#i cannot wait to see this unfold

[jamierthanyou]

"you only say you're autistic because you want to feel special and different" actually finding out i was autistic made me feel significantly less special and different. before i was autistic i was Strange and Unpredictable in some sort of Unknowable way which Surely meant i was Predestined for Greatness (like storybook character). now im just some fuckin autistic guy like any other. i significantly prefer it this way btw

[homestuckreplay]

Mysterious Spooky Girl vs Mysterious Spider Girl

(page 2132-2145)

Hello to Aradia Megido! How lovely to meet another troll, see her bedroom and learn all about her interests. I mean, what? No bedroom? No interests? In my webcomic about kids hanging out in their bedrooms and expressing their interests?? What is going on here.

The command to ‘Render [Aradia] in a more symbolic manner’ (p.2133) is the first time Homestuck has drawn attention to specific art styles, although it’s similar to Spades Slick needing to flip his sprite so that Droog could patch up his eye (p.1300). There, it was a ‘rule’ that Slick’s sprite had to be facing the same way as his effigy, and here it’s a ‘rule’ that we cannot be introduced to someone unless they’re in their small sprite template form. Which is pretty funny, because Aradia immediately goes and breaks the other introduction ‘rules’ with her lack of bedroom and interests. Simply cannot get this girl to cooperate.

Aradia hears the ‘voices of the dead’ (p.2134), while Sollux heard the ‘psychic screams of the imminently deceased’ (p.2076), creating a sort of pathway between them. If Sollux hears a voice, they will soon get passed on to Aradia, like Death harvesting souls and handing them over to an afterlife for safekeeping. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but Aradia’s mystic ruins look very similar to Problem Sleuth’s depiction of Hell, both featuring purple stalactites hanging down into the panel over an orange-brown backdrop. It’s very striking and with no lusus and no home in a dangerous place like Alternia, surrounded by the dead with no sign of the living, it’s easy to imagine Aradia in some kind of metaphorical hell.

Aradia has lost interest in her former passions, and struggles to remember what emotions are like, asking Sollux ‘what d0es anger feel like’ (p.2085), and her days are mostly characterized by boredom, which could all be a representation of depression. Her introduction panel, a zoomed out shot of her in a flat, neutral expanse has the same emptiness. In writing, I think that giving a name to a character’s mental health condition – for example, Sollux having ‘debilitating bipolar mood swings’ (p.2076) is more of a minefield and carries a responsibility to accurately represent that named condition, which I’m not sure is happening with Sollux. But keeping it vague and unnamed gives more flexibility to represent something that might not be perfectly accurate to real life, but might still be relatable to some readers.

I am. Truly and deeply horrified. that Sollux has named his game SGRUB. These cleaning implements may not exist on Alternia but all I can think about is ‘Sgrub Daddy’ and a scouring sponge made in the shape of a grub. Also grubs are just the things that he programs games on? So it’s like naming a game Scartridge?? Act 5 is so canceled.

Aradia’s passivity about her existence and her decision to just wait things out extends to her fetch modus too, Ouija, a modus Jade owns but has never used. Page 2136 also provides a handy Alternian translator as it shows the whole alphabet (read right to left and top to bottom). Which may actually be the purpose of the page, now that I think about it.

But even though Aradia is spooky and possibly depressed, every character in this comic is a little big silly. And Aradia unearthing the Crosbytop on an archaeological dig and using it because of its ‘bizarre novelty’ (p.2138) is definitely her version of whimsy. Another example might be when she goes up to Sollux’s hive and uses her psychic powers to levitate his bicyclops and sit in its spot to message her friends even though there was an entire roof for her to choose from. Completely pointless use of powerful magic, very funny, no notes.

GA: I Thought Id Be Friendly Though GA: And Remind You That You Do In Fact Have A Hand In All The Terrible Things That Are About To Happen GA: Because Thats What Friends Are For (p.2139)

I’m really excited to see grimAuxiliatrix again here, and it’s fitting that she talks to Aradia right before the game begins, the two of them hanging out at their respective frog temples. Their attitudes are very different, though – AA feels nothing about her role in the end of the world as she knows it’s much bigger than her and totally beyond her control, which lets her absolve herself of responsibility. GA, on the other hand, seems to feel genuine remorse for what she’s about to do, to see herself and her friends as complicit in the apocalypse despite having no choice. Later, of course, GA will actively troll the kids while Aradia will refrain.

AA: and we twelve will behave simultane0usly as the pawns and the 0rchestrat0rs of the great und0ing (p.2085)

^ In this framework, Aradia is thinking more like a pawn while GA is thinking more like an orchestrator. Aradia is at the blue frog temple and part of the blue team, typically a cool and detached color, while GA is at the red frog temple and part of the red team, a warm and passionate color. Two teams and two outlooks, which will come together into one Incipisphere, and one apocalypse.

GA: Ill Be Here To Help GA: If You Need Me (p.2139)

In this chatlog GA perfectly lives up to her chumhandle – which, from a post I made six months ago means ‘serious, foreboding or gloomy, and Latin for a female assistant or helper’. She sure is acting foreboding while still offering to help! According to Karkat’s introduction, the Trollian chat client is a new beta release (p.1994), so these trolls just chose their handles recently. And while the initials are destined, the specific words they chose aren’t. GA could have stood for greenAnteater if she was scuffling for bugs in the sand or glowingAntidote if she was a potion seller making healing draughts or gallantAdventurer if she was secretly Jade’s pen pal, that’s all the same to Skaia. I know that the trolls’ first and last names were chosen by fans, and are full of mythological and astrological references, and I think the work they’ve put into picking these names is cool but I’m far more interested in the chumhandles because they’re how these trolls choose to represent themselves.

After a recap of Aradia’s earlier conversation with Sollux where she reveals that Sgrub won’t save the world after all, she talks to arachnidsGrip, wreathed in mysterious shadows and sat in front of a large spiderweb. Her pincerlike horn matches the one seen to the right of the screen in the meteor lab (p.1715), so ‘I guess we'll chalk another riddle up in the solved column’ (thank you eternally to Rose Lalonde for this evergreen quote).

Aradia and AG are having two different conversations throughout this chatlog. Aradia is responding to AG as though they’re having a mutual back and forth, while AG is charging ahead and either not reading Aradia’s messages or misinterpreting them to impose her own meaning. She knows how she wants this conversation to go, and will brute force it into going that way no matter what Aradia says.

Aradia’s introduction mentioned her involvement in a roleplaying accident, which also led to the death of her lusus, and this chatlog implies that AG was also involved. When we see her visually on the next page, she’s got a robotic arm, so her injury must have been the loss of one arm. Just a few pages ago, she was making fun of Tavros and Terezi for their disabilities (p.2122), while her disability might no longer be affecting her since she has this high quality prosthetic. So her insults are partly projection – she’s insecure about her own disability – but also shares a logic with people who are like ‘well I got an entry level job right out of high school and worked my way up the corporate ladder, so why are you still poor?’ It’s a mindset that ignores a lot of reality and individual difference, but makes sense coming from someone who struggles to see from others’ perspectives, and can’t see why not everyone would have access to their workarounds or even want them.

AG: 8ecause I have a present for you. It's a surprise, and it's going to 8e great. From me to you. […] AG: I can't wait to see the look on your face when you see. (p.2144)

I don’t know what this present is, but my guess is that AG wants to be the person to make Aradia actually feel something again. Whether that’s excitement from a great present or hurt from a terrible and offensive one, or maybe hedging her bets on either. Because right now Aradia doesn’t have any kind of look on her face! she’s bored all the time! And AG seems self centered enough to give gifts for purely selfish reasons and to want to be at the center of things, so, being the one to snap Aradia out of her depression would fit.

On a personal note, I love spiders, they’ve been one of my favorite animals since I was a kid. My Pathfinder character is a spider and she’s a cool as hell firework maker. If AG does spiders dirty and gives them an even worse name than they already have, I’m gonna have some shit to say.

[labyrinthofamind]

Guys I watched that second video so many times and everytime I thought the person near the end looked so familiar. I didn't realize it was Kristen Stewart until I saw the "feat. Kristen Stewart"....

Also I'm so curious on if she will just have a talking part in the song like in the balances eye, is she just gonna act in the music videos, or does she have a singing part??? I'm so curioussss

[carlos-in-glasses]

Me finally getting time to watch the Tarlos scenes:

[tothestarsinvelaris]

(please no spoilers if interacting w/ this post. i have somehow avoided all TOG spoilers and know nothing more than the lil blurb on the back of the book and what i have read so far. thx <3)

{starting chapter 33 of Heir of Fire}

The whiplash of going between: Dorian/Sorscha - Chaol/Aedion - Manon/Abraxos - Celaena(Aelin)/Rowan is jarring and fantastic.

Its like "aw cute kissing and helping, hope nothing goes wrong here! (doubtful bc its too simple and happy for this series tbh) not sure if I like the whole stifling his power plan, feels a little sus tbh... but w/e you do you I guess" to "are yall flirting? are you both in love with Celaena(Aelin)? what is going on with this part of the story? wtf is happening here? you're both kinda boring but also idk what either of you are playing at??" to "fuck yeah badass, bloodthirsty witches and a silly lil stubborn wyvern who just wants to smell the flowers. idgaf who's side yall are on tbh, this is awesome and I am here for all of it. I hope yall figure out wtf is happening here bc its sus. why is all the meat weird??" to "is punching her in the face flirting? he bit her neck... that seems like flirting. Oh, he said 'there you are' ... definitely flirting, possibly endgame?? he saved her?? they ran through the woods together all playful?? cutee?? bring me back to them pls??"

its been a v fun time and I wish I could read as fast as Rowan can run bc I just want to slam the whole story into my brain at once but also enjoy every second.

[moe-broey]

HOLY SHIIIIITTTTT

[aestheti-kitty]

Something I so far love about this totally normal not at all cursed sword, is the insanity of it being like

Yo, you should like totes kill her. Antlers. She’s a liar, and she’s tricking you. She’s sending you down the wrong path. ~Kill Her~

[dippingmytoesin]

The Realm's Greatest Actor (part 1)

(Prompt) (part 1- you're here!) (part 2- to be written...)

The sigal glowed, and started rotating on the floor. It was working.

Constantine stepped back a little, the chant finished. He glanced at the big bat, and then the room grew cold. Frost covered all nearby surfaces, and he could see their breath. The ghost king was coming.

Cool mist drifted to the floor to reveal a... kid. Alright. Unexpected, but okay.

"Your Majesty," He said, bowing, soon to be followed by his 'colleagues'.

The kid glanced around, legs bent at the knee while he floated, arms limp at his sides.

"At ease," He dismissed, with a wave of his hand and a faux-sigh. "What is it you, ah, require?" He said, in a posh, 'holier than thou' voice.

Batman stood up to speak; "We need assistance with a large monster we believe to be one of your subjects terrorizing our cities."

The kid pursed his lips, doing a small spin, and then narrowed his eyes at Batman. "Hmmm." He did another small, smooth backflip in the air that led him closer to the hero in black.

"What do they look like?" He asked, crossing his legs and arms, floating eye level.

"They are a robot, flying around on a hovercraft and destroying buildings. They are attracting the attention of hostile aliens."

The kid nodded, eyes still narrowed, lips still pursed. "Skulker. I know him. Not very nice."

"Can you help?" Conastatine cut in.

The little king then unfolded himself, a devilish smile on his face.

"I can!" He floated over to the Brit. "For a price, of course." He said, lying on his side. "I fear I may not be able to leave this circle until we make a deal, and thus cannot get to him to stop him..." He frowned, turning away to wipe a single tear off his face that flew into the air before turning to mist.

Constantine sighed. "Naturally. What do you want?"

The Ghost turned back to him, a hand on his chin. "What do you have?"

Constatine glanced at Batman before speaking. "My soul," He said. "Or anything money can buy."

The ghost king looked him up and down. "I don't want your soul... I'm not a fan of sharing." His eyes traced over the various heroes. "Ooh, what a lineup!"

He floated to the side, looking over Constantine's shoulder. "Robots, kryptonians, Amazonians, Atlantians...and people. A nice mixed bag. Very interesting characters. You're all dressed up like heroes! Hah! You don't even have any watches!" The ghost giggled at his own... joke?

Constatine glanced over the heros the gauge their reactions. Some were disturbed, some were serious.

"Do you have hero names too!? Oh, tell me, tell me!" He shook his fists excitedly, kicking his legs and leaning forward.

"I'm-"

"Wait-!" Constaine cut Superman off. "We don't know what he could do with a name. Even a hero name."

The king's eyes locked onto him, not moving an inch, and his smile vanished. Then it returned, but it was different, and he sprang into motion once again. "So, you're the party pooper. Why'd you invite me if you don't want to have fun?" He tilted his head to an almost un-natural angle.

Constantine chuckled, more out of awkwardness than humor. He was about to say something more, but Batman beat him to it. "We don't have time for parties. We need Skulker gone, as soon as possible."

"Alright, alright. I see who's in charge. What is your little group called, anyway? I need it for my dream journal." The ghost smiled, toothy and a little less mischievous.

Batman glanced at Constantine, and with a nod, he replied. "We are the Justice League."

The king snickered. "Alright! Who am I making a deal with?"

Batman stepped forward. "I will buy you one thing from Earth, in exchange for your help. Any one thing that is not a sentient being."

The king looked to the side thoughtfully. "I suppose that's enough. Any one thing that is not a sentient being in exchange for dealing with skulker. Let's shake on it." A contract appeared out of the air, simple, but long. The bat read over it quickly, which was probably a few times for the super-human capabilities of that guy.

"Alright. Let's shake on it." The ghost king outstretched his hand, a wicked grin on his face. Batman took his hand, to which the Ghost King eagerly shook it. Constantine was worried his arm might fall off. The bat almost stumbled from the force, but looked unaffected after. When they let go, a puff of frosty air fell to the ground.

"And I'm off!" The kid saluted and then disappeared. The whole league turned to look at Constantine, then, when he gave them nothing, at Batman.

He responded by pulling up footage from a drone on the screen. For twelve minutes, the king laughed and flew around the creature that had been stealing their bodies and burning their cities. Then, he simply hit him a few times, with some blasts from his hands, and sucked him into... a thermos?

He then appeared back into the watch tower, devil grin still plastered on his face. "It's been a while since I talked to Skulker. He hasn't changed much- no one really does after they become my denisins."

The leaguers glanced around, exchanging looks. They were mostly baffled, but the bats, as always, was stoic.

"So, what is it you want?" He asked, looking grim.

The ghost's smile changed, but just slightly. A little more mischievous. "I'll tell you later. For now, this dimension is pretty sweet... I think I'll stay!" He said, looking around and nodding to himself.

The room grew tense. "What do you mean 'stay'?" Constantine asked.

The king giggled, disappearing and reappearing behind the brit. "It seems like it would be fun, with all the... ya'know." He said, gesturing to the league. "Interesting characters. As I said before."

Constantine tensed, and turned to the king now behind him. "...Well, what are you gonna do?" That earned another giggle.

"I'll tell you for a deal," He offered, hand outstretched. Constantine raised an eyebrow at that, unimpressed.

The hand lowered, suddenly snapping to the king's back. "Guess not then." He drifted over towards the crowd, arms behind his back as he looked them over with more attention than before.

His look of slight boredom turned into a mischievous grin that seemed to be his default smile. "Best to go explore, yeah? Have fun with the clean up! And then, he disappeared. But this time, he didn't reappear behind anyone. He was just gone. But one question lingered.

When would the Ghost King be back?

(Prompt) (part 1- you're here!) (part 2- to be written...)

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine coming home late at night. It was already two in the morning by the time you got home. Although you aren't tired, all you wanted was to get home. To be right next to him.

Imagine ever since you started working at night shift, the lesser time you spend with your lover. Despite that, every night you would come home with already cooked food waiting for you and same goes upon waking up.

Imagine you feel bad. Of course you do, he already has too much on his plate, has to wake up early in the morning but still has time to cook food for you. So you wanted to give back. You planned to go home early tonight. But shits unfold and you were forced to take an over time.

Imagine closing the door behind you gently. He must be sleeping already just like any other day. So you went through the dimmed living room only to halt upon seeing his sleeping figure on the sofa. What is he doing in here?

Imagine coming over to him. Eyes softened as you look fondly at him. "Caleb." You caresses his cheeks gently. "Why are you sleeping here?" You tap his cheeks gently but strong enough to wake him up. As much as you want to carry him into your shared room. You don't think that would be possible. But you also think how uncomfortable it would be for him to spend a night in the sofa. "Come one bud, wake up. Let's mobe you to bed."

"Bud?" He stirred up on his sleep, opening one eye. "Who's bud? I'm only your baby, honey, darling, love-" "Yes yes honey, now move so I can help you get into bed, okay?" Instead on doing as you said, he yawn, stretched out and sat comfortably at the sofa, tapping the vacant spave beside him. "Caleb, it's late. You should seriously go back to sleep."

Imagine Caleb who was leaning on the sofa eyes closed, snapped open before reaching out a hand towards you, pulling you into his lap. You can feel his breath on the back of your nape sending a shiver down his spine. "That's too bad. I was waiting for you so we can eat dinner." That stunned you for a moment. "Baby, it's already two in the morning." "Oh."

Imagine sitting across him as he heats up the food. You can’t help but to stare at him. "Long day at work?" He could feel the weight of your stare. "No." You replied. "Just thinking how lucky I am to have you." You saw him halt, then he look back, a smile on his lips as if he cannot help it. "I should be the one telling you that." When he said that with such a genuine smile and look in his face. Who are you not to believe that?

Imagine you missed this. Eating with him, talking with him. You missed this. Longed for these moments to last. You missed him. "You know I love you, right?" He asked, eyes looking fondly at yours. You smiled at him. "Of course." You replied softly. "And you know I love you too right?" "I always do."

Imagine as Caleb wake up in the morning, your peaceful sleeping face greeting him. There is nothing more he could wish for. He already has everything within his arms. And he couldn’t wait for forever to come.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: laughing my ass of because I always do my daily around 12-3am and Caleb- my guy is always asleep lmao. And basically what leads to here. I see Sylus as the only man who can keep up with me but my heart wants Caleb :(

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento was not a father; not strictly speaking. Not technically speaking. Not metaphorically speaking. The absence of paternity, however, did nothing to eschew him of the shackles he wore with pride, wearing them as a mantle; a medal of honour.

For one with such a black hole in his life, Itadori Yuuji would not notice Kento's absence unless something took Kento away from him, so natural was it that the void was filled.

Nanami Kento's priorities altered so dramatically, with such quiet consideration, that he had no real words to explain his situation to you when he first took you out for dinner. Or, when he took you out to the beach. Or, when you took him to that art gallery. Or, when you came over to his, tumbling through the door into stumbling kisses, all hands and groans and desperation.

For Nanami Kento was not a father. He ensured that his relationship with Yuuji did not overlap with his relationship with you, fearful that you would reject the burden of not-parenthood.

Kento was so introspective in his attempts to hide his not-parenthood, that he failed to see how blatantly-fucking-obvious he was. As if you wouldn't notice that dinner was always made for three, with a portion put aside or frozen for a hungry visitor. As if you wouldn't notice that Kento browsed the teenage boy sections in clothes stores, making note of what he would come back for later. As if you had not seen Kento listed as "I.C.E." on Yuuji's phone screen at school one day.

As if you were not a mother. As if you were not fully prepared to be.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento was stalking through the belly of the beast when he spotted two missed calls; one from Yuuji, and one from Shoko. His heart leapt into his mouth, his blade hanging dumbly by his side as he cursed internally at his lack of signal. Torn by conflicting responsibilities, he focused on the task at hand, but as a noticeably sloppier Sorcerer when worry gnawed at the bones of him.

An hour later, finally free, he jogged to his car, panting. He slipped into his seat, and called Yuuji-- no answer. He called Shoko-- no answer. He swore again, hurrying to start the car...and his phone buzzed.

He looked at the screen, and opened a message from you. He sat, staring at it, a cold trickle of worry down his spine. A photo; of Yuuji's characteristic shoes, beside your own, with the caption:

Picked up a wounded stray. He looks hungry. We'll be at yours soon!

Kento churned through emotions, trying to read your tone on the screen. Angry? Cheerful? Exasperated? Would you want to talk about his deceit later? Technically he hadn't lied. Or, he had. A lie by omission perhaps? She's angry. She's disappointed at least. Is that worse? That's worse.

Kento stewed, the whole drive home.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento continued to stew, when he arrived home to an empty house. He paced, and sat, and paced, and sat. He cursed himself for not maintaining tighter boundaries between Nanami-Kento-the-Boyfriend and Nanami-Kento-the-Not-Father. So deep was he in his self-flagellation, he jolted to hear the door open, and two familiar peals of laughter rolling through.

"--Ieiri-san told me I should have waited for Ino to arrive, but I just had to do something, y'know--"

"--not jump through a damn window, Yuuji, that's excessive--"

"--not stupid if it worked though--"

"--as your Not-Mother, I cannot condone this."

Kento stood, watching the scene unfold in wonder. You and Yuuji, bantering. You reaching for the grocery bags, and Yuuji insisting he carry them instead. You directing Yuuji to the bag with the snacks. Yuuji totally bypassing Kento, jogging past him to the kitchen.

As if this was his home. As if Kento was his home. As if you were his home.

Kento was still stunned into silence when you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

"Hey! Sorry we're late. Yuuji was hurt on a mission, so I picked him up, but I wanted to get ice cream, and I noticed we didn't have enough in for dinner for three, and--"

Your words cut off with a muffled "mmf!" as Kento leaned down, pulling you in by the back of the neck, and small of your back, silencing you with a kiss which tasted of all the gratitude for which he had no words. By the time he'd released your lips, his forehead pressed to yours, you felt the air rush back to the vacuum he'd left behind.

"...Kento, are you oka--"

"I love you."

The air rushed straight back out of you, leaving you light and giddy. Your lips puckered, threatening tears, so long had you been wondering if he'd ever confess the depths of his feelings.

"...you love me?"

"I love you. I love you. I absolutely love you. And I'm sorry I didn't--..."

"...didn't think I'd be happy with you looking after a boy with no parents, who needs some?"

You let your question hang, so Kento could soak in how much of a fool he'd been. He sighed, tense and looking over at Yuuji rustling through grocery bags in the kitchen.

"...I didn't want to assume that you'd accept it."

"Would you choose someone like that, though?" Kento looked unsure, and you clarified. "I mean, would you choose someone who felt jealous of you looking after an orphaned child?"

Kento's gears turned. "...no."

You smiled up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. "Exactly. So, like I was saying...I put fresh sheets in his room. I'll go and make dinner. Yuuji will pick a movie. And you should have a word with him about jumping through plate glass windows to get to a Curse faster."

At that, Kento's head snapped up, fixing Yuuji with a frown that had Yuuji dropping bags of snacks on the floor.

"Yuuji."

"Shit, I'm sorry Nanamin, I--"

"Language."

"Shit, I'm sorry Nanami-san, I--"

You headed to the kitchen, pulling on an apron and stifling laughter at the Not-Father and Not-Son bickering in your wake.

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake’s Worst Nightmare: Ra’s al Ghul’s Matchmaking Skills

It started with a mission.

Tim hadn’t expected to be sent after a new ghost anomaly, much less one that was human-shaped and strangely familiar. But when he found himself face-to-face with Danny—a teenager who radiated Lazarus energy like it was his second skin—things got weird. Fast.

Cue the League of Assassins bursting onto the scene, followed by a dramatic entrance from none other than Ra’s al Ghul himself.

And that’s when Tim learned the big, world-shattering truth: Danny was Ra’s al Ghul’s son. Not adopted. Biological.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Tim stood, slack-jawed, watching Ra’s beam with the kind of pride usually reserved for conquering cities. Danny, standing awkwardly next to him, scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, so, uh… surprise?” Danny offered.

Ra’s spread his arms wide. “Timothy! This is a joyous day. My son, Daniel, has found you at last.”

Tim blinked. “Found me?”

Danny shuffled nervously. “Uh, yeah. You’re kind of… important to the family now.”

Tim’s brain short-circuited.

———

The Heir Situation

Because here’s the kicker: Ra’s had been trying to get Tim to join the League for years. He saw Tim as a potential heir. But now, with Danny in the picture, Ra’s had an even better idea.

“Through Daniel,” Ra’s explained, practically glowing, “I can finally bring you into the family as I always intended.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not marrying into the League of Assassins.”

Danny choked. “Wait, what?!”

Ra’s nodded sagely. “I see you are both shy about it. No matter! Destiny has a way of unfolding as it should.”

Tim and Danny exchanged horrified glances.

———

Danny and Tim’s Relationship

Despite the chaos, Danny and Tim clicked. Danny was chaotic but genuine, a refreshing contrast to the constant stress of Gotham. And Tim? Tim was the most grounded person Danny had ever met.

“You know, you don’t have to listen to Ra’s,” Tim pointed out after one particularly tense League encounter.

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, but if I don’t humor him, he gets pouty.”

Tim snorted. “Ra’s al Ghul? Pouty?”

“You have no idea.”

———

The Batfamily’s Reaction

When Tim brought Danny back to Gotham, the batfam had questions.

Bruce: “He’s… Ra’s’ son?”

Tim: “Yep.”

Jason: “And you’re… what, his fiancé now?”

Tim: screaming internally

Danny: “I’M RIGHT HERE.”

Damian, eyes wide: “Uncle?”

Danny grinned. “Hey, kiddo.”

Damian, flustered: “I—no. This cannot be.”

———

Ra’s Is Thrilled

Back in Nanda Parbat, Ra’s couldn’t be happier. Every time Tim showed up, Ra’s looked like Christmas came early.

Ra’s: “Timothy, you and Daniel are a perfect match.”

Tim: “In what universe?”

Danny: “Technically, several.”

———

Danny Was Happy.

That was the problem.

Tim might hate making Ra’s happy, but… Danny was different.

Danny liked being part of the League. He liked the structure, the weird family dynamic. He liked the purpose. And he was thriving.

Tim couldn’t ruin that.

Tim didn’t want to make Ra’s happy—he’d rather swallow glass—but he did want to make Danny happy.

And if that meant putting up with Ra’s al Ghul’s matchmaking schemes, well…

Tim gritted his teeth and endured.

———

Tim’s Inner Monologue:

“Being with Danny isn’t the issue. The issue is that it makes Ra’s happy. And I refuse to let that man win.”

Danny: smirking “You’re fighting a losing battle.”

Tim: “Shut up.”

Danny: “Love you too.”

[holylulusworld]

Longing

Summary: You won't give up on him.

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Warnings: fluff, grumpy x sunshine trope (kinda), sweet reader, a/b/o, scenting, true mates

Written for @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grumpy, Stabby! Oh, My! Challenge

Trope: Grumpy (and Sunshine)

Prompts: ☀️ A: “Stop coming around here… “ B: “No!” A: “I mean it… I’m just going to end up hurting you if you don’t stay away…” *glaring at each other until one of them grabs the other in a bruising kiss*

He smells you the second you step toward the cell. The alpha dips his head, listening closely to your heartbeat. Your heart always beats a little faster the closer you get to his cell.

He inhales deeply, basking in your scent as you are unaware of his longing for you and your presence.

If only for a few fleeting moments, you make him feel human again.

“Hi,” you shyly say as you stand in front of the cell, carefully touching the bars parting you from the alpha. “I got cupcakes for you and plums.”

His features soften for a second hearing that you remembered he told you about the plums he bought after he was finally free of Hydra.

“I told you to not talk to me,” the alpha grumbles as you place a basket filled with cupcakes, sandwiches, beverages, and plums on the ground.

You unfold the blanket you hid under your jacket, smirking as Bucky watches you with curiosity. “I had to smuggle it inside. They wouldn’t let me bring one last time.”

“Did you hear me?” The alpha asks, waiting for you to finally leave him alone. He’s been on his own for too long and doesn’t know how to handle kindness.

“I have biscuits too,” you say and sit down, cross-legged. “What do you want to eat first?”

Bucky sighs deeply. He mirrors you and sits down in front of the bars. Once again, the alpha gives in to you. “Did they tell you to come here? Is this their newest way to interrogate me?”

You shake your head. “I sneaked in,” you proudly say. “The Avengers are not as smart as they think they are.”

“Doll, you…” Bucky can’t help but grin when you tell him that you outsmarted Tony Stark and Spider-Man. “So, you outsmarted the spider boy?”

“Cupcakes or biscuits? I have sandwiches too.” You move the basket closer to the bars. “Plums maybe?”

While you talk to Bucky, wanting him to eat the food you brought to him, Steve, Tony, and Bruce watch you with worry.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to let her see him?” Tony is still not convinced that Bucky is no threat. “What if he freaks out and hurts her?”

“He’s calm around her. Did you see how he looks at Y/N?” Steve argues. “She’s his true mate. If anyone can stop him from going feral and losing himself again, it’s her.”

“If you say so,” Tony huffs, but watches your interactions with the alpha with interest. “Let’s see.”

“Good, right?” You happily ask as Bucky grabs one of the plums. He hums while eating the juicy fruit. “I got the best for you.”

“Why do you still come back?” Bucky asks. “They’ll never let me out of this cage. You’re wasting your time on me.”

“No, I don’t,” you grumble, not accepting any arguments. “I will come here until they release you. You didn’t hurt me. One day, they’ll see you’re a good man and alpha.”

He takes another bite as you slowly get back up. Bucky watches you with sad eyes, believing you want to leave so soon.

“I stole something from Spider boy,” you giggle and wiggle your fingers to show Bucky the keys to his cell.

“Doll,” Bucky warns. He scrambles to his feet and steps away from the bars. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret. What if I cannot hold back?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you confidently say. Holding Bucky’s gaze, you push the key into the lock, unlocking his cell.

“Doll…no.” He takes another step back when you enter his cell, reaching out for the alpha you’re longing for.

“It’s okay. You won’t hurt me.” You assure him. “Please, alpha…”

“Stop coming around here… “ He says, pointing toward the open door as he does.

“No,” you stubbornly reply while stepping closer to Bucky. “I won’t.”

“I mean it…” He pants heavily when your scent hits him with full force. “I’m just going to end up hurting you if you don’t stay away…”

You glare at Bucky for the first time since you met him. Back then, they brought him here in chains made of vibranium. Princess Shuri from Wakanda accompanied him, telling everyone he was free of the programming and the code words.

They didn’t believe her, though. Instead of welcoming the lost man home, he got tested on and thrown into a cell.

Pursing your lips, you hold Bucky’s gaze. He glares back at you, waiting for you to cave in. He’s an alpha after all.

“Fine, have it your way.” You shriek when Bucky grabs you to press you up against the wall. He looks at you for a second, waiting for you to fight him before capturing your lips in a bruising kiss.

You wrap your arms around him, melting against his body as his lips devour your mouth. Moaning against him, you let Bucky sling his arms around your body, lifting you off the ground.

“What the fuck, Capsicle!” Tony exclaims loudly as you are heavily making out inside the cell. “She… and then.”

“Uh—I think the kid shouldn’t see this.” Bruce clears his throat and covers the monitor with his hand to stop Peter from watching you wrap your legs around Bucky’s waist. “I think they are fine, though. No sign of aggression.”

Tony is not amused. He scrunches up his nose and makes a retching noise. “They can’t just make out in my cell! Maybe I shouldn’t have given him a comfortable bed with soft cushions.”

Steve grins because his friend is more interested in kissing you than escaping the cell. He knows that if Bucky wanted to, he’d have left the cell a long time ago. One flick of his vibranium wrist and he would have been long gone before anyone noticed his absence.

Something kept him from running away as so often before. His omega and true mate.

Tags in reblog.

[velaenam]

𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

                                                                         ◦ ♡

𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫!𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫!𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 — non!mc. a princess from a powerful merchant kingdom is thrust into a political marriage with rome’s most feared military emperor—only to catch the eye of a rival sovereign who believes her freedom is worth starting a war. 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 — set during the early imperial period of rome, the story unfolds at the height of political intrigue and military dominance, where empires clash, alliances shift. story will take place between 1st century bce – 2nd century ce, give or take. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 — swearing, nsfw language, political manipulation, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, war and violence, sexual themes, misogyny/patriarchal culture, classism and elitism, culture tensions, xenophobia, racism, non consensual stuff at times.. uhh.. romantic love triangle, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — please note that this is a civilization thousands and thousands of years ago, so they probably aren't as socially accepting.. you are also of arabian and hellenistic heritage. normally i am ambiguous of how i describe the protagonist of my stories, but i'll be a bit more focused on my details in this story. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, IF YOU HAVE ANY OF THESE TRIGGERS PLEASE BE MINDFUL. i will also put a DISCLAIMER of any non consensual stuff or any triggering events that may end up happening PRIOR to the actual scene. (obviously it will not be frequent thing) — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — PROLOGUE | next chapter

this will be a bit short. its the prologue— so its going to just go over a little tid bit of how everyone is going to be and you can see how the atmosphere is.

the morning is soft with silence.

sunlight filters through the sheer drapes like it’s hesitant to enter, golden dust suspended in the hush. your room smells faintly of rose oil and crushed figs, of silk warmed by the sun. servants move quietly around you—gentle hands braiding your hair, smoothing the folds of your linen dress, adjusting the golden clasp at your shoulder. you don’t speak. neither do they. it’s an old, practiced ritual. the preparation of a daughter for something unspoken.

you watch yourself in the polished bronze mirror. not a girl anymore, not quite a queen. something in between. something uncertain. how were you feeling? you felt dreadful. to be a pawn was never a good thing. a knock at the door. soft, like you can hear misery through a pounding. then a murmur. “his majesty is waiting.”

your sandals smack softly against the stone as you walk, heart quiet but heavy. the hallway stretch long, filled with mosaics that tell stories of your ancestors—men who conquered, the women who waited. you walk past them like a ghost. your father is standing near the open colonnade, among the atrium, staring out at the city below. his toga catch in the breeze like banners. he does not turn when you enter.

“you sent for me,” you say above a whisper, as the chamber echoed your voice. he nods once. his voice is as it always is— stoic. weathered by experience.

“rome has made an offer. emperor caleb xia would like your hand in marriage”

you say nothing. the wind picks up. it carries the scent of figs and pomegranates— your favorites. you stand, stiffened. is this from the emperor himself, or his senate? 

“you’ve always understood the weight of your position,” he continues, still not looking at you. “this isn’t punishment. it’s legacy.” you wonder if he’s speaking to himself.

“and the emperor?” you ask softly. “do you trust him?” he couldn’t even lie if he tried. your father turns, finally, eyes sharp and tired all at once. “no. but alliances are not built on trust. they are built on necessity.” he steps closer, and for a moment, he is not a king, but your father. his hand rests on your shoulder, not heavy, but firm. “you will do what must be done,” he says. “as we all have.” you nod. because what else is there to say? no? what the hells would even happen if you said that? with an even heavier heart, and a tight lip, you bow slightly, before turning heels and walking back to your chamber. 

later, when you return to your chambers, you unpin your hair with trembling fingers and stare at the mirror again, and when you look up to the mirror, your tears fall. you realize this may be the very last time you could have your peace to yourself— at least for a while. you weren’t a woman basking in the sunlight anymore. laying near the ravine with your closest friends. you were a pawn. 

the air inside the tent tastes of iron and dust.

outside, the murmurs of the camp never sleep—shields being oiled, blades checked again and again, men speaking low in the hush of an almost-won war. the sky beyond the canvas is the color of smoke, the kind that clings to your skin long after the fires are gone.

caleb stands alone over the war table, eyes fixed on the parchment map that bears the scars of too many campaigns. lines drawn and redrawn. cities conquered. rivers crossed. this battle will end tomorrow, and with it, resistance in the east.

he doesn’t smile. he never does. victory is expected of him. and expectations are chains dressed as crowns. a soldier enters, bows low. news of the enemy’s retreat. talk of surrender. a whisper, almost offhanded, like it doesn’t matter:

“a formal alliance is being discussed in the senate—nabira’s hand in marriage. her daughter.”

caleb says nothing at first. he does not lift his head. just another treaty. just another crown to bind with rome. how many women were given to him for this reason? he couldn’t count the amount of attempted alliance and leverage thrown at him. a mere woman’s soul is the price of not being taken and pulled apart? no. no, this would be different.  

“what’s her name?” he asks, not because he cares.. just to know what name history will one day try to stitch beside his.  the soldier hesitates. then: “they don’t speak it aloud, not yet. only that she is.. magical…shadowed... her father guards her like a secret.”

caleb’s gaze lingers on the edge of the map, where nabira is inked in faint gold. a kingdom on the edge of empires. he says nothing else, and neither does the soldier, and after a couple beats skip, the soldier leaves.

caleb stays there a while longer, the quiet pressing in as he glides his fingers across the map, calculating to himself. he knows better than to believe in fate. but still—he wonders what kind of woman is hidden behind a crown, guarded like a blade, spoken of only in quiet corners of powerful rooms. was she formidable? he wonders. his heart races at the slightest at the thought of you. 

and he wonders what kind of man he will need to be to win your loyalty. surely not with war? with silken drapes, and golden gifts. will he need to throw lavish expenses to win such an even more lavish heart? he was thinking too hard— he doesn’t even know a god damn thing, and this was distracting him. 

shahanshah - king of kings / emperor (persian. pronounced sha-han-sha)

the night air in parthia was cool, the scent of myrrh drifting through the royal palace gardens. shahanshah  sylus stood alone beneath the towering date palms, his thoughts far from the usual state matters. the sky stretched dark above him, the stars twinkling like scattered diamonds, but there was little peace in his mind tonight. the soft footsteps of an approaching figure broke the silence. the emissary bowed deeply as he came closer, careful not to disrupt the stillness. “shahanshah,” the emissary spoke, voice low and respectful. “we’ve received word from the princess' brother. the decision has been made.” sylus didn’t turn right away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. his voice, when it came, was quiet but sharp.

“what decision?”

“the marriage… it’s been arranged. the princess of nabira will marry emperor caleb of rome.”

sylus paused, his fingers tightening on the edge of the stone column beside him. he hadn’t expected this development, not so soon. but your father had always been pragmatic, and in these times of shifting alliances, a marriage to rome made sense—at least politically. still, the news stung.  

“and the princess?” sylus asked, his voice colder than it had been moments before. “was she consulted?” it was a quick quiet, the emissary hesitated. “she… was informed. the decision was her father’s. from what i understand, she did not take it well. there were tears, and anger.”

sylus absorbed the information quietly, his gaze never leaving the view before him. he knew this was coming. the union of rome and nabira had been hinted at for months, but hearing it was another matter entirely. he didn’t think that your father really had the balls to actually pull through. 

“her brother– the diplomat, he must have known this was coming,” sylus said, a small frown pulling at his lips. “why send the message to me now?”

the emissary nodded. “her brother… he has long worked with you, shahanshah. he is a trusted ally in trade, and he wanted to ensure you heard it from him directly. he also believes this marriage could open doors for more favorable dealings between parthia and nabira.”

sylus turned now, finally facing the emissary. his red eyes were hard, calculating. unreadable. the emissary shifted his posture.

“so this marriage is as much about trade as it is about politics?” sylus asked, voice laced with an edge. “but what of the princess? does she have no say in the matter?”

“her father has made the decision. the princess is caught in the web of diplomacy. her brother… i believe he tried to shield her from the worst of it, but ultimately, the decision rests with the king.”

sylus’ jaw clenched, and his mind raced. the political situation was delicate, but this… this felt different. he feels as if he’s seeing a life slip from its freedom.

“what does her brother say?” sylus pressed. “is he pleased with this marriage?”

the emissary hesitated again. “he does what is best for nabira. but it is clear he does not want to see her in the hands of rome. he worries for her.”

sylus’ lips tightened in thought. he had always known your brother had his eyes set on securing an advantageous position for nabira, but this marriage would change everything. the alliance with rome would tilt the scales of power in ways that were difficult to predict. an insurmountable amount of money would be handed over to the most powerful empire in the world. the silk road would bloom into something more. 

he straightened, his voice firm as he turned back toward the emissary, “tell her brother that i expect an update—soon. and i will not forget what this means for parthia. if rome wants nabira so badly, they will have to deal with us.”

the emissary nodded and bowed deeply before taking his leave. as sylus watched him depart, his thoughts lingered on you. you were bound by duty, but he knew that the chains of politics could break, and alliances could shift.

“she may not have a say now,” sylus murmured to himself, staring into the night. “but nothing is final until i decide it is. and i will make sure that, in the end, she has her freedom.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! - @rcvcgers

[st3f13ily]

Satoru Little Clones

Your daughter is super hyper like your husband Satoru, on the other hand, your son is the polar opposite.

Gojo Masterlist

You never thought you see the day when the strongest sorcerer alive, your most annoyingly loud overgrown child of a husband would be brought to his knees by two tiny versions of himself.

And yet he was here.

"Toru! Control your daughter!" You called from the kitchen, arms crossed as you watch the chaos unfold in the living room.

Your three your old daughters, Gojo Satomi, were currently using your husband Gojo Satoru as a human jungle gym, giggling uncontrollably as she climbed onto his back and tugged at his white hair.

"I am controlling her," Satoru said, grinning like a madman as Satomi yanked at his blindfold. "She's just—oof!—stronger than she looks."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I don't know why you are surprised. She is literally your clone."

"She’s my little clone." Gojo corrected, turning his head slightly to blow a raspberry against her cheek. Satomi squealed with laughter, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck and clinging like a little koala.

Meanwhile, on the couch, your three-year-old son, Satoshi, watched with his usual calm expression, clutching his suffering animal, a small, white bear that Satoru had won for him at a festival. Unlike his twin, Satoshi had your temperament calm, observant, and far too mature for his age.

"...She's gonna hurt papa." He mumbled, staring at his twin as she aggressively bounced on Satoru back.

You sighed, walking over to scoop him into your arms. "I know, sweetheart. But your dad is an idiot, so he deserves it."

Satoshi blinked up at you. "…Mama, that’s mean."

You kissed the top of his snowy head. "It’s not mean if it’s true, baby."

Satoru gasped dramatically. "Betrayed! My wife and son, turning against me? After everything I’ve done for this family?"

"You mean after everything I’VE done?" you deadpanned. "Like, you know, giving birth to them?"

Satoru placed a hand over his chest like you had just personally stabbed him. "Low blow, mochi. Low blow."

Before you could respond, Satomi suddenly jumped off his back—

—and face-planted straight into the couch.

Silence.

Then—

"I’M OKAY!" she yelled, her tiny arm shooting up from the cushions.

Satoshi sighed as if this happened way too often. "…She’s not okay."

You chuckled, pressing another kiss to his forehead. "Come on, let’s go check on your disaster of a twin."

Satoru, already recovered, was scooping Satomi into his arms, spinning her around like she hadn’t just flown off his back like a rocket. "You okay, princess?"

She giggled, hugging his neck. "Yup! Can we do it again?"

"No, you cannot," you said quickly, shooting Satoru a warning glare before he got any ideas.

He pouted. "You’re no fun."

"I’m the only reason this family is still functioning." you said, placing your hands on your hips.

Satoshi nodded solemnly. "Mama’s right."

Satoru gasped. "You too, Satoshi?!"

Satomi, still clinging to him, grinned. "It’s okay, Papa! I still love you the most!"

Satoru smirked at you, smug as ever. "You hear that? I’m the favorite parent."

You rolled your eyes. "She only loves you more because you let her get away with anything."

Satomi nodded enthusiastically. "Yup!"

Satoru gasped again, but this time in offense. "Wait—so you’re just using me?"

Satomi tilted her head. "What’s 'using' mean?"

Satoshi, ever the mature twin, sighed. "It means you are manipulating papa, Satomi."

Satoru jaw dropped. "Who taught you that word?!"

Satoshi looked at you.

Satoru turned to you.

You grinned. "Like I said, sweetheart. I’m the reason this family is still functioning."

Gojo groaned, dramatically collapsing onto the couch with Satomi still clinging to him. Satoshi climbed up beside him, curling up against his side.

You shook your head, watching your three identical troublemakers settle into a pile on the couch.

Your husband was an idiot.

Your daughter was a menace.

Your son was a tiny, exasperated adult.

And despite the chaos… you wouldn’t change a thing.

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Marcus Acacius x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | once your dad's greatest friend, now his greatest enemy. you cannot shake the desire and care you feel for the fallen general, even as he heads toward death.

author's note | LISTEN, none of this is going to be accurate. and frankly idc, i'm horny i needed to write this do not come at me. no source material? idc i'm still writing it. anyways, enjoy the p*rn. (if you're reading this prior to the movie coming out, none of this is canon. this is just an idea that i wanted to write and felt like posting, if you do not like the idea of writing without source material, please do not engage or send me asks to be combative, they will be deleted. i won't be continuing this specific fic and will not be writing for him again until the movie comes out.)

content warning | 18+ smut, this is dbf for the gladiator girlies (gn), sneaking around, descriptions of smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampies, breeding kink, age gap (reader is early 20s, marcus is late 40s/early 50s), alcohol tw, innocence kink

word count —2k

You knew he would be here soon, he must. 

You curled into the dark corners of the arena hall, having been here since dawn with your own father, a high military commander who struck down Marcus as punishment for such things even he wouldn’t tell you about. You knew nothing, heard nothing—you weren’t allowed such privilege. 

It has been days since you last saw him—Marcus. General Acacius to many, another esteemed leader amongst the masses, and a once great friend to your father. Though, that was no longer.

You often called him sir, finding that General Acacius was quite the mouthful. Or often just General, but his endearment toward you was blatant and he insists, almost pleading that you drop the formality when alone. Which was easier, as your fondness of him grew.

It started at a celebration, one of the many grand parties thrown in celebration of fight won or any reason for the men to drink, but Marcus liked to linger. Often tucked away in a corner watching the madness unfold, you were too curious to stay locked up in your room.

The first night he caught your eye, it was a smile around the edge of his silver goblet drowning in red wine, a hand crossed over his chest as he watched you slip away in fear that he may say something to your father.

But, he never did.

For weeks after, it progresses. From a smile, to a lingering gaze, eventually he finds himself inching closer to you, week by week. Until one night he finally finds the courage in himself to be waiting by the corner you often sneak around, watching curiously.

“You are pushing it, dove.” He speaks softly, his eyes downturned to look at you from the step he was on above you, slowly inching down until he was level, “if he catches you—”

“He hasn’t,” You tell him in a clipped, hushed tone, “and you haven’t said anything. You won’t….will you?”

He bypasses the question, “Why do you come here?” Marcus curiously asks, “These men, they are—animals, if they see you dressed like that, they would not hesitate to—”

You had on a pale nightgown, thin and barely enough to cover your modesty but it was enough. The sticky, summer heat prickled your skin, formed a line of sweat across your brow and you huffed out at his words, “My father would murder them. Besides, you are not like them. So, why do you linger here?”

He was much more than a friend, closer and akin to family. 

But, he had his own troubles. Stepson, a wife, he should be away caring for them. Yet, he was there with a disgruntled scowl and eyes only set on you.

“Why not?” He shrugs, “It is…quite entertaining. Isn’t that why you sneak around here to watch?”

You mimic his shrug, shying away slightly as you pull away to leave, but his hand catches your wrist, his cup placed in the gap of pillars separating you both. His facial expressions show an internal battle of thought, like he’s fighting against the bad and hoping the good would win out.

Unfortunately, the bad prevails.

“Let us walk,” He tells you, nodding toward the exit a few feet away, “if you would accompany me?”

You nod eagerly, switching the grip on your wrist to curl around his bicep, muscular and hard from years of fight training. He flexes slightly at the touch, covering his free hand over yours in a comforting gesture. 

He made you feel safe. And that was all that mattered to you.

—

The walk was the first mistake.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before you found yourself tucked away by a nearby tent, unbuckling and unfastening Marcus out of his gear hastily before he fucked you under your nightgown—gentle but firm. He was the first man, the first ever to have you in such a way. You’d told him so as your hands shook under the weight of his gaze, the taste of bitter wine on his lips. He’d kissed you as he pushed his cock inside of you and didn’t stop until you were tipping over the edge.

Over time, you grow bolder. Sneaking him back into your home was easy, knowing the guards weren’t as watchful in the late, late hours of the night. It was dangerous, reckless, but as you tug him down into the cellar and sink to your knees, it all fades away quickly.

His little dove, he often calls you. Sweet dove, so pure and innocent. His hand caresses your chin as you swallow him down, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze before he comes down your throat, nose scrunching up slightly and his brow furrowing, biting at the back of his other hand to muffle the groan that escapes him.

It was always like this—hurried and quick fucks that didn’t diminish the feeling, but reminded you how easily you could both be caught. It continues for months…and months, until suddenly he stops coming around.

No parties, no visits—Marcus had become a ghost.

But, enough digging had led you here, tucked away in the shadows again—but watching as he fought for his life. The other man was much older, weaker, and Marcus struck him down within a matter of minutes, blood splattering across his face as he stuck again and again, bashing the poor man’s skull in until it was nothing, teeth gritting as his body surged with adrenaline.

Gladiator fighting wasn’t a new thing—and you knew he wasn’t the only one, but why?

He’s making his way down the arena toward the pillar you are tucked behind unknowingly, alone and battered as the guards run off to dispose of the body. You aren’t sure where Marcus is going now or when you would see him again, but you take the chance when you know no one is watching, grabbing him by the armor plate on his chest and pulling him away and into a dusty closet, knocking into a stack of buckets in the process.

You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, fist cocked back in preparation of an attack.

But, then his eyes land on you.

“Dove, what are you—”

You shush him quickly, hands molding against his face and the dried blood, his breathing quick and short as you attempt to calm him.

“I had to see you—I thought…I thought you had—”

“I might as well be,” Marcus replies somberly, “we cannot meet like this. We cannot meet at all.”

“It’s fine, It’s fine–” You assure him, reaching forward to press your lips against his.

Marcus pulls away hesitantly, grabbing your face roughly until you look at him, eyes widening.

“They will kill you. I cannot see you again. I should not even be here with you.”

Your eyes well with tears, forcing yourself forward again to capture his lips and this time he allows it, opening his mouth slightly as your tongue dips inside, working silently at the buckles to his chest plate.

“No talking. Let us…enjoy this. If it is the last time.”

You were both well aware—he would fight for his life or die, that was it. And he would fight until that point came. He was no longer a General, completely stripped of his power. But, he was still Marcus. And you would hold onto that for as long as you could.

He’s shaking, the adrenaline raking his body and making him restless as you kissed him, tongue dipping into his mouth again as his hands roamed, squeezed, caressed. 

“I will not break,” You whisper into his mouth, “take what you need, Marcus.”

It was all he needed to hear, turning you around swiftly and forcing your down with a hand against your back, arms pressing into the shelf in front of you as he pushed up the silk, carefully woven and intricate fabric of your dress—so pristine and perfect. He wanted to rip it off you, be he refrains, squeezing at your hips while he kneels behind you.

“Marcus, you need not—”

“Quiet, little dove. Let me have this,” He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “beautiful—let me hear you.”

“Marcus,” You plea, his fingers joining his tongue as they breached you and drag against the soft, but incredibly sensitive spot inside of you, your hand reaching for his wrist tucked between your legs as you whined out his name once more, twice, until your legs gave out, feelings his strong, broad shoulders flexing as he used his brute strength to keep you upright, licking up the gush of fluids that leak out of you, rising with haste and untucking himself from his garments, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of your neck before he’s pulling you upright harshly.

“Want to leave you something,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “something to remember me, if I shall never leave here. Something of me for you to carry on. Alright, sweet dove?”

You nod knowingly, as Marcus had always been careful to pull himself out before breaching that point. He was always careful, hesitant—but being on the brink of death, he found himself careless and desperate. He couldn’t let you go.

He slips inside of you with a hand tucked around your throat, pulling your back to his chest as he snapped his hips into you firmly, groaning lewdly into the side of your neck as he bit down, squeezing at your throat with every soft sound you made and you want it just as bad, forcing your hips back into every push of his cock—you were positive this pain would last you into next week, but you needed that reminder. His fingers dip into your skin, hard and uncaring and sure to leave marks, but that was what you wanted.

And his groans quickly turn needy, more high-pitched than you’ve ever heard them

He’s holding back, restraining himself. You turn your head, catching his heated gaze as he pants, your thumb tracing over his lip. His hand drags over your stomach, rests, curious of how beautiful you would look swollen and carrying his child. 

It is a hopeful and distant dream, one that he will never foresee.

“Give it to me, Marcus,” You beg him, “I want it.”

It so easily undoes him, “Take it, my dove,” He growls, coming deep inside of you with a shaky thrust of his hips, squeezing you tight against him, “I think of you, always. You must know—know that.” 

It pulls at your heart, tugs in a way that makes your entire body ache. He pulls out with a low grunt, silently tucking himself away as you adjust your dress.

“And I love you,” You admit, watching as his gaze pulls up quickly, “even if you cannot say it back. I know. I know you do.”

Marcus breathes harshly through his nose, crowding you once more but it is soothed by a gentle kiss, “You need to leave—do not come back here.”

“Marcus,” You counter, sadness lacing your tone.

“If, by some miracle, I make it out of here,” He drags his thumb along your jawline, pausing on his words as he looks you over, memorizes you, “I will find you.”

You nod jerkily, eyes never breaking from his, “Just like you always have.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

thanks to @chaotic-mystery & @pr0ximamidnight for being the absolute best friends ever and beta'ing this for me on a moments notice, ily both.

[totalswag]

just cause flowers ⎯ RAFE CAMERON

authors note i have a new theme for this year, i hope you guys like it. i've been going back an forth about a new theme (i like how it came out). this came into my mind yesterday and it just sounded so cute that i needed to write it. i love writing soft!rafe. hope you lovies enjoy reading. feedback is always appreciated!

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summary rafe, your boyfriend, coming to your house randomly surprising you with a bouquet of flowers and your favorite snacks.

warning(s) a whole lotta sweetness.

If someone asked you to count on your fingers how many times Rafe arrived at your house with a bouquet of flowers, jewelry, and handful of your favorite snacks. You could lose track of the count. One of his love languages is gift-giving. 

Rafe impacted your life in ways you cannot articulate. Rafe considers you the most significant woman in the world. He makes you feel cherished, valued, and understood.

You're not sure how you got so lucky with someone like Rafe. He consistently treats you nicely and makes you happy, even on your worst days. Every day, you tell him how grateful you are for him.

Rafe will show up with something in his hand whenever you two are together. You remember your first date he brought you to this beautiful restaurant on the island then you two walked on the beach for half an hour till it was time for you to go home.

As you dig through the fridge, you yell, "Scarlett, you have to spill the tea!" while holding the phone to your ear and shoulder, eager to hear what she's about to say.

Your best friend, Scarlett, told you about this guy she's been seeing for a while. They went on a date last night and you've been waiting to hear what happened.

Scarlett tells you it went good, she really likes him. Towards the end of their date when he was dropping her off at her house, he asked to kiss her.

"That's so cute, I'm so happy for you," you reply, feeling thrilled for your best friend. "Have you texted since then?" You inquire with curiosity.

"Yes, he wants to see me again," she exclaims over the phone, thrilled that this is even happening.

The phone call lasted for another thirty minutes. Following the call, you finished your food, cleaned the bowl, and walked into the living room to watch a show on Netflix. Your parents are at work right now, so you are at home alone.

In the middle of the show, your phone buzzed on your lap.

Rafe: come outside princess

Y/N: kk coming

As you stood up from the couch, you felt a rush of butterflies in your stomach. You grab your Crocs, put them on, and open the front door. Rafe was there, one hand holding a beautiful arrangement of flowers and the other holding all of your favorite munchies and one of his sweaters.

Get down on one knee now, Rafe.

Your palm covers your lips, slowly walking over to view what's in-front of you, "you've got to be kidding me," smiling before leaning in and smelling the flowers, which smelled fantastic.

He chuckles at your reaction, "I'm not kidding, princess," appreciating your expressions before going in for a passionate kiss on the lips.

"These are beautiful baby, thank you so much" you beam with such gratefulness scanning through the basket of snacks then grabbing the flowers, smelling them again.

You swiftly glance at Rafe before turning your attention to the big sweatshirt draped over his arm behind the basket. Carefully reaching for the mystery sweater, your eyes will light up as you unfold it. It smells just like him and is one of your favorite hoodies of his.

You smirk and clutch it against your chest, cuddling it. "Ah you shouldn't have," you remark cynically. "This is added to my millions of sweatshirts of yours."

Rafe throws his head back laughing at your comment knowing you steal majority of his clothes from his closet. He doesn't mind it.

"Anything for my gorgeous girlfriend who'm I love so much" Rafe smiles sweetly placing multiple kisses on your face⎯you giggle out loud feeling like a teenager all over again.

He pulls away, lips running over his bottom lip, both hands on your hips, keeping you close to him. All he can do is admire what's in front of him⎯you looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes and smile.

"Let's go inside?" You wiggle your brow as you motion to the house. 

Rafe responds by nodding, turning you around with his large hands and following closely after you.

"You know the moment you propose to me, I will probably faint," you say honestly, causing Rafe to chuckle out loud as he closes the front door. 

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