#i could talk about rome for hours

[charlotte-of-wales]

Hey so I know you were in Italy for a bit. I’m visiting I March. Would love any tips/recommendations for Milan Rome Naples or Amalfi

omg I am turning into those annoying people who never shut up about their study abroad but I gotchu

I never been to Italy in March so I can't help in the weather department and unfortunately I never made my way to the Amalfi so I can't help there either :/

continuing under the cut bc this good looong

overall, food-wise I don't have any specific recommendations because it does depend on where you're staying but honestly even turist traps usually have good food (although very overpriced) but as a rule of thumb, if people are ushering you in and they have pictures on the menu or pasta for over 15 euros.....probably a turist trap. Absolutely try the amatriciana in Rome and honestly.....order whatever tf you want because guess what? Some Italians are going to judge you regardless, do not care about their cappuccino or cheese rules.

Rome and Milan both have good public transportation systems (Milan's a little better though), and I don't know about Naples because I didn't use public transit there. Both Milan and Rome accept Apple Pay and I recommend doing that instead of buying a paper ticket every time/using your credit card to pay. The Rome metro can get pretty crowded (especially at Termini station, aka my own personal hell) but around 5-6pm when traffic is horrible it's better to get on the metro than on a bus. Also the metro comes more regularly.

for Milan, you probably only need 2-3 days tops and last time I went I stayed close to Castello Sforza and I feel like anything central like that/closer to the Duomo is fine because you can just walk. I recommend doing the obvious sights there and then they have good museums/couture shops if that's what you're into.

for Naples, I didn't get to visit the palace there and I regret it because it looks gorgeous from the outside. You can see a bit without actually buying a ticket to go in if you don't have much time. I also recommend going to the palace in Caserta if you can because it's GORGEOUS. Oh, and try the fried pizza; it's dripping with oil and smells funky but literally some of the best food I've had there was in Naples. They're also football OBSESSED if you're into that. There's also a massive archeological museum in Naples with a bunch of stuff from Pompeii.

and now Rome.....my beloved. So much to do, see, and eat. I always recommend staying closer to the Vatican because it's more lowkey but staying downtown is good too. I recommend the obvious things (Colosseum, Pantheon, St. Peter's) but also the Orange Gardens, Villa Borghese and Trastevere. Also if you see a place advertising that they have suppli and it looks crunchy GET IT. Miss my daily suppli so much. Oh, take advantage of those 3 euro breakfasts. And a piece of advice I was given that I always pass along, go inside churches in Rome when you can. That's where you'll find the prettiest places, even if it's not a known/massive church. They also have amazing archeological museums that I can recommend more in depth but that depends on your taste.

oh, regarding safety I was never pickpocketed but in crowded trains you definitely see people ogling turists so make sure you have your bags closed and in front of you and don't keep anything in your pocket. unfortunately you need to be aware of all times. and don't buy tickets to museums/sites from randoms on the street (saw that happening all the time at the Vatican) always buy at the ticket office or at the website.

#i could talk about rome for hours #i feel like this wasn't as specific but I can get more in depth especially about rome #answered

[apersonwholikeslotus]

who do you hc to be germania's kids?

in this age order: Denmark Sweden Holy Rome Norway Prussia Austria Switzerland Netherlands Belgium England

I don't hc Germany, Iceland, Liechtenstein, or Luxembourg to be; because they are all too young (they were born after he died). So they all fall under the grandchildren category.

#if y'all start asking me about my germanic family hc we will go down a hole you do not understand #I could talk about them for hours haha #aph denmark #hws denmark #aph sweden #hws sweden #aph holy rome #hws holy rome #aph norway #hws norway #aph prussia #hws prussia #aph austria #hws austria #aph switzerland #hws switzerland #aph netherlands #hws netherlands #aph belgium #hws belgium #aph england #hws england #germanic!family #aph germania #hws germania

[all-pacas]

I finished my Rome book and have now begun one about Pompeii. I’m 65 pages in and I already love it: yes, it covers the volcano, but most of the book is about “this is what the town and daily life of it would have been like, actually.” Fascinating stuff. Things I’ve learned so far:

- The streets in Pompeii have sidewalks sometimes a meter higher than the road, with stepping stones to hop across as “crosswalks.” I’d seen some photos before. The book points out that, duh, Pompeii had no underground drainage, was built on a fairly steep incline, and the roads were more or less drainage systems and water channels in the rain.

- Unlike today, where “dining out” is expensive and considered wasteful on a budget, most people in Pompeii straight up didn’t have kitchens. You had to eat out if you were poor; only the wealthy could afford to eat at home.

- Most importantly, and I can’t believe in all the pop culture of Pompeii this had never clicked for me: Pompeii had a population between 6-35,000 people. Perhaps 2,000 died in the volcano. Contemporary sources talk about the bay being full of fleeing ships. Most people got the hell out when the eruption started. The number who died are still a lot, and it’s still gruesome and morbid, but it’s not “an entire town and everyone in it.” This also makes it difficult for archeologists, apparently (and logically): those who remained weren’t acting “normally,” they were sheltering or fleeing a volcano. One famous example is a wealthy woman covered in jewelry found in the bedroom in the glaridator barracks. Scandal! She must have been having an affair and had it immortalized in ash! The book points out that 17 other people and several dogs were also crowded in that one small room: far more likely, they were all trying to shelter together. Another example: Houses are weirdly devoid of furniture, and archeologists find objects in odd places. (Gardening supplies in a formal dining room, for example.) But then you remember that there were several hours of people evacuating, packing their belongings, loading up carts and getting out… maybe the gardening supplies were brought to the dining room to be packed and abandoned, instead of some deeper esoteric meaning. The book argues that this all makes it much harder to get an accurate read on normal life in a Roman town, because while Pompeii is a brilliant snapshot, it’s actually a snapshot of a town undergoing major evacuation and disaster, not an average day.

- Oh, another great one. Outside of a random laundry place in Pompeii, someone painted a mural with two scenes. One of them referenced Virgil’s Aeneid. Underneath that scene, someone graffiti’d a reference to a famous line from that play, except tweaked it to be about laundry. This is really cool, the book points out, because it implies that a) literacy and education was high enough that one could paint a reference and have it recognized, and b) that someone else could recognize it and make a dumb play on words about it and c) the whole thing, again, means that there’s a certain amount of literacy and familiarity with “Roman pop culture” even among fairly normal people at the time.

[queenlucythevaliant]

See, I don't think that the Pevensie kids were uncanny and dangerous upon returning to England so much as just like. Cool weirdos.

Lucy talks to animals sometimes. She doesn't expect responses or anything; it has the same energy as a person talking to their dog, except it's the squirrel she spotted on the quad or the racoon in the garbage. But she's super friendly in general so after the initial "what the heck" everyone shrugs it off because like, yeah, of course she does. She also went with me to a scary doctor's appointment having known me for like five minutes and gave me an incredible pep talk. She's cool like that.

Peter joins the fencing club and day one it's like he's never held a foil in his life and day two he loses to a kid half his size but then after like a month he just absolutely annihilates the instructor. But he's super humble about it and afterwards he helps everyone else out without being condescending at all. And while it's a little weird that he's just Suddenly an expert, people are like, "he's a fast learner, that's cool." He's really industrious in class too, just Peter being Peter. He probably practiced a whole bunch after hours.

Edmund gets extremely weird food cravings sometimes, like "wow, I could really go for chicken liver with raisins right about now" or "you guys know what's great? Gooseberry trifles." And his friends say, "I've never heard of that before but it sounds weird." So Edmund learns to cook and starts making all these vaguely antiquated fancy dishes with weird berries and organ meats and things and shares them around during study breaks and everyone's like "Yo! Pevensie brought food. Cool, thanks Pevensie." And he shares it with everyone, even the kids nobody likes, and it kinda brings people together.

Susan, who was always the Mom Friend, seems to have gotten a power-up because now she Everyone's mom and weirdly people actually listen to her? But she only uses those powers for good. Girl in her dorm not eating enough? Susan's here with snacks and look at that now she's eating. Those guys arguing look like they're about to throw down? Susan says "knock it off" and glares and they do. And her friends are like, "how do you do it???" and she says "You just have to act like you expect to be obeyed." It's very cool, though it can be a bit Much sometimes.

And they're all into mythology now? Like ancient Rome and King Arthur and stuff? That's kinda weird, but not off-putting; lots of kids have mythology phases. And Peter named the tree outside his dorm, but everyone kinda laughs and says "yeah okay." Edmund is adamantly anti-bullying now, it's nice. Susan and Lucy wear a lot of lion-themed jewelry and people definitely Notice, but that just means that they start getting more of it for Christmas/birthdays.

And of course whenever two or more of them are together it's like they've got a conspiracy going on. They're always fervently whispering back and forth, giggling an the million inside jokes they've got, giving each other Looks. And onlookers are mostly just like, "Man, it's cool that those Pevensie kids are all so tight; I wish I was that close with my siblings."

#*banging cymbals together* THE PEVENSIE KIDS ARE NOT MAGIC #they lived in a magical world but fundementally they're Just Kids #every time i see a Narnia post i don't like i feel the compelling need to make a counter -post #sometimes i resist sometimes i don't #pontifications and creations #narnia #once there were four children

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Thinking about Actress!Reader who finally got to change into a pair of shorts and a crop top after being in a corset and long dresses all day after shooting was done for the day.

Actress!Reader who gets invited to go get Gelato with Peter to help cool off after being stuck in such stuffy clothes for the past six hours.

Bodyguard!Miguel who had to suppress a scowl when you told him that you were basically going on a date with your fellow actor. But that didn’t deter him from volunteering to watch over you both when you went to walk through the streets of Rome. He’d rather be the one watching over you than Peter’s bodyguard.

Actress!Reader and Actor!Peter who didn't notice when a group of passersby recognized them, snapping a few pictures of you both without your knowledge. You weren’t completely used to the whole “having photos taken of you without your permission or contact” but that was unfortunately a price to pay when you’re new and on the rise.

Actress!Reader who finally went home to relax, getting a good night's rest now that the jet lag has finally stopped.

Actress!Reader who wakes up the next morning with 24 missed calls, 35 new messages and her name trending on twitter.

—

Jake (Manager): (Y/N).

Jake(Manger): (Y/N), call me when you wake up.

Peter 🐝.: Did you look at Twitter yet?

Peter🐝.: Or like any social media yet?

Bestie💝: Girl…

Bestie💝: You’ve got some explaining to do.

“What’s… happening?” You mumbled as you scrolled through your new messages as you waddled into the kitchen of your hotel suite, where Miguel was already drinking his cup of coffee. Glancing up at him for a moment as he greeted you.

“Morning.” He mumbled as he placed his mug down. “Your manager told me to have you call him when you're up.”

“Do you know why?” You asked him as you scrolled to Jake’s contact info, receiving a grunt in response, a no.

“(Y/N) (L/N), would you like to explain what went on yesterday after you finished up on set?” You felt like you were five years old and being scolded by your mom all over again, except you genuinely didn’t know what you did.

“Um, I went to go get a snack with Peter. Why-“

“A snack.” He repeated, his tone questioning despite it being deadpan.

“Yes, a snack.” You huffed, your confusion turning into irritation as your brows furrowed together. “Why? can't I have a snack after work with my coworker?”

“You can have a snack after work, but from what I’m looking at here it doesn’t seem like it’s with a coworker.” His words make you pause.

“What?” All attitude now gone, confusion settles back in. “What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t seen the pictures yet?”

“What pictures?”

“Oh dear God…” Jake mumbled under his breath, before letting out a sigh. “Go on twitter, and check the trending tab.”

You put him on speaker and did what you were told, waiting for the little bird app to load, before clicking on the explore tab. Eyes widening as you read out the headline at top.

“Peter B. Parker and (Y/N), coworkers on a new upcoming movie, spotted out on date?!?”

Miguel almost started to choke on his coffee after he heard you recite the words, having to hit his chest to clear his windpipes as you frantically started to scroll through the tag.

“No, no it wasn’t a date though Jake, it wasn’t-“ Your words died on your tongue as your finger stopped scrolling once you hit a particular picture.

A picture of Peter making you try his flavor, by spoon feeding you.

Fuck how can I be so dumb? How could I forget that happened? It was only 2 seconds Max. And now it’s trending.

“I need you down at set an hour early. We have some things to discuss with Peter and his team.” Jake sighed before you heard the dial tone of him hanging up the call.

Shit.

—

Part 4<

Not proofread.

Word count: 600

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st

@mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout

@laysmt @migueloharasoulmate @fruityfucker @pigeonmama @scaryplanetdestroyer

@migueloharastruelove @krentkova19 @genny1019 @maiyart

@stressed-cherry @haveclayeveryday @miguelzslvtz @scaleniusrm @xerorizz

@enananawoah @messicampeon @anastasia1972 @lauraolar14 @huniedeux

@bluesidez @nommingonfood @chrishy973 @m4dyy @night-spectrum

@electricgg (to be added click here)

#miguel o hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara au #spiderman 2099 x reader #astv spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 fanfic #miguel ohara spiderman #miguel fanfic #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #bodyguard!miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel ohara blurb #miguel o’hara blurb

[woso-dreamzzz]

Study

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Doing schoolwork while the team is round is not a good idea

The sun patch you were lying in was delightful.

The noise around you, was not.

You opened your eyes blearily, narrowing them to slits in annoyance.

Lucy stared at you and then pointedly turned the tv up in volume, laughing at your disgruntled look.

"Turn it back down," You said.

"No."

"Lucy," You whined," Please turn it down."

"Sorry, kiddo," Keira said as she appeared," But the rest of the team are coming over soon and you've got an essay to write."

You groaned at the reminder but sat up. The whole reason you had taken a nap in the first place was to procrastinate about writing your essay.

"Keira..."

"No, y/n," She said," Part of the agreement we made with your parents was keeping your grades up. I won't make you sit at the kitchen table to write it while the team is round but you have to get it finished today."

You groaned again but relented, grabbing your laptop from where it was charging nearby and pulling up your plan.

Your teammates flooded in through the next hour.

Asisat tapped you on the head as she passed to get to the kitchen. "School work?"

You rolled your eyes. "What gave it away?"

She laughed. "The fact that you've been staring at the screen for nearly twenty minutes and haven't typed a thing."

You darted your eyes across the room to look at Keira, who clearly hadn't noticed. You sent an awkward smile Asisat's way. "Don't tell Keira?"

"Your secret's safe with me."

The more people that arrived, the less you wanted to write your essay. The whole apartment had filled up with noise and even if you wanted to start typing, you were much more interested in hearing Claudia talk about the date she went on with her girlfriend.

You start typing your introduction before deciding you really can't be bothered right now and switch to writing about how Mark Antony's relationship with Cleopatra was the worst thing he could have done from the perspective of other Romans.

You were mindlessly typing and deleting your work when Frido and Aitana joined you on the sofa.

"How is your studying?" Aitana's English was getting much better now that she came around routinely to learn from Keira while you were forced to sit at the table and do your science work.

You gave her a deadpan look. "Oh, just great."

Frido laughed at your sarcasm. "Anything we can help with?"

"Unless you understand the intricacies of Mark Antony and Octavian's war for power after Caesar's death, then no."

Frido pulled a face. "You're studying that?"

"In theory."

Marta and Caro joined a moment later with cans of lemonade and snacks. You snatched up a KitKat quickly, anything to distract you from your next paragraph about Octavian's slanderous propaganda against his rival.

"How is our little student faring?" Marta asked, peering at your screen where you had repeatedly typed out 'I hate this class so much, I wish I could drop out'.

"Not good by the looks of it," Caro said even though it was obvious," What even is this?"

"Ancient Roman politics," Frido replied," It looks very boring."

"It's interesting," You said," Until you have to start writing essays and decide which of these horrible men was better."

"Who is better?" Aitana asked.

"...Octavian, because he won," You replied," But not because he was a better person. This is Rome - if you're not a bad person then are you really an Ancient Roman politician?"

The little group around you burst into laughter and Marta ruffled your hair. "You'll get it finished," She said," You're a smart girl."

Team bonding happened around you for the evening as you mindlessly typed and typed and typed until you were finally finished with your essay.

You stretched out in delight and headed into the kitchen where a to-do list hung on the fridge.

Irene, Sandra and Mariona were already there, studying it curiously as you grabbed a pen from the top of the fridge (standing on your tiptoes to reach it) before you crossed off your Classical Civilisations essay.

"That's a lot of work," Mariona said," This is for the whole month?"

"This is for the week," You replied, taking in her shocked look at your words," But I'm nearly done." You crossed off the Physics homework you finished last night along with the Maths worksheet you got done before practice this morning.

"It gets this bad?" Irene asked," I worry about when Mateo starts school properly."

You frowned. "I'm pretty sure that Mateo getting homework will be doing a drawing rather than writing essays."

"Well, if it helps," Sandra cut in," At least you've finished your essay now! You're free!"

You shook your head and pointed to the only thing Lucy had contributed to your list.

FINISH YOUR FUCKING PSYCHOLOGY ESSAY

"It's about language development in infants," You said, opening the fridge and grabbing some more lemonade.

When you finally made your way back to the living room, your seat had been taken by some of the girls so you ended up sitting in front of the armchair that Ingrid and Mapi had taken refuge on.

Instantly, Ingrid's hands threaded through your hair, massaging your scalp before pulling strands out of your face and pulling them into an intricate braid.

Apart from ever so slightly making you move your head to different positions, you were left mostly alone as you typed away about more research studies using brain imaging.

Mapi shifted behind you and you could tell she was trying to read over your shoulder.

"Why do you need to learn this?" She asked.

"It's interesting," You replied," I thought about doing psychology at uni before Barca signed me. I just hate writing about it."

"It looks boring."

"It's not," You said. Ingrid tied off your new braid and you turned to look at Mapi with a wolfish smile. "Besides, is it boring for you because it hits too close to home? Since you're such a child?"

Mapi swatted at you jokingly, lightly kicking you in the back until you shifted away from her with your laptop.

You refuge came in the form of the pile on the floor in front of the tv. Bruna and Jana welcomed you into the group instantly and you found yourself sandwiched between Ona and Esmee, who were viciously going against each other in FIFA.

"Is your essay finished?" Esmee asked," Keira told me not to text you after practice because you were writing your essay."

"Nearly," You replied," I've just got one more paragraph and then the conclusion. Ona's about to score, by the way."

With your words, Esmee just managed to block the shot as Ona shoved you in annoyance.

Jana and Bruna broke into laughter and peered over your shoulder.

"You used the wrong word," Jana said, pointing to where you had been writing about Piaget.

"It's kind of embarrassing that you're correcting me on my own native language," You said to her even as you corrected yourself.

"Learn Spanish," Bruna said," She makes a lot of mistakes in that."

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do!"

"You so do," Ona said," And y/n, you've got your tenses wrong."

You hadn't even noticed that the match had ended and that Ona was studying your essay until she spoke. Esmee looked over it as well, pointing at another grammar mistake.

You slapped their hands away and pointed to each of you. "Stop it! It'll get spellchecked at the end! You're ruining my creative process!"

"What creative process?" Jana laughed," You're writing an essay!"

"I hate you!" You declared with a laugh," Each and every one of you!" You pointed at them each in turn.

"Don't lie!" Bruna said," You love us."

You bat your eyelashes at her. "Write my essay and you'll have my undying love!"

"No chance!"

You finished your essay soon after without any of their help (although you would be the first to admit that your conclusion wasn't exactly the best) and hurried to cross it off the list, snatching it off the fridge. You sought out Keira in a group of the older girls. You showed her the list.

"I'm done!"

She took it from you, looking it over sceptically.

"And your psychology essay?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Keira, promise!"

"She promises, Keira!" Patri mocked your tone with a smile as Claudia and Gemma laughed.

You were one second away from stamping your foot but you refrained because you would never live down the 'little kid' allegations from your teammates if you did so.

"Look at this face!" Gemma said, cupping your cheeks," How could you be mean to this one?"

Keira had a contemplative look on her face.

"Come on, Keira," Claudia said," It's the weekend. We have a match in two days. She's been doing her work since we arrived. Let her have this."

"She could have had it finished before you all arrived if she hadn't taken a nap after practice."

"She's a growing girl!" Patri declared," She needs her nap so she can be big and strong like me when she grows up!"

An arm was thrown over your shoulder and you bit back your retort that the world couldn't handle two versions of Patri.

"Oh...fine, then. y/n go let Narla out of your room and then you're free for the rest of the day."

"Yes!" You pumped your fist into the air and hurried off.

Narla had been shut into your room the moment you came home after Keira watched you play with the little dog instead of doing your homework so she seemed very happy to be free, leaping into your arms like a little princess and making you walk her into the living room.

Salma and Cata intercepted you on the way, cooing over Narla like they had never met her before even though they had.

"It's strange to see you without your laptop," Cata said to you as she tickled under Narla's chin," I thought that it was surgically attached to you or something."

You would have shoved her if you had access to your hands but you didn't so settled for an unimpressed eyeroll. "Ha, ha, very funny. Make fun of my massive workload. I don't see you studying while playing football!"

"You know," Salma said and you already knew she was going to say something to tease you," When I was your age, I didn't have to worry about deadlines because I just did my work the day it got set."

You scoffed. "You're only three years older than me!" You stuck your tongue out at her. "If you want to write my essays for me, Salma, you should have just asked."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "That sounds like hell on earth."

You laughed all the way back to the living room, placing Narla on the floor and grabbing some snacks from the table when nobody was looking. You ended up on the floor for the most part, sat by Lucy's chair as the older woman sat above you, occasionally reaching down to feed you chocolate when she was sure Keira wasn't looking. But as it got later in the evening, you ended up migrating onto the sofa with Alexia.

"I heard you finished all your schoolwork for the week," She said as you lazed against her side, watching whatever Spanish soap opera Patri had forced onto the tv.

"Uh-huh." You were only half listening as you dozed off. Her nails scratched lightly at your scalp and the blanket that had been thrown over the pair of you made you feel all cosy and warm.

"Well done, y/n. I'm very proud of you."

"Thank you," You slurred slightly, head dropping to her shoulder as your vision got blurrier and blurrier.

"Are you tired, bebita?"

"No..."

Her chuckle jolted her body slightly but it was a little like the vibrations from being in a car so your eyes just drooped lower. "I think you are."

"Not...Not tired."

"You are. I think all that studying took it out of you."

"No..." You whined slightly and Alexia pulled you in a bit tighter. She manipulated your body in some way you didn't realise because you blinked and suddenly you were lying stretched out with your head in her lap. "I'm...I'm not tired."

You had already missed out on team bonding because of your studying. You didn't want to miss out on any more.

"You are very tired." Alexia's tone was firm but still somehow soothing and her nails drew patterns on your arm comfortingly. "You just need a little nap."

You tried to protest but Alexia's voice just got a bit firmer and a bit more like her captain voice so you knew that you couldn't argue back.

"Come on, bebita. It's nap time for good students like you. I'll wake you up when the food gets here."

#woso x reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

[m00nsbaby]

Asking for help with your makeup.

Moon system x reader. - headcanons.

Steven.

You had done it for fun, asking him to do your makeup like those old YouTube videos that trended a few years ago.

He didn't hesitate at all, Steven got to work.

But first, he put on his adorable reading glasses.

You discovered he bit his tongue when he was too concentrated, and you just wanted to kiss him.

In the end, it was a bigger challenge for you than for him.

"Oh Gods, look at that." He whispered to himself as he used his finger to correct the mistake on the edge of the blue eyeliner he had applied.

Contrary to what you thought, he chose vibrant colors.

Turns out Steven wanted to try every interesting thing he found in your makeup kit.

"Can you…?" "Mhmm?" "Can you do... like Gus, with your cheeks?"

It wasn't fair that a man could be this adorable, asking you to suck in your cheeks so he could apply bronzer.

"What is this glittery thingy for?" "Highlighter, like the ones you use for your books."

He wasn't too thrilled about using his fingers with your makeup, he immediately wiped them on some surface.

And his hand trembled when he applied a touch of highlighter to the inner corner of your eyes.

Usually, you were the one who made Steven nervous, but at this moment, his brown eyes were so focused on you that you were almost trembling.

So close to asking him to forget everything and kiss you until both of you were tired.

"Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink." He held the mascara wand as you obeyed, until he was satisfied with the amount on your lashes.

No one had ever looked at you with such admiration before.

"Finished?"

Still, he didn't seem satisfied.

"What's missing?" Your voice came out curious, playful. Like you would talk to a child who can't quite express what they need. "I don't know, love."

He just kept looking at you. And your brain worked in seconds.

His eyes lit up when you showed him a palette consisting solely of glitter. In different colors and sizes.

Three gentle taps on each of your cheeks with the glitter, and now you saw him nod, content with his masterpiece.

"Done! How did I do?" He was just so… excited.

You weren't going to burst his bubble by telling him that the look screamed 'I'm drunk at Coachella,' so you smiled. Almost as excited as he was.

"It's perfect, Steven."

Little did you know, you had just triggered this to become a constant activity.

You had so many colors for him to try, and you couldn't refuse if he looked at you that way.

Marc.

Marc was… rough.

Like every second of his life, he had a furrowed brow as he worked on you, and at every moment, he reminded you that you had asked for this.

"You're taking hours." "Rome wasn't built in a day." "And now you're talking like Steven."

He rolled his eyes for the fifth time within a span of 2 hours.

"Lift your face." That request also repeated more than you would have liked.

And his hands could be coarse, but his touches were so gentle that your eyes had started to close a few minutes ago.

He wasn't going to say it, but this almost felt therapeutic.

There was something stupidly relaxing about choosing what he liked without anyone else interfering, not even those little voices in his mind.

No one could judge him for his choice of neutral colors.

You, on the other hand, as relaxed as you felt, had a racing heart.

Turns out Marc and Jake are probably the most stubborn people you know, so neither of them accepts that their body needs glasses outside of Steven.

As a result, he had to be closer to you to focus his gaze on what he was doing.

His warm, minty breath gave you goosebumps.

Did Marc have to be attractive in everything he did?

Your train of thought slowly started to drift away from the situation.

"I told you…" His hand firmly positioned itself under your chin and forced you to lift your head to look at him. "To lift your face."

You swallowed hard.

And you weren't sure if he noticed that you were about to melt on the edge of the bed where both of you were seated.

Stupid Marc Spector, he was the love of your life.

His hand stayed on your chin, his gaze fixed on you until he finally finished.

"Well?"

Finally, that beautiful smile.

"Beautiful. As always."

It didn't surprise you that he had done such a good job. Your boyfriend didn't like to make mistakes, and if he had to do a meticulous job on your face to confirm that he was talented in absolutely everything, he would.

You blushed, needless to say.

And he rewarded your hours of staying still with a chaste kiss on the lips.

"Did you like it?" "I loved it."

And his satisfied expression grew.

Jake.

Jake always organized the best dates.

Even though the looks were starting to wear you out, going out with him always meant something a bit out of the ordinary from the casual you usually wore.

"Jake?" He nearly stumbled as his eyes fixed on you.

You never ceased to surprise him.

"Sí, amor?" "Which one do you prefer?" You showed him two lipstick tubes, one red and the other nude.

He couldn't even look at anything other than you.

"Red." "Got it."

When you turned to the mirror to finish your makeup, you saw him walking slowly behind you.

It was hard to decipher Jake's intentions when he always had that mischievous smile on his lips.

You knew he wanted your attention when he placed a hand on your waist.

"Let me help you, mami."

Ugh.

You couldn't tell him no.

His index finger lifted your chin, and you could already feel the heat rising through your body, settling in your cheeks.

You analyzed his features up close. You would never tire of looking at him, that was for sure.

You handed him the already capless lipstick, and he focused all his attention on your lips.

"Open wide for me." His teasing and flirtatious tone always pushed you to the edge.

You rolled your eyes but obeyed, as always. You parted your lips for him.

He was so… delicate.

No one knew better than Jake how to drive you crazy.

"Stay still, mami." You were going to melt. You were going to die right there in his arms.

When he was done, he used his thumb to clean the edges of your lips, wiping away his nonexistent mistakes from your skin. It had turned out so well that you could safely say there was nothing to clean up.

It didn't surprise you; he always touched you as if you were made of glass.

"Can you do me a favor?" He was done, but his forehead was resting against yours, his eyes fixed on you as you tried to find the right words in your throat.

He stole your breath, quite literally. So you could only nod.

"Give me a kiss, babe."

You understood his request as he tilted his head to the side, giving you space to choose.

You left two kisses. One on his jawline, another on his white shirt collar. Both marks were perfectly formed and in a bright red shade.

Jake was satisfied with your work, and with his own.

He considered it a good way for you to mark him as yours, although he later discovered a much better way when your lips were marked all over his body, leaving not a single inch of his skin untouched by your red-stained kisses.

#moon knight #moon knight x you #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x reader #moon system #moon system x y/n #moon system x you #moon system x reader #moon boys #moon boys x y/n #moon boys x you #moon boys x reader #marc spector #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x you #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac x y/n

[astronomoney]

bookends, bestfriends, deadends

Pairing + WC: Jason Grace x reader, 1.6k Warnings: slow burn, once again and as always with my love Jason this is NOT canon-compliant, Jason may be a tiny bit ooc but I tired Summary: In the months between saving Hera and setting sail for New Rome, Jason finds himself making a friend Authors note: ok, y’all, here’s the deal; I took a nap and woke up with an idea, so I started writing; then I realized I needed set up, so I wrote this. Now I have a full fic that doesn’t include my original idea, so I will have to make pt: 2, but at least it’s already almost all the way written

Camp was far too busy this year; even for the off-season, it felt like there were campers everywhere. With all the bustle, it was hard to find a moment of peace. That’s why you’d taken to the woods that day. Following the path you’d walked a million times to a little outcrop of ruins not far from the beach, deep enough to not be disturbed. You’d taken a thick blanket and draped it over a vaguely couch-shaped block of stone ages ago to use as a reading nook. It was calm and peaceful and empty, usually.

This time, when you got close enough to see your little piece of peace, there was already someone there. A blonde boy with a scar on his lip sitting on your faux couch and squinting at the book in his hand. Jason Grace. Of course, you knew who he was, everyone knew of him and Piper and Leo, all working to get ready for the next great prophecy. 

Sneaking up on a former Roman soldier didn’t seem like the best plan, so you’d spoken out. “Guess this place isn’t so secret after all,” geez, what an opener.

Jason looked up with a start and got to his feet before you could say anything else. “Hi, hey, sorry, is this your spot? I wasn’t sure who’s it was, so I stayed to read some. I can go.” 

“Oh no, please, you don’t have to,” you were quick to put up your hands and stop him from leaving. You two hadn’t necessarily talked before, but he had always seemed nice at meals and campfires, if not a little awkward. “You were here first. I can leave if you want to be alone.”

Jason paused, it seemed he was actually taking you in now, noticing the book in your hand, Don Quixote as opposed to the copy of War and Peace he held. “I don’t mind company,” he offered you a small nervous smile, it was so pure you had to just stare at it for a second before responding. 

“Neither would I,” you finally said, returning the smile. You walked over and sat down tucking your legs under you and leaving plenty of room for Jason to sit on the other side. 

He joined and read next to you for what felt like both hours and minutes. Two days later, you had beaten him there, so when he arrived, you smiled and scooted to the left, giving him room again on your right. Over the next month, you crossed paths at the ruins what must have been a dozen times. There was never much conversation; it was more of a silent agreement to enjoy each other’s company, and each day, the distance between your shoulders seemed to get ever so slightly smaller. 

After a while, you got comfortable being directly next to him. Your shoulders would brush each time Jason moved to turn the page, and you couldn't help but notice how warm and strong he was. Silent meetings became small discussions about your current read, which turned into talks about other books you’d recommend to each other, which eventually morphed into a solid friendship. You would invite him to eat with your cabin since he had no one else at his. He would update you on the progress of the ship and the quest, you even got to know the other campers involved. 

Over the next few months, your lives became completely intertwined. You spent most of your day with each other. You watched him train for the quest, pushing his limits in sparring sessions until he was too exhausted to do much of anything. You would drag him out to your spot in the woods on days when he’d gotten so focused he had to be forced to take a break. You’d even tried to help him get some memories back. He would eat with you, read with you, help you with whatever chores you had around camp, anything to spend more time with together. 

He was the first person you turned to when you had something to say. He was the only one who remembered which campfire songs were your favorites or which books you’d reread depending on your mood. You cared about him so deeply, and you weren’t even sure how you’d come to feel so much in so little time. You truly hadn’t realized how much you needed him around you until you thought about just how soon he’d be leaving.

Of course, he would go back to Camp Jupiter; you knew that. This was never meant to be permanent; you were sure he missed his old life, his old friends, his old home. But part of you, somewhere in the deepest, most selfish part of your heart, wanted him to stay. You wanted him to forget about Rome, and Jupiter, and the quest. You wanted him to stay here with the strawberry fields and the books and the beach and with you. You wanted him to forget his sense of duty to a place that never cared and stay with someone who would give their whole heart away just to see him be happy for a moment longer. It was a feeling that filled you with guilt every time it crossed your mind.

It had occupied your thoughts nearly the entire day when Jason came to your cabin that evening. He knocked on the door until one of your siblings answered, and they called you over, muttering something about stupid and lovesick and so annoying that you hadn’t totally caught. 

You stepped onto the porch and closed the cabin door, leaving Jason and you alone in the dim light of the setting son. He was handsome as ever, a fact that you had resolved not to dwell on; plenty of people found their closest friends to be stunningly beautiful, it wasn’t a big deal. 

In fact, it was totally normal for someone to notice exactly when their best friend had skipped their usual haircut and started letting the military style grow or how their eyes exploded with color when the sun hit them just right. And, of course, there was no deeper reason for why you would pick up on every scrape or bruise he’d gotten from training. You were just hyper-observant, never mind that it only applied to one person.

As you took him in, scanning for the weariness you so often saw and he so often dismissed, you noticed more than anything how nervous he was. “What’s up?”

“Hey, um, I just wanted to, well.” He took a deep breath and let his words spill out a mile a minute. He told you that the Argo II would be ready to fly any day now. He told you how they were going to find Percy and how the first place they were going to check was New Rome. He brought up his old life, a life he wanted to remember, a life he thought he would remember when he got back there. These were all things you’d know and that filled you with dread, but you let him talk without interrupting. His rambling soon turned to a topic you haven’t expected, it turned to you. He told you how important you were to him, how much you’d helped him adjust to life at camp, and how much he appreciated everything you’d done for him. 

As he went on and on, you felt your heart begin to pound. The way he was talking lit a spark inside your gut, and the borderline desperation in his voice made you dare to hope. The emotion in his eyes made you think maybe, just maybe, he felt the same kind of connection that you felt with him. You could tell it was going somewhere important, somewhere that made him nervous and hopefully at the exact same time.

“I guess I just realized while we were planning in the bunker,” he began to close in on his point. “How important you are to me, and I can’t imagine what it’d be like without you. You can say no of course, it’s a lot to ask of anyone but,” he took another breath. “Do you want to come with me to New Rome?”

That wasn���t exactly what you were expecting. The funny feeling in your gut shifted and morphed, flashing through disappointment for a brief moment. As Jason waited for an answer, you had to process exactly what he’d asked. Going back to New Rome meant he was going back to his old life, a fact you were all too aware of, but now, maybe you didn’t have to lose him to it. He still wanted you by his side. He still wanted you to be a part of his life.

“Yes,” you finally replied. “Yes, of course, I’ll go,” you watch the relief wash over him, his nerves visibly dispersing as one of the widest smiles you’d ever seen etched itself across his face. 

In the next moment, he wrapped his arms around you. It was a bone-crushing hug that squeezed the air from your lungs, and you wrapped your own arms around him as tightly as you could. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispered to you as you tried to stop your heart from exploding. This wasn’t how you wanted it, but at least for now, this would be enough.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

There's pt1 :) part two is almost done already because I wrote most of it before I even started all this, but what I can say, the keyboard got away from me. let me know if any of y'all want to be tagged in pt2 or in my general Jason taglist.

#jason grace x reader #percy jackson #writing fanfic #writing fanfiction #jason grace #jason grace x y/n #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #pjo x you #pjo hoo #hoo x reader #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #heros of olympus x reader

[lilystyles]

when not in rome.

a @lilystyles blurb!

my masterlist & no strings attached masterlist & blurbs masterlist

authors note idk this was a random thing i wrote at 2AM because i just missed them, i am still working on style so don't worry that should be out soon. also this is set way before no strings, i love writing about them in their previous moments!

brief description harry surprises y/n at her graduation (also listen to love of my life by h whilst readinggg)

warnings! angsty? fluffy? drunk y/n and harry (2.1k)

younger!lhh!nostrings!h x reader

* * * * *

SIX YEARS BEFORE

University has a funny way of making you feel like you might never cross the finish line. Y/n like everyone else had multiple days where she would just sob and scream from the stress of it all. Exams were totally a torture device.

When Y/n graduated with her first degree before deciding to write her thesis Harry surprised her.

He’d been touring the world with One Direction for months now and she hadn’t seen him since Paris the year before, when he’d surprised her by flying her to join them in their Paris show and they’d had a wild few drunken nights that she felt blurred the lines of friendship into something more.

But after their few days, when the champagne ran out, and she came back home, she sobered and realised that nothing would ever happen between them. And if you spent a few nights with Harry in a limo drinking champagne and dealing with his wandering hands you too would fall for him. Just a bit. It's only natural.

She missed him, though, loads. He was one of her best friends after all.

Around a month ago they phoned each other, it was late for her and the morning for him, she’d been studying and they talked for hours catching up till the sky turned bright for her and her eyes drooped shut. The time between their phone calls had grown longer and longer now, and she missed him. She’d mentioned that she was graduating soon and that they were both supposed to be graduating if he’d stayed in Uni. She remembers them staying up late at parties discussing their futures and how post-graduation Harry was insistent that they’d still be roommates. She realised now that their dream definitely wasn’t a possibility anymore.

He’d told her that instead of being there graduating like they’d suspected he was going to be, he was in Rome at some fashion show gala thing, and his date was this sexy model named Rosalie who had her sex tape leaked a couple of months ago. She was happy for him, but a part of her couldn’t help but be disappointed. She felt like he was drifting away from her every day, but she couldn’t find in herself to be cross with him. He was swept up by the fame of it all, and how on earth could she be mad that he was literally a rockstar? She knew that he was still Harry and she was still Y/n but they weren’t Harry and Y/n anymore. Not like before.

And honestly, she’d probably leave everything and everyone behind, party all night, and sleep with sexy models too if she had the chance to be famous. But she couldn’t sing for shit. So instead she did what she was doing, and shoved her nose in a book rather than in lines off a bathroom sink, and she was rather content with the peacefulness of it all.

All thoughts of Harry were swept away from her mind when she walked across the stage in the grande hall. She was finally graduating! Thank god! She thought. She had a sash that showed she was an honours student, and she was blooming with pride, when they called her name her list of achievements was longer than the four painful years she’d spent studying in their grande libraries. She was so glad to shake the hand of one of her favourite professors and leave, the next year ahead she planned to travel and work overseas, she was excited about that.

But honestly, she was even more excited to get absolutely shit-faced at the graduation after-ball party. She found herself a few pints down, sitting by the edge of one of the fountains, when she nearly fell in at the absolutely shocking sight in front of her.

There was just no way it could be true. I mean he was in Rome, and she was drunk in London. She’d seen photos on her Twitter of him wrapping his tattooed arms around that Rosalie model girl, so how could he be here in London just like that? It was not real, surely. She must be hallucinating and the second-hand smoke of all the spliffs had finally got to her brain. But suddenly the man turned around and Jesus Christ it was him. It was Harry. His eyes were pinched as he searched the crowd and when he finally saw her they lit up, all green like a forest, and his mouth kicked up into that devilish grin of his.

He saw her dumb-struck expression and laughed softly walking toward his best friend. He was dressed in a suit jacket like everyone else, and since they were all drunk none of them noticed it was the Harry Styles of the One Direction AKA the biggest band in the world. To them, he was just some random twat who just graduated too.

His hair had grown all long and curly, and he just looked so much more like a man than when he’d left. Had he gotten taller? More strong? The arms of his jacket strained and Y/n sighed at the sight of him.

She didn't think she'd changed much, but Harry thought she looked even more beautiful than before, if possible.

When he stood right in front of her, her mouth was still wide in utter shock. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He laughed. “Is that all you hafta’ say? Come on, hug your best friend!”

She sprang up from her seat and the silky long dress, which was a teal blue colour. All smooth and tight on her skin was hiked up slightly. Her gown and cap were long gone, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders. He lifted her up off the floor and spun them around. 

She smelt like peaches and sweetness, and God, he could've stayed holding her for weeks.

She giggled and felt her face hurt from smiling so big. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you!”

When he placed her down, his hands did not leave the curve of her waist. “Surprise, babe.”

“What the- shit- I thought you were in Rome! How’d you even get here?” She asked 

He smiled. “I was, got a flight this afternoon. It was the only one coming home, sorry for missing the graduation part.”

She just smiled up at him. “You’re crazy.”

He shook his head landing a hand on her shoulder. “I knew how important it was to you, and I missed you. Sue me.”

She laughed, eyes welling with slight tears. Maybe he wasn’t drifting too far from her after all. “Oh, god, don’t make me cry, you know how I get after a few pints, H.”

He laughed, arms outstretched for her to cuddle him. “Aw, pet, c’mere.”

She smacked his chest playfully but cuddled him nonetheless. “Let’s go get royally fucked, mate,” She whispered and they pulled apart, hands interlocking as she lead him off to one of the pubs where everyone was buying drinks.

It was called The Ducks Nuts.

A few of her mates were inside. Ones Harry didn’t know, but she’d already spent a good portion of the night with them. So she told them her old friend had surprised her and they’d be here and there.

Harry ordered them some shots and eventually the night was just a blur of hands touching each other, as they got so drunk Y/n felt her world spinning. They’d hopped around multiple different pubs and bars and Y/n was so tired. Her heels itched her feet with pain and she ripped them off, along with her bag. As they walked with little purpose she threw her things at him and began to dance in the middle of the road.

Harry was holding her things as she danced in the street showing her best Elton John impression, and he silently decided that was what made her so perfect. She was just herself. And he loved that about her, he loved everything about her.

He laughed and told her what a realistic impression it was, and how they’d met at some award show to back up that comment. She was infinitely jealous, she loved Elton.

On her way back toward him she landed in his arms after losing her footing he shook his head at her.

“You are very drunk, Lovie. Aren't ya'?" He said, in a soft tone one that made her tummy turn in flips.

She sighed as they walked in a direction with no destination in mind. “You aren’t drunk enough, you need to get on my level.”

He noticed her shiver under his arm and quickly ripped his coat off. It swallowed her form and she smiled gratefully hugging the coat around herself. It felt like a warm embrace, and that smell filled her nose and suddenly she was home in her old flat with him, home in Holmes Chapel, home with him. Just home.

“Smells good.” She giggled as she sniffed the shoulder pad, her cheek brushing against the soft material all dog-like. “N’ soft too.”

“Why thanks, it’s Gucci.” He replied. 

She rolled her eyes. “Come on then, money-bags, let’s get you as drunk as me.”

They strolled into a tavern near her flat and drank so much tequila that they had to practically carry each other home.

As Harry looked up at the stars and moon, feeling the cool air nip her skin he sighed. He hadn’t gotten this drunk, and been this happy in such a long time. He was giggling contently, as she leaned into him and he silently wished that the night would never end.

He never wanted his time with her to end either. He loved spending time with her, whether they were on an adventure or doing nothing at all. Y/n made it worthwhile.

When they reached the shitbox of a flat she lived in Harry followed calmly behind her, and when one of her neighbours spat a comment about drunken youths he sighed, “I wish you would’ve taken up my offer,”

She looked up at him as she played with the jammy door that never seemed to open on the first try. Shoving her shoulder into it as she managed to finally wedge it open, stumbling inside ungracefully.

And with a roll of her eyes, she ushered him inside. “There is zero chance I’d let my all-of-sudden bazillionaire rockstar friend buy me a flat, just cause he can afford shoes worth more than my entire life savings. Anyway, how could I ever pay it back? I have two p to my name and a packet of noodles in my possessions, Harry.”

He laughed. “Think of it as a graduation present then,”

She sighed. “Just shut up and sit down, and I’ll get some wine.”

It was almost 4AM now, and neither cared. They were beyond drunk, but Y/n missed him and if force-feeding him wine would get him to spend a whole 24 hours with her, she totally would.

When she sat down with two mugs spilling with a cherry red wine, that was the cheapest shit she’d ever bought, Harry laughed. Her wobbly legs forced her to land awkwardly on one thigh practically on top of his. He smiled, one that showed his kind eyes. 

Green pools of emerald she wished to swim in for eternity. She laughed at the thought, she really got poetic when she was drunk, huh?

“God, remind me to get you drunk more often.” He whispered.

She sighed. “Oh shut up, and fill me in on life then. Who are you shagging?”

He looked at her pointedly. “Who are you shagging?”

A blush crept up her neck, and suddenly the only secret she had kept from him was threatening to slip past her drunken red-stained lips.

“None of your business, but there’s this hot guy in my physics who I would totally shag,”

He laughed, but underneath it, he felt a jealousy creep up his spine, he knew he had no right since he’d been balls deep in two Italian models this morning, turns out threesomes are a really good cure for hangovers by the way. But despite that, he felt an itch he couldn’t scratch that resembled something pretty close to jealousy.

“What’s he like?” Harry asked.

She shrugged. “Dunno, tall, glasses, got that whole nerdy silent thing going for him.”

“That’s what you like then, silent types?” He asked, running a hand through his long curls, and she reached out to play with one.

She shook her head, and said distractedly, “I don’t know.”

“Makes sense why you never dated me then.” 

During primary school, Harry dated every girl in their class including Daisy and Penny, except Y/n who told him she didn’t fancy him. It was an ongoing topic of discussion between them. Why wasn't he good enough? He always asked.

She laughed at that comment. “I know you too well for that, and I get the unfiltered you, and I lived with you which was basically like being married to you. We bickered too much to ever date, Haz.”

He looked at her with hooded eyes, and for some reason that stung, but trying to be light-hearted he said. “Never say never, what if we needed to repopulate the earth?”

She looked over at him and placed a hand on his and kissed his cheek, all soft and slow, and for a moment he thought she might actually kiss him for real but instead, she said. “There’ll be no hope for humanity then.”

He sighed, fake pouting before a couple of minutes of silence passed and he turned to her and said. “Come with me to Brazil.”

Her eyes widened, “What?"

“I leave tomorrow night, come with me.” He said.

She frowned. “What? Come with you? You can't be serious.”

He nodded. “Please? I miss you! And we can party for a whole week together, or sleep, or do whatever the fuck you want! Just come, pack a bikini and something sparkly, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Y/n and Harry did end up going to Brazil but that’s a story for another time.

She stood up from the couch holding her hand out to him, and he slid his into hers. Cool rings grazing the soft skin of her palm.

“Let’s just go to sleep, you're talking like a crazy person.” She said, softly pushing a lock of his hair away from his eyes.

He sighed at her, “But m’ serious, Love.”

“Alright, ask me again tomorrow. That is if you even remember...now come on, let’s listen to Fleetwood Mac and sleep until tomorrow evening.”

Y/n's room was cosy and welcoming. Harry felt his eyes droop at the sight. A tiny lamp shining over them in an orange glow, her cot-like bed covered in blankets and the scent of her likely covering those sheets.

That night they slept in Y/n’s twin bed, cuddling, with Stevie Nicks serenading them to sleep. Cheeks plump and pink from too much alcohol, hands wandering scandalously, and the love in air was thick and obvious.

Before Y/n fell asleep she pecked his lips, in a quick kiss, one that it barely even touched him and said, “Night, mate,”

His lips burned like wildfire, and from that night on, he did think humanity had a chance if it was up to them. Whether or not she believed that.

“Night, Love.”

i have been a bit slack with updates lately...second year of uni is crazy and im already soooo busy, but i missed them and i wanted to write a lil sum for y'all until my next proper update :) BIG LOVEEEE

#nostringsattachedblurbs #nostringsattachedseriesbylilystyles #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader smut #lilystyles #harrystylesseries #childhood best friend to strangers to fwb to lovers #nostrings!H #blurb #longhairharry #my love #them

[natsaffection]

hi 👋 how are you??

im having stressful exams this month, a lot of tough subjects, and i'm so frustrated with it all. could you please share your thoughts on how natty would handle r in a situation like this? maybe in the "my sweet baby" universe??

if you can, thank you so much, my love 💖

Together. | N. Romanoff

Sugar Mommy!Natasha x Sugar Baby!Reader

warnings: Just fluff🍀🍀

words: 947

A/n: Please take care of yourself if it gets too much, drink cocoa, and do other fun and relaxing things!!☕️

-

Now you're sitting in front of it again. One stack after the other, and it just didn't stop?

Why did you decide to do it again? Ah...Right...Future...

You were a bit frustrated, you had imagined your days to be different from sitting in Natasha's living room and cramming for hours. Natasha was also busy with herself in a meeting, and you couldn't help but take a leaf out of her book. Maybe one day you will be as successful as her..Run your own business someday.

CEO Of the L/N Company..Sounds good already....

"What are you thinking about?" As if she knew you were thinking about her right now, Natasha stands in the room and looks at you smiling, you sigh and put the stapler you had in your hand on the table, "Can't I just start with you?" Natasha could hear the frustration in your voice, and when she saw all the paper stuff she knew exactly what you meant. You see her looking at you with an unfamiliar look and suddenly she’s leaving.

She just left, Damn, you did something wrong..Before you could dive further into negative scenarios, she came back and sits down right next to you, "Alright, what are we looking at here?" You looked at her in confusion, "What about your meeting?"

Natasha reached for a stapler that was on the table, "Finished it, you are more important to me than listening to some people who think they can do something better," She looks back at you, "Now let's talk about you. So, what's it about?"

You couldn't help but smile softly. You can already feel the pressure easing a bit, ,,Aspects of human history and experience.“ Natasha flipped through the sheets a bit and as you did, she asked, „What can you think of already?“

Okay, how do you tell her you've just been staring at it so far? „Uhm..“ Natasha put the folder on her knees and this time looks directly at you, „You haven't looked at it yet, have you?“

You sigh again and lean against the couch, „I wonder how you managed to make everything look so easy, Nat. You're rich, you have your own company, and it seems like you don't have to worry about anything..“

Natasha's eyes softened, and she put a hand on your thighs, her voice soft and soothing. „Y/n, it may seem that way from the outside, but I promise you, success did not come on its own. I, too, sat on the floor and studied for hours. I had to deal with countless obstacles, setbacks, and doubts. Getting to where I am now took hard work and determination.“

You continue to look at her, „I know it won't be easy, but sometimes it just feels overwhelming. I want to achieve great things, but the road ahead seems so long..“

Natasha smiled and squeezed your thigh, „I believe in you, Y/n. You have the intelligence, the drive, and the passion. Remember that every little step brings you closer to your goals. Rome wasn't built in a day, nor were successful businesses or successful careers.“ Natasha realized that she was playing to your motivation with her speech, so she took the chance and went right on, „So, can you tell me anything interesting about any of these civilizations yet? Which ones are there, for example?“

Your eyes lit up as you begin to share your knowledge. „Well, the Egyptians, for example, were known for their impressive pyramids, and they believed in the afterlife.. They had intricate burial practices to prepare for the journey to the afterlife.“

Natasha nodded, acknowledging your answer, „That's right. It's fascinating how different societies view life and death. What are the challenges you find in learning about this topic?“

You sighed for the third time now, your frustration evident. „I get overwhelmed by all the dates and names. I feel like there's so much to remember.“

Natasha's voice sounded reassuring. „It's normal for you to feel this way. Let's try to break it down. We'll focus on one civilization at a time and create a timeline. That way it won't feel so scary. Also, I'm here to help you with the names and dates, understand?“

That sounds like a lot of work, you thought to yourself, but not for you, for Natasha, „Nat..Is this really okay that I'm keeping you here like this? you must have-" she interrupted you directly, „Quit that.“ She leans toward you, " „What good does it do me to have you sinking here in front of me, hm? I'd hire someone for you to make your tables and everything you need, so. Carry on.“

You had to smile again and nodded your agreement. At some point you reached a point where Natasha asked, „Let's talk about the ancient Mesopotamian civilizations. What else do you know about them?“

You think for a moment before answering, „They were known for their sophisticated writing system and the Code of Hammurabi, which was one of the earliest law codes.“ Natasha nodded in agreement. „That's right. And what do you know about the Indus Valley civilization?“

You hesitated, struggling to remember the details. „I'm not sure about that.. I think it was an ancient civilization on the Indian subcontinent, but I don't remember much else.“

Natasha smiled, without a hint of frustration in her voice. „ And that's all right, Y/n. The Indus Valley Civilization was actually on the Indian subcontinent, and they had advanced city planning with well-organized cities.“ Natasha notices you drifting off again, and she puts the things aside, „It's normal to forget some details. We'll work on it together.“

You appreciate her patience and support. „Thank you for your understanding, Natasha. Sometimes it's frustrating when I can't remember everything.“ Natasha reassured you, „It's all part of the learning process. We'll take another look at Indus Valley Civilization and make sure you understand it thoroughly.“

-

-

-

-

I need a Natasha. 🥲

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

[katyswrites]

don't call me 'baby'

PART 1 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, swearing, sexual harassment/men being gross, alcohol use, smoking, age gap

Wordcount: 4k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 1 | in the same room, at the same time

This wasn’t supposed to happen. That’s what you would tell yourself, later. But, life is funny that way - nothing ever really goes the way you’d expect it. And, when you had taken the last-minute shift at Enoteca Bruni, the fine-dining restaurant where you worked as a cocktail waitress, you could have never predicted where the night would take you.

It had started with a large reservation that had come in around 8pm, four businessmen in suits and watches that you imagined cost more than your entire month’s rent. You were used to that type - considering the prices on the wine list, nearly everyone you served here lived at least three tax brackets above you. It wasn’t a job meant for everyone - a lot of these types of customers were dismissive, rude, and expected those who serve them to disappear in the background, not to interrupt whatever they were doing, which was obviously oh-so-important. But, the tips were phenomenal, and the late night hours worked perfectly with your daytime shifts at the cafe in the city’s center.

Still, the most intriguing thing about them was that they weren’t Italian, like you had gotten used to - nor were they speaking Spanish, French, German, or any of the other languages you had learned to recognize over the last few years. No, they were American. It wasn’t often that you heard your native tongue and accent nowadays - no, it was actually jarring. But, you welcomed it. The oldest man at the table, a gray-haired, thin man with a sharp face and tailored three-piece suit, smiled when you greeted them with a hello.

“How wonderful,” he had exclaimed. “Someone from our side of the world.”

“Finally,” a younger man with a smattering of freckles on the other side of the table had said, exasperated. “We’ve got someone who actually speaks English around here.”

“Well,” you said, “To be fair, you are in Rome. I suppose you could say we are the odd-ones-out.”

He rolled his eyes, and shrugged. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m just trying to say it’s nice to actually understand who I’m talking to for once, you know? Not that I’m looking for her to talk back.”

Unfortunately, that didn’t even crack the top ten worst things a customer had said to you in your time working here. So instead, you just plastered on a cheerful smile.

“Of course. In that case, what drinks can I get started for you gentlemen?”

As the hours wore on though, it was becoming harder and harder to feign kindness. With each wave of dismissal, or snap of their fingers, you wanted to take the drinks you were serving and throw them in their faces. The worst of the bunch were probably the first older man you had spoken to, who had such a vile demeanor about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on it; and perhaps worse than him were two of the younger men, the dark-haired one with freckles, and a sandy-haired guy with what you could only describe as a mullet.

1982 called, it wants its hairstyle back, you thought to yourself. 

It was those two who you could see undressing you with their eyes, who called you over for nonsense requests, asking you to bend over the table to get things that you knew they were perfectly capable of reaching themselves. And, you weren’t deaf; you heard the comments they made as you walked away to fetch more wine and scotch.

Look at that ass go, one of them said. I’d definitely hit it.

As if you could pull that, the other said. Besides, you’ve already got two bitches on the side Billy; leave some for the rest of us.

Don’t look at me, the sandy-haired man who was apparently named Billy retorted. If anyone around here needs to get laid, it’s Harrington.

With your back turned, you rolled your eyes, and wondered if they’d notice if you spit in their drink - that was, until no-first-name Harrington replied.

Guys, lay off - just let the girl do her job, yeah? 

You took a deep breath, and recomposed yourself - it was the bare minimum, but it was something - someone who saw you as a person, maybe.

You carried the tray over with a wide smile plastered on your face, handing out drinks as you surveyed the table. You glanced at Harrington, the quietest one in the group - you had hardly heard a word from him all night, until right now. He was handsome, on the younger side of the group, but you’d estimate still about a decade your senior; he had a thick, slightly wild head of chestnut hair, and more of a boyish look about him. And with the exception of his perfectly-tailored suit and ostentatious Rolex, he didn’t look to have much else in common with his colleagues at first glance. While they sat at ease, laughing and conversing over their drinks, he sat up straight, stoically swirling his wine.

You pulled the post-dinner cigars they had asked you to bring out of the box, slicing the end with the guillotine cutter and handing the first one to the oldest man, striking a match and lighting it for him until he drew smoke. It felt humiliating sometimes, to light the Suits’ cigars for them as if they couldn’t do it themselves, but that came with the territory in a place like this, you had learned. 

You reached Harrington last, only for him to shake his head.

“Oh, none for me - thank you though.”

Thank you - he was probably the first one from the table to say that all evening. 

“Can I get you gentleman anything else?” you asked stiffly.

“That’ll be all, for now,” the gray-haired man said, waving you off. 

You nodded, and at the bar, decided it was high time for your smoke break. You glanced at your watch - your shift was over in less than an hour, and your high heels were killing you. You signaled to the manager behind the bar that you were taking fifteen, and shouldered your way out the door.

*****

The first few minutes outside were peaceful, and relatively quiet - at least, as quiet as Rome could be at this hour. There was still the distant sound of traffic, the bustle of people on the sidewalk, many drunkenly stumbling and laughing, in the midst of making merry on a Friday night. You took a drag from your cigarette and inhaled deeply - even just a few moments off of your feet, and sitting out here on this bench in the fresh air, was starting to take the edge off. Still, you couldn’t shake that table of men - your manager had warned you that it was a very high-profile client, explaining that the dinner was likely a pretense for some multi-million dollar deal to be discussed. Still, you found yourself muttering under your breath, practicing the retorts and profanities you had wanted to throw at them. The shield you had built for dealing with customers was only so strong, and if your job wasn’t on the line, you probably would have told them to fuck off hours ago.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you don’t hear someone approaching, not until they’re right next to you, clearing their throat.

“Oh! Jesus, hi,” you say, clutching your chest with your hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Harrington was standing above you, hands in his pockets and his tie loosened.

“It’s fine - I promise, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His smile was friendly, and a bit apologetic. He looked different in the dim light, a bit younger, and not at all like someone who spends his days in an office doing… whatever those men inside did.

“You mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the empty spot next to you on the bench. You just shook your head, a bit wary of him still.

He smiled, and started fishing around in his pockets until he pulled out a small baggie of tobacco and a pack of rolling papers. You raised your eyebrows, and smirked.

“You roll your own cigarettes?” you asked.

He nodded, not quite looking at you, focused intently on the task and hand.

“Yep. It’s so much better than that crap you smoke, trust me.”

You scoffed, despite the fact that this man was technically your customer, and your shift wasn’t quite over yet.

“Yeah, well, I’m doing just fine with what I’ve got. Thanks though…” you trailed off, looking at him expectantly. He caught on and turned to face you, grinning.

“Steve. Steve Harrington.”

He extended a hand towards you. You hesitated for a moment, caught off-guard by the simplicity of the gesture from someone like him, but you took it, telling him your own name. His much bigger hand was warm and calloused, shaking yours firmly before pulling away.

You stared at him intently, desperately trying to figure him out as you placed your cigarette between your lips and inhaled. It was hard to figure out what exactly his deal was - but, he was talking to you like you were an actual person, so that was at least a step above most of the people you’d waited on here.

When he finished rolling, he stuck the cigarette between his lips, then sighed. 

“Shit - d’you have a light?”

You nodded, reaching into your handbag and pulling out your small blue lighter. He leaned in close, close enough that you could faintly smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off of him in the cool May evening. It took a moment for the flame to catch, then he was leaning back and he took a drag, letting his eyes flutter shut.

You looked away quickly, staring at the street ahead. Your black cocktail dress didn’t offer much coverage, causing you to shiver slightly as a breeze picked up. It was Steve who broke the silence, after a few moments.

“I want to apologize, by the way - my, uh, colleagues… they’re assholes.”

You nearly choked at his words, whipping around to face him.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“I - I don’t know how much you heard in there, but -”

“I heard enough,” you said quickly.

His face fell, then hardened. He looked… angry? Or, perhaps disappointed.

“I really am sorry. I know I probably should have said something, but…Brenner’s my boss. And, there’s a lot of people who would kill to work for him. So, you have to understand… I mean, Tommy and Billy, they’re real jerks. I can’t stand them, most of the time. So, just know that if you want to punch them in the face, I’d understand.”

You laughed at that, shaking your head. 

“Well, just between you and me, I do want to punch them. But… I would really like to keep my job, and actually get a good tip at the end of the night. So, if I can make it through the next -” you glanced at your watch, “- half an hour or so, I’ll be alright. I’m kind of used to it anyway, working here.”

You felt his eyes on you, but didn’t turn to meet his gaze. Then, he said more softly, “I’m sorry to hear that. Really.”

You shrugged. 

“It’s fine. But, thank you - most people don’t take the time to say that, I guess.”

A moment of semi-awkward silence fell between you and him, before you added, “But, it’s good to know that I apparently have a nice ass.”

He laughed at that, choking on the smoke he was inhaling.

“Oh God - Billy and Tommy really are the worst. Did you hear that they actually were trying to make a bet about you in there?”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

“What kind of bet?”

He suddenly broke eye contact, staring straight ahead as he shook his head vigorously.

“You know what - nevermind, you’d be disgusted -”

“Well now you have to tell me,” you conceded, inching closer. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad -”

“They said if I manage to get you to go home with me tonight, they’d agree on this huge deal with HNL that they’ve been trying to close with our European counterpart for months - they said it because they knew it wouldn’t happen, of course, I don’t really -”

“What would you get?” you asked bluntly.

“Huh?”

“If they thought you won the bet, like, would that be good for your job?”

He scoffs, nodding fervently.

“Um, yes - my yearly bonus would probably quadruple -”

“Then let’s do it,” you said.

His mouth fell open, and he was staring at you like you had three heads.

“Do what, exactly?”

He suddenly looked flushed, frozen in place as he stared at you. You felt a devilish grin spread on your face as you looked back at him, stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of your shoe.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, Harrington.”

*****

You had made sure he arrived back at the table only moments before you. The group of cajoling men were louder now, Tommy slurring his words and Billy in a heated debate with Brenner. Steve flashed a smile at the group, then started sipping his drink as if he had never left.

“What I’m saying is, if we offer them 14 percent -”

“Well, at that rate, we may as well sell them the whole goddamn company -”

“We’re going to have to budge at least a little if we want to make headway, otherwise Upside Tech might outbid us -”

“Harrington!” Tommy cried over the other two men. “Where th’hell ‘ave you been? You left me stranded with these two, they’re actually trying to work right now -”

Then, he spotted you, suddenly flashing a grin that was too wide for your liking.

“Mademoiselle - might I say, I think you’ve only gotten hotter since I last saw you -”

“That was only about twenty minutes ago,” Steve said firmly, cutting Tommy off. “Also, we’re in Italy, not France.”

Tommy waved him off, leaning closer across the table, towards where you stood. 

“May I ask, how’re you getting home tonight, little lady?”

You just smiled.

“I’m actually so happy you brought that up - while I appreciate your concern and all, I’ve got that covered.”

You then turned to Steve, who froze in place.

“Ready to go, Steve?” you asked innocently.

All conversation stopped, then, the other men around the table stopped to gape at him. A smug smirk appeared on Steve’s face, and he stood up slowly, smoothing out his suit.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at the pet name, as ridiculous as it felt. 

“What?” Billy said, his jaw nearly on the floor.

But before they could ask any more questions, Steve was holding out his bent arm, which you graciously hooked yourself through. You pressed yourself into his side, flashing another grin back at the group.

“I’ve left your bill on the table - thank you gentlemen for a wonderful evening, and we hope to see you soon!”

Then Steve surveyed the table, adding, “I suspect you’ll be in touch about negotiation meetings shortly? Since that was the deal and all. I’ll see you at the office on Monday.”

Then, you and Steve turned a corner and headed out the door, to where a car was already waiting for you.

Steve gestured for you to go in ahead of him, opening the backseat door. You slid across, greeting the driver quickly and Steve followed, shutting the door behind you. The second it was closed, you both looked at each other, and burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh my God - did you see their faces?”

“I’m going to live on that for years,” he added, fighting to breathe. You threw your head back, practically cackling at the memory of their dumbfounded expressions.

“That was amazing,” Steve said, regaining his composure. “Seriously, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it - I think I got off of it more than you.”

“I doubt that.”

You met his gaze, and your breath stopped for a moment. He really was handsome, his honey-brown eyes staring into yours with such sincerity that it was actually overwhelming. You looked away quickly, staring straight ahead.

“Well, if anything, it made my shift more interesting, so thanks,” you said, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“Yeah, and you just made me my yearly bonus, so thank you.”

After a moment, he cleared his throat. 

“So, uh, where do you live? So I can get you home.”

“Oh! Right,” you said. “Um, do you have any ID or anything?”

Steve furrowed his brow, confused.

“Why are you asking?”

“Look, don’t take this personally - I’ve watched way too much Criminal Minds in my life. And, while I’m sure you’re nice and all, I’m not exactly gonna tell a strange man I’ve never met where I live without some precautions. So, I’m going to take a picture of your ID and send it to my roommate, so she knows who to turn in if I end up on the news, yeah?”

Steve just smirked, and pulled out his wallet.

“So, you think I’m strange?”

You shrugged, fighting a smile.

“Obviously, yes.”

Steve chuckled softly, fishing his license out of his wallet.

“Fair enough - as long as you’re not trying to steal my identity or anything.”

“Oh, definitely,” you said sarcastically. “I was actually going to buy a mansion in your name, if that’s alright.”

He laughed, handing you the card as you took a photo. The address was in Indiana - interesting. He was also 30, judging from his birthday - nearly ten years older than you. Also interesting. You handed it back, shooting a quick text to Robin:

I’ll explain later, but in case I get murdered!

You attached the photo and pressed send. 

Satisfied, you leaned forward, telling your address to the driver, who nodded and pulled onto the busy city street.

You leaned back in your seat, staring out the window. You passed dimly-lit alleyways and bustling restaurants, groups smoking on the sidewalk and couples kissing on benches as the evening started winding down. The silence in the car is comfortable enough, considering that you met the man beside you a few hours ago. It’s him who breaks the lull in conversation, once again.

“So, why did you do it?” he asked quietly.

“Hm?”

“The bet? Well, kind of - at least, why did you make it look like I - like we -”

You shrugged, shifting to face him.

“Honestly?”

He nodded, gaze fixed on you.

“Well - a few reasons, I guess. I knew it would get those jerks off of my back. And, I knew it would help you, with your bonus and all.”

“And why did you want to help me, though? You know nothing about me.”

“Not true,” you said firmly. “I know one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’re kind.”

It was simple, but true - for the type of clientele you usually served, he was a rare breed. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was something.

“I mean, you were nice to me, and actually treated me like a person. I can’t say that for a lot of people, not in that place.”

“Oh,” he said softly. 

A beat. Two. Then, he added, “Oh no - I didn’t even ask, did you have a car, back at the restaurant? Because we can go back and get it -”

“No, don’t worry about it - I don’t have one. I usually take the bus.”

“Oh - alright.”

You tried to stop yourself from rolling your eyes - Steve probably wouldn’t be caught dead on a bus. Or any public transport, for that matter. But, you kept it within yourself, and turned out towards the window again - the sights were getting more familiar, the buildings a little more run-down - closer to home.

You noticed your phone light up in your lap, and glanced down - a response from Robin.

Um… congrats???? Getting laid???? You’d better tell me EVERYTHING!!!!

You laughed under your breath, and saw Steve move to look at you out of the corner of your eye, curious. Before you could respond to her message, the car came to a halt right outside of your apartment building. You sighed, and turned to face the man beside you.

“Well, this is me. Thank you. For the ride home, I mean - you didn’t really have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” Steve said, waving a hand. “Had to make sure you got home safely and all, it was the least I could do.”

You both looked at each other for a moment, faces soft. You shot him another appreciative smile, and popped open the car door.

“Goodnight, Steve Harrington. Until we meet again!”

You knew the chances of seeing him ever again were slim at best, but it felt like the right thing to say, given the hilarity of the situation. After slamming the door shut, you rooted through your bag for your keys, taking the steps up to your door two at a time. Before heading inside, you turned and waved to the car one more time - Steve wasn’t visible through the tinted windows, but you liked to imagine that he was waving back, maybe even smiling fondly. 

******

Two days later, an envelope was pushed through the mail slot in your door. It was Robin who brought it in, plopping it down on the kitchen table as you sipped your coffee.

“What’s that?” you asked.

She shrugged, carding through the other envelopes and flyers.

“Don’t know. But, it’s made out to you. The envelope looks fancy though - I mean, who the Hell puts a wax seal on letters anymore?”

You felt your heart skip a beat, and snatched it up, turning it over in your hands - it was thick, the nice kind of stationary that you had to go out of your way to buy. There was a return address, but it seemed like it was for an office building of some kind, with no name associated. And, right on the center, a red wax seal with an H. You felt your face grow hot, your stomach doing somersaults as you practically tore the thing open.

Inside was a simple piece of paper with a note scrawled on it. After writing out your name, it read:

Thank you again, for the other night. You have no idea how much that helped me out. Plus, it was probably the best time I’ve had at a work event… well, ever. But, since you provided such great service… you really should be tipped appropriately. I also made sure to leave a glowing review with your manager the next day. Buy yourself something nice.

S.H.

You glanced back in the envelope, and gasped - loudly enough that Robin stopped what she was doing, and joined you in her awe.

“Is that -”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “It’s a shit ton of money.”

He had sent a stack of €100 notes - you hadn’t counted yet, but it had to be over €1,000, at least. 

“Dude, that’s like, at least two months’ rent right there, right?” Robin asks, flabbergasted.

“I - yeah.”

“Okay, be honest - are you a drug dealer? Is that, like, a side gig you’ve got going?”

You shook your head incredulously, gripping the money - the most cash you had ever held at one time in your life.

“No,” you admitted. “That would be a lot easier to explain.” Steve Harrington, you thought to yourself, what’s your deal?

Notes: a brand new fic! A ton of credit goes to my friend Em, who indulges my fantasies and headcanons with plenty of ideas of her own. Also, I've never been to Rome, so bear with me here. Also, please always read content warnings before reading each part!

Reply if you'd like to be added to the taglist

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #sugardaddy!steve harrington #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #modern steve harrington #don't call me baby fic #sugar daddy fic #stranger things fic #steve harrington/fem!reader

[brother-emperors]

cassius and trebonius are interesting because there's about three or four different variations on how their dynamic falls into place that exist in my mind, and all are equally compelling to me. like, does cassius approach him first? or is it trebonius that seeks him out. maybe cicero is the one who initiates the first meeting! I could make full comics about each of them if only there was time.

this one, however, is much more balanced in that they don't really seek each other out for conspiracy, but conspiracy creeps in on it's own. brutus is a character here, theoretically. like, I thought about him when I was writing this, and cicero is here for two panels.

also, it's funny to me if they both stay up late complaining about caesar for six hours straight because caesar fucked them over on the political ladder in comparable ways, but also (in reference to (Plutarch, Brutus 8)):

cassius, 4am: and he took my fucking lions, man. trebonius, immediately: do you want me to kill him for you

it's like. aughghhhhh. weeping. wailing. can we talk about how trebonius is identified in association with cassius here.

Rome and Parthia: Empires at War, Gareth C. Sampson

and in turn, it is cassius who will act as retribution personified in the matter of trebonius' death

Philippi and Perusia, Ronald Syme

ko-fi⭐ bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app

#im going to do something really unwell with them in bad governance actually. once i figure out. how to filipino-ify trebonius' name #or. hm. do i have a cayo yet. maybe trebonius can be the single cayo #anyway. caesar humiliating both cassius and trebonius. cassius of 'cannot stand a tyrant' fame and trebonius of 'look at everything #i did for you' dedication. hmm. HM. this conspiracy was always going to happen #it is funny to me that ive voltaire-ed brutus in my own stuff even tho i have written at length about brutecass and they have their own tag #its just. aughghghh. trebonius.........cassius!!!!!!! (head in hands) #gaius trebonius #gaius cassius longinus #roman republic tag #drawing tag #komiks tag #cicero

[oumaheroes]

[8] + fruk? idk, it sounds like something they'd hardly tell each other but I figured it's a challenge you could enjoy solving. :) i love your writing btw. Thank you for sharing it with the world. <3

[8] 'I love you'

Both of these asks are so so old but I enjoy a challenge, Anons! Took me a while but I got there in the end. Hope you like!

Characters: France, England, FrUK

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love Is...

'You're not entirely intolerable.'

England says this to him in warm candlelight, yellows and orange hues dancing gently on his cheek and across his nose. On his back, no less, looking up at France with wine soft eyes amongst expensive coverlets and pillows of a borrowed palace bed.

France's hands are busy, one supporting him, one not, and thus he knows there is some bias to England’s words.

If it were darker, less candlelight and more masking cover, maybe they would be more true. England had always been gentler in the shadows, safer when he feels he can't be seen.

'Shame the same cannot be said for you.' France says in reply, and bites him hard on the shoulder.

-------------

'You can be useful.'

France sounds surprised.

England clenches his jaw. 'Fuck you.'

'I'm serious.' France twirls the pointed end of his share knife into England thick wooden table. 'There may yet be hope in regards to you being anything of value.'

It is France's own knife, at least, that he is blunting. Gilded- overly so, so it's almost more decorative than usable. Almost. France does so like to find those lines and tease them.

The remains of a meal are pushed aside, a map open and curling long between them instead like a dried up sea. England wants to grab the knife out of France’s hand and jab it in his eye but he doesn’t. He needs France, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, needs his help sweet talking the French nobility and keeping his King in check and so refrains from lunging across the table. Swallows bitterness down and looks from the maimed table to the map.

The French coastline looks alien upside-down but England doesn’t ask France to turn it around.

‘So.’ France’s voice is silky and low, ‘Can you deliver on your end?’

England thinks of his own King, thinks of his endless envy that is great enough to engulf his nation’s pride. He nods.

France clicks his tongue, ‘What a surprise.’

-------------

‘Where have you been?’ A nation who will one day be England pouts and crosses his arms across his chest, ‘I’ve been waiting here for hours’.

‘It wasn’t hours.’ A nation who will one day be France looks about the bank of the tree where England is sat in distain, ‘The ground is wet.’

‘You’re late.’ England insists, ‘You said you would be here by noon. And wet ground is better to write in.’

‘It’s still noon. Couldn’t you have picked somewhere sunnier? The ground hasn’t dried here; where will I sit.’

‘Are you stupid?’ England holds out an arm and gestures to the shadow it makes upon the floor with another. It is slightly longer than noon would provide, ‘Does that look like noon?’

‘Do you want me to help, or not.’

‘No.’

France sighs, ‘Fine. Do you want me to do this the easy way or the hard way.’

England kicks at a small stone and it bumps a little ways down the small pathway along the edge of the wheat field he’s been biding his time in. This France knows, because there’s chaff caught in his hair and dusting amongst the mud of the dampened hem of his cloak.

‘I already know how to write letters,’ England grumbles, ‘Rome made me learn his, and they’re exactly the same as your ones. Why do I have to do this all again.’

‘Because after Rome, you learnt some barbarian ones, and now I want to make you presentable. These are things any decent, proper nation should know.’ France dusts down England’s hair, ‘And it’s very hard to bring you up to par when you keep avoiding my visits and moving from castle to castle.’

England shakes his head and looks away.

‘You should stay with the King,’ France says pointedly, ‘Not move about the strongholds like a vagabond. You shouldn’t show your earls too much favour.’

France sees England hold himself back from speaking. He knows what England wants to say and is relieved when he keeps the several possible and difficult arguments to himself. An improvement, but maybe only because there’s no one else to hear.

‘Move.’ England says suddenly. He picks up a stick that France had failed to notice, propped up ready to go against a thick root, and waves him out of the way and off the flat dirt road. He begins scrawling in the ground in rigid, sharp strokes. ‘If I write “go fuck yourself” in Latin, Norman, and French, will you do so?’

-------------

‘I don't always hate you.’

France says this so quietly that England almost didn’t hear him. He wouldn’t have done, if he didn’t know France’s voice and his habits so well. He halts, the quiet palace yawning open unseen down the darkened passage ahead.

From the corner of his eye, England sees France shift where he leans in the archway. He was so still that England hadn’t noticed him as he walked, his dark shape held like a statue in shadows. Now that he knows he’s there, England can almost see the glint of silver threads in the moonlight, fine clothes on a man made just as much from the dirt as he.

A shift of fabric as France moves again. England stares ahead and does not look at him.

‘You may not believe that, but it’s true.’ France offers quietly. ‘I don’t like to think that you believe otherwise.’

‘I don’t like that you make me believe so.’

A pause. England can hear the sounds of the evening: distant footsteps on flagstones, the rustle of trees in the orchard beyond the stone courtyard walls. The smells of thousands of past summers on the warm breeze, blurring the edges of the era and turning the night endless.

The moment stretches, full and expectant. Then, a sigh.

It passes.

France does not reply, and England walks away.

-------------

‘Are you coming with me?’

France snorts. ‘I am offended that you would ever think that I would.’

‘Oh fuck off. Come on.’ England’s eyes are dangerously captivating, ‘You’re just as bored as I am.’

‘Unlike yourself, I am able to find joy in the finer things.’

‘Francis, this is the worst fucking ball we’ve been to in centuries.’

France winces, ‘Yes, but the food is at least good. And the people here are-‘

‘All over fifty.’

‘We are over fifty. And they’re-’

‘Boring.’

‘Important.’ France corrects, ‘They are important, my dear.’

England scoffs and looks across the lacklustre and lethargic dancefloor, couples with outdated clothes and dour expressions stiffly moving in their formations. He swirls his wine in his glass and points with it shamelessly, ‘Important for what, exactly.’

‘To be seen by. To talk politics with. To encourage away from silly decisions that will ruin my skin for the next decade.’

‘And the younger important people? Or heaven forbid, any fun ones? Where are they?’

France shrugs with one shoulder helplessly, ‘The Viscount is... particular.’

England raises and eyebrow and France shrugs, ‘Fine. It is dull. He is dull, and these are all his dull friends. What do you want me to say, the money is here but the life is gone. I’m not blind, Arthur.’

England adjusts the lace of France’s collar, straightening it from where a point has curled under itself, ‘Well, I’m going to the inn on Perry street. That’s where the kitchen boy told me-‘

‘The one with the hair, or the one with the funny leg?’

‘The one with the teeth.’

France shakes his head, ‘Poor boy. Sugar is a terrible thing, I wonder when people will pick up on that.’

England rolls his eyes and downs his wine. France winces, ‘That was expensive.’

‘Good. I’m off.’ England kisses his cheek quickly, the powdered hairs of his wig tickling France’s neck, ‘Have fun somehow being the most interesting thing in the room for a change.’

‘Ha ha.’

France watches England carelessly drop his very expensive glass onto a passing waiter’s tray and tuts at him, ‘You’re too over-dressed for a common inn, you’ll get mugged.’

‘I’ll manage.’

‘I’m sure you will. When I find your naked corpse in a hedge tomorrow, don’t tell me I didn’t tell you so.’

‘I tell you your make-up makes you look like sun bleached fish every day, and yet you still wear it.’

France huffs and turns away. He hears the clip of England’s shoes as he slips behind a curtain until his steps soften, sights fixed on the dancers. The crowds in the edges of the hall, in the dark corners where candles cannot find them, have a low murmuring buzz that heaves itself above the orchestra enough to give life to the odd word of two. None of them give France any hope.

Once he is sure no one noticed England leave, France downs his own wine and pushes himself away from the wall to join him.

------------

‘Be careful.’

England blinks, confused.

It is dark, moonlight all they have to go by, and they are watching British soldiers pour out from and over French beaches into hungry, waiting boats. Months of planning, countless sleepless nights and hours held stressed and tense in the wait for scraps of coded information has lead them here, to this. To men running through waves, to home so close and yet so far, and a flight through the dark to get stranded soldiers home before France falls.

England feels hollow. His chest feels concaved, an empty feeling of something like relief rotting and curdling there at the thought that this momentous victory is in the grand scheme of things, nothing at all. A huge success merely only for how difficult any small victory is. And still a failure because... because-

France’s hand brushes his. England swallows and entwines their fingers together.

‘You’re the one who should be careful.’ He says.

France squeezes his fingers. ‘If-‘

‘Don’t.’

‘-If.’ France’s grip tightens, ‘If, Arthur. Just be careful. I’ll be fine. It’s you who-‘

France breaks off.

‘I won’t.’ England says. He takes a deep breath in. ‘Not me. Not yet.’

‘I would be deeply embarrassed for you, if you do. It’s shameful. To a child, and one raised by Gilbert, no less.’

England snorts and smooths his thumb over France’s knuckle before he breaks them apart. He tugs down his uniform, wishing for gold trimming and a deep red coat, and smooth wood of a longbow.

D-Day unfolds in the muddied, darkened shallows of Dunkirk beach, and two empires watch the world turn over and into something new.

------------

‘Move over.’

France wakes to a knee in the small of his back. ‘A.. Arthur?’

‘Francis, move.’

Bewildered, France obediently shuffles over and there’s a gasp of cold air as England lifts the covers to climb inside. ‘What are...?’

‘Shh!’

France hears the heavy drapes around his bed being rearranged, then gets another knee in his back as England burrows down next to him.

France turns over. In the darkened room and behind thick curtains, England is nothing more than a source of warmth and the feeling of being watched. ‘What are you doing here.’

‘This is my castle, isn’t it?’

‘It’s one of your King’s castles, yes.’

‘Well then.’

‘But you weren’t here.’ France whispers, When we arrived. ‘He is very upset. He says you shame him.’

‘He shames me.’ England’s cool hands find themselves under France’s back, ‘The grandson of a usurper has nothing to do with me.’

‘Arthur.’ France cautions, but then stops. It is not the time, nor place. Nor, he knows, his place, really, to say anything at all. He places his hand on the cool skin of England’s arm and squeezes it, ‘I’m happy you’re here now. Apart from all the dirt you’ve likely tracked into the bed.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘I can smell it. You smell like outside.’

‘Outside doesn't have a smell.’

It does. Brought in to a human space where it doesn’t belong, the night air that clings to England’s hair and skin is earthy and cool. Fresh and foreign amongst wood fires and the fresh thresh on the floors.

‘I changed.’ England insists, seemingly having taken France’s lack of answer as an argument, ‘I do have nightclothes, you know. I’m not a savage.’

‘Hmm.’

England wriggles his fingers under France’s back to the soft parts of his sides and France can’t help but yelp as they tickle.

‘I was in York but heard you were leaving.’ England says, ‘Did you want to go riding before you go?’

‘We go Tuesday.’ France whispers, conscious of the servants littered about the room asleep. How England crept past them all or even got into the castle so quietly in the first place, he’ll never know. ‘We’re almost ready.’

‘So, do you want to go riding, or not.’

It is Sunday. There will be a lot to do before he goes back to his own lands, lots of packing and planning and then talking to people and France is exhausted just thinking about how much of it he will be needed for, let alone the voyage back across likely windy seas.

‘I don’t want to share. I want my own horse.’

‘Fine.’

------------

‘Here.’

England looks up from his laptop to find a cup of what might be soup held aloft before him.

France waggles it, evidently deeming England too slow on the uptake, ‘Take it.’

England does, cautiously, and moves his laptop aside to safety. ‘What’s this for.’

‘You.’

‘I could infer that.’

‘Could you? I never want to assume.’ Before England can tell him not to, France settles himself in the seat opposite. The booth England has hidden himself in has a wide table down the middle which takes up most of the room, but France moves himself into the tight space far more dramatically than is needed.

The soup is hot. England pops the lid off- carrot and coriander. His stomach clenches at the smell, he hadn’t realised how hungry he was. ‘Where on earth did you get it? They stopped serving dinner hours ago.’

‘I know. You missed it.’ France shoots him a pointed look, ‘I went to a café down the road.’

England looks down and swirls the soup around the Styrofoam. It’s thick, good quality. ‘I’m not paying you for it.’

‘Ah yes, because that is why I went.’

England glances at his laptop. France shuts it. ‘Now, whilst you’re eating, listen to me. I have a story for you.’

England takes the spoon that France offers and stirs. He wonders if France has any chocolates in his pockets, ‘Is it about the look Antonio gave-‘

‘Yes.’ France leans forwards eagerly, ‘But shut up. Let me talk.’

-------------

‘It’s... it’s large.’ The scientist at the front of the room looks shrunken, weighed down and wizened. He runs a hand through his hair, glasses glinting in sterile, overheads lights. ‘It’s large.’

France looks up and catches England’s eye. He looks tired, old.

Scared.

Question lights flash on around the room, every national and political delegation with something to say or ask. The scientist seems to freeze, overwhelmed by where or who to turn to first, and then people start shouting all over each other, nations and their politicians alike.

‘What the fuck is this?’ France’s president holds her hands to her mouth and shakes her head slowly from side to side, ‘This cannot be happening.’

‘There is nothing we can do!’ France hears the scientist say over the braying clamour, ‘It’s too late, it’s-‘

‘Francis.’ England is there, at his shoulder. ‘Come on.’

-------------

‘What the fuck have you done to yourself?’

France sniffs and turns away, ‘That’s none of your business.’

England snorts and hangs his hat and coat on the stand, ‘You look like you’ve fallen off a horse.’

‘You look like an unkempt vagabond.’

England looks down at his finely pressed suit and trousers and then back to France. He is on his sofa, studiously reading a book and not looking at England making himself comfortable in France’s livingroom. His leg is before him on a padded stool, swollen at least twice the size, and there is a purple bruise blossoming upon one cheek.

England comes around the back of him and brushes soft golden hair away from France’s shoulder. ‘I could do better.’ he says, gently thumbing the fragile scabbing of France’s bottom lip.

France swats at him, ‘Go away. I don’t want you here.’

‘Wrong place wrong time? Or did you try to speak sense again to someone who actually has some.’

‘Arthur, stop.’ France catches England’s wrist and kisses the inside, ‘You’re too unsympathetic to understand.’

‘Hmm.’ England kneads at France’s shoulder and then heads to the kitchen, ‘Would it help you to know I’m planning on telling everyone you fell ice skating?’

France lets out a bark of laughter, ‘Oh? And who on earth would you tell.’

‘Anyone who will listen.’ He collects a glass and a bottle of wine, along with some bread and some of the expensive cheese that he knows France always squirrels away in his pantry whenever he can, and takes them back to the living room.

-------------

‘If you could be anywhere, where would you be.’

Soft music from a Spanish restaurant down the road, warm ocean breeze. Anywhere and everywhere, all at once.

Besides him, England sips warm ale from a can he smuggled through customs and shrugs, ‘Home.’

‘That’s a boring answer.’

‘That’s the truest answer.’

‘And where again would Arthur go, if he could leave England behind.’ Francis watches Arthur from the corner of his eye, sees the fragments of him outside of all else that they always are.

‘I can’t leave England behind.’ England says, ‘So there’s not much point entertaining it.’

‘I’m trying to have a serious conversation.’

‘Then don’t ask a hypothetical question.’

Francis sighs, and retreats. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette and watches the smoke drift away into the dark.

‘But if you’re asking time.’ England tilts his head, considering. Behind them on the seafront, students between bright club front lights in loud, drunken clusters, ‘Now, I think. Maybe a hundred years ago, at most.’

‘Really?’ France is surprised, ‘I would have thought-‘

‘Boring answer,’ Arthur says, and the rest remains unfinished.

-------------

‘Don’t you fucking die on me.’

Of all the places England expected to die, this was actually what he’d considered the least likely. In Calais, oft contested, right by the sea, and entirely calm. No war or battle to take him, no disease or crop failure to push him along. He can see Dover in the distance, his white cliffs so close he can almost feel them in the bones they represent.

But above them, burning and close, the sky roils.

France lies in his lap on the grass of his garden, eyes wet and smiling. ‘That’s not fair, you can’t say that to me. That’s what I was going to say to you.’

‘I’m serious.’ England swallows down something bitter and painful in his throat, and brushes the hair from France’s face, ‘You’re not allowed to go first unless I’m given that honour. Keep yourself awake.’

France freezes, eyes wide, ‘What-‘

‘I know you too well,’ England says, and dips his head to kiss him. There is a golden chain around France’s neck, old and reliable. On it hangs a much-used pendant, once again filled and ready. Still full, he hopes.

England fiddles with it in the hollow of France’s neck and sees the burning heavens reflected in his eyes. ‘We’ll go together.’

-------------

‘I love you.’

On a nameless bit of a terraformed Earth that might have once been a small kingdom in the northern sea, a man called Francis pauses at the hydro sink, half washed cup in his hands. A man called Arthur stands next to him with a dish cloth and when Francis turns to him, Arthur stares back, face inscrutable.

Arthur does not mince words. He has always spoken his mind frankly, regardless of how offensive or tactless his thoughts may be. He has never tailored himself to a situation, never presented himself as anything he is not. But softness and open vulnerability is not a texture he can wear upon himself. Not because he doesn’t have any, Francis knows, but because he expects that Arthur doesn’t know how. Some core part of his personality that gets lost from his heart to his tongue, or given spikes along the way.

Maybe that was what caught Francis’ attention in the first place, all those years ago on the transport ship to Earth. The parts Arthur kept to himself more than the parts he did not. Arthur spoke kindness and care in actions, not words, and words were what Francis had heard far too much of.

Francis looks away and makes sure to keep his face just as blank, just as unconcerned.

‘I love you too.’

#fruk #aph england #aph france #hws england #hws france #hws #hetalia #aph #aph fruk #hws fruk #arthur kirkland #francis bonnefoy #It has been far #far too long #since i wrote fruk #and i know i have so many other things i should be wwriting but! #I don't care #this called to me #and i will be editing this at least ten more god damn times because it can still be better #heroes writes

[bowtiepastabitch]

Let's talk costuming: Angelic Robes and The Unreliable Narrator

It's two am, I have to be up at six, but this has been fermenting in the back of my head for the past five hours I've spent doing homework and if I don't get it out I shan't sleep.

The costumes we see representing angelic character in Season Two are VASTLY different from those we see in Season One. (See my post on Aziraphale's Job Robe for an in-depth art history analysis of this individual costume piece.) In season one, the angelic flashback clothing we see is rather humble and uncomplicated. As all things in this show, this serves a very important narrative purpose.

Let's first compare these gorgeous gorgeous girls to their S1 counterparts, shall we?

Just look at the collar on that robe! In S1, we're introduced to Aziraphale in a very plain tunic-style robe with an unfinished neckline. Aside from a slight gold decoration and draping on the shoulders, this could easily be mistaken for rather primitive human garb. S2, by comparison, introduces angelic costume as non-ostentatious but still refined with a gold-trimmed gathered neckline and wide sleeves. The fabric itself, on a textile level, is much finer and softer. Overall, the robes give an air of innocence and angelic purity that is lacking from Aziraphale's S1 'fit. Let's look at another example:

Their Rome costumes are strewn with so many incredible details (check out this incredible post from 2019) but they still retain a bit of that historical ruggedness. Same for these:

The argument could be made for pure historical compliance, sure, but to claim a lack of anachronisms in this show would be a flat-out lie. No, S1 Crowley and Aziraphale are very distinctively human in their dress. The cloth has a wider weave, the ornamentation is minimal, all around it serves to highlight their fitting-in with humans and the humanization of their characters. They're 'going native,' as it were, no doubt about it.

So why, in S2, is Aziraphale suddenly showing up looking like he just popped out of a renaissance painter's wet dream?

Simple. Suddenly, Aziraphale isn't an angel among humans acting human, he's an angel being an angel doing angel things. We get to see the rest of the heaven gang in full angelic decadence as well, a bold departure from the starkness of 'modern' heaven. If this is, as many of you lovely folk have speculated, a series of flashbacks from Aziraphale's memory, the design choices designate very clearly Aziraphale's perception of himself as an angel. A perception which, mind you, would likely be influenced by later human ideas of angelic and heavenly aesthetics. As an unreliable narrator, Aziraphale is showing us not his actual wardrobe as an angelic being but his perception of his past self.

Crowley, too, is affected by this shift in dress. Bildad the Shuhite is everything S1 flashback Crowley is not: fashion-forward, smooth-talking, and impeccably well-dressed. We've got three different fabric textures (that's three times as many as any of his biblical S1 robing) and a definable silhouette. He's practically a fashionista.

If this were all taken as an objective narrative, the shift back to billowing-void peasant Crowley at Golgotha, where we next see her chronologically, would be strange to say the least.

So why is the costuming of the S2 pre-modern flashbacks so much more elaborate? There's three possibilities I can imagine for a change in costume design for any show:

Budget: this is highly unlikely an instant rule-out for me. I've seen what costumers can do on a shoestring budget, and besides the later period costumes make this demonstrably false.

Change in production design team: Technically possible, yes, but if there's one thing Good Omens does well between seasons it's continuity. I mean, they burned the fucking bookshop and then hand-painted tiles to recreate it exactly for the second season. This is not Harry Potter. This isn't it.

An intentional design: Everything, and I mean everything, in this show is intentional. While not everything the wardrobe team does is easily decodable (see Crowley's shapeshifting sunglasses) we've got a pretty comfortable bit of time to figure such things out. This is the only option that makes a lick of sense.

Wonderful, so we've established that this is a narrative choice.

So if it's a narrative choice, and it's distinct from the stylistic choices of Season One, then someone is lying to us. Or rather, we have an unreliable narrator somewhere along the way.

Most of the buzz on ye olde tumblr focuses on the idea of Aziraphale as narrator and memory-holder for S2, and that would certainly make sense from both a story and design. Of course he would see Angel Crowley as adorable and innocent and angelic (the hair is not helping his case either omg I love her), and of course he would see himself as grandly, exaggeratedly, almost dissonantly angelic at the major turning point in his faith.

If Crowley is narrating, then it calls into question why he would choose to remember himself this way. It holds a sort of nostalgic sadness, a memory of a joyful innocence permanently lost to God's cruelty. When we see Aziraphale in angelic splendor later, we're reminded again of what Crowley has lost. It echoes the aesthetic of his former angel self, the gathering and gold trim and bright white fabric, but also introduces a much more elaborate silhouette that reflects the shift toward heaven's new high-and-mighty attitude.

Finally, I'd like to point out that by contrast Season One focuses heavily on themes of humanity rather than ethereality. Narrated by God, no less, who probably has thoughts on their assimilation. While I think we can assume God to be a more reliable narrator than Crowley or Aziraphale, it's not out of the question that She would have her own story to spin about our Ineffable Idiots' shared history.

Ultimately, I think it's safe to say that whatever's going on in costume design is a Clue to the story we're being told in S2 and the one we will be told in S3.

#I would commit unspeakable crimes to work wardrobe for this show #just let me sew on some buttons and I'll be happy as a clam #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens costumes #costume design #ineffable husbands #unreliable narrators #angel crowley #go2 #neil gaiman

[criminalskies]

Hi Rome :)

I was wondering if you would be able to do a very fluffy fic where Reader is Hotch’s girlfriend but is also Spencer’s younger sister and they all go together to a Barnes and Noble or some kind of bookstore and Reader gets all nerdy (it runs in the family) and Hotch is just soaking up every minute of it following Reader through the isles and sneaking kisses while she and Reid also geek out together and are smelling all the new books (love that new book smell lol) and talking about their favorites and how they used to read certain books together as kids (like Harry Potter or something) etc. etc.

Hi Sweetheart! Thank you so much for your patience, sorry it took me a whole lifetime to get this done for you, but the moment has arrived!! Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader. Spencer Reid x sibling!reader. Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: much much fluff, reader is a genius bc i can't help myself. Also apologies I know you used she/her but I figured there's no harm in keeping it more open, if this is a problem please let me know and I can find and replace all pronouns <3 Enjoy!

Aaron should have known that letting Spencer have his pick of bookstore for your rare day off would be a mistake. In classic Reid fashion, Spencer picked a spot almost two hours away, which is said to carry Star Trek comics written in authentic Klingon. Hotch figured the three of you could make quiet small talk and just bask in the calm of one of the BAU’s rare days off. He did not anticipate listening to both of the Reid siblings create their own rendition of Every. Single. Song. From high school musical. The two of you had barely made it to ‘Stick to The Status Quo’ when Aaron realized only fifteen minutes of the drive had passed. He fights the urge to throw his head back and sigh, opting to keep his eyes on the road and just picture how adorable you’re going to look with your nose in a book, sipping coffee in the quiet corner of the bookstore, and oh how Aaron misses quiet. He has fond, seemingly distant memories of quiet. Just as he’s descending into thoughts of time he could have spent alone, today, getting work done, a hand finds his larger one on the center console. 

You bring his hand to your lips to kiss the back of it, a silent thankyou for saving you and Spencer from having to take two trains and one bus to this bookstore. It is apparently a Reid tradition to refuse to drive until it becomes absolutely necessary for your own survival. Hotch feels a familiar warmth spreading through his chest as he admires how perfectly the two of your hands fit together, as you intertwine both of your fingers in your lap. 

“Spencer, how about we switch this up a little?” You can see Aaron’s brows had been drawing closer and closer each time Spencer hit an especially pitchy note, and you worried about his tinnitus making a return. 

“How so?” He asks, his tone suggesting that nothing could be quite as fulfilling as crushing the HSM soundtrack start to finish. 

“How about…” you stop, trying to think of anything that will lift your brother’s spirits without also piercing your boyfriend’s eardrums. “John Denver?”

“I’m in!” Spencer replies, his face now adorning his tightlipped smile you’ve grown to love. You scroll through your phone, seeing Aaron’s shoulders visibly relax as the much more dulcet tones fill the confined space of the car, his thumb rubs at your index finger, clearly grateful for the compromise.  

When the three of you finally arrive at the bookstore, Aaron’s barely put the car in park before two seatbelts unclick and all he can do is laugh as you and Spencer go barreling towards the front door. He rushes after the two of you, finding you in the front left corner, he sighs knowing the two of you are going to tackle this entire store one square foot at a time from front left to back right. Before he can look at his watch to assess how much time the two of you will have before the store closes, your hand wraps around his arm, tugging him into the first aisle, where the fantasy books are. Spencer is pulling down the order of the phoenix, gasping as his fingers brush over the gold leaf lettering on the cover and you turn to Aaron, beaming at him as you pull him into a hug, thanking him for bringing the two of you all the way across state lines for what will be the greatest day of literary entertainment ever - and probably a major spike in your credit card statements, but you won’t mind one bit.

Aaron tries not to think about the ring sitting in his dresser at home as he feels the air once again knocked out of his lungs when he catches sight of your bright smile. He tucks his hands in his pockets, as you keep one hand wrapped around his bicep, pulling him towards each new find. Aaron’s sure there’s a handful of books on these shelves that he would quite like to read, as well, but he’s busy watching the sparkle in your eyes as your fingers dance across the spines of the books. Spencer is equally enamored when he gets his hands on a signed copy of Lord Of The Rings, rushing over to the two of you with the same glimmer in his eye as he brings the book to your face. Aaron is confused until you bend down and sniff the pages, turning to your boyfriend, you explain. 

“It’s hardly even been read, Aar! It still has that new book smell! Here, try it.” you drop his arm in favor of bringing the book to his nose. Apprehensively, Aaron gives it a smell, his tight brow releasing when he gets a waft of fresh pine. It takes him back to his childhood at his best friend’s lake cabin on summer holidays. He can’t help but think about how much you would have loved it there, maybe that’s where he could propose. Take you on a weekend away someplace secluded, where the two of you can sit on the porch swing, your head in his lap as he reads you a book you’ve definitely read a thousand times. But, you always tell him the stories are so much more immersive in his baritone. Spencer tried explaining the connection between the human limbic system and our middle ears, how certain acoustic frequencies can actually summon more emotional and imaginative imagery. 

Aaron files that idea away along with his 20 other possible proposal ideas. He always seems to psych himself out of asking you, having only been together eight short months, he worries you’ll say no. It’s perfectly reasonable for someone of your age to not want to become a parental figure in a child’s life, although you’re great with Jack, Aaron always finds a reason not to ask you to marry him. That’s actually why he’s gotten both you and Spencer out of the house today, he wants an opportunity to talk to your brother about the possibility of asking you to be his spouse. Aaron is dragged out of his thoughts when you once again pull him down the aisle, now stopping in front of a set of Peter Rabbit books. 

“Aaron, oh wouldn’t these be such a great gift for Jack’s birthday? We could all read them together, there’s twenty three so it would take us a while but I think that would just make putting him to bed so special, what do you think?” You stand toe to toe with Aaron, awaiting his response. He’s waiting for the lump in his throat to clear as he realizes the depth of your love for his son, and how silly he’s being letting his concerns get in the way of your shared happiness. You look so excited to read Jack these books, and Aaron finally realizes you want to be there for bedtimes, not just on nights when Aaron is tied up in meetings and can’t find the time to tuck the little boy in - you want to be there for his bedtimes, forever. 

“Hello? You in there? Earth to Aaron.” You take hold of his shoulders, genuine concern clouding your features as you worry your boyfriend is having some kind of absent seizure. 

“Yes, sorry. I, I think Jack would love that and, well, I think I would love that, too.” Damn you for having such a way of reducing the usually articulate agent Hotchner into a stuttering mess. You just have a way of derailing every train of thought he’s usually able to keep in careful motion.

“O-kayyyy” you drawl, still unconvinced that Aaron has all of his senses working. You pull the box set of peter rabbit books from the shelf, going to place them with Spencer’s growing stack of purchases on the counter. Aaron watches how the employee eyes the two of you carefully, clearly thinking you must be buying this many books for charity, or for a children’s shelter or library. You’re only onto aisle two now and the two of you have amassed a stack of pages that must weigh more than the two of you combined.  Aaron spots Spencer, ever the speed-reader, flicking through a russian book in the languages section of the store. Aaron excuses himself to head to the bathroom, barely earning a nod from you as you’re completely absorbed in collection four of Shakespeare’s finest works. 

Aaron ducks into the corner, grabbing Spencer gently by the arm and whispering that he needs to talk to him about something important. Distracting Spencer from his book earns him a scowl but he changes it to a tight-lipped smile, waiting for Hotch to elaborate. 

“I want to ask your sibling to marry me, Spencer. Now, obviously, you and I work together, and- and you’re very close with them so I trust you to know how they might react to something like this, and I’d really like your blessing to go forwards with this.” Aaron finds himself rambling, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as his heart threatens to jump out of his throat at the thought of the boy genius saying no. 

“Oh.” That’s not good. That doesn’t help the growing lump in Aaron’s throat. 

“Oh? Reid, please, what do you mean ‘oh’?” Aaron hates how small his voice sounds trying to pass through the thick fog of panic circling his lungs.

“I just mean that I thought the two of you must have already discussed that. I went clothes shopping with Y/N last week and I couldn’t tear them away from a wedding caterer, they were pointing at the window saying how adorable ‘Aaron and I’ would look as a wedding topper. Before that, we went looking to buy me a new bookshelf and they were picking out furniture for both of your future home. I guess I just assumed that was all their way of telling me those things were on the table.” Aaron releases a breath he had been holding ever since he bought the ring, worrying it was too much too soon or that you would go running for the hills if you spotted it in his drawers. “Look, Hotch, if you want my blessing you have it, just please make it a quick engagement, I’ve seen them plan their senior prom, I can’t even imagine how frightening they’d be planning a wedding. Your wedding. You’re everything to them. And I’d really like the chance to call you my brother, Hotch. Although Strauss will probably make me answer to Rossi for all my future evaluations and such but- I’m getting off track. My point is, I already think of you both as an old married couple, both you and Y/N smile more in each other’s company than I’ve seen in all the years I’ve known you both.” Spencer’s delightfully supportive ramble is cut off as a teary-eyed Aaron pulls his future brother-in-law in for a tight hug. They stand there for a moment before Aaron pulls back, releasing his hold on the young doctor and placing a hand either side of his skull before pulling him in to kiss the top of his head in thanks. Spencer is slightly shocked having never seen Aaron Hotchner give this much affection willingly, and slightly confused by the decision to kiss his head. 

“What? People normally handshake at a time like this but you always maintained it’s actually safer to kiss.” Hotch offers a toothy smile, his mind casting back seven years to when he had first interviewed the young doctor for the job. He has continued to be perplexed by the contents of such a young mind, until he finally got to meet the other doctor Reid. Forensic Physician. Equally bright, but with an unshakeable positivity that captivated Aaron each time they consulted on a BAU case for a long 18 months before Hotch summoned the courage to ask the younger genius out on a date, this turned out to be the beginning of the rest of his life, as it happens. 

Hotch finds himself unable to stop smiling for the remaining five hours spent in the bookshop before it closes, having made enough money from the Reid family to probably take the rest of the week off. Aaron carries the mountainous stacks of books to his car, admiring the sunset as he listens to his favorite two siblings in the world bicker about which Star Wars movie is the correct starting place to watch the series. Even if the two choose to sing all of High school musical two and three on the ride home, nothing can shake the feeling that Aaron Hotchner is the luckiest man in the world.

tags: @montyfandomlove , @pastanoodles11 , @ssamorganhotchner , @hotchnerbau , @hotchs-babygirl , @ssa-tahlia-obsessions

#rome's writing! #rome's reqs #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner fic #platonic!spencer reid #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch fanfic #hotch x y/n #hotch x reader fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner

[sequinsmile-x]

Can you write a fic where Emily is pregnant, and she feels the baby move for the first time but panics something is wrong because she'd already lost a baby previously?? She doesn't know whats happening and the new sensation immediately freaks her out. Kind of like Meredith in Greys.

hiii bestie! Of course - I love this idea.

This fic takes my word count on Ao3 over 2 million words. 2 MILLION WORDS OF HOTCHNISS. That is wild, and bonkers and just...a true testament to my brain being nothing other than a desk covered in an unending pile of ideas vaguely organised into stacks.

I am writing a fic (a Hunger Games AU) that is as unhinged as the thing it is celebrating haha, so keep an eye out for that, but for now I just want to say thanks for being here, thanks for always being so supportive of my work, and....heres to the next 2 million I guess.

-x-

Flutter

Pregnancy had been rough on her since the start.

AKA the one where Emily feels a new sensation in her pregnancy and panics, but Aaron knows exactly what it is.

-x-

Words: 2k

Warnings: pregnancy, references to previous miscarriage

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily sighs contentedly as she settles into her seat on the jet, excited that they are finally heading home after a long case. She was exhausted, tired in a way that she hadn’t thought was possible, and her plan for the five-hour trip home was to sleep. 

“Are you okay sweetheart?” 

She smiles sleepily as she turns to look at her husband, “I’m okay,” she says, placing her hand on her bump, “Your kid is sucking the life out of me,” she says, raising her eyebrow as her smile becomes wry, “But I’m okay.” 

Pregnancy had been rough on her since the start. Her nausea in her first trimester had hit her hard and fast, leaving her unable to keep anything but water and the plainest possible food down. It felt like everything, not just food, triggered it - including Aaron’s cologne that she’d always loved. He’d stopped using it the moment she told him, even going as far as showering immediately to wash away any remnants, aware that his wife loved to snuggle with him when she didn’t feel well. 

He’d been everything she could have ever hoped for in a partner during this. Kind and attentive and always aware of her needs, sometimes even before she was. He bordered on overprotective a lot, but she did nothing except raise her eyebrow at him every time he yelled at Derek for eating breakfast sandwiches in front of her that would make her gag. She’s sure as she gets further along, it would drive her crazy, that she’d end up yelling at him when he went what she deemed too far in his quest to protect her and their unborn child, but for now, she let it slide. 

This was something they’d both waited for, both wanted so much, and she couldn’t imagine being mad at him for wanting to look after them. 

She’d been pregnant once before. They’d only been trying for a couple of months when she felt slightly off and took a test, her eyes wide as she gripped the positive test in her hands. They’d been excited, overjoyed at the prospect of making their family bigger. They’d huddled together in the armchair in their bedroom that morning, both of their palms on her still flat belly, talking about their plans for the future. 

Their joy had been shortlived. It was only a couple of weeks later when Emily started to notice cramping, a discomfort that was mild at first and got worse very quickly. By the time they made it to the hospital, she knew what the doctor was going to say, her hand tight around Aaron’s as they had confirmation that she had miscarried. She’d walked out of that hospital with a broken dream and a plastic bag full of medication she’d taken once before. They were pills she’d taken in secret in the Embassy in Rome, as opposed to the comfort of her own home, her husband by her side as she helped her body along with the process it had started by itself. 

There was still joy when she found out she was pregnant this time. Still an unrelenting type of happiness she would have once said was beyond her, but it was quickly chased by fear. An anxiety she still couldn’t shift even though she was 19 weeks along now. 

She knew Aaron was anxious too, which was why he was overprotective, wanting to do everything he could to keep her and the baby safe. It’s why she let him talk her into not leaving the precinct when they were away on cases weeks, and why she’d already agreed to stop going on cases altogether when she hits her third trimester. 

Aaron chuckles softly and leans in to press a kiss to her forehead and he puts his hand over hers on her stomach, linking their fingers together, “Why don’t you try and get some sleep on the way home?” 

She hums and shifts in her seat, her hand still on her bump, “I’m going to try,” she yawns and rests her head on his shoulder, her eyes drifting shut, “I hope you don’t mind me using you as a pillow.” 

He smiles again, seemingly undeterred by the fact the team were all within listening distance, that Derek and Dave were sitting opposite them, fascinated by this relatively rare insight into what they were like when they were just Aaron and Emily, as opposed to Hotch and Prentiss. 

“It’s what I was made for sweetheart,” he says, kissing the top of her head, and she smiles, pressing her cheek further into his jacket. 

She hears a barely covered snicker from the other side of the table and she feels Aaron tense. She never wanted him to feel embarrassed for how much he loved her, never wanted him to feel ashamed. She kicks out and smiles when her foot connects with Derek’s shin.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he complains, and he's frowning when she peels her eyes open to look at him. 

“You were thinking it,” she grumbles, wrapping both of her arms around one of Aarons as she snuggles back down, her eyes closing again, “Pregnant and half asleep or not I’ll still kick your ass.” 

Aaron places his hand over one of hers and squeezes, “Go to sleep, Em. I’ll wake you up just before we land.” 

She falls asleep before the plane even leaves the tarmac.

___

She feels groggy when she wakes up, like she’s slept not enough and entirely too much all at once. Aaron insists that she waits in the car for him as they deplane, and she doesn’t have it in her to argue with him when he says he’ll bring her bag to the car. 

She yawns as she pulls the visor down to check her reflection in the mirror and she winces, horrified to learn she looked as tired as she feels. She places her hand on her bump and leans back in her seat, flipping the visor back up.

“You’d better be cute,” she grumbles, rubbing a circle on her stomach, a smile spreading across her face, “Who am I kidding, of course you’re going to be cute.” 

That’s when she feels it. A strange sensation rolling through her belly, a fluttering that is enough to make her freeze, her eyes wide as she stops breathing for a second, waiting for it to happen again. It does, and she feels familiar panic start to spread through her, chasing the feeling away like a harsh winter breeze. She immediately feels nauseous, bile climbing up her throat as she convinces herself something is wrong with her baby, that she’d got too comfortable, too safe in her happiness that she’d somehow let something slip. 

She jumps slightly when the driver's door opens and Aaron climbs in, but she remains frozen in place apart from that, both of her hands on her belly. 

“I was thinking we could pick dinner up on the way home,” he says, pulling the door closed behind him, “Do you still want chicken nuggets…” He drifts off when he looks at her and panic flashes through him, he reaches out and touches her cheek, gently encouraging her to look at him, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” 

She blows out a breath, tears she hates pressing at the back of her eyes as she shakes her head, “I don’t know. I felt something…I don’t know what I felt,” she says, speaking so uncharacteristically quickly he worries she might choke, her words strangled by tears, “I think something is wrong.” 

He has to swallow down the fear that threatens to climb up his throat as he looks at her stomach, the way she’s got both hands on it as if she’s trying to protect their child from whatever she’s felt. He could feel whatever he needed to feel later, right now she needed him to be the strong one when it was so often the other way around. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, catching a tear on her cheek and pushing it away, “Tell me what you felt, okay?” He says calmly, hoping his smile is reassuring, “And we’ll go from there.” 

She growls in frustration, more aimed at herself than anything else, hating the fact pregnancy had entirely removed her ability to control her emotions, “I don’t know how to explain it,” she grumbles, her lips pressing together in an attempt to stop her chin from trembling, “It felt like…maybe gas bubbles I guess? Or like a swirling sensation. What if something is wrong? I can’t lose-”

“Em,” he says, cutting her off, reaching for one of her hands and linking it with his, a bubble of relief popping in his chest, making him relax a little, “Did it feel like butterflies in your stomach? Like a fluttering sensation?” 

She sniffs and pauses for a moment as she thinks about it, and she then nods, tears splashing down onto her cheeks, “Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat, “Yeah it did feel like that.” 

He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, a conversation he’d had with Haley years ago coming to mind. She’d sat next to him in bed, describing in detail how it felt when Jack moved inside of her, her smile teasing as he lamented that he couldn’t feel anything on the outside yet. It felt like a crossroads in his life, a moment from his past colliding with his present, the lessons she’d learnt whilst loving Haley always coming into play whilst loving Emily.

“That’s the baby moving,” he says, lifting their joint hands and kissing her knuckles, “What you felt is our baby moving, sweetheart.” 

She just stares at him as he repeats himself, his words not sinking in as she looks down at her bump, “Wh…what?” She looks up at him, her eyes slightly wild, still not entirely convinced that the perceived danger was over yet, “How do you know that?” 

He reaches out and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “That’s how Haley always described it to me,” he says, his smile soft and wistful, “Like a butterfly flapping its wings,” his smile gets wider as he chuckles, “Until of course he got bigger and she started comparing Jack to a soccer player.” 

Emily laughs, the sound catching on a sob as she shakes her head, “Well, he is a good mid-fielder,” she says, wiping tears from her cheeks, “So the baby’s okay?” 

He nods, “We’ll keep an eye on things obviously, if you feel any pain or have any bleeding we’ll go straight to the hospital,” he leans forward and stamps his lips against hers, “But yes, the baby is okay. They are just saying hi.” 

She chuckles and shakes her head and rubs a firm circle on her stomach, relief spreading through her so quickly she feels lightheaded.

“Hi baby,” she says, almost willing to feel the movement again, to be able to enjoy it without feeling the fear that she’d immediately fallen into, “We’re so looking forward to meeting you.” 

Aaron kisses her again before he leans over the centre console and kisses her bump, “And if you think Mommy is protective now, just you wait until you wait until you’re here.” 

Emily narrows her eyes playfully as he pulls back, “What did you say?” 

“I said I’m taking you and baby for some chicken nuggets,” he says, smiling at her as he clips his seatbelt into place and starts the car. 

“That’s what I thought,” she hums and places her hand on his as he places his on her thigh, squeezing gratefully, hoping she could put everything she never quite found the words for into the touch, her love for him seeping from her skin into his. 

A week later, when they find out they are having a son, Emily watches in fascination as their little boy's movements on the screen match up in real time with the fluttering she feels beneath her skin. 

-x-

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