#End Mental Slavery

[blackstarlineage]

Why Consciousness Isn’t Seen as “Sexy” in the Black Community: A Garveyite Perspective on the Devaluation of Intellectualism and Liberation Thought

From a Garveyite perspective, the lack of appeal or desirability associated with consciousness—meaning intellectual awareness, political understanding, and Pan-African liberation thought—can be traced to a combination of Eurocentric conditioning, cultural miseducation, capitalist distractions, and the deliberate engineering of anti-intellectualism among Black people. Marcus Garvey’s philosophy was centered on knowledge as the foundation of Black power and self-determination, yet in today’s society, Black consciousness is often seen as boring, unattractive, or socially alienating rather than desirable or aspirational.

This deep analysis explores:

How Western conditioning has devalued Black consciousness and promoted superficiality.

Why capitalism, media, and entertainment industries prioritize distraction over empowerment.

The historical suppression of Black intellectualism and its impact on desirability.

Why true Black empowerment requires redefining attractiveness and desirability in alignment with liberation.

1. The Eurocentric Devaluation of Black Consciousness and Intellectualism

One of the greatest obstacles to Black consciousness being seen as “sexy” is centuries of Eurocentric indoctrination that have devalued Black intelligence while glorifying ignorance and superficiality. During slavery and colonial rule, Black people were deliberately kept from reading, writing, and engaging in political discourse, ensuring that they remained subjugated. This conditioning continued through the educational system, pop culture, and economic structures.

In modern times, Black people who speak about history, politics, self-determination, or Pan-Africanism are often labelled as “too serious,” “preachy,” or “boring.” This is not by accident but by design, as white supremacy thrives on an intellectually disengaged Black population.

Example: Historically, Black leaders like Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, and Kwame Ture were demonized by the mainstream because their teachings threatened the existing power structure. At the same time, entertainers and sports figures were elevated, reinforcing the idea that entertainment, not critical thought, is what makes a Black person valuable or desirable.

Key Takeaway: Garveyism teaches that Black consciousness is the key to liberation, but Western society has worked hard to make it seem undesirable and unattractive.

2. The Role of Capitalism in Promoting Distraction Over Empowerment

Capitalism thrives on distraction, consumerism, and superficial desires, all of which directly contradict Black liberation. If Black people were collectively focused on self-reliance, Pan-African unity, and economic independence, multinational corporations would lose billions in profit because Black people would stop over-consuming entertainment, fashion, fast food, and other non-essential goods.

The capitalist system ensures that shallow and hyper-consumerist lifestyles are glorified, while revolutionary thought is pushed to the fringes. The result is that Black consciousness is not marketed as something desirable or aspirational, while materialistic lifestyles associated with wealth and status are heavily promoted.

Example: In today’s media, rappers and influencers are pushed to the forefront, promoting excessive wealth, luxury goods, and hypersexuality. Meanwhile, Black intellectuals, scholars, and activists receive little to no mainstream attention unless they can be commercialized or made non-threatening.

Key Takeaway: Garveyism warns against economic dependency, yet capitalism ensures that Black people remain disconnected from consciousness by keeping them addicted to consumerism and distractions.

3. The Historical Suppression of Black Intellectualism and Political Thought

Throughout history, Black intellectuals have been systematically suppressed, killed, or discredited to prevent the rise of a self-determined Black population. From the murder of Malcolm X and Fred Hampton to the FBI’s COINTELPRO program targeting Black intellectual movements, every effort has been made to ensure that Black people do not collectively gravitate toward consciousness.

If something is criminalized, demonized, or hidden from people, they will not view it as aspirational or desirable. In contrast, the things that white supremacist structures promote—celebrity culture, hypersexuality, and capitalist individualism—become what people aspire toward.

Example: The Black Panther Party focused on education, self-defense, and community programs, but the U.S. government labelled them terrorists while simultaneously celebrating pimp culture, drug dealing, and gang violence in mainstream media. This created a distorted perception where Black militancy and intelligence were made unattractive, while self-destructive behaviours were glorified.

Key Takeaway: Garveyism teaches that knowledge is power, but history has shown that those in power actively suppress Black intellectualism, making it seem undesirable and even dangerous.

4. Redefining Desirability: Why True Black Empowerment Must Make Consciousness Attractive

Garveyism teaches that a mentally liberated Black person is the foundation of a strong Black nation. If Black power, intelligence, and self-sufficiency were seen as desirable traits, the entire cultural and economic landscape of Black communities would shift toward empowerment rather than distraction.

The challenge, however, is that many Black people have been conditioned to associate attraction with superficial traits—money, social status, physical appearance—rather than intelligence, character, and purpose. This Eurocentric way of thinking must be rejected if true liberation is to occur.

Example: Historically, Black societies that valued knowledge, tradition, and leadership were able to build great empires and institutions. In contrast, societies that became obsessed with materialism, hyper-individualism, and social status collapsed due to external manipulation and internal decay.

A Garveyite approach would emphasize Black love, respect for intelligence, and a return to valuing mental and spiritual elevation over superficial attraction.

Key Takeaway: Garveyism teaches that for true Black empowerment, consciousness must become aspirational, attractive, and a measure of worth rather than material wealth or physical appearance.

Conclusion: Consciousness Must Be Made “Sexy” by Shifting Cultural Priorities

From a Garveyite perspective, consciousness is not seen as attractive or desirable because:

Western conditioning has devalued Black intellectualism and critical thinking.

Capitalism ensures that superficial distractions are prioritized over empowerment.

Historical suppression of Black political thought has made consciousness seem unappealing.

Modern definitions of desirability are based on Eurocentric values, not self-determination.

The solution is to change the culture so that Black consciousness is celebrated, rewarded, and made aspirational. This means:

Elevating Black intellectuals, revolutionaries, and Pan-African thinkers as role models.

Rejecting hyper-consumerism and distractions that keep Black people mentally enslaved.

Promoting self-reliance, collective empowerment, and political engagement.

Creating media, institutions, and relationships that value Black intelligence over superficiality.

Final Thought: Garveyism teaches that only mentally liberated Black people can achieve sovereignty. The challenge is not whether consciousness is “sexy,” but whether Black people are ready to deprogram from the systems that have made ignorance and materialism more desirable than liberation and intelligence.

[spacerockfloater]

The way people switched on Tamlin the moment Rhys was introduced is diabolical.

“Tamlin never really loved Feyre, it was all a trick from the start”: It is stated that Tamlin was disgusted by the idea of forcing someone to fall in love with him and considered it slavery, but ended up being so in love with her that he ultimately lets her go and choses her freedom and safety over that of his own people. Rhys confirms that Tamlin loved Feyre too much. And he loved her truly. Not because he had to. Tamlin treated Feyre with dignity when she was engaged to him. He introduced her as his lady, to be respected and cherished by all. And she really was loved by his people, too. Rhysand uses her as his lap dog to scare Hewn City and parades her as his whore.

“Tamlin never did anything for Feyre, he just used her”: He improved her and her family’s life in every aspect and offered her everything he had.

“Tamlin had sex with someone else in Calanmai”: Out of duty and responsibility because he didn’t want to force Feyre, who still wasn’t sure about her feelings, into it. All of the High Lords perform the Calanmai. Lucien says so. How convenient that this is never brought up with Rhysand. He surely does perform it as well. All the theories in here, “Lucien doesn’t know what he’s talking about/ This is a SC ritual only/ He probably just passes the duty on to someone else” are just a way for people to villainise Tam and glorify Rhys again. All of them inaccurate. The Calanmai is canonically performed by every High Lord. There’s no evidence that proves otherwise. As the son of one High Lord and the ambassador of another, Lucien would know. He is 500 years old. It’s just more convenient for SJM to never bring this up again because it raises the question of “Who was Rhysand fucking all these years?” and it makes her favourite character look bad. And once he is engaged to her, Tamlin flat out refuses to do it. Let’s be real for a second.

“Tamlin didn’t help Feyre under the mountain”: He literally could not. He was bound by a curse. He was forced to be Amarantha’s consort and a consort cannot oppose you. His powers were bound. Alis warns Feyre that Tamlin will not be able to help her. Stop acting as if he didn’t want to help her. He decapitated Amarantha the moment he got his autonomy back. Claiming that there’s no proof that Tamlin was under the influence of a spell when he literally didn’t break the curse and Amarantha’s magic didn’t allow him to use his powers is crazy. And even if he tried, he could never provide actual help. We see this when he begs Amarantha for Feyre’s life. Him showing he cares about her would only make Amarantha more jealous and vicious towards Feyre.

“Tamlin made out with Feyre instead of helping her”: He couldn’t help her run away. No one could do that. She would never make it, Amarantha would find her. In fact, Tamlin specifically could not help her in any way. He could only assure her he still wants and loves her. And she wanted that just as much. Rhys abused her physically, mentally, verbally, drugged her and much worse. And he enjoyed all of it. If he didn’t want to raise suspicions, he wouldn’t have placed a bet in her favour. Rhys is a sadist, SJM just decided to mellow him down in the next book so that we’d all like him over Tamlin.

“Tamlin ignored Feyre’s wishes and only wanted her to be his bride, he didn’t let her be High Lady”: Both Tamlin and Feyre were bad communicators going though trauma and Tam had a whole court to care for. Tamlin was unaware of how Feyre felt because she barely spoke up once. Rhys knew because he literally lived inside her head and had all the time in the world to focus his attention on her since his court suffered zero consequences during Amarantha’s reign. And Tamlin simply told her the truth: there’s no such thing as High Lady. Even her current title is given to her by Rhys, the magic of Prythian has not actually chosen her to be High Lady. The title and its power are decorative. And she said she didn’t want that anyway.

“Tamlin locks Feyre up and uses his magic to harm her”: He locks her in his humongous palace to keep her safe, after she just came back from the dead and his worst enemy is kidnapping her every month, while he runs off to protect his borders. Rhysand locks Feyre in a fucking bubble. Tamlin loses control of his magic. He doesn’t want to harm her. That’s not abuse. Abuse is intentional. Feyre and Rhysand lock Lucien and Nesta up. They lock the people of the Hewn City up in a cave. Feyre loses control of her magic and harms Lucien’s mother. Double standards I guess.

“Tamlin is a bad and conservative ruler”: Tamlin is such a beloved ruler that his sentries literally begged to die for him. Feyre had to fuck with their minds to finally turn them against him. They were his friends. He was so progressive that the lords fled his court once he became their ruler because he wouldn’t put up with their bullshit like his father did. He loved all of his people. He is against slavery. The Tithe was just tax collection. Rhysand practically rules over just one city, while ignoring Hewn City and Illyria. He treats 2/3 of his realm like shit and everyone except the residents of Velaris hates him. He collects tax, too, but we conveniently never see this. He ranks the members of his inner circle (my 1st, my 2nd etc.) and reminds them every moment that they are his slaves first and anything else second, while Tamlin treats them equally and even gives Lucien an official title by naming him Ambassador.

“Tamlin conspired with Hybern”: He was a double agent and his short lived alliance, two weeks all in all, not only didn’t harm a single soul, but ultimately saved all of Prythian as he was the only one who brought valuable information to that meeting. He dragged Beron to battle. Rhysand’s alliance with Amarantha harmed thousands and only helped save one city, Velaris.

“Tamlin is responsible for turning Nesta and Elain into Fae”: No, that was Ianthe, who got the info from Feyre. Tamlin was fooled by her, just as Feyre obviously was, or she wouldn’t have trusted her. Tamlin was disgusted by that act.

“Tamlin is less powerful than Rhysand”: Rhysand himself says that a battle between them would turn mountains to dust. Tamlin killed Rhysand’s dad, the previous High Lord of the Night Court, in one blow. He is just as powerful as Rhysand. SJM again just wants us to believe otherwise. And he is smarter, too. He was the only one not to trust Amarantha. And he was a good spy for Prythian against Hybern.

All of these takes are cold as fuck. SJM was testing the waters with ACOTAR and she made sure the main love interest, Tamlin, was insanely likeable, so that the book could be a satisfactory standalone story in case she couldn’t land a trilogy deal. She didn’t know it would be such a big hit. But once she realised she could turn this into a franchise, she had to figure out a new story to tell. She may claim otherwise, but there’s just too many plothotes to convince me. And in order to make her new main love interest seem like the best choice, she had to character assassinate the old one. There was no other way. ACOTAR Rhys was too much of an evil monster to be loved by the majority of the audience. But Tamlin was introduced to us as such a heroic and passionate man that is literally impossible to turn him into someone despised by all. Feyre’s relationship with Rhysand reads too much like cheating on Tamlin. That’s why anyone with basic analytical skills is able to realise the flaws of the narration.

[0nyancat0]

Seeing clips of the Lily Phillips interview was truly heart breaking and only reinforces the fact that sex work especially prostitution will never be liberating and only further damages a woman’s mental health and body

For context for anyone who doesn’t know

Lily Phillips was originally only an only fans star but recently slept with 100 men in one go, for free, and filmed it.

In the interview towards the end you see her begin to cry, dissociate, and not even be able to describe how she feels

One thing that really stuck out to me is that she says she felt bad for not being able to fully please all the men and that made it all click for me that she did all of this to feel male validation and got more than what she bargained for.

To punish herself and “put”herself through such an intense trauma makes me feel like the people in her life took advantage of her vulnerability and her wanting to please and exploited it

A tale as old as time

I Can’t stand the people saying that she asked for it or that it’s her fault because she set it up when it’s very obvious she is not in the correct headspace to do things like that, no one is, I really see things like this as a form of self harm and punishment

I really hope she is able to get the help she needs and is able to safely leave the sex industry(slavery)

[crepezinhos]

Aventurine’s Polemic Suicide Note

POV: It’s been only a week since Aventurine tried to commit suicide in Penacony, and failed at doing so, yet, it feels like it’s been months. You two don’t really talk anymore, specifically, not about anything else that wasn’t his attempt and the letter he did for it, and it’d always lead to exhausting discussions about your relationship with him that only seemed to crack it even more. Neither of you want to be like this anymore, ghosting each other’s presence in your apartment as if you were strangers. That’s why you decided to give him a chance to make up for his wrongs, and show you what he meant when he said he desired you in his letter. Art Credits

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is an angsty (with slight comfort) NSFW piece

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: Mentions of detailed SA, suicide, slavery, physical and mental abuse and friend-zoning. This work also contains optional visual links.

— AU is: In-Game

— Switch!Aventurine x Stoneheart!Reader

“Kakavasha.” Hearing you call out his real name after so many hours in silence made his whole body curl on itself with anxiety, making him pull the sheets on top of him a bit harder.

Your voice was as gentle and soft as before all the recent events in Penacony, yet, he dreaded it more than anything. He was ashamed to acknowledge you, to listen to you, to look at you… ashamed of himself.

“I don’t want us to be like this.” Meanwhile, you laid in the bed with your belly turned up, blankly staring at the white roof above you and him, waiting for any sort of answer from him, whose back was all you could see.

But as silence prevailed in the room, you sighed and closed your eyes in disappointment. That helped you concentrate on the memories your head was playing of your whole life to help you find more things to say to him.

It all started when you two met each other when the same man bought the both of you, and dozens of other slaves to be his servants. He gave every two slaves a cell to live in together, although all the work you two did was independent, and you ended up with him as your partner. 35 and 36 were your respective numbers along with a matching tattoo you two had on the left side of your neck. The depression of being a slave made it hard for you two to communicate and bond at first, but you two eventually built a weird, but helpful bond. One where he’d always try to help you with your tasks, where you’d let him teach about and practice his clan’s rituals with you, and more especially, one where he’d always comfort you after the abuse.

…

…

The memories flooded your mind.

Being taken to some isolated room by force, then being forced to strip down or having your clothes ripped away by his hands, and then having your body invaded, touched, used, humiliated even, for the sake of the pleasure of your master…

Sometimes he’d even have more men in the room to witness the shows or even participate in them…

It happened multiple times. Each round made you lose more and more of yourself. The sole reason why you didn’t lose faith in men was because the person who would comfort you after these dark moments was a man too. Kakavasha. He didn’t understand the concept of rape, much less the consequences of it, yet, he took care of you for hours. He only learned that the reason you’d suddenly come back to your cell completely shaky and repulsive of physical touch, sometimes naked too, was because you were raped almost 2 years after getting out of that hellhole. Then, he finally started to understand and relate to your shy personality.

You still remember the day he killed the man with his own hands. All the other slaves were immediately happy with the news and fled as soon as possible, but Kakavasha refused to get out of there without you. He went back to your cell, unchained your wrists and neck and started dragging you by your wrist out of there. He refused to let go of it, even when he wanted to rest, when he needed both his hands to work, and especially, even when IPC wanted to recruit him. The pink-haired woman who negotiated with him was solely interested in him and his cursed luck, ignoring your presence and taking it as an inconvenience mostly, but he wouldn’t agree with any of her contracts if it didn’t include you.

That’s how you got your first title in the IPC: The Secretary of Strategic Investment Departments. It technically meant you were Kakavasha’s secretary since you were in his team. Only many years later you managed to get yourself a Stoneheart title, Ruby, gaining a lot of trust and respect from all of those who underestimated you, and you viewed as a leech to Aventurine.

All these dear memories and many others are why you feel so betrayed and hurt right now. He desired to throw it mall of that away. He tried to throw all of it away. How unfair, isn’t it? While you were trying your best to retrieve his cornerstone from the Family, he was getting ready to sacrifice himself and leave you behind. A few minutes before he was announcing his little game to the whole planet, you came to your hotel room exhausted only to find his stuff entirely packed, all the lights tuned off and with a weird letter sitting at the only desk of the room.

Why were you even giving yourself all this work of reliving such bittersweet moments? You’ve already pointed out the fact that he was trashing everything he’s built and all the connection you two had in previous fights anyway…

“We’re still best friends, aren’t we? Even if you broke my heart, the same way I must’ve broken yours too, we’re still the same, right?” You tried cheering Aventurine up, acting enthusiastically, but his body still seemed as immobile as a statue. So you sighed again, your fake smile dying. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you wrote.” You spoke more seriously, pausing for a moment to remember the content in the letter and what you had to say about it.

At first, you picked the letter thinking it was a message from the IPC, but when you realized the handwriting belonged to Aventurine, you found yourself more confused. After all, if he wanted to tell you something, he could’ve just texted you, right?

It started off with an apology for not being home or answering your earlier texts, then it transitioned to him retelling your history with him with a lot of passion, your current friendship with him and how he values it more than anything. Money, the IPC and even his own life. But you weren’t expecting the stakes of the letter to go downhill, and as fast as the speed of light.

“Although our friendship seems to be very well established to you, for me, it isn’t. For me, it is as unstable as this planet, and it’s all because of me. I hate to bring you into this, Y/N, but I can’t let myself die without being completely honest to you in this final letter. I am in love with you, Y/N. I am painfully, desperately and agonizingly head over heels for you, Y/N. I wonder how your face is like reading this, but I’d rather let curiosity torture me. Whether you reciprocate me or not, they’d make me feel even worse about what I’m doing right now, and I want to at least die peacefully. Going back to the main point, this is something that I’ve been closeting for years, something I’ve been neglecting for years. I’ve only come to accept it recently, when I decided that it’s not really worth living anymore, so I might as well just be open about it to you. You’re a wonderful woman, Y/N. Your self-steem might be low, you might find yourself vulnerable, weak, untalented and unattractive, but I assure you that no one views you like this. I, personally, view you as the complete contrary. Every single thing about you is perfect to me. Remember those few times we would dance together? The few times we danced here? Especially to White Night? You were always shy and awkward at first, but when you slowly started opening yourself more and start actually dancing, you had me almost passing out, Y/N. Whether it was because of how charming and beautiful you looked, how much I admired you, or the pain of knowing that you would never let me hold you closer, show you the love you deserve, kiss your lips, hold your hips and guide your body as we jammed to those songs. Please, even after I die, I want you to always remember you’re more than your fears and your position at the IPC. I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and always fill your lungs with confidence before going out. Even if I might always be nothing more than a dear friend to you, I don’t want you to ever pity me for this. I want to respect your boundaries and I want you to do it too. But I do love you, Y/N. More than anything.

You dear friend, Kakavasha.”

It was tough for you to absorb the information that Aventurine’s gaze upon you wasn’t innocent or a part of his confident facade and that it was lustful. To learn that he fantasized with something so impossible to you made you feel horrible for the man, even the pity that he begged you not to feel. You’d never tell him you were feeling pitiful, of course, but you still accepted that guilt, and you truly felt motivated to use it as a fuel for a new experiment.

“I want to give you a chance, Kakavasha.” Confessing such heavy words also made you want to avoid looking at him, who has been staring at the nightstand beside him while listening to you.

“No.” He suddenly mumbled, which surprised you. “I don’t want you to feel pity for me. I don’t deserve it and you don’t deserve it. It’s not fair… and it’s not what I want.” His voice was firm, far from what you usually hear from him.

“Well then. What do you want, Kakavasha?” You answered a bit enthusiastically again, wanting to keep him talking the most you could.

“If anything were to ever happen between us, I want it to be genuine. Something you’ve started to feel without me interfering the same way I did. But now, it just feels wrong.” You could sense his stress behind his slightly broken voice.

“Why?” You were slightly offended by his words.

“Because you are a victim of rape, Y/N!” He snapped with your innocence and rose from his place, sitting in the bed while he turned his whole body to you. “I should’ve died! All those things I wrote in the letter were supposed to be my last words, not my actual confession! Now it just feels I’m trying to trick into feeling bad for me and romancing with me and you’re falling for it…” You also rose up from your place as he screamed at you for balance, but unfortunately, couldn’t bring himself to speak much more than that due to his growing distress, sighing as he rubbed his fingers in his eyes afterwards.

“I-I understand that I am a bit afraid indeed, Vasha, but I don’t feel I’m falling for anythin—” You tried giggling it off to hide your real anxiety, but Kakavasha was reciprocating none of your patience.

“Yes, you are! You don’t think you’re falling for it because you already fell! You might not understand it yet, Y/N, but I do. This is not a part of your nature anymore. It was ruined and ripped away from you by our master, and that’s okay! Life has much more to it than this! You don’t need it to live properly! But this feeling is real Y/N, and most of us feel it. Most of us would rather to live their lives with someone to share their love with, and I’m one of them. I’m a desperate lost case! God, I’m so obsessed with you I’ve even asked Topaz if you had ever shared a secret of this kind with her because I was throbbing to learn if I was in your mind? It could even be someone else, but she’d always tell me ‘no’! I’ve even paid her to talk to you about it, try to indulge you into telling her any information, she’d come back with nothing? You see, Y/N? You don’t feel that need! You probably think I’m disgusting now anyway…” You couldn’t deny that what he told about Topaz was a bit shocking. If you ever told her anything lewd in those conversations, would she really tell Aventurine without your knowledge? Those few conversations weren’t innocent girl-talk as she called it?

But you really couldn’t find yourself mad at him in the end of the day, despite him believing you already were. You just didn’t know what to say. He had a really fair point about your mind. You were very knowledgeable about many sorts of topics, enough to protect yourself even, but you were truly inexperienced about love. Were you just falling for his words? But it doesn’t feel like it. It just feels like your heart is softening… opening itself for a new thing.

But, he seemed so insistent about you and he has so much more knowledge too. Maybe he is right. He’s a better source than you are, and maybe it’s just better to accept it. So you looked away from him, your eyes meeting the window of the room, displaying the flashy streets of Penacony under the moonlight.

“I-I’m sorry.” Kakavasha suddenly leaned in and hugged you from behind, his forehead resting in your shoulder. “You’re just really precious to me, Y/N, and I don’t want to lose out relationship for something so stupid.” He whispered softly, contrasting his previous tone, but making you relax your muscles a bit.

Despite being a risky bet, seeing how he had relaxed opened a path for you to continue arguing with him instead of letting the conversation die.

“So what if it’s out of pity, Vasha?” You tried waiting for an answer but nothing came out of him, so you opted to continue. “So what if you’ve messed me up and this is just a momentary curiosity that I’ll forever regret later? Do you think it’s more worth for me to live full of unresolved fears rather than trying to face them even if I fail?” He sighed in distress again seeing you didn’t want to end the conversation. He really wishes you could both just ignore the fact that he tried to commit suicide.

“That’s not what I mean, Y/N. I just think that you’re not likely to like it and I don’t want to be the one that ruins your expectations of this even more.” He pulled himself away from you, refusing to even look at you as he offended you.

“Who do you think you are to judge what I want and what I don’t?!” You gave him a little push as you snapped, recovering a bit of power for yourself. “And what if I like it, Vasha? What if you’re simply wasting your own luck away? It’s a risky gamble, I won’t lie to you, but that’s your niche, isn’t it?!” You paused for a moment, recovering all the air you’ve lost from the screaming. “You prefer gamble on your own death rather than gamble on me and you?!” You started to feel pressure in the back of your eyes, signaling you had tears coming down, and you did nothing to stop them.

Kakavasha remained as silent as a rock. The answer was obvious to the both of you, but he didn’t want to admit it, prefering to endlessly stare at the nothingness ahead of him as he absorbs your sorrow in silence.

You had a lot more to say to him, a lot more reasons to show him, but his lack of response made you conclude the case on your own. He didn’t want it, he didn’t want to be convinced, and there’s nothing you can do about it rather than respect him even if it hurt you a lot.

So you wheezed. With a lot of untold anger behind it that you didn’t want to express.

“Good night, Vasha.” You spat at him, trying your best to not let yourself go madder while laying down in the bed to get ready to sleep again. “I just hope you understand how uncomfortable it is to know that I was in that letter as a burden to you, as the main reason for you to feel so depressed to the degree of suicide, and that I can’t do nothing about it and I just have to accept the role that I have of being the most useless friend—” Before you could turn your whole body to the window of the room and ignore his presence in the bed for the whole night, you felt his hand hook your left shoulder hard, and hold your body in that previous angle you were at, only to meet Aventurine launching into you like a hungry animal and shutting your mouth with his lips.

You were stoned, unable to react to it even if all your limbs were perfectly available to push him away from you. You didn’t want to. It was the first time in many years that you felt a pair of lips against yours, and the first time those lips belonged to Kakavasha. It didn’t feel bad. It honestly felt like a need he awakened insideyou. Although the lack of given consent was not something you were a fan of, you knew Kakavasha. He would never do something like this in normal circumstances, much less to hurt you.

As soon as Kakavasha felt your body ease and melt into the heavy kiss that he insisted on, he finishing towering his body above yours, placing his own knees around yours, cornering them, and his pale palms pressing the pillow under your head down.

“Shut up…” He paused the kiss for a brief moment to murmur the order in an angry tone. “You’re not… a burden... or useles...” Even if Kakavasha had so many things to say to you, he didn’t want to stop kissing you at all. “You’re anything… but a burden… to me.” After all, your wet lips felt great just as he dreamed it to be.

Your cold hands ran up to latch on his head to keep him kissing you with no breaks in between making him shiver even harder in excitement.

Pulling his head deeper into yours forced his tongue to invade your mouth, sticky noises and groans beginning to fill the space between you two as saliva started to mix in your mouths and your tongues danced together.

For almost a minute, you two just stopped thinking just to fully focus on feeling each other. His head, who had most power between you two, turned to many different angles just to explore the most corners of your mouth he could, and you accepted it bravely. Your foreheads were rubbing together almost painfully, noses touching each other’s cheek, but no further physical contact was being done between you two. You could swear he was wishing he could move his hands, though. But as expected, he preferred to respect your limits.

And then, when he was finally done, he pulled his tongue and lips out of you. He didn’t dare separating your foreheads or break eye contact. You two were just staring each other. You, who looked at him more surprised, overwhelmed and uncertain, while he was visibly looking at you with arousal and desire.

“Y/N…” He moaned your name like a prayer. “I… I want more.” He confessed ins hoarse mumble, his cheeks blushing in a red tone that you’ve never seen before, even harder seeing how you immediately reacted to it with more shock. “I promise you, I just want to make you feel good… make you feel loved. That’s all. Really, I’ll be gentle, I’ll be slow, I’ll do whatever you have in your head, I’ll—” His eyes squinted, begging you for continuity as his voice slightly broke with despair and embarrassment.

You couldn’t help but start breathing a little bit faster than you were, your eyes turning away from his intense gaze.

Sex.

How come you haven’t thought of this after all you’ve read and heard from him yet? For the kind of man he currently is, it was idiotic of you to assume he wouldn’t desire you in such a lustful way. And now that the reality started hitting you, it felt weird. It was bizarre to think of you and him doing something like that.

The touching, the looking, the hearing, the moaning, the thrusting, the nudity, the feeling…

You really wish you could view it positively… fall in love with it, but he was right, your mind had been ruined for this sort of thing. It would always turn your imaginations of this into your real memories of it, which made your body sweat in fear and your legs to rub against each other in reluctance.

“That’s why I think we shouldn’t do this, Y/N. You don’t like it… You can’t like it.” He weakly smiled down at you seeing how uneasy you were with his confession.

“N-No!” You quickly reached down for his arms before he could get off you, caging yourself under him. “D-Do it… Please.” You used your fingers to gently brush his wrists, trying to convince him to stay.

Kakavasha was definitely a little surprised, even a bit aroused, with your initiative. You found motivation by the mere fact that you never felt an ‘orgasm’, and according to many women you’ve heard talking about it, it feels wonderful, even if it is at the price of doing something like this, which is so expensive to you.

“Are you… serious..?” Kakavasha’s eyes were shining with excitement, although he tried to maintain his concerned look.

“I want believe that this is as good as people say, and trust you to be the one doing it.” The more you spoke to Kakavasha, the more his violet eyes seemed to gain life.

“Y/N, I—” He chuckled a bit, feeling too embarrassed and joyful to keep making eye contact with you. “I really love you.” He whispered as his arms started to bend over, his whole body resting on top of yours gently. “More than anything.” And finally, he took your lips into his again with a kiss much more intense.

You decided to simply move your arms upward and hug his neck this time with your arms. You weren’t even pulling him into you, you were just trying to find some shelter under him, especially due to how truly nervous you still felt.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get to appreciate much of Kakavasha’s lips because he wanted to keep going as you allowed him to do so. So, he slowly pulled away from you and slid down to your neck, introducing himself there with a gentle bite in your skin. You couldn’t help but gasp in shock and pleasure and curl your fingers in his locks, your head unconsciously turning aside and giving him more space to savor. As expected, it was your first time ever being touched like this in such a place, so your reactions were way more sensitive and energetic than they should be. You felt like a total virgin under him even if you already had already been introduced to sex multiple times.

Can you really say you’re not a virgin anymore because of that, though?

“This tattoo…” Kakavasha’s tongue was mainly working in one spot of your neck, the tattoo you shared with him, even if his voice sounded so revolted and disgusted at the sight of it. “Do you even realize how strong you actually are, Y/N? This tattoo… It brands you as nothing but a slave… for either labour or pleasure… but you still keep it… and I’ll make sure I’ll give it another meaning.” You couldn’t deny those therapeutic words felt great to listen, and accompanied by the way he bit and licked your muscled skin so gently, made your first moan of his name to escape your mouth.

“Vasha..!” As soon as you pronounced that nickname, he grunted hard under his throat in pure appreciation of what you had moaned.

In previous nights, Kakavasha could never find the courage to tell any of his partners that he had a real name behind ‘Aventurine’, a name he really wished he could hear as a moan throughout the act. And now that he’s finally listening to it, and coming from someone so special to him like you, he couldn’t help but feel like going even deeper into you. He desperately wanted to take your clothes off.

“Fuck…” He cussed, trying to fight his urges back.

He urgently kept sucking and licking the skin around your tattoo, as if he was a wolf eating a piece of fresh meat, for a whole moment, trying to not rush himself with you. He would need to keep putting in his head again and again that you would need a lot of patience and prepare for this, and that he couldn’t just go savage with you, unfortunately. But if it meant he would get the opportunity to finally make love to you, after so many years yearning for any crumb, he would be happy to follow your pace.

When Kakavasha finally felt he’d done enough, he slowly pulled out of you, noticing a big pink mark covering the spot he made out with. He smirked for a quick moment, knowing it would soon turn darker and noticeably brand him there and that he could officially keep going.

He rose his torso slowly, killing his smirk in the process to avoid scaring you, his eyes meeting the sight of you, a hit overstimulated, and giving his arms space to reach the handles of your nightgown.

“May I?” His voice was soft and calm, his fingers brushing your clothes with delicacy.

You weakly nodded with closed eyes. You didn’t want to watch him taking his first look at such an intimate and vital part of you. You didn’t even quite want him to be seeing it in the first place, but you knew it was something necessary… at least for guys. But you were surprised at how resistant you were being with your hesitation. You were not familiar with the feeling having someone taking off your clothes so passionately like this and being so kind with the content behind it, meaning your memories couldn’t really ruin the experience of it or impede Kakavasha from doing it.

When your nude breasts finally popped out, Kakavasha moaned in desire, letting your nightgown rest below them to not make you any more uncomfortable. To control a bit of your anxiety, your hands moved under the pillow your head lied on and held it tight, your legs crushing against each other.

“Aeons… You’re divine…” Kakavasha grunted with an excited smile as he leaned his face down and gave your left boob a lick.

Shivers went down your body when you felt it, a high-pitched moan accompanying it. It felt so different to have a tongue licking your breast and a hand fondling the other with so much love when were used to having them simply squished like a fidget, and your nipples pinched to pain you and take pleasure on it. But once again, Kakavasha contrasted all those memories and replaced it with new ones, and that gave you so much pleasure. He was being so soft and attentive to them, actually trying to savor every corner of them and look for spots that made you feel the most comfortable so he could stimulate you.

“Kakavasha..!” You moaned his full name as you felt slightly overwhelmed with that new, weird pleasure, a hand of yours reaching down to his hand fondling your breast and trying to give him some assistance by guiding it.

You never thought you’d want him to press your breast any harder than he was, and neither did he. He was trying so much to keep his touch as light as a tickling feathers, but he was happy to see you wanting more.

“Is everything okay so far, Y/N?” His eyes looked up to you for that brief moment, but not stopping making out with your nipple. You nodded more quickly than before, wanting him to keep focusing on doing whatever he was doing to you. “Great…” He smiled for a moment before going back all into you.

You arched your back as you felt him start to suck you with the assistance of his tongue twirling around your skin. It obviously aroused him to have you serving yourself for him so voluntarily like that, so much that he had breathe in and out heavily to calm himself down. He even wondered if he was inside a dream all along, but he couldn’t care less about it at this point. He was loving doing that to you.

You were already feeling so cloudy with all that you could barely think about anything else that wasn’t him and his mouth. You couldn’t even decide whether you wanted to help him fondle your boob or help him suck the other. Although you technically could use your other free hand to do the job of holding his head, you didn’t want to lose the comfort of holding the pillow. You knew you’d become unstable and scared if you let it go.

“Hmmmmmm… They feel so good, Y/N…” He grunted, his voice hoarse with satisfaction, in between the sucking. “I wish I could spend a whole day just showing them love…” Kakavasha’s mouth popped out of your breast, quickly moving to give a kitten lick and a smooch on the other one, pushing your and his hand away from it in the process.

Then, he rose his body, kneeling on top of you. He slowly started to unbutton his black and golden shirt from his pijama set, which was already halfway unbuttoned before all of this. You couldn’t deny that seeing him take his clothes off and meeting his nude chest made your heart start beating even faster, as if it was about to pump out of your chest. Was this how he felt seeing your chest too? But it didn’t make sense. You’d seen Kakavasha shirtless before… multiple times, actually. Sometimes when he showered in your shared room and needed to walk back to it, he didn’t mind covering anything above his waist. But you had mostly seen it when he was working. When the heated weather was so severe that he took his shirt off to refresh his body and improve elasticity. You’d even see it a few times when he was dragged back to your cell after punishment, which was almost always physical.

Was is the context of the situation what made you so nervous and turned on with that sight?

He still had the same physique you remembered him to have. Long and slim chest, with slightly worked-out muscles that could only be visible when he made the effort of showing them off. The only difference was the fact he wasn’t painfully slim anymore to the point where his rib cage was visible.

While you kept unconsciously staring at him, he obviously noticed your gaze and he was a bit awkward with it despite having shown his chest to many other women before.

“Y/N.” He woke you up back to reality. “Do you… want to touch me?” He slowly ran his fingers down his chest, trying to seduce you into the act of touching him.

You didn’t want to answer him with words, but your hands definitely did the job of telling him what you wanted.

You didn’t want to touch him a lot. You just wanted to feel the softness of his skin and acknowledge what you were about to deal with. Reassure yourself that there was nothing to fear at this moment.

“Y/N…” He moaned your name when your hand reached his belly and the tip of your fingers slid upwards to his sternum, a hand of his reaching down to his crotch and pressing it down, trying to hide his growing erection from you so you wouldn’t get distracted or scared.

Bu that obviously called your attention and your gaze looked down at it, figuring that he was building a boner unconsciously while you touched him. The more you found yourself closer and closer to the final act of sex, the more you felt nervous, but somehow excited too.

That’s how you found the courage to kneel up on the bed to align with his height and move his hand away from his erection to replace it with yours instead, cupping and caressing it gently, which immediately made him quiver in his spot.

“Y-Y/N!” He moaned more desperately, his hands reaching your shoulders so he could find balance in his position and also feel a bit of you too.

You didn’t say anything to him for an answer, fully flustered and focused on what you were doing. It was hard, as expected, and it felt a bit thick. But you couldn’t deny how uncanny it felt to be holding something you were so repulsive of, especially when it hardened even more with your touch.

In a blink, you pulled your hand away from his pants, creeped out by it after thinking too much about what you were doing. The deeper you went through with this, the more reality hit you, and you didn’t want to face it yet. So you let it go, letting your curiosity about his anatomy consume you.

“S-Sorry…” He whispered shyly, avoiding eye contact with you when he saw your widened, scared eyes.

“N-No… I should be the one apologizing.” Instead of letting your hands rest in the air doing nothing after acting so rude, you decided to rest them in his shoulders. “I just… wanted to feel you, but—… I don’t know how far I can go, Vasha…” His gaze went back to you while you told him how you felt while yours turned away.

He didn’t say anything at first, thinking about what to do with what you said. The more he thought what to say to you, the more his smile died.

“Do you… want to stop..?” He whispered a bit sadly.

And just like he did just now, you remained quiet. It’s not that you wanted to say ‘No’, but you were so reluctant with the future ahead of you. Then it hit you. Another reality hit you. Look how far you’ve gone with him yet. He kissed you, made out with your neck, took off your nightgown, made out with your boobs… the stakes aren’t going to go too higher, are they?

Shit, you had gone so far with him, you didn’t even realize your nightgown had dropped from your belly to your knees because of you sitting up, leaving you singularly with your underwear.

…

He’s been looking at you like this during all this time, and he didn’t even think about saying anything to you, touching you… much less hurting you.

…

Even if you may not like whatever is ahead of you, you were safe, right? If you tell him to stop, he’ll stop, won’t he?

…

“No.” You confidently said, which brought a smile back to his lips along with a chuckle.

“I promise you, it’ll all be ok.” He moved a hand of his up to your cheek, cupping it as gently as you cupped his erection, his head leaning down to whisper in your ear as well. “Lay down for me, Y/N.” His soft voice made your body immediately weaken in submission.

You nodded and slowly let him help you lay down back to your spot in the bed just like you were previously. Kakavasha watched you with lust reflecting in his eyes.

“May I… take this off?” He asked as his hands landed on your hips, his fingers slowly fitting themselves under the side edge of your panties, but still waiting for your full consent.

You had to swallow down all the saliva pooling in your mouth to not pass out with his initiative. And with that move, a bit of your anxiety was also brought down with it, allowing you to relax a bit.

“… Y-Yes…” You mumbled weakly and Kakavasha nodded before finally starting to pull it down.

It was careful, considerate and slow, as you expected from him, but you still could not handle the pressure you truly felt about it.

“W-Wait!” You put a palm in front of your genitalia and shut your legs together before he could fully see it, agonizingly edging him.

Even if he couldn’t see it, the tease of only your hand covering it was almost making him drool with the tease of it. He’s been wanting to have the privilege of miring you like this for all these years you’ve known each other. Of course he was starving to see what was under your hand, but he was so proud of you now that he was wail king to wait for extra 20 years to get to see the flesh uber your hands.

“S-Sorry…” He painfully chose to look away and drop your panties at your knees, resting his hands on the bed instead, although his dick was sucking all the blood from his circulation, begging to keep savoring the view.

For a good moment you just started to breathe all the air that you needed. You were reasonably nervous completely and ashamed. Your body wasn’t pure, it was an object, or at least used as one, left so traumatized it was almost impossible to feel confident looking at it. Your vulva was supposed to be a secret you’d take to your grave, especially what was inside of it. Even your breasts were supposed to be a secret, but the abuse done to your genital had generally been way worse.

What if you weren’t strong enough to resist your discomfort and let yourself go this? What if you decide to stop this, go to sleep, and start pretending this never happened? It would hurt him horribly, wouldn’t it? Especially after you’ve insisted so much about how uncomfortable you felt being a burden to him.

You really don’t want to upset him. You truthfully just want to see him and you thrive together as a duo, either friends or couple and get him away from suicidou-se as much as you can.

Breathing in and out helped you calming down once again. You decided to not stop it. Not yet. You should at least try to let him try. He deserves it, you deserve it. The poor man wasn’t even daring to look at it, only taking a few peeks here and there. At this point, he wasn’t even considering letting himself breathe without your consent.

“If it comforts you… I don’t intend to… put it in yet…” His eyes were truly doing maximum force to not look at you as he talked, but he couldn’t avoid the burning fever in his cheeks at all.

You immediately sighed in relief after hearing that statement.

Although your knowledge of these things is very little for a woman of your age, you knew it was possible to make a woman feel good in multiple ways.

You angled your head down, trying to search for more clarification.

“I-I’ll use my fingers.” He nervously stated when he noticed you were looking at him. “I’ll go slow, of course… I just want to make sure you’re… prepared… for more.” A little grin showed in your lips at his consideration of you in the choice of his words. It was so unnatural, but so calming and important to you, that it successfully managed to get you to ease your trembling body.

“Okay…” It even got you speaking confidently, your middle and ring finger finally dissecting from each other along with your legs, giving him space to see your pussy.

“Aeons.” That was all he could say that was appropriate to your needs, his hands gripping on the sheet as tight as he could.

“D-Don’t stare too much…” You couldn’t bare the pressure of him looking st you anymore, almost shutting your legs in fear.

“I can’t… You’re too beautiful.” He started to crouch closer to your organ, his hands slowly sliding between your thighs to reopen your legs again and give him space to fit his head them.

In quick seconds, you felt a hand of his let go of your thigh and a pair of fingers lay on top your clit and give it a soft squeeze right after, making your legs shiver and squeeze around his head.

“V-Vasha!” You screamed in shock, feeling ticklish with every touch of his.

“You’re so, so beautiful…” His voice was hoarse and lustful as all his attention was dragged down to your pussy, his fingers gently beginning to slide up and down, stopping at your both hole and bit every round to tease them a bit more.

“K-Kakavasha!” You moaned his name again and again, feeling numb with the stimulation he repetitively did to your organ.

“I’m here, Y/N…” He couldn’t wait any longer to give you an orgasm, his middle finger finally beginning to roll into your hole with delicacy.

Once again, it was slow and gentle, but it was enough to make tears form in the back of your eyes from the pleasure. His finger was long, but thin, perfectly resembling a small version of a penis, which was why it felt so bizarre to you, but since it didn’t feel as overwhelming as an actual dick, it managed to make you feel good too. Kakavasha thankfully didn’t dare move after he put it all inside you too, which definitely helped you process the feeling, his eyes staring at yours precisely, waiting for any signs of either consent or comfort.

The sensation of feeling your insides around his finger was tortuous to him. He desperately wanted his aching erection to be inside there and feeling your right walls instead, but he knew he’d have to work for it and he didn’t mind spending hours fingering you for it.

“Y-You don’t need to… wait for me everytime.” You looked down at him again, also wanting to see how the scene of you being fingered looked like.

“Of course I do.” Although his words were a bit firmer this time, his smirk and actions were completely contradictory to his toughness.

He started moving his finger, rubbing it softly on many spots while beginning to set a pace for the amateur thrusting. And surprisingly, he risked a lot of your consent when he decided to suddenly launch his mouth onto your swollen clit too.

Your back arched when you felt him lick your clit up and down, a stingy wave of pleasure hitting you whole. Kakavasha was pushing his own head against your clit like a starved dog, and that forced your fingers to flee from your vulva and find shelter in the pillow again if you wanted to feel more of that.

Visual Link

“W-Wow!” You weren’t really aware it was possible to have both fingers and a mouth working in you like this, and it definitely felt unique.

“You taste so sweet…” His eyes rolled back as the taste of your liquids started lubricating his mouth and fingers, grunting in his throat. “I can’t wait to make you cum, Y/N…” He finally laid the rest of his body in the bed, starting to rub his own erection against the sheets to relieve himself a bit, moaning a bit in the process.

“M-My God..! Kakavasha!” While you moaned in shock and pleasure, Kakavasha simply proceeded to lick you whole in silence, enjoying the moans he got out of your throat.

Due to how drowned his head was onto you, you unfortunately couldn’t see how happy he truly felt to be finally doing this to you and listening to such intimate noises coming from you, mean in that you were liking it. He barely believed it. Some minutes ago, he was ashamed to even look at you and you were so mad at him, but look at where you two are right now.

He was having sex with you.

And just to remember himself that fact made his cock twitch in need for more.

If he could change the past, he’d definitely impede you and him from ever becoming slaves, even if it would probably cost your friendship with him. He always felt anger when he remembered you were a victim of a violation as serious as rape and how much it ruined his chances with you. So he would rather stop you from ever living those days, and see you and himself being happy and normal, especially if it meant it’d be easier for him to bond with you romantically like this.

“P-Please..! More!” You were taken aback and overwhelmed with all his independent work, but enjoying it like a hungry woman, your voice glistening with hunger and lust. You were expecting him to be careful and considerate with you all the time, but you should’ve known this sort of thing isn’t really rehearsed or supposed to be rehearsed at all.

“Of course, sweetheart…” He mumbled on your clit with a chuckle and proceeded to solely focus on licking it up and down repeatedly, immediately started driving you insane. “Tell me… where do you like it more..?” You felt him add a second finger (ring) gently and spin them both around, his digits starting to rub against your walls, exploring every fleshy spot inside you.

“Holy shit!” You screamed with the addition of his finger, your insides almost aching with how he stretched you.

While his fingers took many trips in many different angles and lengths, he suddenly hit you in a spot that made you snap immediately. The wave of pleasure was so intense that it made you jump up and sit down, squeezing his head against your pussy even harder. That was definitely the spot.

“Right there! Right there!” Your hands, that were blew free from the pillow, reached down to his hair and held it for your life, squeezing his locks and trying to grind your hips harder against his head, his nose getting slightly moistened from all the friction.

How could you’ve ever known it felt so good to be touched like this? You didn’t even know such techniques were possible. To have your most sensitive and intimate part being thrusted and sucked so passionately by someone that didn’t feel like a threat, even if you tried to make him feel like one, felt… wonderful.

And obviously, the obedient Kakavasha below you took your command and started particularly thrusting you in that single spot. Sometimes he went for other spots just to give your favorite one a break, but he mainly tortured the spot that you told him to tease.

“V-Vasha..!” Your voice was whimpering hoarsely already, which only made Kakavasha become more and more aroused with the moment even more.

He could even swear he felt a string of pre-cum release from his tip and run down his cock, wetting his boxers a bit in pure desperation for release.

“Yes… Keep saying my name… please…” His eyes were glossy with pleasure just like you, even if he was technically receiving none.

“Kakavasha!” You spoke his name more confidently, and it definitely pleased his ears.

It pleased him so much that he used his other free hand, who’s been in your thigh all this time, to hook both your legs together and push them forward, giving himself more space to eat you out. His hips were also trying to grind even rougher on the sheets below him, trying to find more relief during this moment that was torturing him so badly. But he definitely did not want to spoil himself. He wanted to preserve his release entirely for the moment he was inside you, especially to use it as fuel to fuck you good. If he can possibly make you like having sex, and make you like it enough to keep wanting to do it with him, he’ll definitely take the opportunity. He should’ve really gambled on this long time ago. Why didn’t he? Why would you say ‘no’ back then? He never did anything to make you want to say ‘no’ to him. The chances of you saying ‘yes’ to him were quite big… They’ve always been big. He’ll forever blame himself for wasting all this precious time and energy away, but not too much. It has been always hard for him to tell what’s going through your mind, ever since you two were slaves, especially for things like this, so it was hard for him to find courage to flirt with you.

Why even keep thinking about these angsty moments? They’re all paying off right now.

“Kakavasha, I feel weird…” Your words felt like a switch to him, making him stop masturbating you immediately.

“Do you want me to sto—”

“For God’s sake! Why would you stop?!” You pushed his mouth back to your clit with your hands in complete desperation before the building momentum inside you could fade away, and he immediately switched back to obeying you.

You made him smile with that plea. It’s as if he was falling even more in love with you at this moment.

“S-Sorry! I-I think I’m going to cum, that’s all!” You finally finished saying what you had in mind, going back to your normal hoarse tone.

And if you thought Kakavasha couldn’t go any tougher with you, his fingers started thrusting you faster, digits endlessly and singularly teasing your weak spot now while his tongue kept twirling your clit.

“Cum for me, then… Cum in my mouth, Y/N…” He became slightly desperate for your release when you warned him of it, blinded with lust and desire to feel your very essence raining on his tongue for him to taste while you’re feeling heavenly amounts of pleasure.

“I’m close..! I’m so… close..!” You kept warning him over and over, your mouth trembling with weak whimpers coming out of it.

And when your womb finally snapped, you managed to warn him, but you stopped talking afterwards due to the shock, your body throwing itself on the bed so it could fully process all the pleasure that was taking over your senses. It was more immense than you expected from all that build-up, and Kakavasha fiercely took it all, switching his fingers and mouth’s position, his tongue thrusting inside you so it could take your orgasm inside him and fingers circling your clit to prolong your climax. His reaction was simple. He simply angled his eyes upwards and enjoyed the view of you worming in the bed, paradisiacal under his touch, while moaning inside your pussy in arousal of feeling you drip in his tongue. He didn’t he could feel this good making you feel good.

After a few seconds, when it was unfortunately over, you gasped hard and finally stopped screaming, eyes darting at the rooftop exhausted while he still did the job of licking you clean and drinking all your cum. You were finally gaining your lost consciousness back after such intense moment that took some of it away, and Kakavasha obviously took your relaxation as a sign for him to pull out. So, while he gulped down your precious essence and sucked on his fingers to clean them, he took his mouth off of you, a ‘pop’ noise accompanying it.

Neither of you said anything for a few seconds, simply breathing in and out. Kakavasha also had to recover a bit from spending so much time breathing warm air and drowning in your wetness.

“Y/N…” He crawled up to you again and leaned down, his forehead almost touching yours. “Can we… keep going..?” His voice remained soft and calm, barely above a whisper.

“Yes…” At least, you were feeling way more sure and aafe about all of this after this orgasm. You didn’t even take a moment to think before answering, and that made Kakavasha a bit happy.

“I want nothing but you to make you feel good.” He leaned a bit upwards, which allowed him to remove his hands from the sheets and reach down to his pants to start taking them off and freezing his pushing erection.

You decided to follow his actions and looked down at his shaft, only to regret it immediately and raise your chin against to stare at the roof.

Oh, yeah… that.

That monstrous thing that has abused you so many times and looked so ugly and evil. The memories of seeing those did not make you feel good, it actually made you rethink what you had said earlier.

You closed your eyes. You should not take your words back now… not yet. It’s not fair to him. Kakavasha can’t control his sex the same way you can’t too, so don’t blame him for being forced to have something you don’t like.

“Is everything okay?” He asked while getting completely naked just like you were.

“Yes… I just don’t wanna… look at it… if you don’t mind.” You turned your face away from him, although it didn’t change the blackness your eyes mired.

“Of course I don’t mind it.” He replied gently, finding your reaction cute.

The room went a quiet after he talked since Kakavasha still needed to get rid of his pants hanging on his knees and also your underwear that was still hanging to your legs all this time. But even after he was done with that and finally readied himself between your legs, leaning his face close to yours, he stopped moving entirely and sighed.

“I think it would be better for you if you put it in yourself, Y/N. It feels weird for me to put it in whenever I want to when you look so nervous like that. I don’t want to scare you.” His voice sounded a bit worried and defeated seeing how you were acting under him, all stiff and anxious.

“N-No, please… I’ll be ok… I really just don’t wanna look at it… B-But I’m ok with you taking the lead here… I don’t think I can do it anyway…” You laughed it off, trying to calm him down, and it seemed to work since you heard him chuckle.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” He asked again, a hand of his moving down to hold your hips and holding it for prepare, but the grip was absolutely soft.

“Yes, Vasha.” You nodded, forcing your expression to soften to make him less resentful of beginning the act while your hands crawled back under the pillow.

And slowly, he started to take action. You squeaked when you felt him guide his fleshy tip to your wet lips, gently opening its passage, while also pulling your waist closer to it go help him with the penetration. The more he went inside and filled the emptiness of your inner walls, the more he slowed down, even more when you expressed discomfort with your face or voice. But he didn’t want to stop moving. The hug of your walls around him felt too good for him to not keep going deeper. After all, Kakavasha’s mouth dropped more and more the more he watched his cock disappear into you, finalizing with a loud groan when the skin of his hips finally slapped against yours and his head curled down until your foreheads were touching again.

“Shhhhh… It’s over.” He whispered, kissing your forehead gently while immediately dropping his hands from your hips and his dick to interact with you. “It’s ok… You’re ok.” You felt a group of fingers reach the top of your head and twirl with your locks, beginning to caress your scalp with the tip of his fingers smoothly.

You were overwhelmed once again. It felt weird but it felt good, it felt eerie but it felt genuine, you felt threatened, but you also felt safe. The uncertainty of I made you open your eyes very slowly for caution, meeting Kakavasha breathing with his mouth open, as if he was trying to control himself, while staring deeply at you eyes.

“Are you ok, Y/N?” The mere fact he made that question to made you feel better. It felt warm to be so considered like this in such a difficult moment.

“Y-Yes…” Your hands creeped up to hug his shoulders from behind, looking forward to bond you two together.

But Kakavasha immediately took as a sign to lay his forearms in the bed and press his whole body against yours. He groaned deep once again as he felt your breasts rub against his torso, and the way your back arched, making the contact even harder between your chests, made him even more desperate. But what really mattered to him was the way you were scratching his shoulders and back. He’d let you discount whatever you needed on him, even if he started to bleed.

“S-Sorry… I can’t stay silent about this, Y/N. You feel good. Really fucking good.” Kakavasha suddenly confessed with a hoarse voice, feeling horrible about telling you such a dirty thing, but unable to hold it back.

“T-Thank you.” You quietly mumbled back a bit embarrassed. Although you appreciated his comment, you didn’t feel like complimenting him back… because it wasn’t really reciprocal.

It didn’t feel bad, but it didn’t feel amazing either. It felt just like you remembered it to feel, but at the same time you knew this wasn’t abuse. You felt paralyzed and a bit uncomfortable, but maybe if you let him move, this will start to feel better.

“Y-You can move… slowly.” You warned him and he nodded, but didn’t immediately follow your order.

Instead he gave you a quick kiss on your cheek and forehead first, and then he started moving.

God, it felt even weirder to have him moving. At least that’s how you felt in the beginning. But when you realized he was being so attentive to your reactions and his slow, smooth pace, you felt safe again. You did not know how good it felt to be heard in an activity like this, nor how good it could feel when someone was actually searching for what made you feel pleasure. It was still bizarre, but in its own unique way, where you could still feel a bit good with him pulling out and pushing back, and Kakavasha was obviously enjoying it more than you.

“Fuck…” Kakavasha cussed out of relief, his cheeks burning in a bright red tone as he felt your walls tightening him.

Kakavasha could seriously pass out at any moment right now. You had no idea how excited he was truly feeling about this. How much he wanted to fuck you faster, praise you with thousands of words, and touch you in so many places. He wanted to do this with you for the whole night. He just wants to show you what you deserve, but he knew being that touchy and hypnotized would most likely turn you off, so he’d rather not gamble. He’ll take it slow and wait for your approval for him to keep going.

“Vasha…” And to watch your face and body contorting with pleasure under him and mire his own dick disappearing inside you every few seconds was even more addicting to him.

He couldn’t believe he was actually inside you at this moment. These mushy walls he was savoring belong to you, not some random prostitute. It was your voice who was calling his name. It was your love he was receiving. Shit. If he thinks about it too much he’ll cum in a blink and he doesn’t want that. But just for the sake of reassurance, he looked down at where you two were connected and saw what he expected to see. Your vulva stretched apart to receive him, and his cock going inside it. It felt really great. So great it made him feel more confident about this and so great he had to stop looking if he didn’t want to cum yet.

“Y/N…” He was obviously moaning way more than you, both in volume and frequency. “I love you so much… This feels amazing— Ah! Shit…” He proceeded to word every thought that came to his mind.

But when he said he wanted to prioritize you, he truly meant it. His noises might make it seem like he was prioritizing his own pleasure, but those weren’t even the loudest he could be. They were just a slight representation of how good he felt even when he wasn’t the focus. A slight representation how great he felt making you feel wonderful.

His head slid down and landed by your side, moaning on your neck instead of the whole room while also making out with it again, trying to listen to you more than himself and make you a bit more comfortable with his moves. Maybe the amount of noises he emitted scared you, so he’d avoid it.

Now, you were back at staring the roof again, free of his piercing gaze landing upon you. You used that moment to reflect, taking advantage of Kakavasha melting down into you to think about it with less guilt. You were feeling horrible about yourself and your thoughts at this moment. It did not feel as good as promised by nature. There could still be hope to this somewhere, but this is not for you. All you were feeling right now is discomfort. You were many times pinned down like this, only to be invaded and abused. Even if it was Kakavasha who was doing it, and despite all his consideration, your brain couldn’t help but keep warning you about rape every second, leaving no space for relaxation or comfort. That length inside you was the thing that once traumatized you, that scarred you for life, physically and mentally, and you were letting it in again. For what? To make you hate it even more? But you allowed him to do so much to you and you promised this to him. His hopes are set sky-high. Do you really want to ruin them?

And, well… there are still some positive sides to this, isn’t there? Hugging him feels warming, hearing him moan and call your name feels like a romance movie… but the main point of this whole act did not.

…

…

At least… it was Kakavasha, your most-trusted friend, who was doing this to you. He would never do this without your consent, would he? If you said ‘no’ to that first kiss of his, you two would be sleeping right now, wouldn’t you? If you said ‘no’ right now, he’d stop, wouldn’t he? Kakavasha is feeling depressed and suicidal. That’s what is making you keep yourself there and let him do what he wants to do with you. All you want is to see him getting better and yourself to live without fearing he’ll try to attempt against his own life again. Even if it costs a bit of your well-being, your own comfort, another scar that’d make you hate this even more… you wanted to do this for him… after all he’s done to you.

So you closed your eyes, and started thinking about other things unrelated to all of this, hoping it would distract you from it until it was over. And obviously, you hoped it would all end soon.

…

…

“Y-Y/N..!”

…

…

…

“A-Ah… Hmmm…”

…

…

…

“Aeons… I love you so much, Y/N…”

…

…

…

“You feel so fucking warm… so tight…”

…

…

“Gonna take care of you—! Ah… Every time you want me to…”

…

…

…

…

…

“You’re breathtaking, Y/N… This tattoo is nothing compared to you…”

…

…

…

…

“Y/N…”

…

…

“Y/N..?”

…

…

…

…

…

…

..?

What?

Why did he—

You opened your eyes again, only to meet Kakavasha’s face on top of yours again, staring at you visibly disappointed and his body immobile.

“You’re not enjoying it, are you?” He asked, but before a single syllable could leave your mouth, he sighed and spoke first, a bit angrier this time. “I told you, Y/N. You’ll never like this. It’s not part of your nature anymore.” His gaze was serious and heavy, forming a knot on your throat. “I appreciate it, but I don’t want to force you to do this, nor do I want you to force yourself to do this.” He turned away, slowly starting to pull his length out of you.

Wow. That hit you hard.

After all these steps you’ve taken, after all the time he spent preparing you, after all the expectations he’d created, his entire confidence was crushed in a matter of seconds. You must’ve actually worsened his well-being instead of making it better as you intended to. Looking at his eyes, seeing all its shine disappear along with his excitement broke your heart.

It made you feel… embarrassed.

You can’t leave him like this. You can’t just fool him like that. It didn’t feel right. You shouldn’t end things like this.

His insecurity sparked you. That one last hope you had in the back of your mind, but didn’t want to risk yet, was paining to be risked now.

“… No.” You intended that to be said in your mind, but it left your mouth, and Kakavasha noticed it.

“Wha—?” He didn’t catch what you said, so he looked back at you for a quick moment, only to be surprised by you launching yourself upwards and rushing your lips against his.

At first he didn’t react, after all, it was your lips against his, but then he quickly remembered how forced you felt to be doing this, and started to fight back.

“Y/N, you don’t have to—” He pushed you away with his hands, but you acted quick and grabbed both of his wrists.

You took them away from your body and pushed him instead. And for his shock, you surprisingly didn’t stop there. Using all your strength, you forced both your bodies to turn around, switching positions, and used your weight to push him down against the bed, sitting right on top of his belly.

Kakavasha could’ve fought you back, after all, he was stronger than you and your moves were quite slow, but he didn’t want to. He was shocked but didn’t feel threatened at all. He was rather curious. That’s why he simply chose to stare at you in confusion after he was laid down.

Why were you doing this? Why were you going so far for something you didn’t even enjoy? You didn’t have to do this for hm.

“What is wrong with you?!” You couldn’t help but grip his wrists tighter in revolt, trying to stop the growing tears in the back of your eyes from falling down and mess up your voice and face. “You were willing to gamble your success with our master when we were slaves… knowing failure would bring you death… You were willing to gamble your success and even mine in the IPC with Jade, despite neither of us having any experience with this type of work… You’re willing to gamble millions of Credits in our casino daily… or your own life away… But you’re not willing to gamble on this with me..?” You were slightly breathless after spitting out all that scolding, so you had to pause for a moment to recover your breath, which also gave him an opportunity to answer you, but he didn’t take it. “What is the matter with you?! Why do you underestimate me so much?!” And unfortunately, you tears couldn’t be held back anymore. They were too strong.

Kakavasha’s eyes squinted, almost shutting down seeeing your distress.

“S-Sorr—”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Kakavasha went mute after this, only his hard breathing emitting noise. “Yes, I was not enjoying it, ok?! But why do you insist with this bullshit of ‘my nature’ to me?! Since when are you this pessimistic about me?! Has it always been like this?!” You had to pause again for oxygen while he pathetically stared at you. “Does it not go through your head that maybe it’s something else?! I want to try it, for God’s sake!” You pulled your hands away and started clearing your tears. “You just… You just pulled an orgasm out of me… but you believe I’m not capable of facing more..?!” More tears fell from your eyes from the slight disappointment you were feeling, while he didn’t blink once.

Kakavasha didn’t answer anything, as expected from him after your order, but now you wanted to take it back.

“Say something!” You cried out, your voice slightly breaking while you removed your hands from his wrists to wipe your face.

…

…

Kakavasha’s muscles finally seemed to start relaxing, his gaze softening, his eyes thankfully blinking again and a smile slightly forming in his pink lips.

You felt something poke your buttocks. You actually have been feeling it since the moment you sat on him. But now it was completely annoying you. So you decided to look behind you and check it, only to meet his dick, that had hardened again, and enough to be standing straight and rubbing against your skin. It was begging you to do something with it.

“Use me.” You suddenly heard him mumble, your head spinning back to him pay attention to him.

“Huh?” You were still whiny and even more lost now.

“I said… Use me. You’re right… I’m a hypocrite… I’m nothing but a stupid, hypocrite bastard.” He paused for a second, his hands moving up to grip the pillow where his head laid just like you did. “I shouldn’t think of you like this. I should’ve never thought of you like this. So, please, use me. Use me as you please. Even ruin me if you see fit. I’ll let you do anything to me right now. Anything that’ll make you forgive me for my stupidness… for making you waste your precious tears away like this… I won’t touch you once, I won’t thrust you once, I won’t even look at you if you want me to. I’m yours tonight, Y/N. All fucking yours.” His dick pulsed a few times as he said such dirty words, desperate to be inside you again, his voice lacing with sadistic amusement and you couldn’t deny the little butterflies kicking your stomach too.

“Don’t speak of yourself like this.” You said a bit more firmly, finally finishing your task of clearing your tears away from your cheeks. “You’re not… a toy.” You reflected yourself on him as you said that, shaking your head to forget those thoughts before they consumed you again. “I-I’m not doing this because I want to… use you… Don’t… ever word it like that.” He immediately nodded like an obedient dog as you gave him those limits.

“Of course…” He talked to you as if you were a queen, even if a real queen would never act so scaredy like you were. You were still a bit nervous to engage in this activity, especially now that you were the one in control. But your body has been successfully turned on again, along with him. That was the perfect opportunity for you to try again.

So you lifted your hips, one of your hands going down to hold and align his dick with your moistened hole, and slowly slide it inside you entirely, your back arching upwards as you felt him consume you to the hilt again. He still felt overwhelmingly sized inside you, despite you having already tried it.

Wait, had you just touched his actual dick? You looked at it, you acknowledged it and its hungry state, then you proceeded to hold it with your hand, when you’ve been doing your best to avoid interacting with it in any way. Were you really feeling that safe around Kakavasha? Enough to touch something you disgusted so much? Wow… it surprised you how much this man managed to change you.

“Hmmmmm… Y/N…” Kakavasha was smiling in a weird way, as if he was enjoying this more than he was supposed to, but wasn’t scared to show his creepy devotion to you.

After all, it fueled you to start hopping in a weak, slow pace, causing the man to start moaning immediately while your hands rested on his belly to help you hop. His hands held the pillow tightly, and his head arched upwards in pure ecstasy.

This time, it didn’t feel so weird. Was it the position you were in what scared you before? Because now that you were the one setting the pace and making Kakavasha take you, no feeling of danger consumed you.

Perhaps you could finally say you were enjoying it.

“Y/N! Oh, Y/N…” Kakavasha moaned your name like a desperate prayer over and over again, his chest lifting up and down heavily to breathe in enough oxygen to take you.

Kakavasha wasn’t used to being the one who follows the rhythm. He was very ready to be the one guiding you, not the other way around. But at the same time, he loved it. He could see such a privileged view of your whole body on top of him and it looked so beautiful. Your pussy spread to receive his cock, your hips swaying on it and making it disappear into you, your boobs jiggling, and your face and vocal chords expressing so much pleasure. You looked like a work of art, the kind that deserves to be hanged at the museum, but unfortunately he couldn’t enjoy you more than that. He promised himself that he wouldn’t influence you and your choices, and it was starting to weigh on his pleasure.

He promised you all he’d do is receive what you have for him, so he couldn’t do nothing but drool with the view of you while his heart and cock ached for more physical touch.

“Vasha…” You groaned his name before starting to speed up your rhythm a bit, finally getting better used to him and his size.

“Yes, Y/N… I’m here!” He made to sure to reply just in case you weren’t saying his name out of pleasure, and to communicate instead. “How do you feel, hum..? Any better?” He was still a bit insecure this whole act, especially how to interpret your movements and noises.

“I feel good… I definitely feel better.” You decided to move your hands a bit upwards, feeling more of Kakavasha’s torso rather than his belly, and he immediately liked to see that coming from you.

“You do..? Good…” He proceeded to go back to moaning repeatedly, eyes working hard to keep themselves open and savor the view.

His balls felt so heavy with all the stimulation that they were itching. And knowing that he wasn’t even feeling the most pleasure he could feel tortured him even more. It only showed to him how you made everything feel so much better, despite being an inexperienced newbie at it. He’s had so many other women riding him, way more professionally, but none of them made him feel so horny and hungry like this. Was he this terribly addicted to you? Enough to overshadow every other experience he’s had?

He couldn’t keep himself so caged under you like this. It was too tortuous for him.

“Y-Y/N… I’m sorry… but I need to tell you how much I— ah! How much I want to touch you right now… S-Sorry..! I know I promised you t-that I wouldn’t… but this is too much for me.!” Kakavasha turned his face away and closed his eyes, expecting the worst reaction out of you. “Only your hips… I’ll only touch your hips…” Kakavasha’s eyes froze on your hips, looking at them like a raw, bloody piece of meat.

“F-Fine… Be gentle…” You decided to give in to him and leaned down, pressing your whole body against his while your hands went to the sides of his head, which immediately made him groan loudly.

Obviously, Kakavasha’s hands snapped to your hips and gripped on them tight, not enough to hurt you, of course. His moans became slightly more high-pitched with the feeling of holding your hips and the stimulation of your breasts pressing against his chest. As expected, he didn’t quite exactly keep his hands there. The closure of your faces now made it irresistible for him to not launch his mouth on yours and seal you Hoth with a messy, wet kiss, and his fingers were brushing your hips up and down, sometimes going as far to your buttocks or scratching your spine, but those didn’t bother you at all. If anything, they made you feel desired.

“You’re so perfect, Y/N..!” He broke the kiss only to say those words and immediately go after your neck next.

And, once again, he begun making out with your cursed tattoo and whispering sweet words directly to your ear, freeing a hand of your hips to push your head harder onto him so he could reach your neck with ease.

“You’re such a brave, powerful woman, Y/N…” He licked your skin with delicacy, his voice as sweet as honey against your ear, warming the air around it.

“S-Stop… teasing me..!” Your voice didn’t leave your throat any louder than a whisper, lingering with exhaustion and overstimulation.

“I’m not teasing you… I’m just telling you the mere truth… You’re amazing, Y/N. You’ve evolved from a slave, to a secretary, and finally to a Stoneheart on your own, and I’ve been proudly accompanying you ever since Step 1… admiring and loving every cell of yours every fucking second. Only Aeons knows how much I want you to keep riding me like this… I want to do this with you the whole night… Just you and me… fucking each other like this…” Kakavasha giggled in your ear as he felt pleasure from feeling his heart weigh lighter after confessing all that dirty stuff, those darker desires of his, his cock aching for his orgasm that was slowly rising to its peak, while you had the contrary effect.

His poetry completely overstuffed you with love, joy and passion, making it harder for your heart to process it all and keep beating as it was. Even if they were risky words to say to someone as sensible as you, they only made your swollen clit throb for more of them. Without this, you would never know that you had such a like for dedication, especially an exaggerated one like this. Could it possibly be what people call a ‘kink’? Because all you felt was your muscles weakening on top of him, and your heart almost pumping out of your chest in exhaustion.

“C-Can’t… do this anymore..!” You whimpered, your hips almost fully stopping to move, nails clawing at the sheets for your dear life.

“W-Want some help..?” He couldn’t help but already begin moving a bit to not lose the momentum happening between you two and fly both his hands back to your hips, preparing to help you in case you said ‘Yes’.

“P-Please..!” As soon as he heard you plead for his help so breathlessly beautiful like that, he immediately snapped. In a second, you felt his legs spread farther away from each other, and his hips thrusting upward, causing you to scream in slight shock.

Although having all the control of the intercourse gave you a lot of comfort and reassurance of yourself and your actions, you didn’t expect it to feel even better when he was the one acting again. It still felt like you had more power than him, even if that wasn’t quite true anymore. You were sitting down so peacefully with freedom to move everywhere while he wetted the bed with his sweat and suffocated in that strained position that didn’t favor him at all, not even with his precise thrusts. The position did really matter for someone like you, didn’t it? Unlike Kakavasha, that did not once seem uncomfortable with this.

Visual Link

Kakavasha’s pace was way faster than yours and was a bit more brutal too. He seemed to be trying to specifically hit you in a specific spot compared to the rest of your walls… your g-spot.

“Oh, my God!” You screamed with tears hanging in the corner of your eyes again, your head arching upwards again to let all your voice out of your throat, letting Kakavasha stare at your broken face.

“It’s here, isn’t it..?” He smirked with lingering arousal, stopping his rhythm for a moment to grind in your g-spot and torture it until he found it.

“F-Fuck!” The way a heavy wave of pleasure was sent through your whole body from your womb made you whine in satisfaction. “Y-Yes! Right there! It’s right there!” Kakavasha immediately unpaused his thrusts when he got your confirmation.

Your body was panicking with the spanking he did at your g-spot, stimulation taking over your senses and turning you into that hungry animal. At least he was acting as animalistic as you, even worse, if you could be honest. You could even feel a remarkable feeling in the back of your womb… that same exact growing burn you felt in the back of your womb that you just felt while he ate your pussy out, specifically when you were about to have your orgasm.

“Is it too much, Y/N..?” Not even he knew how his masochism and desire for you wasn’t taking over his mind right now. Fucking your pussy, so tight, sloppy and warm for being untouched for so long, like that was truly breaking his mind bit by bit.

“N-No! Keep going! I-I think I’m close!” Kakavasha smiled at that warning, and he obviously didn’t dare stop thrusting you in that speed.

If anything, you could even say he started to go faster. So fast he was almost slipping out of your hole every time he pulled up, but his focus thankfully managed to keep himself into you all the time.

It was everything. You and him, after so many years fighting together, befriending each other, becoming familiar with each other, now bonding in a way that you two never dared to. The intimacy, skin to skin, eye to eye, mouth to mouth… It wasn’t the average sex Kakavasha would experience on his own, or the abuse done to you.

It was love. A kind of love, so passionate and strong, that was making your past fears look like nothing but an annoying piece of dust. One that Kakavasha never got to express and was now vomiting it all and almost losing his consciousness for. One that was so new to you, but was truly taking you to heaven.

“To think that… I wouldn’t be experiencing this if I was dead right now… It kills me, Y/N..!” His voice broke in a few syllables while he moaned and babbled, his smile dying due to the heavy feeling of guilt in his heart when he reminded himself of that.

“Shhh, shhh…” You put a palm on top of his mouth so he could stop ruining the mood. “It’s ok, Vasha… We all make mistakes, and I forgive you… I definitely forgive you…” You tried talking the sweetest you could, although it was hard to keep your noises in the back of your throat and impede them from breaking your calm tone.

“But I was going to die, Y/N..! I was going to kill myself… and leave you behind..! And I still… I still think about i—!” He insisted on talking even if you had tried to shut him up.

“Stop talking, Kakavasha…” You spoke in a more serious tone, and Kakavasha almost went against you, but you spoke before he could. “Just focus on me, ok..? I’m here… I’m right here.” Those words sent shivers down on Kakavasha’s spine, immediately falling for your seduction while his dick pulsed for more of you.

You were right. You were right there for him, and he couldn’t get enough of you. You could keep rising the stakes, but it’d never be enough for his desire for more of you, for an impossible amount of pleasure coming from you and him. But at least he was getting to express some of it— no, most of it with you right now, and he was not going to stop until you reached another orgasm.

“Make me cum like you said you wanted me to, Kakavasha…” You quickly leaned down just to kiss him on his tattoo to intentionally turn his mind off from those thoughts, and you successfully got him to snap.

Kakavasha sat up, forcing you to kneel on top of him again. His thrusts became erratical, making you throw your head behind your shoulders.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… Please, let me cum too—! Ah! Please, please, please, please…” Kakavasha buried his face on your shoulder, his hands almost turning the bones of your hips into dust.

“Of course you can, Kakavasha…” You simply hugged him back, clawing your fingernails on his back so harshly it made him hiss in pain.

“I want to make you cum with me too… I want to see it… Your face, your body… I want to hear the noises that you do… Please tell me you’re close!” His voice was so high-pitched that you wondered if he’d gone insane already.

“I am, Vasha… I’m almost there..!” Your vice eas also going more high-pitched then the usual due to the closure of your orgasm.

“P-Please.. let me lay you down… I-It won’t last long, I promise, I just want us to cum as soon—” You got tired of him of trying to explain every thought in his mind midway and decided to take over.

“Do it.” Kakavasha’s eyes widened with shock at your dedication, but also shone brighter than before. In less than one second, you were thrown in the bed, close to he edge of it, so the momentum wouldn’t be lost, not in the slightest.

For the next seconds, you and Kakavasha simply focused on staring deep down at each other while he completely bottomed his entire length inside you every thrust, in search of that blissful orgasm he looked for.

Visual Link

He looked so beautiful above you, all sweaty and wasted, but still working his hardest to make you feel pleasure. Kakavasha also thought you looked hypnotizing under him, but the difference between you and him was that he looked at you way dirtier than you did. He was looking at your swollen, soaked pussy taking him in, then raising his eyes to your bouncing boobs, then to your sweaty face and open mouth emitting such beautiful noises. In the back of his mind, he wanted to fuck you all night in many different places and positions. He wanted to hear your dirtiest moans and tell you his dirtiest wishes while he had you under him looking just like that.

But before he could enjoy any more of you, the arousal of seeing you under made him orgasm snap prematurely, way before than he expected it to come.

“F-FUCK!” Kakavasha groaned with a deep voice before suddenly stopping with his thrusts and start to yelp like crazy.

He was screaming, body quivering and shivering entirely as his dick started ejaculating. Your orgasm followed his orgasm a few seconds later, and it was definitely another shocker to you. You weren’t expecting it to be so much more breathtaking than the last one. Maybe the build-up to this one or the connection between you two was what made your body burn with so much more fever. Screams obviously came out of your mouth, accompanying Kakavasha’s screams even louder than him, also including the hook of your nails that dug so deep in his back that it could make him bleed.

“Yes, that’s it— Fuck!” Kakavasha tried keeping control so there was some guidance in the situation but Kakavasha was also having the hardest orgasm of his life, and it was hard to resist when he knew it was all being spilled inside you.

It was too much ecstasy for the both of you, and this moment of climax lasted incredibly long.

Obviously, the intensity of the moment couldn’t be increased and only decreased, so soon enough, you and Kakavasha were simply panting messes looking at each each other. So weak that his arms couldn’t hold himself above you for too long and they broke, pressing his body against yours.

Neither of you knew what to say to each other, the way your bodies curled onto each other and made physical contact was enough to express everything either of you had to say. This was a great night. You completely renewed your limits and learned new things about sex, improving your knowledge about it too, while for Kakavasha, this was casually the best fucking night of his life. Fuck suicide. He got you to have sex with him. This completely restored his hormones, and would definitely weigh positively in his mental health. He was so happy he didn’t even want to let go or pull out. Feeling you hug and caress his back after hurting it so bad, crawling his fingers under you to caress your back too, shove his head between your shoulder and neck and feeling your inner walls still moisten his length was a contact that he desperately craved for.

“Y/N…” Things were finally becoming normal again.

“Kakavasha…” Ignoring the fact that you two couldn’t really call each other ‘friends’ anymore…

“How do you… How do you feel..?” He finally had enough strength again to push himself upward and stare at your face again while unfortunately pulling himself out, his soaked dick feeling the sharp cold of the room’s temperature.

“Hmmmm… Weird…” You shrugged your shoulders, and you noticed Kakavasha’s eyes widen a bit, as if he was about to have a heartbreak. Luckily, you were just kidding with him. “…ly good.” You giggled at his reaction, and his cheeks simply flushed with embarrassment at being so easily fooled.

“You..!” He tried scolding you, but he had zero negative energy to do that. “You promise..?” But he was still a bit insecure, and needed a clear confirmation.

“Yes.” You nodded, attempting to begin getting out, but his arms were weighting really hard in the sheets.

“I hate to say this… but I would really like to keep going…” He looked away from you and paused for a moment. “I could bring you to paradise all night… teach you more about this… let you experiment more… whatever you want…” But there was a little smile in his face, lingering with hope. “So… round two?” Although you weren’t a fan of guys flirting with you, having Kakavasha doing it sounded funny, real, romantic and intuitive. “P-Please, don’t get me wrong… I’m already very happy and satisfied, I just still have energy in me to keep going… If you don’t want a second round, you can just say ‘No’ to me and I’ll be completely fine.” His eyes looked anywhere else, but avoided your face the most they could.

“I don’t know, Vasha…” You replied a bit unenthusiastically, trying to think about it, but Kakavasha didn’t give you much time.

“Alright, then… No need to worry or overthink it. You did absolutely amazing tonight…” He suddenly pulled you and him upwards, only to throw himself in the pillows again, bringing you with him.

When you two landed, Kakavasha immediately pushed you out of his lap, laying you down beside him just like you two were before all of this and layering the sheets on top of you. He was staring at you passionately, cheeks flushing and a grin in his lips that resembled a little kid in love.

“Aeons, you look beautiful like this…” You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at his compliment and pull the sheets closer to you after he said those, trying to stop from saying any better things to you.

It was your first time ever showing him your nudity, and looking at him fully naked indeed, and his words didn’t make it any easier to keep yourself naked for the whole night of staring at him nude all night.

“Stop…” You mumbled while avoiding looking at his violet eyes, who were still shining with satisfaction.

“How can I?” He also decided to cover himself with the sheets too, and now that you two had censored your bodies from each other, you could make eye contact again. “You’re the perfect sight for sore eyes.” He reached a hand out, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You simply smiled awkwardly in response, letting him keep fixing your hair.

Despite the moment being wholesome, you were really going back to your previous thoughts before this, when you were scolding Kakavasha for his attempt against his own life. Your thoughts about it came back even spicier now due to what he almost said while you were riding him.

“But I was going to die, Y/N..! I was going to kill myself… and leave you behind..! And I still… I still think about i—!”

So he really still thinks about it? Even if you just tried your best to give him a reason to not? Why? Wasn’t this enough to make him at least reconsider it? You don’t want him to die. He doesn’t deserve to die and rest in peace for the rest of eternity. He deserves to live and prosper, whether if it’s with you or not, after all the things he went through.

So, meanwhile you allowed him to play with your hair, you took advantage of his distraction to speak about the big unspoken elephant in the room.

“Kakavasha.” You called him pretty seriously, and he looked at you without realizing your serious expression. “Do you really still think about killing yourself?” You spoke seriously, referring to suicide harshly so it’d trigger him to remember what he said and engage in the conversation truthfully with you.

His hands froze in their place, still resting in your hair, as he heard ask such a question in such an invasive tone, looking at you a bit shocked and confused.

“Promise me you’ll never attempt suicide again, Kakavasha.” Although his mouth was quiet and reluctant to talk, his widened eyes looking away from you what you needed to know. “I’m serious.” You completed yourself, trying to appeal to his empathy with you and your trust in him.

He didn’t answer initially, looking at many different corners that weren’t you and not face your piercing gaze, but you were determined to keep pressuring him to at least give you an answer, even if it was a lie or a mere syllable. But the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to talk about it with you, as if he was uncomfortable. Since it’s easy for someone like you to identify discomfort, you quickly realized it and decided to accommodate to it, hopping a little closer to him and revolving your hands around his waist to hug it.

“Things will get better, Kakavasha. I can assure you that.” You laid your head harder against his chest very close to his heart, feeling his accelerated heartbeat echo in your ear.

He still didn’t say anything, and instead just circled his own arms around your head like a leech and went back to fidgeting with your hair, but a bit more stressed this time.

“I want to be your lover, Y/N.” He whispered with an anxious tone, afraid of his own words, while they simply surprised you. “I want to be your boyfriend, o-or your husband… or at least… someone you’ll never ever abandon.” He shoved his face in your neck again, breathing your skin as if he needed it to live.

“I’d never abandon you, Kakavasha. But I… can’t accept being your lover.” His eyes shrunk with tears glossing them as he heard that rejection, his heart aching and throbbing for your love. “Not only I’ve lost some of my trust in you, but I don’t think I’d be a good girlfriend.” He immediately rose his head and tried to argue back, but you flew your hand to slap his mouth shut before he could say anything. “I know what you want to say, but, trust me, Vasha, if I were to become your girlfriend today, the way I am, all traumatized and scared of the most basic romantic interactions, I’d most likely fail to meet all the new expectations you’d have for me, and breaking up with you would certainly demolish all the friendship we’ve built yet, or at least most of it. After all, this is indeed a nature that has unfortunately been taken away from me.” You only felt him squeeze your locks tighter and tighter, trying to press your body against his harder, and slight gasp escaping his throat, hinting his incoming tears. “No, no… Don’t you dare cry on me, Kakavasha…” You lifted your face upwards to smooch him in his collarbone and neck, your hands creeping down to hug him, but that only seemed to make it worse for him.

“D-Do you… at least… love me back..?” His broken voice whispered in your ear again.

“… I’ll always be here with you, Kakavasha.” You decided to not give him a direct answer, wanting to avoid raising the stakes between you two that were already skyrocketing at this point. “Let’s rest now, ok? You’ve done a lot of today. We’ve done a lot today.” You whispered with a soft voiced trying to seduce him again.

It was either shattering his heart or making him set high expectations for his future with you that you didn’t believe you would achieve. And even he recognized it deep down in his heart, even if he wanted to disagree with it. That’s why you immediately changed topics. If you got him to close his eyes and sleep, there could be a chance he’d wake up feeling fine without this part of the night replaying in his mind.

And finally, he started to sob in sorrow for his failed attempt at making you his. He didn’t even know why he was crying at this point. Your words about staying with him forever was so vague and uncertain that it was enough to make him woe, but enough to make him want to hug and savor you for the whole night with all his strength and love, as if he was about to lose you.

And crying makes everyone tired, doesn’t it? So in a few minutes, after sobbing so much after using so much of his energy to have sex with you, his eyes finally weighed too heavy to keep them open, and he sealed them shut, not trying at all to keep them open for more time.

Despite the fact that your relationship with him was still troubled, even if you two tried fixing a bit of it tonight, you two still had to play his part in the cycle of life, and wake up new and fresh tomorrow, whether if it’s to go back to work at the IPC or keep trying to convince Kakavasha that suicide wasn’t worth it for someone like him.

Taglist: @gaboplaydespacito @b1eh-h

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it! <3

[theetherealbloom]

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.2

Chapter Two: Hold On For Dear Love

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, War, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing,

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: Chat, I am giving the reader a super vague background, like it won't matter too much, lol. You’re here for the vibes, and so am I ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ So this entire fic isn’t gonna be overly complicated, I don’t think this is the fic for that. I mean, they put sharks in the Colosseum, so… we’re going to take some liberties here and there for funsies. It’s fanfiction, it’s supposed to be fun :> ALSO YA’LL I GOT INTO A GROOVE. I wasn’t planning on updating til next week but the words kept coming to me and suddenly I’m done with chapter two hehe. AND YES YES SHUSH NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUT. MAYBE. Ok enjoy girlies heheh.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Hymn To Virgil by Hozier

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SENATOR THRAEX’S PARTY — DAY

The grand villa was alive with music, laughter, and the heady scent of roasted meats and spilled wine. Senators, high-ranking officials, and Rome's wealthiest citizens mingled among trays of fruit and platters of delicacies, their voices filling the air with a cacophony of conversation and self-indulgent boasts. Courtesans draped in sheer silks wove through the throng, their laughter as light and false as the smiles of their patrons.

You stood to the side, partially hidden in the shadow of a marble column. The position offered a semblance of privacy while giving you a clear view of the room. You made mental notes of the faces present—senators, generals, and merchants, all drunk on wealth and power. Their alliances and rivalries played out in every guarded glance and overly polite toast.

Senator Gracchus approached you with a goblet of wine, his face etched with age but kind. “You look like a soldier observing a battlefield,” he remarked dryly.

You smiled faintly, accepting the drink. “It feels like one. Though I’m not sure which side I belong to.”

Gracchus chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “In Rome, one must always choose a side, my dear. Even if that choice is to appear invisible.”

Before you could respond, a voice interrupted. “Ah, the daughter of misfortune graces us with her presence.” Senator Thraex’s saccharine tone drew the attention of those nearby. He strode toward you, his beady eyes alight with thinly veiled mockery. “I was just telling Gracchus how tragic your loss must have been. Your poor parents—what a terrible end.”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced a polite smile. “Your concern is appreciated, Senator. They are at peace now.”

Thraex clasped his hands, feigning sympathy. “Still, such a pity. A young woman like you, left all alone in this cruel city. Surely by now, you should have found a husband to protect you from its dangers?”

The words stung, though you refused to let it show. Keeping your tone steady, you replied, “I fear my reputation for independence precedes me. Not all men wish to marry someone who refuses to play the meek lamb.”

Gracchus coughed into his goblet, poorly disguising a laugh, while Thraex’s smile faltered. “How... peculiar,” he said, his tone sharper now. “Though perhaps not surprising. It would be difficult to find a suitor for one so... outspoken.”

The room seemed to hum with energy as Thraex’s face, darkened with irritation from your earlier remark, shifted into a mask of forced hospitality when his gaze landed on a man entering the crowd—a towering figure wrapped in silk and jewels, his presence as commanding as it was enigmatic. You followed Thraex's movement as he moved to greet the man, a name rippling through your thoughts: Macrinus.  

You had heard whispers of him before. A former gladiator who had fought for his freedom, now a powerbroker in Rome. He supplied food, wine, and oil for the empire’s armies, manufactured weapons, and even maintained a stable of gladiators. His name carried weight, his connections extending into the darkest corners of Roman politics.

As Thraex approached Macrinus, his false charm returned, his arms spreading wide. “Macrinus!” he greeted, his voice dripping with exaggerated warmth. He clapped the man on the shoulder with an enthusiasm that bordered on theatrical. “I knew the provinces could never contain you.”

Macrinus accepted the embrace with a faint smirk, his dark eyes scanning the room with calculated ease. “I’m just here for the games,” he replied, his tone casual, though there was a hint of something sharper beneath the surface.  

Thraex chuckled, his grip lingering on the man’s shoulder. “Ah well, you won't be disappointed. Rome has all the games that men like you like to play.”

“Men like me, cracks men like us.” Macrinus shot back, his grin widening. “I know nothing happens in Rome unless you… tasted it first! ”

Thraex laughed at the jab, the sound too loud to be sincere. Their exchange continued, a dance of veiled threats and mutual amusement. You lingered at the edge of the room, doing your best to blend into the shadows, your ears straining to catch every word.  

Thraex handed Macrinus a gilded chalice of wine, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “What's this we hear about you being interested in standing for an election to the senate practice?”

Macrinus stiffened, his surprise poorly concealed as he let out a dry chuckle. “Me? You know, I don't even know how to use an abacus,” He sipped his wine before adding with a wry smile, “but I do understand that… it's customary for your guests to make wagers at these affairs.”

Thraex’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile didn’t falter. “How large a sum did you have in mind?”

Macrinus tilted his head thoughtfully, the jewels around his neck catching the light. “A thousand gold aureus?”

Thraex’s lips curled into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Two,” he countered smoothly.

Macrinus glanced at the courtesan draped over his arm, as if seeking her approval. The woman gave a slight nod, and Macrinus shrugged, turning back to Thraex. “Denarius,” he said simply, the single word carrying enough weight to silence Thraex for a fleeting moment.

Macrinus walked away with an easy swagger, leaving Thraex standing alone with his forced smile slipping into a scowl. The flash of irritation on his face, so quickly concealed, didn’t escape your notice.  

You couldn’t suppress a small smirk of your own as you turned your attention elsewhere. Rome’s elite might dress themselves in finery and smiles, but it was clear that every word exchanged tonight was a thread in the intricate tapestry of power. Threads you were determined to unravel.  

The air in the grand hall shifted, thick with anticipation as the crowd clustered toward the edges of the room. The glint of opulence—golden goblets, silk-draped tables, and jewels adorning the guests—clashed against the dark reality of what was about to unfold. Your eyes lingered briefly on a figure across the way: a man, bound in chains, sitting quietly. There was no fear in his expression, only a smoldering anger that made you uneasy.  

The sound of clapping drew your attention back to the center of the room. Senator Thraex, ever the showman, raised his voice above the murmur of the crowd. “Stand back! Stand back!” he called, his tone a mix of authority and delight.  

You stepped aside, blending into the edges of the gathering, as the spectators parted to form a circle. The twin emperors, Caracalla and Geta, lounged decadently on their perch, surrounded by concubines who laughed and whispered among themselves. Their indifference to the gathering's undertones was maddening.  

Thraex turned toward them with an exaggerated bow. “My emperors,” he began with a grin before addressing the audience. “Lords, ladies, senators—tonight, for your entertainment... the art of combat!”  

Excited gasps rippled through the room, the revelers’ reactions equal parts anticipation and bloodlust. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Thraex gestured dramatically toward the two men brought forward—one was the same figure you’d seen earlier, still brooding but now standing tall.  

“And now,” Thraex continued, “the barbarian, versus from my own stable, the mighty Vijay!”  

The crowd erupted into applause as Vijay, a towering figure in a yellow tunic, was escorted forward. His opponent, the gladiator from across the room, now squared his shoulders and met Vijay’s gaze.  

“It is your gladiator?” Emperor Geta asked, his tone laced with mild amusement, as he glanced at Macrinus.  

Macrinus inclined his head respectfully. “It is, your Majesty.”  

Chains were removed from both men, their freedom feeling more like a death sentence. Thraex began to set the terms. “Three rounds, hand-to-hand—”  

But Emperor Caracalla’s voice cut through. “Swords!” he barked, his grin wicked.  

The room fell silent.  

“We want swords. A fight to the death!” Caracalla continued, his voice rising with glee. “No quarter to be offered, or given!”  

Thraex hesitated, his expression faltering for a moment, but the guards stepped forward, placing swords into the gladiators’ hands. You felt your stomach twist as the two men began circling one another.  

The gladiator of Macrinus spoke first, his voice calm but edged with pleading. “Brother, come now. Let us not kill each other for their amusement.”  

Vijay’s only response was a roar as he lunged, his sword slicing through the air. The next moments were chaos. Blades clanged as they met, sparks flying from each blow. The room seemed to shrink around the violence as tables splintered and decorations toppled.  

The climax came when Vijay’s sword slipped from his grasp in the scuffle. The other gladiator seized the opportunity, driving his blade into Vijay’s chest. A sharp gasp escaped you as the larger man crumpled to the marble floor, his blood pooling beneath him.  

The victor tossed his sword to the ground with a clatter, breathing heavily, his face and tunic spattered with blood. Around you, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers, their delight in stark contrast to your quiet horror.  

“Remarkable!” Emperor Geta exclaimed, standing as he clapped his hands. He approached Macrinus with an approving nod. “Congratulations.”  

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Macrinus replied smoothly.  

Geta then turned to the gladiator, studying him with newfound interest. “From where do you hail?”  

The man said nothing, his jaw set, his silence defiant.  

The tension in the room grew thick. Even you found yourself leaning forward, curiosity mingling with unease.  

“Speak,” Geta commanded sharply. When no answer came, his impatience boiled over. “I said speak!”  

Macrinus stepped in quickly, bowing his head. “Your Majesty, he is from the colonies. His native tongue is all he understands.”  

The gladiator finally raised his head, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “The gates of hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy is the way: but to come back from hell, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”  

The poetry stunned you, the eloquence jarring against the brutal spectacle that had just unfolded. Around you, the room fell silent for a beat before Caracalla broke into a laugh.  

“Poetry!” the Caracalla declared, grinning as he turned to Macrinus. “Very clever, Macrinus. Very clever indeed.”  

Macrinus bowed slightly. “To amuse you is my only wish, your Majesty.”  

“We are amused,” Geta said, though his gaze remained fixed on the gladiator. His voice rose as he addressed the room. “And we all look forward to seeing your poet… perform in the arena.”  

“As do I your majesty's.” Macrinus gestured to his guard. “Viggo,” he said softly, and the guard stepped forward to escort the gladiator out of the room.  

As the crowd began to disperse, murmurs of excitement rippling through the air, you remained rooted in place. Your eyes followed the blood trail left by Vijay’s body as it was dragged away. The victor—dripping in another man’s blood, yet unbowed—disappeared through the doors, his haunting words lingering in your mind like a ghost.

LUCILLA'S VILLA — LATE AFTERNOON

The villa of Domitia Lucilla stood as a serene contrast to the chaos of Rome—a sprawling sanctuary of pale stone walls and gardens heavy with the scent of roses and citrus. The late afternoon sun stretched shadows across the courtyard as you entered, the weariness from Senator Thraex’s debauched gathering weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Lucilla awaited you, standing poised near a column. Her cream stola shifted with the breeze, but her sharp gaze was unwavering, as if she had been expecting this moment.  

“You’ve returned,” she said, warmth in her voice tempered by the gravity of her expression.  

“I have, my lady—”  

She waved off the formalities with a flick of her wrist. “Enough with that. How many times must I tell you?”  

“Habit,” you replied with a faint smile, though it lacked its usual brightness.  

Her lips twitched with amusement, but concern quickly took its place. “And how was Senator Thraex’s gathering? As intolerable as I feared?”  

You sighed, the grotesque excess of the night flashing briefly in your mind. “More wine than wit. And blood, of course. Always blood.”  

Lucilla’s mouth tightened, her brow furrowing just enough to betray her displeasure. She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Rome devours itself with spectacle. It leaves nothing but emptiness behind,” she murmured.  

You nodded but didn’t speak. The heaviness of her words settled heavily on you because they were true.  

“And Thraex himself?” she pressed, tilting her head.  

You hesitated. “He made his usual jabs about my… unmarried state. Feigned sympathy for my family. And spent an inordinate amount of time with Macrinus, the arms dealer. It seemed more calculated than casual.”  

Lucilla’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind already turning. “Macrinus does not waste his time on frivolities. If Thraex is courting him, there’s more at play.”  

“Something to do with the games tomorrow, perhaps?” you suggested. “He seemed eager for them.”  

Lucilla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s possible. His ambitions are endless, and I fear his alliances will be the ruin of many.”  

“Rome always finds a way to drag us into its mire,” you muttered bitterly.  

Her hand on your shoulder tightened briefly, reassuring. “Then we tread carefully. But not tonight. Tonight, we focus on what lies ahead. The senators will convene soon, and General Acacius is to join us.”  

You huffed a soft laugh, though it carried a trace of exasperation. “A grand gathering in his honor, and he doesn’t bother to attend the festivities.”  

Lucilla arched a brow, her expression turning sly. “Were you hoping he would?”  

Heat rushed to your face, and you fumbled for a response. “I—no, of course not. I just thought it odd.”  

“Mm.” Her tone was noncommittal, but her knowing smile made you glance away.  

Before you could dwell on your embarrassment, Lucilla turned down another garden path, leaving you to follow. It was there, amid the soft hum of cicadas and the golden haze of the late afternoon, that you saw him.  

Marcus Acacius sat beneath a pergola, his broad shoulders bent slightly over a parchment, a quill poised in his hand. A goblet of wine sat forgotten beside him, the scene unexpectedly tranquil for a man of his reputation.  

Lucilla glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “It seems you’ll get your wish after all.”  

Your stomach twisted at her words, but before you could form a protest, she disappeared around the corner. Left to your own devices, you took a steadying breath and approached. The crunch of gravel underfoot drew his attention, and he looked up, his dark eyes softening as they met yours.  

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t return,” he said, his voice low and warm, though a flicker of relief betrayed him.  

You tilted your head, folding your arms as you came closer. “And I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the party was meant for you.”  

Marcus chuckled, setting down his quill. “Crowded rooms filled with drunken senators and empty promises hold little appeal. I prefer the quiet.” He gestured to the bench across from him. “Join me?”  

For a moment, you hesitated, the unspoken tension between you filling the air. But then you sat, folding your hands neatly in your lap.  

“The games tomorrow will be particularly… extravagant,” you said, glancing at the parchment. “I’m to serve as a healer for the event.”  

His brow furrowed. “You’ll be in the arena?”  

“Not in it,” you replied quickly. “But close enough.”  

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “It’s barbaric. They celebrate death, and you’re left to mend what’s left behind.”  

“It’s Rome,” you said with a shrug, though the bitterness in your voice was unmistakable.  

“Does it not anger you?” His voice was steady but insistent, his gaze searching yours.  

You hesitated before answering. “Every day,” you admitted quietly. “But anger doesn’t heal. It doesn’t save lives.”  

His hand moved, resting near yours on the table—not touching, but close enough that the space between felt charged. “You do more than heal,” he said after a moment. “You remind us of what’s worth saving.”  

The sincerity in his words made your breath hitch. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.  

“I only do what I can,” you said finally.  

“And it’s enough,” he replied, his voice firm.  

Silence settled between you, but it was not empty. It was heavy with questions left unasked, with the unshakable feeling that you knew him from somewhere beyond this life.  

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.  

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”  

He smiled faintly. “A truth.”  

You studied him, the edges of recognition tugging at your mind. “Have we met before?”  

His hand stilled, his expression unreadable. “Why do you ask?”  

“It’s the way you look at me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you know something I don’t.”  

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, “Perhaps I’m just trying to understand you.”

“And do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze lingered on yours, as if he were searching for something—something hidden behind the words you didn’t say. His jaw tightened, and then relaxed, his hesitation drawing out the silence until it felt like the whole garden held its breath.  

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting an amber glow across the courtyard. The scent of citrus blossoms drifted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of oil from the bronze lamps. You and Marcus sat across from each other, the heavy quiet between you punctuated by the distant hum of the city below.  

“I think,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “that you’re not as much of a mystery as you’d like to believe.”

You said nothing, the truth of his words settling over you. He wasn’t the first to try to understand you, but he was the first whose attempt didn’t feel like an invasion. Still, you kept your silence, hoping it would shield whatever he thought he saw.  

Marcus leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering, though his tone softened. “You wear your defiance like armor. It suits you, but…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Even armor cracks under enough weight.”

Your chest tightened. There was no judgment in his voice, just quiet understanding, and that somehow made it worse. You turned your eyes to the horizon, watching as the light bled into dusk.  

“And you?” you asked at last, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “What cracks your armor?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he looked away. For a long moment, you thought he might deflect or let the question fall unanswered. But then he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, the facade of the unshakable general slipping.  

“The things I’ve done,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “The wars. The lives I’ve taken. I tell myself it was duty. For Rome. For honor. But when I close my eyes…” His hand curled into a fist on the table, the scarred knuckles white with tension. “I see their faces. The ones I killed. The ones I couldn’t save. Sometimes, I think that’s all there is left of me. Blood and ghosts.”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt the sharp sting of his pain as if it were your own, and it stirred something deep within you—a desire not to fix him, but to let him be broken without shame.  

“There’s more to you than that,” you said softly, surprising even yourself with the conviction in your voice. “Let the brokenness be felt, Marcus, until you reach the other side. There is goodness in the heart of every broken man who comes right up to the edge of losing everything he has.”  

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those fierce, commanding eyes—betrayed a flicker of something fragile. “And if the edge is all that’s left?”  

You shook your head. “Then you find your way back. One step, one breath, one choice at a time. You’ve already come this far.”  

A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips. “You sound certain.”  

“I am,” you said simply. “Because I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen men lose everything and still find the strength to rebuild. You’ve endured so much, Marcus. And yet, here you are.”  

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt impossibly heavy, as though the weight of both your pasts had settled there. But then, something shifted—just a fraction—and the tension eased.  

“Tell me,” he said quietly, leaning forward. “How does someone like you—someone who speaks of goodness and second chances—end up in a place like this?”  

You let out a soft laugh, though it held no humor. “A long story,” you said, your tone laced with irony.  

He smiled faintly. “I’ve got time.”  

The simplicity of his statement caught you off guard. You studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of mockery, but found none. He was patient, steady, like a man who had weathered every storm and learned to endure the waiting.  

You hesitated, then began to speak—not all at once, but in fragments. You told him of the choices that had brought you here, the moments of defiance and loss that had shaped you. He listened without interrupting, his focus unbroken, as though each word mattered.  

When the story faltered and the silence crept back in, Marcus spoke again, his voice gentle. “You’ve carried much on your shoulders.”  

You shrugged, your gaze fixed on the table. “Haven’t we all?”  

He nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps. But not everyone carries it as well as you.”  

The compliment startled you, and you looked up to find him watching you with something like admiration. It wasn’t romantic, not yet—but it was real, and it unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite name.  

“You don’t know me well enough to say that,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.  

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But I’d like to.”  

Something in his tone—a quiet sincerity, unadorned by pretense—made you pause. You realized, with a small jolt, that you wanted to know him, too. Not just the general, but the man beneath the armor.  

“Maybe,” you said finally, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “If you’re patient.”  

His smile widened, just a little, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I’ve learned to be patient,” he said. “For the right things.”  

And as the night deepened and the stars began to dot the sky, you found yourself wondering if, perhaps, this was one of them.

The room was dark, the faint glow of torchlight from the grilled window casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. Lucilla stood beside you, her sharp eyes trained on the guards below as they exchanged shifts. She watched silently, her body tense but still, until the last of them disappeared around the corner.  

With a soft sigh, she turned back into the room and extinguished the candles one by one. The light died away, replaced by the cover of darkness. Outside, a guard’s voice called up, noting that she must be retiring for the evening.  

You remained quiet, holding the lamp as Lucilla adjusted her robes and pulled up the hood, the fabric obscuring her features. The air felt heavier now, laden with unspoken tension. She glanced at you, her gaze sharp even in the dim light.  

“Are you ready?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.  

You nodded and pulled your own hood over your head. The warmth of the lamp in your hand was a small comfort against the chill of the night.  

Lucilla stepped closer, her hands gripping your forearm briefly as she said your name. “You must know,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, “if you do this with us, there is a possibility that we may be discovered. And the penalties—”  

“I’m aware,” you interrupted gently, meeting her gaze. There was no hesitation in your voice.  

She studied you for a moment longer, then nodded, a faint flicker of respect passing over her features. Without another word, she turned toward a small shrine tucked into the corner of the room.  

Kneeling, she rolled back a slab of marble with deliberate care, revealing a narrow passage that led downward. The air that seeped out was cool and damp, smelling faintly of earth and stone.  

Lucilla motioned for you to follow, and you descended after her, the spiral staircase winding tightly into the depths. Your lamp cast shifting shadows on the walls, and the faint echoes of your footsteps seemed louder than they should have been.  

The tunnel at the bottom was carved with care, though the stone showed its age. Lucilla moved through it with practiced ease, her robes brushing against the walls as the passage widened and opened into a massive underground catacomb.  

You stopped short, your breath catching at the sight. The vaulted ceilings arched high above you, their grandeur almost otherworldly. This place was built for eternity, every detail a testament to early Roman splendor. Statues of gods and long-dead ancestors stood sentinel, their marble faces solemn in the lamplight.  

Lucilla’s steps slowed as she approached a series of crypts. Each one was marked with the bust of a family member, their likenesses carved into the stone. She stopped before the bust of Marcus Aurelius, her father, and laid a hand on its smooth surface.  

“Father,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both reverence and sorrow, “protect us and guide us.” Her fingers lingered for a moment before she turned away, her expression unreadable.  

You wanted to say something, to break the silence, but the words escaped you. There was a sacredness here that felt unshakable, a weight you couldn’t quite explain.  

ANTECHAMBER — MINUTES LATER  

The air in the antechamber felt thick, like the weight of centuries pressed down upon you all. Torches lined the stone walls, their flickering light casting wavering shadows on faces lined with tension and purpose. The damp chill of the underground space only added to the solemnity of the moment.  

Lucilla moved forward with practiced grace, her head held high despite the gravity of the meeting. The first man stepped into the torchlight, his wiry frame and sharp features softened only by the faint trace of a smile.  

“Gracchus,” Lucilla said warmly, extending her hands. “Old friend.”  

Gracchus clasped her hands briefly, his grip conveying both respect and concern. “My lady. I wish we were meeting in better times.”  

Lucilla’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The sun shone once—it will shine again.”  

Gracchus raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking into a sardonic smirk. “And what in heaven’s name does that mean?”  

Before Lucilla could answer, a low, resonant voice emerged from the shadows. “It means hope, Gracchus.”  

You started slightly, your heart skipping as a figure stepped forward. Marcus Acacius. The flickering light caught the edges of his armor, making it gleam like liquid fire. His presence filled the room effortlessly, his broad frame and steady gaze commanding attention.  

Gracchus let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh yes. He is shiny.”  

Marcus didn’t react to the jest, but his eyes flicked between Lucilla and Gracchus before settling briefly on you. His gaze held for a beat too long, making your pulse quicken.  

“Did I startle you?” he asked, his tone smooth but edged with faint amusement.  

You straightened, tightening your grip on the lamp you carried. “Not at all,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.  

The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, but he turned his attention back to Gracchus, his expression growing serious. “We want to take back the city. To restore Rome to what it should be.”  

Gracchus’s expression darkened, doubt creeping into his voice. “An exciting venture. When?”  

“On the final day of the games,” Marcus replied firmly.  

Gracchus raised a skeptical brow. “How?”  

Marcus’s jaw tightened, the tension clear as he measured his words. “My army waits for my command at Ostia. Five thousand soldiers loyal to me will enter Rome. I intend to arrest our emperors in front of the crowds at the Colosseum for their crimes against the Senate and the people.”  

A long, heavy silence followed. Gracchus exchanged a wary glance with Thraex, who stood silently in the background. The two senators appeared burdened with years of cynicism, the spark of belief long extinguished.  

Lucilla broke the quiet, her voice sharp and resolute. “We cannot continue to see Rome damaged, sliding further into corruption and decay.”  

Thraex snorted softly, folding his arms. “Does he want to be Emperor?”  

Marcus’s gaze sharpened as he shook his head. “I am a soldier, not a politician. Rome will be yours to administer and—”  

Gracchus interrupted him, his tone cutting. “Your father spoke of returning power to the Senate. But that was a generation ago. Much has changed. The people haven’t seen hope for years, and—”  

This time, Marcus’s voice rose slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “Rome is not yet ready to be a republic, but with time—and guidance—a vote by the people, for the people, would mean—”  

Lucilla placed a steady hand on Marcus’s arm, quieting him. She turned to Gracchus, her voice calmer but no less determined. “Rome can live again. Do we have your support, Gracchus?”  

Gracchus hesitated, his gaze shifting to you, then back to Marcus. Finally, he nodded slowly, his voice soft. “Lucilla, you are the daughter of Marcus Aurelius. He had my loyalty, and so do you.”  

Lucilla allowed herself a small smile. “A political answer, but good enough. Senator Thraex?”  

Thraex hesitated, his eyes flickering to you. He seemed to brace himself before speaking. “Politics follows power, my lady. Take back what is rightfully yours, and the Senate will support you.”  

The room seemed to exhale as the senators gave their tentative agreement, but Gracchus’s gaze lingered on you. His voice softened. “I vowed to your parents I would take care of you. To give you a life beyond this... chaos.”  

Your grip on the lamp tightened as you met his gaze, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “There is no point in life if the future of Rome is nothing but an abuse of power and position.”  

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Marcus’s expression shift. His gaze rested on you, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were seeing you in a new light.  

The torches flickered, their flames casting light on faces filled with determination and shadows that hinted at the dangerous road ahead. You glanced at Marcus once more, and his eyes caught yours, a faint, unspoken understanding passing between you.  

THE COLOSSEUM — DAY

The air around the Colosseum is alive with a chaotic energy that hums through the sprawling crowd. The great amphitheater towers above, its shadow sprawling across the dusty streets. Vendors shout over one another, selling honeyed dates, roasted nuts, and cheap wine. Children dart between the throngs, their quick fingers snatching at coin purses while wide-eyed newcomers marvel at the spectacle before them.  

As you approach the towering Capitoline Arch, your eyes lift to the imposing statue of General Marcus Acacius atop a marble plinth. The sunlight gleams off the bronze plaque beneath, bearing the inscription: ACACIUS, VICTOR AFRICAE.  

You pause, a faint sigh escaping your lips as you take it in. The statue is majestic, carved with precision to capture his strength and valor, but there’s something about its stillness, its perfection, that feels wrong. The man you’ve come to know is far more complicated than the warrior immortalized in marble.  

Pulling your hood closer to shield yourself from prying eyes, you make your way toward the entrance of the Colosseum.  

Outside the massive arena, the crowd is dense, funneling into the arched entrances like water forced through narrow channels. The scent of sweat, baked bread, and dust clings to the air.  

A wagon lumbers past, its wheels creaking as it pulls into the rear gates of the Colosseum. The iron gates groan shut behind it with a finality that makes you shiver.  

Your eyes catch on one of the gladiators stepping down from the wagon. He is broad-shouldered, with a grim expression and scars that tell stories of survival. Recognition flickers in your mind—he was at Senator Thraex’s gathering, one of Macrinus’ men.  

For a moment, his gaze meets yours, sharp and searching. You quickly turn away, the weight of his stare lingering like a brand on your skin.  

COLOSSEUM UNDERCROFT — DAY  

The undercroft is a world unto itself, hidden beneath the grandeur of the arena above. The air here is damp and stale, filled with the mingled scents of blood, sweat, and the earthy musk of the animals kept for the games. Torches line the stone walls, their flames barely cutting through the heavy gloom.  

You step carefully, the hem of your robe brushing against the uneven stones beneath your feet. Around you, the sounds of preparation echo—metallic clangs of swords being sharpened, the low murmur of prayers whispered by gladiators, and the distant roar of the crowd above, a constant reminder of what waits beyond.  

A sudden shout breaks through the noise, and you flinch instinctively, your hand tightening around the lamp you carry.  

“Keep moving!” A guard barks, shoving a gladiator forward.  

You press yourself against the wall to let them pass, your eyes following the line of chained men as they march toward their fate. The air feels heavier here, thick with despair and the metallic tang of blood that never quite fades from the stone.  

The main chamber opens ahead, a cavernous space carved from the bedrock, with a stone memorial spanning two centuries etched into one of the walls. The names carved there seem endless, a testament to the lives given—or taken—beneath this roof.  

You step into the room, your eyes searching for Ravi, the healer who has been your closest ally in this grim underworld. He is leaning over a battered table, his thick canvas coat bristling with the tools of his trade—scalpels, needles, and small bottles of tinctures.  

Ravi glances up as you approach, his dark eyes meeting yours. He nods, his expression weary but kind. “You’re late,” he says, his tone more teasing than reproachful.  

“I was delayed,” you reply, setting the lamp down on the edge of the table.  

Ravi straightens, his hands covered in the telltale stains of his work. “Delayed by a statue, no doubt,” he says with a smirk, nodding toward the hallway you came from.  

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Not just the statue. The entire crowd outside could rival an army.”  

He chuckles softly, but his humor fades as his gaze shifts to the tools laid out before him. “It’s a mad world out there. And in here. They’ll call it glory, but we know better, don’t we?”  

You nod, your fingers brushing against one of the bottles of tincture on the table. “How many today?”  

“Too many,” Ravi replies grimly. “It always is. But if we don’t patch them up, they’ll be thrown back into the arena like lambs to the slaughter.”  

You glance toward the memorial wall, the endless names a stark reminder of what happens when healing is no longer enough. “And yet they cheer,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him.  

Ravi follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “They cheer because they’re too far away to hear the screams. From up there, it’s just a show.”  

A heavy silence falls between you, the weight of his words settling in the space like a tangible presence.  

Finally, Ravi breaks it, his voice quieter now. “You could have been anywhere. A villa in the hills, a proper clinic, somewhere far from all of this. Why here?”  

You meet his gaze, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “Because someone has to be.”  

Before Ravi can respond, the distant blare of a cornu horn echoes through the chamber, its mournful call summoning the combatants to the arena.  

Ravi exhales, shaking his head. “That’s our cue.”  

You nod, grabbing the lamp and turning toward the corridor. “Let’s hope today isn’t worse than the last.”  

Ravi follows, his canvas coat swaying as he moves. “Hope’s in short supply here,” he mutters. But then, as if to lighten the mood, he adds, “But if anyone can keep these bastards alive, it’s us.”  

A faint smile pulls at your lips as the two of you head toward the chaos waiting above. The sound of the horn grows louder, blending with the roar of the crowd—a noise as relentless as the tide.

The roar of the Colosseum was muffled slightly where you and Ravi stood in the shadow of the lower arches, but the sight above was impossible to ignore. Caracalla and Geta had already taken their places in the royal seats, their expressions imperious yet lacking true command. The crowd’s response to their arrival was lukewarm, tepid applause barely rippling through the masses.  

Ravi glanced at you, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They can’t even fake enthusiasm for their own Emperors. Telling, isn’t it?”  

You nodded grimly, shifting your gaze to the arena floor where the fight’s Master of Ceremonies stood, clearly tense. He gestured sharply to the musicians, prompting them to play a fanfare in a desperate attempt to rouse the audience.  

Through the giant copper horn mounted on a stand, his voice bellowed, “Citizens of Rome! These sacred games are held to honor the victory of Rome over the barbarians of Numidia—”  

You winced at the crude remark, the words cutting through the air with their arrogance.  

“And to honor Rome's legionary commander, General Justus Acacius!”  

At the mention of Acacius, your eyes instinctively sought him out. There he was, emerging in white and gold, a gleaming figure against the harsh backdrop of the Colosseum. His presence was magnetic, commanding without effort. He moved with the same purpose he always did, though you could sense a tension in his posture, a reluctance masked by the pageantry.  

Lucilla followed close behind him, her chin lifted with practiced grace. When the Master of Ceremonies announced her name—“Lucilla, the daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius!”—the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, a stark contrast to their earlier indifference.  

Beside you, Ravi let out a low whistle. “They still adore her.”  

“They always will,” you murmured, watching as she ascended to the royal seats under the guise of honor, though you knew better. The two Centurions flanking her were not mere escorts but guards, a subtle display of control that would escape the average onlooker.  

From this distance, it seemed she embraced the accolades, her every gesture perfectly measured. But you caught the slight flicker in her expression when she glanced toward Acacius.  

“You honor us with your presence. Speak to the plebeians, Acacius,” Geta commanded, his tone laced with condescension.  

You held your breath, sensing the reluctance in Marcus’s stillness. He exchanged a look with Lucilla, brief but telling, before his gaze swept across the crowd, searching. When his eyes found yours, something in his demeanor shifted—resolve, perhaps, or a need for grounding.  

Finally, he rose, stepping to the railing as the crowd quieted, anticipation thick in the air. His voice, deep and steady, carried over the expanse with ease.  

“I am not an orator, nor a politician,” he began, the simplicity of his words a sharp contrast to the pomp surrounding him. “I am only a soldier. Real heroism is not the stuff of games.”  

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion and intrigue mingling as Acacius’s words sank in.  

“It reveals itself to us only in the service of life itself,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “I have seen bravery in men during war, and from women, too—bravery that does not falter in the face of fear but rises to meet it. And even, once, in this arena.”  

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against you. Though his gaze never left the crowd, you felt as though those words were for you alone.  

“If you pray,” Marcus’s voice deepened, his tone almost pleading, “pray that the gods will deliver us bravery like that. Because Rome needs it now.”  

The silence that followed was profound, the kind that held more weight than applause. Then, slowly, the crowd erupted, their cheers cascading through the Colosseum like a wave.  

You watched him step back from the railing, his expression inscrutable as he returned to his seat. But as the applause thundered on, his eyes found yours again, and in that brief moment, you saw it—something unspoken yet unmistakable.  

Ravi nudged you gently, breaking the spell. “He’s good, I’ll give him that.”  

You nodded, your heart still pounding. “Better than they deserve,” you said softly, though your thoughts were far from the Emperors.

The tension in the Colosseum was recognized as the opening ceremony came to an end. Caracalla and Geta clapped from their royal seats, their applause mechanical and devoid of genuine enthusiasm. Below, the Master of Ceremonies stood nervously, his voice amplified by the great copper horn.  

“From the South Gate... fighters from the stable of Macrinus of Thysdrus!”  

Your gaze darted to the southern entrance, where the gladiators emerged into the blinding sunlight. You recognized one of them—Hanno of Numidia—whose name Ravi had told you earlier. The crowd greeted them with scattered boos and jeers, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the arena itself.  

Hanno walked with measured steps, his expression stoic as he led the small group to the center of the arena. His shoulders bore the weight of more than just the armor; you could see it in his eyes.  

“And from the stables of our Emperors Caracalla and Geta themselves: Glyceo the Destroyer!”  

The eastern gates creaked open, revealing a towering figure clad in ornate armor, seated atop a great white rhino. The crowd erupted in frenzied cheers, the noise reverberating through the stone walls. The rhino trotted with surprising agility, its hooves kicking up clouds of dust as it carried Glyceo with the ease of a seasoned warrior.  

From your vantage point, you saw the glint of weapons strapped to the rhino’s side—an axe, a sword, a mace, and a bola. Glyceo reached for the mace, gripping its heavy handle with a confidence born from countless victories.  

The first gladiator dared to challenge the beast, stepping forward with his sword raised. He attempted to dodge the rhino’s charge at the last moment, but the creature’s speed and precision were unmatched. The horn struck him with brutal force, sending him flying across the arena before the rhino finished him off with a savage thrust.  

Your stomach churned as the body was tossed aside like a ragdoll. The crowd’s cheers only grew louder.  

Hanno stood still, his gaze fixed on the carnage. Then, almost imperceptibly, he crouched and scooped a handful of sand from the arena floor, letting it sift through his fingers. The gesture was hauntingly familiar—a ritual Maximus had performed before every fight.  

Beside you, Ravi murmured, “Do you see that? He remembers.”  

You glanced at Lucilla in the royal box, noting the flicker of something in her expression—recognition, perhaps, or sorrow. But she quickly masked it, her face hardening as she turned back to the arena.  

The rhino charged again, this time with Glyceo’s mace raised high. Hanno sidestepped at the last possible moment, but the rhino’s horn clipped him, sending him sprawling. Dust clouded the air as the beast wheeled around, disoriented by the sunlight.  

Hanno was quick to act. He flung the remaining sand into the air, creating a bright, blinding curtain that obscured his movements. The rhino charged again, unable to see clearly, and slammed full force into the arena wall. Glyceo was thrown like a ragdoll, his body hitting the stone with a sickening thud.  

The rhino staggered, its massive frame reeling as it struggled to regain its footing. Hanno retrieved his sword and advanced on Glyceo, who was already scrambling to his feet. Their blades met in a clash of steel, sparks flying as Glyceo’s superior strength began to overwhelm Hanno.  

You leaned forward, gripping the stone railing as Glyceo delivered a brutal series of blows, forcing Hanno to his knees. The crowd chanted, their bloodlust palpable.  

Lucilla gasped, turning away, her hand trembling as it gripped the edge of her seat. Even Macrinus, who had been watching with a calculating gaze, shook his head slightly.  

Glyceo raised his short sword, poised to deliver the final blow. He paused, turning to the royal box for approval.  

“Shall we spare his life, brother?” Geta asked, his tone mockingly casual.  

Caracalla shrugged, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some blood.”  

Geta ignored him, his attention shifting to Lucilla. “Lucilla, shall we show mercy?”  

Lucilla hesitated, her voice trembling. “Mercy.” The word was barely audible, choked with guilt and something deeper.  

Geta stood, raising his fist. The crowd fell silent, holding their breath as he slowly extended his thumb upward, granting Hanno his life. The Colosseum erupted in cheers, but the celebration was short-lived.  

“No,” Hanno said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.  

The crowd stilled, murmurs of confusion rippling through the stands.  

“No mercy,” he repeated, his tone resolute.  

Geta’s face twisted in disbelief. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses—”  

“I will not accept mercy,” Hanno interrupted, rising to his feet despite the blood dripping from his wounds. He turned to the royal box, his gaze unwavering. “I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy.”  

The crowd erupted in chaos—laughter, jeers, and shouts of encouragement mingling in a cacophony of sound.  

“Fight on, then, fool, and die,” Geta spat, his face reddening with embarrassment.  

Glyceo lunged, his mace swinging in a wide arc. Hanno ducked, his movements fueled by desperation and fury. With a final burst of strength, he seized his fallen short sword and drove it into Glyceo’s abdomen. The mighty gladiator staggered, his expression one of shock before he collapsed, lifeless, into the sand.  

The crowd roared its approval, chanting Hanno’s name as he stood victorious. From the royal box, Macrinus smiled, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. You couldn’t help but watch Hanno with a mixture of awe and apprehension, your heart pounding as the weight of the moment settled over the arena.  

COLOSSEUM HOSPITAL ROOM — NIGHT

The dim light of flickering oil lamps cast wavering shadows on the rough stone walls of the makeshift infirmary. The smell of blood, sweat, and burnt herbs clung to the air like a heavy shroud. Ravi moved methodically among the injured, tending to other gladiators with a calm, steady hand.

You were left alone with Hanno. He sat on a wooden stool, his posture tense despite the exhaustion etched into his features. A deep, jagged wound marred his upper arm, the torn flesh angry and raw. Mosquitoes buzzed around him, drawn to the scent of blood and sweat.

You crouched beside him, your hands deftly inspecting the wound. “This needs to be cleaned and stitched up,” you murmured, glancing up at him briefly. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable.

He broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

You paused, meeting his gaze again as you answered, giving your name. You nodded toward the other side of the room. “That man over there is Ravi. We’re both doctors—or as close to it as you’ll get here. More men die of infected wounds than in the arena itself.”

Hanno tilted his head slightly, watching you as you prepared the tools of your trade. “This is going to hurt,” you added, your tone both matter-of-fact and soft.

You handed him a small pipe, its carved edges worn smooth from use.

“What’s this?” he asked, examining it with mild suspicion.

“Devil’s breath and opium,” you explained. “For the pain. Breathe it in.”

Hanno hesitated for only a moment before placing the pipe between his lips. He inhaled deeply, his expression neutral as the sharp, bitter taste hit his tongue. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing steadied.

“The effects are different for us all,” you said gently, noting the way his features softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.

When his eyes opened again, they were hazy, unfocused. “Your voice…” he muttered, blinking at you as if trying to place something familiar.

“What about it?” you asked with a small smile, distracting him as you began cleaning the wound.

“It’s… nice,” he replied, his words slow and slightly slurred. “Kind.”

You gave a soft chuckle, focusing on the task at hand. “Don’t get used to it. This part isn’t going to feel so kind.”

He took another draw of the pipe just as you began stitching the torn flesh with catgut. The needle pierced his skin, and he hissed through clenched teeth, coughing as a puff of opium-laden smoke escaped his lips and drifted into the air between you.

“Where’d you learn your trade?” he asked, his voice rough but steady.

You kept your focus on the stitches, your hands moving with practiced precision. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve got a light hand,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You glanced up briefly, the corners of your lips quirking. “You don’t strike me as someone who hands out compliments easily.”

The faint flicker of the oil lamp threw warm shadows across the stone walls of the infirmary. The low hum of muffled groans and whispered prayers filled the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood and herbs. His dark eyes, hazy from the drug, remained fixed on you as you worked.  

“I don’t,” he murmured, his voice soft and slow. “But I’ve had enough wounds stitched up to know the difference between butchery and care.”  

The corners of your lips quirked upward, and a soft chuckle escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  

“It is,” he said, his tone unusually earnest.  

Your laugh echoed softly in the quiet room, and his lips curved in response. Hanno was inebriated now—high on the devil’s breath and opium. He looked at you, his gaze almost childlike in its wonder, as if the haze had stripped away some of the weight he carried.  

“What we do in life echoes in eternity,” you said suddenly, your voice a mix of reverence and melancholy.  

The words hung in the air, timeless and heavy. You paused, your fingers stilling over the bandage.  

Hanno blinked, as if chasing a memory. “I feel I know those words…”  

You smiled faintly, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t take credit for them. They’re written on a tomb here, over the bones of a gladiator.”  

He let the words sink in, his gaze distant but thoughtful. You returned to your work, your hands moving with practiced precision as you tied off the final stitch and smoothed the bandage over his wound.  

“There,” you said, leaning back to admire your handiwork. “I think that should hold.”  

Hanno’s eyes drifted to his arm. He reached out, almost absently, and ran his fingers across the crude stitches. His touch was featherlight, as if testing the reality of it.  

You stood, gathering your tools and reaching for the pipe still clutched in his hand. But before you could take it, he brought it to his lips again, inhaling deeply. The motion was slow and deliberate, his dark eyes fixed on you through the curling smoke.  

You paused, watching him, but said nothing. After a moment, you gave a small nod and turned back to pack away the rest of your supplies.  

“Why did you let me take another hit?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer now, as if the opium was tugging him toward vulnerability.  

You glanced over your shoulder, your expression unreadable. “Because sometimes, we need the pain to go quiet for a while.”  

Hanno held your gaze for a long moment, his lips curving into a faint, lopsided smile. “You understand more than most,” he said quietly.  

You didn’t respond, but the weight of his words lingered. As you turned back to your work, his voice broke the silence again, softer this time.  

He said your name a tender echo in the quiet room. “Do you believe it?”  

“Believe what?” you asked, not turning around.  

“That what we do in life echoes in eternity.”  

You stilled, your hands tightening slightly around your tools. Finally, you turned to face him, your expression thoughtful. “I think… the choices we make, the lives we touch—they ripple outward. Whether it’s eternity or just a fleeting moment, I think it matters.”  

Hanno’s gaze didn’t waver, even through the haze of the drug. “You matter,” he said, his voice low but steady.  

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing. He meant it.  

Your throat tightened, but you forced a small smile. “Rest now, Hanno. You’ll need your strength.”  

He didn’t protest, but his eyes lingered on you as you turned away, your heart inexplicably heavier and lighter all at once.

LUCILLA’S VILLA – EVENING  

The villa shimmered under the moonlight, its alabaster walls soaking in the silver glow. Marble columns cast long shadows across the flagstones, and the air hummed with the gentle chorus of cicadas. Somewhere in the gardens, the delicate aroma of night-blooming jasmine mingled with the faint tang of the sea breeze.  

You stood at the edge of the terrace, a delicate glass of spiced wine cradled between your fingers. The cool air kissed your skin, but it couldn’t chase away the heat simmering beneath—an ache born of exhaustion, frustration, and something you dared not name. The day had unraveled like a tragedy, the gods watching with cruel amusement as you struggled to hold it together.  

Behind you, the sound of soft footfalls broke the stillness.  

“You stand there as though the weight of Rome rests on your shoulders,” a voice drawled, smooth and familiar.  

You turned, finding Lucilla leaning against the stone archway, her golden hair catching the light of the lanterns flickering nearby. She regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and knowing—Lucilla had a way of reading people like scrolls, unrolling their secrets with unnerving ease.  

“Does it not?” you replied, attempting a wry smile, though it faltered before it could fully form.  

Lucilla stepped closer, her movements fluid, regal. “Rome’s weight has crushed stronger people than us,” she said softly, joining you at the balustrade. “The key is learning when to carry it—and when to set it down.”  

You scoffed, swirling the wine in your glass. “And how often do you set it down?”  

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Far less than I should.” She glanced at you from the corner of her eye. “But I’m not the one standing out here, staring at the stars as though they hold the answers.”  

The faint humor in her tone was a lifeline, grounding you. “If the stars do have answers, they’re not sharing them with me,” you muttered, shaking your head.  

Lucilla’s expression softened, and she reached out, placing a hand lightly on your arm. “The answers aren’t in the stars,” she said. “They’re in here.” She tapped lightly against your chest, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve already carried so much. Don’t forget you’re allowed to put it down—just for a while.”  

Her words settled over you like a balm, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of distant laughter interrupted, drawing both your gazes toward the villa’s golden glow.  

Lucilla sighed, stepping back. “The night calls,” she said, her tone laced with resignation. “Goodnight.”  

“Goodnight, Lucilla,” you replied, watching as she disappeared into the shadows of the villa, her presence leaving an unspoken promise of strength in its wake.  

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the night’s hum. You exhaled, leaning against the wood, letting the day’s exhaustion seep into your bones. But the solace was short-lived.  

“Finally,” a low, gravelly voice murmured from the shadows.  

You startled, your hand flying to your chest. “Marcus!” you hissed, your heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”  

He stepped forward, his broad frame illuminated by the flickering lantern light. His tunic was slightly disheveled, and his dark curls fell across his brow, softening the hard planes of his face. Yet his eyes—those piercing eyes—held a fire that made it impossible to look away.  

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “Not tonight.”  

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to rebuff him. “And you thought sneaking into my quarters was the solution?”  

Marcus’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been on my mind all evening,” he said simply, the weight of his confession hanging between you. “Do you know how maddening it is? Seeing you, hearing you, but never being close enough?”  

Your breath caught, and you shook your head, trying to keep your composure. “Marcus, this—whatever this is—it's dangerous. You know that.”  

“Danger is nothing new to me,” he said, stepping closer. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself rooted in place as he closed the distance between you.  

“Marcus…” you began, but your voice faltered as his fingers brushed against yours, tentative and fleeting.  

“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will. But if you don’t—”  

The unspoken promise in his words sent a shiver racing down your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, but instead, you found yourself tilting your face toward his touch as his hand cupped your cheek.  

“I’ve seen you fight for others, care for them,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw. “Let me fight for you. Let me care for you.”  

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, unbidden and unwelcome. “You don’t understand what you’re asking,” you said, your voice trembling.  

“I do,” he countered, his forehead nearly touching yours. “And I’m asking anyway.”  

His breath was warm against your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance, your mouth meeting his in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and surrender.  

The world fell away in that moment, the chaos and the danger replaced by the warmth of his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless.  

You pulled back, your chest heaving, your hands clutching the fabric of his tunic. “This doesn’t make the world any less dangerous,” you said, your voice barely audible.  

“No,” he agreed, his gaze locked on yours. “But I’d burn the world to ash just to feel the heat of you.”  

His words sent a shiver through you, a dangerous mix of devotion and desire. And as he kissed you again, softer this time, you realized that perhaps the fire he promised wasn’t something to fear—but something you’d already been consumed by.  

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower I

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, mentions of violence, blood, death, and slavery, hints of PTSD/bad mental health - there will be an imbalance between the owned and the owner (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic relationship at some point

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest, I swear), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters basically (for now), no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: A greek woman has been stolen from her lands, Hellas, and in the midst of questioning her faith and destiny, she ends up before the feet of the emperors.

Word count: 1.9K

A/N: In this story there will appear a few words that's either ancient greek or latin (I study the languages, I know, super cool :ppp) - so I will make sure to add a little note once in a while when a new word pops up that I feel like is important for you to know. Though bare with me as I will not include some of the words... because not even the main character knows the meaning of the words sometimes.

In the worst cases: trust your gut. Believe me, when I say english isn't that far from latin.

This is the first story on my page, so please, if you like this chapter, show support by liking, reblogging and commenting. It'll really motivate me!! Thank you in advance <333 And now, I present chapter 1 of the story "For when you flower."

Dictionary for this chapter:

Hellas = the actual name of ancient greece Hellenes = the people of ancient greece (shoutout to that one ask for calling me out <333) Aphrike = the ancient greek name for Afrika Nemesis = both a god of justice, but mostly a term for revenge when greek had committed hybris - broken the rules given by the gods, which were made to keep the world in order

I was taken from my home.

Not too long ago I was in Hellas, the land of the gods. I was surrounded by my people, by our culture. A people who remained in pain of the filth stowed upon them day after day. A culture robbed of its riches. We were oppressed in our own home – but it was still ours. Ours to appreciate in the shadows, hidden from those not worthy of the glory. It was like one people of the other claimed our land as theirs. There was no peace other than in the dark hidden from the Persians and from the Romans.

It was in the shadows we allowed ourselves to continue our faith, to pray for mercy from the almighty gods. There was no justice outside in the light. Oh, how they dragged our names in the dirt.

It was in the shadows where the statues of the great remained, statues of the house gods to whom I owed my life. There was so much they could deprive us from but not hope. Not then in our land, Hellas.

I remember the day I received my prophecy. It did not speak of the agony I now find myself drowning in, no, it spoke of a resurrection of the people, of the belief.

I was to be an oracle. A hope. It had said: “A holy war in sight, only you can conquer with might. What’s been small and fragile in the past, will then flower from your hands.”

I was never the person to question the Gods intention – on the contrary I was honored to be given such kind words from those who we were taught to fear. I was looking forward to the day the prophecy would be fulfilled, the day were I was to serve the God of all good, sun and light, truth and prophecy, Apollon.

His name has lost all worth for I was brought out of the dark – not by will. And I cried. I cried a river but none of my prayers were heard.

It all changed the day the Romans came back.

I knew of the cruel nature of the Romans – of how they kidnapped and abused our land, but I was yet still too naive to think that they never would dare to touch the sacred, the ever so respected priests and priestess of the divine. They crushed the blest spirit, the day where light was shone on the serene shadows.

In truth I was only starting to understand the practices that were expected of me to perform. Rituals. I was yet to be the oracle, humble servant of Apollon. However, I still had a title to which previous Roman soldiers had respected and truly endeared.

I still remember the roman soldier that had asked for my guidance. Oh, how his eyes lit up as truth and prosperity embraced his whole. I showed him the way into the arms of Hera, Mother of Gods. Maybe he was lying – another mockery.

Hera, Apollon, where are you?

The event of my abduction is merely a night terror in my head by now, consuming my every thought; Every nerve jolting at the irreversible pain that had been caused by the filthy, the Romans. Every second has been a battle to actively try to suppress the memory of that day, that night, that month, that year. The only memory left by now was the change of weather from Hellas to Aphrike to Rome. The grief, the wicked and the filth. And that one man.

Hellenes is now barely a wrinkle in the dent of my cheek. An echo in the weariest of nights where sleep caresses me at last with promises of new hope, a new life. Something no God seemed to care to give to us anymore.

The Gods barely matter. That’s the truth. Today, as I sit with my hands tied, I believe that they were erased together with the rest of torment. Burnt, broken and beaten. I still pray, yes, but no longer with fear as they intended, no, it was disbelief and grief – and that was no righteous way of praying to the Gods I once knew, but it doesn’t matter. What horrid thing had I done that the Gods placed me in the hands of predators to obey? A feel of surrender not only towards Nemesis but also those I now call my masters, domini.

What a horrid word.

Today I sit behind bars with hardly anything to cover up the shame of my position. I have spent maybe a hundred days in this forsaken land, learning their dirty tongue in hopes of finding my eventual master. One, who I hope would have mercy. And perhaps today was the day the Gods finally hear my prayer, or maybe I’m still naive to hope.

I’m being transferred to a place, I have yet to understand the meaning of: Palatium. The name itself placed a heavy weight on my heart like a blanket of steel. I will not give up.

The slave trader waved our carriage away. By my side are other women as well as men, men of honor. All sit mute as If our tongues had been cut off, deaf as if our ears were burnt. In silence we agree that everything has seemed a blur since that day the free became the forced.

Around us men and women dressed in silk and tunics of pride bore at the sight of us. Those who would show interest were collectors which could be seen clear as day by their make-believe costumes of the people of Hellas, Hellenes. Us. They want us, not because of our personal value, the virtue which was supposedly given to us by the supposedly righteously gods, but because of our skin, our blood. They had that in common with the men, scouting gladiators in between our honest men, the heroes of Hellas.

The injustice floods my already burning chest. My heart is beating but for what? Beating against the steel and iron like the drums of war. I bite my cheek as I feel the phantom sensation of tears flocking my arid eyes. Damn you, Gods. Despite the growing distrust I urge myself to mummer a prayer in our mother tongue with eyes squinted close: “I ask for your justice, righteous Dike, for your mercy on my soul and for whatever deed lead me here, Nemesis. Ares, I summon your war to these wasteful souls that do not honor your name. Oh, Zeus-“

“Quiet down.” The woman to the right mummer. “The Gods intended this. We will meet the ends of our suffering soon enough.” I could feel how I was quick to anger over how she sounded so reassuring – but mostly also how she was right. Peeking a look at her I meet not a woman, but the ghost of life displayed and laying across her pale face. She’s an old woman, probably not intended to see the light of day. Other than her wrinkles, there is no identity to be seen or studied. Her appearance no longer mirrors whatever woman she had been as her clothes are merely a used bag, her hair thin and shed, dead on her shoulder. She will likely be bought for nothing but labor. A prime example of a worthless slave in the eyes of the filthy.

My anger now replaced by pity. Sadness.

“Apologies.”  I slightly nod and purse my lips. I feel my eye twitch. I ponder of her name, but I choke on the words. Embarrassed, I lower my head.

The next thing I hear is a rustle. Perhaps she had read my thoughts, maybe not. A short moment of quiet follows as her hand caresses mine. Comforting. Motherly.

Maybe Hera is here after all.

Suddenly the world begins the spin as the carriage suddenly stops and puncturing whatever hope, the woman had planted and sown. Dizziness takes a hold of my consciousness. The world seems to blur once more. I feel my body become weak and heavy. Her hand on my cheek. Her shoulder next. She saves me from the floor. She holds up me upright.

Our movements become flashes. The world so dark. The next thing I know, I’m on marble floor.

The air here seems heavy and loaded with scents of war. It strikes and pokes my insides like spikes. Carefully I tip my head up to look around at the surroundings – only to meet the toes and the feet of a man, sandals of a noble.

“You brought a weakling into the house of gods?” The sandals huffed. “Surely, you must be pulling some kind of cruel joke.”

It’s like his voice barely made it through his gritted teeth but I cannot see. The muscles in my neck ache. But I feel her hand. The woman is still holding me. It calms my nerves, and I seem to forget the pain.

“And an old woman.” I watch the right foot tap and as it jingles with all its riches. “I cannot believe this… this… insult! This is an insult – towards the gods, let alone the emperors! What will they think?”

“I reassure you; she was fine a moment ago! One of our finest samples!” I recognize this voice to be the dealer, the man who bought me off the coast of Aphrike.

“How am I supposed to make any of these women presentable?” The sandals raised his voice slightly but were quickly to draw a breath. “Out.”

It sounds as if the words were venom, shooting from the teeth of a python. No doubt that this man has power.

“But-“

“No! I said out. Before the emperors see these-“

“See what?”

The atmosphere changes.

A new pair of sandals makes their way across the floor, scraping whatever dirt there is up. A pair of feet who seem too weak to bear the heavy burden of its body or its mind, erratic in its every move. And yet so weary and tired.

And then there were quiet.

It feels as if a minute passes by before any other word is being spilt. The burdened speaks again, marginally more distressed: “Speak up for I wish not to be left out.” The voice takes on a child-like attitude, one which knows no laughter, only squabble and snappiness of the upmost impatient kind. A part of me wishes to look and console this unfortunate soul.

The fancy sandals jerk. “Sorry, my emperor, I was just telling this joke of a seller off because of this abomination of a delivery. I assure you; I am picking only the upmost desirable for you. Ones in the best of health.”

A wish now broken.

“And what do you know about health?!” The voice snaps as if the sandals words truly had offended its entire bloodline – its apparent noble bloodline. Filth.

“That was not-“

“OUT!” It screeched. The sound of a blade rings in the room, making me lower my head by instinct. Blinking, I feel a pain ache in my heart flashing, not of physical pain but of pure agony within my soul. Memories, nightmares flash before me. The thick scent becomes recognizable. My dearest friend as of the last year. The smell of iron. Of blood. The only proof of life and of worth.

Once more it blurs. My soul cannot take this torture any further.

“Caracalla! Calm down!” Is the second to last thing I hear.

“Geta! He is-“ Is the last thing I hear.

I remember them faintly. Their names. The fear that infiltrated my home, my people.

The twin emperors; Geta and Caracalla.

Oh, how I resent them

Next chapter

[aventurineswife]

“To be loved is to be known”

Summary: When you call Aventurine by his true name, Kakavasha, with love and affection, it shatters the walls he’s built around himself. As he breaks down, overwhelmed by his past trauma and survivor’s guilt, you help him heal and discover the possibility of being truly loved. Through patience and support, Kakavasha learns to love and be loved in return, though the journey is filled with emotional struggles and slow-burning trust.

Tags: @bunni-v1(thank you for feeding the Aventurine fandom🙏💛💚), Aventurine x Reader, Angst, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Healing, Survivor’s Guilt, Manipulation/Control, Love & Vulnerability, First Love/Relationship, Patience, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Warnings: Emotional Trauma, References to Past Abuse and Slavery, Mental Health Struggles (survivor's guilt, emotional breakdown), Explicit mentions of Grief and Loss, Heavy Themes of Self-worth and Identity.

A/N: this was much better in my head... 🧍‍♀️

[Inspired by]

The dim light of Aventurine's private quarters cast an amber glow over the room, reflecting off the myriad of trinkets and luxurious odds and ends that adorned the shelves. He lounged in his chair as always, legs crossed, head tilted, a half-empty glass of brandy in his hand. The smile that graced his lips was one you knew well—practiced, confident, and sharp. A mask.

“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight, darling,” he said, his voice lilting with feigned amusement. “Planning something, or is the weight of my brilliance just too much to handle?”

You folded your arms, standing in the center of the room. “Kakavasha.”

The sound of his real name stopped him mid-sip. The glass hovered inches from his lips, his eyes narrowing like a predator caught off guard. The room seemed to still, the silence so heavy it was deafening.

“What did you just say?” he asked, his tone sharper now, defensive.

“Kakavasha,” you repeated, softer this time, stepping closer to him. “Your name. Not Aventurine. Not the persona you wear for the world. I’m speaking to you—the person behind all of this.”

His smile wavered, a crack forming in the facade. For a moment, he looked at you as if you’d struck him, as though hearing that name from your lips was a wound he hadn’t prepared to guard against.

“Don’t,” he whispered, setting his glass down with a trembling hand. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it means something,” he hissed, standing abruptly. His movements were quick, defensive, his hands curling into fists. “That name—that name belongs to someone who should’ve died years ago.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t step back. Instead, you moved closer, your hands reaching out to gently touch his face. He recoiled slightly at first, but you persisted, cupping his cheeks with a tenderness that shattered whatever defenses he had left.

“Kakavasha,” you said again, and this time, it broke him.

A sob tore through him before he could stop it, raw and guttural. He sank to his knees, his arms wrapping around your waist as if holding on for dear life. His head pressed against your stomach, and his body shook with the force of his crying.

“I—I can’t,” he choked out, the words barely audible between sobs. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You knelt down, your hands cradling his face as you forced him to look at you. Tears streaked down his cheeks, and his eyes were wide, glassy, and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“Listen to me,” you said firmly, though your voice was laced with emotion. “You are Kakavasha. You are not the sum of your mistakes, and you are not the monster you think you are. You’re a person—a person who has been through hell and back, but you are not unworthy of love.”

He shook his head, more tears spilling over. “I don’t know how to—”

“You don’t have to know,” you interrupted, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “You just have to let me love you. That’s all.”

His sobs quieted as your words sank in, his breathing ragged but slowing. You kissed his cheeks, his nose, his lips, each kiss gentle and patient, as though you were mending the broken pieces of him with your touch.

For a long while, he simply stayed there, his head resting against your chest as you held him. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

“I didn’t think… I didn’t think it was possible to feel like this.”

You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You deserve this, Kakavasha. You deserve to be happy.”

The name lingered in the air, not as a weight but as a promise. Kakavasha—the man who had survived the desert, the betrayals, and the crushing loneliness—was still here. And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe that he could be loved.

The road to healing wasn’t easy. Aventurine—no, Kakavasha—was a man accustomed to wearing masks, to hiding behind his sharp wit and dazzling charisma. There were nights when his fears got the better of him, when he pulled away, scared of the vulnerability that came with being loved.

But you were patient.

You were there to steady him when he stumbled, to remind him that he didn’t have to face his demons alone. Slowly, he began to open up, sharing pieces of himself that he had long buried. His laughter became more genuine, his smiles less calculated.

And one day, as he watched you reading on the couch, bathed in the golden glow of the evening light, he realized that he no longer feared losing you. Instead, he felt a quiet determination—a promise to himself that he would protect this love with everything he had.

Because for the first time in his life, Kakavasha understood what it meant to be truly alive.

[chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct]

So, project 2025 has been deleting their PDFs but a few lovely people have posted the list of books they want to ban and other than the fact that the entire list is stupid, here's some that stuck out to me + the reasons listed next to them. Most of the books on the list are lgbtq+ books which one would expect to find there, so I just did ones I didn't expect.

The Holy Bible - Challenged for religious beliefs and graphic content.

A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin - Sexual violence, political intrigue.

Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson - Death and religious content.

Captain Underpants series by Dav Pilkey - Toilet humor and "disobedience."

Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak - Critique of the Russian Revolution.

Deadly Deceits by Ralph McGehee - Former CIA agent's critiques of the agency.

Emma by Jane Austen - Complex gender themes, social critique.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury - Censorship and media manipulation by the government.

Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling - Accusations of promoting witchcraft.

Howl by Allen Ginsberg - Explicit sexual content, anti-establishment themes

Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss - Concerns over violence against parents.

I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter by Erika L. Sánchez - Mental health, sexual content.

It's Perfectly Normal by Robie H. Harris - Sex education content.

It's So Amazing! by Robie H. Harris - Sex education content.

None Dare Call It Conspiracy by Gary Allen - Discusses alleged hidden global power structure.

None Dare Call It Treason by John A. Stormer - Anti-communist and conspiracy-focused.

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn - Critique of Soviet labor camps.

Operation Paperclip by Annie Jacobsen - Exposes secret U.S. program involving former Nazis.

My Brother Sam Is Dead by James Lincoln Collier - Violence, anti-war themes.

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt vonnegut- Anti-war themes.

Spycatcher by Peter Wright - Ex-MI5 agent's account of intelligence operations.

The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama - Criticism of religion, perceived political messages.

The Awakening by Kate Chopin - Female independence, sexuality.

The Book of Night Women by Marlon James - Slavery, graphic violence.

The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede - Magic, feminism.

The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein - Themes of selfishness, parenting.

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy - Examines class and caste issues in India.

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood - Critique of religious extremism and patriarchy.

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas - Examines police violence and racial injustice

The Hunger Games Series by Suzanne Collins - Depicts oppressive government and rebellion.

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster - Political subtext, wordplay.

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver - Critique of colonialism and missionary work.

The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene - Critique of religion and political oppression

The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle - Religious critique.

The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli - Seen as a critique of political ethics.

The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare - Often challenged for themes of submission of women in marriage.

Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer - Themes of violence, supernatural elements.

V for Vendetta by Alan Moore - Political rebellion, violence.

War is a Racket by Smedley D. Butler - Critique of war profiteering.

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein - Dark humor, "rebellious" themes.

Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak - Themes of rebellion, dark imagery.

Where's Waldo? by Martin Handford - Alleged inappropriate illustrations.

White Noise by Don DeLillo - Critique of consumerism and modern society.

Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes - Feminist themes.

Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Seuss - Seen as political allegory.

Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis - Critique of authority and societal norms.

[ae-cha08]

In the Bible, Joseph was betrayed and sold into slavery by his own brothers, then falsely accused and put in prison. He could have used excuse after excuse to be bitter and angry, but he had a "no excuses" mentality. He kept doing the right thing when the wrong thing was happening. And in the end, he came out vindicated, promoted, and in a place of influence and respect.

Let go of the hurts, offenses, and wounds of the past. Declare that they have no power over you. 💙

[blackstarlineage]

Why Black People Aren't Taken Seriously Globally: A Garveyite Perspective

Marcus Garvey’s teachings offer a powerful lens for understanding why Black people globally face challenges in being taken seriously or respected. His philosophy of Black nationalism and Pan-Africanism highlights systemic, cultural, and internal factors that have contributed to this struggle. Let’s break it down:

1. Lack of Unity: Garvey said it best: "A divided people are easily dominated." Without unity—whether due to tribalism, classism, or national divisions—the global Black community struggles to assert collective power.

2. Economic Dependency: Garvey emphasized that respect comes with economic independence. Black communities’ reliance on foreign systems and industries perpetuates cycles of exploitation and disrespect.

3. Colonial and Mental Enslavement: Centuries of slavery and colonialism didn’t just take land—they took minds. Many Black people still internalize inferiority, adopting Western standards over their own heritage.

4. Political Powerlessness: Without strong political sovereignty, Black nations and communities often end up subject to the whims of external powers. Garvey’s solution? "Africa for the Africans!"

5. Cultural Alienation: The erasure of African traditions through colonization leaves many disconnected from their roots. Reclaiming cultural pride is essential to earning global respect.

6. Scattered Identity: Black people globally lack a unified identity or voice. Garvey’s dream of Pan-Africanism sought to unite Africans and the diaspora under one banner.

7. Over-Reliance on Non-Black Leadership: Garvey criticized dependence on external leaders, emphasizing the need for Black-led solutions.

8. Propaganda and Negative Perceptions: Global media often perpetuates harmful stereotypes about Black people. Controlling our own narratives is key to countering this.

9. Weak Institutions: Without Black-owned banks, schools, or hospitals, dependence on external systems undermines the community’s autonomy.

10. Internal Resistance to Progress: Garvey noted that some resist self-improvement due to fear, ignorance, or complacency. This, he believed, holds the community back.

11. Western Cultural Dominance: The dominance of Western values marginalizes African contributions. Assimilating into these systems often comes at the expense of Black identity.

12. Educational Shortcomings: Garvey championed education in African history and achievements. A lack of this fosters ignorance and self-doubt.

13. Reparations Neglect: Failing to demand reparations for slavery and colonialism signals a lack of seriousness in addressing historical grievances.

14. Charity Over Infrastructure: Many African nations rely on foreign aid instead of building infrastructure, creating a cycle of dependency.

15. Exploitation by Foreign Powers: Africa’s wealth is drained by foreign exploitation. Regaining control of resources would shift global power dynamics.

16. Assimilation into Eurocentric Ideologies: Rejecting African traditions in favour of Eurocentric systems weakens collective pride and fosters division.

17. Poor Leadership: Garvey stressed the need for visionary leaders who prioritize collective progress over personal gain.

18. Passivity in Oppression: Accepting injustice without resistance only reinforces oppression. Bold, decisive action is required.

19. Loss of Spiritual and Moral Foundation: Materialism and individualism have replaced communal values. Garvey believed spirituality was central to empowerment.

20. Fragmented Diaspora: A weak connection between Africa and its diaspora prevents global solidarity and shared progress.

21. Neocolonial Borders: Artificial colonial borders foster division and conflict, undermining unity and progress.

22. Lack of Strategic Alliances: Garvey urged the Black community to form alliances with other oppressed groups to amplify their influence.

23. Complacency and Fear: Fear of change and comfort with familiar oppression prevent the risks necessary for progress.

24. Neglect of Garvey’s Vision: Without institutionalizing Garvey’s principles, the movement for unity, self-reliance, and African pride remains fragmented.

So What’s the solution?

The Honourable Marcus Garvey’s answer was clear: Unity, Economic independence, Reclaiming African identity and Building global solidarity.

The road to respect lies in pride, self-reliance, and unwavering determination. His vision remains a blueprint for global Black empowerment.

“If you have no confidence in self, you are twice defeated in the race of life.” – The Honourable Marcus Garvey

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

re: being unable to predict twow and maybe being upset it doesn't do what fandom wants it to, were there any things in adwd you remember being surprised by and that went against common fandom interpretation at the time? :3

I'm not quite sure what was common fandom interpretation at the time, since after I finished AFFC in 2005 I tried the westeros.org forums and was extremely repelled by them and their hate for my favorite characters - and indeed, most female characters - and avoided them thereafter. (And somehow I never thought to check the Livejournal communities at the time, alas, which would've been more up my alley.) I did devour worg's Citadel (their pre-wiki, including the So Spake Martin archive) and fanart collection though lol.

But of course I was still surprised by things in ADWD. Like, I had no expectation whatsoever that Bloodraven was still alive, let alone that he was the three-eyed crow. Or heck, that the children of the forest definitely exist and appear on page as actual characters! I did not expect a Varamyr prologue POV in the slightest, or his warg/skinchanger lore reveals. And I did not expect the Aegon reveal at all, though checking the SSMs afterwards (as well as this ancient pre-AFFC FAQ) showed me that some people had been wondering from day 1 if he had survived. And for that matter, Jon Connington's survival was surprising (at least my memory is very good, so the griffin thing and Tyrion's suspicions of him being a Westeros lord had me leaping back to Jaime's conversation with Ronnet), as well as Jon's POV (including his sexual orientation) and the greyscale thing. Oh man, the whole stone men scene was all new fascinating worldbuilding.

As for existing POVs and known plots, I certainly never expected Theon's state as Reek (tortured, yes, but not reduced to that, though I probably should have), or that he would be a POV again, or that I would find his narrative so heartwrenching or that he would become a favorite character. (From reading a bunch of pre-ADWD fanfics, I don't think the fandom expected Ramsay to be so abusive of Jeyne either, but for that I have no idea why.) I was surprised by Cersei's walk of shame, though I probably should have expected some sort of religion-based sexual humiliation. (Actually, I don't think most people expected the returning AFFC POVs because of the book split, though I'm glad GRRM chose to update us on some of its cliffhangers - like, at least Brienne is no longer hanging from a tree!) I did not expect Tyrion's POV and mental state to be so dark, but again, I probably should have. I also didn't expect him to link up with Jorah (I don't recall what I imagined Jorah to do in his exile but not that - maybe lurk around the fringes of Meereen?) or the slavery plot at all.

I think the fandom in general expected more... plot-advancement, I guess, more battles involving KL again, more movement of Dany towards Westeros, though they always have, lol. (There are ACOK-era theories that she'd come to Westeros right away, marry Robb and destroy the Lannisters together, etc.) I'm sure some expected Stannis conquering Winterfell and getting the Boltons out, though at least there they were mostly right, as the battle of ice (as well as the battle of fire) got cut from ADWD last minute. As for plot advancement expectations from me, I personally hoped that Marwyn would reach Dany in ADWD, though considering he leaves at the end of the last chapter of AFFC and the distances involved, I really should have known better. But I did expect to hear at least a little about Rickon, and Davos learning he's on Skagos (and getting sent to retrieve him) was a pleasant semi-resolution there.

Anyway, hope that helps! If/when we get TWOW, despite the fandom doing like 15 years of speculation and theories (not to mention the show), I'm sure there will be plenty of surprises, both positive ones and disappointments, as well as completely unexpected things.

[catboybiologist]

Honest question, why bother voting if you live in California?

Like it's not going to change the outcome for sure

So the most obvious reason is that the president isn't the only thing you vote for. Local candidates and statewide measures are in the ballot too. And those are ABSOLUTELY worth voting for. This is big fucking reason number 1. California has ballot propositions right now on ending slavery as a form of criminal punishment, rent and housing reform, and a dangerous crime and punishment bill.

This alone should be more than enough reason to vote in California, I'm begging you (general you, not the asker, I'm p sure you're not American iirc).

As for the president, yeah, I was initially with your other ask that "voting third party will send a message", BUT, I've had some major shifts in how I view my vote.

One, no state is as safe as you think it is. I know "red California" seems like a fairy tale, but remember that we're the state that gave the world Reagan. There's a vicious undercurrent of neoliberal right wing mentalities here, and I don't want to abstain from the vote in the year that this current takes over enough.

Florida used to be a swing state. Now it's solid R. And there are endless examples.

This year it's not gonna happen, of course. Hell, we're Harris' home state. But I'm a little too scared to make that judgement call right now.

The other shift I've had is in the way that parties view their votes. These thoughts are way more poorly formed and I know people are going to judge me for them, so please don't pounce.

Major politicians don't view abstain or third party votes as protest votes. They view them as demographics that they've already lost. Permanently. They view them as either lazy young people who won't vote, or idealists who they can't appeal to. And yeah, maybe I fit that bill.

Right now, the messaging the Dems need to be sent is that yes, they can actually get a turnout.

Federal presidential candidates aren't going to try to appeal to people who are voting green. They're going to continue appealing to center suburbanites and forgetting about the left.

Does all this mean "blindly rally behind the Democrats"? God fucking no. It means plug your nose, mark a piece of paper, and hope they win because they'll listen at least the TINIEST but more when you raise hell in the future.

The question also is, do I believe in the Greens at all? Or is it just a "stick it to the Democrats" vote? And is giving the Greens legitimacy an unintended side effect, or an intent for that vote? I don't want to say personal answers to those questions

[alpaca-clouds]

I promised to talk about Robespierre

Okay, keeping up with these entries this week will be hard. But let's see what I can do.

But yes, I was asked by several people about Robespierre, given that he has this small cameo in Castlevania Nocturne. And since most people do not know much about him outside of "he was kinda important in the French Revolution" and "he ended up being beheaded", I guess I should talk a bit a more.

One thing that might surprise you: Robespierre was not part of the people who kicked the Revolution off, though he joined fairly early on.

Robespierre was the first kid of his very young parents. He definitely was conceived in wedlock, though his parents managed to tie the bow before he was born. After his birth, three more children were born, before his mother died in the stillbirth of the fifth child. His father soon abandoned the four living kids with his grandparents and basically disappeared from Robespierres life, though eventually he was raised by his aunt.

He was good in school and went to study law. During his education he was obsessed with the Roman Republic, not the Roman Empire. So yes, he thought about the Romans at least once per day, but not the Empire. He gratuated law school with honors and got appointed as a prosecutor, but quit that rather quickly. Because of his distaste for the death penelty. Yes, this will be ironic eventually.

The started writing essays and pamphlets as the Revolution started to be brewing, and when what would become the first Assembly was being voted for, he ended up to become the Deputy of Flanders and went to Paris.

He quickly joined the Jacobin Club, which was not really a party, but a very left-wing oriented political Club in Paris, who had quite a lot of deputies being part of it. Robespierre cared a lot about the idea that "all men were equal" before the law. Even among the Jacobins he was pretty much an extremist in this regard, given that he proposed both the abolition of slavery and sufferage for both Black people and later even for women. While he certainly held some believes that you would absolutely call out as racist and misogynic today, mainly in regards to their mental capabilities (he also wrote texts on how women were more emotional, though he noted that for this they were more moral).

During his first two years in the Assembly, he coined the famous motto Liberté, égalité, fraternité.

For the first two years of him being in the Assembly, this was mostly it - and then Louis XVI fled from Paris and was eventually obviously caught before he could leave France. Up until this point they had decided that France was supposed to be a Constitutional Monarchy, but now it was fairly clear that this did not quite work out. And it riled people up on both sides - both Royalists who wanted to return to the old regime, and Republicans started riots in the streets, and then people got shot.

Robespierre to this point had lived in a better part of town, but left there to move in with a craftsman and his family.

At this point Robespierre started to get the reputation of being "the incorruptible", as he was just someone who stood firmly and constantly by his own believes as he was speaking in the Assembly.

Due to his own decision (he believed that not the same people should stay in the Assembly all the time), he did not become re-elected later in 1791. But when it became clear that the new Assembly wanted to declare war on Austria before Austria could declare war on them (something that might or might not have happened - it was kinda both sides goin "I dare you!" - "Ha, I double dare you!"), he started to speak up again, specifically against war.

He rightfully pre-dicted that starting a way would help the counter revolution to gain more power. (He specifically feared that some general could use the war to make himself into a new king - something he was right on the money with, given that this lead eventually to Napoleon, though Robespierre at the time was actually thinking of Lafayette.)

When war was still declared, Robespierre started to put in work that the normal public should be armed. Both so that they would be trained with weapons if they needed to be drafted, but also so that if there was a coup within the country they could fight back. At this time he also became quite outspoken about his mistrust over the local police in Paris. (Very based.)

This started the Paris Commune, a short-lived anarchist commune within Paris.

Now, with the war starting, there were so many rumors going around about people being traitors to the French people, and some people were outright caught betraying France. Robespierre proposed that there should be a legal institution to deal with traitors specifically. He was appointed to it pretty soon.

Within the year, he also joined the National Convention, as France declared herself a Republic.

And one of the first things this National Convention voted on, was executing Louis.

Again, I will remind you: Robespierre hated the death penelty. However, he became more and more convinced that there was no other way to deal with the king, as there were of course other royalists who would probably try to hoist up the king once more. Hence, he ended up not only voting in favor of executing Louis, but also convinced others to do so.

However, war will lead to certain things - as we know in our modern day quite well. Most notably the food prices were rising, which lead to armed insurrections on the streets of Paris, that Robespierre supported. After all, he supported the people. And when this turned into a whole argument within the Convention, he started to become more and more convinced, that within the Convention there were two fractions: Jacobins and traitors to the French Republic.

And this situation escalated. Over the late summer and autumn 1793, and this lead to what most people know about the French Revolution: The Reign of Terror.

Long story short: Everyone accused everyone else of being a traitor and foreign spy and people got sentenced, and within a day beheaded.

Again: Robespierre did not like the death penelty, but by this point he had reasoned himself into the believe that this was the only way to deal with all those people rebelling against the republic. As such, he even signed the Death Warrants of some of his own friends.

And for a short bit it seemed to work as a method of pushing down the counter-revolution, though it became very clear that one of the biggest problems were the conflicts with church, which lead him and his fellow people in the Convention try to make their own theist church, that was however divorced from Christianity.

It did not really work.

And then... Well, things became really bad. There were a couple of assassination attempts, even more people got beheaded. Again, among this there were even close friends of Robespierre's, which turned public opinion against him. And eventually he got shot (though not fatally) by political opponents, and then within the day struck with the death penelty. He died not even full day after his arrest.

I think he is actually a really interesting figure in this context. Because, if you read his writing, he seemed to have been quite a decent, moral man, with a lot of opinions that were a lot more progressive than even many of the other revolutionaries. Yet, if it was just the power going to his head, or just the general paranoia that came out of the climate in France at the time, in the end he pretty much betrayed most of his morals in a desperate attempt to keep the Revolution going. And while I will still maintain that the Reign of Terror was not the main reason that the Revolution somewhat failed (it did not fail completely of course, given that even after the end of it, the convention kept going), it was a core reason of it.

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flover VI

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, angst, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, misogyni, etc.), toxic/abusive, choking/death threats, alcoholism, sexual/sensual content, mentions of violence, suicide, rape, blood, death, and slavery (sometimes only implied)

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), slow burn (?), dark romance (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative, hurt/comfort

Summary: Pulled from a new-found peace, the hellen finds herself in an dramatic confrontation with the sparrow, Geta. She wonders again and again: what are feelings, if not to be felt?

Word count: 3.6K

Dictionary for this chapter:

Nothing! whaaat!

I sit in quiet, wondering and thinking about life and how I ended up like this. Between my legs lay one of the men I am sure that I am destined to kill someday. The man who was responsible for so much pain – and whom I’ve longed to see decay. Yet, I feel no remorse of his touch or how his breath meets my leg like how the wave hits the shore. I try putting sense into the situation by remembering my brother, but no good comes of it. It’s like the agony is erased in this curious second, ticking on by while the emperor sleeps soundly, nested in my embrace. Instead I end up thinking about how this man is a brother as well, and how his brother seemingly cares for his health rather than his own. It’s exactly what alienates them from the description I once let fit their profile; they’re no longer masters of blasphemy and war but humans with flaws; and so am I. Am I foolish for thinking they can change?

Caracalla looks so peaceful as he sleeps. His lips parted just a bit, his eyes relaxed and no longer as puffy and dark as before. He has been nothing but nice to me ever since I arrived – that I must admit. If I am not to accept that they can change then I can at least acknowledge that this one never had the chance to be at all. Scars all over his face and skin shows the true nature of his past as well as destiny. It can be that they say he is mad, but I am slowly starting to think that he is the sanest of them all; at least he is a man true to his word, although they can be demanding.

My hand over his forehead, I catch myself praying for his well-being. A warmth beneath my touch. “Apollon, there is nothing in this world other than you that can help this man, though his past might shows otherwise, I pray that he will show you-“

“Are you praying for my brother?” A cold air slaps my skin so that it shivers. I gulp.

Geta comes to light from behind the bed, his voice jumping ever so slightly off the walls like a haunting ghost. Has he been hiding, watching all along? He settles on the silk furthest away from me and Caracalla. It is like he is afraid to approach as his hands seems unsure crossing the invisible borders between the right and the left side of the bed. There seems to be a thick and uncomfortable silence in between that I can’t quite place. A peace that is although just for the tainted soul upon me.

He can’t attack me with his brother sleeping on me. Is that why he’s not at ease?

I am unsure whether I am allowed to speak or not. So, I nod, somewhat sternly and proud. I must take a stand when I can. I will not deny my submission to the only righteous Gods.

The sparrow merely stares at me, blankly, his shoulders slightly slumped and somewhat weak. It’s only his upper body that is turned towards the two of us, his legs are staying on ground so that I cannot see his feet. For a short moment I see a sadness rush the empty gaze before he turns to let his elbows settle on his knees, his head held by his rigid hands. There’s a cloud forming in the air around him, full of thunder, seemingly a swarm of thoughts, all piercing into the skull. He’s nothing without his strength, without his power. Am I holding his only will? I curl Caracalla’s hair around my finger like a ring.

“I told you not to speak.” Sour is his spit, I am sure. Puncturing is his words to my soul. If only he had heard his brother and how he was happy to hear me speak. Maybe that’ll change his mind. Does that even matter? I am led astray, emphasizing for someone not deserving of it.

The Gods know what they did – but still.

“You will get yourself out of this … distraction… and come to my chamber.” Though he is quite familiar with the tongue of my people, he sometimes speak as if he knows no words at all. I am puzzled by what he means, but I dare not object. Geta puffs and stands up to leave. “You will get what you deserve.” He mumbles as he walks away, evidently drowning in either doubt or gloom.

I realize my heart is beating out of my chest, and that the pit in my stomach has hollowed even further. There’s a ringing in my ear that keeps my thoughts at bay. I feel dizzy, nauseous even. The peace from before long gone.

Am I to leave now? I watch the other brother sigh in his sleep. Surely, he can feel how my legs have started shaking, can he not? I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t get moving now.

I carefully lift Caracalla’s head and pull one leg after the other away, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to wake. Swiftly I find myself on my feet, watching the emperor before me lie still. Something so fragile about how he lays, unprotected and yet salvaged from misery of being awake. I put a pillow beneath his head in hopes that he will continue to fall deeper but softly further into his slumber. For some obscure reason I hope that he rests, knowing no bad will reach him now. What are these thoughts? I pull a blanket over his shoulders.

With a few steps I reach the exit, but I don’t know the way. A purple guard stands on each side. “Follow me.” One walks past me almost like a shadow without grabbing me - a freeing feeling, and oh so intoxicating. No wine to keep my thoughts further away now, only this man and the unearned respect he delivers at my feet. I know not to take it to heart for that would be foolish of me, yet…

Shame bubbles within, slowly filling the whole hole with the tiniest drops of guilt. I think of my people and how I am led to this place and this sudden respect. Their bodies dead, flowing into the sea. The water red. My brothers head. I remember where my loyalties lay. I acknowledge his hospitality, but I wish not to take it heart - but oh...

I enter this new chamber, the purple guard leading me inside, though leaving me to walk alone. I am but a rabbit in an open, unknown field and land of predators – or rather the predator. A stabbing pain grows inside, prickling in the tips of my fingers; all my blood has left my limbs and gone to my head.

Geta stands by a desk, identical to the one inside of Caracalla’s chamber, sipping the same red liquid. His shoulders are rising and falling in a dangerous speed, revealing that there’s a race inside of him. If I just come but an inch closer, perhaps I can hear the beating of his heart, beating in sync with mine. He’s nothing but a man. A sparrow, but surely, he wishes that he was more. He takes in a deep breath like last time except this time no words leave his mouth. I wonder if he has lost them on his way here.

I wish that he was to lose his head – it would make killing him so much easier. His brother’s words are poisoning, misleading from what I can conclude or admit as of right now; I wish not to find out whether his can be as well or not.

“You may speak to me.” He speaks. “Speak.” He commands.

I try to forget what Caracalla told me to do yesterday. And forget how it pains me to try to do so. Remember, I do not care for these tyrants.

“I do not know what you want me to say.” I speak. The words grating my throat. A struggle I didn’t know I would face - wanting to stay quiet, to be a part of the sweet abyss, but forced to practice a right, I forgot I had. Speaking my truth, I dare not to do. What would he do if I did? Does it matter? I forget anyway.

He stays quiet as he places his glass, both hands on the table as he leans forward, relying all his weight on the wooden table. He looks too heavy to carry on his own.

The sparrow drops his cape slowly, and I watch it fall to the floor like a body robbed from life. It loses all color as it reaches the ground, the grace vanished into the air like a soul from a corpse. Suddenly, Geta looks so small.

I need nothing but a knife to spare me from this. Would I take my life or his? I remember my brothers smile. Caracalla’s laugh.

I feel unsteady on my feet. My heart ache. I am weak and that is all that Geta will see, if he just looked. What’s happening in his head? I stand in a shadow where no power yield. I sharpen my words. “You’re just as mad as him.”

At first it seems that he needs to process my words, but then Geta laughs shallowly, his shoulders dropping. He pushes himself up from the table and stand barely upright, his torso tilted to the right as he turns his foot to face me. Never have I seen a man so stellar in his most melancholy attire. Kohl smeared so that he looks as if he never has met the insides of his eyelids, his jaw so tense, and his lips so red. He even looks as if he has been hunting a prey, having teared his teeth into it, tearing muscle from muscle.

I dare chuckle. “You look more a mess than him.” I serve him his own words on a silver platter. If I must die, I will do so with pride.

“What are you afraid of?”

I am taken aback by his words as they hit harder than any punch.

“It surely isn’t death, so that I will not give you.” Geta approaches slowly and sloppily. He gets so close to my face, his breath crawling into the cracks of my lips. I smell the wine so clearly that I am sure that I can get drunk on the smell alone. “How can I best torture you?” He grabs my chin almost tenderly as he whispers. The sparrow watches my lips - by now it seems he has made it his duty. A feeling creeps on my spine and my breath jerks. Geta grins.

“I went to your little… bed, and I found this.” From his pocket he pulls out the knucklebone, given to me by Alexandra. Instantly I reach out for it, but he is quick to remove his hand. He shakes his hand and from his mouth comes these demeaning sounds: “tsk, tsk, tsk.” It sounds like a squirrel’s chatter. I feel so little. His lips only inches away.

“What does it mean to you? It’s just a bone…” He takes a step back and inspects the knucklebone between his fingers. His filthy, filthy fingers.

An anger and an anxiety spewing within. “Nothing. Give it back.” I spit.

He turns his gaze to me again from which fury rages in its scornful manner. There are no words, only a war between our stares. In this moment I wish to cut off his every limb, dismember him like they did my brother by the order of those beneath him. The tyrant. The unbelievably gruesome man who dresses to cover his mediocrity. The man who’s taken Alexandra from me, only a few inches away.

“You do not order me around.” He warns ghastly. “Answer me.”

I reach out again, and Geta stomps on my foot. I cry in pain and try to fight back, but he pushes me off my balance. Harshly, I land on the floor, on my side. A lightning bolt crashing through my body from my hip to my head. I weep, but I fight to press words through the startling numbness, growing out of the floor, infiltrating my core: “I won’t tell you.”

“Shame.” Geta grits his teeth. Hastily he walks to his table and places the bone as he grabs ahold of a book. Giving me no time to think or react he holds it above his head, ready to motion it towards the only hope I have. He wants to shatter it. He will.

Panic endues. “WAIT!” I yell.

He stops.

I wail. “It’s a bone given to me by one of the other slaves.”

“Who?”

I give him no answer, leave him in quiet. My heart feels as if it was the one to be stomped on. My head beginning to throb.

“WHO?!”

“Alexandra.” Her name falls out and, in my head, regret takes its place, settling among all other sensation fed by this menace.

“Alexandra.” Geta tastes her name as he puts down the book slowly.

I let my body completely break to the ground. The cold of the marble being the only comfort I need. The sound of my tears hitting the surface resembling the sound of small childish chatter and broken wishes. They fall, seeking truth but finding sorrow so deep. Suffocated by the limited space between my faith and my destiny, both brittle and frail. His little laugh stifled, making its way to my ears in between the chaos that is my mind. The chaos that is him.

I hear him walk up to me, crouching down. I feel his eyes, scanning my frigid body. They burn. “Looks like I found your torture.” I look up from the floor and see how he is entertained by the state, I am in.

“Please, don’t hurt her.” I only wish. I gulp. “Master.”

The word vibrates on his skin as his eyes look at me more attentively. It strikes a nerve, but one of the good. It looks as if it activated something in his obscene brain, like it spiked his interest in me. I feel and see the filth soar in his eyes. He undresses and dresses me dirty in his mind, I am sure. Disgusting beast.

“I won’t hurt her…” Geta lets his words hang in the air before finishing. “… just yet. Get up.” He stands. Shakingly, I follow. I don’t know how I still find the strength. Adrenalin keeping me afloat. The sparrow grabs my chin once again. “I hope you now understand the power, I have over you.”

I don’t understand what I have done to fully offend this man. I haven’t given him any treatment he hasn’t seen before, I am sure. He scans my face as if it’s his last chance, breathing in my air like he has never tasted an air so fresh. Geta looks almost obsessed.

“You do not speak to my brother – or near him. But you will keep him company for I have never seen him so controlled before…” Geta admits amidst the threats. “I am keeping you alive for him. Remember that.” I feel a lie linger from off his tongue.

A tear trails off my cheek onto his finger, yet he seems unbothered. He’s nothing like his brother. I remember how Caracalla held me and dried my tears away.

“I won’t hurt him.” I assure him for that is the truth, I admit. It seems if I strike it must be him. Caracalla is incapable of the inhumane things his brother puts him up to. I watch Geta’s eyes dart back and forth between my eyes and my lips.

“Good.” There’s an uncertainty in his growl. “You do not wish to see my wrath if you were to disobey.”

If he just knew how I would tear him apart if I had the chance. Leave him to rot in the sea.

Geta stands, staring at me intensely without shame. His stance is tall as he is towering over me with all his might. I wish to find the crack, and he looks to want to fill out any cracks I possess in the nastiest possible sense. He licks his lips. “I might just reward you if you do.” His words mingle together with other tingles inside, distress. “Do you know what it takes to please a man?” His grip becomes firmer. His other hand removing hair from off my face.

Although I am given no seconds at all to respond, he is quick to be unsatisfied. His hand moving from the chin to its rightful place. It finds shelter around my neck, tipping my head back. Geta examines the marks he has left from the day before. My air choked up and piled beneath the skin, scared to try and peak out. I shake my head in obedience. I do not know if I do it out of fear or because of the sudden thrill of unfamiliar attention - only introduced to me shortly by his brother. I am disgusted by the way my body reacts; a sour taste lies burying inside my mouth. The pit in my stomach prickling, reminding me of its existence.

I force closed my eyes to try and numb out this new feeling, but instead it enhances. Geta leans in and I feel his damp lips brush by the hairs of my neck. I feel how to sensation provokes hysteria within my heart. I choke, not by the force of his hand but by the impotence of my lungs. He makes way across the bare skin of my throat by trailing his hand down to my collarbone, his lips nibbles on the bruise. A sensation of both pain and pleasure.

My hand jolts to hold at his shoulder as my insides flips. The tingling turning to a throbbing like a headache but lying deep in my gut. A fuzzy feeling censors all thoughts, sorting away purity and logic. The amorous feeling eating me away. There’s a noise that I do not register as my own, leaping from my mouth.

Geta jumps in motion. His hand possessively grabbing at my waist, stabling himself to my body. The other keeping my neck in place, pressing deep into my skin. The nibble becomes a bite, the bite into devouring every scent on my neck, devouring my every sense. I am blinded to reality and led into a dreamscape of sorts.

Soon enough I find myself lying on his bed as he pins my arms over my head. Having lost all control, I let it happen. My leg slightly bent, slightly keeping him on a slight distance. A bulge hidden beneath his clothes is almost stabbing into my thigh. His length. Arousal brews between my legs. I almost feel the urge to shy away.

All over my collarbone, my throat to behind my ear he tries to eat me away. A surface I never knew was so sensitive. He groans. “You’re not only his.” He hisses, pushing himself past my guard. His hand grabbing beneath my knee, positioning me for his desire.

Before my closed eyes I see Caracalla smile.

“This is so wrong…” I mumble.

I see my mother, my father, and my brother. The beach, the war, the flood of blood. I feel the way it paints shame across my mind, feeling the emperor’s filthy hands grabbing at my flesh like one of his concubines.

I try to push him off but to no use. He’s settled upon me like stone, heavy. I groan and suddenly I cry. I feel as if I am betrayed not just my brother but also the burdened. I am confused.

“What is happening in your mind?”

There’s a sudden rush of tears. I claw at his upper body, hoping that he will stop. The arousal is numbing, but I do not wish to obey. Not this easy.

Frustrated, he groans and slaps my cheek. It stops me from crying. He grabs my cheeks. “Stop it.”

I shake my head.

He mumbles something, discontented in Latin, sounding so bitter, but as I open my eyes to face the anger, I meet only unease. Worry. Geta’s eyes filling with tears. He’s… panicking…? The world stops its fret. All I hear is how Geta is far from catching his breath. He looks to me as if I have all the answers. There’s no end to the distress which grows from this man’s heart.

“Please let go of me.” I beg.

Fear ravishes his soul in the depth of his brown orbs. Sweat mixing with the tears dipping onto my chest. He looks as if he doesn’t trust his own tongue, mute he slowly releases my arms, my body from his might, his weight. I crawl and scrunch my knees to my shoulders. Images starting to reappear. Bodies. Blood. I hyperventilate.

I feel his hand at my shoulder, but I pull away.

I let the moments drag me away. I only hear him whimper before I faint.

The next moment I am awake, I am back in Caracalla’s bed. All alone and all tugged in. I feel a faint kiss on the top of my head, and a sweet whisper: “Sleep soundly, meus flos.” A pet on my hair. “I will be here…” - Words unknown - ” … again. I will make sure of it.”

Next chapter: ehhh soon enough... (rough times are happening)

All support is greatly appreciated <3

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy, @naysha140, @lover-rep-fanfic

[ac3sp1d3r]

What ultimately gets me every time about Star Wars(including the Star Wars Jedi Apprentice series) is how much Obi-Wan suffered throughout it all, as well as his destiny of infinite sadness. From before he had even become a man, he was fighting for the light and for good and it backfired in every instance. He worked hard as an initiate to find a master to take him on, but was ultimately unsuccessful until Bandomeer where Qui-Gon finally decided to take him. He did his best to be a good padawan and still follow the will of the force, especially once Melida/Daan happened and he chose to stay with the Young to help them fight. He still ended up leaving the order and breaking his bond with Qui-Gon to stay and help the Young. But Cerasi still ended up dead anyway and so he went back to the Jedi. We also know that Obi-Wan had a mission on Mandalore when he was still a padawan, where he was assigned to protect Duchess Satine Kryze, and where he consequently fell in love with her. Obi-Wan himself confirmed that he would have left the order(again) and chosen to stay with Satine if she had only asked him, but she never did. Obi-Wan wasn’t allowed that happiness or love. Then later Obi-Wan has to watch Satine be murdered by Maul right in front of him as he is helpless. He had to watch as Qui-Gon freed Anakin from slavery and decided to take Anakin on and thrust Obi-Wan into the knighting trials when he was clearly not ready. Obi-Wan had to watch as Qui-Gon dropped dead from Maul’s killing strike while protecting him and Anakin that same week. Obi-Wan had to promise to Qui-Gon to train Anakin, a challenge that Obi-Wan was in no way prepared or ready for as a freshly padawan-turned-knight. Obi-Wan had to suffer through slavery on Zygerria with Rex, an experience where he became severely injured and suffered immensely from both his physical injuries and the mental and emotional injuries of witnessing the other slaves hurting too. How about the Rako Hardeen mission? Obi-Wan had to do what the council(and the chancellor) asked and follow through with the mission, changing himself bodily and suffering mentally in the process. Obi-Wan was harassed over the mission and the fact that he did not inform people of the mission prior. Yet he was only doing what he had to- an undercover mission where the details HAD to be classified. How about Anakin’s betrayal? Obi-Wan had to watch as the boy he RAISED and loved like his own son or younger brother fell. Watched him turn so dark that he had to put him down. Obi-Wan had to force himself to do what needed to be done to keep Anakin from taking any further harmful and murderous actions. Obi-Wan had to deal with the fallout of his SON falling hard to the point where he slaughtered the jedi younglings in cold blood and turned away from everything Obi-Wan had taught him. Obi-Wan had to help Padme through her pregnancy and then urgently rush to find them good homes where they can be raised safely away from their father. Obi-Wan had to suffer through Order 66 and watching his men that he cared deeply for turn on him. Obi-Wan had to witness the chaos of Jedi masters and knights and padawans dropping one after the other from the betrayal of the clones(since the Jedi did not know of the inhibitor chips at the time- making it even more heartbreaking for them). Obi-Wan had to exile himself on Tatooine after everything that had gone down, withering away in both appearance and spirit. And then, he had to die, die by being killed by his own ex-padawan- his son.

[writingoddess1125]

Dancing With Swords pt. 1

Zoro x Reader

⚠️ Warning: ⚠️ Mentions of Abuse, Implied SA, Implied Slavery.

ANGST

"(Y/N) you're on in 10 minutes" You heard Sir Finx call out to you as you sat on your bed, dressed in what could only be described as a cheap and thin Kimono costume- it barely reached your thighs and its cheap appearance adding to its low cut from and overly long sleeves- You felt disgusting in it. However it didnt change that you were forced to wear it- sighing heavily as you knew what was to be next.

You had been prisoner here at this gentleman's club for the past 5 years. Stolen from Shimotsuki Village in the middle of the night and taken here, forced to be a entertainer and brothel worker in the Captian Quarters Gentleman's Club. It was hell- utter hell.

Hearing the door swing open you see one of the guards walk to you and take off rhe shackle from your ankle to escort you to the stage. You had tried to escape so many times before and knew you'd just be body slammed and dragged away to be punished so not worth the trouble for a flood of hope.

Escorted to the stage you saw Sir Finx there with a smile on his face that showed his rotten teeth, his stick thin appearance cloaked in a far too big for him- his greasy blonde hair combed over his growing bald spot and sunken silver eyes staring like he could see through your soul. Reaching down to attach the stage shackle to your ankle- This one using rope to keep you on the stage so you could dance more efficiently.

"Give a good show, There are some famous guest here today and I don't want you to mess it up-" He growled at you, his disgusting hands smoothing out your hair. You wanted to burn your hair off at that. Givibg a curt nod ge smiled and handed you the dulled duel swords- made from a flexible metal making them impossible to harm anyone. He had taken your real swords the day you'd been kidnapped.

"And Now for our closing act! A famous Sword Dancer from a far off Land, I present to you! (Y/N)!"

Stepping out with at the sound of the applauds, for the first few seconds you could never see anything due to the blinding stage lights. Holding the blades in your hands you start your dance, one blade in each you start to move to the sound of the drums. Eyes closed as you continued your usual request, the sway of your hips and the whipping of your blades.

You froze for a second, recognizing that face- The face that stared at you in confusion and almost anger. Roronoa Zoro.. Almost slipping you continued to dance as the memories of your home in Shimotsuki Village flooded your mind and Zoro- your old friend.

The music came to an end and you stopped on your cue, Hearing the audience applaud you as you were pulled off stage quickly. The announcer talking the crowd that you were available for clients if others were interested. Ignoring Sir Finx untying her and scolding you for almost slipping too zoned out to care at the moment as you were pushed back into you're room and chained to the bed.

Sitting in the room you couldn't help but think back Zoro- He looked so different from before. He looked handsome... growing so much from what you remembered of him... your heart hurt as you remembered the three of you together. Zoro, Kuina and yourself... playing together and training together- however everything changed when Kuina died. Zoro distanced himself from everyone including you- leaving you alone as your mourned not only for your deceased friend and lost of another friendship.

A knock on the door brought you from your thoughts. You mentally sighed and moved to sit on your knees on the bed, knowing what was instructed of you. The shackle to your ankle tugging slightly as you tried to shift into something more comfortable, your head bowed as you waited for your client.

"Welcome honored guest-"

There was silence for a few moments after you said this, before feeling a forceful hands grab your shoulders and pull you up to look at them- the air leaving your lungs as you saw him. Zoro. His eyes staring over your face in a mixture of worry and pain.

"(Y/N).. It really is you"

"Z-Zoro..." You say softly tears starting to well in your eyes, Watching him grab your ankle and the shackle that kept you still. However you wrapped your arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder as he held you tightly.

"I'm here with my Crew but when I saw you.. these chains" He muttered holding you in return giving your form a squeeze, pulling back ge grabbed at his sword and quickly broke the chain with one swing. Pulling you up to your feet quickly and holding you hard by your shoulders.

"We are leaving-" He said cooly, You grab his arm quickly. A mixture of different emotions hitting you at once as your brain blurted out.

"We need the free all the other girls here, They are slaves too and-d my swords. The owner has them" You blurted out clutching his sleeve, his gaze gentle on you as he clutched your hand in return.

"We will get them all out and your blades" He said calmly, reaching to his hip and pulling one of the black blades from his hip and held it out to you. You knew immediately what this ment- that fire of anger for your years of abuse slamming into your chest as you held the blade.

No words needed to be spoken, both of you walking out of the room that was once your prison. Freedom finally hitting your skin and the taste of blood wanting to hit your lips.

Finally- It would Rain blood at the dancing of your blades.