#lith hawke

[greyswarden]

i have been pondering on this for a while and i decided to make the executive decision to switch ariel over to surana rather than amell simply because of the blank slate background and the freedom i can get from that 🫶

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Ruined My Sheets | Hawks x Reader

Summary: Only a few hours ago you had been on your way back from the laundromat when a low tier thug had approached you with a knife and attempted to mug you. Hawks had swept in and saved the day without a second thought. He'd stayed with you to chat as you did your laundry. Then he'd asked you for coffee. Coffee had gone on for three hours and after a lot of winking and flirting on his part, you had point blank asked Hawks to hop in your bed. (After he'd helped you put out your freshly laundered sheets, of course.)

Important Notes/TW: All characters are A21+, Hawks is a Pro Hero, Hookup, Hawks is fucked dumb, Reader takes charge, penetrative sex, strangers to lovers, unprotected sex, MDNI, This is an adult only blog posting mature content

"H-holy fuck." Hawks groans as you ride him, nice and slow as you please. "Do you thank all the Pro Heroes who save you like this?"

He's splayed out on his back on your clean, white sheets. Blissed out. His visor's still on, but his headphones and the rest of his hero costume are strewn indiscriminately across the room. It's twilight outside, and that sweet peach of a summer sun is slipping beneath the city's blurry horizon line outside your window. Only a few hours ago you had been on your way back from the laundromat when a low tier thug had approached you with a knife and attempted to mug you. Hawks had swept in and saved the day without a second thought. He'd stayed with you to chat as you did your laundry. Then he'd asked you for coffee. Coffee had gone on for three hours and after a lot of winking and flirting on his part, you had point blank asked Hawks to hop in your bed. (After he'd helped you put out your freshly laundered sheets, of course.)

Needless to say, he didn't need any convincing to strip down and pull you on his cock.

You engage your thigh muscles and drag yourself up up up - teasing Hawks so that he'll think you're getting off the ride. His golden eyes are wide as they watch your lithe body move. Before he can beg you to sit back down, you slowly slide yourself back into place. The slick sound your pussy makes as it engulfs his hard cock is downright sinful. You try to commit it to memory.

Hawks lets out a whine, watching as your soft breasts bounce in the low light.

"Maybe you should save me more often." You say as you roll your hips again, reveling in the way his thick hardness stretches you out. "I like giving out rewards to esteemed winged do-gooders."

"Oh, baby." Hawks says, closing his eyes and sitting up so he can wrap his arms around you. His wings puff out behind him, filling the space with crimson. He buries his face in your generous chest, pressing hot open mouthed kisses to the smooth swell of each breast before he looks up at you with earnest eyes. You smirk as you feel his stubble scratch against your soft skin. "If that's the case, I'll save you every day of the week."

You place a hand squarely on his chest and push him back down onto the bed. He lets himself fall back easily, eyes upturned as he watches you pleasure yourself on his cock.

"You sure we don't need me to put on a condom?" He asks uncertainly, staring at the spot where his dick slowly disappears into your bare pussy again. And again. And again. "'Cause if you keep this up, I'm definitely gonna cum soon."

"Nah." You grin down at him as you pick up your pace, sliding up and down that perfect cock of his. You lean backward and grip at his thigh for balance. "Feels better like this. All natural."

"Yeah. Right. Natural." He groans, his eyes rolling back in his head a little. You're fucking him dumb and you know it.

"Hey, Hawks. You good down there?" You laugh. He stays where he is - eyes half lidded - and raises up his arm to give you a solid thumbs up.

"I'm close, sweetheart." He groans from down on the mattress. You pick up the pace - shifting from a slow ride to a furious pounding fuck. His sharp intake of breath in response practically makes you cum on the spot.

You reach down and grab the visor off of his face, flinging it to the side. There's a satisfying clatter as it hits the wall to your left before landing on the floor. Good. Now you can see that pretty face fully. He's got the loveliest cheekbones and a cute sloping nose. His golden eyes are still half lidded, he's barely holding himself together.

His hands twitch and make their way to your hips, holding on for dear life as you bounce and roll on top of him. Your pussy gobbles him up again and again with a wet, wicked squelch.

You place your palms down flat on his chest for leverage, reveling in the strong defined muscle beneath your fingertips.

When Hawks cums, he cums hard.

He holds onto your hips like they're a lifeboat and he's a man drowning. His fingertips are sure to leave tiny bruises in their wake. You bounce up and down, eyes wide as he fills you up with hot spurts of baby batter. His eyes are squeezed shut as he pumps you full. He lets out a low moan as he finishes, feeling your pussy pulse as it pulls every last drop of thick cum out of him.

You groan as you ride out your own orgasm - the grip of his hands and the overwhelming feeling of being so completely filled throwing you over the edge.

What a pair you are: A Pro Hero making his last save of the day, and an unwitting would-be victim (aka a gal just trying to get her sheets washed at the laundromat).

Damn. You think as you both catch your breath and come down from the incredible high. Now I gotta go wash my sheets again.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Based on this amazing ask.

Dark Thraller - Part 1

Azriel x HewnCity!Reader, Arranged Marriage

Something darker than the night itself lurks within the Hewn City. Something dark and lovely and his. Azriel suddenly finds himself with a bride that he never wanted but when their marriage may be the one thing that saves their world as they know it, duty trumps all.

The female watched from shadows behind the archway connecting a granite corridor to the throne room of the Hewn City, peering into the busy room. She could smell the fear simmering within the room, it stoked at her own power, building as it fueled her senses. She shouldn’t be here, to be caught could mean death, perhaps worse, but this was her only chance to find the Seer.

Azriel stood cross-armed, hazel eyes honed in on Elain Archeron as she gracefully meandered through the throne room of the Hewn City. Its lecherous denizens ogling her as if she were nothing more than a whore in a pleasure house. Her dress was modest, a whispy train of tulle falling from her shoulders and trailing behind her, the perfect decoy for hiding his shadows as they listened in for tonight’s intended target. The gown hugged her slim figure just enough to give a tease of the lithe female form beneath.

He rolled his eyes as he took her in, reminded of Cassian’s insistence that black wasn’t her color but he was wrong - she was the ethereal moon to the Night Court’s midnight skies.

———

Elain knew she did not belong here. Not within the stone walls of this forsaken city. Not because she was too fragile. No, despite the fact that her sisters coddled her and the rest of the Inner Circle treated her like a delicate flower that would wither at the slightest touch, it was often overlooked that she had slain the King of Hybern. Sure, Nesta received credit for the final blow, but it was Elain who had been vital that day.

She didn’t belong here because of its own inherent darkness that mingled so well with the darkness within her own soul. She’d always tried to make the best of life, but years of poverty, being forced into the cauldron, losing Graysen, an unrequited mating bond, their fathers death, being held captive in Hybern’s camp, nearly losing Feyre during Nyx’s birth, the strife didn’t hold a candle to the pain she felt from being granted the so-called “gift” of sight and having no way to decipher it. Her visions were not light and airy, they were dark and inky, ominous at best.

The few times she’d visited this sect of the Night Court, her visions plagued her. Glimpses of gods and shadows, sacrificed maidens, life and death. And then, there was last time. The collision of an outside force greeting her own power, something fearsome and yet- gentle.

Azriel’s shadows gave a tug on the cape of Elain’s gown, working of their own accord. To Azriel’s chagrin, the last time they’d been here his shadows pushed boundaries, ignoring commands to stand down as they searched the space. They’d trailed Elain who had a particularly concerning vision of shadows upon water and whispers of death.

With the concerns of Koschei following the events with the Queens on the continent, it was enough to garner another visit. So, here they were. Azriel watching Elain like a hawk as she and his shadows searched the place.

Eyes diverted away from Elain as the main act arrived, Rhys and Feyre loosening the grip on their power as the doors flew open- their steps echoing throughout the now silent chamber as the High Lord and High Lady approached the dais. The crowd, having learned from previous reprimand, fell to their knees before their rulers.

It was then that Azriel’s shadows completely shrouded Elain, granting her cover as she dipped down a corridor that Azriel had very clearly lectured them NOT to go down. He wasn’t about to risk Elain’s safety, even if it meant failing the mission at hand of garnering more sight into these possible Koschei visions.

Elain took no more than ten steps down the corridor when a voice startled her from the shadows. “You.”

Elain gasped as Azriel’s shadows created a wall of shadow before her.

Not to protect her - but to conceal the source of the voice.

How very strange.

A lump formed in Elain’s throat as she mustered her courage for a moment, composing herself before squaring her shoulders and holding her head high.

“Yes?” She asked.

“You’re the Seer.” The voice spoke again. Feminine. Young, likely twenty or thirty but it was hard to tell with the fae.

“I am.” Elain spoke firmly. “And you are?”

The voice started before turning into a strangled gasp. The shadows cleared for Elain to find Azriel, holding the female from behind with Truth-Teller against her throat.

“I know what you are.” His deep voice spoke into her ear, his heated breath sending chills through the female.

“Azriel.” Elain spoke. “She was only curious. She didn’t harm me.”

Azriel didn’t move a muscle, only lifting his hazel eyes from behind the female to meet Elain’s gaze. “You don’t know what she is. The danger you were in.”

The cool blade pressed against the female’s throat and if it wasn’t for the obvious threat she posed, Azriel would have had a hard time missing the way her body fit so enticingly against his, the way her ass-

He growled. “Quit it.”

“Quit what?” The female puzzled.

Through gritted teeth, Azriel warned, “Your powers will not affect me, Dark Thraller.”

Elain kept quiet but she didn’t miss the smirk that rose on the female’s face at that. There was something about this female that resonated with her. She had a gentle presence, soft in all the right places to enhance her feminine appearance in a way that would leave most underestimating her, yet Elain knew there was more to this female, something deeper, something darker than her bright eyes let on.

Someone who could understand her.

———————————

Keir burst through the dungeon door first, followed by the general of his Dark Bringer forces and his second in command, Lord Thanatos.

“Keir, how nice of you to join us.” Rhys mused. Arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

Rhys and Azriel had spent the past two hours with the female, named Y/N, in the dungeons of the Hewn City. She was a Dark Thraller. An incredibly rare power of ancient fae, until today, it had been thought of as myth. She could not only wield darkness and shadow on her own accord but she could steal it, borrowing directly from the source, hence Azriel‘s shadows obscuring her from Elain. It was fortunate that he’d taken her by surprise when he’d snuck up on her, able to pull his shadows from her thrall and regain them as his own. Though they weren’t particularly eager to return to his side. He was still pissed about that.

The fact that Keir had kept this female a secret was enough to chap Azriel’s ass too. Mor’s father should have reported the female the moment her powers manifested, yet, he’d hoarded her. And much like with Mor, Keir and Lord Thanatos planned to breed her, using her as a bargaining chip in an arranged marriage to some noble on the continent that she had never laid eyes on.

“Release my daughter, immediately.” Lord Thanatos boomed.

The female remained silent, still, but Azriel didn’t miss the way her skin paled at his command. Rhys let out a dangerous laugh, not the warm laugh of the brother Azriel knew so well, but the bitter laugh of a High Lord about to put a subordinate into his place, or the ground, depending on how generous he was feeling.

Both males froze in place, faces turning cherry red as they fought against invisible restraints. Rhys placed an errant hand into his left pocket, a cruel smirk plastered across his face. “It seems I have not given enough attention to the seat of my court in recent years if this is how its people choose to greet their High Lord.”

His violet eyes narrowed as he took a tone befitting of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. “Kneel”

And before they had a chance to do so on their own accord, Rhys forced them into a submission. A gentle - considering the force he was capable of - reminder that they were indeed the lesser males in the room.

Rhys released his hold on the males as they gasped for air, remaining knelt until their High Lord dismissed the formal stance.

“It seems, Keir, that you and Lord Thanatos have been keeping this little gem a secret.” Nodding his head toward the restrained female, who easily could have broken the shadows to her submission. A test, then. To see how impulsive she was with her power, what manner of control she practiced over it.

Azriel didn’t trust her. Thralling? Yes, a Dark Thraller typically attracted darkness and shadow with their thralling abilities but how far did her capabilities go? Could she work on the minds of those wielding darkness as well?

Azriel broke from his inner thoughts to find the female staring at him with wide eyes. She was nervous. He stepped closer to her, keeping his gaze firm and narrowed but to his surprise, the nervous energy surrounding her did not increase. In fact, she seemed to relax slightly.

That was certainly a first for him in these dungeons.

Azriel had been so focused on her that he missed the last bit of groveling from Keir and Lord Thanatos. His attention once again fixed on the males and his High Lord as Rhys summoned a large table and five chairs.

Keir scoffed. “This is a conversation for males, she-“ he spoke the pronoun with venom, “has no business in these affairs.”

Rhys waved a dismissive hand at the male. “I always forget what antiquated views you harbor. At this table, she has a place. In fact, she has more of a place here than you do, since you so rudely interrupted our-” interrogation “conversation.”

“Azriel.” Rhys nodded toward the bound female.

Begrudgingly, Azriel released his restraints on the female. She stood, slowly, maintaining eye contact with him as she smoothed her satin gown, the fabric clung deliciously to her curves but Azriel was most taken by those mesmerizing eyes of hers as they held his cold stare. No malice, or hatred lay in her own eyes, the emotion was something that made his heart lurch. The same look a snared creature would give a hunter that held its fate in their hands, the same look a young boy once gave his cruel half-brothers as fuel soaked his hands while they held the flaming match.

Y/N broke her eye contact and approached the table, holding her head high. To her- and everyone in the room not named Rhysand’s - shock, he pulled the chair at the table’s head out and motioned for her to sit. He kept the arrogant mask plastered on and waited until she accepted that he was serious, shifting uncomfortably for a moment, before seating herself. That nervousness once again returning as she looked to the two Court of Nightmares males to her right.

Truly, Azriel didn’t trust her but he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. He’d met her two hours ago and already knew she was too good to be intimidated by these pricks.

Azriel stepped to Keir, seated directly to next to her, Rhys seated to her left - and flatly commanded “move.”

Keir huffed an insidious laugh. “I don’t take orders from dogs.”

Azriel remained stoic, refusing to deign the pompous male with even a breath of irritation. He’d been called far worse

Rhys didn’t bat an eye at the command from his Spymaster, knowing Mor’s history, of course he would feel inclined to keep him distanced from a female stuck in a nearly identical situation as the one she was faced with all those centuries ago. “Keir, you truly are going out of your way to play the fool today. Keep it up and maybe we can reenact what happened to your arm the last time you disregarded the station of one of my Inner Circle?”

Keir bristled slightly before tucking his shoulders in a show of submission, pushing himself up, and swapping places with the Shadowsinger.

Azriel didn’t miss the slight ease of tension in Y/N’s jaw as he sat, though her heartbeat remained racing as indicated by the visible thrumming of her pulse in her neck and quickened breathing. His shadows gravitated toward her, intertwining with her ankles and then scurried away when she looked to them in a reprimanding manner.

By the rather adorable scowl furrowing across her brow, he had a feeling she hadn’t used her thralling abilities on them either. Interesting.

For all that they were excellent for spying, the things were incurably nosey to a fault.

Clearing his throat, Rhys began “It has been brought to my attention that lady Y/N is to be married to a male on the continent, not as a marriage of love but as one of title. Given her unique powers I propose that we arrange a marriage within our own court that will be both advantageous to the Night Court and to her in terms of power. Do you wish to elaborate on who you intend to marry her off to?”

Azriel noted the bead of sweat on Lord Thanatos’ brow as he glanced to Keir, vaguely-concealed concern flitting between the two.

Keir cleared his throat. “The male is simply a lesser-noble from a wealthy family on the continent. She is not worth the attention, your grace. Her power will be of no use to your court. They’re nothing more than an amusing party trick.”

Leaning back in his chair, Rhys held his chin between his thumb and forefinger in a show of consideration, before giving a grin. “I do enjoy parties. And it seems as if I could find a suitor that would be far more advantageous considering this unnamed lesser-noble is not even worth noting. Don’t you agree?”

Y/N seemed to shrink in her seat but what Azriel read on her face looked almost like “hope.”

What had she been put through for her future to be discussed as if she were nothing more than loose marks to be spent frivolously and still feel hope? He grit his teeth at the way Rhys carried on with the act, though he knew it was simply that- an act.

Silence filled the space and Azriel didn’t miss the way his High Lord’s gaze went vacant, communicating with someone. A small hitch in the breath of Y/N clued him in to exactly who he was communicating with.

“I’ve decided.” Rhys purred. “Lord Thanatos, your lovely daughter will wed my Shadowsinger.”

Outrage filled the room as the males let out shouts of disapproval before Rhys let his darkness fill the room. “Am I not High Lord? Do I not have final say in the affairs of my denizens?”

The males were silent. Rhys loosened his power further, a rumble sending loose dirt falling from the ceiling of the room onto the table before them. “I expect an answer.”

Lowering their gazes in submission, it was Keir who spoke first, “Yes, High Lord.”

Lord Thanatos let out a growl, shooting a violent glare in Keir’s direction.

“I expect an answer, Lord Thanatos.” Rhysand challenged.

After another moment, he finally caved in to the show of power. “Yes, High Lord.” The male growled.

The darkness faded as Rhys clapped his hands together. “Excellent. This evening just became far more interesting. We shall wed the two tonight!”

To his credit, Azriel said nothing, not one single show of disapproval or questioning.

“You two may be dismissed. We will coordinate the details of the wedding.”

As the two males, completely dumbfounded, exited the cell. The female looked to the floor, avoiding Azriel’s stony gaze- the gaze of her soon-to-be husband. Which was for the best as Azriel sent her a glare reserved for the worst of traitors. He did not want this, he wanted nothing to do with the female. His heart was destined to belong to the middle Archeron sister. He was to share his life with HER, not this strange enigma from the Hewn City.

Moments later, Elain and Feyre entered the room. Elain’s expression unreadable as they retrieved the female, Cassian and Nesta flanking them protectively as they led her off to prepare for the ceremony.

————

Rhysand knew he was a bastard. He took the corresponding show of rage from Azriel in stride, unable to disagree with the cold words and show of opposition to his order to marry the female.

What Azriel hadn’t seen was the terror Rhysand had gleaned in her mind. Her power was not a party trick, in fact she’d been hidden away beneath the Hewn City and put through rigorous training from the first moment her powers emerged. This female was trained to be used as a weapon and treated as such, there was nothing humane or loving about the environment she’d grown up in. But far more concerning than even the abhorrent conditions she had been brought up in was the undiluted panic regarding her impending nuptials. She indeed did not know who she was to be married to but she had suspicions.

Not to be wed to an unknown lord from the continent, not even to the highest ranking of nobility, but to a supreme being of death and decay, to Koschei himself.

And if her suspicions were correct, a power like hers in his hands would bring immeasurable suffering, an end to the world as they knew it. She was the token Keir needed to barter for his own rise to power. Ruling just the Court of Nightmares was never enough for a greedy bastard like him.

“The only way we can get her out of here is by wedding her to you tonight. If she’s wed, they have no contest to-” Rhys bristled as he spoke of the female as anything less than her own entity “They cannot claim ownership of her if she is wed. We cannot risk another moment of her being in their hands, Az. This marriage does not have to last forever, just long enough to ensure she is out of their hands and that we are in her good graces. Your duty is to keep her happy and protect her, if she ends up in the wrong hands, Azriel- more than just our own rule is at stake, Prythian, the world, could be doomed.

Guilt pressed in on the High Lord. If there were any other way, he would take it, but for now this was the most humane route.

And as Rhys shared the female’s suspicions of Koschei with Azriel, he understood. He hated every moment of this but he understood. He didn’t have to love her, he didn’t have to like her even, but he could stomach her as he did with any other undesirable duty.

_________

Azriel stood on the dais before a crowd of sneering Hewn City denizens. For this, his leathers would do. He was to send a message of power to the Court of Nightmares and removing his siphons would not do. Rhys and Feyre remained seated on their thrones appearing bored as they took in the quickly thrown together wedding, little more than wine and night-blooming jasmine marked the occasion. Though Rhys would have loved watching Lord Thanatos have to hand his daughter over to the Shadowsinger, he didn’t want him anywhere near her. She had dealt with enough coldness from the male in her twenty-five years of life, never again would she have to suffer through her father’s unkind hands upon her.

So, Azriel waited, his eyes focused solely on Elain as the doors opened and music began to play. Cassian would escort her to the dais. Azriel spared no glance to his bride as the audience turned in her direction. Even Elain who had caught his gaze briefly, and Lord Thanatos and his equally hateful wife who stood behind her, turned to marvel at the bride striding up the aisle. Azriel’s heart raced. He wanted Elain. His shadows pulled on him. Coaxing him to divert his gaze from the Archeron sister. No. He wanted Elain. His heart beat wildly as a tug pulled at him. He would not look. This female was not who his heart belonged to. He belonged to Elain. Azriel’s shadows hissed in his ears to look as his heart urged him to spare a glance in her direction.

Finally, he shifted his gaze and time stood still. Before him was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. No longer did she appear meek, or nervous- she stood taller with her head held high. A cobalt blue gown hugged her curves, dipping down to reveal her ample cleavage, the fabric clung to the curve of her hips, caressing her upper thighs before flaring out toward the bottom. Her knuckles tightly gripped a bouquet of morningstar flowers and delphinium. Where the dress had been conjured from, Azriel had no idea. The flowers were likely Elain’s doing. He tried to turn his head back to Elain but he couldn’t bring himself to avert his gaze away from the beauty before him.

His shadows left his side, flowing down the aisle and swirling around the bottom of her gown, giving the appearance that they were carrying her to him. The crowd gasped at the illusion and Azriel noticed the surprise on her face. Either she was an excellent actress or she truly didn’t have the control over her powers.

But Rhys had said that she’d been trained from the time they manifested. Surely they weren’t going to her on their own accord. Was her thrall that powerful?

Azriel nearly felt his shoulders slump in disappointment as her gaze shifted to Elain who awaited at the foot of the dais to retrieve the bouquet.

As Elain stepped forward, a tear was heard followed by a gasp. Azriel looked to see that the bottom half of Elain’s dress had torn. Her cheeks flushed, eyes wide with shock. Before Azriel could react, he felt loss of control over his shadows as Y/N flung her arms out commanding them in Elain’s direction. Azriel’s heart lurched, fury clouding him at this attack on Elain, he stepped forward only to halt in his tracks as two shadows darted out to restrain Y/N’s mother, and the remaining shadows shrouded Elain completely.

Y/N hurried toward Elain, stepping into the confines of the shadows, now shrouding the both of them. Azriel almost smirked as Y/N’s voice loudly echoed from the shadows “Don’t mind her. She’s even uglier inside than that sneer she wears on her face, which says a lot.” A soft giggle from Elain reached Azriel’s ears. “Come on, let’s get you something else to wear. Can your sister bring some wine?”

The crowd parted as the shadowed females made their way out of the crowd, Nesta and Cassian following suit.

This female stopped her own wedding to come to the aid of a female she didn’t even know. Azriel didn’t know what to think of that but he did know that he couldn’t let himself fall for her. He wouldn’t let himself fall for her.

——————————————————

A/N: this will be a 2 or 3 part series! I am too tired to proofread so if there were a bunch of typos, no there weren’t.

Tags:

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Requested tags based on previous excerpt posted: @erikan809 @thalia-as-blog

[intimidating-fettuccine]

For Helen, Toby, and Jeff (separately). Their S/O does watercolor painting, and has a bad habit of putting their brush dipping cup next to the cup they're drinking out of. The creep decides to steal a sip from their S/O's drink. Would any of them end up accidentally drinking the paint water? If so, how would they react?

Thank you so much for requesting this, I love stuff like this. I am not deciding before writing who does or doesn't drink it, and instead going by vibes :p We'll have to see~

Helen:

Helen believes himself to be above making such a mistake. After all, he's done plenty of watercolor painting himself, and he knows to be careful with the various cups surrounding a painting station. So, when he gets the idea to steal a sip from your drink, he plans it out. He's been sitting there watching you from afar for quite a while now, analyzing which cup you're constantly dipping your brush into, that way he can be correct, as he always should, when he sneaks over to take a sip of your drink. Luckily, you seem to be extremely consistent in which cup you're using today, so he thinks himself in the clear when he lithely moves himself beside you, resting his hips against the table, arms crossed as he dazes down at your painting. His compliments for your work come easily, and you don't seem to have any clue about his plan. He waits a few minutes before discreetly sneaking a hand down and gripping the glass he knows your drink is in, and he can't help but smirk internally as he takes a sip, his mouth met with the sweet flavor of juice, however, he ends up wincing in horrible surprise. The sweet taste of juice becomes acrid, his mouth pulled taut in disgust as the flavor of paint overtakes the juice. A chuckle causes his eyes to flick down at you, where you're gazing at him in sympathy. You explain you'd accidentally dipped your brush into your drink, but you hadn't dumped the drink out yet and had resolved to do it after your painting was finished. Helen must be suffering from success, as they say, considering he was right, but so, so wrong about his answer. He pinches and pulls your cheeks painfully for a couple of minutes as your punishment, and makes you swear to never tell anyone else of what happened here, his cheeks flushed red at his mistake. Helen decides to still take this as a win because technically he was correct, but he narrows his eyes at you as you laugh at him for his embarrassment, a mistake on your part, and in the end, Helen isn't the only one who had to take a sip from the cup.

Toby:

Toby has played this game too many times before. You see, this isn't his first attempt, much to your chagrin. You've warned him countless times that he can just question you on which drink is the correct one, so he doesn't have to play these secret guessing games that aren't quite so secret anymore. He can't help it, he's addicted to the rush of being correct (which, generally, he is), even if you tell him it's not healthy for him to drink the paint water in the few times he's been wrong, but Toby is stubborn when he sets his mind to something, and today is no different. You shake your head at him as you go about your painting, a sigh leaving you at his antics. He sits in the corner of the art room, watching you like a hawk, doing his best to analyze which cup is which, in his attempt to not get distracted. The only problem is, that Toby doesn't have the greatest view. He likes to challenge himself, and it doesn't help him that not only are you using multiple water cups today, but he can't see which cup exactly is the juice cup because they're all smushed together, and it's hidden behind one of the water cups. Toby does his best though, and he decides he's made his decision, as he moves around the room and creeps up behind you, his hand targeting a very specific cup, but you've taken pity on him today, as his hand meets yours, covering the cup he was reaching for. He turns to look at you, and you shake your head once more, moving his hand to the correct one. He argues that he's not stealing a drink if you know he's taking it, and you argue that you both knew this was going to happen, so he can take a sip or not, but you weren't letting him drink paint today. He pouts but takes the glass regardless, and sighs in content as he tastes the delicious flavor of the juice you'd picked that day. He reasons that sometimes maybe it's better for you to help him out than suffer from a loss as he plops down beside you, your juice cup not leaving his hands anytime soon. At least he shares with you when you ask.

Jeff:

The thought crosses his mind in a fleeting fashion, one he almost chooses to ignore, but the idea does appeal to the competitive part of his brain quite easily. He looks up from his phone, his eyes tracing over where you sit in front of him, your back to him as you sit hunched over one of the art tables, your hands moving with practiced ease over the canvas before you. He hums quietly, biting his lip as he tries to decide whether it would actually be worth it, in the end, to take a sip of paint water on accident, but he decides to give it an attempt, watching you secretly from his seat as you continue to toil away over your latest piece of art. He almost forgets what he's trying to attempt in the first place, his mind spacing out as he admires you from behind, a smile blooming on his face as he rouses quietly from his seat. His skills in sneaking around come in handy as he creeps up behind you, with you none the wiser to his actions. He hoves behind you, peering over your shoulder at the painting you're working on, momentarily distracted by how impressed he is by your work, but his eyes flick back to the cups beside you as he decides how to make his move. However, a thought occurs to Jeff that didn't occur to the others; you can tell from the color of the fluid which one is correct if you just stand there for a minute and analyze it. Your drink cup is a solid color, but the water cup you're using for paint has light streaks of color from where the paint hasn't completely mixed in yet. He very confidently reaches over you to grasp at the correct cup, and he chuckles to himself as he downs about half of your juice before you notice and make a complaint, dropping your brushes and moving to get your drink back. Laughter booms out of him as he gives you the cup back, his arms wrapping around you as he praises you for your painting, his head resting on top of yours as you go back to work, a blissed out smile on his face from being able to hold you like this, having won his challenge, his head nuzzling into yours lovingly.

[stylesispunk]

Blades of Fate

marcus Acacius x f!reader / lucius x f!reader

Summary: Lucius and you are celebrated champions of the arena, each with their own unique force. Marcus Acacius returning from a victorious campaign, attends a grand gladiatorial event where he witnesses your bravery firsthand and something about you captivates him.

w.c: 4,4k

warnings: messy writing, angst, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, and mentions of arranged marriage, tension

a/n: okay, I had two days off from work and I still have post london depression, but I finally wrote something and I had no idea what the plot of this was or is, but I was dying for writing something about this two characters and I out them both here. Okay I have no idea what plot gladiator II will follow so this is the only thing that came to my mind. Perhaps some events or details of the story will not fit with the history events of the Roman empire and gladiators, but still this is just for fun. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. I hope you like it and have fun reading 💌.

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

The sun hung high in the Roman sky, casting golden rays over the Colosseum's colossal structure. The massive stone amphitheater, a testament to Roman engineering and grandeur, was alive with the roar of the crowd. Citizens from all walks of life, from the lowly plebeians to the esteemed senators, filled the seats, their cheers and shouts blending into a symphony of anticipation.

The blood of past battles stained the sand in the heart of the arena, a silent witness to the countless lives lost for entertainment. Today, the atmosphere was electric with excitement, for the arena was set to witness a spectacle unlike any other. The gates on either end of the battleground creaked open, and out stepped two of Rome's most revered gladiators.

Lucius, tall and muscular, with a presence that commanded respect, raised his sword to the cheering masses. His sharp and focused eyes scanned the crowd before settling on his partner. You, a gladiatrix of unparalleled skill, moved with a grace that belied the brutality of your fate, matching the rage of your lover. Your lithe form was clad in leather armor, and your hair was braided back to reveal a face marked by determination and a fierce will to survive.

Seeing a woman fight wasn’t something common, but you had won your respect and reputation, and besides Lucius, you had become nothing but stronger, a team, as the two champions you were destined to be.

A hush fell over the Colosseum. The only sound was the distant call of a hawk, circling high above, as if it too were a spectator. Then, with a sudden crash, the gates on the opposite end burst open, and their opponents emerged—a team of seasoned warriors, each one a formidable foe.

The only sound was the distant call of a hawk, circling high above, as if it too were a spectator. Then, with a sudden crash, the gates on the opposite end burst open, and their opponents emerged—a team of seasoned warriors, each one a formidable foe, determined to bring down the beloved gladiators.

The battle began with a clash of steel and a flurry of movement. Lucius and you fought with seamless coordination; your movements synchronized as if you were one entity. Lucius's strength and brute force were complemented perfectly by your agility and precision. The two of you moved through your opponents like a tempest, leaving a trail of fallen adversaries in your wake.

High above, in the VIP stands, General Marcus Acacius watched intently. His stern face, weathered by years of warfare and command, betrayed no emotion. Known for his ruthless efficiency and strategic brilliance, Marcus had seen countless battles, but there was something about these two gladiators that intrigued him. Your skill was undeniable, but it was your unspoken bond, your mutual trust and respect, that caught his attention.

As the last of your opponent’s fell, the crowd erupted in deafening applause. Lucius and you stood victorious, your chests heaving from exertion, but your eyes were sharp and alert. You raised your weapons in salute to the crowd and then, as one, turned your gaze towards Marcus.

From his seat, Marcus leaned forward slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Arrange for a private meeting," he instructed his aide, his voice carrying the weight of command. "I want to see if their skills match their reputation."

The aide nodded and hurried off, while Marcus's gaze remained fixed on the two of you. There was something about you both—a spark that he couldn't quite place. He intended to find out what it was and how it could serve his own purposes.

As you and Lucius exited the arena, you exchanged a smile. Another victory, another day of survival in a world you didn’t choose but were destined to be part of. You reached out, gently touching his arm. “We are a team,” you said, trying to convince yourself that the love you had for him was bigger than the exhaustion you felt.

Lucius looked down at your hand on his arm, then back at you. “Yes, Dulcissima,” he said softly. He closed his eyes; there was a sort of pain evident on his face. “But I want us to be free from all of this," he admitted.

He opened his eyes, searching for yours once more. The anger had faded, replaced by a deep sorrow. "Dulcissima,” the nickname, slipped from his lips once again. “I want us to get married, and I want to make you happy.”

You stared at him in disbelief, the weight of his words sinking in. “Lucius,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions.

Lucius took your hand in his; his grip was firm yet tender. "I’ve been thinking about this for a long time," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every time we step into that arena, I fear it might be our last. I don’t want to lose you, not without having truly lived with you."

Your heart ached at his words. You had always known the dangers of your life as a gladiatrix, but hearing Lucius speak so openly about his fears brought a new depth to your own anxieties. "I want that too, Lucius," you replied, your voice trembling with emotion. "But how can we ever be free?"

Lucius's eyes darkened with determination. "We’ll find a way. There has to be more to life than this constant struggle. We’ll fight for our freedom together."

Before you could respond, a group of soldiers approached, their stern faces in stark contrast to the celebration that surrounded you. The leader, a tall centurion with a scar running down his cheek, addressed you both. "General Marcus Acacius has requested your presence for a private meeting. Follow us."

You and Lucius exchanged a quick glance, both sensing the gravity of the situation. With a nod, you followed the soldiers through the winding corridors of the Colosseum, your minds racing with thoughts of what the general might want.

The soldiers led you to a grand chamber within the Colosseum, its walls adorned with intricate tapestries and bronze statues of Rome’s greatest heroes. General Marcus Acacius stood near a large table, studying a map spread out before him. As you entered, he looked up, his eyes locking onto yours with keen intensity.

"Welcome," Marcus said, his voice smooth and commanding. "I wanted to speak with you both personally. Your performance in the arena today was nothing short of extraordinary."

"Thank you, General," Lucius replied, his tone respectful but guarded.

Marcus nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "And honor Rome you have. But I sense that there’s more to your partnership than just skill and survival. There’s a deeper connection, one that could be of great use."

You felt a chill run down your spine at his words. "What do you mean, General?" you asked cautiously.

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes piercing. "I’m offering you an opportunity—a chance to fight for something greater than yourselves. To serve Rome in a way that could ultimately lead to your freedom."

Lucius’s grip on your hand tightened slightly. "We’re listening," he said, his voice steady.

Marcus gestured to the map on the table. "Rome is expanding, but with that expansion comes the need for strong, capable leaders. I believe the two of you could be valuable assets in securing our borders and maintaining order. Prove yourselves in the upcoming challenge, and I’ll ensure that your skills are recognized. There could be a future for you beyond the arena, one where you have a say in your own destiny." He paused. "However," he continued, a glint of challenge in his eyes, "I propose a new test of their mettle. A special event, where our gladiatrix will face my finest soldiers in a mock battle."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the hall. You felt a surge of determination at the general's words. This was more than a mere challenge; it was an opportunity to prove yourself further in the eyes of Rome and its most powerful figures.

You stepped forward, your voice clear and resolute. "I accept your challenge, General. I will show you and all of Rome what a true gladiator is capable of."

Marcus nodded, a satisfied smile on his lips. "Very well. The event will be held in two days' time. May the gods favor the brave."

Lucius, standing beside you, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "We’ve faced worse," he whispered. "You’ll show them all."

Your heart raced at the prospect. Could this be the chance you and Lucius have been longing for? Is there a way to escape the bloodshed and find a life together, free from the chains of the Colosseum?

"We’ll do it," you said firmly, meeting Marcus’s gaze with unwavering resolve. "We’ll prove ourselves."

Marcus’s smile widened; satisfaction was evident in his eyes. "Good. The challenge will take place in two days. Prepare yourselves, and may the gods be with you."

As the banquet continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this challenge was more than just a test of skill. It was a pivotal moment, one that could alter the course of your life and your bond with Lucius. And in the shadows, the ever-watchful eyes of Marcus Acacius followed your every move, already plotting the next step in his intricate game.

The next two days were a blur of intense preparation. You and Lucius trained tirelessly, refining your techniques and strategizing for the upcoming mock battle. The anticipation in the air was palpable, both among the gladiators and the spectators who eagerly awaited the spectacle.

On the morning of the event, the Colosseum was packed with spectators, their cheers echoing through the grand structure. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the excitement of the unknown. This was no ordinary battle; it was a test that would determine your fate and perhaps even reshape your destiny.

Marcus stood on a platform overlooking the arena, his presence commanding respect. He raised his hand, signaling for silence. "Today, we witness a display of courage, skill, and determination," he announced, his voice carrying across the Colosseum. "Our gladiatrix will face my finest soldiers in a test of strength and strategy. Let the battle begin!"

The gates creaked open, and you stepped into the arena, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and adrenaline. Across from you stood Marcus’s elite soldiers, their expressions hard and focused. You glanced at Lucius, who stood at the edge of the arena, his eyes locked onto yours with unwavering support.

"Together," you whispered to yourself, drawing strength from the bond you shared with Lucius.

The clash of steel rang out as the battle commenced, a whirlwind of movement and noise. You moved with a grace and ferocity that left your opponents reeling; your every strike was precise and powerful. Despite the odds, you fought with everything you had, driven by the desire for freedom and a future with Lucius.

As the battle raged on, you felt a surge of energy, pushing yourself beyond your limits. You danced around your opponents, using your agility and speed to outmaneuver them. The crowd's cheers grew louder with each successful strike, their excitement fueling your resolve.

Finally, as the last soldier fell, a hush descended over the arena. You stood victorious, your chest heaving, your body bruised and battered but unbroken. The crowd erupted in applause; their cheers were a testament to your triumph.

Marcus descended from the platform, his eyes filled with admiration and something else—something deeper. "You have proven yourself today," he said, his voice carrying a note of respect. "Your skills and determination are unmatched. You are a true warrior."

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. "Thank you, General," you replied, your voice steady despite the exhaustion.

Lucius rushed to your side, his eyes filled with pride and relief. "You did it," he whispered, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I knew you would."

As you stood there, basking in the glow of victory, Marcus stepped closer, his gaze intense. "There is more to this than just a test of skill," he said quietly. "I see potential in you—a potential that could change the course of our future."

You looked at him, curiosity and apprehension swirling within you. "What do you mean?"

Marcus smiled a hint of mystery in his eyes. "All in due time. For now, rest and recover. We will speak again soon."

In the days that followed, you and Lucius were treated with newfound respect and admiration. The other gladiators looked up to you, and the soldiers who had once seen you as mere entertainment now saw you as formidable warriors. Yet, despite the praise and the promise of a brighter future, a sense of unease lingered in the air.

One evening, as you were returning to your quarters after another grueling day of training, a sudden commotion caught your attention. The sound of clashing steel and muffled shouts echoed through the corridors. You hurried towards the source of the disturbance, your heart pounding with a sense of impending danger.

As you rounded a corner, you were met with a chilling sight. Lucius was engaged in a fierce battle with a group of unknown assailants. His movements were swift and deadly, but he was outnumbered. Without a second thought, you drew your weapon and rushed to his aid, your determination burning brighter than ever.

Despite your best efforts, the sheer number of attackers overwhelmed you. You fought valiantly, but the odds were stacked against you. A sharp pain exploded in your side as one of the assailants landed a brutal blow, and you fell to your knees, your vision blurring.

Lucius's voice echoed in your ears, filled with desperation. "No! Leave her alone!" But his cries were in vain. The attackers overpowered him, and as darkness closed in, you felt yourself being dragged away.

When you awoke, you found yourself in a dimly lit cell, your hands bound with a rough rope. The cold stone walls pressed in around you, and the air was thick with the scent of dampness and decay. You struggled against your restraints, but they held firm.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing louder with each passing second. The door to your cell creaked open, and Marcus stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

"You’re awake," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of regret.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice hoarse. "Why did you do this?"

Marcus sighed, his eyes dark with emotion. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this," he said, stepping closer. "But there are forces at play here that even I cannot control. I had to act quickly to protect you."

"Protect me?" You spat, your anger flaring. "By taking me hostage?"

He knelt beside you, his gaze earnest. "Yes," he said softly. "There are those who see you as a threat and who would stop at nothing to eliminate you. I couldn’t let that happen. This was the only way to keep you safe."

You stared at him, your mind racing. "And what about Lucius? What have you done to him?"

Marcus’s expression tightened. "He’s unharmed for now. But there are conditions. You must stay here, cooperate with me, and in return, he will be spared."

Your heart ached with the weight of his words. The future you had envisioned with Lucius seemed to slip further away with each passing moment. "What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"I want you to trust me," Marcus said, his tone sincere. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I need you to believe that I’m doing this for the greater good. Together, we can change the course of history."

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. Instead, you found only a deep, unyielding resolve. Despite your anger and fear, a part of you wanted to believe him and trust that he had your best interests at heart.

"I’ll cooperate," you said finally, your voice steady. "But if anything happens to Lucius, I swear I will make you pay."

Marcus nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. "You have my word," he said. "Lucius will be safe.

The next evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the cell, Marcus arrived with a tray of food. He set it down on a small table and took a seat across from you. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You shrugged, picking at the food. "As well as one can feel in captivity," you replied, a hint of bitterness in your tone.

Marcus sighed. "I understand your frustration," he said. "But believe me, this is the only way to ensure your safety."

You looked up at him, your eyes searching for his. "And what about Lucius? How long do you intend to keep us apart?"

"Until it’s safe," he answered, his gaze unwavering. "There are those who would see you both dead. I need to neutralize that threat before I can reunite you."

You frowned, the weight of his words sinking in. "And how do I know I can trust you?"

“Because I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said, leaning forward towards you, his expression earnest. "I have given you my word. I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

“And Lucius,” you said.

“I don’t care about Lucius.” He confessed, “But if you ask me to protect him, I will.”

You recoiled slightly at Marcus's confession, his words echoing in your mind. "You don’t care about Lucius?" You repeated it, disbelief coloring your tone.

Marcus hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. "Not in the same way I care about you," he admitted quietly. "But I understand how important he is to you. If protecting him means protecting you, then I will do it."

You took a deep breath, trying to process the storm of emotions swirling within you. Marcus’s honesty was unexpected, and it stirred something in you, something you could decipher.

"I appreciate your honesty," you said finally, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. "But my loyalty lies with Lucius. He’s... he’s a part of me."

Marcus nodded slowly, his expression somber. "I understand," he said softly.

You looked your gaze with his; an electric feeling passed through the both of you, but you ignored it, not wanting to commit treason towards Lucius.

“I don’t like this life, you know?” Marcus began, his voice carrying the weight of the weariness of years and sincerity. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze searching yours as if seeking understanding.

You nodded slowly, feeling a surge of empathy for the man before you, the man who seemed to be different from his strong exterior. "I can imagine," you replied softly. "The burden of command, the weight of decisions that affect so many lives..."

Marcus sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It’s not just that," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I’ve seen too much bloodshed, too much senseless violence. In these gladiatorial games, they glorify death while the people cheer on."

His words resonated deeply with you, stirring up memories of battles fought and lives lost in the name of entertainment. "I never wanted to be a fighter," you confessed quietly. "I wanted... I wanted a life of peace, of freedom."

Marcus’s gaze softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "Yet here we are,” he murmured. “Bound by duty, by the expectations of others.”

You nodded, the weight of shared experience forging a fragile bond between you.

"I’ve spent my life in service to Rome, sacrificing countless lives for its glory. But lately, I find myself questioning the cost."

You nodded slowly, sensing the weight of his words. "I understand," you said quietly. "I’ve felt that way too, at times. I never wanted to be what I am now—to live and die by the sword. But I grew up with Lucius, and we shared the same resentment and anger at the hand life dealt me."

Marcus’s gaze softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "We’re more alike than you realize," he murmured. ”

"I never imagined my life would turn out like this," you admitted, a pang of vulnerability in your voice. "But every battle, every victory—it’s shaped who I am."

Marcus reached across the table, his hand resting gently on yours. "You’re stronger than you know," he said earnestly. "And you deserve more than the chains of the Colosseum."

You met his gaze, seeing a depth of compassion and empathy that surprised you. "What about that?" you asked softly. "What do I deserve?"

“To be caressed and protected,” he replied, not taking his eyes from yours.

His words stirred something deep within you—a yearning for tenderness and safety amidst the chaos of your existence. "And you?" you pressed gently, your heart racing with uncertainty and anticipation.

Marcus’s expression softened further, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. "To find redemption," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "To make amends for the lives I’ve sacrificed.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his confession settling between you. "We both seek something more," you said softly, reaching to cover his hand with yours. "Perhaps we can find it."

The touch of your hands and the electricity were enough to make you guilty of sin.

"One of my men has uncovered a plot against you," Marcus confessed while holding your hand. "There are those who believe you and Lucius pose a threat to the stability of Rome. They’re planning an attack."

You drew in a sharp breath, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. "Who would want to harm us?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern and disbelief.

Marcus shook his head grimly. "Enemies within the Senate, rivals who see you as a symbol of defiance," he explained. "They fear the influence you hold over the people, over the rebels.”

You glanced at him, a mixture of fear and gratitude swirling within you. "What do I do?" you asked quietly, realizing the gravity of the situation.

Marcus’s gaze hardened, a flicker of determination crossing his features.

"What do you propose?" you asked, a sense of foreboding creeping over you.

Marcus took a deep breath, meeting your gaze with resolve. "An arranged marriage," he said quietly. "Between you and me."

You stared at him, stunned. "What?”

"Think about it," Marcus said, shifting closer. "As my wife, you would have the protection of my name and my position. It would make it much harder for our enemies to harm you. And it would give us the legitimacy and power we need to navigate the political landscape of Rome."

"But what about Lucius?" you demanded, your heart aching at the thought of betraying him.

"I would ensure his safety," Marcus promised. "He would be free, and you could see him. But we must present a united front to the world. This is the only way."

You turned away, struggling with your emotions. The thought of marrying Marcus, despite your growing bond, felt like a betrayal to Lucius. Yet, the logic of Marcus’s proposal was undeniable.

"Please, think about it," Marcus said softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

You spent the night wrestling with conflicting emotions, torn between loyalty to Lucius and the pragmatism of Marcus's proposal. As dawn broke, you found yourself standing before Marcus once more, a decision forming in your mind.

"I've thought about it," you began slowly, meeting Marcus's intense gaze with determination. "I... I agree."

Marcus's expression softened with relief, yet he remained composed. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice laced with concern for your well-being.

You nodded, steeling yourself against the ache in your heart. "Yes. It's the best way to protect both of us, and Lucius too. We need to do this."

A weight seemed to lift from Marcus's shoulders, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. "Thank you," he murmured, stepping closer to take your hands in his. "You won't regret this. I'll make sure to be the best husband.”

As Marcus took your hands in his, a sense of finality settled over you. The decision was made, driven by a combination of necessity and the undeniable connection you felt with him. Despite the pang of guilt for Lucius, you knew this was a path you had chosen for the safety and future stability it promised.

"I need you to know that my heart belongs to Lucius," you replied softly, meeting Marcus's earnest gaze. "But I’ll believe you’ll prove me right."

A faint smile touched Marcus's lips; relief and determination shone in his eyes. "We'll face this together," he said, his voice steady with conviction. "I'll ensure that you're protected and that we navigate these turbulent times with strength and unity."

Marcus nodded solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he listened to your heartfelt confession. "I understand," he replied softly, his voice tinged with both acceptance and a hint of sadness. "I will do everything in my power to earn your trust and respect."

You felt a surge of gratitude towards Marcus, appreciating his understanding despite the complex emotions involved. "Thank you," you murmured, squeezing his hands gently. "For being so understanding."

A sense of mutual respect and determination filled the space between you, a silent agreement to face the challenges ahead. Marcus's commitment to protect you and navigate the political intricacies of Rome gave you a measure of reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.

"We'll announce our intentions and make preparations," Marcus continued, his voice regaining its usual resolve. "Our marriage will be more than just a shield; it will be a symbol of unity and strength."

As you nodded in agreement, a sense of resolve settled within you. Despite your heart belonging to Lucius, you knew that this alliance with Marcus was necessary.

When Marcus left your side, you looked up at the sky, promising heaven and God that Lucius would be your only love, just as the weight of your decision settled in your chest—a blend of duty and sacrifice for a greater cause—for your freedom. Despite the practicality of your alliance with Marcus, your heart still yearned for Lucius, a truth you held onto in the quiet moments.

Unbeknownst to you, Marcus observed you from a distance, his gaze fixed on you with a newfound sense of purpose. As he watched you under the vast Roman sky, a resolve hardened within him. He had made a commitment to protect you, but now he harbored a deeper ambition—to win your heart.

[lentiku]

imagine him...

tongue deep inside your pretty pussy, groaning from the taste of you on his lips. you're tugging at the locks of hair on his head, begging for release from the stimulation and countless orgasms that he's put you through.

you can feel your wetness seeping into the mattress below you, a small puddle of your cum pooling between the globes of your ass cheeks. the slurping coming from him only makes your toes curl, and another moan leaves your hoarse throat as he sucks on your clit.

"such a pretty girl, your cunt is so pretty and wet, all for me," he groans, sending vibrations straight to your core as your legs start to shake again. his fingers are back inside you, prodding at that spongey sweet spot that you can never seem to reach on your own. his long, girthy fingers can reach it so easily compared to your smaller, lithe ones. his free hand moves up to toy with your nipple, making you whimper under his touch, back arching off the mattress.

"such a good girl for me. making such a big mess and clenching around my fingers," he speaks, making you tug on his hair harder as his fingertips make you see stars, "can't wait to have this pretty pussy on my cock later, you're gonna take me so well baby," his words go straight to your core, and your toes curl as you cum on his fingers, a loud moan of his name echoing around your shared room as his tongue dives down to lap at your sweetness before returning to suckle on your pretty clit.

characters imagined;

eren, jean, levi, erwin, diluc, alhaitham, neuvi, ayato, dain, dottore, pantalone, wrio, zhongli, blade, ratio, jing yuan, welt, tsuki, daichi, iwa, kuroo, oikawa, ukai, miya twins, issei, sakusa, bokuto, PRO HEROS bakugo, izu, hitoshi, kiri, tamaki, aizawa, hawks, your fav character <3

[kuroosdarling]

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ FEATURING ꒱ : virgin!kenma (&kuroo)

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI !! threesome (?), cuckholding, kenma bein a lil fucked out, kuroo on a power trip hehe yknow the vibes

check out the others here !

everything was so wet, so warm — so tight. he doesn’t think he’s ever felt something as good as this, no. he knows he’s never felt something as good as this.

hot pleasure swarms around in his head and the only thing he can feel is your cunt squeezing around his cock as if it was desperately begging for his cum already. but he tried his hardest to restrain from filling you up too soon.

“that’s it, you feel that kenma? feel how good her little pussy is?” kuroo coos from behind you. kenma’s eye flutter open just so he can glare at the older man who also happens to be your boyfriend. 

but he just ends up ignoring him. so instead, he looks up at you, perched up on his cock like a goddess. your fingernails dig into his chest and he lets out a soft groan. between you and kuroo, he didn’t know who was more dastardly. all he knew was he was thankful for kuroo suggesting he lost his virginity to you.

all kenma could do was hold onto your hips as you slowly start to rock against him. his grip was so tight, he almost felt bad. but judging by the way you started to move faster, he figured you didn’t really mind it.

“that’s it, nice and slow.” kuroo purred, circling around the two of you like a hawk about to strike. his eyes were glued to where you and kenma were currently connected, absolutely mesmerized by the way your drooling cunt was swallowing up kenma’s cock. “doesn’t she feel heavenly, kenma?”

kenma’s attention briefly cut over to kuroo, watching him as his hazel eyes were set on you, filled with so much adoration it only pushed kenma closer to the edge that he didn’t want to reach yet. 

but that had nothing on the way you looked right now. an absolute vision as you started to play with your breasts, teasing your nipples between your fingers as you mewled out his name. he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a prettier sound than his name tumbling from your lips.

“ken-“ you gasp out when he finds your clit. or rather, when kuroo takes his hand and guides him to your neglected nub. kuroo whispers in his ear, telling him to start moving his fingers around in a small circle over the bundle of nerves. reluctantly, kenma listened and was instantly rewarded with your pretty moans getting louder.

“keep rubbing her there and she’ll be putty in your hands.” kuroo teases, reaching out to stroke your arm, watching how your tits bounce with each roll of your hips. “she’s even more insatiable after she cums, so if you need me to take over, i can manage.”

“like hell you will.” kenma hisses out, possessively clawing his fingers into your hips. the thought of kuroo fucking you right after kenma fills you with his cum sent him into a frenzy. there was a part of him that didn’t even want kuroo to look at you right now, wanting this memorable moment entirely to himself. but he’d be lying if he said the whole situation wasn’t hot — that fucking his best friends girlfriend in front of him wasn’t exactly what he had been dreaming of for weeks, if not months.

but kenma can’t string together another thought, completely lost in the way your velvety walls tighten around him, almost sweetly coaxing him for his release. and he wanted to give in — so, so badly. but kuroo hadn’t let him cum yet even though he could feel the overwhelming sensation shooting down his spine, ready to fill you up with everything he had in him. 

“come on, kenma, talk to me.” kuroo mockingly whines out the words as he takes his place behind you. he watches how you’re seated up on kenmas cock, slowly rocking your hips — much too slow for his liking but he doesn’t do anything to fix it. yet. kuroo kisses underneath your ear, looking down at kenma who can’t help but make eye contact again. 

“shut up kuro.” he spits out, bringing his lithe fingers to your sensitive nipples— just like how you showed him earlier. you moan at the contact, tossing your head back onto kuroo’s shoulder. kuroo laughs; a vicious sound. its harsh tone tickles your ear and crawls down your spine as your hips stutter.

“i think she likes hearing your voice.” kuroo purrs, kissing down your neck before gripping your hips, just below where kenma’s hands previously were. he starts moving you a bit faster, causing you and the man under you to moan in sync. “aw, you guys are just so cute.”

“tetsu-“ you gasp out, splaying your hands back onto kenma’s chest as kuroo sets the pace for you guys. you couldn’t help but to fall right into your boyfriend's hands, but kenma had other plans.

taken over by a deep need to fuck you harder or maybe just driven by the irritation that he got merely from kuroo being kuroo; kenma starts ruthlessly thrusting upward into you, tossing his head back to loudly moan your name out into the room. 

all you could do was keep your head locked onto kuroo’s shoulder, letting kenma set the pace and soaking in all the sweet sounds he let out. kuroo tried to combat it, whispering sweet praises in your ear and wrapping his arms around your waist as his best friend continued to drive into your cunt.

deep down, kenma knew that kuroo had to give the okay for both of you to cum, but it was quickly hurtling towards the end. by the pitch of your cries, kuroo knew it too. and he was eager to have his turn with you.

“you're making him feel so good baby, i can tell.” he nudged his head against yours, making sure he had a clear view of kenma, smirking down at the younger man. “go ahead and fill her up kenma, i know you’ve been desperate to.”

but once kuroo gave the okay, something else overcame kenma when he realized he wouldn’t be satisfied until you came first, trying to milk his cock for everything he’s worth.

maybe he wanted to see how insatiable you really got, or maybe he just wanted to piss kuroo off while he had another round with you. either way, he was just getting started and he didn’t care how much he wanted to cum; he knew he needed to have you begging him for more first.

[sethdomain]

more about the guys and special stats in read more

c!tommy

Member of the Republic of L'manburg, he quickly soared in rank and instantly became Wilbur right hand man and a commander in the ranks.

Wilbur really favored him and this caused a bit resentment growing toward Tommy because the member viewed his rise as 'unfair'

Strenght-> 5 -Average Joe / idk i think he would be normal

Perception-> 9 - Sniper Hawk/ He would be very very aware, because this bitch will literally die if his perception is so as much as lower than he is rn

endurance-> 7 -Tough as nail/ He was carrying Dream shit and run around across the desert

Charisma->6 -cheery salesman/ dude literally copied schlatt

Intellegent-> 4 -Knuckle head/ He is a bit dense sometimes and would made stupid decision without thinking through it(he made this often and still will not learn bruh)

Agility-> 6 -catlike/ I'd say with his built he have to adapt to a more lithe like base moveset

Luck-> 1- 13 pitch-black cats/ ironically, being alive gotta count as 10 luck but no. He literally almost die 24/7 i think dead itself might be a sparing from the current predicament he's being ensnared in contstantly, so dead would be considered a luck in itself /jokes.

C!Wilbur

The leader of L'manburg, an incredibly charismatic guy who managed to band together a set of people that supports his goals.

Strenght-> 4 -Lightweight/ I think wilbur dont do much in term of doing the heavy stuff, he just order people to be doing those

Perception-> 3 -Squinting Newt/ this guy doesn't gaf, he thinks he's invisible because he constantly has bodyguard looming over him and he tends to not be in the danger zone much

Endurance-> 2- Crumbly/Bitch need to run

Charistma-> 10-Cult Leader/ He literally managed to convince people to support L'manburg, which i remind you in this au is a shittier NCR

Intellegent-> 7-Know it all/ I would say he probably knows a little about medicine and weaponsmith, he's also very emotionally intellect

Agility-> 5-under control/ normal

Luck-> 9-21 leaf clover/ this guy is so fucking lucky and yet he doesn't appreciates it

these next session wont be as detailed cuz im yawnin g n tired

C!Dream

Leader of the Dream Legion, A group with the desire to end the suffering of the esempi wasteland.

Strenght-> 7 -Beach bully

Perception-> 7 -Big eyed Tiger

Endurance-> 7 -Tough as nail

Charisma-> 3 -Creepy undertaker

Intellgent-> 6 -Gifted

Agility-> 9-Knife Catcher

Luck-> 10-Two-Headed Coin Flip

C!Fundy

Member of L'manburg Wilbur son, ex-right hand man

S=5

P=6

E=4

C=5

I=9

A=6

L=4

C!Sapnap

One of Dream trusted men, he was a brotherhood Knight but joined Dream once he learn about his whereabout

S=8

P=4

E=8

C=6

I=3

A=3

L=7

C!Niki

Member of L'manburg, was a freesider but joined L'manburg with wilbur persuasion. She works as a medic and gunsmithing

S=5

P=8

E=3

C=7

I=7

A=6

L=7

C!Quackity

Schlatt fucking overworked casino worker he handles all his paperwork and feuds

S=1

P=2

E=4

C=9

I=8

A=7

L=8

C!Schlatt

control the monopoly in the las nevadas district

S=7

P=1

E=7

C=10

I=5

A=3

L=8

[takami-takami]

I Think I Love You.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. fluff.

warnings— gn!reader. keigo is in denial. tooth rotting fluff.

It takes Keigo eons to realize that he loves you.

As intelligent as he is, for every intuitive observation that turns the tides of his hero missions, he isn't the best at analyzing his own feelings. He prefers to put his emotions in a box, to scribble a smile on the lid, lock it with the heaviest brass he can find, and call it a day.

He's handling everything perfectly, thank you very much.

But when he tries to put his friendship with you in that box, you keep opening the damn lid. You keep crawling out, perching yourself on top and blinking up at him. Frustrated, he attempts to shove you back down with frantic hands, using all his weight; but for the first time in his life, it just isn't working quite as it used to.

So after months of coughing and telling himself his chest aches around you because you're such good friends, of explaining he's obsessed with you like you're a goddamn love interest in a movie because you're just so platonically compatible, of practically scribbling your name in his notepad with little hearts around it during commission board meetings, he finally flops face first on his bed and groans.

He's got a crush.

Are crushes supposed to make you think about owning a cozy cabin somewhere quiet together, where he can listen to your breathing without any distractions? Do other men fantasize about what they'd write for their wedding vows at some flower-adorned, ivory altar when they think about their crushes? He hopes they do. Maybe then, he could write this stupid tightness in his chest away as some childish, grade-school crush. That's a lot easier to deal with than love.

Yeah, this is a crush. Everybody gets those, right? He can work with that.

It comes to a boiling point on a too-quiet Saturday evening. You're practically sitting in his lap as you watch some television show he's just a bit too distracted to follow. It's not weird that his arms wrap themselves around your front, and it's not weird that his chin finds its resting place on your right shoulder.

"Oh my god, I love this actor," you nestle back against him snugly. "He's so cute, it's not even fair."

Keigo's jaw clenches.

"Hmm. I don't see it."

Narrowing his eyes, he tries to soothe himself by analyzing the wretched actor's features. He already knows your type— he knows you so well, better than anyone could ever hope to, he seethes— but it helps to remind himself. He's blonde, lithe yet muscular, with a patch of stubble to boot.

Keigo does it better. His arms tighten around you as he places a platonic kiss on your shoulder to ground himself.

The next day, he decides to pick up an extra early patrol shift. He won't be sleeping, anyway.

If Saturday's the boiling point of the kettle that is his emotions, then Sunday's the fever pitch. The screeching whistle becomes impossible to ignore.

You slept over at his place that night— which is, again, not weird in the slightest— so he's greeted by the sight of you when he walks through the doors of his dimly lit bedroom after work.

But this time, it's not a comforting sight. His heart rate slams suddenly, nearly knocking him to his knees.

You're fussing over your appearance in the mirror, putting together the finishing touches on your look for the gala Keigo (should not have) invited you to tonight. Your jewelry clinks with your movements, echoing off the walls of his head and knocking each thought out somewhere he can't reach.

When you turn to meet his gaze, you don't mention the way his mouth is hanging open ever so slightly.

"Oh! You gonna get ready soon? We have to leave in—"

"Can I kiss you?"

The words spill from his lips before he even has a chance to cover them with his hands, to shove them back down his throat. The bubbles of regret start to well up in him, thrums of panic making him scramble to take it back. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, this isn't, he's not meant for, you're too—

You throw your arms over his shoulders as you honest to god laugh.

His hitched "mmph" when you plant your lips against him melts your heart. Shaky palms find their place against your hips, finally having the permission they've begged for all this time.

"Fucking finally," you sigh.

[djcarnationsblog]

THANK YOU WONDERFUL AND EVER SO ELDRITCH @chessman-protocol FOR LETTING ME DO THIS, IT'S BEEN SPIRALLING IN MY BRAINCRACKS SINCE THIS MORNINGS XD

Introducing the Covert Iteration of my Rottmnt oc: Jesse Burnham!

Jesse, in both the og and Covert Aus, is a scientist who works in the fields of bioengineering, zoology and robotics! In the og Au, her main goal as a scientist was to create robot animals so life like that you couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what was fake.

In the Cover Au, she achieves this goal earlier than expected, but instead uses them to work as spy-bots for the times where a mission has to be done discreetly, undercover. They're also mainly used for outside data collection as well!

The main bots that people will witness lurking around the organization are:

Eleanor the Ginger Cat: She's the one used the most for spying besides the incredibly amount of rat bots and Ant Queen bots, as there are very few people in the world that don't like a playful ginger cat. Out of her entire arsenal, she is the most indistinguishable bot from the real thing, so much so that even other cats will mistake her for being one of them, if only for a minute.

The only way you can really pick up that something is off about her is the lack of blinking, and the way other cats will avoid her like the plague.

Hunter the Jaguar: Hunter is less of a spy-bot and more of a combatant bot on the very, very (and that's two very's) few times that Jesse will be sent out onto the field.

He's the heavy hitter, agile and lithe. Not to mention the fact that he is entirely vantablack-the deepest black in the world- save for the soft gold glow between his plates, so it makes it frighteningly easy to lose him in the night or in dark, shadowy places.

Phoebe the Hawk: Phoebe is the most important one, being Jesse's most trusted companion and confidant, she is basically Jesse's right hand bird! She is the bot that does the most arial sweeps, mostly in order to locate any target who might be in broad daylight, but she also can be used to update any joint-tasked sectors on the status of the field from above.

Not to mention, Phoebe was Jesse's first successful project of life-like robot animals, so she holds incredible sentimental value to her.

Even though this isn't even half-not even a quarter-of all the robots she has manufactured, these three bots are by-far the most important ones to Jesse, tactically and emotionally.

One very important fact about Jesse, as well, is the fact that he's bigender!

His masculine days aren't as frequent as his feminine days, but either way he certainly uses it to his advantage! Switching between the two genders (whether or not he feels like one or the other at the time) has always been a reliable disguise for him if Jesse needs to get out and do some personal investigation himself that his animals are incapable of.

Jesse is a natural smooth-talker and liar, which helps with his job especially well!

Another important thing to mention, is that I'm not entirely sure if Jesse would be in any sector himself, or if he's a solo act within the organization. What I do know, is the fact that you are able to request the use of his spy bots no matter what sector you are in, but only at a certain price. (What the price is yet? Not sure, but it's not money, that's what I know XD).

It's very, very, VERY (that's three very's!) rare for sector 5 to ever need his spy bots, as most often than not their missions are combat based (I think??? Correct me if I'm wrong qwq), but I like to think on the very rare times they do need it and DON has to get it from him? All I gotta say is that Jesse shows no fear when it comes to the turtles.

There's a medical reason for that-

AAAAAANYWAYS I THINK THAT'S ALL I GOT'S TO SAY RIGHT NOW??? Other than the fact that I wanna make a few lil' comic pages of Jesse and Don interacting cause I wanna see how accurately I can display Don's personality. I just think they'd be neat :]

AAAAAND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME DO THIS MAN OF THE CHESS OF THE CHESS CHESSMAN, YOU WONDERFUL BEING OF MYSTERIES-

[ranting-writer]

Abusive Parents are Confusing

An adult Dave stood on the porch of a house located outside the capital of Earth C. He stared at the orange painted door, debating on knocking or not.

Around a week prior, he and the other humans had learned that as what was perhaps intended to be a reward for their fantastic and rapid progress on making Earth C thrive, their guardians had been revived by some cosmic force. Not just Dave’s group’s, but also the Alpha group’s guardians. Though, the Striders and the LaLondes were admittedly hesitant to see them again. Or, rather, in Dirk and Roxy’s case, truly meet them for the first time.

Rose seemed to have an easier time meeting up with her mom, Roxanne, but she definitely hadn’t come away from it happier or feeling better. Actually, she reported that she sort of wished she hadn’t met her. According to Rose, her mom was, as usual, drunk. She wasn’t functional drunk either, but sloppy drunk, and that left Rose angry and hurt. Roxanne hadn’t been able to even try to be sober after being asked. And allegedly the conversation hadn’t gone much better, with Roxanne spending her time crying to Rose about her guilt over the distance her alcoholism had put between them, leaving Rose in the all too familiar position of having to, essentially, be the mother in the situation. Rose had come out of the conversation angry, and she’d told John to tell his father “good luck with her”.

Dave hadn’t even been there, but it definitely left him with the sense that he shouldn’t talk to Roxanne, despite wanting to. He always felt a little bad and a little weird still calling Roxy mom, but now that his actual mom was around, he didn’t want to risk getting his hopes shattered by her drunkenness.

But Rose meeting up with Roxanne had given Dave a little mental kick in the ass to go see Bro. So here he was… On an already messy porch, facing a deep orange door, listening to the sounds of loud music and Tony Hawk’s Project 8 inside.

What was he going to feel seeing Bro again? How was he going to feel seeing that crooked, chipped tooth grin? Or seeing the feral look in Bro’s eyes? Would he end up with a running shoe pressed into his chest again? He absently put a hand on his sternum thinking about that. Just standing here was giving him anxiety.

Before he could break out into full blown panic or something, the door opened.

Staring into his own ruby eyes, through two sets of shades, was a set of familiar tangerine eyes.

Bro and Dave stared at each other for a long moment, both equally as shocked as the other to see each other in person after so long. Neither moved, just staring. Dave finally jolted hearing that familiar drawl. “Dave…?”

Dave swallowed thickly, a deep, forgotten anger pushing bile up into his throat. Memories of his childhood flooded his mind as he stared at the man who had raised him. Well, ‘raised’ was putting it kindly and giving Bro more credit than Dave wanted to give. Bro had seemingly just tolerated him, even when the guy had done things for him or been kind to him. At times it felt like placation over affection… Or perhaps it was the angry mind of the thirteen year old in him that couldn’t understand. Dave’s eyebrows dipped below his shades as he glowered at Bro. “We need to talk,” he muttered. “Now.”

Bro frowned but stepped aside to let Dave in, taking in the appearance of the younger Strider, his baby brother. Last he’d seen Dave, Dave was barely five feet tall and skinny as a rail. Dave was strong for a thirteen year old kid, but Dave wasn’t much to look at then. Barely a gant. Now though… Now Dave was matched to Bro in height, and looked even more muscled and stocky than him. Bro was built for speed and running, obvious by how lithe he was and how long his legs were. Dave, now in this healthier, adult body, was built for strength. Built to withstand force he hadn’t before. It felt weird seeing Dave like that.

Dave was oblivious to Bro’s analysis of him. He was focused on the state of the living room he’d walked into. It was obviously different from his childhood apartment, but nostalgia hit him all the same. The mess was so familiar it was hard to push down the sense of “home” he felt stepping into it. Puppets lined shelves and laid around on tables. The smell of cigarettes and old Monster energy lingered heavily in the air, mixing with Bro’s usual cologne. Smuppets rested in piles around the house and, of course, shitty weaponry was on (or rather in) the walls. Dave felt an immediate sense of comfort standing in that living room, but behind it was dread. He stood still, not allowing a change to his body language as he quickly fell into old habits.

Bro shut the door behind Dave. “J’eat?” he asked, heading for the kitchen.

Dave blinked rapidly a few times, processing the question. Was it a question? He stared at Bro blankly.

Bro raised an eyebrow. “J’eat?” he repeated.

Dave mentally kicked himself. It had been so long since he’d heard a southern accent that some of Bro’s speech was going to be hard to readjust to. “J’eat” was always how people had asked him, “Did you eat?”. Dave shrugged slightly, trying to be nonchalant as he sat on the lonely stool at the kitchen island. The kitchen felt different, but familiar too. A dingy microwave in the corner of the counters, the fridge covered in fun magnets. A sink full of dishes and junk, bags of trash Bro had been too lazy to remove. It was homey, for however gross it might have been to someone else. “I had some pizza for breakfast,” he replied. “What, you gonna feed me now that it’s not actually your responsibility?”

He hadn’t meant to say that, and his blood ran cold as Bro stopped to stare at him. Apparently his anger had given him bigger balls than he thought it would. He further surprised himself by not immediately readying himself for a strife of some sort. He simply stared at Bro, almost boredly, waiting for the older Strider to snap.

Eventually, Bro turned around and started grabbing some things from the fridge. “You wanted to talk…” he nudged.

Dave hummed and nodded a bit. “Yeah. About why you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Dave.”

“I dunno. Growing up with you, it feels like you do. Kicking my ass, doing shit in your parenthood that seemed either funny or just fed your desire for some… High level ironic bullshit, not feeding me regularly, lying to me… Kids aren’t things to train for fun, you know that right? It’s important to me, and every other Dave that was raised by one of you, that you know you sucked at being a dad.”

Bro didn’t answer. He was busy frying eggs, frying bologna, and trying to locate some more butter or bacon grease. Whatever it was that he was using to cook. It brought Dave back to parts of his childhood, when he’d be crying or have something major to talk to Bro about, and Bro just didn’t reply. Bro would have ignored him for days, until eventually, Dave had to pick Bro up, literally, and care for him because Bro was sick. Dave growled. “What?” he snapped. “Nothing to say?”

Bro sighed and answered, “What do you want me to say, lil man? That I’m sorry? I’m not. I did what I believed would save your life and let you reach the point you’re at now. A literal damn god, ruling a planet that you fucking made. Am I supposed to feel bad that I taught you to survive?”

Dave clenched his fists, trying to fight angry tears. “You taught me I’m annoying,” he said. “You taught me my sexuality was bad, even though you yourself are a gay man.” He gripped his hair, trying to regulate his frustration. “I’ve thought about all this shit for years now, Bro, and all I come away from it all is that I feel like I was raised by someone who didn’t want me, who hated me.”

Bro set some apple juice in front of Dave, just apparently listening. He didn’t look angry or hurt. Actually, Dave almost wished he did. It would be easier to berate someone who reacted to it over someone who just blankly took it. Dave huffed and reluctantly hugged the juice, continuing his rant. “And whatever it was that you say you were ‘training’ me for, didn’t make me stronger. I don’t like fighting, I hate seeing blood, and I especially don’t like killing if I can help it. The sound of scraping metal sets me on edge and scars the piss out of me.

“God, that’s not even addressing the problems I have with my sexuality! Not like, who I’m attracted to, but how much I have running in my head that’s just outlandishly, intrusively sexual because you couldn’t be bothered to shield your actual son from your bullshit sex toy business! And do you have any idea how weird it felt when I realized I was around people who actually cared about me? How much it made me crave normalcy and basic affection and love? How human I felt instead of being some runty afterthought in a household of smutty puppets?”

Dave stared at Bro, finally done.

Nothing.

No rage or dragging Dave outside for a fight.

Bro simply set a plate of Dave’s favorite (scrambled eggs, fried bologna, toast with cinnamon and sugar) in front of him. Bro leaned on the counter, snacking on his own portion. “Feel better?” he asked blandly.

Dave stared, confused. “Wh… What?”

“Do you feel better? Get it all off your chest?”

Dave swallowed and shrugged a bit. “I… I guess?”

Bro nodded a bit and went silent again as he ate his food.

The two fell into silence as they ate, awkward in each other's presence. Dave watched Bro, comparing him to the version he actually liked.

Dirk could be cold and cruel at times, but most of it was just Dirk having no idea how people actually acted. Dirk wasn’t necessarily malicious, just ignorant. He was doing his best and, unfortunately, was too aware of his own short falls and failings. It had taken a lot more than their rooftop talk to get Dirk to realize he wasn’t Bro. Dirk was sweet and loved Dave for just being Dave. It was so easy to feel safe and relaxed with Dirk.

Bro wasn’t like Dirk, and it was obvious just by looking at the two.

Dirk was scarred and had the same hair color as Bro, but his features were soft, even as he aged and grew into his face. Dirk’s nose sat regally on his face, unbroken. His teeth, while not straight, weren’t chipped and were pretty clean all things considered. He was lean and muscular but soft, not jagged and sharp edges like Bro. Dirk’s eyes rested in a sleepy look, and widened only slightly when he was talking to someone he loved. Bro’s rested wide and manic, constantly in motion behind the shades, and only narrowed for those he hated.

“I don’t hate you.”

Dave looked up to see Bro looking at him, without shades surprisingly. Bro had his usually neutral expression, but his eyes looked all too similar to Dirk’s. Tired and remorseful.

Bro continued. “Look, I know I’m a shit parent. I went into raising you thinking ‘Whelp, shit. My parenthood is gonna teach this kid to hurt’, and lo and be-fucking-hold, I was right. I wasn’t trying to be malicious, Dave. I didn’t know what to do with myself, let alone another human being. I’ve got hella problems I couldn’t fix given when and where we fucking were. Yeah, I did do shit because it was amusing to me, but it never registered to me that it was hurting you.” Bro took a long drink of coffee, basically draining half the mug, before he continued. “My childhood was full of shit. Switchings, yelling, being shoved into bodies of water as a ‘lesson’... I ran away at 19 and into Dennis’s house.”

Dennis.

Dave remembered Dennis. The guy was older than Bro, and his only friend. A white collar guy, working in tech or finance if Dave remembered right. Dave could remember the dingy, ugly kitchen in Dennis’s house. The stains on the stove top, the peeling and dirty linoleum floor, the cabinets that didn’t close right, and the stained fridge with dirty shelves and rotten lettuce in the drawer. He remembered the living room with the worn out, broken blue couch, the busted brown recliner with the cup holder in one arm, and the nasty wooden coffee table with the glass middle, covered in coffee circles and pipe resin. The smell was acrid and biting, and a touch musty and distinctly like an old dog. Dave remembered toddling around in the living room of that place, a woman in combat boots with multi-colored dreads and piercings following him around to make sure he didn’t fall.

In his mind, he could see Bro and Dennis on the couch, shooting the shit, while the woman (Dennis’s girlfriend?) held his little hands to help him. Dennis shot him a dirty look every time he padded by, little feet stomping into the unvacuumed, dog hair covered rug. Dennis hadn’t liked Dave, and Dave hadn’t ever liked the man’s pockmarked sneers. He knew very early on that Dennis didn’t like him, only tolerated him for Bro’s sake.

“You never told me how you and Dennis met,” Dave mumbled, poking at the remains of his food.

Bro shrugged. “I was 18, he was 21, already working in some web start up,” he replied, pouring himself some more coffee. “I was trying to find something to do to earn money to get out of the house I was in, and he offered to let me do the designs and art for his website. Nothing special.”

Dave nodded a bit, thinking. After a long moment he muttered, “So basically, you’re wanting to excuse yourself with ‘my childhood sucked too’.”

Bro actually looked irritated, maybe even straight up mad. He set his mug down, a bit harsher than he meant to. “I’m explaining to you that I don’t fucking hate you,” he snapped. “I love you more than fucking anything in the universe, Dave. But I was torn pretty harshly between being a loving doting parent, handling my issues and problems, and preparing you for the fucking game. On top of that conflict, I grew up with Lil Cal.”

Dave swallowed a bit. Cal. That horrifying piece of shit puppet. Knowing what was done with Cal when they fought Lord English… Dave sighed and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t imagine what being around that thing for 30 some odd years would do to a person. Especially given the presence of Lil Hal inside the fucked up puppet Juju. “Fuck…”

The two Striders sat in silence for a while, picking at their food or sipping their drinks. It felt like old times. Old, tense, angry, stressful times. Nostalgic and terrifying. Homey and comfortable, but messy and painful. Dave couldn’t help the affection he felt for bro, despite everything. Bro was his guardian, his father… Bro wasn’t perfect, in fact he was probably a really bad person in a lot of ways, but Dave but to feel close to him.

Bro sighed after a while. “Dave,” he mumbled. “I don’t expect this conversation to like… I dunno, fix shit between us? I don’t expect us to hug and be close or anything. You have every right to be pissed that you didn’t get a better version of me, or a better childhood. I’m not sorry about training you. I needed to make sure you were strong enough and skilled enough to survive the trials you would face, and I fucking succeeded in that at least… I am sorry for the fact that I never made it clear that I actually care about you. Deeply. You’re my…”

“You can say little brother if son is too much…”

Bro shook his head. “Son is what you are,” he said. “I don’t know if raising you as my son would have changed anything, but I can’t keep pretending that’s not what you are.”

Dave smirked slightly. “You know you have a daughter too,” he teased. “Rose. She’s a lot like you.”

Bro frowned a bit at that idea. “No one deserves that fate.”

“Eh, she’s okay. Just likes making fun of me using her pseudo-psychologist babble.”

Bro nodded a bit, absently moving to finally do dishes.

Dave watched Bro. His anger hadn’t dissipated at all, in fact it might have felt like more than it had been when he saw Bro open the door, but he felt a weird sense of peace. Like everything was going to be okay and he didn’t have to keep holding onto the thoughts in his head. It felt like a sort of closure he wasn’t originally going to get when Bro had initially died. Sighing, with more to mull over, Dave stood up and pushed in his bar stool. “Thanks for the food,” he said, fixing his hoodie. “I… Don’t know if I’ll come back.”

Bro nodded absently, rinsing a plate. “I get it,” he replied. “Just know, you always have a place here. You have a bedroom ready to claim should you need it.”

“Yeah… Okay. Thanks.”

Bro waved over his shoulder as he listened to Dave’s heavier footsteps trail out the door.

[orxna]

Freedom is--Different, the second time. Not entirely different, sometimes she wonders if she will always be that frightened girl with a dead Papa. Again and again. Hawke isn't here to tell her that she'll be alright. Fenris is not here to assure her that she will be safe--He has been sent for but the way he travels practically with the wind there is no guarantee of when he will come for her. She's seen Isabela at least, nearly broke down then. The elf hadn't quite cried but she couldn't stop apologizing and she couldn't even explain what for. She wants to go home--but Kirkwall has fallen and there's no safe way to bring her to Starkhaven where Aveline stands vigilant as ever. Besides, Ghilan'nain is furious with the loss of Sulhan'harel, even the brief meeting with Isabela on the shores of Rivain had been ambushed by Antaam. Clawed hands grabbing at her arms and Orana thinks of going back and panics-- It is the first time Orana has ever bitten someone. She hadn't truly stopped the warrior, but distracted him enough for Isabela to do so moments later. A dagger through his heart with a wet Shnk. She is shaking horribly when the pirate pulls Orana close to her chest, squeezes her tight. "I’ve got you now, kitten," Isabela hushes, a hand combing through soft blonde locks. It settles something, to have nails instead of needles pressing against her scalp. She breathes with Isabela's steady breaths until the world stops spinning, "We won't let them take you." Orana tries very hard to believe her. She is sent with Rook, the Evanuris cannot access the Lighthouse. Rook is kind, magnetic the same way Hawke had been and instantly she understands Varric's fondness. However, it is not home, she doesn't think such a dizzying place could ever feel like home. Even just walking through the Eluvian and seeing the strange empty chasms bracketing a walkway with no rails is overwhelming. The feeling that wells in her stomach is worse than seasickness, though she has only ever been on a boat once. They bring her to the infirmary first, to tend to the shackle of bruises around her arm. She freezes at the sight of Bianca, shattered on a nearby table. She doesn't realize she's fallen--fainted--until she is looking up and there are people crowding on all sides of her. It is terribly disorienting to be lifted and set gently upon a medic's cot. It is more disorienting to be overwhelmed with the familiar earthy sweet scent of old but well maintained leather. It lingers in her nose and if she closes her eyes she can almost pretend that the hands tending to her are callused like an archer's. Eo canavarum, why hadn't the Evanuris simply been lying to her? Lithe fingers grasp desperately at the sleeves when unfamiliar hands help her sit up. She shrugs the coat over her shoulders, someone is speaking but she can't quite hear them. Her mind has made itself quiet, protecting her. The elf curls in on herself, into the coat. Slips shaking hands into the arms and squeezes herself as tight as she can. If she closes her eyes hard enough, it's almost like a hug.

[corsair-news-alliance]

(( ANONYMOUS//; "@lancasters-dont-dance" ))

(( A young woman, lithe yet tall enough to be seen over the tumultuous crowd, slips into one of the spectator's seats via careful, smooth steps. Her short brown hair is half shaved, half tangled; Her left arm sits in a sling, with just a touch of clean, white gauze peeking out from the cuff of her coat. The coat itself is old, dirty and battered, a start contrast to the rest of her put-together, almost attorney-esque attire. One one shoulder of the coat, a patch bearing the IPS-N star; On the other, the emblem of a hawk stood in front of the eight-pointed star. A dented pair of dog tags hang from her neck. ))

(( There's pity in her eyes as she stares up at the stand. Confusion compounds with dismay, churning together into the visage of horror- though her expression remains calm, restrained, and tempered. In her mind, this is not a trial. This is a battleground, a question too personal for any CORSAIR to answer, a verdict too crucial to have been decided on CORSAIR soil. )) (( And yet, she's quiet; This isn't her home. Not yet, at least. )) (( She's only here to support Morse, )) (( Or to bear witness, if the tension finally snaps. ))

(( ANONYMOUS//; ))

{Morse's eyes meet hers for only a moment. It's clear she already broke.}

[wordy-little-witch]

Plus size Buggy will always be my favorites headcanon for him because it just makes SENSE. Not gonna get too much into negative stereotypes here, but genuinely Buggy’s sixpack in the manga is mildly hysterically to me, given what we know about him. He’s not unfit by a mile, he is too talented of an acrobat for that, but look my square in the eye and tell me Buggy would be the kind of guy to do the kind of restrictive(and in many cases DESTRUCTIVE) eating that’s required to keep a sixpack like that. Anyways: Buggy being the most full figured out of Crossguild and him and Crocodile actually teaming up against MIHAWK for once, who’s naturally a pretty thin guy but also „forgets to eat“ at times Yes / No? Mihawk feels like the kind of guy who would forgo eating when he feels it’s inconvenient or not actively for nutritional sake (save the wine 🍷) and Buggy and Crocodile both being the type of men who can not understand why you would put yourself trough that type of torture when you are rich enough to have all the food you want. Mihawk muses that it’s baffling that they are now discussing important Crossguild news at…."brunch" , regarding them in the afternoon has worked well for them until now, not yet completely realizing that his husbands have actually bonded together to make sure Mihawk actually at least eats something before midday. They would have pushed for breakfast, but there simply was no way for them to get to Mihawk before his morning training session.

Okay yes this, so much!!! I'm gonna project on Buggy here, bro can't eat first thing in the morning, so he Gets It to an extent with Mihawk - but he's also gonna be ADAMANT on SOMETHING for the other if only a light brunch. He's the type to keep small snacks on his person while out and about, and he's not above some mild manipulation tactics to make sure his loved ones are okay and healthy.

Mihawk's natural build is pretty lithe. He's tall, thin, but frankly absolutely RIPPED when it comes to muscle, and Buggy is simply SWEATING when he sees it. It's not even in a That's So Hot way, it's in a Oh My Gods That's Not Safe way.

Crocodile isn't exactly as hard-corded-muscled as Mihawk, but also not as full figured as Buggy, and even he's like "o h" when the goth abs flex.

Buggy tries to be subtle at first, then when they doesn't work ((and after a fairly sharp tongued call out)) he just explodes with waving hands and teary eyes about general health and the way that that stuff can negatively impact people current and future, then he winds up rambling about the beauty industry and media pushing for such unsafe expectations when it ISN'T SAFE.

Just. Buggy levels of meltdowns because if there is one thing he'll go feral for, it's the people he loves and the chances of losing them.

It also helps that he's a pretty good cook and gives Croc and Hawk both the clown baby doll eyes to beg them to have something light with him.

[saltyowlets]

Seeing people talk about their CullenxInquistor's kids got me thinking about Medea and Cullen's. Generally, they all look half elven, with slightly pointed ears and flatter faces. However, they all got the Rutherford curls. There is no avoiding that. Here are their names:

Their eldest son is Mulligan. Started out as a joke with some friends as I was tryin to make a 'ship' name for Medea and Cullen which devolved to the name Mulligan and it just stuck.

Their triplets are Cadmus, Ladon, and Hawk, themed around Dorian, Bull, and Varric who are basically Medea's brothers. Brownie points if you can guess where Cadmus and Ladon come from. Hawk is just obvious

Their yougest and only daughter is Kim. The name in Vietnamese means gold. Fun fact, her nickname is Kimmie, which is similar to Kim Ly- Viet for golden lion. Funny, i know.

Mulligan looks like Medea with Cullen's eyes and build. Cadmus, Ladon, and Hawk will look more like Medea with Hawk having hazel eyes like his father. The three of them are on the more but like Medea, leaner and lithe. Kim looks like Cullen with Medea's eyes. She grows to be taller than the triplets.

All of them, except Ladon, turn out to be mages- much to Medea's elation and Cullen's shock (man loves them dearly but 4 mages??)

A part of Cullen did think about the Circle- gut instinct - but ultimately he never wants his children in those conditions even if the Circles improved under Divine Vivienne. Medea and Cullen have discussed this in length before they attempted to conceive. Medea was ready to fight him if he was going to argue for the kids to go to the Circle.

All 5 children are very closely tied to their Dalish heritage, a decision both parents agreed upon. They took the Lavellan name over the Rutherford one, which Cullen encouraged happily.

[quelios-dawnsinger]

Character Profile: Quelios

Name: Quelios Dawnsinger Nicknames/Monikers: Lio Age: Adult Birthday: Late September Race: Sin'dorei Gender: Male Relationship Status: Single Family: Several members of House Dawnsinger, @serenas-dawnsinger (Younger sister) @safrona-shadowsun (Mother) Wennefer Shadowsun (Aunt) Typical Accessories: Bow and Arrows/Quiver, Sunreaver cloak clasp, backpack with survival items. Faceclaim/Likeness: Tom Ellis

Physical Appearance –––

The Sin'dorei is lithe, bearing a tight upper body core expected of a practiced archer or marksman. His long, dark hair loosely falls over his shoulders and down his back - more often tied into a long, streamlined tail. Eyes are a stone cold jade color, his expression set to an almost natural suspicion by default. Lio often wears leathers appropriate of a Sin'dorei ranger, a half cloak of red and black trimmed in bronze fixed over his shoulders.

Bio/Known History ---

Part of the smaller recent generation of the distinguished House Dawnsinger, Quelios quickly separated himself from the noble lifestyle his younger sister was molded into by investing his attention to the Farstriders from a very young age, carrying on the tradition his father had left him. Inheriting his father's massive Dragonhawk Phaedra, Lio would prove to be a formidable tracker, helping to keep Eversong safe from the encroaching dead spilling in from the ruinous Ghostlands, and the aggression of invading trolls. With his mother's fall during the culling of Dalaran, Quelios' attention shifted with grim determination to the Sunreavers, obsessed with the need to absolve himself and House Dawnsinger of the stains made in her name by association.

RP Hooks ---

+ One may know of the youngest son of House Dawnsinger, if only by association to his younger sister, Serenas: the far more sweet of the two.

+ One may be more familiar with Quelios if somehow involved with the Farstriders - he trained among their younger generation.

+ Some may have found Lio some years ago, attempting to earn prestige at the Icecrown Tourney Grounds as a young jouster, determined to earn his own Sunreaver Hawk Mount.

+ One would have a strong knowledge of Quelios Dawnsinger through his full association as a Sunreaver.

+ Some blood elves may be familiar with Lio as a journeyman trainer of both dragonhawks and lynxes. Some may have been able to arrange the adoption of domesticated lynx cubs through him, often seen walking them through Silvermoon to get them acclimated.