#DEA Ventures

[deaventures]

DEA Ventures LLC Construction, Rehab and General Contracting

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[ovaryacted]

COMPLICATED

─ Javier Peña x fem! reader || WC: 3.2k

SYNOPSIS: You begin to realize Javier's position at the DEA is putting a wedge in your marriage. It was only a matter of time before everything you've built crumbled once you reached your breaking point.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST. Established relationship. Javier & Reader are Married. Marriage problems. Arguments & Confrontation. Thoughts of slapping Javi. Mentions to prior sex & intimacy. Javier is falling apart. Self-sabotage. Mentions of religion/faith. Mentions of the DEA & Javi's job. Both Javi & Reader are in Colombia. Reader's occupation is unknown. Spanish dialogue between Javi & Reader. Please proceed with caution if relationship issues/arguments/possible DV are a sensitive topic for you.

Disclaimer: I have not watched Narcos yet. This is all just my interpretation of another aspect of Javier Peña’s character. Therefore, it is not strict to the canon or details of the show.

A/N: I wrote this for @almostfoxglove's Angst Challenge for August and got Javier Peña, so this is what I came up with! I will admit, I rewrote this fic twice because my initial outline changed halfway, so I started from scratch and got this. It is angsty, and I do want to mention that this is a different take on Javier P., because I personally do not characterize him this way but I ventured out of the norm and put him through situations (I love him a lot though). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You waited for him, the same way you always did.

Sitting on the couch and staring idly at the TV screen, you tried your hardest to find something to occupy your mind again. The cigarette comfortably sat between the index and middle fingers of your left hand, the weight of the two golden bands on your ring finger enticed you to take another drag.

You always hated how much Javier smoked. The stress from working at the DEA compelled him to go through two packs weekly, an ashtray present in every room of your quaint apartment, probably another on his desk at work. You didn’t predict there would come a time when you’d consider yourself a smoker, much less of cigarettes, despite recalling the multiple times you reminded your husband of how bad they were for his health.

“Those things will kill you before your job does, Javi.”

The irony in your words, a hypocrite of your own making.

You don’t blame him for not listening, either. Now you think you get the appeal of going through the cancer sticks one by one. You crave the high of the nicotine rushing through your veins with every inhale and relieving your jumpy nerves. The peace you’d feel for a few minutes was the only tranquility you could get in the hectic mess of your crumbling life.

You wish you knew how things got to this point.

The years blended throughout your relationship with the charismatic Javier Peña, a fine man you bumped into on your way home and accidentally sent all your groceries falling to the ground. Apologies poured out of your mouth repeatedly, and he bent down to help you clean up your mess, offering to cover the expenses of the ruined food you just bought with a faint smile.

The curl of his lips and the sparkle in his brown eyes bewitched you from the start, and you took the money he offered in your palm before he walked off, your sight trailing down on the cocky sway of his hips and the broadness of his back.

He dwelled in your mind like a phantom, haunting you in your dreams and inhabiting your senses. You didn’t anticipate to bump into him two weeks later while running errands, the smug look on his face at the sight of reencountering you so quickly didn’t go unnoticed. It was a simple conversation, a brief introduction followed by an offer for drinks when you both had time with reassurance that you would meet him under better circumstances.

The rest was history.

Sure, you knew Javier was a busy man, always on the run due to his highly demanding job you didn’t initially know of. From how he carried himself, you gathered he was associated with law enforcement, not from Colombia naturally, but perhaps the United States. You didn’t suppose he’d be affiliated with the federal government of all things, and the thought of what he was doing in the country worried you the first few months of being with him.

But all of your apprehensions about his professional occupation went out the window when you got into bed with him, limbs tangling into the sheets, and hushed promises whispered sweetly in your ear. All you cared about were the words he’d say as he took you every which way, claimed you as his all over his apartment when you’d meet him late at night after a stressful work day.

That was the most intimate you knew him, in the throes of passion in which he seemed to be an expert. His hands strung your body with ease, pulling on the invisible red string that connected the two of you whenever his fingers wandered between your thighs. He drank every moan and cry of his name, hips moving against you so reverently others would mistake you for a place of worship.

It was a matter of time before dates turned to sleepovers, and your stay in his life became more permanent when you moved in with him. You didn’t object when he got down on one knee and popped the question you’d been waiting to hear after a year, jumping in your heels with a broad smile and tears streaming down your cheeks once he slipped the ring over your finger.

You never got the wedding you dreamed of since you were little, and you didn’t go on the honeymoon he promised you due to his prior commitments. Instead, you settled on going to a courthouse when you briefly visited Javi’s home in Texas and stayed in his government-covered apartment while in Colombia.

The signs of stress were there from the beginning of the relationship, but the rose-tinted shades you wore were a perfect fit. To you, ignorance was bliss, and you refused to pop whatever abstract bubble you found yourself trapped in with the man you’ve come to know as your partner.

You stuck by him when he needed you most, never opposing him when he sought after you for solace following the close calls he had while chasing down Escobar’s men. You kept your mouth shut when you saw him cleaning up the wounds he hid from you, locking the bathroom door behind him to avoid worrying you to such an extent. You didn’t utter a word when he started coming home later and wouldn’t give you notice, blaming the job and the intricacies of the caseload he was assigned to manage.

“I’m sorry. It’ll get better.”

You wanted to believe him, to think that somehow the craziness that was happening with the business of narcotics in Colombia would be slowing down, and your life would go back to normal, the way it should be. That way of life was gone. Sometimes, you think you’ve never had it to begin with.

You didn’t ask for this. Neither one of you did.

The disconnect between you grew after another close call on a raid, causing your first full-blown argument. The aftermath resulted in harsh kisses and bruises on your thighs from when Javi fucked you hard against the wall, holding you tightly as you scratched down his back. The subsequent times were like that; you could only communicate with him when your bodies engaged in the best way they knew how. All the pent-up frustration was released when he was inside you, groaning apologies and curse words as he filled you to the brim over and over, and you took it with a smile of forgiveness.

At some point along the way, there was no more fun to this game of tension you’ve created to ignore the elephant in the room. Not after the bickering turned into disagreements, your pillowcase growing wet with suppressed tears after a yelling match. The touches turned fleeting, the nights were lonely, and the animosity that wedged itself in your marriage thrived in the dismissive regard you both held for one another.

Your touch burned him more often than not; the last time he caressed you with care was lost to the ravages of his anxiety. All that remained was the past, the memories that you shared before shit hit the fan, and frankly, you don’t think you could take any more of this torture.

The other side of your bed stayed messy and cold, barely catching him when he left in the mornings for work. The caseloads kept piling on, the raids got more personal and farther from home, and the cycle continued to repeat itself. There wasn’t an end in sight, not soon anyway.

Stuck in your thoughts, you missed the instant the front door opened and closed, stubbing out your cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. You glanced over to see Javier stepping through the entryway, peeling his leather jacket off and tossing it to the side while holding your gaze momentarily.

“You’re still awake?” Javier asked you, hinting an edge to his voice as he spoke to you.

“Hello to you too,” you responded calmly, asserting your tone. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d wait for you.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Somehow, the faux concern made you chuckle dryly, watching him walk past you to head right for the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and leaving his back turned to you.

“And what else do you need me to stop doing?”

Your question forced Javier to pivot and face you, his glass sat on the counter as you observed him. Keeping your distance, you stood on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the archway and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Tell me. What else do you need me to stop doing, Javier?”

He remembers when you only called him by signature terms of endearment. Baby. Honey. Amorcito; he particularly loved that one. Now, you addressed him by his first name as if it were its own curse word.

“What the fuck do you mean?” he raised an eyebrow as you continued to speak, malice brewing inside as you itched to say the things you’ve kept bottled up.

“It seems you want me to stop everything. You don’t even come home anymore. I forget you live here sometimes,” you said, trying to be sarcastic, but your words were as sincere as they were hurtful.

“I do come home when I can. It’s been busy at w-”

“Work. It’s always about work and your fucking job. Work this, work that. Do you ever get tired of making excuses for yourself?” His eyes narrowed, staring you down as his body became rigid.

“Do you think me going out there every day chasing down these fucking pendejos is a godamn excuse? No estás pensando con claridad.”

“Oh, I’m the one that lacks sense. That’s rich coming from you.” You started to laugh, standing straighter and looking at your spouse vexingly. “You don’t think going down this goose chase with your head cut off to catch Escobar is crazy? Te has vuelto loco, Javi.”

“I do this for you. For us.” You know he’s trying to convince himself of this lie more than you.

“There is no us if you’re not here! You haven’t been here for months! I don’t know shit about you anymore, and this job has turned you into a different person.”

It was wrong to raise your voice at him; the previous quarrels usually passed through intense conversations, and he’d walk out the door to leave you for the rest of the night, but it was never this intense. You think this time would be the dreaded catalyst you’ve prolonged to avoid, and there was no turning back.

“You knew what you were getting into when we started dating. I told you what I do for work, I told you how this was going to be. It’s not fucking easy. You know this.” He took another sip of his whiskey, gulping it down all at once, hoping the buzz would give him the strength to handle the onslaught of words he knew was coming.

“So now it’s my fault that our relationship is falling apart? What? I should’ve known better than to fall in love with you? Should’ve known better than to marry you?” You were inching closer, your hands flailing around as you spoke exasperatedly.

“Yes. Maybe you should’ve known better.”

The only thing that could be heard in the kitchen was the clink of the ice melting in Javi’s glass, reaching a stalemate as you stared at him in bewilderment and heartbreak. You stepped forward to meet him chest to chest, imagining yourself slapping the words clean out of his mouth. You opted for putting your pointer finger under his chin, the tip of your nail grazing the underside of his jaw as rage washed over you.

“You don’t get to say that to me. Not after everything we’ve been through, everything I gave up to stay here with you in Colombia.”

Tears graced your lash line when he looked at you again, your brows creasing as the mask you’ve worn for so long unraveled. You tried to stay the good wife; you did, but you were getting edged closer and closer to the breaking point. Javier wants to be surprised that you found the audacity to confront him like this, but he knows it was what he deserved. Perhaps he deserved worse for what he’s put you through.

“Why can’t you give this up? Why? You know how this is going to end. I’ll hear from Steve that you didn’t make it back from another assignment or worse. All of this and for what? Help me understand, please.” You begged him to see your pain, hoped to see things as he saw them, to understand why he was going to such great lengths to kill a man at the expense of everything else rotting around him.

“It’s complicated. Everything about this is complicated. The last thing I need is for you to get involved in this mess, too.”

“It’s always complicated with you.” You shrugged with a shake of your head, admitting your defeat.

“I sit here and wait for you to come home, and you don’t. You’d rather be out there, doing god knows what, while I stay and twiddle my fucking thumbs waiting for something to happen,” you looked down to the floor, staring at your feet as the emotions swirled inside you, losing control over the storm of their intensity.

“I don’t complain or say anything when you don’t come home. I get it, this is the job, this is what you have to do. But I don’t see you, Javier. You don’t talk to me, you don’t touch me, or even look at me…I don’t want this for us anymore.”

You didn’t think your words were getting through to Javi anyway as he remained quiet, the stinging bitterness festering before was forgotten and replaced by the dull ache of his heart. Hearing you say this to him hurt in ways grazed bullet wounds and rough tumbles to the ground couldn’t amount to. The self-loathing and anger that’s been building inside him after discovering all the corruption of his job settled in the pit of his stomach, bile rising to the back of his throat at the thought of it. He hated this.

“I don’t want this either. I don’t want to keep hurting you…”

I don’t want to lose you.

“Then why do you still do it?” You presented your left hand to hit his line of sight, gesturing to the two rings you wore, the ones he gave you when he swore to love you for the rest of your life. “Does this mean anything to you?”

It means everything to me. You mean everything to me.

The words were too heavy for him to say, refraining from confessing his true thoughts the way he wanted. His lips were sealed, but his eyes confirmed what you already knew. He was just too cowardly to do or say the right thing himself.

“I love you Javier, I do. So much that it pains me, but this is not a life we should be living. Don’t you want more than this?”

Of course, he wanted more. When he slipped that ring on your finger, he had already envisioned the life he had dreamed of with you. A quiet life somewhere in the countryside, away from all of the noise of the government and countries that were running rampant with issues he shouldn’t be responsible for fixing. He saw the distant future, a kid or two running in the yard while you sat on the porch to watch them, a look of peace on your pretty face as you peeked over at him from across the ranch.

A happy home, a happy life. That was what he wanted, what he prayed for.

Javier despises himself for being unable to amount to his dream for both of you. He’s so wrapped up in this nonsense with the DEA that he’s had tunnel vision so profound he can’t see the light anymore.

“I know you’re not going to stop until all of this is finished, I know that. But I can’t do this anymore. So I’m giving you a choice, the DEA or me.” His eyebrows shot up at the sudden ultimatum you’ve proposed to him, eyes growing wide as he comprehended the hand you’ve forced upon him.

“You can’t make me choose this, that’s not how this works. I can’t just drop everything for you, not now when we’re this close. Don’t do this to me, please…” his hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing them to make you rethink what you said before doing something you may regret.

“I don’t want to do this, but I have to,” your eyes met the brown irises you used to spend hours looking at and admiring, the spark in them long gone. “I can’t stay here and watch you destroy yourself, Javi. I love you too much to witness that. Please don’t put me through that.”

Walking away from him and heading to the bedroom, you knew nothing else was left to say. You couldn’t save him, your love couldn’t save him either, and you thought maybe backing him into a corner would knock some sense that he’s been missing.

As you entered your bathroom to look at your reflection, you heard the front door open and close again, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’ll be outside for the night, maybe stop by a bar and drown his sorrows before going to work again as if nothing happened. Your eyes turned bloodshot as you cried, your hands covering your face to muffle your sobs as you sank to the tiled bathroom floor with your back to the wall. You brought your knees to your chest, comforting yourself and hoping something would come in the form of a miracle.

Maybe you’ll wait for him a little longer. Maybe you’ll leave your ring on the dresser with a letter, find your way back to the United States, and rebuild your life, forgetting all about Javier Peña. Maybe there was nothing left to give, nothing left to save. Maybe you just didn’t know what you were doing, and you went over your head.

You prayed for whatever God existed to give you the strength to persevere through this troubling time. In that silent prayer, you wished for the man you still loved to come back home to you, for him to want a better life for himself and to end this torment he continued to put himself through.

Slipping into the empty bed like you’ve done so many times before, you tucked yourself in the sheets that still smelled like him, glimpsing at the window to count the rays of moonlight that peeked through the curtains to help you doze off.

You dreamed that in the morning, you’d wake up to strong arms wrapped around your waist, apologies and promises muttered alongside kisses to your temple as he reclaimed you as his, the way he used to do before all of this. You desired to give him what he wanted, be the person he needed to show him better and save him from himself. But that was wishful thinking.

The man you knew, the man you loved, wasn’t here anymore, and there was no way you could bring him back.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Spanish Translation: pendejos - idiots, No estás pensando con claridad - you're not thinking clearly, Te has vuelto loco, Javi - You've gone insane/you’re crazy Javi.

[avastrasposts]

Bona Dea - part 4

Plot: Stumbling through a dark town, general Marcus Acacius encounters the festival of Bona Dea. But what at first seems like just a pleasurable way to spend the night leaves a greater impression on him than he counted on.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

General Marcus Acacius x female reader

Warnings: Explicit smut. No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate if you're a Roman noble lady in 2nd century Tuscany?

Word count: 7.4k

A/N: I'm back with part four of Bona Dea! Part 1, 2 and 3 are linked above. After the events of the last part, Acacius is now on his way to Rome with his domina to start planning for their new life together. I was originally thinking this would be the final part but the chapter got very long so there will be a 5th part too.

A few notes on the Latin. I think most of it is pretty self-explanatory but just in case: Carrisme - dearest or sweetest Letica - a vehicle, a litter used for carrying people Vita mea - my life Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia - Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius - Wherever you are, I will be

Marcus remained true to his word, he was there when you woke an hour later. The wagon had come to a stand still and he was gently caressing your cheek as he roused you from sleep with a soft whisper. 

“Carrisime, wake up. We’ve arrived at the inn, let’s get inside,” his arm was warm on your shoulder as he sat up, his cloak still wrapped around you. “Alba,” he said, his voice a bit louder, “wake up, girl, rouse yourself.” 

He held your hand as you stepped from the carriage into the courtyard of a country inn, and reached out to steady Alba as she stepped down too. 

“Cauponi,” he called, seeing the door open, “send someone to take care of the horses and the ladies’ luggage. I want to get them inside and settled as fast as possible, they’ve had a very harrowing day.” 

The guest master nodded and called over his shoulder to someone on the inside. Marcus kept his arm around you, keeping you steady on your feet, as he gestured to one of his men to help Alba. Grateful for his solid body next to yours, you ventured into the inn. A slave girl bowed low and waved you along, leading you all up the stairs to the guests’ quarters. The room she showed you too was small but comfortable, and you gratefully sank down onto the bed. Even though you’d slept in the carriage, the events of the day were catching up with you and you felt tired to the bone. Alba must’ve felt much the same, because she sat down on the bed next to you, aided by Marcus’ soldier. She gave him a grateful smile as he bowed and retreated. Marcus remained in the room, giving orders to the slave girl while you put your arm around Alba and pulled her close. She leaned her head on your shoulder and let out a deep breath. 

“You’re safe now, puella,” you soothed her quietly, “we’ll get a good night’s rest and then the general will escort us to Rome.” 

“We won’t go back home?” she asked and you shook her head. 

“Lunaris gave orders to pack up and move the household to Rome, remember? I will have to figure out what to do with it all when they arrive. But it will take them some weeks to get to Rome.” 

“Where will we stay when we get there?” she looked up at you with worried eyes and you realised you hadn’t thought of that yet. Marcus had asked you to begin a new life with him in Rome, but what did that mean? You couldn’t move in with an unmarried man, you needed a place to stay until everything had been sorted. You bit your lip as you tried to think of a solution, but Marcus came to your aid, as was becoming his habit. 

“I have a good friend, Titus Cassian Aurelius, I’ve known him almost my whole life and I trust him with everything. He’s married and lives with his wife and two children near my villa on the Palantine, you’ll both stay with him for as long as is needed while you get your affairs sorted.” 

“He won’t mind? I can rent something nearby, I don’t want to impose on him and his family,” you said as Marcus sank down next to you on the bed. 

“It was his idea, the whole thing actually, he’s a very strategic man, my most trusted advisor,” Marcus said and then chuckled quietly. 

“She’s already falling asleep again,” he nodded with a smile at Alba whose eyes had already slipped close again, “Get her to bed and come find me, I’m in the room next door. I’ve ordered them to serve dinner there,” he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your temple. 

Marcus left and you tucked in Alba, lifting her legs onto the bed and covering her with the bedding. She looked peaceful sleeping, and you suddenly felt very tired yourself. The events of the bandit’s attack had been spinning at the back of your mind since you woke up in the carriage, now they filled your head, the choked gasp that escaped Lunaris as the man slit his throat repeating in your ears. You suddenly needed Marcus to hold you, to feel his warm body wrapped around yours, just to make you feel safe. 

You tapped lightly on Marcus’ door and he quickly opened. One look at your eyes misted with tears, and he pulled you over the threshold as he closed the door, pulling you into his chest. 

“Carrisime,” he mumbled into your hair as you buried your face in his soft tunic, his warm hand coming up to cup the back of your head, his arms holding you tight, “hush, vita mea, it’s over, you’re safe now. I’ll always keep you safe, amor.” 

He stroked your back gently, slow soothing movements as your shoulders shook with each sob. All that could be heard was your whimpering, and Marcus’ softly mumbled words of comfort, reassuring you that you were safe, over and over again, until finally your breathing calmed down and your tears subsided. Marcus pulled back a little and gave you a small smile, cupping your jaw to wipe at your tear stained cheeks before he pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss. 

“I think you need some food, it’s been a very troublesome day. Come,” he took your hand and led you over to the table where a small dinner had been laid out. The inn was fairly simple, but Marcus’ room was clearly meant for guests of a higher status because it had the reclining seats next to the low table. With a grateful sigh you sank down on one of them and Marcus poured a cup of wine and handed it to you. 

“Here, drink slowly, and have some food, it will make you feel much better.” 

He reclined on the other seat as you gratefully sipped the wine, it wasn’t very good, but the sharp flavour of the grapes warmed you. Marcus filled a bowl with a simple stew and added some of the meat before he passed it to you. 

“Here, eat, carissime,” he said, his eyes softening as they met yours and you took the bowl, He moved his hand to carefully push a strand of hair behind your ear, “I wish we could’ve been together in some easier way, I hate to see you so upset.” 

“I’ve never felt so helpless before,” you sighed, “even when my father married me to Lunaris. I could always do something about my life, change something to make it more bearable. I had protection as his wife. But to see Lunaris pulled out of the carriage, and then the other man pulled me out, we were at their mercy and there was nothing I could do to protect myself or Alba. It felt like my world shattered when there was no one to help us. I was so helpless.”

Marcus shook his head wistfully, “I regret my plan, I should’ve taken out Lunaris myself, I never wanted to make you feel helpless. You’ve always seemed so strong, so capable, it’s what attracted me to you when we first met. Ordering me, a general, around like you’d done nothing else your whole life.” The last thing he said with a small chuckle and you smiled back at him as you swallowed down some more of the stew. 

His face grew serious again and he sighed, “I forget when I’m with the army, surrounded by soldiers, how vulnerable women’s situation can be. I forbid my soldiers from hurting any women in the cities we conquer, but I wasn’t always a general who could command his own soldiers. I’ve seen first hand how men treat women after the battle is over.”

“Do you ever think of the people who are killed in all the wars?” you asked quietly and Marcus nodded. 

“Yes, often. But when I was young, I never thought about them. To be a soldier and fight excited me, I was stronger than almost anyone, no one could beat me. And when Roman soldiers fell, I grieved the ones I called friends, but they’d had proud deaths, for the glory of Rome. They would be honoured by the gods for their sacrifice.” 

He paused and put some more stew and bread in your bowl, “Eat and drink, carissime, and then you’ll sleep well tonight.” 

You did as he said as Marcus rubbed his large palm over his face and sighed again. 

“But I’m not young any more, and now they stay with me. Both the ones I’ve killed and the ones who die on my orders. I’ve lost count of all the men I’ve sent to their deaths. Even when we win great victories, men always die on both sides. War is brutal and I find I have less stomach for it these days.” 

“And the men you killed today? Will they stay with you?” 

“Maybe, but probably not. I feel no guilt about killing them, they were bandits. Even if I hired them to attack Lunaris, they were criminals. Titus got them from the local jail, they were headed for the arena.” 

Marcus put his bowl down and took your hand, gently pulling you to your feet, “Stay with me tonight, carissime, no one will disturb us.” 

You nodded as he led you to the bed and helped you out of your sandals, removing your jewellery as you undid your hair. His hands were soft as they brushed over your skin, unwrapping you until you stood in front of him in just your stola. With a soft smile he touched his fingertips to your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw and cupping it. 

“I need to pay tribute to Bona Dea for guiding me to you, and giving me the chance of being with you for more than just one night,” his voice was low, the room very quiet except the crackling of the fire. You looked up into his eyes, warm and golden

“I want to spend all my nights with you, Marcus,” you whispered, reaching up to kiss his smiling lips as he wrapped his arms around you and returned the kiss. 

“I hope you want to spend all your days with me too, carissime,” he mumbled against your mouth, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I do,” you replied, tugging him gently onto the bed and pushing back the bedding. 

Climbing into bed, getting under the covers with Marcus instead of falling into it in a frenzy of kisses and arousal, felt pivotal, even if the moment was very domestic, under strange circumstances. When Marcus wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest, you breathed a deep sigh of relief. Never had your husband made you feel this safe and content, so treasured. And despite the tumultuous events of the day, you soon fell into a deep sleep, tucked against Marcus' chest and with his arms around you. 

The next morning you woke, still wrapped in Marcus’s arms. It took you a moment to remember where you were, but at the sight of the strange room, the memories came flooding back. You turned your head to look at Marcus and found him just blinking awake, rubbing a drowsy hand over his eyes. 

“Good morning, dominus,” you smiled at him, pushing back one of the dark curls from his forehead. 

“Good morning, my domina,” he muttered, his voice heavy with sleep as he yawned wide. 

He pulled you close again, guiding your head to his chest, “It’s too early, I haven’t slept this well in many months, let’s steal some time, carissime.” 

You pressed a kiss against his chest and he grumbled low in appreciation as he closed his eyes. 

He didn’t get many minutes of extra sleep though, barely no time seemed to pass and there was a heavy knock on the door. 

“General, it’s septima hora,” a voice called. 

“Thank you, Orbius. Tell the men to prepare to march.” 

With a grumble he pushed himself up and glanced down at you, still curled up against him. 

“One more day, tonight we’ll be in Rome and we can start preparing for our lives together properly.” 

“I can’t wait, Marcus,” you replied, sitting up too. He took your chin between his thumb and finger and pulled you close, his mouth finding yours for a slow kiss. 

“One for the road,” he smiled, “Come, let’s sneak you back to your room.” 

The day in the carriage was long, but you and Alba passed the time by watching the landscape roll by and chat with Marcus who often rode next to the carriage and entertained you both with stories of his travels. With his men nearby, he couldn’t appear to be more than a casual acquaintance of your husband’s who’d just happened to rescue you from the bandits. But his smiles as he looked down at you filled you with warmth, and the mild December day seemed to hold a promise of spring as the arcadian countryside near Rome passed by.  

You’d been to Rome once before as a young woman with your father, while emperor Marcus Aurelius still ruled. But not even the vague images in your memory could prepare you for seeing the grand capital of the empire up close again. With Alba pressed to your side, you both all but hung out of the carriage window, trying to catch a glimpse of the sprawling metropolis as the Aurelian Gate drew near. The structure loomed high over you, letting a steady stream of carriages, horses and pedestrians into Rome through the imposing city wall. Alba’s eyes were wide, the walls from your own small hometown were nothing in comparison to the thick bulwark that served to protect Rome. 

The small force that had escorted you and Alba diverted to barracks at Campus Martius, and Marcus and two officers led the two carriages towards the Palantine and Titus’ villa. The Aurelian Way was wide and let the traffic pass easily as the tall buildings on either side grew more and more grand, the road beginning to snake its way up towards the crest of the hill. Soon the small party turned on to a narrower road and came to a halt in front of a gate. The sentry challenged the driver but snapped a sharp salute when he saw Marcus on horseback. 

“General Acacius, welcome back, I’ll let Cassian Aurelius know that you have arrived and send men to take care of your party.” 

“Thank you, Quintus,” Marcus replied, waving the two carriages through the gate. 

Titus Cassian Aurelius’ villa was grand on a scale you’d never seen before, your own back home was nothing by comparison. You stepped down from the carriage as Marcus swung himself from his horse. 

“My lady, it has been my pleasure to keep you safe on this journey, despite the grievous circumstances I found you in. My condolences again for the loss of your husband. I hope to see you soon again.” 

With that, he bowed low, before turning on his heel and marching with sharp steps away into the house. It stung you a little, the way he had to seem almost indifferent to you while in front of others. It would be many weeks before your husband’s affairs were put in order, to declare you a widow and make it possible for Marcus to properly wed you. Until then he would have to appear to treat you as a fleeting acquaintance in public. Perhaps he could visit Aurelius’ villa regularly, they were old friends after all, and you could see him then. Even if Marcus couldn’t treat you like his wife yet, just seeing him would be enough, at least you’d both be in the same room. 

A slave escorted Alba and you through beautifully decorated rooms and hallways until you reached two interconnected rooms in the guest quarters of the house. 

Every wall was covered by mosaics and paintings, and in alcoves and quads were fresh flowers and works of art, beautiful effigies of the gods. The two rooms assigned to you both, opened up to a walled garden, and somewhere behind the evergreens you could hear tinkling water. 

“Domina Aurelius would like to know that the villa’s bath is yours to use should you wish to refresh yourself after your journey,” the servant slave woman said as she stood by the door, waiting while you and Alba made yourself comfortable in your new lodgings. “There’s an alcove for your maid here, and the latrina is through that door.” 

“Thank you,” you replied, “a bath sounds like a wonderful idea. Could you please show us where they are and arrange for fresh clothes to be brought there?” 

The woman nodded and stepped aside to let you leave the room again. She led you to the villa’s thermae and left you to be cared for by the slave woman there. It was bliss to sink into the warm water and rinse off the dust and grime of the road. You lounged in the sunken pool while the woman worked on Alba, massaging sweet smelling olive oil into her skin and scraping it off. When your turn came, you all but fell asleep under her ministrations. The scraping of the strigil made your skin feel soft and warm and you both yawned wide as you made your way back to your rooms. But you weren’t left alone for long, there was a knock on the door and a dark haired man entered. 

He bowed low and introduced himself as the master of the house. 

“And call me Titus, please,” he said, a warm smile on his open face, “any friend of Marcu’s is a friend of mine.” 

“Thank you for letting us stay here, Titus,” you replied gratefully, “I don’t know what we’d do if it wasn’t for your generosity.” 

“It’s no trouble, the villa is big enough as you can see, and my dear wife was delighted by the idea of having some female company stay with us for a while,” he chuckled lightly, “She has no female relatives and and I have been away for a long time, she’s been running the house and taking care of our rag tag bunch of children. To have you two in the house will lift her spirits immensely.” 

The fast thrumming of bare feet could be heard from the hallway outside the door and Titus’s bright blue eyes sparkled as he turned towards the sound.

“I think you’re about to meet one of my offspring, by the sound of it, Gaius, my oldest son.” 

A boy about the age of eight tumbled through the door, a big grin on his face as his father caught him and swung him up in the air. 

“You’ll wake up the dead with all that noise, Gaius,” Titus laughed, “What’s the rush?”

“Mater said to tell you that dinner will be served any moment and you should bring our guests into the dining hall.” 

“Then we best do as she commands, and not upset the cook by letting his food grow cold,” Titus set Gaius down on the floor and extended his arm to you, “Please, domina, let me escort you, Gaius, show some good manners and escort Alba.” 

Titus' friendly manner and easy laugh made you feel comfortable in his company almost straight away. And the fact that he was Marcus’ most trusted advisor further warmed you to him. You knew he knew about you and Marcus, he was the one who’d fashioned the plan for the ambush after all, and he seemed to have accepted Marcus’ words about you without any hesitation or doubt. You accepted his arm with a smile to match his and let him lead you out into the hallway. As you walked, Titus bent his head to yours and whispered. 

“My wife and children don’t know about you and Marcus, I’ve kept it from them to make the secret easier to contain. But my wife is a very perceptive and clever woman, she might guess your attachment anyway.”

“Marcus said he trusts you with his life, does that extend to your wife?” you asked, wondering silently how you’d keep your eyes from wandering to Marcus as soon as he was near. 

“It does, he’s known her for as long as I have and she is a good friend of his too. In fact, I’ve often wished for him to find a woman to marry to equal her. She is my eternal pillar, I truly do not know how I’d go through life without her by my side,” Titus replied with a soft smile. He glanced over his shoulder, Gaius was chattering away to Alba who was laughing at his excitement about the new horse that had just arrived. 

“I’m looking forward to meeting her, she sounds like a remarkable woman,” you said, “And Marcus is lucky to have such good friends, I really can’t thank you enough for your help.” 

“Marcus and I have known each other since we were boys, he’s saved my life countless times and we’ve been through many campaigns together. He is a great man and I’m proud to call him my friend.” Titus' emotions were clear on his face as he turned a corner and led you through a set of wide double doors into the dining hall, “I have never seen him so affected by a woman before, as he was when he returned to the camp after meeting you. If I can help him find the same happiness I have with my Antonia, I’ll do whatever he needs.” 

Titus gave your arm a gentle squeeze before he held out his hand towards the woman who was walking across the room. 

“Domina Lunaris, please meet my darling wife, Antonia Cassius Aurelius.” 

The tall woman’s dark skin gleamed under the light of the oil lamps as she smiled at you. Her jet black hair matched that of her husband and her son, but while theirs was cut short and neat, her tight curls were piled high on her head and fastened with gold combs. 

“Domina Lunaris, we’re honoured to have you and your cousin as our guests,” she embraced you warmly, taking you off guard with her fondness, “I heard of the attack and how General Acacius came to your rescue, what an ordeal! I’m so glad he was there, and please know that you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need.” 

“Domina Aurelius, we are very grateful for your hospitality, and for General Acacius' aid, we can’t thank you enough.” 

“Domina.” 

The low voice was very familiar by now, and a frill of excitement shot through you as you turned to Marcus who had appeared behind Antonia. He bowed low as Antonia stepped back to give him space to greet you. He was out of his armour and wearing a dark green tunic, foregoing the cumbersome toga. His dark curls looked damp and you guessed he’d been to a thermae too, maybe the one in his own villa before returning here. He looked wonderfully informal, you thought, relaxed, as if he’d left the general at home, or with the soldiers, and come only as Marcus. 

“General,” you replied, curtsied low to him, catching his smile just as you dropped your gaze to the floor, the perfect image of a deferential lady greeting a celebrated Roman officer. “Thank you again for all your aid and for arranging for us to stay here, we’re very grateful.” 

“It has been my pleasure, Domina Lunaris,” he replied, taking your hand and leading you to the table. It was an informal setting, all of you reclining around the same table, even the children were allowed, and you smiled as you watched Gaius bow deeply to Alba as he showed her to her accubitum. 

Titus reclined next to you with Antonia to your other side, Marcus was opposite with Alba next to him. You could feel Marcus’ eyes on you from the moment you reclined on the accubitum, warm and smiling, as the servants brought out the food and wine. It took all you had to not look back at him and smile like a fool, instead you raised your glass in toast as Titus formally greeted Alba and you to their family home. 

“To new friends and new beginnings,” he smiled at you both. You met Marcus’ eyes over the brim of your glass as you sipped the wine, and he winked back at you with a grin. You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud, he was clearly giving no care to letting Antonia see his intentions. Already you could sense her curiosity as she took a platter from a servant and offered you the first bites. 

She said nothing about Marcus’ behaviour throughout the dinner, instead the conversation flowed easily around the things Marcus and her husband had seen during their latest campaign. The two men shared stories that made you all laugh, the children giggling as Titus gave a very accurate impersonation of a grumpy Marcus at the end of a very wet and muddy march. You glanced over at the usually so stern general, and found him laughing along with the children as his old friend poked fun at him. Seeing him surrounded by the people who must mean most to him, warmed your heart, and as he turned his gaze on you and smiled, you returned his affectionate look. 

As dinner wound down, Antonia sent the children to bed, and led you all to a smaller, informal room with comfortable accubita filled with pillows, the floor lined with thick rugs to ward off the cold December night. You sat down on one of the recliners, putting a pillow behind your back, but before you could lay down on your side, Marcus sat down next to you, his hand on the small of your back. 

“I’m tired of pretending,” he mumbled, “When the servants have left, I would like to tell Antonia too.” 

“I don’t think she’ll be very surprised,” you smiled at him, “we are terrible at hiding our secret.” 

Marcus gave a soft laugh and glanced over at Antonia who was speaking to a servant. They left an amphora of wine and cups on a small table, and left, leaving the five of you alone in the room. As she turned to the room and came to sit next to her husband, she raised an eyebrow with a smile as she saw how closely Marcus was sitting to you. 

“Something you wish to tell me, Marcus?” she asked, and he chuckled as Titus laughed. 

“It could not have been more obvious if Cupid had stood behind you shooting arrows,” he grinned at you both. 

You felt Marcus shift next to you, his arm sliding more firmly around your waist, and you looked back at him, not bothering to hide the infatuated smile you knew was spreading across your features. 

“Nothing gets past you, Antonia,” he replied, pulling his gaze from you and smiling at her, “It seems Cupid has indeed done me a great favour, and thanks to the protection of the gods and the wit of your husband, I’ve managed to lure her to Rome to be my wife.” 

Antonia’s smile widened and she slapped her husband’s shoulder, “You cur! I knew something was brewing and you told me nothing!” 

“Don’t blame your husband,” Marcus said, “We do need to be careful and keep our commitment to ourselves until the affairs of Lunaris are settled. But as soon as possible, we’ll make an official announcement and be married.” 

“Oh, Marcus, I’m so happy for you!” Antonia rose to her feet and crossed the room, bending down and placing kisses on both his cheeks before she did the same to you, “I’ve wanted love and happiness for you for so many years, I’m so glad you’ve finally found your match.” 

“Thank you, Antonia,” you said, “Now you understand even more why I’m so very grateful to you and your husband for letting me stay with you until all is settled.” 

“For as long as you wish, dear friend,” Antonia assured you, “We’ll be like sisters, after all, Marcus is my brother in all but name.” 

Titus brought forward the cups after that, raising his glass, “Another toast then, to love this time, and to new families.” 

You all drank to that, and Marcus placed a warm kiss on your cheek as he put his cup down. 

“Amor,” he whispered, “Soon I’ll bring you home, and I vow to be the most loving husband Rome has ever seen, nothing will keep me from your side again.” 

When the party finally broke up late at night, you walked with Marcus to his letica while Alba retreated to your rooms, giving you a few moments alone with him. Out of sight from his household guards, he pulled you close by the entrance to Titus’ villa and kissed you deeply.

“I have business to attend to tomorrow, but I will come for dinner tomorrow night again,” he whispered after a long, lingering kiss. 

“I’m counting the days until we can sleep in the same bed again, until I can be properly yours,” you said, leaning your cheek against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight. 

“Same, carissime,” he replied, “but know that I’m already yours, you need no law to tell you that. I’ve been yours since the night of Bona Dea,” he tilted your head up with his calloused fingers and kissed you again until you both broke apart, breathless. 

“You make me feel like a young man struck dumb by Cupid’s arrows,” he chuckled, “I really should go, my household will wonder why their master returns from a long campaign only to stay out all night again.” 

“Until tomorrow, Marcus,” you smiled, pressing a final kiss to his cheek. 

The next few weeks fell into a routine, during the days Alba and you would help Antonia with the household, visit her friends and be introduced to her circles of Roman life. In the evenings, almost all of them, Marcus would come for dinner and you would be able to steal a few moments with him alone. You would find a secluded corner of the garden if it was not too cold, he’d wrap his cloak around you as you sat on his lap, cocooned in his warmth. Then you’d let him know if there had been any updates on your husband’s affairs, the slow process to declare you a widow and let you inherit his small fortune. Unsurprisingly your father had tried insisting on you returning to your home town, but you had refused to respond to his letters on that topic. 

These quiet moments with Marcus were the best of your whole day. As much as you enjoyed spending time with Alba and Antonia, seeing Marcus’ face as he arrived at the villa and smiled at you, taking his hand in yours and sneaking off, those were the moments that lived in your heart for the hours when he wasn’t around. 

When your time together was up and you had to return to the others, your lips were always swollen from his kisses, and the imprints of his hands had left warm marks all over your body. Like guilty, giggling school children, you’d sneak back into the dining room or the reception room, cheeks heating up as Titus’ teased you both. 

But then finally came the day you’d been waiting for; the messenger arrived with the documents, stamped with the official mark of your hometown, your husband’s estate was now yours, the assets en route to Rome and you, legally a widow. 

You told Marcus as you sat wrapped together under his cloak on one of the garden benches, and he cupped your face between his big hands and kissed you deeply as the cloak slipped off him. When his lips left yours, he leaned his head against your forehead and closed his eyes for a few moments before he pulled back and looked at you. 

“Carrisime, I never formally asked you to be my wife, even though you know that I wish for nothing else. But now I can finally honour traditions and give you my ring.” 

From the pouch on his belt he took a small package and carefully unwrapped it. The polished gold glimmered in the light as he held it out to you. 

“My hand is joined with yours,” he said, as you took the ring and saw the two hands that embellished the ring, “If you’ll have me.” The last thing he said with a mischievous tone and you looked up at him with a smile, he knew there was no doubt in you, you were his as much as he was yours. Without a word you held out the ring to him to put on your finger, the fourth of your left hand, where the vein that ran to your heart began. 

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” you whispered as he slipped it on and he brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your fingers. 

“Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius”. 

The wedding vows spoken between you in the quiet garden would need to be repeated in front of a priest, with all the ceremony required to legally make you his wife. But as far as Marcus was concerned, he was now your husband. And in the eyes of Rome, the ring on your finger now marked you as his, and he would fight anyone who tried to say otherwise. His lips left your hand and moved to your lips as he pulled the cloak around you both again, wrapping it and his arms around you as he deepened the kiss. The ring felt light on your finger, the cool metal a constant reminder that you had left behind your old life, and could now walk through Rome as Marcus Acacius betrothed. 

You were very late for dinner that evening, but the news of your formal status as widow and the new ring on your finger, stole all the attention away from any concerns of cold food and irritated cooks. 

The very next day Marcus began to plan for the ceremony and feast that would make you his wife. Tradition held that a widow should wait ten months before marrying again, but since no one here knew you or Lunaris, it was decided that tradition could be ignored Your father was also left out of the planning, he’d controlled the choice of your first husband, you were determined he would have nothing to do with your second marriage. 

“It will be just you and me and Titus’ family,” Marcus promised, “We’ll keep the ceremonies so that we don’t anger the gods, but to hell with anyone else.” He’d brought you the knot of Hercules for your wedding day clothes and smiled as you traced your fingers over the decorations in the belt. 

“I think I may have untied the knot a bit too early,” he chuckled, coming up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“I remember my first wedding night,” you said, and Marcus tightened his arms around your waist at the grim tone of your voice, “I was scared, I’d been told it would hurt, and I was trembling when I lay in bed with him. He untied the knot and told me to take off my tunic and then he just tried to push himself in. I cried and he told me that it proved that I was a virgin.” 

“He was a fool,” Marcus said, his tone soothing as he pulled you closer to his chest, his warm body and presence calming you and reminding you that your next wedding night would be very different, “A groom should have experience of the other sex so that he can show his wife how to enjoy married life, it should be a pleasure for both husband and wife.” 

“Oh Lunaris wanted it to be a pleasure alright, he would lecture me when he couldn’t get hard, tell me it was my fault. But not once did he think to make me feel pleasure too. I doubt he’d be able to though, that man could barely find the right hole to stick his cock in.” 

Marcus chuckled softly behind you, his hand closing around yours, still holding the Hercules’ knot belt. 

“Don’t think about him, and don’t think about your first wedding day anymore. This one will only be about us, I want us to have happy memories, and I want you to think about how many times I will make you cry my name in pleasure when I finally get to untie this belt and make you my wife.” 

His words filled you with heat, and you leaned your head back against his shoulder as you reached up and cupped his cheek. 

“Can we find a secluded spot in this villa for just a few minutes?” you mumbled, pressing your lips to the warm skin of his neck. 

“Carissime,” he growled, his voice suddenly low and hungry as his hands tightened on your hips, “you have no idea what a hold you have on me.” 

You smiled against his throat and let your tongue taste the pebbled skin, tasting the salt and musk of him as he took a deep breath, his fingers digging into your flesh. 

“Show me,” you muttered quietly, grazing your teeth over his neck, moving up as far as you could, nipping at the thin skin under his ear. Marcus was gritting his teeth, you could feel it under your lips as you continued to press wet kisses over his throat, his jaw, and you inhaled his warm scent. 

He suddenly pulled away from you, taking a few long strides to the door of the room, closing it firmly, and turning the lock. 

“Here,” he said, his voice low and desirous, coming back to you and pulling you close again, “Here will do if we’re quiet and quick.” 

You nodded and shoved aside the white tunic and belt on the table just as Marcus took hold of your waist and pressed himself against your back. 

“How do you want me?” he murmured, his mouth now at your throat, “from behind like the first night, or up on this table like when I showed that fool Lunaris how I make you scream my name?” Marcus’ control was slipping, he could feel his member rapidly growing hard as he grinded against your soft body, his hands pulling you closer as he marked your throat with his teeth. His mind was buzzing, blood flowing in only one direction and it was almost painful how quickly his cock filled. He groaned into your neck again, rutting against your ass like a dog in heat. It had been over a month since he last had you to himself and now he wanted nothing more than to sink himself into your cunt and feel that addictive heat again. 

You couldn’t respond, just moan as his hands began to slide under your stola, his mouth hot against your skin. His fingers wasted no time in pushing aside your undergarments, sliding into your wet folds, growling against your neck at finding you so ready for him. 

“Marcus…” you pleaded, arching your back and urging him to push deeper in as he curled his fingers and began stroking your insides. He could feel you dripping over him and his cock twitched, pressed up against your soft curves. 

“I think you’re ready for me,” he panted, driving his fingers deeper in as you moaned a little bit louder. He swiftly covered your mouth with his other hand, “Quiet, carissime, quiet, my greedy domina,” he chuckled into your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. His fingers slipped out of your wet cunt and you gasped under his palm in anticipation as you felt him reach for his cock. 

“Lean forward for me,” he mumbled, gently pushing you over the table. The cool air of the room chilled your skin as he lifted your stola over your hips, but the warmth of his hands as he kneaded the flesh of your behind shot new heat through you. Soon you felt the weight of him over your back as he leaned forward and pressed kisses to your shoulders, his hand guiding his cock through your folds, your arousal spreading over him as he groaned above you. 

When he breached your tight opening, you bit your lip to stop yourself from crying out his name, and Marcus hissed, cursing low under his breath. His fingers dug into your hips as he pushed in, rocking his hips back and forth to slide himself deeper into your tight cunt. He was growling, a low rumble in his chest, and you felt him pull you back onto his cock, filling you all the way up as he bottomed out. His fingers moved between your legs and found the swollen pearl at the apex, circling his thumb around it. Your response made him press himself firmer against your backside, feeling you contract around him as you moaned under his hand. Choking back a groan he increased the pace, driving deep with each thrust, your grip on his cock was hurrying him towards his own finish and he suddenly moved his hand from your mouth to your waist. 

“Domina…” he panted against you as he pulled you up, making you arch your back against his chest, “I can’t hold on much longer, let me feel you come with me.” 

His fingers were matching the fast rhythm of his hips and the new angle hit a new spot inside you, making you squeeze your eyes shut as your body felt like it was about to combust. 

You could only groan in response, reaching back and tugging at the curls at his neck, pulling his mouth yours to stifle your cries. Your legs seemed to lose all control as you came, Marcus' arm holding you up as he continued to caress your clit and drive his cock up into your spasming cunt. He was groaning into your mouth, his hips erratic as he felt his cock release deep into you, thrusting hard, pushing in as he lost all other thoughts, only your mouth against his and the wet, tight heat of your cunt filled his mind. 

You seemed to come back to your senses faster than Marcus, your legs finding their strength again even though they felt unsteady. Marcus still had a firm grip on your body, his hand slipped from your wet folds to hold onto your hip. He rested his head against your shoulder, taking deep breaths as he drove his softening cock in and out of your cunt a few more times to milk it all out. With a long, shuddering exhale he finally stilled his movements and released his tight grip. 

“Are you still with me, old man?” you teased him lightly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Hush, domina,” he chuckled, “don’t mock your ageing soon-to-be husband, you will need to take care of me when I can’t fuck you like this anymore.” 

You giggled as he swatted your behind and kissed him again. He gave a satisfied grumble as he pulled you tight against him. 

“We should probably clean up and be seen in public soon,” you said, “before we raise even more suspicions.” You could feel him dripping out of you as his soft cock slipped out, and he nodded against your back. 

“I can’t wait to have you in my own villa, no one else around, send away the servants, lock the doors, and then we can do this all day,” he said, “I’m making good on my promise from when we first met, when I’m your husband I’m keeping you in my bed, day and night,” he pulled down your stola and smoothed it out, squeezing your behind at the same time, “I do believe you called me your magnus concubinus, I have every intention of living up to that title. 

There was a sudden knock on the door, just as you pulled him in to kiss the wicked smile he’d given you, and you had to end it far too soon. 

“Only a few more days,” you said, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek instead, before you went to answer the door.

Tagging some lovely people who showered the first three parts with love: @gothcsz @missladym1981 @txlady37 @timelordfreya @bluesweaters15

@indiegirlunited @jessthebaker @likeficinthewnd @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @inept-the-magnificent

@angiewatson @wintersquirrel @sheepdogchick3 @asobeeee @harriedandharassed @cozylittlepigeon

@i-own-loki @pedrit0-pascalit0

[fettuccin-e]

Angel Incarnate

Kinktober Day 7: Soft and Slow

Tags: Javier Peña x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv, slight breeding kink, really really light angst, domesticity, javi is finally happy guys okay (w/c: 1K)

A/N: Alright so this is so fluffy it hardly even feels like a kinktober prompt but y'know what javi has his dick out so it counts okay. anyway i had a really fun time writing this because i love it when sad characters are happy it brings me insurmountable joy (For the month I've been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)

Everything around him has always been so violent. His world has always been bloody and bruised and chaotic, and Javier had always supposed that it was just meant to be that way.

He didn’t deserve anything better than the angry pain of Bogatá. He’d hurt too many people, ripped apart too many lives to be redeemed, to deserve any kind of sweetness. His life boiled down to blood and tears, the endless race against the narcos too much to take anything slow. The only sex he had was rough and violent, just like his life, just like his soul.

Getting back to Laredo, to his father’s ranch, had been a kind of culture shock that he didn’t think he could experience anymore. The lack of gunfire, the lack of violence, day in and day out, had him reeling.

He’d tried burying himself in the work, fixing up his childhood home and tending to the cattle and the horses, hardly venturing into town at all. The people who knew Javi, the young man who left Laredo with a bride at the altar for a life as an agent, did not need to know Javier, the broken, hollow, shell of a man. He didn’t need their pity, their looks of confusion mixed with sympathy.

He regrets those first few months now, the ones that he spent hiding from the rest of the world. After all, the first time he went out into town, went into the only little library for miles, he found you.

And you, God, you’re so different. So kind and patient, even when he’s rough with you, even when he tries to push you away. It’s a kind of slow, soft sweetness that sings through his bones, that makes him feel human again. 

You’re slow with him, gentle in a way that he hasn’t been treated in years. He feels precious here, with you, between the soft sheets of your shared bed, as you roll your hips on top of him, taking him slow and so deep inside of you.

He wants to grip your hips so hard they bruise, roll you over and slam into you until you’re sobbing and writhing from the pleasure of it. He wants to press your face into the pillows and fuck you hard into the mattress. 

But he holds back, just like you want him to. Let yourself just feel, Javi, you had told him one day, after he’d taken control from you, just like he wants to right now. We don’t have to rush.

So he doesn’t. He brushes his hands along your waist, relishing in your soft skin as  you drop yourself down on his cock, over and over again. You gasp as he stretches you apart.

“That’s it, baby, so beautiful for me,” Javier murmurs. “That feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod, whining as he guides you down to grind deep into your g-spot. “It’s so- it’s so good, Javi. You feel so big like this.”

Javier groans as you clench around him, tight and wet and fucking perfect. The soft morning light filters through the curtains you put up last week, illuminating your skin and enshrining you like an angel. You are an angel, he thinks, as close to heaven as he’ll ever get.

He leans up, searching for a kiss that you gladly grant him. He loves kissing you, licking into your mouth and tasting you as you moan for him.

You curl your hands into his hair, grown longer with his time away from the DEA. The one time he’d asked you about cutting it, you’d protested so hard he’d laughed for thirty minutes straight. He’d started letting it grow after that.

You lean back up, undulating your hips in a way that has him groaning, pulling on your hips to help you along.

“You want to cum, Javi?” you murmur, pulling him in so fucking deep his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Por favor, nena, si,” he gasps, and God, you’re the only one that can make him beg like this. To make him desperate like this.

“Come on, honey, fill me up,” you coo, and Javi is lost to it. His hips jerk up of their own accord, pumping into you involuntarily with his orgasm. He spills into you without the fear of knocking you up, knowing that there’s no violence, no uncertainty with you. A small, not-so-secret part of him actually hopes it’ll take.

You whine above him, pushing your hips down on him over and over, frantic for your climax. He reaches a hand between you both and rubs slow, hard circles into your clit, and fuck, the way you cum will always steal the breath from his lungs. Your eyes clench shut, your mouth exhaling a beautiful, melodic little moan as you rock yourself on his cock, working yourself through it.

“That’s it, beautiful, so fucking good to me, so pretty for me,” he husks, and you curl yourself over him, meeting his lips in a sticky-wet kiss that has you both desperate for more. He palms his hands over your back, pulling you down to rest on top of him as you both breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

You both don’t move for a long time, content to bask in each other’s warmth as the morning sun rises, bringing another day to spend together. It’s a kind of peace, a kind of contentment, he’d thought was a pipe dream for so, so long.

“How did I ever find you?” He murmurs into the quiet of the room. You tilt your head up from where it rests on his chest to smile softly at him. He feels like he could drown in your gaze.

“I think we were always meant to find each other,” you whisper, and like always, he knows you’re right.

[michanvalentine]

I've now decided to write down my progress in my adventure as Karlach as I go, so I can bore you all to dea— ahem, I mean, so I don’t miss any noteworthy moments! Basically, I'll be documenting all the dumb things I do or think while playing! xD

So, the big moment has finally arrived. The little innocent one—Astarion—tried to take a nibble out of big mama K in her sleep. She took it well, lol. At worst, the vampire spawn would’ve ended up roasted, after all.

Here, I have to highlight something: even though Karlach can't feed Astarion, he still gives approval points just for kindness, and I’m not just talking about trusting him (which does grant approval, of course). The dialogue option I chose was, "I'd love to help you, Astarion, but unfortunately, my body won’t allow it." This means that, for Astarion, kindness and understanding matter more than the blood itself—and we're talking about a vampire who's never really been able to feed properly! Then, of course, he sulked off to go hunting in the woods, all mopey and pouty. Sorry, love, we’ll smash some goblins on the road later so you can have breakfast!

Naturally, the shameless flirting has begun, so I gifted him the Necromancy of Thay, and we rudely interrupted the two lovebirds going at it—much to my little gremlin’s delight. By the way, this is the first time I’ve managed not to kill that sweet couple in the middle of their... passionate moment, because Karlach just burst out laughing like a true barbarian, and the two stormed off, all indignant! xD

And for the record, I absolutely love when the game, as a barbarian, gives me the option to just smash things instead of having to think or talk my way through! I think I might be a bit of a barbarian myself.

Obviously, Gale is munching on boots, armor, necklaces—basically anything I can find. The boy—well, the hot old wizard in my case—is well-fed and happy. His approval is the highest of all, tied with Astarion (closely followed by Wyll and Shadowheart, while Lae'zel absolutely hates me, sob).

We talked about Mystra and shared a sensual moment in the Weave, which, in Karlach’s mind, ended with the two of them having dinner together. The thing that really got to me—and damn, I almost shed a tear—was Karlach’s specific dialogue option during the spell, where she could think of her mom and dad dancing in the kitchen as her moment of absolute peace. It’s such a beautiful image. I adore Karlach—her simplicity, her sweetness. I’m crying. I want to hug her (and horribly burn myself in the process)!

We met Gandrel and we also paid Auntie Ethel a little visit, and she was so happy to see us. So happy, in fact, that she threatened to rip out our spines and drink our bone marrow. Lovely. So, to save Myrina, we ventured into the depths of the hag’s lair, making noises somewhere between groans, grunts, and unsettling whimpers with every step. Guys, we’re a group of fearless heroes—we’re just going down some stairs, not climbing Mount Everest in a blizzard! For fuck’s sake! I can understand the wizard and the escort, but the rest of you? Wyll, Lae'zel, Shadowheart? You too, Karlach?! Shame!

Naturally, while traveling, we had some cheerful chit-chat about super lighthearted topics, like, you know, cults of dark deities, Shar-worshipping clerics with amnesia and excruciating pain for reasons unknown, or vampire lords enslaving elves and other folks for their own little torture hobbies. Karlach has become the group’s confidante.

Of course, Wyll just had to bring up Astarion’s rat-based diet, lol, to which Astarion very calmly responded with mild death threats. Then Shadowheart asked Astarion who he’d prefer to drink from, and, once again, our vampire made it clear that Wyll is his top choice because he’s sweet and virtuous.

And this is where I really want to emphasize that, in my opinion, Astarion has such a deeply complicated love-hate relationship with the idea of a hero.

All in all, I’d say we’re a perfectly dysfunctional yet well-bonded group of misfits with only the entire world’s salvation on our shoulders. No big deal, right?

I’ll wrap this up with the screenshot of the day—hands down, the best one!

We’re there talking to Fezzerk about Barcus, and big mama K is rightfully pissed, Wyll is anxiously watching the poor gnome hanging from the windmill blades, and Astarion…?

What is that face?

Astarion: Now kill him, now kill him! Shh, be quiet, Astarion—act like nothing’s happening and don’t let on that you can’t wait for it to happen. Come on, Great Furnace, tear him to pieces. I'll just stay here, thoroughly enjoying his screams and watching his limbs burn.

[eldritch-spouse]

"Thank you for being such a generous host Hudsyn, it's good to see you again. I was missing your company. Where did you get this gorgeous cup set from? I have to get myself one, you have very good tastes. And speaking of tastes I'm curious, what type of drink is this? I've never seen anything shimmer like that before and can't say I recognize the aroma either."

(He seems to snap out of the fantasizing daze, seeming immensely pleased with himself.)

" I acquired them just for the occasion, dear mentee. You have yourself a fair pair of eyes for noticing. "

(The demonoid gestures over to your cup, inviting you to take a closer look.)

" Notice the feathers on it? A nice touch, certainly. Fine for the occasion. Oh, and the eye on that spoon- "

(He cackles, looking at the thing as if it were some hilarious, cleverly worked-out joke.)

" Perfect. "

(As his fit dies down, Hudd regards you with a twinkle in his gaze. Tickled pink by the observation.)

" That's because you've never had it before. "

(There's a smug lilt to his tone.)

" Doesn't it look beautiful? There's few ingredients that can make such a mesmerizing swirl of hues. Do have a taste, it'll be the rush of your life, my dea- " (Hudsyn coughs.)

" This last venture of mine has gifted me much in terms of new discoveries. What you see is a delicacy of times long forgotten, there, in the palms of your hands once already, can you believe it?! "

(He looks moments away from kicking his legs in the air like an excited pubescent girl.)

[laughingmaidenarising]

A Confession; an essay on unveiling

I hope that a very specific anon will read this.

Please bear with me as I confess. When I first began this account my goal was to connect with other filianists/deanists/etc. I truly am a believer in Dea. However, one of the great pains that I struggle with is compulsive lying. When I am encountered with an opportunity to formulate a lie, no matter how small, often I do so, even when it could cause hurt to my relationships. Recently I have been working with a therapist to cease my lying and have made great improvements. However, when it comes to the digital world the temptation to spit out lies left and right comes so easy and natural to me that I cannot help but do so. To be completely honest with my followers, I was not raised filianist. My family ranges from hard atheists, to agnostics, to christians, to dabblers in witchcraft and spirituality. And so to be completely honest, I am unsure why I decided to come onto this platform and lie to all of you. I apologize profusely, and am determined to change. By the Grace of the Goddess Almighty I will quit lying and be honest. I am not using my compulsive lying as an excuse, only as a reason for why this has happened. I do understand if I lose some or all my followers, and I will accept this humbly. I apologize to any in this community that I have hurt, or offended, and wish to let everyone know that in my heart I do love Dea. My intentions were never to lie.

My plans are to continue using this account as a filianic space; I will delete all of my posts in which I have spoken lies. I understand also that it might be hard to believe anything I say now, but I am being truthful when I say that I won’t lie anymore on this page from hereafter.

The only thing I venture to ask is that you could all try to be respectful in your replies.

xx, Iridessa

[viktorviolettaenterprises]

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

FBI!!!!! OPEN UP!!!!!!!

DOWNLOAD (Weapons Included Inside Set)

2 Years Ago, My Two Good Friends. a South Korean @bedisfull And Japanese MUSAE (@effiethejay) Making A Joint Venture on Patreon. And Creating FBI uniforms that I found are Interesting & in That Time and Inspiring me to do the Same. However Due EA New TOU Towards Paywalled Creators back in 2022. they must Cut Their Venture on Patreon Short and Decide to move To TSR (TheSimsResource) And this Stuffs Are Serves as Tribute To Them And Serve Upgrade to Their Works.

Fun Facts:

The FBI do not usually handle offenses related to narcotics or the like, it is usually instead the job of the DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration). They also do not dispatch any kind of armed forces in the event of bank robberies or armed assaults, it is often the job of the local police or SWAT. Real-life cases warranting FBI intervention usually have to be an end-result of a lengthy investigation (as described verbatim in the full name of the organization), and an assault randomly happening out of the blue does not present a chance to "investigate" (with brute force) at all.

FBI-armed divisions however, will co-operate with on-site police forces in apprehending assailants during joint operations, though again these activities do not normally extend to common bank robberies or art gallery incursions so the presence of FBI personnel in most heists remains odd.

Thank you For @bdangkingfish For Suggesting A Silenced Pistol For My Future Works, Such A Briliant Idea if you Asked me

Thank you:

@exzentra-reblog , @cctreasuretrove @emilyccfinds @sssvitlanz

[sagevalleymusings]

Kaos and the Fall of Media Literacy

In my junior year of high school English, my English teacher gave us two poems side-by-side to analyze. He said specifically that the poems were challenging to analyze and had a deeper hidden meaning that we might not get right away. The poems were “Douglass” and “We Wear the Mask” by Paul Lawrence Dunbar.

I still remember this many years later, because I sat up with my brother and my mom for hours on end trying to figure out what the deeper meaning was, since “racism” was the obvious interpretation, so that couldn’t be what my teacher meant by a deeper hidden meaning. I looked up the biography of Frederick Douglass, the famous abolitionist. I looked up the biography of Paul Laurence Dunbar, a turn of the century African American poet one generation removed from slavery. I analyzed every single word and beat. My handouts were black with scrawled ink on every available surface as I tried to puzzle out what other than racism this poem could possibly be about.

The deeper hidden meaning was racism. I wasn’t supposed to have instantly known that Douglass was a reference to the famous abolitionist. I wasn’t supposed to have looked up the author, realized he was a Black American with parents that had been enslaved, and read the poem through his eyes. I was supposed to have looked at it, as a white teenager in suburban Ohio more than a hundred years after the ratification of the thirteenth amendment, and assumed that “the mask” was a more generalize-able social face than racial code switching.

“We Wear the Mask” taught me something very important about media literacy. It taught me that most people are terrible at it.

Most teenagers are terrible at everything in fairness. But the fact of the matter is that when our English teacher prompted the class for analysis, there was a pregnant silence before I timidly ventured that “Douglass” was obviously a reference to the famous abolitionist Frederick Douglass. I didn’t say much more than that, though, because I felt like I had missed the mark. I couldn’t figure out the deeper hidden meaning.

I was the only one who’d made the Douglass connection. And if you don’t know that, if you don’t know when Dunbar is writing, it could be easy to miss that this is transparently about race.

Sometimes, in order to understand a piece of media, you have to have a little bit of background knowledge. Knowing these things can lend to a deeper understanding of the true intent of the media. Now that people know that both Wachowskis are transgender, it is transparently obvious that The Matrix is a trans allegory. It’s something that was always true, and people have been telling us it was true for a long time. But knowing the context makes it that more clear that it wasn’t even meant to be a hidden meaning. That was the open interpretation, and we just needed to know the context to know that.

Kaos’ premise is a modern-day Ancient Greek myth, complete with the Olympian pantheon, famous names like Minos and Orpheus, and with locations like Troy, Crete, and Athens. In order to truly understand what the story of Kaos is about, one would have to know a great deal about Greek mythology, so that you could see where the stories are remaining faithful and where they are deviating.

Or at least, that’s how it should be. Instead, the entire show is heavily narrated over, telling you exactly where they remain faithful and where they deviate. Part of the reason why seems to be that they’re not especially faithful to the original source material. The Tacita, for example, draw their name from Dea Tacita, a Roman god of the dead. The Greek interpretation of this seems to be a nymph named Larunda, but in either case, Tacita is not the name of an adherent of Hera.

So even knowing a great deal about Greek mythology, which I cannot claim to, this show could still be meandering and confusing. They change perspective repeatedly through the course of the show, weaving back and forth in time and location to spin out a complex tale with some familiar faces. And the tactic that Kaos decided to take in order to simplify this complexity is a narrator.

Narrators can be useful. But they can also be the bandaid of poor directing. One of the most repeated rules of any kind of storytelling is “show don’t tell” and a narrator is diametrically opposed to the concept of “show don’t tell.” Their entire purpose in a story is to ‘tell’ the audience complex or historical concepts that would be difficult to explain through subtler means.

In moderation that’s extremely useful. If your entire show is narration, that’s a bad sign.

And the worst part is that I appear to be in the minority on this. I’m reading a review on IMDB that says that this show doesn’t “spoon feed” the audience, and actually I would agree. It feels less like spoon-feeding and more like the writers parked a backhoe named Prometheus right on top of my jaw and are burying me alive in irrelevant world-building.

I see a lot of people calling the editing sharp, calling it fast-paced, maybe saying that the first couple episodes are a little slow but things change so quickly that you’re never bored… but the thing is, the first couple episodes are a little slow because someone is explaining the plot to you in painstaking detail the whole time. “Remember her, she’ll be important later” makes me want to claw my own eyes out.

One example I can think of which makes this even more noticeable by being an obvious attempt at subtlety is the “mark” on Orpheus’ hand. In this version of events, Prometheus and Charon were lovers long ago, and Prometheus, who is already plotting the fall of Zeus, has to kill Charon for some reason (I guess so that he winds up in the Underworld in a prominent position? Whatever. A lot of the plot is shockingly irrelevant to the plot.). And before Prometheus kills Charon, he makes Charon promise that one day, there will be someone Charon needs to protect and that “you’ll know him by the mark.” Fast forward to Orpheus who is trying to get into the Underworld. One of the Fates, Lachy, stabs his hand to get him to fess up to complicated plot things (again, honestly not that important) and then some time later (only a few scenes in this sequence, but spread out because of the way the story keeps jumping around) we are shown the bandaged hand as a reminder that Orpheus was stabbed, and then we are shown in the Underworld that Orpheus takes the bandage off and the wound has healed into an X scar. Okay, we’ve been shown, we’ve been reminded, we know that this is the “mark” that Charon is looking for, and we are expecting the payoff to be Charon noticing this mark at some point, we just don’t know how yet.

So we get to the expected scene, and we see Orpheus wrestling with… some guy, honestly I don’t remember or care. And he’s flailing his arm in an obvious ‘hey notice my mark’ way and you’re like, okay this is it. So far, an easy, satisfying plot point with a clear payoff that the audience can follow. Up to this point I don’t have a complaint with how the story is playing out.

But then. Not only are we shown this flailing again at a different angle, but the whole scene slows down as Charon fails to notice once, twice, finally realizes. And then a flashback happens about how he’s looking for a mark. And then Charon asks explicitly where the mark came from and if you hadn’t put two and two together the first time, the answer is “Fate” which Orpheus says not once but twice. And then Charon literally out loud says “This guy? Seriously?” And then we see a message scratched into the sand by an eagle which is literally signed by Prometheus (okay, it just says P but come on it’s literally signed) and then we cut away to Prometheus smiling down at Charon so that you know he absolutely did write that, just to hammer home… Seven. Separate. Times… that this is definitely the important guy and that’s definitely the mark.

That’s bad directing and worse editing. The idea that there’s a mark and that this comes to pass thousands of years later, that Prometheus is doing what he can at a distance and is watching events unfold, all that works as storytelling. It’s an interesting twist of narrative that the way Orpheus was supposed to have gone to the Underworld was the complicated way that led to him being stabbed, so that Charon would know to support him. It ties Orpheus’ story into the broader plot against Zeus in a satisfying way. But they hammer home the points of their story over and over again, a shocking achievement for a story which actually does have a pretty breakneck pace.

The watch is another one. Zeus pauses to say that his watch from Hercules is ‘lucky’ and we slow down to watch it hit the table. We see Zeus take the new watch off but we don’t see him put the new watch back on which is enough to clue the viewer in that it’s important that he didn’t put it back on. Dionysis sees the watch, puts it on, so far I don’t really have any complaints. We know this is going to come back, we just don’t know how yet.

This gets lampshaded to absurdity, however, when we see Zeus quizzing and murdering all his staff over this watch, Hera calling Poseidon who calls Dionysis, we spend so long belaboring the point that Zeus is very upset over this missing watch and then we are told again that it’s Hercules’ lucky watch. Every single story beat is told to us at least twice if not three or four or seven times just to make sure we’re following along exactly.

If I actually sit with it, I like the writing. The watch being missing and then traded to the Fates so that Dionysis couldn’t give it back is an interesting way to treat that thread. There’s some changes to the story that lead to interesting and different outcomes. For example, Orpheus and Eurydice’s relationship. In this version, Orpheus is so in love, so obsessed, that Eurydice has started to pull away. It feels too much. She feels like she isn’t as in love as Orpheus is and that disconnect leads her to feel less and less connected in their relationship as the guilt eats what feelings for him she did have. Cassandra calls her out on this, and we think that we understand that Cassandra is prophesying a breakup, which would be a sharp change from the original story. But turns out the “leaving him today” meant dying (which, we didn’t need Cassandra to be literally standing there explaining that as she’s bleeding out on the road, but whatever. Directing problems). That’s an interesting and new way to get Riddy into the Underworld.

Orpheus might be able to sense the pulling away and is clinging on even more tightly. The song he sings at the concert about sucking up her every breath is peak toxic co-dependence. I don’t like Orpheus for her. So it isn’t really a shock when it turns out that he stole her coin for passage into the Underworld, which winds up keeping her in the Underworld long enough for him to rescue her, a thing which otherwise in this version of the Underworld would not have been true.

That’s just one change that winds up having interesting implications for the story they’ve written. There’s plenty of others. The setting is a good one – I like Kaos.

But the directing and editing make this story feel force-fed for most of the show. It gets a little better as it goes on and we run out of things we need to catch the audience up on. But as late as the last episode of the season, we have a voice over saying “a line appears” while we watch a line appearing just you know for sure that this one this time is the line they’re really talking about.

But at the end of the day, I’m not sure I can even blame them. I haven’t looked into it too much, but I do wonder how a pilot of this show would have tested with audiences, if people who didn’t know anything about Greek mythology found the storyline confusing and meandering, if they came away frustrated rather than intrigued. Maybe the narrator was a late addition, to fix editing problems that led to an unwatchable show. But if that’s the case, then it absolutely is the bandaid I mentioned at the beginning, and that’s not a good reason to have a narrator. I’ve written about this topic before, but I think pop media and the decline of media literacy education have been feeding into each other. Creatives make simple, easy to follow stories because audiences haven’t been trained on media literacy and find it frustrating in ways that an older audience would not have, audiences become used to simple, easy to follow stories and balk at anything else, rinse repeat until you get a show whose premiere episode is 40% narration being called “not spoon fed.”

I want to come back to “We Wear the Mask.” When I was in junior year of high school, analyzing this poem and struggling with my mom and my brother to figure out the meaning, there was no Wikipedia. There was no SparkNotes. I had a full set of encyclopedias from the 60s and dial-up internet. Googling “We Wear the Mask” now gets you an immediate and in-depth explanation of the meaning. But it’s been my experience that the kinds of people who do Google the answers rarely actually read those answers. And most people don’t bother. And that’s assuming that Google doesn’t just lie to you, which it’s now doing with increasing frequency. The internet has any answer to any question we could think to ask at the tips of our fingers and it’s increased media literacy not one iota.

[elkieselkiewrites]

Find the Word Tag Game

@ace-malarky tagged me to find the words bold, wait, crack, and settle

I'm not going to lie, some of these were a struggle. I had to dip into a WIP I'm not even currently working on to get the first one!

BOLD (Nightjar WIP)

"She has been signing for six summers now, she was the one who taught us." "Six summers," He mused. "She must have been very young then." Nightjar nodded. "She was five." This gave the King pause. "She is eleven summers?" Losing her patience, Dea snapped her fingers in front of her brother's face. "Yes, eleven summers. In fact, brother, you know exactly how old she is since you were there at her conception." The enormity of that statement hung heavily between them all for a moment. "That is a bold claim, sister." He said weakly, eyes flitting between Dea and Pipit. "She's not mine. She can't be."

WAIT (Postmaster WIP; Chapter 20)

"My dear Baroness!" The Margrave's wife said, a genuine smile lighting up her angular face. "Look at you! I had no idea congratulations were in order!" Renia allowed Lady Birita to take her hands in her own, pressing a kiss to either side of her cheek. "We were away travelling when we discovered the news, so we decided to wait before an announcement was made formally." Bolek said, diplomatically, and Renia's answering smile was small but grateful.

CRACK (Postmaster WIP; Chapter 5)

Knowing full well she had no right to complain, Ida remained quiet, but the ache of exhaustion had begun to set in and the jolting of the cart did little in the way of lulling her to sleep. Eventually, with a groan and a few cracking pops of her spine, Ida gave up all pretense of sleep and instead looked out into the gathering gloam.

SETTLE (Postmaster WIP; Chapter 15)

They walked in silence for a little longer before Wren spoke up once more. "They used to call these islands Gyalachjar, islands of the moon. My people believed sailing out to them was akin to sailing into the afterlife. The coastline the Imperials call the Whiting Strand to us was simply The Mists, and to venture there was to invite death." "But this is Outer Goria, how could they settle a place they thought was death itself?" Ida said. "Well, it was literally death for many, as we found out, because of the creatures and treacherous rocks, but once Captain Hubert Gorka finally landed here he found there to be nothing more mystical about the islands than there had been at home."

I won't tag anyone in particular, but if you see this and would like to play along, your words are safe, deep, open, and skip.

[deaventures]

Construction Management of Commercial Building

Construction management of commercial building of a 16,000 sq ft facility on 1.73 acres, including 3,000 sq ft office space build out, and over 42 tons of HVAC. Office space included 2 restrooms with 7 total stalls, kitchen, 2 offices, lobby, and storeroom. 

[rainbows-fanfics]

Help Unwanted (Chapter 10)

Summary: After losing the Pirate, Deacon is unwillingly paired with a partner to help with his job. The only problem is - they can't stand each other, and time is dwindling until he can re-capture all his lost prisoners.

Human AU of the Armada from Pirate101.

Pairings: Deacon/Queen!Deacon, Deacon/OC

--

Their ship sailed until they reached the village of Santo Pollo. From a distance, the crew spotted smoke rising from the church. There was no doubt that the damage was caused by an act of arson, unequivocally by the marauders that now terrorized the land. As they went about docking, Dea felt a pang of pity as she thought about the villagers. She hoped they were alright and that she could bring a hand in ending this madness. 

As soon as their ship was secured to the dock, Deacon rounded up the crew. A few villagers watched them pass by wearily while others held clear suspicion on their faces. They couldn’t be blamed - they were under attack, and the presence of visitors was unprompted. Still. No one stepped forward to question them, so they passed through until they reached the church. There, they were finally addressed by a friar, who clutched a bible close to his chest and adjusted his circular glasses. 

“Greetings, my children, and peace be with you. What brings you to our humble village?” 

Deacon pointed to the building behind him. “Do you know who did this?” 

He addressed the burning house of God with a sad nod. “We were attacked by a group of bandits last night. But no one has been in there since - we’ve been a little afraid, wondering if anyone’s still in there. Do you plan on venturing forward?” 

The fire was burning at a steady rate. They’d have to make their move as soon as possible to get clues as to the group’s recent whereabouts. Dea took a step towards him and gestured with her hands. 

“We are here to find someone who helped with this attack. If you’ll let us, we hope to rid you of them entirely.” 

He eyed her attire with obvious judgment, but begrudgingly stepped to the side to allow them in. She was mildly offended as they passed by him and into the doors of the church. None were surprised to see the state of the interior - parts of the walls caved in, a pile of benches and podiums lit aflame in the middle of the room, and rubble scattered everywhere on the floor. Deacon scanned the room while the rest of the crew peeked behind pillars. They came to the conclusion - 

“There’s no one here,” He announced. 

Dea let herself relax as she took a look around for herself. She approached one of the pillars and found a torn flag that had been recently desecrated with a golden bold ‘T’ . She pointed to it and got her co-captain’s attention. 

“..The mark of the vigilante you’ve been talking about?” She asked. Deacon came closer to observe the sight and let out a groan. 

“It’s as I suspected. He must have dealt with the raiders. I wonder if our target is even alive.” 

“-Is he the killing type?” She inquired, following the rest of their crew out. Deacon shrugged while one of their disguised soldiers informed the friar that the church was clear. 

“I don't know enough about the man to say. But I would not blame him for doing what he needs to. However, our fugitives are more valuable alive than dead.” 

They moved into the middle of the village, stopping to gather their bearings. Their crew began discussing what to do next. Dea listened to their ideas, but found her mind clouded. Something occurred to her that she neglected to pry about when she first joined the Armada. She didn’t even question it when she was assigned to aid an Elite’s objective. She’d been so ecstatic to be promoted to such a position, that she didn’t examine the motives behind it…

“Deacon?” She asked, stepping closely to keep their conversation private. She didn’t want to give them away, but also wanted an answer before they continued on. “What exactly happens to these prisoners, when we’re done with our mission?” 

He tilted his head. “You don’t know?” 

“Queen neglected to tell me. It seems to be hush-hush in the Armada.” 

“They will be brought back to Valencia to be questioned.”

“-Questioned about *what*?”

He noted the uneasiness from the villagers around them and picked up his cane. The longer they lingered, the more suspicious they became. It was exactly what he wanted to avoid. “We’ll discuss this later.” 

He moved away and she raised her voice. “I’ll be holding you to that, espía .” 

The spymaster pulled out a map from one of his pockets and unfolded it to share with the crew. They huddled around him. He pointed to an area that was not far from Santo Pollo, trailing his fingertip along as he spoke. 

“The source of the bandit’s operation must be on the outskirts of town, somewhere in Banditoad Trail. If there’s anywhere we’ll find him , I believe it is there.” 

“- ’Bandit’ oad Trail? That can’t be a coincidence?” One of their crew-members spoke up. Even their Captain paused at the implication. 

“...It made it easy to find their location, yes.” He folded up the map and turned on his heel to lead them in the right direction. “Be ready; there’s no telling how many are out right now.”

…

… 

Deacon’s warning was fortuitous. After following the trail, they were abruptly stopped by a group of bandits. The crew sprung into action - delivering good blows to the unsuspecting raiders. Dea and Deacon remained behind - shooting any who happened to slip past. They aimed for their limbs, deterring their enemies and bringing them down more easily. Their fighters remained upfront, taking care of most of the brawl. 

The number didn’t seem to decrease, as they were constantly being bombarded. In the midst of the fighting, they kept an eye out for their wanted criminal - only to come up short on the men who attacked them. Those who wore masks and bandanas were taken care of in a different matter - where Deacon made sure they were incapacitated so he could quickly check their identity. They still had no success. 

After several confrontations, the group was beginning to tire - constantly fighting with no discovery of their target. Their soldiers grew weak, having to move continuously under the blazing sun. As they took care of their enemies at a steady rate, Deacon and Dea were faced with even more bandits than before. They did their best to keep their distance, but stopping to reload their guns presented an opportunity for their opponents to get close. One had landed a rough hit on Deacon - effectively stumbling him back. Dea fired a shot in his direction, not landing, but causing him to move backwards. Her partner returned to his feet and noticed they were surrounded, their crew now long ahead of them. 

“ Cavolo!” He swore. They remained back-to-back as they shot at the marauders surrounding them, who were closing in awfully fast.  

“Where did everyone go!?” Dea exclaimed, attempting to look over the shoulders of the men around them. Deacon lowered his head as he accepted the situation - they’d been separated from their crew in the middle of battle. 

This was not good. 

Before either of them could be attacked, a laugh sounded from above. The group stopped what they were doing to gaze in the sky confusedly. A black figure jumped from practically nowhere and landed in the sand between them. He rose to his feet and pointed a sword in the direction of the bandits, laughing once more at their surprised expressions. 

“Ha-hah!” 

Without pause, the man struck the nearest few and threw his whip to wrap around a nearby branch. He swung on it to slash at the rest, grinning as he watched them fall down instantaneously. When he landed on his feet, he cracked his whip at the backs of two figures who attempted to strike him - watching them fall to their knees and scream in agony. He kept this up until the bandits ordered a prompt retreat, running from the scene as fast as they could.

As soon as they were gone, the man whipped around to redirect the blade of his sword at the two. He flashed a pearly, yet menacing, grin at them. “Now, you fiends shall suffer the wrath…of El Toro! " 

A group of trumpets played around them. They were able to get a good look at the figure that had been moving so fast. He wore a circular hat and black cape that majestically flowed with the wind, sporting a mask that covered his eyes, as well as a black outfit that had an open v-shaped area around his chest, revealing an ample amount of hair. He stomped his boot as he sliced a large 'T' in the air, for extra flair.

Before Deacon could respond, feminine laughter broke the tension. The men looked to the side and found Dea chortling as she pointed at their new company.��

“"A Zorro ripoff?...THAT’S who you are?"

He took offense at her comment and flared his nostrils. "-I resemble nothing of what you just called me! I…am EL TORO! Enemy of all oppressors, defender of the innocent!"

She ignored the trumpets for a second time and continued to snicker at his performance. El toro grew impatient and decided not to pursue her, turning his attention to Deacon instead. He narrowed his blue eyes. 

“I know what you are here for, canalla . I will not have anyone else terrorizing the people of Santo Pollo! Leave while you still can!” 

The Emissary held up his gloved hands to try and diffuse the situation. "We are not here to attack anyone. We are trying to capture a convict who has escaped from our hands."

El toro tilted his head as he closely observed their masks. He shifted his stance. "I am not familiar with your kind, but I know that you do not belong here. Who is it you are exactly searching for?"

"Our target goes by 'Esteban' . He is one of the raiders destroying your village."

His leather clad fingers twitched on the handle of his blade. He clearly recognized the name, but withheld his trust. "Who do you work for? Where have you come from?"

Dea had stopped laughing at this point and composed herself. "We're two people who are enforcing the law. And if you help us, we can help you .”

He remained on edge, refusing to lower his weapon. He turned his head to think about something. "This… 'Esteban ' character…I have learned about him. He is the leader of the bandits. An incredible thorn in my side.” 

It dawned on Deacon. “That would explain why we have not yet seen him. We are trying to reach his base, but have been separated from our group. If you can point us in the right direction, we will gladly take care of the rest.” 

“I cannot allow you to proceed!” He asserted, thrusting his blade further in their direction. “I have been watching you all, since you reached these lands. Your people have grown weak. Without my assistance, you will all undoubtedly die.” 

Deacon muttered something about that being an exaggeration while Dea moved forward. “So you’ll help us?” 

He studied them a bit longer before slowly retreating his sword. "We share a common enemy, do we not? You wish to capture their leader. Without him , I can easily chase the rest out. I will restore peace to the village.” 

He used his whip to lunge himself upward and land on a dead tree to get a better sight. He craned his head down to address the two. “Consider this a… temporary affiliation . I expect you to leave when we are done.” 

Deacon nodded. “I assure you that our departure will be swift.” 

“Good…I see your people up ahead. The place those rogues are staying is in a cave - you will reach it if you keep heading east. I will meet you there.” 

They watched as El Toro easily launched himself away with a hefty swing, and was running on his feet out of sight. They carried on when they were on their own. Deacon handed Dea the small canteen he carried on his person. She took it with grateful hands and moved her head away to take a hefty gulp of water. 

She handed it back to him and clacked her tongue. “So, why exactly did you want to avoid him? He was quick to help us.” 

His answer was one she never expected. “He’s annoying.” 

She thought back to his introduction and held her laughter. It was dramatic and a little overbearing. It still piqued her curiosity. “-You two have met before?” 

“We’ve come across paths during my time in Cool Ranch. I doubt he recognized me just now.” 

“That’s because you’re missing your cape.” She pointed out. “Was it just me, or was his flowing * against * the wind?” 

She sensed him smiling under his mask. He soon shook his head. “I pray we don’t have to fight beside him for long.”

----

They finally reached their crew, who had been desperately searching for their Captains. Once they were reunited, they exchanged water and took a little rest. In just a few minutes, they would be meeting with a masked vigilante who was willing to help them. 

El Toro was waiting there, as promised. The two informed their crew of the help they were receiving, so no weapons were pointed at him when they approached. He dropped himself to the floor of the cave entrance and turned expectantly towards Deacon and Dea. He made a quick once-over of the group that would be fighting with him. Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t voice aloud, as he turned and led them inside.

“We must waste no time!” He exclaimed. 

They followed after, staying alert of their surroundings. Dea took this chance to make sure her gun was loaded while Deacon discreetly pressed a couple of buttons on his communicator. El Toro motioned for them to stay back. He moved forward cautiously as the two captains joined his side and got a good look at what awaited them. 

A group of bandits remained ahead, conversing with each other as they idly stood around. They eavesdropped on their conversation, but found nothing of value. El Toro motioned for them to charge ahead, and the rest complied. They successfully took the group by surprise and had them all knocked out in a matter of minutes. They moved forward, not sparing a minute of pause. There, they encountered another group who, this time, had apparently expected them. 

“ Ey !” One of them exclaimed, drawing his gun on their new company. “Are you itchin’ to have your brains blown out?” 

El Toro took a few brave steps forward. He was unimpressed with the barrel currently pointed in his direction. “You brutes have been terrorizing the people of Santo Pollo for too long! Now, justice will be served!” 

With a quick snap of his whip, El Toro smacked the gun out of the man’s hand and struck him with the end of his sword. Everyone charged forward - the sounds of knives clinking and gunshots echoing in the enclosed cave. It was hard to tell what was going on amidst the scuffle. Blood was sent everywhere, several strikes sending the liquid in different directions. Some cries of pain sounded on top of the other. What rang the loudest was when the fight was over and silence ensued. Everyone stood glancing at each other, taking note of who was still standing. 

Once all heads were accounted for, they rushed to continue their journey. They stumbled upon Esteban himself - who stood proudly in front of his desired group of lackeys. He was as repulsive as Dea imagined - a man with the sides of his head shaved, grease coating his skin, accompanied with ripped clothing and fingerless gloves. He had an intense look in his eyes as he grinned much too widely, stepping forward with confidence as the awaiting group poured in. 

“Well, well. Looks like the Armada has found me, after all.” He tipped his head in the direction of the disguised crew. “Have they sent their best people? I don’t want to go out without a bang .” 

“Since you’re aware of your arrest, let’s make this easy.” Deacon countered as he disposed of his cane. “Surrender yourself now before any more blood is shed.” 

“I’ll do that when you give me back Alyssa!” He barked angrily. “That’s all you bastards are good at. Bullshittin’ people ‘til they sign their lives away! We were going to start a family, for fuck’s sake!” 

The Emissary was unphased. “Turn yourself in before you leave us no other choice.” 

“Fuck off!” 

Esteban pulled out a gun and shot without warning. The bullet barely missed their battle angel. It was an invitation to run and confront the bastards. El Toro went to work disposing of the henchman while Deacon urgently attempted to make his way to the leader. He was thwarted with every step, some rogue throwing themselves at him before he could even aim his gun properly. They gradually mashed into one mess, with hands being thrown in random directions as everyone attacked those in their general vicinity. 

Dea managed her way to Esteban, and was just about to pull the trigger before a hand forcefully grabbed her from behind. Her reflexes brought her leg backwards to kick the offender in the shin, freeing herself from their grasp. This motion had caught the enemy’s attention, and when she stumbled forward to regain her footing, she was already seized again. This time, by the man she sought after. 

His voice was gruff as he spoke in her ear. “A fighter, huh? Alyssa was one, too. Come to think of it, she had a body * just * like yours…”

Then he did something Dea did not expect. His hand slid down the front of her disguise, smoothing between the valley of her breasts. He nearly slipped his fingers under the corset, but halted his touch below her waist instead. His fingertips brushed along the ends of her skirt, dangerously close to lifting it. Her body tensed as she registered this unwanted action. Then reality kicked in and she thrashed in his arms, hoping to loosen his grip. He held her down and laughed.

“That’s a nice outfit you got on. Do all women in the Armada dress like whores? If I'd known about the easy access, well, I wouldn’t have been running after her …”

An angry tear formed in her eyes as Esteban slipped his hand under and forcefully groped her. She lost every ounce of her self-control and screamed at the top of her lungs. She threw herself forward and attempted to throw him off balance. But he expected her move and countered it easily. He clearly had experience in this scenario. That thought sickened her. He was so distracted with trying to restrain her that he neglected to see the figure running towards them. 

There was no warning as a pistol struck him in the side of the head, loosening his grip and sending him to the floor. Dea reached for her gun, but her shaking arms made the attempt futile. It slipped from her hands when a hand locked itself around her ankle. She fell forward harshly - the air escaping her lungs as her ribs collided with hard rock. 

“You bitch!” Esteban was pulling her with an unexpected amount of force. 

He dragged his body on top of hers and delivered a cruel blow to her masked face. She swore she heard the material cracking under his knuckles. He grabbed her head with his other hand and smashed it against the floor - dazing Dea as the world around her began to mix colors. Before he could do it again, a shoe collided with the underside of his jaw, sending him off of her. She looked up in time to catch him wrestling with Deacon, who attempted to commandeer his weapon. 

During their struggle, one of the guns had gone off - whose it was, she wasn’t entirely sure. She was distracted when a sudden pain came near her stomach and her gloved hand instinctively covered the area. When she glanced down, the blood was already pooling from the spot. The aching in her head became unbearable and she struggled to maintain consciousness. A groan escaped her throat as she attempted to hold herself up. 

Her struggle was noticed by Deacon, who froze when he saw the sight. Taking advantage of his distraction, Esteban launched his fist into his stomach. The spymaster doubled over in pain as the other man grabbed a hold of his pistol. Before he could fire it, a whip wrapped itself around his wrist. A pained scream escaped his throat as El Toro encumbered both of his hands from behind.

“Quick!” 

Deacon jumped to his feet and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. Esteban's hands were secured and he was firmly held down by the masked vigilante, who looked proud with this feat. Deacon had no time to gloat over their accomplishment. He ran in Dea’s direction. He fell to his knees and lowered his head, noting her closed eyes and immobilized body. He desperately checked her pulse, relaxing a little when he confirmed she was still alive. 

“Santo Dios , is she alright?” El Toro implored. 

He inspected her abdomen before searching for the entry and exit wound. The rest of the crew surrounded the scene, their dragoon taking a hold of their prisoner for the time being. El Toro took a few steps forward and watched with concern in his eyes. 

“She’s still breathing, but not very easily,” He announced after a minute. He turned his masked head toward one of their soldiers. “Cinzia, vieni qui!” 

The desired soldier darted to his side and lowered herself to her other captain. She was the crewmember who had the most medical expertise between all of them. It took a few moments until she supplied, “I can’t find an exit wound. But we need to stop the bleeding.” 

Deacon nodded as he produced a roll of gauze from one of his pockets. Cinzia provided pressure and the necessary elevation as he wrapped it around her body. He could hear Rooke’s voice in his head - remembering the time his brother insisted on teaching him basic first aid practices. He encouraged Deacon to always carry around bandages, gauze, and clean cloth on his person for unexpected injury. He glanced at Dea several times as he worked, noticing the new crack in her mask that had nearly split it into two pieces. Something inside him twisted unpleasantly at the sight. 

It took a few layers and careful monitoring until the blood had finally slowed. The air around them was getting colder, so he removed his trench coat and laid it under his co-captain to retain her body heat. He still applied pressure to the wound and kept a close eye on her condition. He wondered what exactly to do next.

Transporting her using the ship was a dangerous option - there was no telling how rough the weather would become, and any excess movement could prove to be damaging. She would need treatment to locate and remove the bullet - neither of which he could supply at the moment, with their limited materials. It didn’t help that they were so far from Valencia right now. 

He sighed. “She may have a concussion. The degenerate slammed her head around pretty hard.” 

El Toro cut in. “I have heard that it is dangerous for a concussed person to fall unconscious. Is that true?” 

“Not in all cases,” Cinzia responded. “We'll need to check on her condition to see if any major damage has been done. What will we do, Captain?” 

Deacon sat there in silence, in a clear mental debate with himself. He felt angry and frightened, as much as he hated to admit it. All of this had happened on his watch - despite coming to her rescue, he could not stop the bullet that had accidentally launched itself during his struggle with the enemy. He felt nauseous knowing that it came from his own gun. He imagined Dea succumbing to her injuries here and struggled for air. El Toro approached them with a solution of his own. 

“I have a friend in Santo Pollo who can help you. His manor has a room to offer you sanctuary, until she is well.” His smile lowered into a frown. “I do not appreciate the deceit you have given me. But considering you have helped me today…It is a way to show my gratitude.”

"Does your friend have any medical supplies?" Cinzia asked seriously. 

"I am sure that he does, and he will be able to aid you better than I can. We must get there soon, so your friend can be treated."

Dea was secured in their Dragoon's arms as soon as he pawned off Esteban to Deacon, who purposefully tightened his cuffs until he heard the man inhale sharply. Several scenarios of torture played in the Spymaster's mind while they traveled to Don Rodrigo's Manor. Methods he was familiar with, and knew were painful for the prisoners who refused to comply.  He normally did not think of these things with such pleasure - he'd always carried them out with necessity and neutrality. But now he felt personal spite to ensure this man would endure every second of pain, as he was forced to spill everything he knew to the Armada.

[jamesdeanworekhakis]

Humphrey Bogart, American, 1899 - 1957

According to the Smithsonian, the Postal Service honored Humphrey Bogart with the issuance of a 32-cent commemorative stamp on July 31, 1997, in Los Angeles, California.The stamp features a portrait of the legendary actor Humphrey Bogart. Bogart's career as a beloved "tough guy" spanned a quarter of a century and seventy-five films. This is the third stamp issued in the US Postal Service's Legends of Hollywood Series.Designed by Carl Herrman of Laguna Niguel, California, and illustrated by Michael Deas of New Orleans, Louisiana, the pane of twenty stamps was printed by Stamp Venturers, Inc., in the gravure process.

Copyright United States Postal Service. All rights reserved. July 31, 1997

[ptbf2002]

Zodiak Kids Logo And It's Main Characters

Here's Zodiak Kids Featuring Main Characters From Shows That I've Mentioned On My Top 10 Zodiak Kids Shows.

Marsupilami Belongs To Olivier Vannelle, Vincent Chalvon-Demersay, David Michel, Zodiak Kids Studios, Samka Productions, Banijay, Marsu Productions, Canal J, Groupe M6, France 3, And France Télévisions S.A.

The Amazing Spiez Belongs To Vincent Chalvon-Demersary, David Michel, SK Broadband, CJ Entertainment, Image Entertainment Corporation, Zodiak Kids Studios, Banijay, Teletoon, TELETOON Canada Inc. And Corus Entertainment Inc.

Sally Bollywood: Super Detective Belongs To Emmanuelle Boutet (AKA Pepper Sue), Elastik Jane Télé Images Kids, Three's A Company, Zodiak Kids Studios, Banijay, France 3, France Televisions, Super RTL, RTL Deutschland GmbH RTL Group S.A. Télé Images Productions, France 3, France Télévisions S.A. 7two, Seven Network, And Seven West Media Ltd.

Street Football Belongs To Cofinova 1, De Mas & Partners, Zodiak Kids Studios, And Banijay

Famous 5: On The Case Belongs To Enid Blyton, Zodiak Kids Studios, Banijay, Chorion Limited, Sony Pictures Television Studios, Sony Pictures Television Inc. Sony Pictures Entertainment Inc. Sony Entertainment, Inc. 

Martin Mystery Belongs To Vincent Chalvon-Demersay, David Michel, Digital eMation Inc. CJ E&M Film Financing & Investment Entertainment & Comics, CJ E&M, DPS, Frontier Works ComicImage Entertainment Corporation, Zodiak Kids Studios, Banijay, Sansu Venture Korean Drama No.1 Capital Co. Sidus FNH-Benex Cinema Fund 1, And Sovik Global Contents Fund

Magiki Belongs To Eryk Casemiro, Cyril Deydier, Pegbar Animation, Animasia Studio, Rainbow S.P.A. Paramount Media Networks, Inc. Paramount Global, DeAgostini Publishing Italy S.P.A. DeAgostini Editore S.P.A. DeAKids, DeA Junior, DeAgostini S.P.A. DeAPlaneta Kids And Family, DeAPlaneta Entertainment, Télé Images Productions, Zodiak Kids Studios France, Banijay, Ketchup TV, KidsMe S.R.L. Gulli, TiJi, Metropole Télévision S.A. Groupe M6, Frisbee, Switchover Media, Discovery Italia S.R.L. Discovery Networks Italia, Discovery Networks EMEA, Discovery Networks International, Discovery, Inc. And Warner Bros. Discovery, Inc.

Team Galaxy Belongs To Vincent Chalvon-Demersay, David Michel, Michelle Lamoreaux, Robert Lamoreaux, Digital eMation Inc. Marathon Animation, Marathon Media Group, Zodiak Kids Studios, Banijay, Image Entertainment Corporation, Mystery Animation, Quebec Productions, Rai Fiction, Une Coproduction, Rai 2, RAI S.p.A. Jetix Europe N.V. YTV Canada, Inc. Corus Entertainment Inc. France 3, France Télévisions S.A. VRAK-TV, Bell Media Inc. And BCE Inc.

Monster Buster Club Belongs To Vincent Chalvon-Demersay, David Michel, Designstorm Animation Studio, Marathon Animation, Marathon Media Group, Zodiak Kids Studios, Banijay, Image Entertainment Corporation, Mystery Animation, TF1, Jetix Europe N.V. YTV, YTV Canada, Inc. And Corus Entertainment Inc.

Get Blake! Belongs To Antoine Guilbaud, Kaz, Vincent Chalvon-Demersay, David Michel, Eryk Casemiro, Inspidea, Zodiak Kids Studios, Banijay, Nickelodeon Productions, Nickelodeon (French TV channel), Nicktoons, Paramount Networks Europe, Middle East, Africa & Asia, Paramount International Networks, Paramount Global, Gulli, And Groupe M6

[writer-of-various]

⋆·˚˚°✦ Jovian Outsiders ✦°˚˚·⋆

2010 -> The young aspiring artists signed their first contract with the famous record label, Requiem.

Electric Cherry | YOUR WEEKLY ARTIST ALERT!

Well known for their covers on iconic songs from legends such as Queen, ABBA, Avenged Sevenfold, Bon Jovi, The Rolling Stones, System of a Down, and more, Jovian Outsiders have signed their first contract with Requiem Records! These young rockstars have already captured a loyal audience and fanbase, but if you are new to JO, we'll be glad to introduce you to them!

Lilja Alekov (Top Left) is the band's youngest member. She's their bassist and vocalist, but her talents don't stop there. She plays the piano, drums, keyboard, and guitar as well. From an interview last week with JO, Lilja has given the following information about herself: She is 5'2, has brown hair, blueish grey eyes, she loves history and writing, and her idol is John Deacon.

Emilia Erling (Top Right) is the band's second youngest member at 21 years old. She's their guitarist, but she knows how to play the piano and provides backup vocals if needed. Emilia has given the following information about herself: She is 5'5, has blonde hair, blue eyes, she loves baking and hanging out with friends, and her idol is Synyster Gates.

Tommy Wilson (Bottom Left) is the band's oldest member at 24 years old. He's their drummer, but he knows how to play the bass and provides backup vocals if needed. Tommy has given the following information about himself: He is 6'3, has blonde hair, blue eyes, he loves to play the drums and to party, and his idol is Lars Ulrich.

Evan Garin (Bottom Right) is the band's second oldest member at 22 years old. He's their front man who shares the spotlight with Lilja, being their lead vocalist. He also plays the piano and bass. Evan has given the following information about himself: He is 5'7, has brown hair, dark blue eyes, he loves animals and art, and his idols are M. Shadows and Freddie Mercury.

March 2010 -> Jovian Outsiders just released their first album, We All Die.

Pantheon reviewed the album as a hit.

"These young four adults know what they are doing. Their music ventures back to classic 70s and 80s rock, blending it with modern-day rock and metal, all while sprinkling in their own charm. It's glamorous, it's moody and heart-wrenching, it's upbeat and makes you want to move your body along to Lilja's bass and Tommy's drumming. They are going places, and famous bands then and now better watch out. Jovian Outsiders are reaching for the crown."

Electric Cherry.

"Their first album is being bought at record speeds. Their music is great, their style is amazing– everything is perfect with Jovian Outsiders!

Also, did you see Lilja's new hairdo? What do you think?"

2012 -> They were offered to recreate the iconic music video from Queen. They said yes.

[It's not perfect, I know, but it's pretty darn close.]

"Corvus producer, uh, John Taylor, comes up to us, and he asks us, 'Hey, we saw your cover for I Want To Break Free, and we've been listening to your albums and watching your tributes to Queen and other old rock bands, and I was wondering if you wanted to recreate the iconic music video for I Want To Break Free.'

We looked at each other and we were all smiling, because we watch that video like every fucking week, and we listen to that song at least once a day. Lily and Ev are huge Queen fans. Uh, Evan said 'Yes! Yes, we'll love to!' And I look at him, and then to Taylor, and asked, 'Wait, do we get to choose who we want to dress up as. I may be the drummer, but I would not look good in Roger Taylor's school girl outfit.' Ha, he said we'll discuss it more later.

Anyways, we started rehearsing and all a few days later. It looked so similar to the music video Queen made, it felt like...it felt like we were there. Uh, well as you can tell from the video, Evan obviously got chosen to be the school girl. He was very happy, ha ha. I was Brian May's housewife and Emilia was John Deacon's old lady. Uh, Lilja was actually a bit nervous being the star in the video, representing Freddie Mercury. Besides, uh, John Deacon, Freddie Mercury is her second most beloved idol and she has studied Queen a lot for their style and music, and you can tell we get a lot of inspiration from them and Avenged Sevenfold. But uh, Lilja, she did amazing. The music started playing, and she stood taller and held her head high. It was fun, it was amazing to recreate this famous music video. I hope you all enjoyed it."

–Interview with Tommy Wilson.

2016 -> Last photoshoot of Jovian Outsiders before Lilja leaves the band temporarily.

"It was widely speculated by fans and paparazzi and just basically everyone that Evan and Lilja were dating. I mean, if I didn't know my friends any better, I would have thought so too. But Lilja has had a hard life, and when we met her, Evan just immediately took her under his wing and just helped her get out of her shell and just learn to trust and be a teenager. They're close, they are best friends and perhaps they see each other as brother and sister; Evan is overprotective of Lilja and vice versa. But no, they aren't dating."

–Emilia on the rumors around Evan and Lilja.

[lighthousenewsnetwork]

ALBUQUERQUE, NM — In a development that has left law enforcement officials simultaneously baffled and craving a snack, former methamphetamine manufacturer Walter White has emerged from witness protection to launch what critics are calling "the most meticulously engineered kettle corn operation in history." White, now operating under the suspiciously obvious alias "The Popcorn Whisperer," has been spotted at local farmers markets in his signature Fleetwood Bounder RV, which he insists is "definitely a different vehicle" from his previous mobile operation. The RV, now emblazoned with the slogan "I Am The One Who Pops," has drawn considerable attention for its sophisticated ventilation system and suspicious lack of produce other than kettle corn. "Look, I'm just a simple businessman trying to make an honest living," White told reporters while carefully measuring corn kernels with a digital scale accurate to 0.0001 grams. "There's nothing illegal about applying advanced chemistry principles to create the perfect sweet-to-salty ratio. This is America." DEA agents have reportedly spent weeks attempting to find criminal activity in White's new venture, only to discover that his operation is frustratingly legitimate. "We've analyzed his blue-tinted kettle corn from every angle," said DEA Agent Timothy Roberts, wiping sugar residue from his mouth. "The only crime here is how impossibly addictive it is. I've gone through three bags just writing this report." The operation has also reunited White with former student Jesse Pinkman, who serves as the venture's enthusiastic marketing director. "Yo, Mr. White's corn is like, science, bitch!" Pinkman explained to potential customers while wearing a corn cob costume. "The way he, like, applies thermodynamics to achieve the perfect crystallization structure of the caramel coating? That's straight-up art, man." Local competitors have reported dramatic drops in sales, with several shops mysteriously closing after their owners received unmarked bags of White's kettle corn with notes reading "I am the danger... of market competition." Former Los Pollos Hermanos locations have reportedly seen the ghost of Gus Fring nodding in approval at White's meticulous portion control. White's attention to detail has reached legendary status among customers. He continues to don his signature hazmat suit during production, citing "food safety concerns" and spending exactly 20 minutes explaining the chemistry behind proper popping temperatures to anyone within earshot. Sources report he recently spent three hours berating an employee for achieving only 98.3% perfectly popped kernels. Local law enforcement's frustration reached a peak last week when a raid on White's RV revealed nothing more illicit than a proprietary caramel recipe and a whiteboard covered in complex sugar crystallization equations. "It's maddening," admitted Police Chief Michael Sanders. "We know it's White, we know his history, but the man's literally just making really, really good kettle corn. Even our drug-sniffing dogs just sit there eating it." Health officials have issued warnings about the product's addictive properties, noting that White's methodically engineered formula creates a snack "more habit-forming than his previous blue product." Studies suggest that consumers experience intense cravings and may find themselves binge-watching cooking shows while muttering "Say my name" to bags of popcorn. As White's empire expands, Netflix has reportedly approached him about a potential cooking show. The working title, "Breaking Snack," would feature White teaching basic chemistry through snack food preparation, though producers express concern about his insistence on wearing a pork pie hat and repeatedly whispering "I am the one who pops" to the camera. When asked about his future plans, White remained characteristically intense. "I'm not in the meth business anymore," he declared, carefully weighing a portion of caramel. "I'm in the meth-odically crafted snack business.

" He then turned back to his kettle, leaving reporters to ponder how one man could make something as simple as kettle corn feel so ominous. At press time, Saul Goodman had already erected billboards reading "Did Walter White's kettle corn give you diabetes? Better Call Saul!"