wet that you’d literally gush down your legs. Your juices were dragged down in rivulets by the cruel force of gravity, producing simultaneously embarrassing and pitiful puddles at your feet. He was entranced by those puddles. He even thought of bending down to lick them up or telling you to do the same.

Crocodile was just so mean about all of it. He had absolutely no reason to be this mean, this teasing, this scornful, but he just loved seeing you pout and beg, seeing your level of desperation rise until you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. He loved pushing you to the edge.

On occasion, Crocodile would make you take care of yourself in front of him. You’d blush crimson and be shy at first, never getting used to him just sitting there, astute, proud, and glowering. But he’d make you wetter and you’d give in, mouth hanging open in focus and brows bent at the middle.

He stayed still and watched with a sneer sometimes, not even shy about the fact that his erection grew by the second.

Another one of his favorite things about using his devil fruit powers on you was the sounds. The squelching noises sounded like music to him.

Crocodile could only hold out for so long before he had his way with you. And you weren’t going to turn him down. The thing about him was that he’d have his way with you for hours if he felt like it. He was almost incapable of doing quickies. Once he was inside of you he as determined to be there as long as he possibly could. Obviously, you had no problem with that and it was no trouble because even if he wasn’t using his devil fruit powers, he made you wet beyond what you thought was possible.

I didn't initially set out with the idea that this would be as filthy as it turned out, but what can I say!! The heart wants what it wants. I hope you liked it, queen! 🩷🩷

[koji-haru]

Time Travel AU Part: 23

A slowly warming blanket of light graced over Adam’s skin, still cool from the night’s embrace; the increasing soft shuffling and sweet melodies by birds attempting to hush the starved cries of their chicks delivered the news of the incoming day. Adam shifted in his sleep, the day’s brightening rays kissing his eyelids to open and welcome the morning. With fluttering eyes preparing to greet the morning light, Adam slowly woke up, but instead of meeting the garden of paradise’s pink-blue sky, soft feathery clouds and silken morning rays, he was instead greeted by a pair of bright green eyes staring curiously down at him.

“Oh, you are quite pretty!” 

Startled by the new and unfamiliar sight in front of him, Adam jolted up right from where he lay down, colliding his forehead hard with the new person above him. He let out a pained hiss as he felt the throbbing pain on his forehead with careful fingers, which no doubt looked very red at the moment and was most likely going to bruise. It was as if he had collided with a solid brick wall, with the other party seemingly unaffected by the accident while he carefully nursed his quickly bruising forehead.

“But very jumpy and clumsy,” the other person continued as if they hadn’t just collided quite literally head first with the first man. 

“Who..?” Adam was about to ask, but knew who the other person was as soon as he looked up and finally got a good look at them. Short, silky hair that flowed like caramel, sparkling green eyes always full of curiosity, enhanced even more by long feather-like eyelashes of brown and gold. It was another angel, specifically, the messenger of God, the archangel Gabriel. Or, as Adam used to call him: ‘the annoying, but fun parrot’.

“Hello Adam! I’m Gabriel! It’s nice to finally meet you,” Gabriel greeted eagerly as he moved closer towards Adam, firmly shaking his hands with an enthusiastic smile. 

Adam hummed in response, pulling one hand away to tend to the still painful throb on his forehead, already feeling a small bump forming on it. “Nice to meet you too, Gabriel,” he mumbled, quite annoyed to have been woken up like this.

“Oh, that looks painful. Here, allow me…” Gabriel leaned forward, placing a careless hand over the bump on Adam’s forehead, causing the first man to wince a little. A soft golden glow emitted from his hand, leaving a brief cool feeling over Adam’s forehead, and just like that, both the bump and the throbbing pain were gone. “Better?”

“Better,” Adam slowly nodded. 

“Good!”  Gabriel said as he plopped down onto the grass, patting the space beside him, an expectant look directed at the first man. 

Meanwhile, Adam remained standing in front of the eager angel, looking at him knowingly as he contemplated whether or not he should put on a nice facade in front of the angel. Unlike with Michael, Adam actually knew quite a few things about Gabriel in his previous life. God’s messenger was a curious, fun-loving angel who liked to stick his nose in everyone’s business - the gossip. In a way, Gabriel was quite similar to Lucifer; the carefree and whimsical attitude, the love and curiosity for new things, even with some of the childish antics. Unlike Lucifer, however, Gabriel was extremely loyal to Heaven; most things he tolerated until it went against Heaven, then he would be terrifyingly stern and uncompromising. For all his happy, cheerful attitude, Gabriel could be one of the more terrifying archangels when the situation called for it. 

Hence, here was Adam, carefully thinking about his next words and actions in front of the angel. Still, he reminded himself, Gabriel was generally friendly and tolerant of most things, except for disloyalty against Heaven, and was definitely way more casual than Sera. In fact, he did enjoy the few times he had Gabriel’s company back when he was an angel. 

Adam mentally took a deep breath, having made up his mind; he hoped that this Gabriel was still mostly the same as he had known before. For now, he decided to play along with the angel’s curiosity without revealing much with his words until the angel expresses knowledge of certain things. And so, he followed suit, sitting on the spot the angel had reserved for him as he met those bright green eyes with an outwardly suspicious, yet curious look. 

“So,” Adam began, “what brings you here? I haven’t seen you before.”

A small look of surprise sparked in the angel’s eyes before being quickly replaced by intrigue as a pleased grin formed on his lips. “Ah, quite the shrewd one, huh? I can see why my brother has taken a liking to you!”

Oh. A small wave of relief, that Adam didn’t even know he needed, washed over him over the knowledge that Gabriel knew of him and Michael and yet seemed to have no problems over it. Adam shuffled on his spot, slightly leaning back on his arm, now more comfortable with the angel’s presence. Still, one question lingered in his head.

“Um, how many angels know about..?” Adam asked.

“Oh, a few angels here and there,” Gabriel casually revealed with a nonchalant wave of a hand. “He’s not really one to outwardly share his privacies, but it’s not like it wasn’t obvious anyway. Especially with how eager he always seemed to visit the garden and the little trinkets he always brought back with him.”

Oh. Wonderful. Perfect. Fantastic, even. Really, it was good news for Adam to hear that Heaven seemed to permit whatever was between him and Michael, however, he also wasn’t too keen on the idea of a few angels knowing of his ‘thing’ with Michael because then that would lead to many curious eyes just like the one currently before him. 

“So!” Gabriel clapped his hands together as he leaned towards Adam, curious sparkles shining brightly in his eyes. “I’m here to see the human that got Michael so preoccupied!”

A certain kind of numbing, yet bothersome denseness already began to form in Adam’s head as he foresaw the nuisance this revelation brought to his future in the garden of paradise. He really didn’t want to deal with pesky, nosy angels…

—-

“I am not answering that,” Adam replied adamantly, an appalled look all over his face as he paused midway reaching for the teapot.

“Why not?” asked Gabriel, a disappointed pout on his lips, brows furrowed as he seemed genuinely confused. 

“Because no, and I’m not changing my mind,” answered Adam, absolutely resolute in his decision, as he offered to pour another serving of hot tea into Gabriel’s wooden cup. 

“But you skipped so many of my questions already!” Gabriel tried to argue whilst handing over his cup to Adam. “You’re too secretive!”

Far too absorbed in their back and forth, the two hadn’t heard the fluttering of wings going down from the sky nor had they noticed another presence making its way towards them until finally a calm voice called out to them.

“Gabriel, you really shouldn’t pry into others’ business,” Michael said as he made his way towards the two. “Especially if they don’t want to share,” he continued, tilting his head slightly to the side as he gave a quick look over to his younger brother. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Gabriel flashed him a grin, “Oh, I just wanted to see what got the usually stolid Michael so happily preoccupied lately. But I see it now!” He quickly finished his remaining drink and gathered the ‘supplies’ Adam had packed for him before abruptly standing up, brushing the invisible dirt away from his robes, and patting Michael by the shoulder with an annoyingly proud look on his face. 

“I’ll be leaving, then! Thanks for the restock, Adam!” he said as turned back towards Adam, both waving the pouches of tea he received and waving the human goodbye before turning back to Michael with a teasing sparkle in his eyes. “I don’t want to intrude on your privacy.”

Then, with strong flaps of three pairs of copper and teal wings and gusts of wind, Gabriel had left the garden for Heaven, leaving a very much puzzled Michael still standing on the same spot, and an Adam relieved of the burden of having to dodge unnecessary and odd questions. 

“Well that’s a relief,” Adam said as he released a tired sigh, plopping down onto the grass, feeling its soft freshness against his skin as if draining the exhaustion away from his body. It wasn’t as if he disliked Gabriel, in fact he found him and his stories rather funny, but the ever constant curiosity about him as a human was quickly draining Adam, especially when he tried so hard to evade certain questions that might reveal his secret or were simply too prying. 

“I’m assuming he talked your ears off,” commented Michael, amusement in his voice as he glanced over Adam’s dramatically supine form on the ground. 

“Ughh, I don’t want to remember,” Adam groaned in an exaggerated manner as he waved his hand randomly in the air before letting it fall back on the grass, patting the patch next to him.

“Yes?” wondered Michael as he made his way closer to Adam, looking down at his dramatic display of exhaustion. In response, Adam simply wordlessly motioned for him to come even closer, and so he did, wondering what his human wanted to tell him. And as he leaned down, Adam quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him down into a warm embrace, his face buried between the human’s chest and arms causing his pale face to become tinted with a faint gold.

“You’re late today,” mumbled Adam. 

While Michael couldn’t exactly see Adam’s expression with the way he was held, he was almost sure that his human was sulking. A gentle warmth blossomed from his chest, spilling out as a small smile gracing his lips, at the idea of Adam possibly missing his presence. 

“Sorry, I was kept busy with the mess I–,” Michael suddenly gasped, pushing up away from Adam’s embrace as he remembered what Gabriel had left with – lots and lots of pouches full of a variety of teas and maybe even more. “Adam, how much did you give Gabriel?”

Adam looked up at Michael, a little surprised by the sudden change of the atmosphere, but decided to answer the question anyway. “As much as he wanted, why?”

In truth, Adam knew precisely why Michael had asked as he watched dread creep and slowly overtake the expressions on his angel’s face. He understood from Michael’s account last time that many angels didn’t take the sudden caffeine consumption too well, and that there was a bit of a chaotic mess in Heaven as a result. But really, he just thought it would be funny if he gave them even more choices, with some containing more caffeine in them; he even taught Gabriel how to brew them so that he could get the most ‘boost’ out of them. On the bright side, at least he felt nice enough to not have provided Gabriel with coffee, not yet anyway – he wanted Michael to try the new things first. 

“Oh Father…” sighed Michael, already feeling tired just thinking of the consequences of Adam’s generosity. He couldn’t, no, he didn’t want to even think about the chaos that it would bring, especially knowing Gabriel and his tendency to somehow be everywhere and share everything.

“Is something the matter?” asked Adam, feigning innocence.

“...maybe…” was Michael’s defeated reply. 

“Aw, come here,” Adam pulled the angel back down to him in an embrace, petting his head gently, his long fingers threading between the soft wavy locks, caressing him in a way he knew soothed the angel. Did he feel bad? He did a little bit, but he just couldn’t help but want to stir a little trouble in Heaven, even indirectly. But he supposed he should ease up a little for a while, otherwise he would exhaust his angel a little too much; though he wouldn’t mind if Michael escaped to the garden more often, it should be fine to escape from one’s duties once in a while, right? Adam would know, he did it a little too often during his time as an angel in Heaven.

Adam shuffled a little bit, one hand fishing for something in one of the pockets of his new robe. He knew just how to cheer the angel up. “Here, something I made for you,” he said as he placed a small charm shaped like a star on Michael’s palm. 

On Michael’s hand glistened a star shaped charm intricately carved out of opal and carefully decorated with small sapphire stones with a fine silken thread looped around the bail. 

“Just something I thought you might like…” Adam explained, his gaze shifting randomly as a warmth crept up his cheeks and his heart began knocking against his ribs. 

“I love it,” Michael said, his voice as tender and warm as the morning rays, his blue eyes shimmering with sincere joy and appreciation like an ever expansive ocean under the bright sun as he handled the small charm with all the care and tenderness in the world. 

“It’s nothing really…”

“Thank you, Adam,” he said with a smile like the loving kiss of dawn as it brought about promises of a new day. And without even realising it, Adam slipped and fell further down.

Part 22

Part 24

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/767420735500271616/so-the-thing-with-content-is-that-is-literally?source=share

The thing that makes the jellyfish hat content is that it is an object containing paper mache, fabric, cardboard, and the assorted accoutrements of jellyfish hat-making (the optional but popular add-ons go listed here in your head).

and implies that the container is more relevant in this specific context than the thing contained

No. that's not an implication. That's a thing you're making up in order to have an excuse to get angry about someone using a word you don't like, but it's not true. If I say, "I dumped open the contents of the box onto the floor", it is very easily discerned by most readers I am looking for something specific that is within the contents of that box. It is insanity to insist that the word content = the container being the most important thing on Earth. If I write "he opened the small box, revealing its' content: a single, small wedding ring" and you think the box is the focus, I just flat-out don't know what to tell you.

Setting that aside: holy shit, please calm down. I'm a bit busy with organizing resources for my local trans community at the moment but I promise you, there are worse problems than someone using a word you don't like. There was an election this year - don't know if you noticed - that impacts real people. Looking at all your anon and off-anon replies, the thing I keep thinking is, "Holy shit, who fucking cares? There are actual issues going on in the world right now!"

The fact that something I sent in during a ten minute snack break at work and quickly forgot about lives rent-free in your head to this degree days after it was said is highly, highly concerning. I cannot convey enough to you how much I did not mean to set off an episode in you, and at the same time, I am also very genuine when I say this may be a hill you're willing to die on, but it's not a hill I'm willing to kill you on. I kill people on important hills and jellyfish hats ain't it, chief.

It's wild to spend my time IRL trying to help people figure out what to do if our state makes it illegal for them to get HRT in-state and then pull up my phone and see someone this pressed about the word "content". Surely your life also has an important issue you could spend time on? No one is having a particularly good time right now. Maybe focus on a thing with literally any relevance to your quality of life whatsoever? I know that sounds glib. However, having had manic episodes where one thing someone said to me sent me over the edge, I'm not being glib. I really mean it when I say that redirecting your focus onto something important helps snap you out of it. It's how I got myself out of it before I was able to get medicated for my Bipolar Disorder. I take zero joy in seeing someone forth at the mouth because one person said one word and that made them spiral. I really do apologize, and I can see that this panic is a very real, valid emotion on your end. But 'valid' here is used only in the sense of 'I believe you when you say you feel panicked', not 'the panic is a logical, proportionate response to the trigger'. (As a side note, after this many anon and off-anon messages indicating fixation and extreme emotional overinvestment, I don't want anyone saying I misused the word trigger. This is not a proportionate response to someone using one word you dislike.)

The jellyfish hat contains materials needed to construct a hat. It doesn't need ads or legal agreements in order to contain cardboard, paper mache, etc. You are trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. Likely, you are taking your anger at something that actually matters and redirecting it onto this, a thing that does not matter. I'm not saying that in judgment - we all do it - but I am not going to be replying to this further. You may have a desire to use other people's words as an excuse to spiral but you'll have to find someone else to use the reason you're losing your shit.

The hat contains the materials needed to construct a hat. It's not that deep.

--

[mc-lukanette]

Marinette could hardly believe that she was on her way to becoming an adult. The years were somehow long and exhausting yet short at the same time. All the effort she'd put towards building a future career for herself were going to take off the moment she got out of school, and she was ecstatic about it.

The only con was that everyone would inevitably be taken in separate directions, no longer bound by the guaranteed meetings in the classrooms. She supposed that was the inevitable test of friendship going forward - seeing who would stay in contact and who wouldn't - but it was a nice excuse to spend time together before things “ended.”

That was what led up to her and the girls having a sleepover at the Liberty, as if they were all children again. Half the silliness of that was knowing that most of them hadn't even known each other as children, but in a way that made it all the more important to do.

The other half was that the guys had also coincidentally planned a sleepover (guys' hangout, not a sleepover because that's girly, no really, stop laughing—) on the same day, leaving them to divide the Liberty up between them. That left the guys with the deck and the girls below deck, though the guys were generously permitted to head down to the lounge room if they needed anything.

Throughout the experience, Marinette had a blast. Alongside the girls, she chatted it up with a sprinkle of gossip, played games, set up a comfy place for everyone to sleep, and cracked a few jokes whenever one of the boys came down for something or made an excuse to say hello to their significant other.

The plan initially was to stay up all night since they didn't have any school the following day, but alas, the old age of being in their late teens had made everyone too tired before midnight hit. Boys and girls alike turned in for bed in their respective places, the boys in the main area above deck and the girls in the Couffaine siblings' room below deck.

—————

Marinette awoke at some point during the night, feeling sweaty and uncomfortable. She hadn't slept over at the Liberty before and had expected it to be colder than it ended up being, because wasn't it so Marinette of her to over prepare and still have things go wrong.

Pushing off the overly-fluffy and thick blanket, she got herself up quietly so as to not wake anyone. Since no one was going to see her anyway, she grabbed the bottom of her tank top and pulled the shirt over her head, leaving her in just her bra and capris in hopes that she might cool off faster.

Tiptoeing, she crept around the girls all sprawled out and sleeping, nearly tripping on Mylene's arm but managing to keep her balance. On her way to the lounge room, she caught sight of an abandoned blanket and looked up, seeing that Rose had gotten up at some point to join Juleka on her bed.

Frowning, admittedly a bit jealous, Marinette glanced at the empty bed on the other side of the room: Luka's. If he'd been a girl and they were dating, would she have been able to sneak into his too?

Of course, they were not dating, not for lack of wanting to but because she hadn't made any moves on him. She'd run through most excuses by then: thinking that he was too mature for her and growing herself into the person she wanted to be, then thinking that there must've be someone else he liked and finding no evidence for that after a few years, then thinking that she was too busy carving out a path for herself and now being at that point where she'd done so. There wasn't any reason not to try anymore, but she still felt anxious about it.

Did Luka even see her as someone attractive, or was she his sister's friend? Would it be weird to ask? Was it better or worse knowing that he would have every excuse not to talk to her again with everyone doing their own thing?

She shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts. He was literally sleeping right above her, so it felt weird to be thinking about it, like talking about someone who just barely couldn't hear off in another room.

Heading into the kitchen, Marinette got herself a cup and opened the fridge, peering inside for anything good. She sighed at the cold air wafting out, half-tempted to just shove herself partway inside until she'd cooled off, but resisted and left it at pulling out a pitcher of iced tea. She'd probably regret having a drink in the middle of the night, but that was future Marinette's problem and she preferred it to the alternative of staying hot and gross.

She was only half-awake, but she could do a basic task like pouring herself a drink. With her hands both occupied, she carefully closed the fridge with her foot and put the cup on the counter. Holding it with one hand to keep it in place, she tipped the pitcher and aimed for the sides of the inner part of the cup, figuring that would make less noise than liquid into liquid.

She was so focused on the simple act that she hadn't heard the footsteps coming from up above, nor the ones going down the stairs nearby, nor the slight creak of the door at the bottom of the stairs as it opened.

The quiet, “Oh, Marinette,” however, spoken in the low, melodic tone she'd imagined next to her in a bed just a minute ago, she did hear. Her head spun to look, body stiff as her eyes took in Luka standing there and staring at her.

Also, he was shirtless.

Her mouth opened wide, nearly screaming his name in her surprise before she clenched her teeth to stop herself, then she had to stop herself from overpouring the iced tea into her cup, then she had to stop herself from slamming the pitcher onto the bar. It left her a mess, vibrating in place with the feeling that any movement would be the wrong kind.

“...Hi,” she greeted in a strained voice, shutting her eyes tight. Without the distracting image in her sights, she willed herself to set the pitcher down calmly and get out the jitters with a shake of both arms.

“I'm sorry,” he said. Judging from how his voice projected, he'd looked away. “I'll go back up.”

Her eyelids popped open again, realizing how her reaction must've looked. Rushing over to him, she reached a hand out and said in a hushed whisper, “Wait! No, I'm sorry, you don't have to go.”

She wanted to grab his sleeve to stop him, but there wasn't a sleeve to grab. She considered grabbing his hand instead, which they'd done dozens—no, hundreds of times, but it was different when there was so much skin she could see beyond it. Sure, it wasn't like the skin wasn't always there, but it was covered by the layers of clothing he always wore, layers of clothing that had apparently been covering the nice arms that picked her up that one time they went ice skating on a whim, and the rest of the collarbones that she'd always seen a bit of but were now on full display, and the chest—

Dropping her gaze, Marinette awkwardly slipped two fingers into his shorts pocket, giving it a little tug and blushing beet red as she asked, “Didn't you come down for a drink?”

Because I could really use mine right now, she didn't say.

She heard him breathe unusually deeply, then he asked in reply, “Is that okay?”

“Chest—yes!” She removed her hand from his shorts, waving past her shoulder at the bar. “We can drink together—but separately, because we'll be drinking from a cup but not the same cup since we'll have different cups. Is iced tea good?”

The silence that followed was deadly, but she wouldn't accept death before she had a nice moment with her handsome crush of multiple years. One of the many great things about Luka was that he never wavered at nor made fun of her substantial awkwardness, so if there was anyone to catch her in such a state, she preferred it to be him.

She peered up cautiously at his face, surprised when she saw that he was blushing up to his ears as his head turned to look at her again. She hadn't taken him for the type to get embarrassed seeing a girl partly undressed given that he shared a room with his sister.

It couldn't have been because it was her... could it?

“Then sure. I'd love to,” he finally said, not acknowledging the fumble.

Turning away from him like he was her own traitorous thoughts, Marinette nodded and went back into the kitchen area to get another cup for him. Quickly pouring the iced tea inside, she slid it across the bar to Luka and picked up her own cup. She was careful when daring to look over at him, keeping the cup and her hand in the right position to block as much of him as possible while they both drank.

They tipped their drinks at the same time, and she didn't miss that he took just as big of a gulp as she did, the both of them draining nearly the whole, cool, refreshing thing in one go. It was odd to her that they both seemed equally thirsty, but it was at least a little romantic for them to be on the same wavelength.

Luka took a deep, heavy sigh as he put his cup back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I couldn't sleep. I'm not used to... this.”

“Sleepovers?” she wondered, fiddling with her cup rather than putting it down. "You've never had one before?"

“There were a couple,” he said with a shrug, “but not with this many people. It's...”

“Too many songs in one album?” she recited, swearing she'd heard that line once or twice from him before.

He met her eyes for a moment, flashing an affectionate smile, then took another sip of his drink. “Something like that. I grew up without that many guys in my life, and on the Liberty it was usually just me and all the strong, smart women who came aboard.”

She giggled, still remembering fond days of Kitty Section and Ivan as the only other guy most of the time. “Yeah. Juleka, Rose, and your mom are all great people.”

He snorted, though she didn't see what was particularly funny about what she said. Tipping his head back to grin at her, he corrected, “I meant you too, Marinette.”

“Uh—!” She blushed all over again, immediately taking in the rest of her drink, lamenting how quickly it went down. Somehow his way with words hadn't faded with time, much to the distress of her heart. “That's... I-I thought it was a little late at night for that?“

That being whatever conversation they appeared to be having right then, the kind that had gone on-and-off throughout the course of their years together.

“I hate to tell you, Marinette,” he began, all with the tone of someone who did not 'hate to tell her'. He reached for the pitcher without looking in a silent offer to refill her cup for her, then continued, “But you aren't one to talk. I'm just playing along to your tune.”

“Me?” She pouted, passing him the pitcher. “What did I do?”

“Your—” His eyes flicked down her body for an instant, but he cleared his throat, thinking better of whatever he was about to say. His face flushed and he, after pouring her another cup of iced tea, filled his own back to the top as well. “You're an incredible designer.”

She was thoroughly confused now, not knowing what he'd been looking at. Sure, she'd taken her shirt off and it was a bit embarrassing having her bra showing in front of her crush, but—

Then, it hit her all at once, her head tipping down to look at herself. She had been branching out when it came to fashion design, with bras being one of them, but she hadn't realized that she'd been wearing this particular one. It was covered with Kitty Section colors and music notes, which wasn't an indicator of anything on its own as it wasn't specifically labeled as such, but what was a giveaway was the clip holding the cups together.

She'd designed the clip after a Kitty Section mask; his Kitty Section mask. Having worn it every now and then to test how good it was at maintaining its durability, she hadn't given a thought to the fact that she'd been wearing it.

Did he realize that too?

Swallowing, Marinette felt the need to physically get away from the situation in her embarrassment. Moving around to the other side of the bar and taking her cup with her, she sat herself down on one of the stools and let her head drop onto the smooth surface. “I'm sorry.”

“No, I—I shouldn't have looked,” Luka insisted, sounding genuinely guilty about it. “I swore I saw my colors, and...”

“You saw right,” she whined, wondering if it was too late to pretend that she was wearing a new piece in a Kitty Section fashion line.

The disapproving frown - aimed at himself - was evident in his voice. “But I didn't want to make you feel awkward.”

It was silly hearing him talk like that when she was the one who wore it in the first place. Did it even matter if she tried to deny anything or make an excuse at that point? She'd been thinking about this when she got up, but now he was actually there, in front of her, thinking he made her feel bad.

She put her hand over her cup, twisting it back and forth on the bar. Raising her head only enough to look at him, she assured softly, “...You didn't. Not you, anyway, because... because you're not any of the other guys.”

She winced, hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way. It could've easily been interpreted as her saying that she wasn't shy because she didn't see him as someone she could be attracted to or care about, when actually it was the exact opposite.

Instead of responding, he looked away and took another long sip of his iced tea. Watching him quench his thirst made her want to do the same, and she did just that.

“I'm not tired anymore,” he said all of a sudden.

She hummed in agreement. “Me neither.”

They both paused, and for a second Marinette assumed that Luka was just as clueless as her on what to do next. Then, his free hand fell upon the counter between them, angled in her direction, and she sat up to wordlessly ask for clarification.

Their eyes met again, and he asked, “Do you want to keep talking somewhere else?”

She hesitated before replying even though she knew the answer. She did want to talk more, but his words carried more weight than usual and she felt it. Things had already become a bit more intimate and she didn't want to respond right away like she didn't notice it.

She inhaled, exhaled, then took in the rest of her drink and accepted that she would have to set her cup aside for the time being. Dropping her hand quietly on the bar and sliding her fingers onto his, she answered with her full chest, “Yes.”

He nodded once, cheeks noticeably pink, then turned to open the fridge behind him. With one hand he put the pitcher back inside, and with the other he sipped his remaining iced tea.

Marinette felt a buzzing sensation go through her at the knowledge that something was happening right now. He wasn't weirded out by her wearing his symbol on her bra, to the point where he even wanted to keep talking to her? While he was still shirtless?

She needed to do something - anything - to get the energy out.

“I'll be right back,” she told him extra quietly, getting off of the stool and making her way back to the Couffaine siblings' room. She faintly heard him make an affirmative noise, so she felt assured that he wouldn't think she was running away.

The large bag she'd brought her sketchpad and other assorted supplies in was resting near her little sleeping spot. Sneaking carefully so as to not make a sound, she crouched down in front of it and reached inside, fumbling around for the particular object she was looking for.

Forcing down the excited 'Found it!' that she wanted to let out as her fingers brushed it, she pressed her lips together tightly and pulled it out: a scented candle, encased in glass with a few cinnamon sticks on the sticker at the front.

She stood up, stopped, then got back down to place her bag where she'd been. Pulling the blanket over it to give the appearance that she was still sleeping there, she adjusted it until she was satisfied before making her way back out of the room.

Luka was still there, having put their cups away while she was gone, and was in the process of pulling out a large but thin blanket that had been hidden behind the couch. Marinette looked on approvingly, then shyly approached with her own addition to their future of “talking somewhere else.”

“I was going to use this during the girls' sleepover,” she explained, wiggling the candle at him, “but they weren't into it.”

He responded immediately, “I am,” then leaned over to whisper against her ear, “You know where the matches are.”

Her body felt hot all over again, like she'd still been underneath her thick blanket, only this time it was entirely pleasant. He hadn't said anything crazy, she told herself, but she felt affected anyway. So did he, judging by the way his lips twitched as he turned back to the blanket.

With a bouncy but silent pep in her step, Marinette went over to the kitchen, pulling out one of the drawers and immediately finding the matches he'd been referring to inside. Putting it in next to the candle's wick, she glanced over her shoulder to see what Luka was up to.

He'd bundled up the corners of the blanket oddly, giving it some sort of sack shape, and threw it over his shoulder one-handed in Santa Claus fashion (if Santa Claus was a boy nearing his twenties, shirtless, and violently attractive to her anyway). Scanning the room over, she noted that all the pillows on the couch were gone.

She saw then what he was up to and smiled, walking through the kitchen to meet him by the door to the stairs. It was the closest she'd been compared to when she'd tugged on his shorts pocket, and she still couldn't help the little involuntary whine she let out.

She wanted to touch him, but holding his hand seemed strange at that point. She eyed him up and down while simultaneously trying not to blatantly check him out, but as her eyes darted back up to his face, his expression told her that he didn't mind the attention.

He didn't mind it at all. He appeared delighted, actually.

As the hand furthest from her was the one holding the makeshift sack, Luka offered his free arm to her in an obvious gesture. Marinette felt her heart skip several beats, but was drawn towards him like a magnet, bringing her arm up to link with his while her other hand held the candle to her chest.

Together, they went through the door and headed up the stairs as one unit, footsteps in complete sync. At the top, they turned, not to head into the greenhouse area or where the boys were sleeping, but in the cabin where it was tiny and private.

Marinette took notice of how reluctant Luka was to pull away from her, but he did so anyway so he could drop the blanket on the floor and sort out the pillows. She set the candle down in the corner of the cabin, then got down on her knees to help him.

Before long, they'd set up a cute little comfy space with an absurd amount of pillows, the blanket atop them to nearly complete the look. For the finishing touch, she passed him the matches to light one, which he passed back so she could light the candle. The scent of cinnamon steadily began to waft throughout the cabin and the two got comfy on the pillows, staring out at the night that the open area of the cabin allowed them.

Thinking it was about time she addressed the Kitty Section colored elephant in the room, especially after he was the one to prompt them talking more, she rubbed an arm and said sheepishly, “Sorry for not asking.”

He leaned closer, raising a brow at her. “For what?”

“You know.” She averted her gaze, slipping a thumb underneath her bra strap and sliding it back-and-forth. “I felt like I should've gotten permission?”

“Ah.”

“But I didn't know how to ask. How do you ask someone—you know—” She scoffed at herself, waving her hands wildly in front of her. “—about that, but you make me comfortable and I don't make other people feel comfortable, so I just... did it quietly.”

“Mm,” he hummed. That was all he did at first, long enough to make her think that would be the end of it, but then he asked, “Why would it make me feel uncomfortable?”

She gave him a puzzled look, feeling like it was obvious, but he gave her a look back like it wasn't. She couldn't see anything but him then, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and watching his eyes follow the movement.

“I...” She brought her knees up towards her chest, resting her arms on top of them. “I always thought I felt things too much? Everyone says that I feel too loudly, but you don't. You're quiet and musical, and you're so nice that I didn't know if...”

She trailed off, unsure of exactly what she didn't know. If it was whether Luka would be dishonest for the sake of her feelings, then she already knew that wasn't true. He didn't seem like the type of guy who wouldn't talk to her again over some awkwardness either.

“...I didn't know if I was enough,” she concluded, and it was as much of a surprise to herself to say as it was for him. Hiding her face against her legs, embarrassed, she explained, “I still had so much I wanted to do for you, to prove I was, so it was better to hide it until then.”

“Marinette.”

She felt his fingers against her hand, then a gentle squeeze as he pulled it towards him. She brought her head back up to watch and he held her hand up near his face.

“I never thought you felt too much, or too loud. Your feelings were yours, and I never wanted you to hide them.” He raised her hand higher, close enough that she could feel his breath against her fingers. “I like them where they are now: here, where I can play the same song back to you.”

And there it was: what should've been obvious based on them mirroring each other over the last few minutes, yet actually hearing it was like a weight off her chest. Her eyes softened, fingers shaking in his hand from emotion, and while it was more apparent on her how relieved she was, an observant eye could see the same - albeit more subtle - on him.

Even while looking so calm, she knew it wasn't only her hand that shook, and it was too warm to mistake it for anything else.

“Luka...” She let out a single laugh, shaking her head at herself. “I used to be so sure you weren't attracted to me.”

“Really?” he gasped, genuinely surprised. With a sense of urgency, he tugged her hand towards his shoulder, extending his other hand towards her free one. “May I?”

She didn't know what he was up to, but trusted him without a word and slipped her other hand into his. He pulled her towards him, slowly easing her onto his lap, then grabbed onto her sides and encouraged her upwards. Going along with his motions, she got on her knees with the inner part of her legs touching the outer sides of his, ignoring the reminder that he rode his bike a lot and she could feel it.

With her having raised herself up enough that she hovered over Luka, combined with the way he stared up at her, she almost felt like royalty being bowed down to and appreciated.

“Do you know what I've been wanting to do since I saw you in this?” he asked, his hands on her bare sides.

Whatever got him to keep his hands there was fine with her. She idly tapped on his shoulders as she held onto them, replying, “No?”

He looked straight ahead, eye level with her chest and deliberately staring at the bra he'd tried not to stare at so far. Leaning forward, he opened his mouth, holding her still as he clamped down on the clip of her bra.

Marinette's heart raced. She shuddered, hands tightening around his shoulders as she felt—whatever he was doing. The front of her bra was shifting along with him and it was hard to get much of any thought going on with his head so close to her chest.

Then, she heard a distinct 'click', and with it came the feeling of the bra's cups loosening. Heat overcame her as her wide eyes stared him down, and he peered up at her with his teeth still keeping the clip from coming apart entirely.

Did he really—and with his mouth...?

She tensed, biting her lower lip at the message she had so clearly received from him. Satisfied, he let go of her sides to grip the bottom of the cups, opening his mouth and sliding his fingers inwards to redo the clip again.

She didn't doubt that Luka being so respectful with her at all times of the day contributed to the idea that he wasn't physically attracted to her, but she learned then that he was a near-adult just as she was with everything that came with that. He just hadn't shown it out of what he deemed to be care for her, which only made him all the more attractive.

His eyes, deep blue and longing for nothing but her, were an ocean of possibilities, with her onboard the boat sailing across it. It'd been an unsteady ride at times, her feet struggling to keep balance when the waves of affection struck, and she'd remained on it for fear of drowning.

But it'd been silly, as not only would he not let her go, but how could she drown when he offered her so much life?

Trailing a hand past his shoulder, fingertips running across his upper back and up the back of his neck, her breaths were charged as she gripped his hair. She got down to level with him, glancing meaningfully at his lips and requesting, “Me next.”

Neither waited any longer for the kiss, Luka's hands going around to grip the back of her bra and waistband to pull her in. Marinette, eager to take initiative, parted her lips to probe his with her tongue, a harmonious duet of a moan escaping them when he welcomed her in.

Had she been thinking at all about being heard, she might not've minded getting caught anyway. Being the person that made Luka play at his best and able to show others that he was hers and she was his and look how lucky they are all sounded incredibly appealing. She was awed at the way his confidence bolstered hers and vice versa.

They tasted each other, both the unfamiliarity of the other's mouth and the lingering hint of iced tea. They were two threads of fabric weaving themselves together, ensuring that they would never have to part again, and Marinette's mind buzzed with excitement.

She'd always wondered why Luka, despite being a smidgen older than her and having raised money since he was able to get a part-time job, had never gone anywhere, staying on the Liberty as if waiting for something. She could be certain then, that he'd been waiting for her, clinging to whatever evidence, hope, or curiosity that he may've had that things were mutual between them. He'd sent the knowledge into her through the kiss, yet another case of talking to the other without needing to say it.

The kiss broke with two gasps for air, their chests heaving as they took each other in. Luka's eyes, once iced over not with innocence exactly but as a way of hiding the depth of his feelings for her, now burned with love and desire. Marinette knew instinctively that hers were the same.

Letting out a breath, she reached back for just a moment to grab the corner of the blanket, bringing it up and around them for coverage. Nestling herself around him and cherishing the way he cuddled her so gently after such an intense moment between them, she could only giggle at herself.

“I can't believe I confessed to you in my underwear,” she whispered, a secret for just the two of them.

Drunk on her affection, he chuckled blissfully. “You confessed to me.”

“I can't believe that's all you're focusing on!“

[lilithofpenandbook]

Low-key think it would be funny if he somehow ended up being the potion master anyway. Perhaps Slughorn was wanting to retire, and looked at the students who were graduating that year, and decided that Severus Snape, who had no name nor money but skill that would be wasted otherwise, would be the perfect one to bribe into the job

So come next September and the Slytherins are staring at their new head of house who's not yet 18.

I just think it would be funny if in every timeline he somehow ends up accidentally teaching potions to kids.

I mean, it's either that or he's working in Hogsmeade for someone relating to potions, an arrangement he would have made while school was still in session to make sure he wouldn't have to return to Cokeworth. He's got nothing, after all, so he'd have to work (tbh I think Hogwarts was probably the best job he could have in his position- he doesn't have to worry about making sure his wages cover food or housing or bills because he lives in Hogwarts) to remain independent.

Perhaps he would move from jobs to jobs, getting better and better work due to his skill at potions and earning better pay, getting a better place, so on. Perhaps he'd work on his own research as a hobby, or study dark arts for his own amusement.

In the end, I do think he'd live a pretty average life. Considering he quite literally had nothing, he'd have had to spend a lot of his life working. Perhaps when he was older and had earned enough, he could focus on his own passions when he had the money to not need to work, but it's more than likely he'd be working. Perhaps he'd open his own business at some point, but that would be after years of saving.

Also he could potentially have a family of his own. Without the trauma of losing Lily the way he did, he could have moved on and started a family.

And it would be incredibly funny if his child and Lily's child (Harry) went to Hogwarts together.

So what do we think Severus would be if Voldemort wasn’t an issue?

Cuz while he’s good at potions, we know that man does NOT like kids and he seems to show more of a preference to the dark arts than not.

I can totally imagine him just living his life as a contracted inventor, but I don’t know.

[moonandstarshyuck]

"Always."

lando norris x gn!bf!reader

notes: I haven’t written since 2019, so bear with me. I’ve found myself thinking about a little blurb for Lando recently (actually a lot of ideas, but this one is sticking with me more than the others at the moment).

For some context, Lando’s been receiving a huge amount of hate online (and in-person) recently. I haven’t been a fan for that long—I got into F1 this summer, in 2024—but I’ve grown to care about him. I was there for Lando losing the championship, and while I think we all knew it would come to this (Max winning felt inevitable) but I’m proud of Lando for pushing so hard this entire year.

Still, with all the hate directed at him, I’m seeing a new side of him, and I’m learning that he’s a person with feelings like anyone else. I can tell he doesn’t always have the highest opinion of himself and tends to take the blame for anything that goes wrong during his races. What struck me about this is how much I relate to it. I blame myself for things out of my control or when I mess up. What sucks with Lando is that his small, human errors are what so many people focus on to criticize him—whether it’s why he didn’t win the championship or why they think he’s a bad person (which he absolutely isn’t).

The inspiration for this came from an interview he did after the Brazilian GP. At that point, everyone knew it was almost mathematically impossible for Lando to win the championship, and he talked about struggling in the aftermath: “I literally couldn’t sleep for the first two days…So I did like, what, 36-40 hours straight. So that probably made everything worse. When you’re tired, you’re more moody, and that kind of thing…I was just sat at home alone. It probably would have been better if I had been with my friends. But they don’t live in Monaco. They also have lives and are busy doing other things. And I’m a big overthinker, so like the whole flight home, the whole week, it just played over and over in my head. What could I have done differently? Why did I do that? Why did I not do this? You start thinking of all the scenarios that you kind of blame yourself for, why it’s now not possible, that kind of thing. And yeah, because I overthink and I struggle with that kind of thing, that took a bigger toll in the days after. It wasn’t an easy time.”

And I keep on finding myself wishing someone could have been there for him in person, so that he was okay. So, I wrote this. The reader in this is dating Lando but is written as a gender-neutral character that uses They/Them pronouns. The reader also has a service dog, a Bernese Mountain Dog named Thunder, to help with their own depression and anxiety (I’m not an expert on service dogs, so this many not be 100% accurate).

They woke up that early morning to the sunlight shining on their face, streaming in from the window outside. The bliss of sleep clung to them as they lay there, cocooned in warmth, the covers snug around their body. They stretched lazily, blinking their eyes open.

Instinctively, they turned to look beside them—only to find the space next to them empty. It’s too early in the morning to be anywhere else but in bed, even for training, they thought. Lando should still be here.

The realization pulled them out of their sleepy haze. The past couple of days had been not kind to Lando. They knew that he had a tendency to keep his feelings bottled up and beat himself up over his perceived failures. They understood that feeling all too well—the guilt, the constant sense of disappointment, the nagging thought that were never good enough. They had wrestled with those feelings since they were a child.

It wasn’t something that had an easy fix. If they had found the answer, they would have shared it with Lando years ago. But they had learned that the best way to fight those thoughts wasn’t isolation. Talking to someone, writing feelings down, even simple positive affirmations—thought they might sound silly—could help push back against the negative spiral. They had told Lando this countless times.

But Lando had a problem with not wanting to “inconvenience” anyone with his emotions. No matter how many times they reassured him that they were always there for him, he struggled to let himself. They didn’t blame him—it was human to struggle against your own mind.

What made everything worse was the constant online hate. Every little mistake or sarcastic comment from Lando seemed to turn into an avalanche of criticism. They remembered the first time they’d seen him like a hateful comment about himself on Instagram—the little heart next to a cruel statement, paired with note: “Creator liked this.” It had broken their heart. How could the Lando they loved ever believe such awful things about himself?

After Brazil, it had been clear that he wasn’t okay. He’d barely spoken since coming home, choosing instead to himself. They had given him space, hoping he’d find a way to process his feelings. But by the second morning, when he still hadn’t come to bed—almost forty hours after returning home—they knew they couldn’t stand by any longer.

That morning, they rose slowly from the bed, a plan beginning to form in their mind. Lanod needed someone to step in—someone to remind him he didn’t have to face his struggles alone. They were determined to be that person for him.  They couldn’t take it anymore, seeing the person they loved so badly, punishing himself over his ‘failures.’

The first step was to confirm where he was. Grabbing their phone, they opened Twitch and navigated to Max’s stream. After a few moments of watching, they heard Lando’s voice—tired, strained, but unmistakably his. He was joking with Max, his words clipped, like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower. It was enough to break their heart. They opened their messages with Max.

Thunder's Owner

Lan’s streaming with you rn?

Sent at 7:48 AM.

After a few seconds, Max replied.

Maximilian

Yeah he’s on voice-only.

Sent at 7:50 AM.

Gonna do something about him?

Sent at 7:50 AM.

Max knew. Of course he did. He probably heard the exhaustion in Lando’s voice, the edge self-loathing that came with overthinking. They typed back quickly:

Thunder's Owner

Yeah

Sent 7:52 AM.

Going to unplug his setup and drag him out of there.

Sent 7:52 AM.

Maximilian

Lol.

Sent 7:52 AM.

I’ll keep an eye out for when he disappears.

Sent 7:53 AM.

Thunder's Owner

Thx

Sent 7:54 AM.

They quietly made their way to Lando’s gaming room and eased the door open. Lando sat at his desk, controller in hand, headset clamped over messy curls.  He looked worn down, his shoulders slumped as he focused on the screen. His voice through, muted put playful, as he bantered with Max.

For a moment, they just watched him. Even now, he was handsome, but the tiredness in his expression made their chest ache. He deserved rest. He deserved to feel okay. And he wasn’t going to get that by sitting here punishing himself.

As soon as Lando died in-game and leaned back in his chair, they seized the opportunity. They crossed the room, catching his attention when they came into view.

“Why’re you—” Lando began, frowning, but they didn’t let him finish. Reaching down, they unplugged everything from the wall.

“What the hell—” he exclaimed, spinning around in his chair.

“No,” they said firmly, cutting him off. “I’m not you hurt yourself anymore. Get up.”

Lando blinked, clearly taken aback. “You can’t just do that!” he protested, but they were already tugging gently at him arm, urging him out of his chair.

“Angel, what are you—”

“No,” they repeated, their voice steady. “Get up,”

Lando hesitated for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh and standing. They took his hand, leading him out of the gaming room and down the hall to the living room. He didn’t resist, but he followed like a man in a daze. Once they reached the couch, they turned to him. “Sit,” they said, pointing at the cushions. Lando raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to argue, but they shook their head. “Stay.”

They turned to Thunder, who had been waiting for them in the hallway, and told him, “Thunder, guard,” while pointing at Lando.

The dog immediately moved into position, standing alert in front of the couch. Lando’s eyes widened slightly as Thunder fixed him with an unblinking stare. He shifted as if to get up, but Thunder’s stance didn’t waver.

“Jeez, I wasn’t going to get up,” he mumbled to Thunder, but Thunder just sat there and watched him until he fully relaxed back into the couch.

The thought ran through Lando’s head, how he had honestly forgotten how menacing his own dog could look. He knew Thunder was trained, saw reminders of it daily with how he interacted with his partner, but he was still shocked at how trained Thunder really was at that moment.

Thunder was still staring at him when he pulled out his phone from his pocket, opening up his texts with Max.

LN

I was just dragged out of my gaming room and told to sit on the couch and like a dog.

Sent at 8:05 AM.

Not against it, but how tf did they get so determined?

Sent at 8:05 AM.

Thunder’s watching me right now.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

I forgot how menacing he could be.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

*Picture attached.*

Lol.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

Max (The 1st One)

He’s like ‘try me, I dare you’

Sent at 8:06 AM.

LN

Yeah, I don’t particularly want to try him

Sent at 8:07 AM.

Max (The 1st One)

Lol.

Sent at 8:07 AM.

They told me before they did it

Sent at 8:07 AM.

I just let them. Lol.

Sent at 8:07 AM.

LN

Helpful. What if they were trying to  kill me?

Sent at 8:08 AM.

They wouldn’t have had to if you kept doing what you were doing.

Sent at 8:09 AM.

Lando’s let out a quiet sigh, Max’s words sinking in. He glanced at Thunder, who hadn’t moved, and felt a pang of guilt. He’d pushed himself too far again, and this time it had clearly worried his partner.

A few minutes later, his partner walked back into their living room. He thought they looked beautiful, wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of boxers. They were entirely focused on the bowl they were carrying, and only looked up when they got close enough to hand it to him. He gently took the bowl, looked into it and saw it was one of his prep meals. While not his favorite breakfast, he knew he just needed to eat first, so he started taking bites.

He glanced up every so often, and each time he did, his partner was just sitting there and watching him eat. Lando almost chuckled at his own thought that they looked just like Thunder when watching him, and he smiled into his bowl at the thought. His partner didn’t see his smile, but he continued to eat until he had finished the bowl.

When he was done eating, he set the bowl down, and his partner again pulled him up by the crook of his arm. He just let them do so, having a thought of what was going to happen next.

His partner led them both down the hallway to their bedroom, and opened the door, leading him to sit on their bed, then they turned around and went to close their blinds and draw their black-out curtains to cover up the sunlight from the window. They had turned on their bedside lamp earlier, and the soft orange glow of the lamp permeated the room. They walked past him again, going to close the door after letting Thunder in, then they walked back to their side of the bed, and pulled him to lie down against them.

As he settled against their chest, he felt a bit odd, it being a bit of a difference to feel how much he was loved by them. How much they cared for him. And he finally spoke again, “Thank you.”

“Always, Lan. Always.” They replied, pressing a kiss to his hair.

And for the first time in days, he let himself sleep.

author's note: got inspired to actually write something for once...ty @koalapastries for the inspiration (unknowing inspiration but ty) (also sorry for using your layout outline

comments & reblogs appreciated

and i made the dividers :)

[neonmetro]

You made a mistake posting the Achaeans designs /vpos

YOU GUYS ALREADY KNOW I LOVE ACHILLES ( and patroclus, but this isn't about him ). HIS DESIGN IS SO COOL WHAT THE SIGMA...... I LIVE FOR THE GREEN SO MUCHHHH. THE COAT THAT SOMEWHAT GIVES MARCHING BAND VIBES, THE SPINE LOOKING DESIGN ON THE BACK, AND THE JEWELRY THAT GIVES MAJOR PEACOCK VIBESSSS......I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

Chat......can we congratulate my boy Diomedes for that glow up.....bro is GORGEOUS. THE RED COAT WITH THE FUR, I MIGHT AS WELL JUST PASS AWAY/silly AND THE HAIRRRRRR I LIVE FOR HIS HAIR ITS REALLY JUST SO AWESOME DUDE

And as much as I love all of them, I would like to give a special shout out to uly and Nestor.....Uly because, well, it's uly and Nestor because HOLY SHITTT THAT DESIGN MIGHT JUST BE PEAK........

I would love to write about all of them, but i don't want to make this ask super long, or else it'll just be my yapping. But in turn, give me all you got of these guys 🔥🔥🗣🗣

The Achaeans are just the butch lesbian assembly tbh...../j

-paris anon

HELP WHEN I FIRST READ THIS I THOUGHT I MADE A ACTUAL MISTAKE WHILE POSTING/DESIGNING THE ACHAEANS 😭😭😭😭

anyhoo sorry for the late response i haven't been able to sit down and ramble in a bit.... hope this is still worth the wait :')

ACHILLES HAD THE MOSTTTT AMOUNT OF THOUGHT INTO HIS REDESIGN (as in literal time. i still thought about the achaeans but achilles i had a literal mood board up dedicated to just Him)

his colors + jewelry were so fun to come up with. he only deserves the best color palette... pretty pretty princess of pthia

i saw this outfit/dress on lolitawardrobe and it screamed achilles to me 😭😭😭 i really wanted to incorporate the skeleton and marine animal together as a way to signify what's to come and his mother's origins (OH. AND HIS ANIMAL IS HECTOR'S DOLPHIN. HOPE THIS HELPS.)

THANK YOU SO MUCH. HE TRULY DID GLOW UP I HAVE NO IDEA HOW BUT I WOKE UP ONE DAY AND BLASTED HIM WITH THE YASSIFICATION JUICE. i really wanted to focus on the red eyes i put in his og design for better color balance...

also his fuck ass bangs 😭 i still like the full head kind of bangs but I'll prob keep it for just when he's going batshit insane

he did already have his braid but since i was already doing the bigger profiles for more details i wanted to emphasize it more...

RAGHDHDGEJWKE THANK YOU SO MUCH....

NESTOR HAS NO RIGHT TO BE THAT PRETTY. AND YET HE IS. #GIRLBOSS?

definitely upgraded that hairstyle + how i stylized his facial hair like girl... og nestor was kinda . let's say lacking .

nestor was kind of. color hell for me i'm ngl? for some reason i couldn't make up my damn mind on which colors go where? plus his grey hair... was kinda fucking me up... please old man... stop making me cry... (looking back my vocalization wasn't so bad it was mostly in my head but STILL)

for uly i really wanted him to have a diff silhouette but still vaguely look like outis lcb... i chose the trench coat bc omg kinda like penelope and also its just like pathos to mathos frfr but he would never really wear smth like that and it ended up way too similar to menelaus. then i thought FUCK OUTIS LCB SINNER CROPPED JACKET. WE WIN

though the 2nd image is kinda just a vague pass of the silhouette, i just needed him to be a lil more diff...

GRBRHRNRNVHN THANK YOU SO MUCH THOUGH!!! my beautiful butch assembly... its just business..........

[iwozlegit]

|| 🍍• For real, why do these two images have the same energy ??

[sadiowaboy]

i feel like quark is always going around like delivering fruit baskets and handing out hot cocoa with no personal gain and then going "im only doing this for profit" and everyones like "are you sure you aren't just a little bit nice quark" and quark is like

[sporeclan]

< Previous | First | Next >

Leaf-bare again and we're already off to a bad start :')

[welcometogrouchland]

(ID in alt) I literally said I was gonna post this month's ago and then never had the wherewithal to describe it and so I didn't Lmao (said with pain). But since I'm thinking of opening my commissions I figured I should remind ppl that I. Yknow. Can draw.

Lots of Steph here (I had major art block making all of these and my brain worms for her kept me going) + some sprinkles of stephcass for Cass nation to enjoy!

[formereldestdaughter]

ok wait i need to hear more of your thoughts on peeta owning a bakery....

This is one of those rare times where I’m pretty sure this anon isn’t someone I know personally bc I’ve subjected anyone who will listen to my rant about the Peeta Bakery Headcanon. Anyway, you’re gonna regret asking this anon bc there are fucking Layers here.

I know this is probably a controversial take based on the number of fics where I’ve seen it, but I simply do not think that Peeta would open a commercial bakery after Mockingjay!! Like on a metatextual level, I don’t think it really fits with the point of the ending of the series. It actually sort of fascinates me that it’s just such a common headcanon because the ending of Mockingjay is exceedingly vague. I think that vagueness invites us, as readers, to imagine a better world post-revolution. A world where Katniss would feel confident that her children would be safe from injustice, where she’d feel confident that her children would never know want the way she did as a child. A just world. A kinder world. Can a capitalist society ever be just? Is a capitalist society where a disabled teenager has no other means to subsist himself (or feels like there’s no other way he can be a contributing member of his community) really the post-revolution world we dream of? Is that really the best we can imagine?

(This got so insanely long I’m adding a read more lmao)

I get that showing a better world is not always the point of post-mockingjay headcanons/fics. Like there are plenty of really great post-mockingjay fics I’ve seen where, yeah, part of the fic is that society like ISN’T all that different or all that much better. I’ve seen that really well done! Hell, I’ve written them myself! It’s easy to imagine how a lot of aspects of society would not get an overhaul, a lot of the same structural inequalities would continue to exist. One headcanon that really stuck with me (I can’t remember which fic it was from) was that Peeta sells basically mail order baked goods to people on the Capitol, sending them iced cakes and pastries by train, because there are still people who were “fans” of theirs during the Games. And idk this doesn’t actually have much to do with my point lol but I liked it because it’s kind of fucked up and like! Yeah! It makes sense! If he needed money that would be a good way to make it! War often makes people rich, often for horrible reasons, and often it’s people who already have capital in the first place.

Anyway, more about the hypothetical bakery because alright. I bring up the fact that “yeah society not being all that different post-revolution and still being an unjust capitalist hellscape” could be a reason why Peeta re-opens a bakery because that’s actually never the types of fics where I see the bakery headcanon. Fics where Peeta opens a bakery are usually trying to make the exact opposite point. Like. Things are getting better, now he can open a bakery! Look at how much better the world is now, plus he’s got a bakery! Peeta is healing, that’s why he can open a bakery now! And I am so, so sorry to inform everyone who’s never had the grave misfortune of owning a family business, but there is truly nothing further from the truth lmao. Like just putting aside the immense amount of emotional baggage that Peeta has about his family, running a small business is an insane amount of work in any context and being a baker especially is physically grueling and involves early hours (and long hours) that aren’t really the best fit with the multiple ways that Peeta is disabled now. (I could go into this more because I have a lot of thoughts. But I will spare you.). I also think it’s seen throughout the books that Peeta is someone who needs time to pursue creative outlets to process his feelings and someone who values leisure and values quality time with his loved ones. And having grown up in his family’s bakery, I think he’d understand the reality that running a bakery wouldn’t leave much space of those pursuits and wouldn’t leave much space for him to have the things that keep him healthy and stable. I think he’d know that the way he is now— after two Games and the war and unspeakable torture at the hands of a dictator—isn’t compatible with the lifestyle necessary for running a commercial bakery.

And tbh with that in mind, I don’t think he’d push himself to re-open a business (one that would be a constant reminder of his dead family and his complicated relationships with them that got no closure) that would require him to sacrifice his physical and emotional well-being. Like I think he might look into the possibility, I think he might even start trying to open a bakery out of a sense of obligation/duty, maybe harboring some idea that this is who he was supposed to be, who he would've been without the Games, or that it’s this last piece of his family that can live on, or that it’s this last connection to his family so he can’t let it die too. But ultimately, I think any attempt to open a bakery wouldn’t get very far. Maybe he'd start wading into the logistical nightmare that is small business ownership and realize it's not for him (because it's probably also true that as much as him and his brothers were involved in the business, there's almost certainly parts they weren't involved with and didn't see, i.e., filing taxes). Or maybe looking into opening a bakery— how triggering it is, the stress of it— causes a downward spiral. Maybe he hates how much he's worrying everyone by unraveling. Maybe having a breakdown from the stress of just trying to open a bakery makes him realize, yeah, maybe in another life he would have ran his family’s bakery but the way he is now just doesn’t work with running a bakery, not without great sacrifices he's not willing to make. I just can’t see a bakery coming to fruition.

I know a lot of fics include Peeta deciding to reopen a bakery as a big step in his healing or include him rebuilding a bakery as part of his healing process but honestly, I think the opposite would be more true: I think Peeta either trying/failing to open a bakery or ultimately deciding not to open a bakery would be hugely healing for him. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way he is now as a person, his new limitations but also his strengths. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way his life his now and accepting that he likes his life the way it is, that he’s satisfied with his life without needing to own a bakery. I think it would be an important part of him coming to terms with the loss of his family. I think he knows he can never have things back as they were and I don’t think he would try to recreate them, especially because his family’s legacy isn’t a business. I think he’s emotionally intelligent enough and self reflective enough to realize that what mattered to him about the bakery— taking care of others by feeding them, being integrated into his community and being actively involved in it, brightening people’s days with delightful things whether that’s beautiful cakes or hearty food or delicious treats— and the things he learned from his family through the bakery, are things that he can carry on in other meaningful ways.

(Do you regret sending this ask yet, anon? Because if not, you will soon. I’m not done yet. There’s more.)

I wasn’t really sure where to put this next part in what is rapidly becoming an essay because it sort of combines the points about like “what do we imagine a post-mockingjay society to look like” with the practical difficulties of starting this bakery but here’s another thing: do people really think that the Mellarks owned the land the bakery was on?? Like, sure, the merchants are the petit bourgeois of Twelve but I still don’t imagine they really own anything. In a society where houses are assigned to people upon marriage, where property ownership and capital are so closely interconnected with citizenship (as shown by the Plinths who, by having immense capital, are able to leave their District and become citizens of the Capitol) do people really think the Mellarks would be allowed to own the land their bakery is on?? I always imagined it sort of like a tenant farming situation: the Capitol gives them the raw materials for the bakery and in return the bakery give them some absurdly high portion of their profits, or the Capitol sells them a year’s supply of raw materials at a premium on credit and at the end of the year the Mellarks have to use the money they made with those materials to pay it back, except it’s never enough to turn a profit so they always have to buy next year’s materials on credit and the cycle continues.

We (understandably) get a really skewed view of the merchant class through Katniss’s perspective so I can see why people come to the conclusion that his family owned the property and, as the last surviving member, he would’ve inherited it. I’ve seen the inheritance thing in fics a lot or a hand wavey “well Twelve was decimated to no one owns anything anymore so it can be his” or even like an almost sort of reparations type situation where he’s entitled to the land as a surviving refugee of Twelve. But I don’t know. I guess I don’t think it fits with everything else we know about Panem that the Mellarks would’ve owned that land and I think the question of whether the government would’ve let him take ownership of the land post-revolution brings up a lot of issues about the structure of society post-Mockingjay that I find more interesting to explore in other ways, especially when, from an emotional perspective, 1) I find the idea of Peeta not opening a bakery more compelling and 2) I don’t think it really fits his character arc by the end of Mockingjay to reopen a bakery, as I went on about at length above lol.

On the flip side: literally who cares!! Do whatever you want!! Headcanon whatever you want!! I get why people go for the bakery!! It’s fun, it’s wholesome, it’s a built in bakery AU that isn’t even an AU. It doesn’t matter if it’s practical or realistic!! It doesn’t need to be practical or realistic!! It’s fanfic of a dystopian YA series!! My unfortunate affliction is that I grew up in a family that owned a restaurant and that I have multiple degrees in the social sciences so I can’t see the bakery without being like “What about the overheard? What about the start up costs? Who’s spending long nights balancing the books? Is Peeta covering shifts when an employee calls in sick? Is Peeta the sole person working there until the bakery is open long enough (often a year or more) to start turning a profit? How does that sleep schedule work with his nightmares? How does that work with Katniss’s nightmares? What happens when he has an episode and suddenly needs to take the day off before he has any employees? Does the bakery just remain closed for the day? Can the profit margins withstand regular unexpected closures? Can the supplies withstand regular unexpected closures?” And if the answer is “Elliott none of those things matter he’s not doing the bakery because he needs the money but because he wants to”, then my question is why does he want to? Does he not get the same sort of satisfaction out of feeding his loved ones? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would rather give away baked goods than sell them?? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would prefer to make cakes for people’s special occasions upon and then when they insist on paying him for it, he only lets them “pay for the ingredients” which actually cost significantly more than he says they did??

So yeah my point is that it’s a matter of personal taste! It doesn’t fit the way I see the series but that doesn’t mean it’s like wrong, I’m not an authority on Peeta lmao.

It’s also a matter of personal taste in the sense that I find the themes that most resonate with me at the end of Mockingjay (and the end of Peeta’s arc specifically) more interesting to explore in other ways. Grief, living with loss, relearning yourself, finding hope, figuring out your place in a dramatically different world when you don’t even know who you are anymore, healing, building a new life after such complete and total destruction of your old life— those are all things I find compelling about the end of Mockingjay but for me the bakery isn’t the most compelling way to explore them.

Not to say I find the concept of the bakery totally uninteresting. I have this fic about Johanna that I’ll probably never finish where the point sort of is that, yeah, her life really isn’t all that much better after the war. It’s been years at this point and she’s still miserable and she doesn’t know how to be a person but by the end she’s trying to figure it out. And towards the end, Peeta tells her that he’s spent years sort of passively, half-heartedly trying to figure out how to inherit the land his family’s bakery was on, only to find out it was never theirs in the first place. They’d been renting it the whole time and he’d never even known as a kid. So he sort of passively, half-heartedly went on another wild goose chase to find the owner and now, finally, after years of writing to various government agencies and being sent in circles and things being barely functional, he’s managed to track down the owner. Now it’s owned by the daughter of the man who owned it when he was a kid because the original owner (who was likely up to some sketchy war crime shit) died during the war and she inherited it (the irony…). He got in contact with her and asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she told him she’s not interested in selling but in light of the situation, in light of the fact that he’d have to build a new building in order to operate a bakery, that she’d cut him a deal— she’d only require 50% of the bakery’s profits as rent instead of the 80% his family used to pay. And of course Johanna is outraged, that’s not right, the owner shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they should do something about it, they should fight back. And Peeta is like. Not interested. He was actually sort of relieved that opening wasn’t very feasible. Getting the answer was a lightbulb moment where he saw that over the years of trying to look into this, he’s built a life that he likes— one where he’s stable, where his loved ones are stable, where he’s cared for and can care for others— and he doesn’t really want to change it drastically by opening a bakery anyway. He just needed an answer, one way or another, before he could get some closure and move on. (And the point of the conversation is Johanna is having her own lightbulb moment that it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to change, it’s not a betrayal of the people and things she’s lost but that’s not my point here!!).

But anyway. That’s obviously not about running the bakery— it’s about the choice to not run one.

Anyway!! Anyway… are you satisfied anon? Is this what you wanted?

Lastly, here is my most important qualm with the bakery headcanon: must Peeta be gainfully employed? Is it not enough for him to be Katniss’s boytoy? Can’t he just paint and garden and bake and hang out with his girlfriend all day? Is that really too much to ask?

[soup-of-the-daisies]

[opens fic] “moony has always been the smartest out of all of us” [closes fic]