#Way of Life Legacy Challenge

[simpishly]

Way of Life Challenge Overview

The Way of Life Legacy Challenge focuses on the 16 Lifestyles that came with The Sims 4 Snowy Escape. This legacy-style challenge has 16 generations, each utilizing a variety of packs and features. A loose storyline ties each generation to the next, giving you direction while still being open enough for your creativity and play-style to shine.

Rules

Read the full Way of Life Legacy Challenge Rules

Snowy Escape is required. Don't own other packs? Feel free to adjust the traits, careers, aspirations, and generation goals for your personal gameplay.

More Graphics:

Please tag #WayOfLifeLegacy if you use them!

[300yearschallenge]

For the sake of Åland's protection a man named Johan Georg Ehrenmalm, nicknamed Vildmajornen (The Wild Major), was set up as the head of a light battalion.

It consisted of 400 men divided into four companies - and some familiar faces.

Charles Elias hadn't spent much time with his old friends since Theodore left. He claimed he was simply too busy, but part of him also worried he'd end up disappointing Theodore upon his return if he got himself in trouble again.

So he steered clear. He would still see them around the village, mostly gambling and flirting with girls, and he'd say hi, exchange some pleasantries and then be on his way.

Everything felt mostly okay. Calm.

Until one afternoon.

[windslar]

[matchalovertrait]

It's a Winterfest miracle! Redemption arc for Hilary?

Start from the beginning

Previous | Next

[auspexsims]

How far would I travel To be where you are? How far is the journey From here to a star?

full sized un-animated version~ thank you to my friend @agentoctosims for helping me with the masking of the brindleton coast❤️

[cvriosities]

dina was less than pleased with indigo's current arrangement with akira, but considering that she's actively dating other people too, dina came around...

[gaeulssims]

˗ˏˋ Vacationing in Tartosa ´ˎ˗

Cherry and Ale announced their junior trip to Granite falls and have just recently left to enjoy their last moments as highschool juniors. This has inspired Saul to seize the moment and plan a trip abroad. This time, he's taking along Guava and Bomber Prev | Next

[fr0zenlotus]

someone caught her eye, he's the first person that cel found attractive! she introduced herself but before she could get to know him more he left :(

side note: @l-e-i-k-o made him for celeste (thank you i love u sm) and she knows my sims better than i do fr, considering the fact that cel never liked the men i thought she'd like lol

[meticulousmaker]

another random thing that stands out to me rewatching Steven Universe as an adult:

throughout the show there's this clear Vibe that Steven has inherited some big magical destiny, right? and it makes sense narratively: he's the son of Rose Quartz, leader of the rebellion, now being raised by her friends who were the last remaining survivors of an interstellar war. he's like a human child in most ways, except he has magical powers that start to become more obvious as he's getting older. no one like him has ever existed before. it's a big deal. raising him and figuring out how he's going to grow is its own unique challenge, because nobody knows what to expect. so of course there's this magical destiny vibe, given all that.

What's interesting to me, though, is that this magical destiny is in no way literally, physically present in the story, it's just something everyone kinda feels. Like, there's not some ancient prophecy about a half-gem, half-human savior. He's not the Chosen One in any literal sense, he just happens to give off Chosen One vibes. And I say that's interesting because it means that the fact he was kinda raised with this Chosen One vibe is completely a decision everyone around him made, for better or for worse. And the show is aware of this, because the weight of Rose's legacy and everyone's expectations of him is a constant theme, and as Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl all grow and develop, they also realize the downsides of them putting those expectations on a child. Like, Steven spends his whole childhood being told about how great Rose was, and how because he's inherited her gem he will probably inherit her powers - and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Imagine how awful things could have been if Steven had no exposure to the Gems and no knowledge of what they were or how they worked, and then his powers started coming in? It was hard enough even when he was surrounded by the most qualified Gem Experts on Earth. But being primed for all of this "you're going to have your mother's magical powers" stuff put a heavy weight on his shoulders, and then the fact that nobody else quite knew how his abilities worked meant he was constantly faced with the adults in his life looking to him with concern because they didn't know what was happening with him. That's gotta leave an impression on a kid - and, well, throughout the show and especially in SU Future we definitely see that it does.

I like the way the show handles the pressure that's put on him, and the fact that everyone is just... trying their best in a completely unprecedented situation. Nobody knows what to do or how to raise this kid, and that inevitably causes problems but everyone is trying. And Steven can feel that everyone is trying without knowing what to do and he just wants to help and not be a burden and none of his caretakers have said that he's a burden but he can feel everyone's confusion and concern and the expectations he's not living up to and he cares so much, about everyone, about everything. He's in an extremely unique position that grants him opportunities to help that nobody else has, and he feels like he's failing everyone if he can't fulfill that, and in the end it never should have been his job to fix things but somebody had to try. Somebody had to try, and he was one of the only people with the ability to stop the Diamonds, stop the war, stop the lies, stop his world and everyone on it from being destroyed... and he was just a kid.

[mylittleponyoh]

Desk Mess CC Kit by MylittleponyOh

Hi Simmers !

Today is the big day ! The REVEAAAAL of my secret project. Because yes I've been working days on this 15 objects kit !

A little lore about the Desk Mess CC Kit : Maybe you know it, maybe you don't I AM FRENCH. And I play The Sims since... I am 11 or 12 yo. When I discovered the great world of custom contents, I was awestruck. So, I started downloading a loooooot of them. Never thinking one day I would make my own. Then in Covid 2020 I tried Blender. And a new world opened to me. It was hard. But I am very stubborn. I failed a lot. But I kept trying. So the first time I successfully added MY OWN CC into MY GAME and it worked I thought, OK THIS IS IT. I WANT TO LEARN MORE. You are going to ask yourself, why is she telling this. Why being French has something to do with this CC Kit, and I'll tell you why. As a Sims 4 addict, I watch a lot of content about Sims 4. And I have a favorite French Youtuber I follow since 2019 @kapands ! I loved her content so much, I followed her on Twitch. And I loved even more the community there. I was so happy to add my contribution to the 2024 secret Advent Calendar the community is gifting her. Following her all these years, I knew custom content was taking a great place in her way of playing The Sims 4. So I challenged myself (really afraid to fail) to create a CC Kit centred around one of her character : Bella. (2nd gen of the Into The Forest Challenge).

🔗Kapands Into The Forest Legacy Challenge 1st Episode

I wanted to thank Kapands, because she has created this awesome community I am proud to be a part of. Because she is kind and real. Because she adresses important subjects of life into her game. And also because she works so freaking much !!!!

What you need to know before downloading :

The following objects are Base Game Compatible

Bella's Comfy Chair, Bella's Desk, Bella's Rug, Bella's Cable Management Plugs 1/2/3, Bella's Cable Management Power Strip, Bella's Sticky Notes Block, Bella's Wall Planner, Bella's Wall Notes, Bella's Mug, Bella's PeachPad, Bella's Mini Maple Tree.

The following objects Request a specific EP

Bella's Diary (Parenthood), Bella's Pen Pot (Backyard Stuff)

T.O.U

Recolors are allowed, but do not include my mesh.

All recolors must include credit and link to my original mesh.

Do not reupload and claim as your own (i'll know it).

Do not reupload behind any paywall. Download here (Patreon) Download here (SFS)

Join me on Patreon ( it's free !)

Click here to check out all my previous custom content !

✨ If you have any trouble with any of my cc, please reach out to me !

✨ Special thanks @syboubou for the help with the Bella Mug and helping the modders in general ! You are wonderful !

[simmesblog]

Sage came back from her part-time job and was ready to search up some new baking recipes on the web when her laptop decided to give up on her. Her solution? Call the hot guy from the club, obviously…he said something about technology right?

Lucky for her, he didn’t mind her sudden call for help at all. Perfect opportunity for little missy to show off her baking skills, maybe thinking some thoughts while doing so too~

Are we at all surprised by the way her day ended? No. Did she catch up on what she missed on her night out? Yes. Was it worth it? Debatable.

[roturo]

SUCCESSOR -`♡´-

summary: He believes he’s going to die soon, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable. He needs a successor. And soon.

warnings: A LOT of breeding, smut, unprocteted sex, overstimulation, multiple rounds, pwp, tummy buldge, mentions of cum, mating press, virgin!L, obssesed!L, mentions of forming a family, not proof read and sleepy while writing this. and more.

a/n: ik this is going to have as much support as my other works, but it's def one of my best and favs writings, so please show me your support with a comment and reblog! it means a lot for me!

You've been part of the task force for a while now, ever since L handpicked you for his elite team. As a regular member, you've earned your place and trust within the group. The necessity of keeping your identity hidden has diminished, thanks to the expanding team, but you still opt for an alias during meetings, maintaining a veil of secrecy around your true connection to L.

L’s mind is a labyrinth, each thought of a winding path leading to an unknown destination. His strategies are always a step ahead, his deductions razor-sharp. Yet, despite his brilliance, one specific thought has been haunting him lately:

He believes he’s going to die soon.

This isn't a paranoid delusion but a calculated assessment. L understands the immense dangers tied to the Kira case. The complexity of the situation has grown, and he suspects an external force at play, one that eludes even his grasp. This unknown entity has shifted the balance, making the case more perilous than ever.

L is determined not to let his legacy end prematurely. He has dedicated his life to solving the world’s most challenging mysteries, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable.

He needs a successor.

And soon.

Finding someone who can match his intellect and tenacity is no simple task. The successor must be able to understand his intricate methods, to carry on his relentless pursuit of justice. The urgency of this mission weighs heavily on him, as he prepares to identify and groom the next guardian of his legacy.

You were the perfect match for him, and his calculations confirmed it. There was an 86% probability that having a child with you would result in someone with a higher IQ than his own, combined with the social skills he lacked. In the realm of interpersonal relationships, L was inexperienced, never having had a relationship or intimacy before. Recently, he had been contemplating how to propose this idea to you.

Should he ask you outright? Should he try to make you fall in love with him first? No, this wasn't about love. It was a precaution, a step in his investigation, a way to ensure his legacy continued if the worst were to happen.

The atmosphere in the headquarters was tense as always, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the room. You sat at your desk, engrossed in your work, when L’s quiet footsteps approached. His presence was magnetic, his aura of mystery and intellect always palpable. He paused beside you, his gaze fixed on the monitors displaying the latest updates on the Kira case.

“Can we talk?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, a rare departure from his usual confident demeanor.

You looked up, surprised by the uncharacteristic uncertainty in his tone. “Of course, L. What’s on your mind?”

He shifted, glancing around the room as if searching for the right words. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. It’s… personal.”

Your curiosity piqued, you nodded, giving him your full attention. “I’m listening.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re aware of the importance of my work, of the dangers we face daily. The Kira case has made me realize that I must consider contingencies I hadn’t thought of before.”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“There’s a… statistical analysis I’ve conducted,” he said, his voice becoming more clinical as he explained. “It suggests that if I were to have a child with someone of your intelligence and social capabilities, the child would have a higher IQ than mine and possess the social skills I lack. This could be crucial in continuing my work if anything were to happen to me.”

The gravity of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. L, always methodical and rational, had approached this highly personal matter with the same analytical mindset he used to solve cases. You could see the logic in his plan, yet the implications were overwhelming.

“So, you want me to… have a child with you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes,” he replied, his eyes unwavering. “But understand, this is not about emotions or personal desire...I think” He whispers to himself before he continues– “It’s a precaution, a part of my contingency planning. I’ve never experienced a relationship or intimacy, so I’m uncertain how to approach this.”

The room seemed to close in around you as you processed his request. It was a cold, calculated proposition, yet it carried a weight of vulnerability and trust. L was placing his future, his legacy, in your hands.

“How do you expect this to work, L?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and trepidation.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, his facade of invincibility cracking slightly. “I’ve considered different approaches. Should I simply ask you directly? Should I try to make you fall in love with me first? But this isn’t about love. It’s about ensuring that if I am no longer here, someone capable can continue my work.”

A silence fell between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions. L’s eyes searched yours, looking for understanding, perhaps even acceptance. You could see the conflict within him, the struggle between his logical mind and the unfamiliar territory of human connection.

“I need time to think about this,” you finally said, your voice gentle but firm.

L nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “Of course. Take all the time you need. This is not a decision to be made lightly.”

Finally, you made your decision.

One evening, you found L in his usual spot, hunched over his laptop, eyes glued to the screen. The dim light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity of his focus. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“L,” you said softly, breaking the silence. He looked up, his piercing gaze meeting yours.

“I’ve thought about what you asked,” you continued, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “And I agree.”

For a moment, L simply stared at you, processing your words. Then, slowly, he nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. “Understood. Thank you for your cooperation.”

You took a seat across from him, the air between you charged with a new sense of purpose. “How do we proceed?”

L leaned back, his thumb brushing his bottom lip in thought. “We need to ensure this doesn’t disrupt our work or compromise the investigation. The task force must not be aware of our personal connection, as it could create complications.”

You nodded, understanding the delicate balance that needed to be maintained. L’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “I must admit that emotional connections are not my area of expertise. This will be… a learning experience.  Should… we do it tonight?”

“Ah- Ah- Slow down, L-Lawliet!” you gasped, your voice breaking with a mix of pleasure and urgency.

L’s thrusts were sloppy but fast, driven more by instinct than experience. His movements lacked rhythm, a clear sign of his inexperience. He had come twice already without withdrawing from you, his body responding purely on primal urges.

He had done his research, concluding that a mating press might be the most effective position for this purpose. But he never anticipated how overwhelmingly good it would feel. Was it like this with everyone? Or was it something unique because it was you?

His thrusts grew more erratic, almost desperate. Small whines escaped his mouth, each one tinged with your name like a prayer. You could feel every twitch, every movement inside you, the raw intensity of his desire almost too much to bear.

“L,” you whispered, trying to regain some control. “You need to… slow down.”

He nodded, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. “I’m trying,” he panted, his voice unsteady. “It’s just… so overwhelming.”

His usually sharp, calculating mind seemed lost in the haze of sensation. Every thrust, every brush of skin against skin, was a new experience for him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between maintaining control and giving in to the raw pleasure.

He moaned at the familiar, overwhelming sensation of climaxing again, and you could feel your own release approaching. The intensity was almost unbearable when he grabbed a pillow and slipped it under your back, angling you into an even deeper mating press. His thrusts became more deliberate, his cock somehow reaching deeper, hitting your g-spot with precision over and over again.

The pleasure was so intense, so all-consuming, that all you could do was chant his name like a mantra, each syllable a prayer of ecstasy. “L-Lawliet,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the force of your impending climax.

He watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his own pleasure driving him to thrust harder, faster. “S-shit,” he gasped, his breath hitching, “I think—” His words dissolved into a whine as he came again inside you, his release flooding your womb with a desperate, addictive need.

This wasn’t just about producing a successor anymore. It was about the raw, primal satisfaction of filling you over and over again. He was captivated by the sight of your bodies joined, the way your mixed arousal leaked from where you were connected, glistening in the dim light.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your own climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, milking every last drop of his release as he continued to thrust, his movements erratic and needy.

He whimpered, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pressed his forehead against yours, his dark hair falling in a messy curtain around your face. “You feel… incredible,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and exertion.

He groaned before pressing his lips to yours, the kiss deep and fervent. His cock remained erect inside you, pulsing with an insatiable desire. The feeling of having you this close, of being connected so intimately, was overwhelming. In that moment, he lost all sense of reason and the initial purpose behind his actions.

His mind, usually so sharp and focused on the Kira case, was now clouded with visions of a future he never thought he'd consider. He imagined how adorable you would look, carrying his child, a baby with his eyes and your smile. The idea of having a family with you consumed him, pushing all thoughts of logic and strategy aside.

Without realizing it, he began thrusting again, the movement instinctual and desperate. Each thrust was deliberate, fulfilling the small bump of cum inside you that was already visible through your tummy. He watched in awe, fascinated by the sight of your bodies joined so intimately, the tangible evidence of his desire and your shared pleasure.

“L-Lawliet,” you gasped against his lips, your hands clutching his shoulders as he moved within you. “What... what are you thinking?”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m thinking… I’m thinking about us. About a future I never allowed myself to dream of.” His voice was rough with emotion, a raw edge that you rarely heard.

Your heart swelled at his words, the vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor striking a chord deep within you. “Lawliet,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the contours of his face. “I never imagined… I never thought you’d want this.Want me”

“I didn’t either,” he admitted, his thrusts growing more purposeful. “But now, with you, that's all I can think about. The idea of you carrying my child, of us having a family…you in general… it’s overwhelming.”

He kissed you again, more gently this time, savoring the softness of your lips against his. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, the sensation heightened by the emotional intensity of the moment. His hands roamed your body, memorizing every curve, every detail.

“Do you… do you want this too?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” you breathed, the admission freeing a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. “I want this. I want us.”

His eyes darkened with a mix of relief and desire, and he kissed you harder, his movements inside you becoming more urgent. The room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, each moan and gasp a testament to the bond growing between you.

As he continued to thrust, you could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. He seemed to sense it too, his rhythm intensifying as he chased his own release.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

He groaned, his own release following closely behind, filling you once more. The feeling was addictive, the raw intimacy of it all-consuming. He held you close, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered mostly to himself, his voice filled with wonder.

“Neither can I,” you replied, your heart pounding in sync with his. “But it feels right. It feels perfect.”

He nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “It does.”

You stayed entwined like that, savoring the afterglow and the newfound depth of your connection. The Kira case and the outside world faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of each other’s presence and the promise of a future together.

Eventually, as the reality of your situation began to seep back in, you knew you had to return to your duties. But the bond you had forged would remain, a source of strength and comfort in the days to come.

As L gently pulled out and helped you adjust, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” he said softly in a small whisper. “Together.”

“Together,” you echoed, your heart filled with a certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them side by side.

[stylesispunk]

'Hands in the hair of somebody named Marcus'

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

next part

summary: the cursed blood of Geta and Caracalla runs through your veins sealing your fate. However, the General Acacius is willing to fight for you.

w.c: 5k>

warnings: angst, violence, power imbalance,and fluff.

a/n: I had this one in my drafts but after watching gladiator ii twice. I had to finish it and write about my beloved General Acacius because he deserves it. I hope you like it. This may have a part ii depending on its performance. PLEASE DON'T BE MEAN. Reblogs and comments are always. appreciated 💌

| dividers by @/saradika-graphics |

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe in, breath out.

There was it, the rattle breathing inside Marcus Acacius lungs. The way life has turned out for him felt like cuts all over his skin.

Sometimes he felt he could even breath from how bloody his hands were. How dirty his name felt to his own honor. How salty his tears felt down his cheeks every night. Every time he closed his eyes at night, the screams pierced through his ears.

Mothers mourning their children.

Men mourning their wives.

Families destroyed.

All because of him.

All because he must have served those two spoiled kids so called emperors of Rome.

And he still couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of you, someone so pure and kind was cursed to share the same blood as them.

Every time he came back to the city. He witnessed on first hand, how badly you were treated by them.  The laughs, the humiliation, the segregation, and how your voice had been silenced just for you to be unwillingly part of a legacy that felt like your back being split in two.

Marcus was aware of the adoration people felt for you, how your kindness had reached to every single person in the empire. People loved you, but you were nothing more than a puppet under their fingers.

And he felt pity for you.

He could see the way your eyes seemed lost in the arena, in the way your hands trembled where Geta or Caracalla looked at you with disgust when you didn't approve of the madness they had arisen under their control.

You were the opposite of them.

You were Kind.

Kind as no one had been on here for so many years. You shared the same dream of Marcus Aurelio.

An empire for the world and a refuge for those in need.

and Marcus looked at you with tenderness in his heart from afar.

Most of the time you didn't acknowledge him. He knew you weren't really fond of him or the idea of him leading armies to claim cities under the glory of Rome.

For you, he was just a general repeating the same cycle of madness.

And you didn't acknowledge him until Geta slapped you on front of him for not showing your gratitude towards him after his returning from battle.

The sting lingered on your cheek after his slap, not from the force but from the humiliation of it. The room fell silent, the tension arose like flames to the fire. Geta and Caracalla, with their arrogant disdain, seemed to punish your perceived disobedience.

But Marcus? His expression shifted, subtle, yet profound. His sharp gaze, so often unreadable, burned with an intensity that wasn’t anger but something close to defiance. He stepped forward, his towering presence demanding the attention of everyone in the room.

“Enough,” Marcus said, his voice calm and gentle, the command laced with quiet fury. The word carried weight, a warning not to be ignored. Your brothers exchanged a glance, clearly displeased but unwilling to challenge the general directly. They turned and left, leaving muttered curses in the air.

The room fell silent once again, and you found yourself standing alone with General Acacius. Your hand hovering your cheek, the skin still warm from Geta’s punishment. You didn’t look up at first, embarrassed not just by the slap but by the realization that Marcus had witnessed it. You had worked so hard to ignore him, to keep him at a distance, but now, there was no avoiding him.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said softly, his voice a startling contrast to the authority he had wielded moments ago.

You finally raised your eyes to meet his, expecting pity but finding something else entirely different, something softer. “It doesn’t matter,” you murmured, attempting to dismiss it, but he shook his head.

“It does,” Marcus said, taking a step closer. “You shouldn’t have to endure this, least of all from them. They’re your blood”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw him not as the general who commanded armies in your brothers’ name but as a man standing apart from their cruelty. He wasn’t like them, not entirely.

And perhaps, you thought, he never had been.

Your gaze lingered on Marcus for a moment longer, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say something—anything. But you couldn’t. Your throat tightened, and you turned away, moving to the window to avoid the weight of his attention.

“I don’t need your protection,” you said, though the words came out softer than you intended. “You’ve done enough by speaking against them. They will get under your skin for it.”

Marcus hesitated, his heavy footsteps echoing as he approached you. “You shouldn’t have to thank me for doing what’s right.”

His words made your chest ache. When was the last time anyone had done what was “right” for you? You stared out at the gardens beyond the window, their beauty feeling distant, unreachable. Your brothers had never cared about right or wrong, only power.

“I don’t understand you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You fight for them. You serve them. And yet…”

“And yet I see who they truly are,” Marcus interrupted gently. “I serve Rome, not their cruelty. There’s a difference.”

You turned to face him, his nearness almost startling. For the first time, his presence didn’t feel overwhelming. Instead, it felt… grounding. Safe. He stood tall, but his expression was open, waiting for you to respond.

“They’ll hate you for standing up for me,” you said, your tone cautious. “They don’t forgive things like that.”

“Let them hate me,” Marcus replied without hesitation. “I won’t stand by and let them treat you as they do.”

The conviction in his voice sent a shiver through you. You wanted to argue, to remind him that opposing your brothers would bring nothing but trouble, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you found yourself studying him. His broad shoulders, the sharp lines of his face, and the way his eyes softened when they rested on you.

“I don’t need anyone fighting my battles,” you said, though even you weren’t sure if you believed it. “I’ve survived this long on my own.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he replied, stepping closer, his voice low but steady. “You deserve better than survival.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against you. Before you could respond, Marcus straightened, his demeanor shifting as if sensing he had said too much. He nodded once, a gesture of respect, before stepping back.

“I should leave you to rest,” he said. “You’ve been through enough today”

Your breath caught at the sound of his voice, so steady and sincere, the words lingering in the air like a balm to your frayed nerves. You wanted to reach out, to say something and stop him, but you hesitated, unsure of what held you back.

Marcus took another step away, his broad shoulders tense, as though leaving you was harder for him than he let on. His words, though respectful, carried a tone of finality that made your heart twist.

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reluctant. He bowed slightly, taking your hand in his, and kissing it as his dark eyes met yours, “My lady.”

As if his words had worked as a kind of manifesto, the “soon” came no long after.

There you were in the gardens, barefoot, with your wild hair looking at the moon shining over the town you had been forced to call it home.

Marcus could see from your posture to your void eyes when you were there in the middle of your brothers, faking enthusiasm, while inside your bones you hate with passion this torturous show.

You didn't wish to be cruel to the world but kind.

You didn't wish to see blood coming out from innocent men who had fallen prey under the hands of the cruelty of the roman empire.

And you were exhausted of seeing and hearing the cheering of people celebrating death as a spectacle.

You didn't want this to be your life but just a nightmare you were going to wake from too soon.

And now, as Marcus could see the moon reflecting on your face. He was able to see through the golden jewelry and the soft material of your dress, he could see a soul pleading to the moon to set her free.

Something must have alerted you. You turned around facing him hiding under his cloak.

"General Acacius?" You whispered, closing your eyes a bit to take his form under the soft light of the moon.

"My lady" he replied softly, with respect to his tone.

“What are you doing here?” you breathed, your voice trembled under his gaze.

He hesitated for mere seconds, his gaze intense as it locked onto yours. “I could ask you the same, my lady,” he replied, a trace of sweetness in his tone. “It seems even those closest to the emperors need to escape from time to time.”

A silence fell between you, charged with a tension that both thrilled and unsettled you. The few stolen glances you’d shared over the past days had spoken volumes, but you had never dared to hope his heart could be beating as fast as yours in your presence.

You turned around again, your back to him. "I love coming here to look at the moon. " You spoke, breaking the silence "This seems to be the only place my brothers haven't tainted yet."

"How they don't know about this place?"

"My father sent this place to be built for his only daughter." You replied, and Marcus could notice how the corners of your lips graced with a smirk, even from behind. "A place for her to be a girl."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, General. Women seem to be useless for having a voice, less for ruling an Empire. Everything I can do is stay here and feel like I own something." You hold your voice for a minute, “I’m just a statue waiting to crumble.”

Marcus didn't reply to your words and if it wasn't for the sound of his steps getting closer you would have thought he left.

You could see his outline from the corner of your eyes, the way his face had been marked by cruel events you despise. A red mark on his cheek, a few scars on his neck and for brown eyes that contrasted from his hard exterior, shinning under the same moon as yours.

"How did you find this place, General?" You asked, bow fully looking at him. You were wondering how your brothers never knew about this place but him had been the first man to find it, just after his return.

He took a brief look at you from the corners of his eyes. "I would say that something brought me here," he paused for a moment, "but it seems like it was you, my lady."

You had to hold your breath for a moment. You didn't expect such words from Marcus. He was the beloved general of Rome. But to your eyes he was still a man who had built his honor from cruelty or that was what you thought.

"I don't believe so." You replied, despite the rapid beating of your heart, you didn't want to be fooled by a man with soft brown eyes and a heart that seems to be kind. "I do not desire a man to follow me, not less one who is the puppet of the cruelty of all this cold nonsense."

"My lady…"

"Please, you may go now." you said, turning your gaze back to the moon.

Marcus didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he lingered in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the faint torchlight flickering in the hall. His hand rested on the edge of the door, his knuckles tight and pale as if he were restraining himself from saying something he would later regret.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the embers in the hearth. The tension between you felt almost unbearable, a quiet battle waged in silence.

“I know what you think of me,” he finally said, his voice softer now, like the hush of a secret shared in the dark. “You see a man of blood and iron, one who serves an empire that devours cities for the Glory of Rome.” He exhaled slowly, almost as if gathering the strength to continue. “You’re not wrong to think that. There are nights when I wonder if all of this is worth it, if I am worth anything beyond my sword.”

His admission struck something deep within you, though you kept your face turned toward the moon. You refused to let him see the small crack forming in your carefully constructed armor.

“Then why stay?” you asked quietly, your voice carrying an edge of challenge. “Why continue to serve a cause you doubt?”

“I stay because I must,” Marcus said without hesitation. “It is all I have known, and it is all that has been asked of me. But you…” His voice faltered, and you felt the weight of his gaze, though you didn’t dare meet it. “You are different. You are everything this empire is not, kind, unyielding. Someone like you should be the one ruling Rome, the princess.”

You chuckled at the statement “My brothers would send me to death before I’ll have the chance to sit on that throne.”

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your dress. His words shouldn’t have this effect on you, yet they lingered, stirring something unfamiliar.

“And that is why you should go,” you said, more firmly now. “You’re talking nonsense”

Marcus took a step closer, his steps echoing faintly against the cobblestones “Perhaps I do not belong here,” he said, his tone unwavering, “but that does not mean I will walk away so easily and let this empire fall under your brother’s madness.”

You turned to him then, unable to ignore the quiet determination in his voice. His eyes, those soft brown eyes that had once seemed so dangerous, now held a sincerity you hadn’t expected. For the first time, you saw not a general, but a man, a man who carried the weight of his choices and the burden of his doubts.

“You think you can change my mind?” you asked, your tone sharp despite the unease stirring in your chest.

“No,” Marcus admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I hope, one day, I can show you what I am talking about.”

Before you could reply, he bowed his head slightly, as a gesture of respect rather than submission, and turned to leave.

As the door closed behind him, you stood in the quiet of the garden, your heart beating fast while his words played over in your head.

The arena buzzed with the deafening roar of the crowd, their excitement spilling into the air as dust kicked up from the floor below. You sat stiffly behind Geta and Caracalla, their laughter and sharp whispers grating against your ears. This was how it always was, trapped in their own world, watching their cruelty unfold.

Today, the games were bloodier than usual, the violence more drawn out, as if they relished every clash of blades and every cry of pain. You tried to ignore the chaos, your gaze drifting to the far horizon, where freedom felt like a distant dream in the blue sky.

But then, a movement to your right drew your attention. You turned your head just slightly, your breath catching when you saw Marcus approaching. His expression was calm, unreadable, though his eyes softened ever so slightly when they met yours. Without a word, he settled into the seat next to you.

“General,” you greeted, your voice low.

“My lady,” he replied, his tone equally soft, though there was a subtle warmth in it.

For a while, neither of your spoke. The sounds of the crowd and the clash of weapons filled the silence between you, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

“They love this,” Marcus finally said, his voice barely audible over the noise.

You didn’t reply, too focused on fidgeting with the material of your dress, your fingers twisting the fabric in small, anxious movements. The tension in your shoulders was noticeable, your gaze fixed on the arena below, though it was clear your mind was far from the bloodshed.

Marcus noticed. He always noticed. After a moment of hesitation, his hand moved, gentle, placing it over yours. His touch was warm, steady, and it stopped the restless motion of your fingers.

Startled, you glanced at him, your breath catching as you saw the softness in his expression. There was no judgment, no pity, only quiet reassurance. For a moment, you forgot where you were, the chaos of the arena fading into the background.

But the moment didn’t last.

“Ah, what’s this?” Geta’s voice cut through the din, sharp and mocking.

You flinched, quickly pulling your hand away as Geta turned in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he looked between you and Marcus. His lips curled into a sly grin, the kind that sent a chill down your spine.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “Our dear sister has caught the attention of the great general. How… intriguing.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his gaze unwavering as he stared ahead.

Geta leaned back in his seat, his grin widening as an idea seemed to spark in his mind. He turned to Caracalla, nudging him with an elbow. “Brother, I think we haven’t been too generous with our sister, have we?”

Caracalla raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What do you suggest we could do for her?”

Geta’s grin turned wicked, his eyes gleaming with malice. “A little incentive for the games. Let the gods decide her fate.”

Your blood ran cold as you realized what he was suggesting. “Geta, don’t—”

He ignored you, standing abruptly and raising his arms to address the crowd.

“Citizens of Rome!” Geta’s voice boomed over the noise, silencing the arena. “Today, we have a special reward for our brave gladiators. A prize worthy of their strength and valor.”

Caracalla caught on quickly, his laughter echoing through the stands. “Indeed, a prize unlike any other,” he added, his voice dripping with amusement.

You shot to your feet, panic rising in your chest. “Geta, stop this!”

He turned to you, his smile cruel. “Sit down, sister. This is for the glory of Rome.”

You didn’t move, but your voice faltered, your protests drowned out by the cheers of the crowd as Geta announced his decree.

“The victor of this fight,” he declared, “shall win not only their freedom but also the hand of our beloved sister.”

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, their excitement deafening.

Beside you, Marcus remained seated, his expression unreadable. But you could see the storm brewing in his eyes, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he processed what had just happened.

And for the first time, you saw something in him that you hadn’t before, a quiet, burning fury, one that made you wonder just how far he would go to defy your brothers.

"They offered me as a price." You whispered to Marcus who was offering his arm for you to hold, as you tried to keep your composure.

You felt humiliated.

You felt that men owned you and despised the feeling.

Marcus didn’t respond right away. His arm remained steady, extended for you to hold, a silent offer of support. His face, though unreadable, betrayed hints of a restrained anger—anger that wasn’t directed at you, but at the cruelty of your brothers, the twisted spectacle they had made of your dignity.

“They did,” he finally murmured, his voice low but firm, so only you could hear. “And they will answer for it.”

You hesitated, your hand trembling slightly before resting on his arm. The gesture was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but between the two of you, it felt like a silent pact. Marcus guided you to sit back down, his movements deliberate, as if shielding you from the prying eyes of the crowd.

“Hold your head high,” he said quietly, leaning just close enough for his words to reach you. “You are not a prize. You are a queen in all but name.”

His words, though softly spoken, struck a chord deep within you. They carried a weight that steadied the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you—humiliation, anger, and a raw, aching vulnerability you despised feeling. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to sit straighter, your gaze fixed on the arena even as your chest burned with resentment.

The fight began, the clash of swords and the roar of the crowd filling the air. The gladiators fought with a ferocity that was almost unbearable to watch, knowing that your fate hung in the balance of their blades. You despised every second of it, despised the men in the arena who saw you as a reward to be claimed, despised the crowd who cheered for your subjugation, and most of all, despised your brothers for orchestrating this humiliation.

And yet, as the fight dragged on, your attention kept flickering to Marcus. He hadn’t moved, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the arena with an intensity that made your heart race. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, fingers tightening with every blow exchanged below.

“They cannot do this,” you whispered, your voice trembling with barely contained anger. “They cannot decide my life like this.”

“They can try,” Marcus replied, his tone like steel. “But they will not succeed.”

His words were cryptic, but there was something in his voice, a quiet, unshakable resolve that made you glance at him. For a moment, you wondered if he already had a plan, if his mind was racing with strategies to undo the cruelty your brothers had unleashed.

The fight ended abruptly, the crowd roaring as the victor emerged, bloodied but triumphant. Your stomach churned as the man was announced, his grin wide as he looked up to the podium where you sat. You felt Marcus tense beside you, his hand gripping his sword so tightly you feared it might snap.

“Don’t,” you whispered urgently, sensing the storm about to break within him. “Please, Marcus.”

But he didn’t respond, his gaze locked on the victor below. And for the first time, you wondered just how far Marcus would go, not just to defy your brothers, but to protect you from their cruelty.

The victor's triumphant roar echoed through the arena, and the crowd erupted into wild cheers. You couldn’t bear to look at the man below, his eyes alight with the promise of his prize—you. Your stomach churned with revulsion, and your breathing quickened, panic clawing at your chest.

“Come,” Marcus said quietly, his voice cutting through the noise. His hand found yours again, firm but not forceful, and this time, you didn’t hesitate to take it. The heat of his palm against yours grounded you, gave you a tether to hold onto as you stood on unsteady legs.

You didn’t wait for your brothers’ gloating remarks or the smug expressions on their faces. Without a word, you let Marcus guide you away, his presence shielding you from the leering eyes of the crowd. The noise of the arena began to fade as you descended the steps, replaced by the rapid beating of your heart.

The corridors beneath the stands were dimly lit, the cool air a welcome reprieve from the suffocating heat of the arena. You kept your gaze forward, refusing to look back, refusing to give your brothers or the victor the satisfaction of seeing your fear. But inside, you were trembling.

“Marcus,” you finally whispered, your voice breaking. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere they can’t touch you,” he replied, his tone low and steady. His hand tightened around yours, a silent vow that he wouldn’t let you face this alone.

The two of you emerged into the open courtyard behind the arena, the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone walls. The sounds of the crowd were distant now, muffled by the heavy doors that closed behind you. You stopped walking, pulling your hand from his and turning to face him.

“They’ll come for me,” you said, your voice laced with frustration and fear. “They won’t let this stand. Geta and Caracalla—”

“They’ll have to go through me first,” Marcus interrupted, his tone sharp, his brown eyes fierce. “And I promise you, my lady, they won’t succeed.”

You stared at him, his words sinking in. He looked every bit the general now, strong, resolute, and unyielding. And yet, there was something else in his gaze, something softer that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t just protecting you out of duty or honor. There was something personal in the way he looked at you, in the way he stood so close, as though shielding you from the world.

"I can fight in the arena" he said, "for you."

You stared blankly at him, shocked at your core.

"What would you win from that? Do you want to own me like those men?" You asked.

"I do not wish to own you, my lady. You're not property. You're a free woman, and If I win, I'll become your husband and you would never have to endure those humiliations ever again."

"Just because I would be yours." You whispered, still broken at the thought of not being enough.

"You would be my wife, not my property." He clarified, "I will live and fight to keep your honor just as you deserve"

You looked away, heart pounding, his words washing over you like laurels over your skin. A part of you longed to believe him, to let his offer pull you from the grip of your family’s ambitions. But fear clung tightly, rooted in years of being nothing more than a pawn in your brothers' power games.

"General…" you murmured, voice wavering. "If you fight for me, you put yourself in danger. And if you fall, my life will only become darker, lonelier. I don’t want your blood on my hands."

He stepped closer, his eyes steady, fierce. "I would rather risk everything than stand by while you suffer. You deserve a life where you choose, where you're loved, not used."

Your throat tightened, emotions swelling. "But if you fight and lose, you’d be at their mercy. They’d make you a symbol. A warning to anyone else who dares to defy them."

He lifted your hand, pressing it to his heart. "Then let them try," he said, his voice unyielding. "For you, my lady, I would face even the wrath of the empire."

His touch was gentle, but his resolve was unbreakable. In that moment, you realized he wasn’t just a man willing to fight for you, he was someone who saw you as more than a title, more than a sister to emperors. He saw you, truly.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you risk this for me?”

For a moment, he hesitated, the stoic mask slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man beneath. “Because you deserve more than to be treated as a pawn in their games,” he said finally. “And because I…” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if the words were too much to say aloud. “You don’t deserve this.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion.

"Acacius… if you truly wish to do this," you whispered, your fingers trembling in his, "then I will stand by your side, come what may."

He smiled, a rare softness breaking through his stoic exterior. "Then we’ll face them together, my lady. And if they stand in our way…" His eyes darkened, a spark of defiance glinting within them. "They’ll learn that love is a force they cannot control"

"Do you believe you could come close to loving me?" You asked, heart pounding.

His reply didn’t come from words. Instead, he squeezed your hand over his heart.

His words lingered in the air, hanging between you like the delicate balance of a fragile moment. You searched his face, his steady eyes holding yours as if daring you to see the sincerity in them. For all his strength, for all his might as a general, Marcus stood before you as something else entirely. A man laying his heart bare.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved from yours to gently cradle your cheek, his touch warm and careful, as if he feared you might pull away. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you leaned into his palm, your heart pounding so loudly you thought he must hear it.

“May I?” he murmured, his voice soft and hesitant, as though you were something precious, he was afraid to break.

You nodded, unable to speak, your eyes fluttering closed as he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, tentative and light, testing the waters of your comfort. It was not the kiss of a conqueror or a man accustomed to taking what he wanted. It was the kiss of someone who had been waiting, who had held back his own desires out of respect for you.

The first touch was fleeting, but when he felt you relax into him, he deepened the kiss, his other hand settling on your waist to anchor you against him. The world around you faded. The distant noise of the Coliseum, the threat of your brothers, even the weight of your own fear. All that remained was the warmth of his lips, the steady beat of his heart beneath your other hand.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet that followed. “Loving you,” he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion, “would be the easiest battle I’ve ever fought.”

[windslar]

[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

I've seen a lot of people lately harping about how "Wicked isn't canon to the Oz universe", "it's just glorified fanfiction", etc., and I can't express how silly that is, and how annoyed it makes me every time I hear it, lol. Baum's original Oz books were never meant to be some canonical series — they contradict each other constantly; Baum called it a "fairy story" with loose cohesion at best; and it only became a series at all because the first one got popular enough that Baum felt a duty to the fandom to keep making more (even after he had wanted to end it). And the 1939 film is every bit as much "fanfiction" as Wicked — it changes the story in both major and minor ways, including a complete shift of framing (i.e., making Oz into a dream rather than a real place).

Maguire's great contribution to the overarching legacy and lore of Oz was to harmonize the very weak "canon" of the older works with a different shift in framing: recontextualizing all of the prior Oz material as a revisionist history (going off of Baum's own idea framing of himself as a "Royal Historian of Oz"), and attempting to tell "the true story" behind the other works (fictively of course — we're never meant to literally think Maguire's version preceded Baum's, irl). In literary studies, this is called an urtext. The Wicked Years and its adaptations are as much "fanfiction" as the 1939 film: it's just self-aware of that fact in a way that earlier works weren't, and uses that perspective to deconstruct the material and explore deeper (and darker) themes — not simply adapting or reimagining the original text (as the 1939 movie did), but actively challenging it; interrogating it. It's not meant to be "canon" as such: it asks you to ask whether (and why) there is such a thing, and what that might say about the stories that we are meant to literally believe in, in real life.

[fadeintosatoru]

Satoru is soooo friends to lover

tysm for the support, i want to start writing other characters so lmk who i should write! ps. ignore any typos :/

───────────୨ৎ───────────

just think about it, that disgusting slow burn, like as you gradually grow with him. he knows you like the back of hand, he knows you.

he knows when youre upset, or when youre uncomfortable because you bite the inside of your cheek, and your eyebrows slightly furrow.

and he knows when he should step up and back down. He'll let you have your space if you ask for it but he also knows you need someone to lean on, and if thats hititng his chest angrily, crying on his shoulder, ranting your ass off, hell be there.

Satoru took a liking to you because, for once in his life, someone saw him. Not the prodigy, not the heir to the Gojo legacy—just Satoru, your best friend.

you never treated him any differently, even when everyone else put him on a pedestal. You were the one person who kept him grounded, and he didn’t even realize when he started falling for you.

maybe it was the way you’d laugh at his stupid jokes, or the way you’d roll your eyes at his antics but still always have his back. Maybe it was the way you challenged him, called him out when no one else dared to. Or maybe it was just… you.

and how could you not fall for him, too? He’s Satoru, your best friend who defends you no matter what, who lets you see parts of him no one else does. The one who’d do anything for you—even if you told him to jump off a cliff, he’d probably ask, “How high?”

but there’s always been this line between you, this unspoken agreement to keep things platonic. Until… it starts to crack.

it starts with the little things—like the way his jaw tightens when you talk about your dates, or how he goes suspiciously quiet when you get dolled up for some guy he already knows is a waste of your time. He hates seeing you walk out the door, knowing the night will only end with you disappointed yet again.

and when you come storming back, heels in hand, muttering, “You would not believe the nerve this guy had,” Gojo’s sitting on the couch, grinning like he knew it all along. Of course he did. The guy probably asked to split the bill or talked about himself the whole night. Gojo always hated the way these guys never saw you the way he did.

because if you were on a date with him, you wouldn’t need to bring a purse. He wouldn’t even let you think about paying. He’d take care of everything, because he’s just that guy.

but he knows he can’t—he shouldn’t. It’s a line he’s not supposed to cross, no matter how badly he wants to.

and yet… he catches himself thinking about the way your eyes light up when you look at him. Those big, doe eyes that make his heart stutter in his chest.

he hates when you’re mad at him, but at the same time, you look so cute when you’re all fired up that he can’t help but push your buttons, just to see you pout.

he'll beg for your forgiveness afterward, of course, but there’s a part of him that loves how your attention is all on him, even if it’s because you’re annoyed.

his feelings are a fragile balance, always sitting just at the edge of his tongue.

it only took one moment—one crack—and it all spilled out. He told you everything. How much you mean to him, how the thought of a life without you is unbearable.

and now that you’re officially his girlfriend, it’s like a dam has broken. He wants to spend every waking moment with you, like he needs you to fill his lungs, his thoughts, his everything. He needs you bad.

and, it’s no surprise to anyone—not Shoko, not Geto, not Nanami. They all saw it coming from a mile away. Everyone knew. Everyone but you.