Only A Few Reach Greatness Such As This

Everyone's Got Secrets... (House Husband AU)

A/N: When I first saw Pedro Pascal’s character rushing into battle at the start of this movie, my very first thought of him was this:

He moved in for the kill, just like a wolf.

What does that have to do with fanfiction, you might ask…? Simple. When you add to this the legend that a wolf helped create the city of Rome, my love of the 'Way Of The House Husband' show, and a chat with @braveincafleet , then you may figure out that this is how my little House Husband AU came to be.

Anyway...I hope you enjoy this just as much as I do, and if so, be sure to give it some love before you go back to your scrolling. Thanks! <3

Story Premise: This is a little intro/infodumped backstory for a modern/ex-Mafia version of General Acacius, as that seems to be a writing style I've consistently had over multiple fandoms. It's also a version where he's (obviously) retired and settled down with the modern version of Lucilla Verus, though there are still glimpses of what he used to be like here and there if one is looking hard enough.

Story Word Count: 779 words.

Special Notes: So...maybe I'll turn this into a series someday, maybe I won't. Until then, I'll try and poke around to find more Lucilla x Marcus fics as soon as I possibly can.

No Pressure Tags:

@sweetperfectioncloud @letsgobarbs @rav3n-pascal22 @lilac-boo @iseefire16

@ultra-nina-bella @lunnaisjustvibing @blueheisenbergtragedy @vichons @mysticalgalaxysalad

@hicanivent @marvelforever352 @thischarmingmandalorian and anyone else who would like to read more stories about our favorite General. ;)

Justin Acacius was, according to the neighbors of Imperator Street, a fairly cultured man who wouldn’t dare break the laws of their fair city. Indeed, all outward appearances have never given them reason to think otherwise, for any red flag moments have not yet presented themselves.

For example, by day, he keeps the household of their esteemed Head Curator, Lucilla Gherardi, in perfect working order. This includes making sure that Lucilla herself never leaves the house without a homemade lunch in her possession, because there isn’t much work that a person can accomplish on an empty stomach. During the rare moments that she does, however, it’s not long before he’s on the nearest available bicycle to catch up with her, sometimes even breaking local traffic laws just to get there in time.

(Thank goodness the nearby law enforcement have learned to let him off easy by now.)

Second, there’s what this couple’s closest neighbors have come to label as “Piero Watch”, the daily sighting of the family dog on its walk around 9:15 am every day, most often with Mr. Acacius getting somewhat pulled along behind them. After all, sometimes dogs will go exactly where you don’t want them to go.

Third, whereas some neighbors are occasionally guilty of noise pollution, there's no such disturbance from Signor Acacius' side of the street. Sometimes he brings a friend or two over for short visits, sometimes he goes out for last minute groceries like the supplies needed to make homemade pasta--oh, but never will any strange women be seen going into that house beside him.

He's married, obviously, so he's not about to throw away a good life on one foolish act.

And speaking of foolish acts…neither will anyone notice this gentleman plotting any violence behind Lucilla’s back while she’s out of the house. That’s a vice best left for lesser men, for instead of any shady dealings, he’s much more likely to get into surprise “Cutest Dog” duels with passersby like Mr. Macrinus, as there’s quite the following for groups like these over social media these days.

As Macrinus himself may tell you, these sorts of “battles” will leave no fatal wounds behind them, and all parties involved will go home satisfied.

And finally, by the time that night falls, there’s not much of a change other than the occasional smoke break, if not also the even rarer trip outdoors for a few last minute groceries. In other words, though he might be a slightly imposing figure at times…there’s absolutely nothing to fear where Mr. Acacius is concerned.

At least, not if you’re the average, well-to-do citizen…because for those who wear their sunglasses a bit darker, their skin a bit more tattooed, and keep one eye over their shoulder, it’s a slightly different story.

Should any members of this crowd pass Mr. Acacius in the streets, the title “Il Lupo” is the name they speak. Sometimes they say it with a voice full of fear, sometimes with awe, but all, regardless of their age, status, or sometimes even gender, as this is the 21st Milennia, don’t dare stick around too long.

For the individuals in charge of such groups, be they The Twins in the center to The Emperor a bit further north, they will on occasion ask Acacius’ advice on what seem like trivial matters, such as the right temperature to roast a head of garlic or what is the best detergent to wash out a bloodstain or several—oh, but always from clumsy kitchen accidents rather than any violent executions.

In case you haven’t heard, these modern people don’t do that sort of thing any more.

That’s as far as the mystery reaches, of course, for as the dead can’t reveal any secrets and the living wish to keep their honor, nobody’s ever going to consider speaking up instead. It’s highly doubtful any average person will ever know the truth about Mr. Acacius, either, as there are no known books or magazines ever published that might otherwise hint about his true identity.

If someone were to happen upon the oldest man on the same street where Mr. Acacius lives, however—specifically, the one with a faded SPQR tattoo upon one arm and no photographs of grandchildren in plain sight—maybe they’ll one day hear the story of how the one known as Il Lupo, the one who looks suspiciously like Justin, narrowly escaped life in an Italian prison. Maybe they’ll also hear all about how he became a married man not long afterward, and curiously moved to the very same street address where Mr. Acacius now lives.

But then again…a story’s just a story, wouldn’t you agree?

guys is that amit right there-

hi ! i just read your intro post and first i want to preface this by saying im not attacking you, im just genuinely curious and unsure

ok so, in your post it says you might write pedophillia and then that you don’t agree with pedophillia and that if ppl who are attracted to it outside of fiction should seek help (totally agree) but does that mean that you’re okay with getting off on/others getting off on fictionalised pedophilia or did i misunderstand? genuinely confused, sorry if that’s not what you meant

- permanently confused anon 😵‍💫

TW: Pedophilia mentioned under the cut

Hi!

Don't worry at all! I'm glad someone asked so I could explain it a bit more.

To answer your question, no, I'm not okay with it.

I don't get off on any of it nor other similar themes and neither should anyone else. Preying on children of any age is strictly against my moral code and, again, anyone who feels that way should get some professional help.

However, I am a person who also firmly follows canon unless it's absolutely necessary for the fanfic. I'm pretty sure there are more writers/readers who have that mindset too.

That said, I put pedophilia in 'might consider writing' because I realise some people might simply want pure canon, even if it comes to age.

I will decline any requests involving pedophilia if I deem them too triggering or realistic but I am still willing to consider because of people like me, who want to have as many accurate details as possible.

That tag will also be considered only for the Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon fandoms which I'm pretty sure are the only two which have canonical pedophilia.

I'm not sure how much you know about those but, sadly, it was normal for people to marry/be intimate before the age of 18 during that time period. That is, in my opinion, pedophilia either way.

That's why that's the only exception, which will mostly come in the form of mentions rather than actual actions anyway. Any request like that for other fandoms will be deleted immediately because it's just sick, honestly.

To put it simply, I'm just willing to write canonically accurate fics, even if they consider such horrific themes in the original work. However, I don't want anyone to get off on that type of stuff.

Honestly, If I ever write about it in the first place, I might write about pedophilia to raise awareness when it comes to child abuse, especially sexual abuse.

I hope that somehow clarified it<3

finding out making up whole detailed scenarios with fictional characters in your head is a “sign of mental illness”

✨CREAMPIES✨

Reblog if you agree

Name || To drink wine under the stars

Pairing || Modern!Din Djarin X NB!Reader

Summary || A date Din and you planned takes a turn before taking another

Word Count || 1.334

Tags/Warnings || Idiots in love, Angst with a happy ending, No Use of Y/N, Modern!AU, Feelings!, Unestablished Relationships, Insecurities, Grogu Mentioned, Din is low-key (very much) a simp, Probably OOC Din, A bit of a rushed ending, No Beta We Die Like Men

A/N || I present a small piece of fiction made for Bouquets of Pedro Creativity Challenge by @happypedrohours

Based on this prompt: Din Djarin & late for a date

English is not my first language

If you find any grammar or spelling mistakes, let me know so I can fix them

Masterlist

Star Wars Masterlist (Not finished yet)

It's been such a long time since he's been to a place such as this. The restaurant was luxurious, maybe a bit too much in his opinion. The staff, the food, the decorations, it all screamed expensiveness.

His suit was probably even worse. It felt tight, unnatural. He wasn't used to wearing clothes other than completely regular. The best he could usually do was a white shirt with some pants, that was it. After all, why would he need anything else?

You. It was you. You were the reason he needed something else. You didn't force him, per se. He did it voluntarily. Grogu was still small and didn't care about how he looked but you? He wanted you to see him.

You were so special to him. Kind, funny, engaging, drop dead gorgeous. In the darkness that was his life, you were the moon illuminating his path. Guiding his way home.

Home to you.

At first, it surprised him when you agreed to the date. If he didn't know you, he would think it was a joke. A cruel mockery of how he, of all people, could think he had any chances with someone so divine. You meant it however. The smile on your face, the sparkle in your eye, it all proved your words.

Sitting at the table reserved for the two of you, he both loved and regretted he asked in the first place. What if you didn't like it there? What if he made a fool of himself? So many things could go wrong and wouldn't be able to stop any of them if it came down to it.

Knowing you though? You wouldn't care less about things that trivial. His mind flickered back to the memory of you.

You.

Sweet you.

The way you held his hand when he'd asked you out because it trembled so much. The way you listened so intently to what people had to say even when you felt unheard. The way you cared for Grogu as if he were your own and not your coworker's son.

Yeah, you'd understand.

Check the time.

Check the time.

Why weren't you there yet?

You were supposed to arrive at 7 PM. He arrived earlier of course. He didn't want you to wait in case he arrived later. And suddenly, he was the one waiting. It's been, what, 10, maybe 15 minutes?

Probably traffic, he told himself. He knew how it was these days. Everyone always rushed, as if unable to take a break. You were most likely in a taxi, trapped in a traffic jam.

Everything was fine.

It's been 30 minutes now. Where were you? It was getting frustrating. Especially when waiters came and went, always asking questions about his order. He wouldn't order. Not until you arrived.

He tapped the table, eyes fixated on the candle in the middle. The fire was so bright and yet, it couldn't compare to your smile. He'd kill to see it at least once. Just for a second, not even that. Even if it wasn't directed at him, even though he'd prefer if it were.

But no.

You weren't there.

He sent you so many messages, called a few times, all worried for your possible safety. What if you were in a car accident? Were you walking and someone decided to attack you? Did you hit your head when leaving your home? The possibilities were endless, every new one worse than the last.

He didn't seem to notice when an hour passed. Nor the second. He wouldn't dare look at the time, his attention constantly shifting between the building’s entrance and your completely untouched seat.

A sigh slipped past his lips when he finally forced himself to do so. It'd been over 2 hours. He couldn't wait any longer. He promised Grogu he wouldn't take too long, the kid needed him after all.

He hated it. The pitiful look the waitress gave him as he paid for the unexpectedly expensive wine he ordered, taking the unfinished bottle with him.

The February air chilled him more than he'd like, his hands freezing from the coldness of the bottle in his hand.

All the while, his mind struggled to come up with a reason for your absence. Maybe you were actually hurt? That was the only explanation that didn't make him question your lack of messages.

Or maybe you simply didn't like him and didn't know how to voice it.

Honestly, he wouldn't blame you. He didn't consider himself particularly likeable either. Messy, awkward, rugged and always tired. Why would you desire that?

The thought stung.

Was he really so bad that you, the kindest creature he'd ever met, couldn't accept him?

It was probably for the better.

“Din! Din wait!”

That voice. The voice so angelic that a part of his soul left his body any time he heard it suddenly called his name.

Turning his head towards where it came from, there you were. You weren't waving at him as you attempted to run, breathless with reddened cheeks from the cold.

You were a mess too to be honest. Dishevelled hair, slightly messy fancy clothes as if you barely managed to put it on properly along with loud gasps for air.

To him, you looked like a deity either way.

“I'm so, so sorry. I-I was tired from work and took a quick nap a-and I overslept the alarm and when I woke up it was already late,”

you rambled on and on about how sorry and ashamed you were for leaving him in the restaurant all alone, especially considering how expensive the reservation was. He didn't utter a word throughout the whole speech.

He didn't care if you noticed his silence. Or the tiny smile on his lips. Or the softness in his eyes. He was simply glad to see you, his day suddenly brighter than before.

And then, you fell silent. Your eyes stared up at him, searching for any sign of anger, of disappointment. There was none. Just pure unfiltered adoration.

“Don't worry. I'm just glad nothing bad happened to you,”

his words made your eyes widened, those twinkling in the soft light of city lamps. How beautiful, he thought. Then again, he thought that about every single thing you did.

His sharp gaze detected how the tension in you shoulders fell, a small sigh of relief escaping into the chilly weather.

“Could I make it up to you in some way?”

you were so kind. So desperate to make sure he wasn't disappointed, to make sure you kept your promise of joining him on a date that night.

He didn't need any persuasion.

Grogu was already dreaming away in his bed when Din joined you in the backyard of his home. You didn't notice him at first, making it the perfect opportunity to admire you.

There you were. In his garden. You were silent, staring up at the moon which felt like a shiny trinket compared to you. The soft smile on your lips as you snuggled into the blanket he lent you made his heart skipped a beat. A silent wish passed through his mind, a prayer of stopping the time so that he could worship you in his mind for eternity and more.

“There you are, I was getting worried,”

you smiled as you noticed his presence. He didn't reply as he sat down next to you, stealing part of the blanket and snuggling closer to you. You offered the wine but his mind was only on the brief brush of your hand against his. It all made his head spin.

When you rested your head on his shoulder though? He was afraid he'd faint. Or maybe cry.

You chose him. Nothing could convince him otherwise. And even if you didn't, he wouldn't mind.

He didn't need much to be happy after all. Even if it didn't last long, all he needed was to drink wine under the stars, right by your side.

Disclaimer:

I do not own The Mandalorian or any of its characters. The Mandalorian is the property of Jon Favreau and Disney. This fanfiction is written purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended for profit. Please support the original work!

My brain choosing my current hyperfixation:

pls rb if you think cuddling doesn't have to be s3xual

im tryna prove a point to my bf's mother help me out

If you're fifteen or older an still sleep with a stuffed animal please reblog this.

My friend is embarrassed and thinks she’s the only one and I said id prove her wrong.