#i trust you and only you with this. nothing is stopping you from using it against me but i trust that you won't

[dissapointu]

Hello, I wanted to ask you a little drabble with all the arcane characters.

Like how they fell in love with reader ( like what captured their attention etc)

It would be pretty cool in my opinion.

Have a wonderful day\night.

Aaaugh, I made of made this a bit long-(really long, that was sarcasm) I'm splitting it into two portions

Jinx-

Jinx didn’t know what to make of you at first. You weren’t loud or flashy like the people she was used to dealing with. You weren’t trying to prove anything, and yet, there was something about you that screamed different.

She first noticed it when you didn’t flinch at one of her explosions—not the way most people did, anyway. The boom had rattled the room, shaking dust from the rafters, and yet, there you were, brushing soot from your shirt like it was just another Tuesday.

“Nice touch with the blue sparks,” you’d said, nodding at her latest contraption. “Adds flair.”

Flair? Most people would’ve called it destruction. Most people would’ve screamed or run. But you? You tilted your head, eyes bright, genuinely impressed, and for a moment, Jinx was at a loss for words.

It wasn’t just that you didn’t fear her; it was the way you saw her. You noticed the little things—the care she put into her work, the way she tinkered endlessly to perfect her machines. While others saw chaos, you saw art, and for someone like Jinx, that was everything.

The next time she saw you, it was intentional. She didn’t need to bring you a gadget she’d been working on—it wasn’t even finished—but she wanted to see how you’d react. Sure enough, you examined it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, pointing out details she hadn’t realized anyone else would notice.

“This is genius,” you murmured, tracing a finger along a carved design she’d barely remembered adding. “You really think through every detail, don’t you?”

Her heart did something weird then, like skipping a beat but more… explosive.

From there, it snowballed. You became her favorite person to show her creations to, the only one she trusted to see her work before it was ready. You never judged, never laughed when something misfired—just smiled and asked how you could help.

And Jinx? She realized she’d fallen for you one day when she caught herself trying to impress you. The realization hit her like a grenade: she didn’t just want you to like her inventions—she wanted you to like her.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she said one night, leaning against her workbench, tools scattered around her. Her voice was softer than usual, almost unsure. “Most people don’t get me, but… you do.”

You’d just smiled, that easy, genuine smile that had hooked her from the start. “That’s because you’re worth getting.”

And just like that, Jinx knew there was no going back.

Vi –

Vi wasn’t looking for anyone. She didn’t have time for soft moments, not with everything she had on her plate. But then you came along, and she couldn’t help but notice how you carried yourself—steady, calm, unshakable.

The first time she really noticed you, it wasn’t some grand, sweeping moment. It was quiet. You were helping some kids in the Lanes patch up a rickety swing they used to pass the time. Nothing fancy, just you, a coil of rope, and that determined look in your eyes.

She hadn’t meant to stop and watch, but something about you drew her in. Maybe it was the way you didn’t hesitate to get your hands dirty or how the kids laughed around you, their faces lighting up despite everything the Lanes threw at them.

“You’re good with them,” she said after working up the nerve to approach you, trying to sound casual.

You glanced up at her, wiping sweat from your brow, and gave her a smile that hit her like a sucker punch. “Someone’s gotta be. They deserve better than this, don’t you think?”

It wasn’t just your words that stuck with her—it was the way you said them. Like you meant it. Like you actually believed in something better, even when the world gave you every reason not to.

From then on, Vi found herself noticing you everywhere. The way you stepped up when others hesitated. The way you didn’t back down, even when things got messy. You had this quiet strength about you, the kind that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway.

She started finding excuses to stick around—helping with repairs, walking the kids home, sparring with you in the courtyard when the opportunity came up. And each time, she found herself drawn to you a little more.

“You’re somethin’ else,” she admitted one night, sitting beside you on a crumbling wall, the city’s broken skyline stretching out before you.

You raised an eyebrow at her, clearly amused. “That so?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed the back of her neck, uncharacteristically shy. “Most people would’ve given up on this place a long time ago, but not you. You stick it out, no matter how hard it gets.”

You shrugged, your gaze softening as you looked at her. “Same could be said about you, Vi.”

That was the moment it hit her—like a punch she didn’t see coming. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was something deeper, something she couldn’t ignore.

She fell for you in pieces, each small moment stacking up until it all clicked. It wasn’t about grand gestures or dramatic confessions. It was the way you fit—like you were exactly what she didn’t know she was missing.

And when she finally worked up the courage to tell you, your answer came with that same steady smile that had captivated her from the start.

“Figured it out, huh?” you teased, and she rolled her eyes, though her grin gave her away.

Yeah, she figured it out. And she wasn’t letting you go.

Sevika-

Sevika didn’t believe in love. In the Lanes, it wasn’t something people had the luxury of chasing. Survival came first, and attachments were just liabilities waiting to stab you in the back.

But you were… different.

The first time she noticed you, it wasn’t because you were trying to catch her attention. You were too busy holding your own, stepping into a dispute between two gang members over stolen supplies. She’d leaned back in the corner of the Last Drop, watching the chaos unfold, ready to step in if things got messy.

But then you surprised her.

You didn’t raise your voice or threaten anyone. Instead, you stood tall, calm as you defused the tension with a few sharp words and an unflinching glare. You had this presence, like you weren’t afraid of anyone in the room—not even her.

“Bold move,” Sevika had said when you approached the bar afterward, ordering a drink like you hadn’t just stared down two brutes twice your size.

You glanced at her, your lips quirking into a small smirk. “Someone’s gotta keep things from falling apart.”

That was the moment she started paying attention. You didn’t just survive in the Lanes—you thrived. You didn’t let the weight of the place crush you like it did everyone else. And more than that, you cared. Not in some naive, starry-eyed way, but in a way that made you fight tooth and nail for the people who couldn’t fight for themselves.

It pissed her off at first. The way you carried yourself like you weren’t afraid of the darkness around you. She thought it was reckless, stupid even. But the more she watched, the more she realized it wasn’t recklessness. It was conviction.

You weren’t scared of getting your hands dirty, but you never lost sight of what mattered to you. That’s what got under her skin, what kept her coming back to the same barstool night after night, just to see what you’d do next.

She started finding reasons to stick around. Sometimes it was to share a drink, other times to offer backup when things got rough. You never asked for her help, but you didn’t push her away either, and that intrigued her more than she cared to admit.

One night, after a particularly close call with one of Silco’s rivals, you patched up a cut on her arm, your hands steady as you worked.

“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good,” she muttered, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

You chuckled, your touch gentle as you tied off the bandage. “Takes one to know one.”

It was such a simple moment, but it stayed with her. The way you looked at her—not like she was some feared enforcer, but like she was just… Sevika. It wasn’t something she was used to, and it scared her as much as it thrilled her.

Over time, she realized she was looking for you in every crowd, waiting for the nights you’d sit beside her and trade sharp banter over a drink. She fell for you quietly, begrudgingly, like it snuck up on her before she could stop it.

And when she finally admitted it—to herself, to you—it wasn’t some grand confession. It was a gruff, almost reluctant, “You mean more to me than you should.”

Your response? That same infuriating, endearing smirk. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

Sevika huffed a laugh, shaking her head, but the truth was, she didn’t mind. Because for once, letting someone in didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like strength.

Silco -

Silco had always been a man of control, ambition, and sharp edges. In the underbelly of Zaun, survival demanded nothing less. Trust was currency, and affection? A distraction. He had long since accepted that power was the only thing worth chasing.

But then you appeared.

You weren’t loud or showy, not one of those people clawing for his attention. No, you worked quietly, efficiently, in the background of the chaos he ruled. You were just another piece in his intricate machine at first—just another person serving a purpose.

What caught his attention first was your unyielding patience. Where others in the Lanes were frantic, desperate to prove their worth, you moved with a calm certainty, like you weren’t afraid of the storm around you. You fixed what was broken—tools, machines, even people—without asking for anything in return.

One night, you’d been tending to one of his injured men after a skirmish, your hands steady as you stitched him up in the dim light of the hideout. Silco watched from the shadows, curious. The man hissed in pain, and you responded with a soft laugh.

“Hold still, or I’ll sew you up crooked,” you teased, your tone warm but firm.

It wasn’t the words that struck him—it was the way you carried yourself. There was no fear in your voice, no need to prove yourself to anyone. You didn’t care about earning his favor or gaining power. You just… were.

For someone like Silco, who thrived on manipulation and control, it was unnerving. People were supposed to want something from him. But you? You treated him like a man, not a king.

It wasn’t long before he started seeking you out. At first, it was subtle. A lingering glance as he passed through the room, a quiet question about your work. You always answered him honestly, without flinching under his piercing gaze, and it left him unsettled in a way he couldn’t quite name.

One evening, after a particularly brutal day, he found you sitting by the docks, staring out at the toxic waters of Zaun. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly at the sight of you, though he didn’t understand why.

“You should be careful out here,” he said, his voice low as he stepped closer.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling faintly. “And miss the chance to breathe? I think I’ll take my chances.”

It was such a simple thing, but it stayed with him. In a world that demanded constant vigilance, you allowed yourself to simply exist. It was a quiet defiance, one that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

Over time, you became a constant presence in his life, slipping through the cracks of his carefully constructed walls. It wasn’t grand gestures or impassioned declarations that made him fall for you. It was the quiet moments—the way you never cowered under his gaze, the way you challenged him without hostility, the way you saw him for more than his scars.

One night, as the two of you shared a rare moment of silence in his office, he finally allowed himself to admit what he’d been feeling.

“You’re dangerous,” he said, his voice soft, almost amused.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Dangerous? To you?”

He smirked, though there was no malice in it. “You’ve managed to do what no one else has.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’ve made me want something I didn’t think I needed.”

Your smile widened, warm and unguarded, and for once, Silco didn’t feel the need to look away.

In you, he found something unexpected: a quiet kind of strength, the kind that didn’t demand attention but commanded respect. And for a man who had spent his life fighting for control, letting himself fall for you felt like the ultimate rebellion.

Vander -

Vander wasn’t a man who fell in love easily. His life had been shaped by too much loss, too much responsibility. The people of the Lanes leaned on him, and he carried their weight with quiet strength. Love, to him, felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford.

But then, there was you.

It wasn’t some grand moment that captured his attention—it was the small, steady things. The way you moved through the chaos of the Last Drop, keeping the peace in your own quiet way. The way you never demanded his time but somehow always knew when he needed someone to sit beside him in silence.

What struck him first was your kindness—not the soft, fragile kind, but the sort that had edges. You didn’t let people walk over you, but you never hesitated to offer a hand to someone in need. In a place like Zaun, where survival often demanded selfishness, you were a rarity.

He noticed it one night when a brawl broke out in the bar. Two rowdy patrons had nearly overturned a table, and before Vander could step in, you were already there. You didn’t raise your voice or throw a punch. Instead, you placed a firm hand on one of their shoulders, your calm, measured tone cutting through the tension.

“Save it for the street, boys. We don’t spill blood where we share drinks.”

To his surprise, they listened. Vander couldn’t help but chuckle as they slunk off, muttering apologies.

“Got a way with people,” he said later, handing you a drink as thanks.

You shrugged, offering a small smile. “Just trying to keep things from falling apart.”

Those words stayed with him. It was how you carried yourself—like you were always holding the pieces together, not because you had to, but because you chose to.

Over time, he started finding excuses to be near you. A quick conversation here, a shared drink there. You had a way of making him feel… lighter. Like he could let go of the weight he carried, even if just for a moment.

It wasn’t until one quiet evening, after the bar had emptied, that he realized how deeply you’d settled into his heart. You were sitting on one of the tables, cleaning up a spill, humming a tune under your breath. The soft glow of the lanterns lit up your face, and for a moment, Vander just… watched.

“You’re staring,” you said, not looking up.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Caught me.”

You glanced at him then, your smile warm and teasing. “What’s on your mind, big guy?”

He hesitated, uncharacteristically unsure. But then, he decided to just say it—Vander was never one for dancing around the truth.

“You. The way you care about this place. The people. Me.” He exhaled, leaning against the bar. “Never thought I’d find someone like you in all this.”

Your eyes softened, and you set down the rag in your hands, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased gently. “Took you long enough to notice me.”

He laughed then, a deep, rumbling sound that made your chest warm. “Oh, I noticed. Took me a bit longer to admit it.”

And when you reached up, resting a hand against his face, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for just a moment. In you, he found something he hadn’t realized he needed—a steady flame in the chaos of the Lanes.

Ekko -

Ekko didn’t believe in distractions. The Firelights needed him, the Lanes needed him. His days were spent fixing the mess left behind by Piltover’s greed and Silco’s reign. He had no time for anything else—least of all love.

But you? You didn’t give him much of a choice.

It wasn’t a single moment that caught his attention. It was a collection of them, like the pieces of a clock coming together. He first noticed the way you moved—quick and deliberate, like you belonged to the rhythm of the chaos around you. No hesitation, no wasted motion. Whether you were patching up one of the Firelights after a mission or organizing supplies in the hideout, you carried yourself with a quiet confidence that made it impossible for him not to watch.

What hooked him, though, was your laughter. The first time he heard it, he froze. It had been after a particularly rough raid. Everyone was tense, the weight of the day pressing down on their shoulders. And then you cracked some joke—stupid, honestly, but something about the way you delivered it had everyone laughing, including Ekko.

That was when he realized it: you didn’t just survive the Lanes. You thrived in them. You brought light into a place where most people only saw shadows.

It started small—an extra second spent talking to you, a lingering glance when he thought you weren’t looking. He’d catch himself gravitating toward you without even meaning to, drawn to the way you lit up a room with just your presence.

But it wasn’t until one night, long after the others had gone to sleep, that he truly understood how deep you’d gotten under his skin. You were sitting by the glow of a makeshift lantern, tinkering with some piece of tech you’d salvaged. The light cast shadows across your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the focus in your eyes.

“Burning the midnight oil?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.

You glanced up, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Someone’s gotta keep this place running.”

He stepped closer, hands shoved into his pockets. “You do too much, you know that?”

“Says the guy who can barely take a break,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.” For a moment, he just stood there, watching you work. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and warm.

“Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly.

You paused, looking up at him with a tilt of your head. “Do what?”

“Care so much. About all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the entire hideout, the Firelights, the Lanes.

Your gaze softened, and you set the piece of tech aside. “Because someone has to. And because… I believe in you, Ekko.”

The sincerity in your voice hit him like a punch to the gut. You believed in him. In a world that seemed determined to tear him down, you stood beside him, unwavering.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. “Guess you’re stuck with me anyway.”

That was the moment Ekko fell. Completely, irreversibly.

Jayce -

Jayce had always been drawn to brilliance. Invention, ambition, ingenuity—they were the cornerstones of what he admired in others. And yet, none of it had ever prepared him for you.

The first time he saw you, it wasn’t in a polished Piltover workshop or a grand council meeting. It was in a small, crowded market on the edge of the Undercity, where the scent of oil and metal clung to the air. You stood at a stall, bartering for scraps and materials like your life depended on it—because, as he’d later learn, it did.

What caught his attention wasn’t just your resourcefulness or the sharp wit you wielded against the vendor. It was the way your eyes lit up when you held a seemingly useless part in your hands, already envisioning the endless possibilities it could unlock.

He didn’t even mean to approach you. His curiosity had a mind of its own. “What are you going to do with that?”

You turned, a little startled, but you didn’t back down from his inquisitive gaze. Instead, you held up the twisted hunk of metal like it was a crown jewel. “Turn it into something brilliant. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

It wasn’t arrogance—it was certainty. And Jayce, who had spent his life chasing impossible ideas, saw a kindred spirit in you.

From that moment, you became an enigma he couldn’t resist unraveling. Every conversation revealed new layers to your ingenuity, your resilience, your unshakable belief in making the impossible possible. And the more time he spent with you, the more he realized it wasn’t just your mind that captivated him—it was your heart.

You were unafraid to challenge him, to push him, to remind him that the world wasn’t just equations and theories but people and dreams. Your passion reignited something in him he hadn’t realized he’d lost: a love for the why, not just the how.

One evening, as the two of you sat side by side, tinkering with a device in his lab, he found himself watching you instead of the work. The way your hair caught the light, the quiet determination in your expression, the soft smile when something finally clicked into place.

“You’re staring,” you teased without looking up.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—how do you make everything seem so effortless?”

You grinned, glancing at him with that spark he’d come to love. “It’s not effortless. I just don’t let the hard parts stop me.”

In that moment, he knew he was a goner.

Jayce Talis, the golden boy of Piltover, had fallen in love with you—not because of what you could build, but because of what you built in him: a renewed faith in the beauty of dreaming big, of chasing the spark no matter where it led.

And it apparently led to you.

Viktor-

Viktor didn’t notice you at first, not in the way others might have. He was too focused on his work, his mind consumed by blueprints and equations. But you… you were patient, always there in the background, asking questions no one else dared to ask, seeing things no one else cared to notice.

It was one of those late nights in the lab when you caught his attention. He was hunched over a schematic, frustration etched into every line of his face. You, seated quietly at the far end of the room, had been watching him—though you’d never admit it aloud.

“Did you eat today?” your voice broke through the silence.

Viktor didn’t even look up. “I’m fine,” he replied, a rote answer that wasn’t convincing in the slightest.

You set down your work and crossed the room, standing just out of his peripheral vision. “Fine isn’t food, Viktor.”

When he finally looked at you, there was something in your eyes that made him pause. It wasn’t pity or condescension—two things he’d grown accustomed to. It was understanding, genuine and unyielding, as if you knew exactly what it felt like to lose yourself in something bigger.

That was the first moment he realized you were different.

It wasn’t the last.

You had a way of grounding him, of pulling him out of his own head without judgment. Your presence was quiet but powerful, a steady force that didn’t demand his attention but earned it nonetheless.

What truly captured him, though, was your mind. You didn’t just accept the world as it was; you questioned it, challenged it, sought to understand it. You weren’t afraid to debate him, to push back when you thought he was wrong, and yet you did so with a respect that made him listen.

He found himself looking forward to your late-night conversations, the way you’d linger in the lab long after everyone else had gone home. You’d ask about his work—not just the mechanics but the why behind it, the hopes and fears he buried beneath his relentless drive.

One evening, as you sketched out a rough design on a scrap of paper, Viktor caught himself smiling. Not at the drawing, though it was clever, but at you. The way you bit your lip in concentration, the furrow of your brow, the quiet hum of satisfaction when you got something just right.

“You are remarkable,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You glanced up, surprised. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, fiddling with a wrench. “Nothing. Just… your ideas. They’re… innovative.”

But it wasn’t just your ideas. It was you—the way you saw the world, the way you saw him. Not as a man constrained by limitations but as someone capable of more.

You believed in him, not just in his work, and that was something Viktor hadn’t realized he craved until you offered it so freely.

And as the days turned into weeks, then months, he realized something else: He believed in you, too.

It wasn’t some grand epiphany or dramatic moment. It was in the quiet, shared glances, the lingering touches when you handed him a tool, the way his chest felt lighter when you were near. Somewhere in the midst of late nights and whispered dreams, Viktor had fallen in love.

Not just with your mind or your presence, but with the way you made him feel—seen, understood, whole.

And for a man who’d always fought against the odds, loving you felt like the greatest invention of all.

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

NEXT

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

synopsis: when your best friend Luke asks you to pose as his girlfriend during his parents' 25th wedding anniversary cruise, you reluctantly agree. After all, you're single, he's desperate, and who can say no to an all-expenses-paid getaway? But what starts as a simple favor spirals into a tangled web of awkward introductions, suspicious relatives, and one undeniable complication: your growing, utterly inappropriate crush on Luke’s father, Anakin. Surrounded by the charming and chaotic Skywalker family, you’re forced to navigate the tricky waters of pretense, loyalty, and a passion you never saw coming.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, that's it for now, I'll add more warnings when the next chapters come out.

words: 1.1k

a/n: I confess that I've had this idea marinating for a while, and now seeing the latest photos of Hayden at comic-con, he's so dad coded. So, I decided to take a chance and start a story, I don't know how many chapters there will be yet, but I'm excited to see where it will take us... Slightly inspired by Fuck your boyfriend('s dad) by forcemeanakin, I'm obsessed with her writing… Anyway, that's it, I hope you like it ;)

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

you were meant for me to find

it's out of my hands

there's nothing left to do but

cruise and just enjoy the ride

“Wait a second, let me get this straight…” you interrupted Luke, raising your hands to halt his rapid-fire explanation. He’d been talking non-stop for nearly five minutes, and you were still struggling to piece it all together. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend at your parents’ 25th wedding anniversary? Why on earth do you even need a fake girlfriend?” You adjusted yourself on the bed, pulling a pillow against your chest for comfort, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Luke let out a long, dramatic sigh, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. “You know how my parents are… always in my business. And now with Leia bringing her boyfriend, I just don’t want to be the only one showing up alone.” He looked at you with those pleading puppy-dog eyes, his voice softening. “Come on, just this once. Please? Didn’t you say you wanted to go on a cruise someday? Here’s your chance.”

You arched an amused eyebrow. “So, what—you’re trying to bribe me now?”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. “Well, when you put it like that…” he muttered sheepishly. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I—I trust you, okay? You’re the only person I can count on for this.”

His desperation was hard to ignore. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “Fine, I’ll do it,” you said, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “But only because of the all-inclusive package. Don’t think this means I approve of your ridiculous plan.”

A grin split across Luke’s face as he lunged forward to hug you. “Thank you! Seriously, you’re saving my life here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, pushing him back playfully. “But if this backfires, you owe me big time.”

Luke hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, um… about that. I might have already put your name on the guest list.” 

Your eyes narrowed as you shoved his shoulder. “You what? Idiot.”

---

Now, a few days later, you found yourself standing on the pier, the midday sun beating down mercilessly. You checked your phone for the third time, scrolling through messages with a faint scowl. Still no word from Luke. If he left you waiting much longer, you were seriously going to kill him.

“Hey!” His voice cut through the buzz of the crowded dock. You turned to see him jogging toward you, a backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He looked a little too cheerful for someone who had left you baking in the sun.

“You’re late,” you called, crossing your arms as he approached. 

“Fashionably,” he quipped with a smirk, completely unbothered by your glare.

“thought you’d forgotten about me,” you teased, elbowing Luke lightly in the chest as he finally reached you.

Luke shrugged, offering a sheepish grin. “Blame my parents. They were running late because my dad accidentally packed the wrong suitcase for my mom. Total chaos—everyone was scrambling to fix it.”

You chuckled, imagining the scene. Though you hadn’t met Luke’s family yet, you’d heard plenty about them over the years. His parents were something of a legend in his stories: the perfect, if sometimes chaotic, couple who’d married young and raised twins.  

Padmé Amidala, Luke’s mother, was a force of nature. A federal deputy and professor of International Relations, she somehow juggled her demanding career with being a devoted wife and mother. Strong, brilliant, and endlessly busy, yet always managing to prioritize her family.

Anakin Skywalker, Luke’s father, was no less impressive. A retired army general, he’d left his military career after the twins were born to focus on raising them. Luke often spoke of how his dad spent hours tinkering in their garage, restoring vintage cars and building gadgets—a far cry from his days in uniform.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Luke said, snapping you out of your thoughts. He grabbed the handle of his own suitcase and motioned toward the massive cruise ship docked ahead. 

You followed, letting him lead the way. The pier was packed with elegantly dressed guests, most of whom were likely Padmé’s colleagues—senators, representatives, and a mix of politicians from all corners. The line to board snaked back farther than you could see. 

“Do we really have to wait through all this?” you asked, eyeing the crowd and clutching the handle of your wheeled suitcase. 

Luke shot you a sly grin. “We don’t wait in lines.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he veered off toward the front of the queue, guiding you toward a set of stairs reserved for VIPs. You followed, struggling a little as your suitcase bumped against the steps. 

"Luke, get your girlfriend's suitcase," a strong, masculine voice called out from behind you, deep and commanding yet tinged with warmth. "Otherwise, she'll think I didn’t teach you how to be a gentleman."

Startled, you turned toward the source of the voice just as Luke, already at the top of the stairs, groaned in exasperation. He glanced back with a tired expression but made no move to help. 

“It’s okay, really, it’s not heavy,” you mumbled shyly, gripping the handle of your suitcase a little tighter. But as your eyes met the man addressing Luke, the words caught in your throat. 

Your lips parted slightly in disbelief. Gods… what a man. 

Standing before you was, without a doubt, the most stunning man you’d ever seen. Anakin Skywalker. His angular face was framed by sandy blond hair, slightly tousled with subtle waves that gave him a rugged charm. His piercing blue eyes—so vivid and expressive they seemed to pull you into a storm—were framed by faint lines that hinted at years of experience and a life well-lived. His presence was magnetic, his confident stance and the faint smirk on his lips radiating an almost effortless allure.  

“Come on, I insist,” Anakin said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. He reached out and gently took the suitcase from your hand before you could protest. His touch lingered just briefly, and the warmth of his hand sent a flicker of heat up your arm. “Not heavy, huh?” he teased with a wink, his tone laced with amusement.  

You managed a weak nod, your heart racing as you watched him carry your suitcase up the stairs with ease. Every movement was graceful, effortless, as though he hadn’t spent years off the battlefield but still carried himself like he could command a room—or a galaxy. 

Luke rolled his eyes at his father’s display, muttering under his breath. “Show off.”

Ignoring him, Anakin reached the top of the stairs and set your suitcase down carefully before glancing back at you with an easy smile. “Welcome aboard,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.  

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing. What the hell have you just gotten yourself into?

[archiveofvirtue]

sarah introduces lovely kook!reader to the pogues, and one of them definitely strikes her interest more than he should

content / lovely kook!reader x jj maybank, slightly suggestive, jj being a flirt, kook x pogue dynamics, kie lowkey being a hater, mentions of readers and rafes past, spin the bottle, mentions of alcohol, kissing, 1.4k words

notes / this is the beginning of readers and jj’s journey throughout the series, so definitely let me know if u like it or if i should continue only writing about rafe and reader (but then there would def be less of a continuous storyline!)

The golden coast of Kildare Island's sunset painted the sky as Sarah guided you down the dirt path toward John B's chateau, feeling a bit anxious. After all your life wasn’t like any of theirs, and that scared you a bit.

"Just... don't let JJ get to you. He's... well, you'll see." She warned you, knowing that her friend would try to hit on you every chance he got.

You smirked, tucking your wavy hair behind your ear. "You're acting like I'm not used to guys like him. Trust me, I've handled worse."

Yet you couldn't stop the flood of nerves rolling through your body. Coming back to Kildare was one thing; entering the world of Sarah's pogues was another. For someone like you—Rafe’s ex, and being a "kook" in every sense of the word—this was like walking into enemy territory.

You couldn’t help but think of Rafe as you walked along the chunky trail, to him the pogues were always equal to filthy animals, so knowing that Sarah was now one of them made you curious.

Of course, just like Rafe, you used to stay away from pogues, maybe with one exception, but that didn’t matter now. You were taught that your worlds shouldn’t mix, that it wouldn’t work, but knowing just how pathetic your old life was, it maybe wouldn’t be too bad of an idea.

Your little boots crunched against the gravel as you took in the sight before you: a quiet run down house that looked like it had survived one hurricane too many, mismatched furniture scattered across the yard, and a group of teens lounging in the chaos like it was their kingdom.

As you stepped onto the property, a tall, blonde boy was the first to notice you, his face lighting up in surprise and excitement. He jumped down from where he'd been sitting and strode over, his grin wide.

"Dammit Sarah, if I had known that you'd bring over a goddess I would've put on less clothes." JJ drawled, his blue eyes locked on you. Now you definitely knew what Sarah was talking about. Nothing you couldn’t handle tho.

Before you could respond, Sarah stepped between you, rolling her eyes. "JJ, seriously? Don't scare her off five seconds in.”

"Just being friendly," JJ said, holding his hands up in mock innocence. His eyes didn't leave yours, though, and you couldn't help the faint warmth rising in your cheeks. He was super hot.

And you were definitely amused by his charm, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. "And you must be the rowdy pogue with a reputation to match." You replied smoothly. JJ seemed a bit taken aback, and his grin widened, clearly enjoying the challenge.

"Guilty as charged. But don't worry, I'm harmless... mostly."

"Come on," Sarah said, dragging you toward the group. "Before he says something even dumber."

Getting closer to the group, Kiara was the first to get up. She crossed her arms over her chest, her sharp eyes piercing through you, feeling skeptical. "So, you're y/n."

"Guilty," you said, echoing JJ's words with a playful shrug. You extended a hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Kiara hesitated before shaking your hand. "Yeah, nice to meet you too." Her words were clipped, and you didn't miss the side eye Kiara shot at Sarah. But you didn’t judge her, after all you were kind of skeptical too.

Luckily the rest of the introductions went smoother. Pope was polite but distracted, and John B—Sarah's new boyfriend—was laid-back and welcoming, though his smile carried a hint of curiosity, like he was trying to figure you out.

But it was JJ who lingered, his gaze following your every move, his flirty comments never far behind. It felt all so exciting.

"So, y/n," JJ said as you all settled into your seats, beers in hand. "What's a kook princess like you doing slumming it with us?"

Sarah shot him a warning look, but you just smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know, hm?"

JJ laughed, clearly enjoying the way you confronted him, while Kiara rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath.

As the evening wore on, the tension in the air began to ease. You found yourself laughing at John B's ridiculous stories, paired with JJ's enthusiasm, and even getting a nod of approval from Pope when you mentioned your favorite book. Kiara, however, remained a mystery to you.

"Alright, truth or dare time," JJ announced suddenly, grabbing a bottle from the sand. "No backing out."

"Oh, come on," Kiara groaned, though she didn't move to leave.

The first few rounds were tame, the dares harmless and the truths revealing just enough to keep things fun. Then the bottle landed on JJ.

"Oh, here we go," Pope muttered, earning a laugh from the group.

JJ leaned back, spreading his arms like he was owning the place. "Hit me, baby." He smirked, eyes locked on you as a devilishly, alcohol fueled, idea came to your mind. You just couldn’t hold back, lips curling into a mischievous smile. "I dare you to kiss me."

The whole group fell silent, every eye darting between you and JJ. Even the fire seemed to flicker in response, the crackling flames being the only sound.

JJ blinked, his grin faltering for a moment. "Wait—what?"

"You heard me," you said, voice steady. Your confidence was unshaken, though your heart was pounding in your chest. You weren’t even sure where the boldness had come from, but there was no taking it back now.

Sarah laughed, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my god, y/n."

"Bold move," JJ said, his surprise melting into amusement. "I like it."

He stood, brushing the sand off his jeans, and walked over to you. The air felt electric as he crouched down in front of you, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

"You sure about this, kook girl?" he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

"Scared?" You shot back, smirk growing.

JJ didn't hesitate. In one smooth motion, he closed the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but shy. It was heated, bold, and left no room for misinterpretation.

The group erupted in cheers and whistles, John B's voice cutting through the noise. "JJ, what the hell, man?"

As he kissed you there was an unspoken pull, the desire obvious in both of your movements. It felt good kissing him, really good, so when he pulled back you couldn’t help but pout a little.

Yet his grin was even bigger. "You asked for it."

You laughed, cheeks warm, but you didn't flinch under the group's teasing. If anything, you leaned into it, your confidence high. You hadn't expected to feel this at ease with JJ, and his charm that ran just a little wild. It was different, and strangely, you liked it.

As the game continued, the bottle spun and landed on you. Not hesitating to pick truth, knowing you couldn't dodge forever and also not wanting to be a spoilsport.

Kiara, who had been quiet for most of the night, leaned forward, her expression serious. "Why did you leave Kildare?"

The question hung in the air, and your earlier smile faltered. You felt your throat tighten, glancing at the flames and wishing you could disappear into the sparks. You hadn't exactly planned on going into your past tonight.

Sensing your tension, Sarah quickly jumped in, squeezing your hand. "Y/n went through a rough time," she explained, her voice softer than usual. "There was... a lot going on, and it was all a bit much. You all know how my family can be." She paused, eyes on the fire, then added, "And, uh... y/n dating my brother didn't help. It got... toxic, real fast."

Everyone went quiet, and you felt their eyes on you, shock written across their faces. Yup, somehow it’s always been a shocker for others when they found out you two used to date, cause now you both couldn’t be any more different from each other. Or weren’t you?

"You... and Rafe?" Kiara's voice was laced with surprise, though it held a hint of understanding now—maybe even sympathy. "Seriously?"

You nodded slowly, not meeting anyone's gaze. "Yeah. It's not something I'm proud of. Trust me." You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of those words as you admitted them out loud. "I lost myself for a while. Leaving was the only way. I needed to figure myself out."

JJ was the first to break the silence. "Hey, everyone's got stuff they're not proud of." He shrugged, as if to say it didn't matter to him. "At least you're here now, right?"

You managed a grateful smile, feeling some of the tension ease. The group smiled gently, their earlier reservations melting away. And somehow exposing yourself like that definitely made you feel good, the pogues giving you a feeling of security, treating you with a newfound gentleness.

As the fire died down, everyone began to yawn and stretch, the long hours of the day catching up with you, so John B offered to drive you, Pope and Kie home.

While the two boys piled into the van, Kiara lingered for a moment, pulling you aside as you were about to walk up to the vehicle.

"Hey," Kiara said quietly. "I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. For being shady earlier. And for pushing you with that question."

You blinked, definitely not expecting an apology from her. "It's okay. I get it—you didn't know."

Kiara nodded, her expression softening. "Yeah, but still. You're not what I expected, but... you're cool. I'm glad you're here."

You smiled, the words meaning more than you cared to admit. "Thanks, Kie."

As you climbed into the van, you felt something shift inside you. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you might actually belong somewhere.

please lemme know what u guys think !!

requests are open.

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @bunnyrafe @rafescokewhore @starkeysprincess @rafesweetie @rafeslacy @rafesangelita @rafey-baby @starkeydolly @moremaybank @drewspinkbunny @drewsarms

[ladylokianna]

The nearness of you

The main blame for this one-shot lies entirely to Queen Gorgo and her line "your lips can finish what your fingers have started".

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader (i'm not used to use the first person p.o.v. mainly because in English i usually mess everything up by trying to fit verb tenses together so i hope everything is comprehensible). 

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Fluff but a little smut towards the end, nothing too explicit 'cause i'm not good at writing it. Fairly ooc Aemond, obviously. But, as I've already said, I really like a softer Aemond, and I like the idea that, with the right person, he would totally show his feelings (after a lot of convincing, of course, as we all know how lacking in affection and love our guy is, and it would take him quite a while before he would let himself go).   

Beta reader: my sister, but like me, she's too obsessed with Aemond and i'm afraid she is not entirely objective. Whatever. Enjoy.

***

Wrapping yourself in your heavy velvet dressing gown, you quickly went back to bed after adding a couple of wooden logs to brighten the fire in the huge fireplace, watching Aemond sleeping peacefully in the dim glow provided by the candles and the burning fire.

He lies prone, his arms folded under the pillow and one leg slightly bent towards the middle of the mattress. His slender body, chiselled by years of training, is relaxed, his features softened.

Despite the fact that the two of you have been married for a long time and that you know every single millimetre of his body, shyness sometimes leads you to blush in front of him, as if you still were the inexperienced young maiden of your wedding night.

You stretch out a hand, at first caressing gently his scarred cheek with the knuckles, paying attention to not hurt his wounded eye, then stroking his head with caring touches, enjoying the sensation of the silky strands between your fingers. He is so distant from the unflattering portrait that your aunt made of him as soon as the news of your betrothal was spreaded through the realm, who depicted Aemond as a "monster ready to feed you to his dragon at his first bad day".

A bit introvert, with a closed-off and apparently unfriendly character, maybe sometimes grumpy but definitely not a monster, Aemond is always caring and gentle with you and the few people he trust and love. Otherwise, you had learnt that his usual demeanour is just a façade, that the real Aemond is the one hanging with you in the library, flying with Vhagar or laying in your marital bed. But all is fine as it is, you surely don't want to change or fix him in any way: after all, what's wrong with him to fix? You love him as he is, and people needs to be loved as they are, not as the world would like them to be.

You move your hand down slowly along his shoulders, feeling under your fingertips the scratches you remember leaving him with the nails during the night, marks that you could find again on his shoulder blades and down his muscular back, on his narrow, jerky hips, marks that goes alongside with older ones earned during his strict sword training. If you close your eyes, you can easily recall the sensation of his muscles moving beneath your touch and the heat of his skin against yours, his hands ceaselessly travelling on your body and his weight as he hold you firmly still against the mattress with the absolute need to feel you trembling beneath him, to hear you screaming his name on each deep and precise thrust of his hips.

Your gaze follows the trail of your nails even further, on the roundness of Aemond's buttocks, on which you suddenly no longer have the courage to stretch your hand, despite the fact that only few hours earlier you had grasped them with all your strength to pull him as closer as possible to your core so he could sink deeper into your walls.

"We'll end up keeping the whole fortress awake... i can stop if it's too much, mh?" he'd chuckled out of the blue, teasing you a little after a loud cry escaped your mouth.

"Don't you dare." was your response, hissed in his ear and making him laugh heartily. "My word, Aemond, if you stop now, i'll make you pay for it."

"Oh, would you? I'm almost tempted to stop right now just to see how you will make me pay for my disobedience."

Shooking your head, with your hand still steady right above the dimples at the bottom of his back, you furtively check if Aemond is still asleep, surrendering to the urge to repeat the same gestures of that night: taking a deep breath, your hand lingered on the smooth skin of his bare ass, savouring that feeling for a while before squeezing it gently.

"Your lips can finish what your fingers have started."

You gasp surprised, blushing like you're again that little girl caught stealing the pastries set to cool in the kitchens of your father's castle, noticing the smirk painted on Aemond's lips and his wonderful eye pointed at you, clearly amused and flattered by your attentions.

"I thought... Gods... i thought you were asleep... how long have you been awake?"

"Hm...a while. Let's say since i felt your fingers on my face." he hummed, noticing your reddened cheeks. "How come that we're married for a long time yet you still blush over me? Oh, look at you... don't be shy, darling. You know you can touch whatever you want, whenever you want."

Blushing was the least of it, since a glance from him was often enough to set you on fire.

"Keep going though, i was enjoying it."

Yeah, of course he was. "What a little rascal you are."

With a wide smile Aemond turns on his back, offering his whole being to your gaze, to your will.

"Come darling, come to me." whispers, stretching his arms towards you and guidind you on top.

His skin felt so familiar and warm it hurt your heart. Moving a little, you adjust yourself on his pelvis before running your hands over him again, and again, and again, until suddenly you can feel his yearning running through his veins like a fire, bringing his blood to the boiling point, flushing his skin: you can sense it by the way his manhood is already leaking against you. With his breathing more strained, Aemond pulls himself up to sit, his muscles tensed at every single touch on his body, letting you taking him again as his hands flattened against your spine, drawing you as closer as possible.

"Don't be shy, you can do what you want to me. I'm yours."

[wils-brother-tommy]

all hidden messages in Tommy's new music video "The Internet's Getting Worse"

"If you find a corner of this world wide web that has any substance at all, then please stick to it. The hundreds of millions of people that now place absolutely no value on their time, their precious time, and spend it watching souless content designed to hold their attention is depressing. This all depressed me. There is so little substance in this mess of a world wide web, so little heart or soul or love. If you find any substance, stick to it."

"They want you to be angry-

Stop being angry."

"When I was a boy, alone, this meant everything to me. I found my people. My place. All along the way I was a part of something that really meant something. That is the only good bit of this. Whatever I did that meant something, that is the only good bit."

"A Tribute To Minecraft.

The Great Potato War.

The Original Ace's Q&A's.

Ludwig's 2020 streams.

SMPLive Talent Show.

This was everything to me."

"Status is irrational & nature is cynical"

"It's attention porn. 

Don't get addicted to it.

It's nothing. 

It means nothing."

"They are more insecure than you. But what the fuck do I know?"

"I can't watch back my old videos because everyone in them wasn't who they said they were. Do you know how sad this makes me feel. Do you know how sad I have felt all year."

"How could anyone possibly find out who they are when you are all immersed in this needless, self indulgent spiral of instant gratification and distraction. This is not good for you."

"the poor 12 year old watching this sad ass video when he subscribed for funny minecraft videos. poor guy lmao."

"I don't think I trust anyone here. I don't think anyone trusts anyone here."

"Yeah, I know it's too much like bo burnham. it won't be in a year though. In a year it will be like Tom Simons. Just let me figure out what that means, OK?"

"I used to feel like I was doing everything wrong. That I just wasn't smart or good like any of my friends. I realise now I was the only one doing the right thing. I just wanted to have fun. What I'd do to get that back, my god. What I'd do. To have things be simple again."

"I just don't want to slip back to who I was. A year ago I needed you. A year ago most of my self esteem and worth came from you. A year ago I wasn't happy unless you were. I don't think I can ever do that again. That was really wrong. How did I possibly end up there?"

[hannieoftheyear]

Warning Signal (jww) TEASER

Two targets you need to figure out, alongside the one person you most despise, and zero mistakes allowed.

As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.

pairing: criminal!wonwoo x criminal!reader

w.c: 915 (for the teaser), full work will be over 20k

release date: tbd

genre: exes to partners in crime to lovers, violence, angst, smut (not in the teaser)

content warnings (for the full work): vague descriptions of what their "job" actually is, criminal acts, stalking, spying, invasion of privacy, use of fake names, fake identities, stealing (both reader and wonwoo do all of the above), mentions of guns, fight scenes, blood, murder, death (not the main characters) | the story will contain flashbacks written in cursive (such as this teaser)

note: this is very different from what i've been posting so far, but i had a dream about a similar story and couldn't get it out of my mind.

on that note, i'm not sure when i'll be able to finish this bc it's taking a lot of time to make sure everything makes sense and for the relationship to be fully fleshed out. it might be done by january (that sounds so weird to say omg)

if anyone wants to be on the taglist, comment this post!

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.”

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you until you stop walking and force yourself to face him. 

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.” 

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts. 

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?” 

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.” 

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do it rat you out right this second.” 

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.” 

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.” 

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.  

“Let’s just see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer.  

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?” 

“That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.” 

“Are you being serious?” 

It’s hard to trust him. No matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself to your boss. 

“Dead serious. I promise.” 

A year before… 

The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting on that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors. 

He huffed at her but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were fewer and fewer people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information. 

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated. 

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible not to stand out in that crowd. 

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover. 

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here. He’s supposed to be meeting someone.” 

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips. 

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking, seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose. 

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.” 

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it. 

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”  

thank you for reading! i love this story and i cant wait to finish it so you all can finally read it!

remember! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post ♡

[writingblogsandothers]

The Chosen One

Part 2

Writer's Note: Thank you so much to everyone for the love and support on the first instalment of this story. I really wasn't expecting any sort of reception, so all and any feedback is greatly appreciated. There will be more parts to this ever-twisting story, so keep your eyes peeled! Sending all the love X

Warnings: Mild Taunting/Teasing // Mild Fear (nothing descriptive)

Use of She/Her/Lady - Female Pronouns

Part 1

Dark corridors paved the way towards what she could only assume were her new living quarters. Aurelia was cornered by four guards; two front and behind. There was no use in trying to make a run, she decided to accept her fate and trust that the gods would keep her safe and right. The corridors were smoothly paved, the largest tiles she had ever seen in her life. Lined with only the best forms of lighting available in the lands at the time, she could see the corridor stretch and bend for what seemed like miles. Gods, she felt like she had walked to the end of Rome and back already. The guards came to an abrupt stop, which caused Aurelia to walk right into the back of them. She apologised profusely to which she received, “Ma’am please accept my apology for stopping so abruptly. I will ensure it does not happen again.” Aurelia steps back in shock. What happened to these guards who were so ruthless, who now suddenly were so appeasing, and dare she think kind, courteous? Breaking her from her thoughts, the commander of the group announced “Lady Aurelia, your quarters.” He opened the heavy wooden door, and in she walked.

Space. Light. Beautiful scent. Grandeur. Aurelia couldn’t believe her eyes, her breath was genuinely taken away. A young lady stood to the far right side of the room, with a kind look upon her face. “Lady Aurelia, welcome to your chambers. You will find your dressing room to the left, your living quarters to this door on your right, bedchamber right down this hallway,” pointing to her left, “and your bathroom shortly after.” Aurelia can only nod, the young lady notices her hesitance and continues, “My name is Alba. I am to be your servant. Anything you desire my lady, I will try my best to fetch for you. There is another, Camilla, however she is engaged with other palace matters. You will meet her shortly.” Aurelia stepped further into the room to acknowledge the grandeur of the hall. The curtains fell from the ceilings, which seemed to stand at about 20ft tall. The floors, appeared to be marble and glistened in the sun. The smell, of sweet lavender filled the air. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath and thought of home. Ah, home. She thought of her mother and her father, and her two brothers. Worried for their wellbeing and worried for their concern of her. Again, her thoughts interrupted by Alba, “Lady Aurelia, may I recommend seeing to bathe and change into something else. Emperor Geta has requested your presence at this evening’s dinner gala in a bid to celebrate your triumphant news. No doubt he will wish to see you well.” Finally, she speaks, “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

The bath was decorated in gold embellishment, with rose petals littering the water. The water was milky with comforting salts and had a beautiful aroma. Aurelia had never known of such graces. Alba was going to assist her with disrobing; however, Aurelia asked her kindly if she could bathe on her own. Alba reluctantly agreed, stating that she wishes for Aurelia to not lift a finger, to which Aurelia laughs stating, “Alba, I appreciate your diligence however, where I am from, this washing ceremony is of great luxury and a privilege to do so myself. I thank you for your attentiveness.” Alba nods, “As you wish my lady. I am just outside should you need me.” Alba gently closes the door behind her, and Aurelia makes her way over to the huge mirror. She took in her appearance one last time, no doubt the Emperor had some grand plans for a great makeover for her to complete to be worthy to stand next to him. She picked at her plain tunic and looked into her own eyes. She was pretty. Her eyes, piercing blue could be mistaken for a bright summer’s day. Her hair a dusty brown verging on dark, dirty blonde. She certainly wasn’t skinny, the gods had blessed her with sufficient curving to her body to make her shapely. She just prayed that Geta didn’t regret his decision and saw something in her that she clearly didn’t. Dusting herself off, she disrobed and launched into the temperate bath, sighing in relief – what a treat for her heavy, weary bones.

Once she was ready, she made her way to the hall, where Alba met her to bring her to her dressing room. Upon entering, the entire room was filled wall to wall with every item of clothing a body could ever desire, every type of colour, shape, length. There was an entire section dedicated to accessories, as well as a section for footwear. Aurelia couldn’t believe her eyes. “Lady Aurelia, Empero-”, Alba begins but is interrupted by Aurelia, “Please just call me Aurelia.” Alba nods, “Aurelia, Emperor Geta has handpicked your clothing for the dinner this evening, including your accessories.” Alba runs to fetch the items. She hangs a beautiful baby pink robe, adorned with light gold embellishment with fine rope dangling from the waist and arm. She lays out a pair of gold sandals, as well as golden chain earrings, and a gold choker. Alba ushers Aurelia to come closer and begins to dress her assignment. Once all is on, she places her hand on Aurelia’s back to send her to the dressing chair, where she begins to work on her hair. She ties tiny braids on either side and brings them together to form a crown-esque look around her head. Alba applied face cream and a light blush to Aurelia’s soft cheeks, as well as concentrate perfume to all her pressure points. Aurelia admires herself in the mirror once Alba has finished her handiwork. She was taken-a-back. This was the first she had ever seen herself dressed to such a degree. Alba stepped back and sighed, “Aurelia, you really are quite beautiful.” Aurelia blushed in response, and told her “Alba, please. The work was all your doing. I should be thanking you for your kindest efforts!” Alba let out a mild chuckle, and ushers her to the door, “Let us leave and join your betrothed, we do not wish to keep him waiting.”

Aurelia entered the banqueting hall and sees everyone already seated. She stalled. Geta looks up, Aurelia could almost swear she saw a look of sheer surprise before his usual cloud of animosity overtook, he announced, “Ah, here she is… finally! Sit woman so we can begin our festivities.” She hurriedly made her way to the spare seat next to Geta. He appeared to stare her up and down before discreetly whispering, “Everything to your taste so far?” Aurelia, mouth dry, replied “Yes, my Emperor, everything and more.” In a half snuff, he replied “And the dress? Gold appears to be your calling card.” Looking down she stated, “Yes, Sire it is everything I could have wished for. Gods have not seen more beautiful clothing. Thank you.” Geta replied with a short “hm” before clinking his glass;

“People, dear Brother, Mater. I present to you all, my soon to be wife, Aurelia. We must plan efficiently as we are to be betrothed this day week. Feast in celebration, praise Rome!”

Everyone lifted their glasses in cheers, including Aurelia, who attempted to clink with Geta. Their hands brushed and she wore she felt some sort of electricity pulsing through her. She caught sight of Geta’s features and saw he must have felt something also. With a clear of his throat, he announces, “Begin!”. He sits promptly in his chair, while servants begin to start their rounds of ensuring wine glasses were flowing and plates full. In all of the rush, Aurelia did not notice who sat to her right was none other than Caracalla. She felt a tap on her shoulder when she was met by his brightly painted face. When she turned to face him, she could feel Geta’s stare into her shoulder blades. “So then Aurelia, I take it you have accustomed yourself to the delights the palace has to offer.” She began to speak, but was cut off by Caracalla again, “I trust my brother has told you of his plans with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“The plans? Geta! Gods, please keep your dog up to date. Well, you see, we share everything. We share a mother, kindly. We share a home, spectacular. We even share our title, gracious. So, what’s one more to add but to share a lover? You.”

Aurelia could have fainted on the spot. Geta was crass and he was cutting, but Caracalla was on another level.

“I-I-I don’t understand?”

“Okay, allow me to spell it out for you. My brother will have you say 4 nights, and I 3? Oh it truly will be-”

“Caracalla, enough of your taunting and teasing. Aurelia, take no heed. He is merely trying to make a fool of you”

“Brother! Allow me to play with your new toy. It is exhausting being so boring all the time, must we rid ourselves of any fun?!”

Aurelia feels like a child caught in crossfire. Relieved in a sense that Caracalla was joking, but feeling increasingly uneasy as she can feel Geta becoming annoyed.

“Caracalla, enough.”

“Brother, here you are ripping ourselves of our pleasures.” Caracalla rises from his chair to meet his brother’s gaze. “We could see to make this one really squirm. She’s so pathetic, she would just take it all and say nothing. We could really go to to-”

“ENOUGH! Brother, apologise to her immediately.” Geta was enraged. The hall came to silence, “NOW CARACALLA!” Veins popped out of the Emperor’s neck, with his face flushing a fiery red.

Caracalla made his way back to his seat, sniggering. The hall refilling with sound once more.

 “Who would have known love could make you go so limp, brother.” He teased under his breath.

Geta’s gaze never lifted from Caracalla’s head, waiting for him to apologise. Leaning in, Caracalla began “Forgive me Aurelia, I was such a bad boy. I didn’t mean any of it.” clearly telling that his apology was as insincere as they come.

Aurelia lifted her head, and smiled ignoring the sarcasm of it all, “All is well Emperor Caracalla, thank you for your kindness.”

Geta shifted to sit in his seat, while Aurelia turned and mouthed a small “Thank you” to him. He curtly nodded his head and returned to his wine glass. Caracalla leaned over to Aurelia, “Just because he stopped me this time, doesn’t mean I won’t try again.” Aurelia stiffened. There really was something so very, very sinister about Caracalla. What had she ever done to deserve this torment? She returned to drinking her wine as per her betrothed and took in the scenes before her, wishing the evening would end so she could retire to her chambers.

“Would you like introductions?” Geta asked, not daring look at her, but startling Aurelia. “Please?” She asked, wanting to know more about her new life.

“Lady on the end? That’s Lucilla. Her brother was the great Commodus. He was brutally slain in the Colosseum. A great Emperor of his time. She may do well to speak with you. Pass on some knowledge.” Aurelia nods.

“Gentleman next to her? That’s Marcus Acacius. Great commander and army chief of Rome. A warrior on the battlefield. Continually makes triumphant wins for our empire. A true blood of Roman ethos. Also, Lucilla’s lover – if you could call it that.”

With a touch of confidence, Aurelia said, “I like his baldric.” Geta looks at her intently, “Yes, it is rather nice, isn’t it?”

“Next to him, is Senator Gracchus. One of the leads of the Senate – in other words, a right pain in my backside.” Aurelia lets a giggle escape, but quickly sobers up. “My Emperor, forgive me, I apologise I did not intend to laugh.” Geta just smirks down at her and continues on with his explanations.

Whilst she couldn’t pinpoint, she felt comfort in Geta’s explanations. His dulcet tones when he spoke seemed to calm her nerves ever so slightly. She didn’t want to admit it, but she felt in her bones that potentially this may not have been the worst outcome for her life.

However, what was to lie ahead, was anyone’s guess…

[yayll]

heyyy! I just read ur rockstar!Dazai fic and it honestly reminded me of this idea I had!!! (loved the fic btw!) Are you able to write an actor!dazai x fem!actor reader and they r fake dating while secretly being rivals ?? (I’d like 2 be known as 🦎-anon!)

hiiii 🦎 anon hehe

i'm sorry this was quite the wait, i LOVED your idea and i wanted to write it properly and i kind of took some liberties so i hope you enjoy it regardless? thank you for trusting me w your fic idea actor!dazai now haunts me actually dazai in any like, imagine just fucks my shit up that man is a menace in any story i put him in and i'm so glad others agree. i love u baby mwah u get so many ivy kisses

~ a little something about you and actor!Dazai keeping up appearances ~

"You're choking meee!"

"I'm just fixing your tie, Osamu-"

"It's babe, actually."

"It's whatever I want if you want me to keep holding your hand in public, jerk."

He pouts at this. What a cute little meanie you were! Always scolding him and spewing empty threats as if you were hot shit. You were hot shit, and that was only the beginning of his problems... The biggest one right now being backstage with you while attending the hottest awards show of the year.

Just before he can respond, the curtains are drawn and it's a stagehand whisking you two away to present the next award infront of thousands of fans. You're walking side by side, your heels clicking with each step when Dazai leans in to whisper something.

"You should stand on my left, my right side is more attractive."

"We're both facing forward, does it matter?"

He raises a brow and huffs dramatically in typical Dazai fashion. You two had been 'dating' for a year now, everyone was invested in this blooming romance ever since you both started in that drama together, now it's nothing but red hearts for you two.

It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened... It also wasn't completely awful, but it was the goddamn ego on Dazai that really made you want to strangle him sometimes. He knew he was pretty and desired, and what a threat you were with such an iconic streak in all of your latest projects. No wonder you two had to be paired together, on your own you were both dynamite. An unstable formula that needed to be stabilized by combining it together. Thought could that make it worse?

You present the award holding hands the entire time, an act highly encouraged by the need to convince, and yet when it's you two doing it it never feels as forced as you'd like it to be. There is a comfortability in the role of this relationship, you've come to realize yet supress. You'll hold hands for so long you begin to get clammy, and it's certainly not because he dotes on you almost every time he speaks! Which he hates doing... It's just a script, after all. Duh.

You're both making your way out of the venue towards the car that awaits to drive you to the after party when you're ambushed by interviewers and hundreds of flashes that yell out speed questions.

"Does the beautiful couple have time to stop and answer a few things for us tonight!"

Dazai loves that shit. Of course he has the time, he doesn't care if you don't. He has to sell it, obviously, since you don't put in the effort according to him. He flashes the interviewer that sardonic little smirk you hate and speaks innocently.

"Why, us? Sure! Right, honey?"

He turns to you and the crowd loves it. You hold back how badly you want to roll your eyes and simply smile, holding yourself high with grace and a ton of media training.

"We'd love to."

The interviewer is overjoyed as she looks between you and Dazai, taking in that affection that radiates from your false words. She grins as she goes along to ask her question.

"So, I think a lot of the fans are wondering..."

You and Dazai perk up, not even realizing that you're clutching the bottom of your dress so tighty that your knuckles are white. The interviewer looks directly at you.

"The two of you have been the most stunning couple the industry has seen in a while. Any plans for the future?"

You freeze. Ugh, not this again. You shake your head, smirking to yourself at the absurdity of the concept alone.

"Thank you, but honestly we're just taking things day by day. There's no rush between us, we have all we need right here and now."

The journalist smiles again and nods, seemingly impressed by your laid back attitude. Dazai snorts and suddenly interjects, clearly having a cheeky response to give to the crowd of journalists.

"We'll have tons of kids in the future, actually~"

Your panic is so instant that you literally laugh out loud, yet recovering quickly by turning your shock into a playful glance at your lover. You manage a more sweet giggle and smack him on the chest a little harder than people would guess.

"Ooh, he's joking, of course"

The journalist rejoices, finding your banter and your overall interaction as a couple cute. The ideal power couple! Dazai grins and turns to you again, leaning in to tease you, his narrowed Hazelnut eyes piercing into you like a promise.

"Not joking. One day we're going to have a massive pack of little kids running around. And it's going to be your fault for being sooo cute~"

And with that, he leans in all the way into a million dollar kiss on your confused and parted lips. You're taken so offguard you almost fall back and of course grab onto him a little tighter... and run your fingers through his disheveled hair you forgot to nag him to cut... As the cameras go off like crazy, you wonder if it's worth ruining your public image for a while just so you can slap him harder than you ever have before.

Everyone's cooing and you're fuming, so you settle for a quick thank you and goodbye as you drag Dazai off the red carpet and into the car. He's giggling the entire time, of course. As soon as the door shuts out the screaming fans watching you drive off, you turn to Dazai and whisper ardently.

"What was that all about?! We didn't discuss this prior to-"

"... You liked it."

"Huh?"

"You liked it when I kissed you."

You scoff, though it sounds like you're choking.

"I did not. I just did what I had-"

"... And you want to have my babies. That's adorable, how devoted of you!"

You smack him on the arm but he's smiling like a cat who's had too much catnip, too far gone into his delusions to care about the repercussions. Love is love, after all...

"I think we should break up, like officially. You're nuts. The press won't let that go, Osamu."

He perks up, snapping out of his stasis and crinkles his nose in disapproval. He shakes his head, his hand on his chin as if in deep thought. Dazai mutters, barely above a whisper.

"... We won't actually break up, though."

"And why not?"

"Because in about 60 seconds we're going to kiss again and you'll be clinging onto me the entire night."

You snort into a laugh, tilting your head in disbelief. The car slowly comes to a halt as you arrive at the after party where a familiar roar of the crowd awaits to greet you once more. You begin your futile argument yet again.

"I don't see why I would do that."

At such a silly reply, Dazai softens his voice, looking at you like he first did when you both met on set a year ago. A lifetime ago. You're so cute when you're playing dumb. He shrugs, carefree.

"Neither do I, which is why I want to know too. I want to know what you're thinking about, if it's me."

You hate the way he sounds so sincere, like a real boyfriend would if he were trying to convince you you're just as into him as he is into you. Mind games is what it is, or at least you hope so. You really hope so.

You sigh, suddenly over the conversation as you open the car door to begin climbing out. Dazai follows suit and the roar of the crowd makes your chest feel tight as overstimulation takes over. You want to be anywhere but here and you wonder if you're having some sort of panic attack, but it just doesn't feel describable.

You turn wildly, disoriented by the camera flashes and instant fuss of the press, only to be faced by your one and only savior: the omnipotent Osamu Dazai. You don't know what it is about him in that moment, you just glide into his arms and complete the prophecy as you hook your arm with his, taking deep breaths as you finally ground yourself. It feels like the right kind of wrong, and you don't care to question it.

You feel a squeeze and a soft velvety voice whisper to you once again, you don't even have to look at him to know he's as smug as ever. But amongst the teasing, there's affection there too...

"So, am I?"

"Are you what, Osamu?"

"On your mind."

"At this point you're practically a permanent resident."

You hear him hum, a smile still present on his lips, the world simply frozen for him to continue his private conversation with you in public.

"Hmm, remind me to have you repeat that to me later."

This causes you to squeeze his arm back and murmur in genuine curiosity, finally daring to face him. He's already looking right at you, so devilish and angelic at the same time that you can't even look away from his awfully handsome face.

"Why?"

"Because your time's up. 60 seconds, remember? Now come and kiss me already, the camera's are waiting~"

The photos of you two that night were the envy of couples everywhere. If only they knew how the ride back to the hotel went, it would be a scandal! Or simply the next step in your future?

[bloomzone]

ALRIGHT, let’s keep it REAL for a second. You know the drill—you're on your phone, thinking, "I'll just scroll for a minute," but then one TikTok turns into 20, and before you know it, you’ve wasted an hour or two, and your to-do list is still staring at you, untouched. We’ve all been there. You didn’t even mean to procrastinate, but somehow, scrolling has become your default LIKE UR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. Now you’re sitting there, realizing you’ve literally accomplished nothing, and you’re feeling the pressure creeping up. The guilt sets in, and suddenly the task seems way bigger than it actually is. It’s like time got stolen from you, but the problem is, you let it happen. And that’s okay—we’ve all been there, but let’s talk about how we can stop this cycle and get back on track.So how do we actually break this HABIT and get YOUR SHIT TOGETHER ? First, time-blocking is a solid strategy. HEAR ME OUT Don’t think you need to study for hours straight. Start small—set a timer for 20-30 minutes where you focus only on your homework, then take a 5-10 minute break. You’ll be surprised how much you can get done in those short bursts, and the breaks will keep you from feeling burned out. NEEEXT get your phone out of your face SERIOUSLY, put THAT SHIT it in another room or at least out of reach while you’re working the temptation to check social media is too strong, and if you don’t see it, you won’t even remember it’s there. Also, let’s be honest, a lot of us scroll because we’re avoiding something. So, try this: break your tasks into super small chunks. Instead of saying “I need to finish this whole chapter,” say “I’ll do the first page, then the next,” and slowly build from there. Turn off notifications, too. If you know a text or Instagram notification is going to pull you away from your work, MUTE THAT SHIT ! Your friends and memes can wait. And finally, remember YOUR FUCKING DREAMS UR GOAAALS LIKE GUUURL U WANT TO BE A RICH WORK FOR IIIIT ..When you're tempted to procrastinate, think about why you're putting in the work. Whether it’s to feel less stressed or to actually enjoy your weekends because you’ve gotten stuff done, reminding yourself of your end goal helps you push through the urge to scroll. So yeah, it’s not about being perfect—just about taking small steps every day. You don’t need to be working 24/7, but get focused when you need to, and trust me, you’ll see the difference !

© bᥣoom >⁠.⁠<

[girlwithwolftatoo]

What is chained -Chapter 1

Summary: There was a dream named Rome, and saving it doesn't always mean to chop heads off.

Words: 1677

Characters: Marcus Acacius, emperor Geta, emperor Caracalla and others.

Chapter 1: Taraxia -Disturbance

Any man who has been to sea knows that, when a storm approaches, it is preceded by a shivering calm where silence and stillness are only the desperate cry of an inevitable terror. The air becomes salty, suffocating, the sails hang lifeless, the oars are stowed. And so Acacius thought of his own ship as the slaves loaded their belongings into a wide cart, pulled by a beautiful Gaul steed with its shaggy ankles and curly mane. Lucilla watched, paralyzed with anger from the porch, her hands wringing a sprig of lavender as she struggled not to cry. Her father said that what a free man earns should not be taken from him without cause, but her brother would have sadly agreed with his successors, those two little red-haired devils. Acacius turned away, once he had signaled to the servants that they could retire, and approached the woman with what he considered a reassuring face, which he well knew was not going to do much good. It broke his heart to provoke her to so much distress, but he knew, for that is only learned through years of iron and blood, that refusal would have been worse. “I'll be fine,” he told her, reaching out a hand to stroke her face. Lucilla closed her eyes, bowing her head over the powerful hand that tried to comfort her “Listen, give me a week, two maybe, I'll send messages in the meantime and then… I'll negotiate with the senate. They'll be reasonable, once they see results.”

Lucilla sighed, looking at him defeated. “I never wished this for you, and look at you…you're being sent into the jaws of wolves.” “I'll be able to handle them, you trust, don't you trust me?” he said it lightly, smiling, but his wife didn't play along. “When you raise your sword I do not fear for you, but these… enemies… how will you defend yourself if…?” “With the senate. One word from me and they will regret it. Please…” he added in desperation, giving her a kiss on the cheek, "trust, I know what I'm doing, or at least Gracchus does.’ It was all part of a defensive plan, Acacius said to himself after saying goodbye to Lucilla, riding with his things in the wagon that was taking him to his destiny, was that destiny? he wondered as he left his villa back to the scandal of the city. No celebrations, no making the matter public, that was the decision of the good Gracchus, a great and loyal friend of his wife and her father, so as to avoid angering the demons. It was true that in any case, the demons were already angry. Thraex was still trying in vain to reassure them when the cart stopped at the palace stables, so that Acacius barely set foot when he had clear duties to perform.

“General, I thank the gods you made it” whined the man, exiting through a double door from which could be heard shouts of two men fighting loudly. Acacius looked with exasperation at the door.

“They didn't take kindly to the news, I'm afraid.”

“No way, they're a wild beast, when I told them I thought they were going to kill me.”

Acacius was already used to Thraex hypersensitivity, so he didn't take it so seriously either, and walked through the double doors as if he had just entered an enemy barracks.

On one side, there was Geta, using one of those platters for exotic meats as a shield, and at the other end, his face so reddened that it showed under the heavy makeup, Caracalla, whose raging voice had become so high-pitched that Acacius thought he was going to summon bats.

“You can't tell me what to do!” he shrieked, waving a narrow-mouthed vase varnished in gold.

“I know, I know, I just want you to listen to me, if you keep going on like that...!”

“Do you think I care, I've never been insulted... like that...!”

Geta turned his head and met Acacius, his expression soured but he did nothing but clench his jaw, Caracalla instead dropped the vase - which shattered - and went running towards him, his brother unable to stop him; the older one clenched his muscles in case he rammed him, but the little twin was reduced to stopping a good few feet away, pointing a finger at him as he groaned:

“Et tu, Justus?”

“Calm down, you're embarrassing yourself,” Geta warned him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Acacius relaxed, he detested them both in equal parts, but ruefully admitted that the older twin was a bit more reasonable. “Your Majesties… I see the patrician Thraex has already informed you of the news in the senate.” “News? You call that news?” shrieked Caracalla, wincing ”They have mocked us, that's what they did, and you participated!” “If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else, my lord, and perhaps someone less sympathetic and more… interested in the privileges to be obtained than in the good of you and Rome” continued the general. “I don't know if you haven't noticed but we are no longer children, general” Geta rebuked him, still holding his brother ”We have ruled this empire for years, since we were very young, back then no one cared about our decisions and suddenly…” “You must understand, your majesties, that the people of Rome are no longer as they were in the time of Marcus Aurelius” at the old emperor's mention, Caracalla grimaced and Geta rolled her eyes, ”when the common people were… easily satisfied because they had all they could ask for. The empire is larger, yes, but not stronger or more prosperous.” "How are they not satisfied? We give them parties, shows, military victories, what more do they want?” hinted Geta, supported by his twin who nodded vigorously. Acacius made an effort not to change his expression, that was worse than talking to an infant.

“Yes, but none of it brings food to their tables or fire to their homes. Not all of them are nobles, or wealthy dynastic providers. That's why... that's why the senate has decided...”

“Yes, yes, we know! A curator...” The tone of contempt was not lost on the general.

“See this better as a... advisor in the face of the people” he tried. Acacius regretted not knowing how to speak with the astute finesse of politicians, just now a little lip service would do him good. “If I am always at their majesties' side and... advise them on matters of the people, nothing more, then the people will perceive you as... more... approachable.”

His brain was struggling to find the right words, and he wished he had Lucilla with him, she would surely know how to explain them better. Meanwhile, on the twins' faces there was an identical internal struggle. It was Caracalla who spoke first:

“Who was the idiot who suggested this plan? It couldn't have been you” He said it as if the very idea mortified him.

“No, I certainly don't know, the senate communicated to me only the decision... and that they voted for me as your... advisor.”

“And well, will you be glued to us at all hours? Will you follow us everywhere to tell us how to do our work, general?” asked Geta.

“Their majesties know that I don't know about politics. Of war, on the other hand...”

Yes, he thought suddenly, now that he could explain.

“Come, please, I want to show their majesties something” he requested as politely as he was able, approaching one of the exquisitely narrow windows. The twins followed him, wary. “See out there? Beyond those marble statues and those white steps…that's Rome, your subjects. Tell me, if you were down there, like them, arguing in the marketplace over the prices of a bit of garum and taking your boots to be darned for the third time in the year, how would you feel?” None answered, it seemed too existential a question for their brains. “The enemy can become an ally, if conquered…and it must not always be through violence. You want those people at your feet? You will have to win them back. That's what I'm here for.” The thought brought a strange smile to the twins' faces. Geta, the sharpest, nodded. “Ah, I understand… you'll make them love us, won't you? They adore you, how they get when they see you marching in your chariot! They almost deafen us, don't they?” he asked, turning to Caracalla. “Oh yes, good General Justus, they would make you emperor if they could…” he added with venom.

"Well then, if your majesties would offer your help, I could… well, I would take this matter very seriously. My duty…” he felt a shudder as he said it, "is for Rome to love you once more." That seemed to be enough for Geta, at least he was calmer. Caracalla however continued to insist. “What's in it for you, general? You already have a beautiful house, a noble wife, a superb horse… what more could you want?” Acacius thought it was amusing that the boy spoke to him as if he could bargain. “I do it for Rome, the people I swore to protect and glorify. Nothing more.” “Well… they certainly haven't announced the matter with fanfare” Geta commented, thoughtfully ”We would have expected you to arrive with full honors, a little party for your appointment…”

“No way, I'm not doing it for my own benefit and besides, it would be improper for me to have a party for such a thing. Too many parties would anger the people.”

“Especially since they are not invited” reasoned Caracalla with a silly chuckle ”Yes, yes, that's all very well, I think we can survive this. Don't overdo it, General, and I don't see why we shouldn't get along.”

“Excellent.”

Acacius took his leave, in order to go to his assigned quarters. Part of being curatormeant that he had to live in the palace, the one thing he abhorred most about that job; if Lucilla wasn't so friendly with Gracchus he would punch him in the face for getting him into that mess, but he would have time to ruminate on his frustration, perhaps later in the bath when he could relax as well. For now he had to go back to being the general, and come up with a strategy for this unequal war.

[sleepingdayaway]

For The Dancing And The Dreaming

Guys idk how I’m doing this on mobile I usually post it on my laptop so idk if this will look good. Anyways it’s 4:30 in the morning and this is not edited. I wrote this spur of the moment bc I’m an idiot that doesn’t know how to write.

This is no specific Link! I wrote this bc I’m TRYING to write my own LOZ fic but got distracted. Either way I’m tired

You watch the roaring fire as it flickers in the night. The light from it shines around the area as you exhale softly. There is no point in camping outside anymore, but it's something that the both of you keep doing even after the adventure is over. 

It's the familiar feeling of having to take a quick rest before continuing to the next destination. The same feeling of having to rest with each other, having the world shut off, and being able to take a moment.

Footsteps approach your position before coming to a stop beside you, looking up and seeing the person who you; you’ve known your entire life. You're both older than when you first started the journey, for it caused you many physical challenges but still there are moments where you feel as though you’re back to before it all. 

Tonight is another night of thinking of the past; the bad and good, your accomplishments and your failures. They all still haunt you to this day even if your deeds were good. 

The weight of being back to nothing more than those kids again; the kids who had their own small bubble without knowing more than the whole world. Their only concern is if they'll be caught messing around again, or what new activity you'll try this time before getting bored and going back to the old ways.

A hand gently grasping onto yours pulls you out of your thoughts. Which makes you look up at him and witness the adoring smile he gives you. From the moment everything started he kept looking at you with the same emotion, but if you were to be honest, he held that look far before everything. Link, although not a very talkative person, is able to convey everything that he wants to say in different ways and still be able to express everything.

Watching him change from the boy you used to know to a hero who saved Hyrule; it made you happy to know that you were there the entire time. That he was able to rely on you and your own skills; and how you were able to also rely on him as well.

Never would either you believe that this was your destiny, but you're glad that you both had each other.

And now here you are in each other's presence with the fire in front of you. 

"I’m glad that we were in this together, Link." You said softly and curled your fingers around his hand. He hums in agreement and leaned into you; never taking his eyes off you. 

No one calls for either of you. There is nobody that needs to be saved anymore.

It's just the both of you once more. 

If you were to tell Link before this whole thing started that you'd be with him the entire time. He'd laugh but wouldn't deny it; he'd merely give a look with a shake of his head. Anything that he did, you would be right there and jump in with him. 

The both of you were practically inseparable; if he was there doing something then you would probably be somewhere nearby. For as long as Link knew you he could confidently say that he wouldn't trust anyone else than you.

Your unwavering presence motivated him to keep going. Your snarky remarks about the monsters. The way you freely expressed your fear, but still continued to fight. It made him feel a bit better about his own fears. You were his breath of fresh air whenever the journey took a huge toll on him. How you held him during the moments when he was able to take a break; and reassured him that he was only human that couldn’t shoulder everything. You shared his burden without a word and just held him in your arms.

Link liked you.

He always has if he's being honest, but it was during that moment where it fully clicked that he was fully unashamedly in love with you. Link wanted nothing more than to kiss you; to show his love and affection just for you.

Link decided at that moment that he will be there for you from that moment on. He may be Hyrule's Hero, The Golden Goddesses Chosen Hero, forever destined to pick up the Blade of Evil's Bane.

But for you he'll be anything for you.

He will be your hero until the next lifetime. Neither time nor death will separate him from you for he'll always find you no matter what. 

Suddenly he stood up and pulled you with him and held you close. Staring into your eyes with many emotions running through them. 

“[Name], I want you to know that I love you.” Link spoke softly as he kept holding you. You blink at him since it’s been awhile you’ve heard him call your name; relaxing in his hold you smile.

 “You’ve been through this whole thing with me even though I didn’t ask you to,” he continues, “So now, I want to be there for you with anything you need. I love you and I can’t see myself without you being near me.” He confesses.

He would do anything just to have you by his side, “I would bring you gems, jewelry; I will defend you from any creature that tries to hurt you, if you’ll have me-” Link chokes up a bit as he feels his emotions take a hold of him.

You reached out and held his face in your hands, and brought him closer to you. “I don’t have any use for gems nor jewelry. I don’t care if you can protect me or not, I will gladly stay by you.”

Laughing gently at your words, Link places his head onto yours as you run your fingers through his hair. “My dear, I could never be cruel to deny you nor my love. As long as I’m beside you; I am satisfied.” You continued before closing your eyes and leaning onto him.

The world may never call for Link anymore, but that’s fine with him. As long as he has you he’ll forever be hopelessly in love.

[d0llsuicide]

The bass from the club pounds through the thin walls, rattling the window above my bed. I should be asleep—I’ve got class in the morning and an unfinished assignment mocking me from my desk. Instead, I’m staring at my phone, the group chat lighting up with plans I wasn’t invited to. Again.

It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling when my phone buzzes. A text.

Niccolò:

“What are you doing?”

I frown, rereading it twice. We’re not exactly friends. We’ve been in the same circles for years, crossing paths at parties or school events. Niccolò always has this air of confidence, like he owns the world and knows he can do whatever he wants. He’s infuriating, really. The type of guy who gets away with everything because he’s too charming not to.

I should ignore him. But I don’t.

Me:

“Nothing. Why?”

A few seconds later, my phone buzzes again.

Niccolò:

“Come out.”

I sit up, confused. Is he joking? It’s nearly midnight, and the last thing I need is to deal with his arrogance right now.

Me:

“No.”

It takes him less than a minute to reply.

Niccolò:

“Don’t be boring. I’m outside.”

I freeze. No way. He can’t actually be serious, right? But curiosity gets the better of me, and I crawl out of bed, pulling aside the curtain just enough to peek out.

There he is, leaning casually against his car, looking like he stepped out of a magazine. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt, his hair just the right kind of messy. Typical Niccolò. He sees me looking and flashes that signature smirk, raising his eyebrows like, What are you waiting for?

I grab a hoodie and head downstairs before I can talk myself out of it.

When I step outside, the cool night air hits me, and Niccolò’s grin widens.

“Thought you’d never come,” he says, his voice low and teasing.

“I didn’t say yes,” I shoot back, crossing my arms.

He shrugs, unfazed. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“What do you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he nods toward the passenger seat of his car. “Get in.”

I hesitate. “Why?”

“Do you ever stop asking questions?” he says with a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Just trust me. I’m bored, you’re bored—let’s do something about it.”

I know I should say no. Niccolò is trouble, the kind of trouble you see coming a mile away but can’t seem to avoid. But there’s something in the way he looks at me, a mix of mischief and curiosity, like he’s daring me to step into his world.

Against my better judgment, I get in the car.

We end up driving out of the city, the lights of Rome fading in the rearview mirror. Niccolò doesn’t tell me where we’re going, and I don’t ask. The windows are down, the wind whipping through my hair as he weaves effortlessly through the narrow roads.

“Do you always kidnap people in the middle of the night?” I ask, trying to sound annoyed.

He laughs, a rich, unbothered sound. “Only the interesting ones.”

I roll my eyes, but he catches the hint of a smile I’m trying to hide.

Eventually, we pull up to an overlook, the city stretching out below us like a sea of golden lights. It’s breathtaking, and for a moment, I forget why I was so annoyed with him in the first place.

“Not bad, huh?” he says, leaning against the hood of the car.

I join him, keeping a careful distance. “So, what’s the deal? You just wanted to show me the view?”

He lights a cigarette, taking a slow drag before answering. “Not everything has to be a deal, you know.”

“With you? It usually is,” I counter.

His lips twitch, amused. “Fair enough.” He exhales, the smoke curling into the night air. “Maybe I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

“To what?”

“To me.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, here you are,” he points out, smirking.

I don’t have a response for that, so I stay quiet, staring out at the city. For all his arrogance, there’s something almost peaceful about being here with him.

“Why me?” I ask after a while, my voice softer.

He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Why not?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Maybe I don’t have one,” he admits, surprising me. “Maybe I just think you’re different.”

“Different how?”

He flicks his cigarette into the gravel, his eyes meeting mine. For once, there’s no smirk, no teasing. Just honesty.

“You don’t try to impress anyone. It’s annoying as hell, but… I like it.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Niccolò isn’t the type to hand out compliments, let alone ones that feel genuine.

“Well,” I say finally, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re still annoying.”

His smirk returns. “Good. I’d hate to lose my charm.”

We sit there for a while, the silence stretching between us in a way that feels comfortable, not awkward. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the weight of everything pressing down on me.

Maybe Niccolò is trouble, but for now, I don’t mind getting lost in it.

[shaanks]

Would you want to pull that Shanks has separation anxiety hc back out from under the bed and maybe perhaps share it with the rest of us? Tbh I LIVE for the head canons you share!!

You are so sweet!!!! 😭😭😭 I'm sorry I've been sitting on this one for several days now, I wanted to be at least sort of clear-headed to answer it properly. Some of this is going under a readmore because I'm incapable of answering things concisely lmfao.

Edit: for anyone watching out there this post is riddled with spoilers so read at your own risk.

**

I think about Shanks and all of his sublimated feelings and fears and dreams so much it makes me so crazy and sad lmfao. Focusing in on the fears part though like...abandonment and loss have been really central themes in his life.

He was found in a locked treasure chest - seemingly abandoned by his biological family (which in the end, good, because if they are who we think they are they suck anyway).

He spends his childhood aboard the LITERAL ship of dreams, two of the most prolific men of that era are his father figures, he has this incredibly close relationship with Buggy, he is soaring on the wings of this burgeoning era, where the only limits he has are what his imagination and talent allow him to be capable of...and then it all just stops.

The family that he knows sails away to the end of their journey without him because he opts to stay behind with Buggy when he gets sick, and nothing is ever the same or right again. Roger sickens, Rayleigh's mind begins to fray. The crew disbands. Everyone disappears.

Roger allows himself to go to the gallows, and on the way there he lays the future of their world on the shoulders of a grieving 14 year old boy, who has to now learn what it means to be utterly alone in a world that has not only branded him enemy, but whose governing structures are fully aware of his power and the danger his talent and proximity to Roger entail.

The only person he had there with him, Buggy, runs out on him - for reasons that were understandable, but could have been avoided by words neither of them had the emotional maturity to express, especially not in the moment of such anguish and grief.

He eventually finds people, good people, new friends and comrades, people he can trust, but even then he is having separation and its cost modeled for him in the form of Yasopp and his son, and eventually in the form of a tenacious, lovable little boy named Luffy, who loves so fiercely and is very clearly terrified of the prospect of being left, of being alone. A fear Shanks resonates with deeply. A pain he knows he will eventually have to inflict on this little boy.

There's a lot of meta around that Shanks had no faith or interest in Luffy until he ate the gum-gum fruit and didn't think he had any potential to be a pirate, but I think that's a really shallow, kind of willfully ignorant take on it. Shanks himself found a home at sea as a boisterous naive child, and the RHP more than have the capability of looking after a child with a penchant for trouble...but that's how he lost his world, too.

Leaving Luffy behind hurt him, but he left him with connection, an emotionally valuable memento, and to Shanks' awareness he was leaving him with a stable support system firmly in place. There are no guarantees in this life, but he's learned through personal experience that not even the Pirate King can grant you assurance that your family at sea will survive.

ALL that to be said that I think one of Shanks' deepest, most untended hurts is loss, the loss of family, of friends, of love, and because that wound has gone unaddressed--and because he went from lost 14 year old boy to Captain to Yonko in such quick succession, and there doesn't tend to be a lot of emotional support for mythic figures of authority--it manifests as separation anxiety.

Individual members of the RHP are rarely seen off on their own, with the exception of Benn going off to rescue Luffy that one time. They all move around together.

When people leave, Shanks keeps tabs on them, when danger arises, he does his best to be two steps ahead of it. I genuinely think there's a part of him that whispers "you'll never see them again" any time someone he cares about walks out of a room, or leaves the ship a little before him. There's a reason, I think, that he's always shown to be the last person to board the ship, why he's always ushering people on ahead of him 50 times before he goes up.

With a lover, I think it would manifest tenfold, I think that's partially why he's so clingy and touchy-feely and cuddly (aside from just being literally the sweetest man alive), because to have that sort of connection means he reached out of the imposed avoidance of his own desires to really bring someone in close, and I think that kind of loss, or the perception of the possibility of that kind of loss, would devastate him in a way he wouldn't recover from.

So he holds your hand everywhere you go, shadows you through rooms, presses you close to his side when you're out at bars, and worries, just a little bit, every time you get up to go to the galley or have to take night watch without him.

Because what if it all falls apart again. What if you disappear. What if the crew disappears. Just like what happened before.

I hope this makes sense and was coherent, I just have a feeling or two about him, ya know?

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

A quick little Scottish Safehouse fic for you. Check it out on AO3, or read below. Reblogs, replies, etc are always extremely appreciated.

They didn’t talk about it, at the safehouse. They talked about everything but – the weather, the dishes, the neighbors’ cows. They talked about Daisy, but only to comment about her decor, or her taste in books and music made evident by the small collection of vinyl and battered paperbacks scattered across the house. They didn’t talk about what she might be doing now. They didn’t speculate about whether Basira had made good on her promise yet.

Jon didn’t ask Martin about anything he’d said in the Lonely, though the words I really loved you, you know burned a constant hum in the back of his mind. Martin didn’t ask about any of the things he’d Seen. He wouldn’t know what to ask, even if he wanted to. Was it real? Do you love me? He wasn’t sure he needed to ask. What does it mean? Where do we go from here? That was closer to the mark, but terrifying. Everything felt so fragile at the moment. He didn’t want to push. It was easier, safer, to keep things light. Was the tea in Daisy’s cupboards still good? Had Jon seen that grey heron in the stream outside the window? Should they stop by the library the next time they went into town for groceries?

They barely spoke at all when they went to bed. The nerve-wracking reality of sharing a bed, just inches apart, overpowered any instinct to chat. So they said nothing, falling asleep to the sound of the other’s breathing until it was time for one or both of them to be woken by a nightmare.

***

The first night, it was Martin. He tossed and turned in his sleep, badly enough to shake Jon from his own bad dreams, so Jon could hear the second he woke with a hitched, choked breath. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “You’re alright, it was just a dream.”

“Jon?”

“I’m here.”

Jon reached across and slipped his hand into Martin’s, and Martin squeezed it like a lifeline. They didn’t say anything else, after that, but when they finally fell asleep nearly an hour later, their hands were still clasped together.

***

In the morning, they talked about the crossword.

“How do you spell obstinate?” Martin asked across the breakfast table.

“O-B-S-T-I-N-A-T-E.”

“Hmm. Too many letters, then.”

“What’s the clue?”

“Stubborn, 8 letters.” Martin told him. “First two letters are O and B.”

“What about ‘obdurate?’”

Martin pencilled it in. “It fits.” He frowned down at the puzzle with a contemplative hum. “And if that’s an R, then that means I was right about 4 down from the beginning…” He filled in a few more clues, then looked up from the puzzle and scoffed. “Obdurate,” he repeated, incredulous. “Who uses the word obdurate?”

***

Jon was woken after midnight by Martin’s harsh, shuddering breaths – crying or on the verge of tears; Jon couldn’t tell. He reached out, and Martin breathed out a shaky sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I was on the beach again,” Martin whispered. “I was alone.”

“You’re not alone anymore.”

“I know.” Another sigh as he struggled to calm his breathing. “I know.”

***

The next day, they talked about the laundry.

“We forgot to buy detergent,” Jon informed him after spending the morning inspecting Daisy’s laundry room and its ancient washer-dryer.

“Daisy didn’t leave any behind?”

“You can look for yourself if you want, but I didn’t see any.”

“I trust you.”

Jon settled on the couch and spread the throw blanket across his lap. “How much did you pack? Do you think we can put off doing laundry until after we go to the shops?”

“Sure,” Martin told him, though in truth he hadn’t packed much. “We’ll be fine.”

***

When Jon woke, he didn’t move. He didn’t make a sound. He lay on his back, letting his tears slide down his cheeks in total silence, certain that he hadn’t woken Martin. But when he finally had to breathe – the tell-tale hiccuping inhale of someone who had just been crying – Martin rolled over to face him.

“Jon?”

“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Martin watched him. Jon’s chest rose and fell unsteadily, and in the light of the nearly-full moon outside their window, Martin could see the tear tracks glisten, incriminating, on his face.

Jon finally turned to face him, and they lay face to face for a long, silent moment. A strand of long, grey-streaked hair had fallen into Jon’s face with the movement, and Martin reached out to tuck it behind his ear.

“Oh, Jon…”

He let his hand linger, cupping his jaw, then moved it an inch to brush aside the tears from Jon’s cheeks. His hand was warm, and Jon’s skin was cold, and Jon turned his face to press into that point of warm, gentle contact. 

Jon waited for Martin to pull his hand away. Martin waited for Jon to turn away again. Neither of them moved. 

Finally, Jon closed the space between them to tuck his face into the crook of Martin’s neck. Martin held his breath for a moment before bringing his arms up to pull Jon even closer.

They woke up that morning entwined in each other’s arms, but they didn’t talk about it.

***

“We’re almost out of eggs.”

“Already?”

“It’s probably my fault,” Martin admitted. “I used a lot of them for my omelet yesterday.”

“Well, we needed to go shopping anyway.”

Martin hmm’ ed thoughtfully. “There was something else we needed. Wasn’t there?”

“There was,” Jon agreed. “God, what was it?”

“We should start writing these things down.”

***

That night, Jon had another nightmare. Martin could hear him trying to stifle his crying once again, and reached out. 

Jon froze at the contact, caught like a deer in the headlights. Then he turned to press himself against Martin’s chest and let himself be held.

“Nightmare?” Martin asked, and Jon nodded.

“I couldn’t look away,” he murmured. “I tried to, but– I just stood there and watched.”

Martin pressed Jon to him. “It’s alright,” he said, though it wasn’t exactly true. Then he whispered, “I’m here,” which was.

***

The next day, they went into town for groceries. They chatted a bit on the walk there.

“God, breathe that air,” Martin exclaimed, sucking in a good lungful for himself.

“I’m breathing it…” Jon said. “Is there… something I’m supposed to notice?”

“It’s fresh!” Martin told him. “It’s good, country air! I don’t miss London right now, I’ll tell you that.”

“No.” Jon glanced at Martin, bundled in his worn peacoat against the highland chill. “I can’t say I miss London either.”

They chatted more in the grocery store.

“Where are you going?”

“I just want to look at the tea selection…”

“We already have so much back at the house.”

“I’m just looking!”

And more, on the walk back.

“Ooh, look there! Is that a falcon? Or a hawk?”

“A hawk.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, it’s a Eurasian sparrowhawk.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Yes, Martin, that’s sort of the idea.”

And more, when they got back to the safehouse.

“Geez,” Martin said as they walked through the front door, “it’s getting a bit nippy, isn’t it? Should we have a fire tonight?”

“Yes, that’s probably–”

Martin dropped the tote bag he was holding with an abrupt clunk.

“Laundry detergent!”

Jon didn’t have to ask what he meant; he just swore under his breath.

“Damnit!”

“We forgot laundry detergent.”

“Look, Martin, you finish putting the groceries away and I’ll run back to the shop.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a long way–”

“I want to.”

“Alright.” Jon bit his lip around the urge to smile. “If you’re sure.”

***

It was Martin’s turn for a nightmare that night. It was too much to ask, it seemed, that just once they both sleep soundly.

He was crying. Quietly, but not so quietly that it didn’t stand out starkly against the silence of the house. He had his back to Jon, and Jon watched his shoulders shake for a single hesitant moment before he wrapped his arms around Martin’s waist.

“Was it the same dream?” he asked in a barely-there whisper, and Martin shook his head.

“You were there this time,” he said. “In the Lonely. But you… you hated me. You didn’t say it, but I could tell– I knew– you wanted me to go.”

“I’m sorry.”

Martin sniffled. “It was just a dream,” he said, as much to himself as to Jon.

“I… I don’t want you to go.”

“I know. You don’t have to… It was just a dream,” Martin repeated.

They let the silence hang in the air for a time, Jon holding Martin in a wordless embrace, Martin letting the tears come without trying to fight them this time. Jon broke the silence to murmur,

“I was prepared to stay.”

“What?”

“When I went into the Lonely, I didn’t know if I’d be able to pull you out – I didn’t know if I’d be able to pull myself out. I just knew…” he took a steadying breath, and pressed his ear to Martin’s back to hear the quiet beating of his heart. “I’d rather be there with you than leave you there alone.”

“Oh.” 

Martin took Jon’s hand in his, pressing it to his chest like a talisman, like it could ward off the Lonely. Maybe it could.

“Thanks, Jon. I…” Another sentence he couldn’t finish. “Thank you.”

Jon turned his head and pressed a kiss to the back of Martin’s neck. In that moment, it felt natural. It felt simple. It felt right.

Martin sighed. The sound was warm, and gentle, and content, and it felt so loud against the silence of the room.

They didn’t talk about it.

***

The next day, they did laundry.

The washer seemed up to the task, but the dryer, which Jon had been dubious of since the moment he set eyes on it, gave out halfway through the first spin cycle. In the end, they had to hang it up to dry.

They worked as a team, Jon handing Martin clothes and pegs and Martin hanging them on the laundry line that stood in the yard behind the safehouse.

They chatted while they worked.

“I’ve never seen you wear this in my life,” Martin remarked as he hung up one of Jon’s old tee shirts from uni.

“Yes, well, I was in a bit of a hurry when I packed…”

Martin read the text printed in too-small serif across the front of the shirt, and his face split into a grin.

“Wait, am-dram? You did am-dram in uni?”

“Very briefly.”

“This explains so much about you.”

“Shut up, Martin,” Jon muttered without any real venom.

“Well, let’s hear something! You must have a bit of Shakespeare memorized.”

He did, but he wasn’t going to say as much while Martin was mocking him.

“I’m not a performing monkey.”

“Oh, come on, just one quick monologue! Just a little, ‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks…’”

“It is the east, and Juliet is the sun,” Jon finished rotely and without intonation. “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou her maid art far more fair than she – and that’s as much as you’ll get out of me.”

Jon bent over to grab more laundry and did his best to hide his face.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

Martin grinned. “Very.”

“Well… that’s good,” he said stiffly. “I’m glad.”

Martin looked at Jon – desperately embarrassed, surrounded by sodden tee shirts, windswept silver-black hair gleaming in the late September sun – and felt more fond than he ever had of anyone in his life.

“I love you.”

The words slipped out before he realized what he was saying. Jon’s head swung around to stare.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t– I mean– I know it’s–”

“You do?” Jon’s words were quiet and utterly serious.

Martin gave an anxious little nod. “Yeah.” His voice came out smaller than he expected. “I do. I really, really do.”

Jon let the pair of trousers he was holding fall to the ground as he surged forward to kiss him.

***

Another nightmare. Another round of whispered reassurances.

“It’s alright, you’re alright, I’m here.”

When the shock wore off and they were able to shake the residual dread from their respective bad dreams, they turned to face each other on the mattress. The light from the barely-waning moon painted everything in shades of dusky silver. 

For a long time, they didn’t speak; they simply studied each other’s faces. Eventually, Jon brought his forehead up to rest against Martin’s.

“I love you.”

Martin swallowed. He still wasn’t used to hearing it. Jon wasn’t used to saying it.

“I love you, too.”

Their lips met in one soft, slow kiss, and then they pulled away just enough to gaze at each other as they fell back into sleep.

[wishesofeternity]

The thing about HotD is that it while it absolutely minimizes the agency and ambition of both Rhaenyra and Alicent, this is specifically used to glorify Rhaenyra and frame her as righteous while condemning Alicent and framing her lacking. That's the key difference in both their textual portrayals that has directly led to 90% of the fandom hailing Rhaenyra as the second coming of Christ while spewing the most hateful vitriol at Alicent just for existing. But y'all are not prepared for that conversation.

[lususnatura]

🎤

a song that i associate with my muse meme!

hiii, holly! thank you for the ask :D so, this one is going to include a song in it that i'm not really sure is very popular, BUT eff it we ball as they say LMAO (as explanation as to why i chose this song will be in the tags):

timbre timbre - grifting.