#I have enough space left for one more image but I don't think there's anything that I really need to include that I haven't already I guess

[arklay]

RESIDENT EVIL → THE WESKER FAMILY

To the public, little is known of the families behind some of the world’s most renowned bioterrorists, but the question remains: did they play a role in causing their children to walk down the path that they did? Or are these individuals simply ambitious criminals with delusions of grandeur?

For Diana Wesker (née Afanasyeva), her introduction into the bioweapons black market trade was upon discovering her employers were using her research into limb regeneration with salamanders to further their experiments in creating enhanced soldiers, instead of developing human therapies with which she was recruited for. Although the prospect of using biological weapons in the military did not appeal to her, the concept remained fascinating for her own selfish endeavours. Born on the 27th of October, 1963 in Sydney, Australia to Russian immigrant parents, Diana had harsh expectations placed upon her at a young age, ones that no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to. Her mother, Tatyana, was an unfeeling woman, absent for long stretches of time with little regard to how it affected her daughters, much more concerned with her craft as an accomplished opera singer. Viktor was no better. A strict man whose role as father and ballet master blurred, he pushed his girls to one day follow in his footsteps. Whilst Sofia enjoyed ballet, and went on to become a professional ballet dancer, Diana’s heart was set on going into the field of biology. She wished to make a name for herself, separate from her family – to which she succeeded.

Diana was married to former U.S. Marine, Dave Monroe, for only a year until he was declared dead in 1992 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a horrific car accident. Foul play was ruled out while Diana played the role of the grief-stricken widow, but in reality, she had snapped after years of mistreatment at her husband’s hands, and opted for something she could pass off as an accident to be free of him. For years she believed he was dead – and he was, legally – but that proved to not be the case when he found his way back into her life again in 1999. Unbeknownst to her, she had been lied to by the police and coroner, who were paid off by her employers when they took Dave’s body for themselves and used him as one of their first test subjects in developing supersoldiers. Before he could ever hurt her again, Diana’s second husband, Albert Wesker, tracked the man down, captured him and tortured him, before allowing Diana to get her violent and bloody revenge.

The origins of Albert Wesker’s involvement in bioterrorism, alongside his twin sister, Alex, are much different than that of Diana’s. The two hail from London, Canada, but unfortunately, they hold no memories of their lives there, nor what happened to their biological parents when they were eight years old. Agents of Oswell E. Spencer, an aristocratic billionaire and eugenicist, took the twins from their home and executed their parents as per Spencer’s orders. Albert and Alex were then placed in a home funded by the Spencer Foundation where they were given new names and a privileged upbringing. They had access to the best education possible, free to pursue whichever field they decided, but it was by no accident they both went into virology and bioengineering; at home, their adoptive parents – agents whom they believed to be their real parents – instilled them with the beliefs of Oswell E. Spencer, harbouring disdain for war and pestilence, and believing humans to be an evolutionary dead-end in need of a rebirth. They were only two of the hundreds of children “adopted” as part of what is known as Project W, a plan intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The most promising candidates were headhunted by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the twins amongst them, where they went on to create bioweapons for the company founded by none other than the man who had handpicked them for his plan. The final stage of this was to infect the thirteen Spencer saw fit, however, only two survived; Albert received the intended effects, now possessing superhuman abilities, however, Alex was only offered more time to live due to her terminal degenerative illness.

In the summer of 1995, Diana was working undercover within Umbrella to gather development data on their projects for her company. Here, she had a chance encounter with Albert, an intelligence officer at the time, which permanently altered the course of her life. The two were never seen far from one another’s side, marrying in 1998, and they went on to become notorious in the bioweapons industry. The development of the Uroboros virus was where things took a turn for the worst. Although Diana’s infection was successful and she bore abilities that rivalled her husband’s, the plan itself did not succeed as they had hoped, and almost cost Albert his life at the hands of his former subordinates.

Now, they work within the shadows, with Diana declared missing and Albert believed to be dead. Their legacy, however, lives on with the mark they left on the world. As visionaries in their field, they influenced bioterror attacks carried out by countless individuals and organisations. In turn, they also inspired others to fight against such atrocities. One such person happens to be Albert’s son from a former relationship, Jake Müller, whose existence he was unaware of.

[jetpackgeneratedcat]

It took literal months, but I finished it!!

Top left: linked universe logo

The jojo's lu logo is sooooo detailed. It is one of the things I love about Jojo's asethetic with linked universe. The detail she adds brings so much life and information about the world of Linked Universe. Great example is all the embroidery on the chain's clothing. Let's you know about civilization, that an item may be magical, etc. It is difficult to keep small details in watercolor, but I think I caught most of the main details in the painting.

Middle left: Soulful legend

This was the fourth of the images I did for the painting, and the first image I really started to get into the painting. I think legend is my favorite to paint because he makes composition so easy. The red tunic adds an easy focal point. I did learn from this that I do not like masking fluid and likely won't use it again. It added to many hard edges that I wasn't intending. Very happy with the sky!

Bottom left: Evening snack

In this image, I liked the idea that wind and sky don't know what Ramen is because their worlds don't have enough space to produce wheat. So sky and wind are super excited about this new food, while legend has no idea why they are so hyped for noodles. I also liked the idea that four found a green pepper in the ramen as a topping and is a hater (this is from a note that jojo left somewhere saying that the chain will eat anything but four in the Manga does not like green peppers, idk where this note is to link it though....). I didn't end up drawing the Ramen noodles as it was just getting too small of a scale for me to be comfortable drawing the thin lines for the noodles in.

Bottom right: Testudo

I am very hyped in the future when we see more collaborative fighting with the chain and them working together effectively. I absolutely love the scene in shifting shadows part 3 where lenged and hyrule work together with the beam and hookshot.

Middle: Legends storage

This is a reference to one of jojo's earliest works where the chain goes to legends storage for him to pick up some gear. I love that scene and I tried to put as many references as I could. The one thing I need to figure out is how I want twilight to look. I can't wrap my head around it. Need to sit down and just try out a bunch of different faces for him. My Pinterest inspo for twilight is all over the place. I want twilight to look different from time because when Malon was trying to guess who was the descendent, she did not consider twilight (she looked at wars and wind (so I typically draw time, wind, and wars looking similar). For my own personal headcannon, twilight and time are very similar in their manner (the way the walk, stand, etc) and personality (their stubbornness (as seen in sunset pt3)) but not necessarily in looks.

Middle right: Boat boys

The first image I did. I like how the water turned out, but I will not be using masking fluid for the same reasons I noted earlier. I did trace the boat (i think this is the reference [L240632 Hornet Class. J. Arthur Dixon Ltd. Beken and Son]). I do regret not doing anything creative with the boat, but I just wanted to get into painting and needed some confidence by working directly from a reference. I also forgot that legend might not be so keen to be on a boat again based on a comment jojo left in 2022 or something. I think she mentioned something in a discord event back then about legend not too willing to be on a boat again. But that doesn't really matter, I put that boy in a boat whether he likes it or not lol.

Top right: Winter storm

Second image I did for this painting. I did trace most of the horse because I do not care to learn horse anatomy (ref. [Winter Save By David Stoecklein]) Favorite part about this is the lighting on the rope from the lantern. I think it turn out well.

Top middle: Heavy armour

Third image I did for the painting and the one I realized I need to spend more time painting people in neutral or back lite lighting. But for my first time I think it is good. I really want to see what jojo does with the armour sets! I like the idea that war's armour is clean and pristine while wild's armour is rusted and beaten from the calamity. In this painting I played with adding pink to the golden armour and I liked it. In the middle picture of the collage (legends storage), you can see i added pink to time's armour.

That's everything! ❤️

[llamaqueenprompt]

What You Mean to Me

Characters: Evan Buckley, Reader

Not Requested

Word Count: 1.6k

Inspiration: "You don't even realize what you mean to me"

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As he walks in the firehouse feels different.

Not in any obvious way. The lights are dimmed, the hum of the fridge still buzzes in the background, and someone left their coffee mug in the sink again. But Buck can feel it. Like the air’s heavier. Or maybe it’s just him.

He moves slowly through the halls, each step eachoing back louder than the last, like the firehouse is holding it’s breathe just like him. He’s still reeling. Still trying to process everything Abby said. Everything she didn’t say.

He tought it would give him closure. Seeing her again. Hearing her voice. Actually talking to her. But if anything it just peeled open wold wounds that had never fully healed.

She’s getting married. She’s finally happy again. And Buck? Buck is standing here, heart cracked open and filled with the image of someone else entirely.

Y/n.

He finds her in the back office, exactly where he knew she’d be. She’s leaning over her desk cluttered with paperwork and half-empty coffee cups, her glasses sliding down her nose and a pen twirling between her fingers. She looks tired, like she’s been working too long. Like maybe she’s been waiting up.

When she sees him, she glances up, and the second their eyes meet, something shifts.

“Hey,” she says, softly. Gently. Like she’s afraid she might startle him away. “You’re back.”

He nods, his throat thick. “Yeah. Just got in.”

Y/n straightens, setting the pen down carefully. “How… how did it go?”

Buck leans agaisnt the doorframe, arms folded across his chest to offer him a sense of security. “We talked. About the train. About…everything.”

She nods, and her eyes flick away, like she doesn’t want him to see what she’s thinking. But he sees it anayway, the flicker od pain, the way her shoulders tense.

“She’s engaged,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “She met someone. Moved on.”

There’s a long silence.

Y/n swallows hard. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

But he shakes his head, stepping into the room. “No. Don’t be. That’s not why I’m here.”

She watches him carefully, warily. Like she’s bracing herself.

And she has every right to. Because what they had, what they have, has always lived on a fragile space. Somewhere between friendship and something more. Something unspoken. Their arrangement started with laughter and tequile and whispered “just this once” promises that turned into every night, and breakfast, and inside jokes, and familiarity that felt an awful lot like home.

They acted like a couple. They felt like one.

But Buck never let them be one. Not completely. Not whule Abby still haunted the edges of his heart.

And Y/n… God, Y/n stayed. She never asked for more. But he saw it. In the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. In the way she said goodbye a little too softly each time he left her apartment.

She loved him. And he let her sit in silenece with it all this time.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, and his voice wavers.

Y/n tilts her head, her hands curling around the edge of the desk. She doesn’t speak. Just waits.

“When Abby left,” Buck begins, “I felt like I’d lost a part of myself. Like I wasn’t enough. Like I’d been left behind.” He lets out a shaky breath. “And then you came in. All sharp wit and warm smiles and coffee with may too much cream. You made everything lighter, Y/n. You made me lighter.”

She blinks fast, her lips parting, but he keeps going.

“And I told myself it wasn’t real. That if I didn’t name it, it couldn’t hurt. That if I pretended it didn’t mean anything, I could keep you without the risk of losing you.”

Her voice is barely a whisper. “But you were still holding onto her.”

He nods. “I was. And that’s not fair to you. It never was.”

Y/n looks down at her hands, her fingers tightening. “I told myself I could handle it. That I could keep you in pieces instead of not having you at all. But it hurt, Buck. Watching you love a ghost while I stood right in front of you.”

“I know,” he says, his chest tight. “And I’m so sorry for that. I should’ve said this a long time ago. I should’ve seen it. Seen you.”

He steps closer, close enought now that he can see the shine in her eyes, the way she’s holding herself still like she’s afraid one wrong move will make everything fall apart.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he says softly. “Maybe the night you stayed up with me after I got hurt. Or when you showed up at the hospital with snacks you knew I wouldn’t eat but brought anyway. Or that morning you kissed my forehead and didn’t realize I was already awake.”

Her breath hitches.

“I just know I looked at you tonight, and everything clicked. I didn’t want to go back in time. I didn’t want to rewrite anything with Abby. I just wanted to come home. To you.”

He reaches for her hand, hesitates, then wraps his fingers around hers when she doesn’t pull away.

“You don’t even realize what you mean to me,” he hesitates. “But I want you to. I want to show you. If you’ll let me.”

Y/n’s eyes close for a moment, and when she open them, they’re glassy with tears.

“You really mean that?” she asks, voice trembling.

He cups her cheek, brushing away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “With everything I’ve got.”

And then she’s pulling him in.

No hesitation, no fear, just her resting her arms around his neck and fingers tangled in his hair like she’s afraid if she’s not touching him as much as possible, he’ll disappear aagain. Buck doesn’t waste a seconf. He holds her back just as tightly, his face buried in her shoulder, like maybe if he presses close enoigh, all the pieces of him, she’s quietly been carrying, will finally come home.

For a moment, neither of them speak. They just breathe. One another. Their feelings for each other.

The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward or heavy. It’s safe. Intimate. The kind of silence that only comes when words aren’t big wnough to hold everything between two people.

Eventually, Y/n pulls back just enough to look at him, her forehead still resting gently against his. Her eyes search his face, as if she’s memorizing the way he looks he looks at her like she is his world.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” she murmurs, the corners of her mouth trembling with the beginnings of a smile.

He exhales a soft laugh, one hand still resting on her wais. “I think I’ve been saying it without words for months. I just didn’t realize it.”

Y/n runs her fingers through his hair, slow and tentative, like she’s still trying to convince herself she isn’t dreaming. “I used to imagine this moment. You showing up, saying you wanted me. Choosing me. But I always woke up before the good part.”

“This is the good part,” Buck says, his voice low and certain.

She laughs, a watery, broken sound, and presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “I was so scared you’d go see her and realize I was just… a placeholder. Someone to make the quiet nights easier.”

“You were never a placeholder,” he says fiercely, his hand coming up to cover hers. “Y/n, you filled the space I dind’t could ever be filled. You brought me back to myself. You’ve been there tjrough every storm, and I was too blind to see that you weren’t just helping me survive…you were the reason I wanted to.”

He watched as her eyes fill again, but this time, it’s not just pain. It’s from love, open and shining and completely unhidden now.

She leans in, brushing her lips to his, soft at first, just a question, and when he answers with a deep, reverent kiss in return, it feel like the beginning of everything they never tjought they’d get to have.

The kiss in gentle and slow, not rushed like the stolen ones in dim hallways or post-shift goodbyes. It’s full of everything they’d left unsaid: I missed you. I wanted you. I love you.

When they finally break apart, Buck rests his forehead against hers again, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I want to do this right. No hiding. No halfway. I want breakfasts with terrible coffee and real dates and someone who keep stealing my hoodies even though she has her own.”

Y/n grins, teary-eyed and radiant. “I make your coffee better than anyone here, and you know it.”

“I do,” he says, his smile wide and boyish and utterly Buck. “And I want to fall asleep next to you without pretending it’s just for tonight. I want to wake up knowing I don’t have to say goodbye when I leave. I want us.”

Y/n nods, emotion tightening her throat, but she still finds the words. “Then we’re done pretending.”

He brushes a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then finally, her lips again, soft and sure.

Outside, the firehouse is still. Quiet. But inside this small office, everything has shifted. The weight has lifted. The longing has found its answer.

And for the first time in a long time, Buck isn’t running toward the past.

He’s standing still, holding the future in his arms.

[alternate-real-ities]

Small problem here. At my university more and more of my friends and classmates are supposedly dropping out! But more and more Asian jocks keep taking their place! I may just be a theatre major, but there has to be something I can do right? Before they fully mess up the spring musical that is.

The Big Play

One day, as you're walking across campus lost in thought about these changes, you suddenly feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around and find yourself face to face with two muscular Asian guys who could be mistaken for twins - the spitting image of the type that seems to be taking over your university. One was wearing a blue compression shirt, while the other wore a matching tank top, seeming to belong to some kind of athletic team or group. Maybe they were from your university's football team?

"Hey there", the taller one says, his deep voice confident and friendly. "We're new here. You're doing the theatre major thing, right? Us too, bro! Mind showing us around?" You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Why would these stereotypical-looking jocks want to join your theatre classes? But then again, they seem friendly enough, and you don't want to be rude. "Hmmm, sure, I can show you around." you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm heading to the theatre building if you want to come along."

You start walking towards the theatre building, the two muscular Asian guys falling into step beside you. As you walk, you can't help but notice how sweaty they are - beads of sweat trickle down their chiselled faces and dampen their shirts.

"Thanks for showing us around, bro." - the taller one says. As he speaks, he brushes up against you, leaving a smear of sweat on your arm, but you try not to let it bother you.

"No problem", you mumble, leading them into the theatre building. Throughout the tour, the two guys seem fascinated by everything, asking questions and nodding along. But every so often, one of them brushes up against you - an elbow here, a hip there. At first, you think it's just because they're so muscular and not used to navigating tight spaces. But as it happens more and more, you start to wonder if it might be on purpose.

Inside the dimly lit hallway of the theatre building, their musky scent seems to grow stronger, filling your nostrils with every breath. They brush up against you again as they look at posters on the wall, their sweaty skin leaving faint damp marks on your clothes. You feel your face flush; their musk is strong - a heady mix of sweat, testosterone, and something else you can't quite place. It's not unpleasant, but it's intense.

Finally, after showing them the auditorium and dressing rooms, the tour comes to an end. You breathe a sigh of relief as you step back outside into the fresh air. "Thanks again for the tour bro!" - the taller one says, clapping you on the shoulder hard enough to make you stumble slightly. "We'll definitely see you around dude. We have to get to the gym now, but we really appreciate it."

You nod, suddenly feeling shy and awkward. "No worries, feel free to hit me up if you need anything else." you manage to say. They grin weirdly at you, their eyes seemingly dull, as if nothing much was going inside their heads. With that, they jog off towards the gym, leaving you standing there, still carrying their scent and feeling a bit dazed by the whole encounter.

You head back to your dorm, still feeling a bit flustered. The encounter with those two jocks has left you feeling strange. Why were there so many more Asian dudes around campus lately? And there's no way in hell that those 2 guys were theatre majors. You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Maybe you just need to get some rest.

That night, you wake up drenched in sweat, your sheets tangled around your legs. Your body feels like it's on fire, a high fever burning through you. You groan and roll over, trying to find a cooler spot on the mattress, but it's no use. In your fevered state, you swear you can still smell the intense musk of those two jocks from before. Their scent penetrates your sickly mind, making you feel even more feverish. You just wish this was over already.

As dawn breaks, you finally drift into a restless sleep, only to be jolted awake a few hours later by the loud ring of your alarm. For a moment, you're disoriented, your body aching and your head pounding. A sudden surge of energy courses through you though, chasing away the last vestiges of fatigue and fever.

You throw on some clothes and head out for a run, uncharacteristic for you. As you jog past the gym, you see a familiar face - one of the jocks from your theatre class. He does a double take as he sees you, his eyes widening appreciatively. "Looking good, bro!" he calls out, his voice deep and rich. "You should come work out with us sometime!"

You thank him for the compliment, but keep running and go on your way. While you feel flattered, there's no way a guy like you could keep up with that guy at the gym.

Later that day in one of your theatre practical classes, one of the many Asian bros in your theatre class suggests skipping rehearsal to play some football instead. "Come on bro," he says, clapping you on the shoulder. "It'll be a good bonding experience for us. We'll be getting in sync for the play!"

You hesitate for a moment, feeling uncomfortable with his suggestion to skip rehearsal for football. But as they insist, you find yourself agreeing against your better judgment. "Okay, sure. Let's play some football." - you hear yourself say, a slight excitement creeping into your voice.

You all gather in the backstage, where a makeshift football field has been set up. As you start tossing the ball around, you're surprised by how naturally your body moves, dribbling the ball and passing it to your classmates. The other guys are all laughing and joking, their energy infectious. You find yourself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of belonging that you haven't felt in a long time.

The game intensifies, sweat pouring down your faces as you run and jump, your heart racing with adrenaline. You can feel your muscles burning, but in a good way - like they're being awakened for the first time. Your skin starts to tingle, and you can feel the heat radiating off your body.

As the game winds down, you're all panting and glistening with sweat. The air is thick with the musky scent of a bunch of aroused young men, their hormones raging after the intense physical exertion. You look at your arms and notice they seem more defined than before, veins lightly tracing their contours. And is that a tan? Maybe that run this morning was more effective than you thought.

Your two jock buddies from yesterday come up to you, grinning widely. "Man, you're a natural!" one of them says, clapping you hard on the back. You can feel the sweat from his hand mixing with yours, but it doesn't bother you as much as it did before. In fact, it feels kind of nice.

"Yeah, we'll make a real player out of you bro." the other chimes in, playfully punching your shoulder. You laugh along with them, feeling a strange sense of belonging despite the odd circumstances. As you head back home, you can still feel the heat of their hands on your skin, and the scent of their musk lingers in your nostrils. You can't help but smile at the thought of spending more time with them.

The week went by, and you found it harder to focus on pretty much anything. Your once-sharp mind felt fuzzy, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind whenever you tried to concentrate on something for too long. Theatre scripts that used to dance off the page now seemed boring and pointless compared to the thrill of spending time with your new jock friends.

Your body was changing rapidly too, but you were too distracted and dim-witted to really notice or care. Each morning, you'd stumble out of bed, your ever-growing massive cock already semi-hard and leaking pre-cum, making a mess of your sheets. But all you could think about was hanging out with your new bros, and how good it felt working up a sweat.

Even as your IQ dropped, and your cock grew bigger and more insistent, you remained blissfully unaware of the true reason behind your changes. The Asian flu had wormed its way into your brain, rewiring it to crave power, pleasure, and the approving gazes of your Asian bros. It also amplified your extroversion by a tenfold, making you eager to spread this new way of being.

Each passing day brought more changes to your body. Muscles erupted across your frame, rippling beneath your skin as they grew denser and larger. Your skin tone deepened to a rich, lustrous brown that seemed to glow under the lights. And there was an insistent throbbing between your legs now, a heavy ache that demanded attention.

One morning, you finally caught sight of yourself in the mirror - and saw nothing wrong with the Adonis staring back at you. Gone was the scrawny theatre major; instead, a towering, dark-skinned Asian god grinned in the reflection.

As you stared at your transformed reflection, the urge to touch yourself became overwhelming. You stumbled back onto your bed, stroking your massive, throbbing cock until thick ropes of cum erupted from the tip, painting your face a pearly white. Panting heavily, you gazed at your reflection in the mirror across from your bed, admiring how the sight of your cum-covered face only enhanced your new god-like appearance. With a deep, satisfied grunt, you licked some of your essence off your fingers, savouring the taste as you prepared to go to classes.

Except, you didn't go to classes. Instead, you found yourself drawn to the weight room, eager to pump more iron and feel your muscles swell. Your Asian bros were already there, their chiselled bodies glistening with sweat as they grunted and strained against the heavy weights.

"Yo, bro! We've been thinking… why waste our time on that lame theatre shit any more?" one of them called out, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome face. "We need a beast like you out there on the field. You should join the team!"

Your hesitation lasted only a split second before you nodded eagerly, a wide grin spreading across your handsome face. "Fuck yeah! Theatre is boring as hell anyway," you declared, your voice deeper and more confident than it had ever been before. The only plays you'd be doing from now on were on the field.

The other jocks cheered and high-fived you as you joined them at the weight bench. After the intense workout, you hit the showers together, steam filling the room as hot water cascaded over your glistening skin. Hands roamed and groped, laughter echoed off the tiles. It felt natural, right. Your cock throbbed constantly now, always hungry for more stimulation.

The Asian flu had taken hold completely now, rewriting your mind and body to crave the company of other infected males. But you were too far gone to realise it. All you knew was that you felt amazing - strong, confident, horny all the time. And you wanted everyone else to feel this way too.

As you strode out of the locker room with your new bros, you couldn't help but notice more guys on campus looking different… bigger, buffer, their skin tones richer. The infection was spreading, turning more men into dumb, horny Asian jock bros like yourself. It made you grin for some reason - this was definitely wrong, but it felt so right…

[jjwolves]

So much protective worker!ENA (which is very good shit), but I crave a reversal. Feel like writing a Reader who protects ENA for a change? Either with words against a Karen Entity, or physically against someone who means harm. Does ENA need it? No. She can face her own battles (as the Meanie side would remind anyone). But that doesn’t mean she has to.

OFF-BRAND

What: ENA the Worker X Reader Where Reader Stands Up For Her Imagine

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~1000 Words, ~5 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G

Warnings: None

ENA's a tough cookie, and she makes sure you know roughly half of the time. Whenever she needs help with something, you're there. Sometimes, she finds it insulting, such as the time she needed help solving that hyperborean puzzle pyramid. "What, you think I'm a MORON or something? That there's something WRONG with me?! I'm smarter than half the panoply smushed together, minimum!" Sometimes, she finds it endearing, like when you reminded her of her soul's password. "Ah, best regards to my esteemed rememberer! We really need to up your pay." (You asked her why she couldn't remember the password to her own soul which she had just learned 15 minutes ago. She said that she "had to make room for the 41 rules of power in between. The password to my soul was lost, but I learned that leaving a place without explanation emanates a dominant corporate mindset." You asked her where she learned that and she immediately left without explaining.)

So, ENA's got it covered. And if she doesn't, she has it more covered than you do most of the time, due to your unfamiliarity with her world. You know that she's independent. You know that she can handle anything she has to. But sometimes it wouldn't hurt if someone was just in her corner. Sometimes it makes you sick to think that there's only one rough, screaming voice advocating for her position against the indifferent powers of subspace. It's only natural, then, that when the Receptionist is wrongly berating ENA for losing the new Genie's Inauguration stamp, interrupting her every syllable, that your fist tightens with righteous anger. Every word ENA bites back turns up the pressure. "Listen here, princess--" "Shut your mouth, asymmetrical bottomfeeder!" "I didn't lose--" "Maybe if you did your job instead of dawdling around with the cheapest lay you could afford, you wouldn't have forgotten." "We spent the whole--!" "Typical ENA. Too stupid for the simplest instructions! You're better suited to begging for change in the gutter." You're sent over the edge and into a sea of rage.

You finally explode, screaming, THAT'S ENOUGH! You don't know where the Receptionist, nay, the world gets off treating ENA so poorly. She does her job better than anybody else. You tell your girlthing's aggressor off. The Receptionist has virtually no responsibility; Froggy does more work than her, which is still essentially none. They wouldn't even be employed anymore if ENA didn't do the work she does so well. The company wouldn't even exist without her. You're too lost in your raving defense of ENA to notice that you've jumped onto the desk, voice booming as you make grand gestures to emphasize your point. Papers scatter all over the room as you berate the lowlife who's had it coming for a long time. The Receptionist is backed into the corner of her office, something pretty unbefitting the cocksure attitude she had been displaying a few minutes ago. You don't even have the mental space to memorize everything you're saying; you just operate on instinct.

It takes you a good while to finish your rant. Deep down, you know you're only straightening one nail in a world that's crooked from the get-go, but it feels good to just have that anger, that exhaustion, that admiration, that love in the air. It's a complicated feeling, but the Receptionist, shocked silent, seems to understand it just fine. ENA does, too, gently tugging on your pantleg in order to coax you off of the Receptionist's desk. Coming back to your senses and realizing that you were acting completely unhinged, you silently accede to her request. It's a long, awkward walk back to the Hub with ENA at your side. You turn to see if she'll say anything, but she's silent. The brim of her cap is hanging just low enough to cover her face; you can't even tell what side she's going to be speaking from. Internally, you acknowledge that you probably just embarrassed yourself and ENA, and for what? To vent frustrations for problems you yourself weren't even facing? Maybe you really needed to get a grip. But that's when ENA directs you behind a shaded spot near the Hub before sitting cross-legged in front of you. She's... pale-colored. You're in for it now.

You brace yourself for the brow-beating you're about to receive for embarrassing her, embarrassing yourself. Yelling at an entity of higher rank, even if it was deserved. But it doesn't come. Instead, you see the paler side of ENA, which is usually busy screaming so loud that windows shatter, smiling at you. It's a jagged, conniving expression, like a jack-o-lantern jeering from someone's front porch, but there's something tender lying under the shadow that blankets her eye as well. "Ya did good! Couldn't have told that hag-for-hire off better myself! I get the feeling that a part of me is rubbing off on a part of you." You blink, a bit surprised at this outcome. Suddenly, there's something else in her expression. Tenderness and mischief, and something even more unruly... "Heh. Don't think I forgot everything you said back there, either. Trying to be slick, standing up for poor old me, huh?!" You're sitting up and adamantly refusing--you mean, you were sticking up for her, but everything you said was true! It wasn't just a gesture! "I know that already. I'm not stupid; I've said it before and I'll say it again! And that's why there's no getting out of this." ENA roughly grabs your collar to steal a kiss from you. You feel like you've earned a violent prize from a contest you entered while drunk, but you'd do it all over again. The world needed to know how much they misjudged ENA. After shaking off some of the romantic buildup from your earlier defense, ENA has switched gears back into crimson smoothness. Her sentiment seems unchanged, though. "You've earned yourself a lot of tax cuts because of what you did today. Although, let's keep the yelling to targets outside of our company next time. It's a bit off-brand coming from you."

A/N: What can ENA do for YOU? More like, what can YOU do for HER?!

[b1asho]

Erm, oc comic? Just click on the images idk how to change the image position formatting here yet :(

This is what I've been doing all this time, I need to practice putting these things together. I like some things and had fun, but it also looks kind of yucky.

Oh well

Featured here are Rinshi, a muttreazik, and their boss/sister Maro, a Sundyne who's been (violently) ousted from her extremely politically important clan (for terrorism and attempted assassination :D )

The two are hiding from authorities in the SEZ, and not having a great time in general.

Here's a buncha other info, aka i want to talk about my wretched ocs :

-Rinshi is a mancer, meaning they're a muttreazik with a degree of control over matter around them (think telekinesis). Their blue eyes aren't the result of my choice of coloring, thats the color they are all the time (a highly highly unusual color for muttreazik, even in the 'other' color category).

Rinshi is also a 'they' in the same way you'd call an animal an 'it' rather than a 'he' or 'she' if that makes sense. They don't think of themself as nonbibary in the human sense, instead it's more of an "outside of the binary and therefore a nonperson" way that Cerest use for xenos. It's the only option that's not male/female/he/she that they're aware of in this point in their life

Maro is a she (and VERY upset that it means she can't ascend to God emperor)

Rinshi is hunting with a nail that they’re controlling with their mind because that’s a lot easier than chasing down the alien rats yourself.

Normally this would be very easy for them but they’re kind of going through it right now, thus the major space-out and eye-bleed at the end (which normally happens to mancers who either overextend themselves or try to do stuff without any energy support from the body)

Not all Cerest-homeplanet animals have a decentralized nervous system like Cerest themselves do (such as these two animals, who have all their thinking meat in their head), but either way a shard of metal through the face isn’t good for anything

There are pockets of Cerest wildlife in the SEZ if you look for them hard enough, which Rinshi has to do because they’re currently in the outer reaches of it away from any inhabited districts where you could just buy/steal meat products. They're spending a considerable amount of time doing this since they're trying to keep a large hypercarnivore alive right now.

Maro got her face and torso cut up pretty bad during her.uh. Incident. Luckily Cerest heal fast, though infection and only eating rats has complicated and prolonged things. They’re currently living in an old habitat pod, which she can hardly leave thanks to the healing process (which has left her pretty much unable to walk. If she could, she'd definitely be the one doing the hunting because she has fewer qualms about killing things than rinshi does.)

This conversation is pretty out of character for her, but like she said, it's boring spending most of your time asleep in a garbage heap rather than pursuing your ambitions of ruling the world. Thankfully, she can always just ask her trusty retainer about things they don’t want to talk about.

‘et kerusit’ is just the Cerest version of like ‘my liege’ but specifically in the Sundyne female context and specifically for someone in Maro’s (former) rank/position in her (former) clan. "Princess" is also a pretty close analog but neither really sounded right so I made up some words. "Retainer” is the closest word I could find for what Rinshi is to Maro, and it fits fairly well (there is probably a better word out there but i like the old-timey knight vibe) they were originally employed to her clan as basically her little assistant and mandatory friend/bodygaurd/ally/etc. This happened mostly as an insult to her because that role should normally fall to a fellow sundyne and not a 'lesser species', but she has made it work.

I'm still testing this out but the Cerest language conventions are also why the question marks are out front most of the time, they don't change tone to indicate a question and instead just say an "I'm asking you a question" word at the start.

Rinshi also has a sort of stutter no matter what language they're speaking, with different words and sounds causing prolongations or repetitions. They didn't have any kind of support for the issue growing up, so theyre not great at managing it. So that's why some of their words are like that

The aforementioned rank difference is also why Maro gets 2 << instead of 1 when speaking (she's using a different enunciation of words to indicate her status, as is Rinshi. Basically ï for royalty i for commoner, or something. If they were speaking a Drecu dialect rather than a Sundyne one, their words would be in these things -> [[ ) .

As I’ve mentioned up there, they see each other more like siblings in their own mini clan (but she definitely calls the shots in their relationship )

Muttreazik think rebirth is real and they’re kind of right (at least within their own species). Rinshi does NOT want to dwell on where they used to live but those ideas were drilled in at a very young age.

[solnerao]

Alone

LOG ENTRY: SOL 90

It occurred to me today that someday someone from earth might actually listen to these logs, so I figure I should record a needlessly expository one to get everyone up to speed.

My name is Lena Luthor.

It's been 90 martian days since I landed here with the rest of the crew. That's what, 92 earth days? Mars spins just a little on the slow side.

On sol 6 a dust storm was going to knock over the rocket we brought to take us home, so the rest of the crew went home and left me behind to die. Well, they thought I was already dead and left. To be honest, not their fault at all.

So I'm alone here on mars, no way home, no way to communicate, only enough food for a year, and everyone thinks I'm dead. Which sounds miserable but luckily I do have this disco music to listen to, courtesy of Commander Lewis.

And, if I can get these potatoes to grow in martian soil, which I definitely can, then I can survive long enough for the next mission to arrive.

Which should be in about 4 years.

Which does honestly sound like a long time to be alone. But I've been alone before. Most of the time, to be honest, it's how I do my best work.

I don't know, maybe I could have done things differently. Asked out that reporter when I had the chance. Not gone to fucking mars.

On the plus side, if I do make it home, she'll be so impressed she'll have to go out with me. I'm pretty sure the president is basically obligated to deliver a eulogy for every astronaut who kicks the bucket up here so everyone in the country must know my name by now. They'll probably show the satellite images and everything— actually, I wonder if they've figured out I'm alive by now. What else do all those NASA technicians even do all day?

Anyway, that's basically the situation. Feel free to keep watching these if you want to hear about my adventures cleaning solar panels and fixing the water reclaimer. Yeah, that'll sell movie tickets.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 91

Fuck. Oh god. Okay. Something just opened the airlock from the outside. There's no locks on it, because why the fuck would there be? There's not supposed to be anything else on this planet. I have like 30 seconds before that airlock opens and I have no idea what to do. Obviously there's no windows in the airlock for structural reasons, I guess the engineers back at NASA didn't consider the hab might be invaded by space aliens. Alright. If this is my last message I have some things I want to say. Commander Lewis your music is awful. Lex you can rot in hell. Kara I always thought you were hot.

Oh shit here we go—

Kara?

Kara Danvers stepped into the hab. She was wearing a button down shirt and khakis, no space helmet. "I've never held my breath that long, that was crazy." She said, panting slightly.

"Kara, what—" Lena began. But before she could finish forming a sentence, Kara was hugging her.

In the hierarchy of times you wanted to run into your crush, not having showered in 3 months in a room full of manure was pretty much bottom of the list. But right now, Lena didn't care. The hug lasted at least 30 seconds before Lena pulled back.

"Kara, what the fuck is going on? How are you here?"

"Oh! I'm Supergirl" Kara said simply.

"That… actually makes a lot of sense"

"I was at the office when I heard you were still alive and I just—" She shook her head. "NASA had some complicated plan to get you home, but I just thought, how far away can Mars really be?"

Lena laughed.

"You ready to go home?" Kara asked.

"Very." Lena was already crossing the room to don her spacesuit.

"Also, I was wondering" Kara said, more hesitant now. "Do you have plans for dinner tomorrow?"

Lena turned to look at Kara. "Do I have plans for dinner tomorrow?" She repeated, smiling. "Kara, I live on mars."

"I— right. Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow?"

"I would love that."

"Great!" Said Kara, "It's a date! I promise it'll be—" "Don't you dare say it." interjected Lena. "—out of this world."

[graveyardcuddles]

Some rambling personal thoughts on Astarion's endings since I can't sleep.

I find myself really loving Astarion's spawn endings and ALL of their variations even more the more I think about them (the exception ofc being the cursed af endings where you don't help him AT ALL and he either gets turned into a zombie or is still being hunted by cazador even after the game, but I'm obviously not talking about those).

I think I, like many others who grew very attached to his character, were left feeling very torn over his initial spawn ending before the added epilogue. Because Astarion being free from cazador and learning to truly relish in that freedom AND use it towards more positive ends is the entire point of his spawn endings. But we don't really get the chance to see that fully paid off in the narrative. One could argue that we do see the very beginnings of it with the graveyard scene and the morning after scene and how he makes several comments about never being a slave again after he kills cazador. But then we get a rather painful reminder of the fact that he's still been forced to give up something he's come to love and cherish so much over the course of your journey. And then we just kinda end on that note.

I definitely didn't regret keeping Astarion a spawn, even after that. But I will admit there was a part of me that still really wanted to see more for him. And that's why I really do adore the epilogue. I know people have their issues with it and say it's unrealistic for Astarion to be so "healed" after only 6 months but I disagree with this take because we're literally only seeing a glimpse of him on one really good, happy night, it's not necessarily a reflection of how he usually is. He could very well still be having days where he struggles, and he almost certainly does. But comparing his previous 200 years to his possible (good) spawn endings, it's not really surprising that he's thriving. Same with the "counterweight" comment. He's not saying the 6 months you've been together completely negates and erases the 200 years of torture. He's saying his freedom and your love have been such a HUGE contrast to what he's had to live through for so long that they feel like a counterweight to the horrors.

I think about how far he has to come for him to actually get to those endings. His bounty hunter/adventurer ending? Amazing! He's relishing in violence and living his best rouge life. Leading the spawn in the Underdark? Speaks so much to his character development that he actually cares enough about them to even attempt such a massive undertaking. Lots of potential for healing of course but also: Holy shit the potential for unhinged shenanigans as well. Going to the hells with Karlach? Incredible! He's not just getting to enjoy tearing up cambions all day he's devoted to Karlach and helping her it's literally so beautiful.

Something else I really adore about his spawn ending vs. his ascended ending is that he burns down cazador's palace in his spawn ending. Burns it to the ground and destroys it for good. Whereas ascended Astarion literally moves into the palace and like...sure you can headcanon that maybe he eventually has a new, even grander palace built. But the mental image of Astarion wandering those halls is just so fucking sad to think about. He could go anywhere and do anything but he's still physically occupying the space that hosted so many horrors and tortures for him. And it to me that just screams that he's still there mentally.

I'll always defend people who like the ascended ending because I understand the appeal of it. As a dark romance enjoyer, I very much understand the appeal of the dark consort ending. And I don't even think this is the "worst" ending for Astarion because there's at least still potential for him (as opposed to the endings where he dies or is still being hunted, which ARE the worst endings for him). But it does feel like a step backward for him. And I think the people who go "Well this is just NATURAL character progression for him he's selfish af of course he would want this" Think too little of him or at least underestimate his capacity to care for others.

Because he very obviously DOES care. And allowing him to get to a place where he can foster that sense of compassion for others is truly so beautiful and so profound to see. I'm someone who is easily moved by fiction already but Astarion's story really touches my heart just because of how rewarding it is to see how far he comes in those endings.

[magnusunpopularopinions]

Anon says:

“I'm so glad this blog exists!! Now I can actually be honest about this show without getting my neck metaphorically snapped ajskdke

Short Version: I seriously think that the romance between John and Martin is the weakest aspect of the show and the crew fumbled the ball on making them believable.

Long Version: I understand that Martin was madly in love with John from the start but, even after the ship became canon, I genuinely don't understand what they see in each other. Se1 Jon treated Martin like shit and even if it's supposed to be interpreted as typical Tsundere behavior, I still don't get why Martin fell in love with the workplace bully. And likewise, John's complaints and dislike for Martin's clinginess and shoddy work ethic were justified as John seemed like a married-to-one's-work type of guy, it makes complete sense for Martin to drive him up a wall.

The reveal from Elias (118) that Martin has some "precious image" of John inside his head made a lot of sense. I was like, 'Oh! So he's only in love with the idea of John, not the person he actually is!? That's crazy!' And I was honestly happier under the impression that his feelings were unrequited and he was just too obsessed to take the hint. That would've made his adventure into Lonely Avatarhood way more interesting. To know that the man you love isn't the him you want to be with and the real him never loved you back anyway...

On that point too, John's desperation to keep Martin from turning fully in Se4 felt more like a begging plea to keep the last of his original assistants alive than anything truly romantic.

But nonetheless, John and Martin have only interacted a handful of times before the end of Se4, and only two of them were positive (039 being the main one I can remember). The rest of the show's runtime is them hearing about the other through hearsay, progressing the plot, and arguing over John's increasing monster-status, with an added dash of John getting audibly uncomfortable whenever romance came up in conversation. That's not enough to build an eventual love confession and romantic relationship on. No matter how hard the fandom shippers carry it with their art and fics, they shouldn't have to do the heavy lifting in the writers' stead.

Don't get me wrong though! 186 and Epiphany (winner of the Magnus Fluff contest) were FANTASTIC, and if we had seen more of THAT before they got together, I'd have no complaints!

It just wasn't apparent enough that John ever reciprocated in canon.”

—————————————————————————

Thanks for sharing! Let’s chat!

1) Sorry to anon, but the ask went HAYWIRE in my inbox and this was the only way I could get it out. My apologies! I haven’t changed anything!

2) Ok, ok… I have to speak my truth. I am also not the biggest fan of Jmart. I agree with anon- Jon is the kind of guy who likes to be and works best alone. Martin’s approach to Jon did seem quite obsessive and it just felt very… sudden that they should become a couple. I just never saw it, and when it did happen, it felt quite out of left field.

3) Now I want to play devil’s advocate to anon and myself because DISCUSSION! I love talking things out in a respectful and kind way, and that’s what we’re here to do!

-Alrighty so, if Jon is adverse to romance as anon says, why did Johnny and Alex decide to make Jmart cannon? Wouldn’t that go against all of Johnny’s hard work in building up believable characters?

-Secondly, doesn’t fan response make Jmart more believable? This to say- if fans picked it out so quickly, doesn’t that mean it was obvious from the start? (Or is this just how fan bases work? Michael and Gerry never met and yet we have DoorKeay!)

4) I wanted to reiterate something: Quite often my posts get circulated without the context of why I made this blog (and honestly I may start putting it at the bottom of every post I make from here on out.) I created this to be a safe space to share opinions without harsh feedback or rude response. You are very welcome to disagree with someone! In fact, I encourage this sort of back and forth! But if your words are not respectful and kind, then I cannot hear you out. We can disagree with each other and still be kind. If we cannot be kind to one another in such a small community as a fan base, then it becomes harder to hold on to hope of kindness outside of it.

I’ll step off my soap box now, and say that I’ve been meaning to say as much for a minute. It does not correlate as much to this ask/post as it does to some others that have received mixed responses. As expected, some people have taken my posts and responded in negative ways.

I can’t stop people from responding negatively. What I can do is make sure that, no matter who sees these, that they know where I stand as a Tumblr user, blog author, and person. I value kindness and respect above all else. If I ever veer from this, call me out.

5) I appreciate you guys a lot, and I have been so so grateful to have this community. Keep those asks coming!

Thanks for sharing and remember to keep your words kind!

-E

[viktor-howl]

Onceler's office analysis 1/2

Okay so there's probably a LOT of posts about this already but I wanted to give my take —although this is mostly to draw his office correctly. Gotta make that office Viktorler look canon— And also show my screenshot collection because I just love his office.

(tiny little reminder that I am NOT making a deep analysis. I'm not gonna talk about things like the year in which this takes place, or the specifics about use of camera angles to signify things and so on)

Now! Before getting to the actual office, let's take a look at...

the hallway!

The first thing that I wanted to point out is how closed off it is, not even a single window, no natural light entering, as the only light source here are the red lamps. The next big thing about the hallway is the paintings, paintings of healthy truffula trees, a blue sky... Of course he has these as a way to distract himself from reality, since the actual forest is gone by this point, and the fact that the whole hallway is so closed off makes it even more obvious. And yes, we all saw the too big to fail painting of himself, but I think that's pretty self-explanatory...

I'd also like to point out the way the carpet makes space for the desk —of course Onceler's mother would have her own desk. God forbid the carpet gets on her way!—

And just look at how prominent the green is here, we'll keep seeing a lot of greens, reds and goldens, but I don't wanna rant too much here.

Next, the doors to the office!

Ah yes, the constant use of reds and goldens, specifically how expensive everything looks, fancy pants rich McGee over here. Still, I do love the use of (what looks like?) luxury red velvet for the door, which looks almost if not the same as his seat in the office. If it wasn't already obvious how rich this guy is, you must have a pretty good idea by now.

You can also see where the red carpet ends, inside the office, and— okay I can't pretend I don't see it. Can we talk about the door handles???

Dear god what is that ATROCITY?? Why is it pointing INWARDS... Every time I see it I just ask myself why? Why is it like that?? Why is it so ugly—

And finally, a look into the actual office itself!

You can clearly tell why everything is placed the way it is: Onceler's desk is in the middle of the room, and his desk is facing away from the windows. (windows? Door things? There's two pair of doors and the middle one is definetly a window.) He's purposefully facing away from the mess he's made, and there's also the fact that his seat is big enough to block his view from the outside from the main window.

We also have another painting of the truffula valley! This time, adding a river / lake. Reminds you of anything? We can also see his desk, and if you look closely, on the far left of the picture... Yep, it's a framed picture of the truffula forest! (this one is a detail that you can also see on the desk in HBCIB! If you know me from Twitter you probably saw me talking about it a long while ago) He really is in denial, or just clueless... Well, I wouldn't say he's actually clueless, but you get the idea. The rest of it is just the phone, his tiny thneedville, the computer and so on.

Here we can get a better view of the painting, as well as how the walls look outside, sharing the same toned down green as the inside—although I have even more screenshots to show that later!—

I also wanted to add this one since it's the only one so far in which the angle of the camera lets you see the other side of the doors. You can also see just how tall they are! And, may I add, I find rather... Interesting the choice of putting those velvet curtains there, when there's... Nothing. Not even a window. But, you know, the aesthetic is nice!

Here's another look at the curtain on the background, you can almost see just how far up it goes! As well as how tall the painting is!

... I just realized. There is a TEN IMAGE LIMIT. You can tell that I'm still new to tumblr, huh? I still wanted to add just how the concept art from the office correlates to the final piece in the movie, the stairs around his desk in HBCIB, the way the toned down colors make the desk, curtains and Onceler pop out more than the scene when he walked through the hallway, are you kidding?? I'm gonna have to split this into two or more posts 😭😭😭 okay everyone... Stay tuned, I might post the second part in a bit.

[tremendouscreationperson]

Marcus Acacius x Reader

A/N: So I've been having a recent bout of insomnia and wrote this completely for myself, I don't know an awful lot about ancient Rome so if there are mistakes please dont hate me but nevertheless please enjoy

This takes place years before the movie

You and Marcus are old friends and on his return to Rome you find yourself in need of some help

Marcus tried to school his expression - having just caught a glimpse of you, sitting out on the terrace - as he continued his conversation with your father.

He had been allowed respite from the everlasting conflict and your father was an old friend of his family so it was only natural to say hello.

Your mother called the man away to discuss decorations for the oncoming party she was throwing in his honour. She was sweet like that, actually wanting to throw a party for him instead of because it was socially acceptable - caring when others wouldn't. He found himself missing his own when he was in her company.

But thank the gods it provided him a distraction, he could speak with you without an audience, bless her.

As he crossed the room, he observed you staring into space - sitting with your back mostly to him - Marcus noticed the subtle frown of your brow and the twitch in your fingers, telltale signs that you were troubled. Overthinking. Nevertheless, you were a picture, your hair was intricately braided, some strands blowing loosely with the material of your stola in the wind, and you had only gotten more beautiful than the last time he laid eyes on you.

“I've been away for almost four years,” you jolted, head snapping towards him. “And you seem not to care.”

The grin on your face was infectious and you were quick to rise and embrace him fully, squeezing him tighter than friendly.

“I knew you had returned!” You began the sentence at his ear but pulled back to face him. “I didn't realise you were visiting!" Your eyes darted around his face, noting the new scar on his cheek. “Oh-” hand hovering inches away from his skin. “Did it hurt?”

He let out a small breath of a laugh, usually people asked ‘what happened?’ or even ‘did he get what he deserved?’. It was refreshing, you were refreshing.

“Not as bad as the one on my back.”

Your brows scrunched again, hand finding it's place on his chest as the two of you were still in a half-embrace. “Marcus, you really need to be more careful.”

“You can't build the greatest Empire in history by being careful.” And as though he, himself, hit you, you flinched. Shoulders tensing.

You plastered a grin onto your face. "Of course."

Did the idea of conquest sicken you? Had the image of him fighting made his scar disgust you? Why were you hiding? What was wrong?

"What is it?"

"I'm fine." You lie.

He loosened his hold of your waist. "You can speak anything to me."

Your mouth opened and closed, tears forming. He was about to hug you tighter but you left his grip. Taking a few worried steps back and began pacing just subtly enough for any onlooker to think ‘normal’.

You offered after a moment. “I'm terrified Marcus.”

“Terrified?” He took a step closer. Why were you terrified? He couldn't have that.

“They-” you sighed, picking at your nails. “The Emperors- Father says I'm to be a concubine.”

Now that was news.

Big news.

Marcus blinked thrice processing your words, dread settling into his bones.

The twin Emperors were young and naive. They had the world handed to them and didn't care for any consequences. He had seen first hand what could happen. He had watched them slap animals and spit at servants.

“It's a great honour, of course.” You carried on, pacing once again. “I know many would and have wished for this themselves. But it's usually the freedwomen! I'm unmarried- I-” cheeks warm you spit out. “I kept myself pure, I know nothing of performing in that way. Well, no I know how but to actually be called in-”

“Hey.” He interrupted your spiral, hands on your forearms to stop the pacing, forcing eye contact. “It'll be okay.”

“It won't, Marcus,” your lips were sore from biting them and close up he could see the darkness beneath your eyes. “The Emperors are godly, yes, but they are volatile. The last batch have disappeared - Astoria is gone - all noblewomen, unwed. Youthful but inexperienced. Mother is fretting and father is overjoyed. I- I don't think I'm ready for death.”

“You will not die.” That was a vow. He wouldn't let you die. Not for any of the Emperors. “I have seen death, I know its name. You will not see Pluto, yet.”

“Sorry.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I know you've seen far more than you should have and I know my worries aren't nearly as large as yours-”

“That does not mean they are lesser.” He interrupted again, forehead millimetres from yours, his gaze intense. “I am merely stating that I won't let them harm you.”

Your lips tugged at that, face warping into the familiar fond expression he had sorely missed, and you playfully ask, “you'll be my hero?”

“Any time.” He vowed again. “I'd defy the gods for you.”

You scoffed. “Now, that's too far-fetched to believe.”

He remained standing, closer than he should be, in contemplation. How he was going to help was a mystery. He could try to steer the Emperors to another, could tell them you were married. He could try to explain the act of seduction and hope what heated him heated them.

Or.... He could offer to help. He could offer himself to you. If he was to offer, everything would change. It was a cruel thing to offer really… but it wasn't. In fact, it may help you. No, it would help you.

“About your problem.” His words were stronger than he felt. “Come to my home and I will help.”

You physically had a reaction to the words, they took you aback, you couldn't believe your luck. “You'd do that?”

“Of course.”

“I'd hate to be a burden.” He was very good at concealing the laughter.

“It's really no trouble.” It’d be his pleasure… and potentally yours too.

~~

Aelia was quietly humming as she looked the thread that held your hair in such an intricate way. Untying it slower than necessary, you knew she was biding her time, waiting.

“Aelia.” You spoke, halting her tune. “I know you want to tell me something.”

“I have nothing to tell.” She shrugged playfully. “I just happened to see you and the General.”

You rolled your eyes at the hidden insinuation. “Aelia, he would've asked father by now. You know this.” It took three seconds before you whispered. “But, by Zeus, how does he get more attractive each time I see him?”

She chuckled. “His hair is turning white.”

“It suits him. Did you see the scar?” A somewhat embarrassing groan escaped your throat. “I know it must've hurt and it should be ugly but it just makes him look... He's glorious!”

The last thread came loose and your hair sprung free. “I think you're a fool to keep your feelings hidden. I also think he likes you just as much.” She rubbed your shoulders.

“Perhaps.” A heavy weight developed in your stomach when you remembered. “It's hopeless now.”

She was quiet and it wasn't like before, it wasn't pleasant nor sweet, it was out of dread. She was just as, if not more than, afraid for you.

“He did offer to help.” You filled the silence, trusting Aelia with the secret. “I know how the act happens, I just haven't had any real experience. Nothing proper, I mean-” you spun to face her, voice lowered, “most women do explore, despite it being unladylike to speak of, so I know what to do with my parts… I have yet to deal with that part. And what if I'm not pleasant to look at? I have this here." You point at a tiny birthmark. "What if it's displeasing? There's so many questions, I am just so unsure of myself, it's a bit of a godsend for him to offer help.” Her eyes were wide.

“When are you to meet him?”

“He said tomorrow.”

Her eyes were bulging and her mouth slowly morphed into a wild grin. “He - the general - offered to help you? To show you what to expect? And you think he doesn't-” her giggles cut her off.

You swatted at her playfully, finding it hard to cease your own laughter. “Stop it!”

“I'm sorry.” She offered, despite not being sorry at all.

You twisted back to your original position, partly because bending to face her pulled at your spine, mostly to hide your warm cheeks.

She readied the bowl to cleanse your face. You always kept yourself clean but now you were to be the Emperor’s property, you had to have the best oils and such. It was sheep wool sweat and ground oyster shells, nothing too pungent.

“You are my favourite." She beamed at your words. "I enjoy our chats, Aelia.”

She situated herself between your knees. “I enjoy them, too. You're a lot kinder than most.”

“I think.” You spoke as she rubbed your forehead. “You and I should run away.”

With one eye you glimpsed her smile. “Just the two of us?”

“You can bring that boy you like from the market.”

She was strategic to rub your lips as she spoke: “Only if you bring ‘Marcus’.” Quietening any arguments.

~~

Marcus greeted you at the door. He had been anxiously waiting all afternoon. He was actually very scared. He hadn't felt this way in a long time, not at any sieges or dealing with the Emperors. He was scared that he was scared!

There was only so much of staring at a scroll he could take but, thankfully, you arrived.

You glanced around as a servant led you to him and smiled happily as your eyes landed on him.

“We didn't specify a time, I was worried you'd be busy.”

Busy? He'd offered to- you thought he'd make plans?! “No, today I am yours.” However you wanted. If that was questions, if that was his body, he was yours.

The starstruck look on your face was perfect. He hadn't quite meant it to sound like that but your reaction was wondrous.

The servant accepted your cloak and he told her to stay away, he was teaching a lesson and could not under any circumstances be disturbed. You also dismissed your servant, they nodded and made a quick exit.

Your hair was in a simpler style today, and you wore a red stola adorned in gold. That was a clever move. Was it? Is that what you intend to do today? Did you want him to bed you?

“So.” He clasped his hands. “Where do you want to start?”

You gestured to the room, “the bedroom, no?”

Amused he replied, “I meant did you have questions but that's probably wise.”

You sniggered, taking the outstretched hand and following his lead.

You had been at his house before, a few times, as he was a friend of the family and trusted to look after you. He had once asked your father for a union - spurred on by the trust - before he was Rome's General but was denied, there wasn't a reason for it but Marcus accepted the 'no' with grace. Plus you were young and had a list of suitors your mother tried to push onto you. You never took one, he had wondered if he was the cause. Had hoped he was.

And now the two of you were staring at his bed.

Why did he take you here? There were other beds.

He knew why.

He brought you here so he could do these deeds in his own bed, so maybe later he could smell your perfume on his pillow. This was wrong. He was using you. No, no, he was helping you. If he retreated now you would be totally lost to those idiots Emperors.

You took lead and sat on the bed, looking up expectantly. Marcus followed, sitting closer than allowed, his left thigh touching your right.

“Have you had any experience?” He needed to know what he was working with.

You were open and honest. “I have been kissed and I-I have explored myself.”

Fuck. That was an image for later.

He took a deep breath. “Nothing other than that?”

“No.” Your head shook minutely before commenting out loud, “I don't even know if I look suitable.”

“Look suitable?” He was confused.

“Down there.” You shrug. “What if it's abnormal and I don't know?”

The softest sigh left his lips and gave you a warm smile. “It won't be abnormal.”

“That's why we're here.” You joke with hot cheeks. “Scare you before I scare them.”

He licked his upper teeth, changing the topic; “Did you enjoy kissing?”

You made a face. “Not particularly, we were children, it was Gnaeus. He just sort of did it.”

Marcus nodded, remembering the brat, who should NOT have been anywhere near that close to you. “That is where we start then.”

You nod, eyes fluttering to his lips.

He gave you ample time to pull back before he closed the gap, one hand finding your waist whilst the other cupped your cheek.

Your lips were soft when he pecked them and their barest touch had him cursed. He would never be able to kiss another without thinking of you.

Pressing a little firmer he continued kissing you in this fashion, slowly working up to running his tongue across your bottom lip.

You gasped and he retreated an inch. “Are you alright?”

“Where do I put my hands?”

“You can put them anywhere.” He pecked your nose, “you're allowed to touch me anywhere and if you want me to stop just ask.”

Slowly you ran your hands up his torso - the position you were currently sat in meant one was on his chest and one his back - and back down before you initiated the next kiss.

He grinned into it, feeling his palm on your cheek heating.

Again, Marcus ran his tongue across your lips and slowly, ever so slowly, got you to open wide enough for him to infiltrate. A breathy noise escaped you but you continued, even finding the confidence to brush your tongue against his.

His hands had migrated - whilst yours were now firmly positioned - one in your hair and the other pressing your spine, pushing you into him. He tugged lightly on your hair and you allowed him to manipulate your head, exposing your neck. Marcus was quick to leave a trail of sloppy kisses down it. Nipping and sucking just to elicitate those breathy half-gasps that were sweeter than nectar.

Languidly travelled back up to reconnect your lips. He could feel your fingers flexing against his chest and one of your hands found his jaw, angling him to better suit your needs.

That was heavenly, he could die happy.

You pulled back, breathing heavily, and placed your left hand on your thigh. “I-I’m wet.” The confession was more of a question.

He deserved a medal for suppressing the groan that tried to claw its way out. It did half escape as a rumble that you would’ve felt. “That's good.”

“It normally takes a long while before that happens.” You were too surprised to hear the words you spoke but he adored them.

“Means I'm doing my job well.” He gave you a cocky wink.

“Shut up.” You words had finally caught up, covering your mouth in embarrassment. “I can't believe I just said that.”

“It's good.” He promised. “It helps if we're honest.”

You had to agree with that. “So, I'll disrobe?”

“If you wish.”

“Do you wish?”

“I'm ready to see the beast.”

“I hope you know,” You stood to remove the stola. “After this, you and I will next meet in the Coliseum.” He chuckled at your mock threat, rubbing a hand down his face.

This was it. He couldn't believe you were asking him to analyse your body. How on earth had he got this lucky?

The tunica was discarded and your bare back faced him. “You'll be honest, yes?”

He nodded before realising you weren't facing him. “Of course.”

Slowly you swivelled to face him, arms at your sides but itching to cover your insecurities. Which was foolish because you were glorious. Sent from Venus, or perhaps you were her. Maybe you were a test and he was failing.

Your skin was smooth and there were no blemishes in sight. The slope of your breasts was beautiful and the colour of your nipples made him smile. His eyes raked downwards where a neat set of curls lay.

“I can try to trim shorter, or even longer? I know some women prefer tha-”

“You're perfect.” He stopped you. “You look divine.”

Relief hit you, it relaxed your tense shoulders and you were quick to sit back next to him, one knee bent so you could better face him. You held your ankle - a move which drew his attention ever closer to those soft curls - and smiled. “Thank the gods, they won't kill me.”

“Wouldn't dare.” Marcus dragged his eyes back up to yours. “I'd kill them both.” You tried to suppress the grin into a tiny smirk but he could feel you radiating pride. “I’m going to kiss you again.” He told you.

You readily accepted that, leaning in to meet him.

Now you were facing him it was easier to fondle him. Your right hand firmly grasping his shoulder as your left held his thigh.

Marcus was never one to shy away from anything so he found his hands starting at your hips before they split off in opposite directions. His left was delicate as it cupped your breast, thumb grazing the nipple he ached to lick, and his right on your thigh, dangerously close to your core.

He was even more careful as he descended, using his thumb to swipe at your wet curls.

You fully gasped, eyes cast downwards and he repeated the action. Your bent knee provided just enough of an opening to play with.

He gathered some of your slick and brought it to his lips. You were definitely a trick from Venus.

He repeated himself, slowly getting deeper into your heat as he did.

“I'm going to need you to lay back.” You were silent as you nodded, slowly extracting yourself and dropping to land on your elbows. “No, up on the pillows.” He spoke staring directly at your heat.

It was glistening.

“Oh.” You squeaked but followed instruction.

He allowed you a second to get comfortable and then hovered over you, kissing all over your face. Your cheeks and your nose and your forehead, he got lost in your lips but was quick to get back on track peppering kisses down your body. Making sure - selfishly - to suck just enough, on your flesh, to leave marks. The moan you released wasn't breathy - it was full and sexy - and encouraged him to do more. He left a physical trail down towards your chest.

He did in fact lick that nipple and your reaction was to arch your spine which pushed it further into his mouth. He groaned and flicked the other, making you squeak. Using his tongue he met that second nipple and kissed it better.

Throughout this he could feel your legs - which he was betwixt - clamping against his sides, it was lucky for him that he was at this lower angle because otherwise he didn't think he had the strength to stop from pressing into your heat. If that happened he would find it hard to leave.

Fuck.

He was so fucking cursed.

He wanted you.

This should be your wedding night.

Why-why was this not?

Why was this a friend helping a friend out?

How was this a friend helping a friend?

Your fingers clutched his hair and forced him to look at you, chest rapidly rising and falling, “that felt so good.”

The out of breath, brows slightly pinched, puffy lips look suited you.

If you were his bride you would permanently look like that.

“Ready for more?” He kissed the centre of your chest, crawling backwards. He kissed your stomach, taking bits of the flesh between his teeth and smoothing them with kisses.

Until he got where he had wanted to be for years.

He hooked his shoulders under your legs in a fluid movement, kissing your inner thigh.

“Gods.” You watched, fascination splattered across your face. He inched closer and kissed your curls causing your knees to meet. “Sorry- sorry.” You pried them apart.

“Let me help.” He positioned his left arm so it was bent over your leg with his hand inches from his mouth, his fingers brushed across your lips and your subsequent suffocation attempt was halted.

His right hand was free and - surprisingly - grapsed yours. He intertwined your fingers, giving you one last wink before he licked the stripe of your lips.

Your head fell back and you groaned in pleasure. He kept going, left hand parting your folds further for him to lap at the nectar.

He was a proud man.

He had had many women.

But this.

You.

This was something new entirely.

This felt right?

He was meant for this.

To bring you pleasure.

Once more, he lamented the fact that this wasn't your wedding night and you weren't his.

But in his mind he could dream. He tested putting your name with his last name and had to grind his hips into the bed for relief.

You fisted chunks of his hair expertly and kept muttering words he was too distracted to hear.

He spied you and decided that this was the perfect time to replace his tongue with his hand. Sadly that meant extracting it from yours but he was certain you wouldn't mind.

It was seamless work to swap tongue for finger and now he could focus on the pebbled bud he'd purposely been knocking with his nose.

Swirling random shapes on it morphed into flicking it and your moaning became an ever present hum of bliss.

It was only here when he realised you had been saying his name. Chanting ‘Marcus’ again and again.

It was another breath of fresh air. Usually he was called General or Acacius but he loved when you called him Marcus. Special.

He thought on the ramifications of that, of this, as he pumped his finger into you. You were tight and warm and wet and fucking perfect! How were you this good?

He took a brief break to watch his hand as it disappeared into you, your slick sliding down his palm and onto the sheets. Was it dastardly if he didn't wash them? If he slept in them later?

He was sure you could do another finger. He'd make such a mess if there was a second. It was exciting him, these perverted thoughts. He didn't waste a moment and added the other digit.

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ as you let out a mewl. He glanced up to see you observing him. The light sheen of sweat that had formed on your temples was delicious, your dazed eyes were even more so.

“It feels-” Your thighs stiffened. “I'm going to-”

He kept his rhythm, bending back down to suck on your clit and you tensed so hard he thought you were in pain.

You weren't. You were cumming.

He bent lower to lick at his palm and your folds and his fingers as he was still working you. Wanting you to feel every part of the orgasm.

“Oh my gods, Marcus,” you mutter once you could think coherently, “Marcus, please.” You tried to move your hand - still clutching his hair - but it was jelly. “Marcus Acacius. General!”

He snapped out of it, head jolting up and meeting your gaze.

Calling him ‘general’ in bed went straight downstairs. He ground himself against the bed, again, for any kind of relief.

“I like it when you call me General.” He carefully extracted his hand, lapping at the remnants and sitting up. “Makes me feel good.”

“Well, that just made me feel very good.” You clumsily sat up, legs still spread. He could just kneel back down. You'd let him, he was certain. “Come here.”

He obliged, pulling you flush against him and flopping himself back against the pillows. You giggled at the movement and then returned to the original plan of kissing him again.

He let you kiss him all you wanted, your wobbly legs on either side of his stomach. You were sitting slightly higher than his pelvis. It wasn't long before he noted the subtle grinding against his body. Hesitant and clumsy.

His palms kneaded the flesh of your rear, prizing the cheeks apart and not so subtly directing you to where you wanted to be.

You ceased the kiss and gave him a frustrated scowl. “Why are you wearing clothes?”

Marcus couldn't provide a suitable answer so ridded himself of the fabric.

Your gaze was focused on his length and you licked your lips. “Do- do you want me to-?”

He could actually feel the fondness of his smile, it was in the crinkles by his eyes. “You don't have to do anything. Just what feels right?"

“I-I liked when I was just rubbing against you- gods, that sounded so stupid.”

“Then keep doing that.” He pulled your hand away from where it hid your face. “We don't have to learn everything today. We can have fun.”

You were hesitant but pressed a deep kiss onto his forehead. “I thank the gods for you.”

“Don't thank them, I'm not-”

You silenced him by pecking his lips. “You're an idiot but at least you're my idiot.” You kissed him again.

He lifted you back onto him and let you grind against him. It was sweet, sweet torture. Your wet core against his hard length was enough for him to burst. You accidentally notched his tip a few times - he had to will himself to be calm - but you were quick to recover.

“And this is meant to fit in me?” You gasped in his ear. “I doubt it.

He rumbled a response, lost entirely in you. In your motion. In the confidence that made you kiss his neck.

You even bit down.

That caused a growl. He ordered you to do it again and his hold on you tightened to a bruising pressure.

“Fuck.” He forced his lips back on yours, devouring you.

One of his hands made quick work of relocating that little bud of nerves and he was lightning quick in conjuring your second orgasm.

You cried into his mouth, him swallowing the moan like a starved lion.

You were limp in his arms, allowing him to kiss and move you however he wanted until you could make those decisions again.

“Marcus this isn't fair.” You mumble, before coughing and trying again, “I've come twice, you still need to. The roles are meant to be reserved. You're meant to show me how."

The stern brow was wildly contradicted by the satisfaction in your entire being. You sat up from his embrace and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“This is all confidence building.”

You removed your limbs from him, landing on the stained sheets. “Come on, I need to at least do something to relieve you. I just don't think it'll fit in either my mouth or..."

"Your cunt?"

An adorable flush decorated your cheeks.

He was incredibly smug that you were even considering those options.

“I won't last long,” He warned. “But it is usually customary to shake a man's hand before inviting him in.”

The exact second his words clicked was a picture. You nodded enthusiastically and even let out a proud, “I can do that.”

He was leaning against his pillows observing you calculate your next move.

“Sorry, I got you so messy.” You bit your lip as you delicately took him in hand.

Even just you holding him was erotic. It took more strength than it should have to keep from embarrassing himself.

“Up and down.” He whispered, unsure if you knew what to do next. You were careful with your movements, slowly easing into a rhythm that teased. “Faster.”

Your eyes flickered up to him and he saw the mischievous glint, “say please.”

Marcus fought back a growl but conceded, “please.”

You did go faster and it took hardly anything at all for him to spill onto your lap. In your surprise your movements faltered but he captured your hand and worked himself through the orgasm, thick ropes hitting as high as your chest.

He panted, head entirely too heavy on his neck. When he came to he caught you dipping your finger into the mess on your chest.

You brought it up to inspect before experimentally licking your finger. There was an inquisical noise before you brought more to your mouth.

“Stop,” he halted your movements. “You are entirely too erotic to look at in the state I'm in.”

“Taste's like the ocean, salty.”

The room was still, the two of you basking in your shared bliss, his hold on your hand firm.

Until you broke the silence with a cocky, “I can't believe I made you say please.”

“You'll pay for that next time.” He warned, bringing your hand to kiss the back of it. “You will pay.”

A dark glint in your eye and a devilish smirk appeared. “When is the next time?”

The fact that he was able to give you lucid and coherent sentences whilst actually using his brain to think in this state, staring at your cum covered body, was unheard of. You must be special. “I am needed tomorrow, I can do the next day.”

You leant back down for a kiss. "Okay."

~~

Scanning the room you made the appropriate amount of conversation despite being in a daze. You couldn't stop your mind conjuring the image of Marcus, the feeling of him, his lips, his smell, just him.

It was almost a twist of fate that you were standing in the middle of a celebration in his honour.

Calacais was throwing it, he had invited everyone of importance - meaning your father - and your mother was on a mission. She presented many handsome and eligible men for you to speak to, in hopes that a marriage would halt the Emperor's plan.

They were all nice, all charming, but they weren't him. He was something else, something new; you had raved on and on to Aelia about your experience.

“Aelia, it was spectacular.” You whisper over a shared pomegranate.

“Spectacular?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Hush, I'm so glad, so blessed, that he offered his help. I've learned much-well, actually the majority of it was him pleasuring me but he said it was confidence building. Which I very much needed.”

She tossed some seeds your way. “I swear you are blind to the signs. You're telling me he spent the majority of your time just focusing on you? Hardly any man does that.”

Your cheeks warmed at the insinuation. “He's showing me things, That's all." Dismissing with a wave of your hand because you wouldn't hurt yourself by hoping.

“Okay,” she understood. “What did he do then?”

“He-” you couldn't believe you were saying this. “He first used his hand and then began to lick my slick from his fingers!” She looked impressed. “He informed me that I looked acceptable-”

“I doubt he said acceptable.”

“-and then used his mouth on me. His tongue was divine. Cupid himself would be proud.”

“And then?”

“I hadn't ever come that quickly, it was- anyway, we kissed again and- oh, yes, we practiced kissing a lot. He kissed me everywhere. He even bit me, look.” You pulled your tunica and she saw the marks. “I long to parade them.”

Her eyes flashed up from your chest to your face. “This was purposeful. He wanted to mark you.”

“It just happened, I bit him too.” You replaced the tunica. “I left no marks, his body is littered wit- oh shit, I didn't spend enough time admiring his body. Aelia, it was so strong, so hard-” she giggled. “-not just there. He could lift me as if I was a lavender sprig. His arms were large and yes down there was, too. Next time, I need to give him the same amount of attention he gave me because he deserves worship.”

She quirked a brow. “When is next time?”

“He's busy tomorrow but the day after told me to return.”

“Stop staring into space.” Your mother pleaded.

You give her a sheepish smile, “apologies.”

“Did anyone catch your eye?” She was beautiful for asking that. Usually women were just married off but she was firm with your father, she wanted you to like your suitor - at least to be attracted to him - which led you to today. Unwed and facing the Emperors.

“They were all lovely.” You nod.

She side eyed you but said nothing.

You coughed slightly, making idle chit chat, “it's good that the General is home.”

“Bless Mars,” she agreed, lost in thought. “He is a nice man.” With that she left you again.

Where was she going?

Not to see him, surely?

He was here.

You had caught his stare not too long ago, unsure about how to present yourself - did you go up to him? Would that look alright? Would you be able to keep your head? Did he want you to talk to him? - due to the anxieties rattling around your mind.

In an ideal world you’d have jumped into his waiting arms.

But you weren’t in that fantasy.

So you kept to the shadows, letting your mother lead the suitors to you rather than meandering about and bumping into Marcus.

Gods! What if she presented him to you? You'd have to act in front of her!

No, you couldn't bear that.

So you stealthily made your way out of the atrium and through an exit where you were able to breathe in the fresh air. Calacais had a lavish home and fortunately that meant everyone wanted to stay inside and examine his newest vases and paintings.

Your hands landed against the cool stone balcony and for a moment you looked out into Rome, the greatest Empire there ever was. It was beautiful, of course there are the bad sides but when you looked at it from a distance it was brilliant.

“You’re avoiding me.” You jumped, hand holding your heart.

“Oh my- Marcus!” He was leaning against the wall.

The man chuckled and gestured with a nod for you to follow him. You did. Always would.

Marcus led you towards Calacais’ gardens but stopped just short of them to pull you down a crevice corridor. It was narrow - the two of you were chest to chest - and dimly lit. Completely hidden unless you knew where to look.

Your voice was too loud when you asked “Are you having fun?” to break the tension.

“You're avoiding me.” He accused again.

“I didn't know how to approach.” You confessed, shrugging. “I thought you may prefer me to distance myself.”

He scoffed, palms rubbing your waist. “I thought I scared you.”

“You're not scary.” Your head minutely shook and you caught the fabric of his toga. “I like this colour on you.” It was yellow and brought out the tan of his skin.

His knuckles brushed a strand - you were sure wasn't stray - from your face and then caressed your cheek. “You are magnificent, as always.”

Your words caught in your throat. You hadn't actively made an effort to beautify yourself, your skin bare except for the balm you rubbed on your lips. Him speaking those words made you believe they were true. It hasn't been a thing you'd spent time considering in the past. You were you, there were others far more exquisite.

But if General Marcus Acacius, hero to Rome, spoke it. It was true. You were magnificent. As always.

It was him that deserved these words. If only you could speak them.

“Ask me your question again.” Marcus’ eyes crinkled with fondness.

“My question?”

“Yes.” He prompted.

Racking your brain you found the question, repeating it for him, “Are you having fun?”

“Not yet.” He smirked down, his hands slid down to cup the fat of your rear. “But I could be.”

What did he mean?

Were you two to fornicate publicly?

It was shocking how willing you were to accept that.

“My mother will come looking.” You warn.

“Ah yes, she's parading you around for men who can't take you. I thought you were to be a concubine?”

“Please, I don't know what her plan is.” With a sigh you rest your forehead on his chest. “I think she hopes a union will halt the Emperors.” You dragged your head back up. “I doubt it.”

“I'm insulted, she hasn't even approached me.” He jests.

“It's a fool's hope.” You dismiss.

Marcus’ eyes were flicking between the two of yours. “I will seek her out.”

“That's probably a good idea, you are the man of honour, we better return.”

You left the crevice too soon to notice his puzzled expression. He realised, staring at the back of your head, that you didn't understand the weight of his words. His confession. You assumed he meant 'lets leave' instead of actually hearing 'I will seek her out'.

~~

Although he would never admit it, Marcus was giddy the next day.

No, he hadn't been able to speak with your mother but he was seeing you. That would make any man beam.

He had no idea what to expect other than his face buried in your sweet cunt. That was the goal.

Again he sat by the fauces, awaiting your arrival. His servants did ask if he intended to leave but he dismissed them again, he felt watched.

Out there he had freedoms, here if he made the wrong move it could be seen and reported. He didn't want you to be in any danger so he told them of your arrival and that he was teaching you another lesson. He'd have to remember to tell you that lie.

Maybe you could learn some sword work?

He crossed his legs at the image of you wielding a sword.

Fuck, he had never been this excited just from the mere thought of a woman. Yes, there were times when that's all that got him through but it wasn't like this.

“Boo!”

He jolted out of the thoughts.

Marcus’ glare softened once he saw you in a fit of laughter and he shook his head. “It's dangerous to sneak up on a general.”

You couldn't speak but when you did it was between wheezes. “The- look- on- your- fa-face.” You clutched your stomach.

He allowed you time to compose yourself, fanning yourself with a hand. “Finished?”

You giggled but then regained that composure. “I'm sorry, it was too easy.”

“You apologise far too much.”

“Sorry.”

He stood from his perch and intertwined your fingers, pulling you into the direction of his room, “You're not nearly as cute as you think you are.”

“I don't think I'm cute.” The reply was too genuine to be false.

He didn't want to inflate your ego but did respond with, “start. Everyone else does.”

Marcus had to keep his eyes on the destination because he knew the face you would be pulling. He could feel the weight of your gaze. Your eyes would be glowing - he had no idea how exactly they did that - and you would have that shy almost-nonexistant smile. Or perhaps your lips would be an inch ajar. Yes, that would be it.

As the two of you passed the threshold of his room he was suddenly struck. He had had all of these grand ideas and positions and wishes but here with you holding his hand, he was blank. He just wanted to kiss you and see where it went but you… you were here for a lesson.

“I think I made a mistake last time.” He tensed at the words. “I didn't spend nearly enough time observing your body.”

“Observing my body?”

“Yes.” You nod, hands on hips, because this was clearly obvious. “You spent an age looking at and kissing and touching mine.”

“You asked me to evaluate you.” He reminded.

Your lips purse and you step from him to remove your cloak and stola. When you were in your tunica you raised a brow and prompted him to disrobe.

As soon as you were bare - he was still untangling himself from the fabric - your hands were touching his body. They made mismatched patterns and cascaded along the muscle of his stomach. He had a particularly nasty scar on his left side so he tried to turn, hiding it from sight.

“Marcus.” You warned and he ceased the movements, finally free of any clothing.

“My body is not as breathtaking as yours.” He confessed, unashamed. He was a man of war. This is what got him to where he was today, loved by thousands though he only seeked one person's approval.

“Hush.” You bend to kiss the scar. “It doesn't hurt does it?”

“If it's cold. Sometimes I get hit there and it aches.” He stroked your hair - which again was less intricately styled - and you resumed kissing his side. “Let's- come on, that can't be comfortable.” It was an attempt to get you to stop because I) you were bent at an awkward angle and II) you were being far gentler with him than anyone had been for the entirety of his life. He was unsure how to react to such caution.

“Yes, please lie down.” You encourage, dragging him to the bed.

He did let out a few protests and grumbles but surrendered due to your promise of: “you can do whatever you wish later, just let me have this?”

So he lay on his back, feeling slightly vulnerable, and allowed your eyes to scan him. Your face never changed as you took in every bump, nick and scar.

Then you sat closer, your hip touching his, and kissed the thin line across his chest. That was old, it was barely a remnant of his training days. Your tongue sliding across it burned more than actually receiving it.

His heart started as you swiped it again but you shushed him, “it's okay.”

You kissed his shoulder at the marred flesh from an explosion. Which again had healed - not too unsightly - but to have you kiss and show it kindness causes his brows to pull.

Not one person referred to his injuries. Usually they go purposely ignored. There can be a polite ‘how'd that happen?’ but the women he had bedded and the men he fought with did not discuss much less than pay attention to them. It reminded him of your ‘did it hurt?’ reaction, you were just different. You saw him in a light that no one else could.

Shit.

He was really in trouble here.

Your lips tickled up from his shoulder to his jaw and onto his scarred cheek.

He hated that one.

A stupid, idiotic, mistake was the cause.

He never wanted to relive that day but it was a permanent reminder. Caught in a mirror, in his drink, on his cutlery, in the eyes of a curious child, in the whispers of women, the judgement of men.

But when you pressed your lips to it nothing else mattered.

“You said there was one on your back?” Your breath was warm against the scar.

Marcus’ hands - had been hovering around you during this exploration - crushed you into a hug. He clutched at your hair and shoulders, smushing you into him, carelessly.

He didn't want you to see the tears in his eyes. He couldn't have that.

So he hid behind the hug, swiping his face with the hand tangled in your hair.

“Marcus?” You whisper at his ear.

He loosened his ironclad grip and you gave a kind smile. Leaning down to kiss each eyelid.

“I think you are astonishing.”

“You flatter me too much.” His voice was small. “I'll get soft.”

A chuckle rose from you, “I doubt that, you're pure muscle. Look at these!” You gestured to his arms. “They are thrice the size of mine!”

How did you know exactly what he needed? You knew to steer the conversation and it made everything worse.

Fuck.

He was ready to admit that he was lost for you.

Head over heels.

Had been for years. Eons.

Was it too soon to admit it?

Did he care?

“I have to keep fit, there's a reason pretty women like you are safe here.” He stroked your arm.

His words made your expression falter for a millisecond but he caught it. And he remembered why you were here.

How did he keep forgetting?

You weren't his!

This was dangerous.

Yesterday was fucking reckless. He should have let you avoid him.

He shouldn't have sought you out.

But he liked the chase.

He liked that you were acting.

Hiding.

No one else knew that the two of you had been together.

It was thrilling.

You were wearing his mark under your conservative stola.

The man or men you faced could bring about your doom. It physically pained him to think of you in the same room as those boys. What would they order you to do?

The idea that you would be with another was unpleasant but them!

“Okay,” you nodded, all business, eager to learn. “I've had my fun. I'm ready to learn. I know I briefly pleasured you but I was thinking today I could use my mouth? You made me feel incredible. I want to do the same to y-I need to learn how to make someone feel good.”

He swallowed the bitter taste but nodded encouragingly. “I'm not hard, yet. We can kiss or you ca-”

“I'll rub you.” You avoided his eyes.

This felt wrong.

This felt weird, now.

You took him in hand and gave him a hesitant stroke.

“Lick your hand.” He spoke.

You followed the instruction, clinically, and rhythmically stroked him.

He would be the first to admit this felt strange but he was also just a man. And a beautiful woman was pumping his length and he was just a man.

“It's fascinating.” You mutter as he began to swell.

He would've replied with a sarcastic remark but you kissed the tip and he let out the least-manliest whine.

That noise surged you forward and you kissed again. He was able, thankfully, to keep himself quiet.

“You'll tell me if it's not good?” Your voice was steady and unsure but you carried on, kissing the head.

“Of cour-UH.” You licked a stripe from base to tip which was unfair. “Fuck you.”

Your chuckle vibrated through your tongue and it was heavenly.

If he hadn't known, he would have assumed you'd always been a concubine. You swallowed him down like a whore.

Summoning Herculean strength, he restrained himself from moving because you were adjusting to it. But your mouth was warm and wet and tight and he wanted to buck up so badly.

You came off of him with a pop causing another whine. “My teeth aren't in the way are they?”

He shook his head frantically, “n-no.” Coughing, “no, they're fine.”

And you resumed.

Swallowing him and slowly you bobbed your head experimentally and then awkwardly tried to move your body to regain the rhythm.

He didn’t have to - probably couldn't - talk you through it as you were smarter than Minerva and found your way.

Your hair flew as you bobbed around so he scooped it up and held it, tight. He needed to watch. He couldn't get too lost in the feeling. Couldn't close his eyes.

This was a sight to behold.

Your tongue had been still, flat to your jaw, but as you grew in speed you swiped it across his length and he hissed out a breath. Fuck.

Your eyes flashed up, but he shook his head. “Keep going.”

So you did, you even wrapped your palm around the base where your mouth was too small to hold. Pumping him with all your might.

When the urge was too much to control, Marcus’ hand pushed your head the tiniest amount.

You hummed around him in response and he did it again, gently fucking up into your mouth.

You hummed again and even gave a thumbs up so he was less gentle. Hips bucking as he shoved you down onto him. You took everything he gave. Took it all. Even when he was too rough and you gagged, you still continued.

He hadn't even registered that he was uttering words of motivation until he found himself wiping away stray tears as he shushed you, “You're okay. You're doing good, you're doing real good. Keep going. Keep going. That pretty little mouth of yours. Taking me so well.”

He didn't stop boosting your ego, not when you were doing this brilliantly.

It wouldn't be much longer now.

He could feel his muscles tense, he knew he was close.

He had longed to fuck you - it had haunted his dreams - but to stop you from your frankly amazing work when he was just on the cusp of an orgasm…

Again: he was just a man.

So he let out a brief warning and suddenly he was cumming into your mouth.

This time, you remembered to keep going, you kept sucking until he was spent, swallowing all he gave until he did have to prize you off.

You straightened, out of breath - chest rising and falling rapidly - eyelashes wet and swiped the drool from your lips with your tongue.

“Fuck me.” He yanked you down and kissed you once, settling you next to him in a far too intimate embrace. He kissed you again. Pouring everything he wanted to say into it.

His forehead met yours and you both caught your breaths.

“Any notes?” You question.

“That was not the first time you've done that.” He was in disbelief.

Your lips curled against his. “There has to be room for improvement.”

He found himself still panting. “I'd have to experience it again, see if I missed anything.”

“I don't mind that.” You peck his nose.

~~

You had slipped out from his hold and left Marcus’ home as he slept. The two of you had laid there chatting, playing with hair and leisurely marking each other.

You left an awful lot on him.

But he kept asking for more.

He wanted a mark from you to match each scar on his body.

Who were you to deny him?

Your mother and father hadn't noticed your return so you and Aelia were free to gossip as much as you wanted.

The next day was a nothing day. You and Marcus hadn't arranged your next meeting and you couldn't just show up in case he was hosting or out.

You lounged about your rooms, considering catching a mime show but stayed content with weaving.

It helped to do something repetitive.

Keep your mind off of him and onto the task at hand.

However you were very good at the task at hand.

You could weave without thinking about it.

A blessing and a curse.

So you took to spinning yarn.

“Thraex is hosting!” Your mother sung as she rushed into your room. “Why are you not ready?”

“Thraex?” You weren't told about that.

“I told you at Calacais’. Every noble household is hosting for the Generals return, you know this.” She scoffed. “Do you not listen to a word I say?”

“Sorry.” You offer.

“Where's that girl? She is at fault.”

“No, I dismissed Aelia. I told her I was okay, I didn't realise. Don't blame her.” You order. “I will be ready momentarily.”

“But your hair!” She cried. “I wanted you to wear the green and gold headpiece- or the opal one. I don't think we dress you up enough.” She examined you. “We could maybe try to open up the stola at your chest. Draw them in.”

“Mother, you are acting crazy.” You could not show your chest at all! “You've never been like this before.”

“We had the luxury of time before.” She snapped. “Your father is a good man but I don't think he realises what he does half of the time. Being gifted to the Emperors is a privilege, by the gods, but you are virgin. You are young. They are hungry men. I am afraid it will be like handing a lamb to two famished lions.”

“It is the both of them?” Your voice was shaky.

“I am unsure which one.”

“Let's hope it is Caracalla. He is the joval one.”

“You best hope it isn't him.” She warns.

“Why?”

“I hear he is sick down there.”

“Sick?” What did she mean?

She saw the evident fear in your eyes and changed her demeanor. Instead of scolding you, she found you the combination of jewellery and stola, speaking as she pottered about. “Geta is volatile but he's the better of them. But we will find you someone, even if you don't like them that way. We will find you a match you are content with but you have to act the part. Last time you were lost in thought. You'll have to win these men over. You aren't getting any younger.” You nodded. She was right of course. Someone, surely, would take your hand. You just had to show them you were worthy. Had to prove that taking your hand wasn't a mistake. Had to stop thinking about Marcus because he would have asked by now. He had even joked about it! “I'll send the girl in, just… try to smile.”

~~

You'd left whilst he slept.

He cursed himself.

It was foolish of him to do that.

He had a plan.

He wanted to more- wanted to be better for you.

At least the two of you shared some laughs?

Your favourite fruit was an azerole, you'd only had it once, it was fairly rare but you remembered the taste. Second were strawberries, they were ‘delectable’. Your choice of word made him go on a tangent about a sweet fruit he had tried recently, how it was hot and juicy and tasted better than nectar. That caused a very heated make out session.

Talking to you in bed screamed domesticity and he yearned for it.

The other darker reason why he hated himself, why he cursed falling asleep was because the bloodshed sometimes returned in slumber. It waited until he was at his most peaceful and cut at him. There were nights where he woke up screaming and he had found his bed caused the most pain. It was too soft. He was an imposter. Half being. He was a twisted, God spited, thing that didn't deserve you to lie in it.

If you had seen that… no. He wouldn't do that again. You wouldn't see that.

As he was fitted into a chest piece, he grumbled, “do I have to attend?”

Thraex? The name was vaguely familiar. Was he a senator? Marcus tried to find a mental image of the man but he couldn't. He was sure they had met four years ago, before Lebanon.

“The Emperors are to make an appearance.” His servant spoke, a hint of an apology in his tone. “Your lady friend may be ther-”

“Do not refer to her ever.” He snarled. “Do not speak of her. She is a lady, her lessons are vital but to an on looker it may look nefarious.”

“I meant no disrespect.” He promised. “I will not mention her.”

“Her reputation could be harmed.” Marcus carried on. He didn't need to and was unsure why but he kept speaking. “She is innocent and the Emperors have taken an interest so I wouldn't like to damage her chances. She's a special woman.” Why was he saying this? “You're dismissed.”

The servant nodded and left silently.

The chariot ride was gastly and he hated all the pompous introductions.

He needed a drink.

The Emperor's celebration was enough but to have a week of parties dedicated to him - by people that didn't even know or truly like him, they just liked showing off - felt like overkill. But he had to deal with it because it was part of the job and despite hating the spotlight, he didn't mind being Rome's “hero”.

“Acacius!” Caracalla clapped his spine harder than necessary. “Where is your corona?” He ruffled the man's hair.

Marcus side stepped, eyeing the boy suspiciously. He wasn't convinced that this man was a complete lamebrain, it could have been a calculated act. Sometimes Caracalla was as sharp as a blade, but he did dip in and out of lunacy.

“I have it placed on display at my house. I wouldn't want to damage it or insult you by wearing it too much.”

“Always so humble. I like your cape.” He smiled and twaddled off to find his brother.

Marcus did have to agree. The cape was the finest yet. It was white, adorned with golden patterns that matched his chest place and tunica.

He felt clean in it.

In fact, had his actual armour ever been this clean?

“Acacius,” Thraex’s voice cut through the chatter. “Come hither, you must come and speak with Tiberius and Gracchus!”

So Marcus milled and acted humble and debated with senators about their ideals. He noted that no man in the room had seen any real as much conflict as he did but they all had their opinions.

Marcus warmed to Gracchus instantly, the man was wise and made comments about the state of the Empire that sounded harmless but got under your skin. Marcus could see them.

He knew of the poverty.

He knew resources were better used in house but if he were to cease the fight where would that leave him? They'd probably throw him into the Colloseum.

Tiberius was an ass.

He didn't like Tiberius.

Entirely too full of himself.

And he made comments about those in attendance that weren't subtle. He spoke about how fat Thraex had become, how the elephant meat was chewy, how Gauis needed to father a son before his wife was too old 'and by the gods she looked it'. He was certain the man would speak ill of him as soon as his back was turned.

“Oof.” He let out a low whistle, “finally, look there.” Tiberius nodded behind Marcus' shoulder.

“I think you've had enough.” Gracchus stated as Marcus glanced behind him.

You were speaking with a man - Octavius? - a fake smile plastered on your face. Your hands were twitching and your eyes kept flashing over to where the Emperors were being entertained by the host.

“Do you think she's been bent over?” Tiberius elbowed Marcus in jest.

“I think.” His words were pure venom. The wartime persona he had left at the gates clawed its way out. “You shouldn't speak so unwisely, cretin.”

Tiberius paled. “My mistake. She is a lady, Gracchus is right, I have had too many glasses.”

“You owe her an apology.” His gaze was piercing and he ordered the words around ground teeth.

“To apologise would only upset her, I would have to explain-”

“In lieu of an apology, you can steer clear of her and any other women you have insulted tonight.”

Tiberius agreed mutely, and said goodbye to the general.

Gracchus watched the man stumble away and turned his head towards Marcus who’s anger was radiating from him in hot waves.

“You've moved up in my estimations.” He commented.

Marcus’ lip twitched in a fake smile and he excused himself.

“Acacius, where are you going?!” Caracalla called. Fuck. “They're about to s-iinnnng!”

So he turned back to watch with the rest of you. He stood far back, close enough to appear interested but far enough to cool off.

He used the smorgasbord of food as an excuse.

The song became two and then three and then there were dancers. He was entirely bored.

Movement caught his eye and he was drawn back to the very thing which riled him up: you. You casually picked at one end of the table, head directed to the performers. And slowly meandered to pick at the nuts at the end he was standing by - shooting a pointed ‘whats wrong?’ look as you passed him. A subtle shake of the head told you ‘not here' and you carried on the act.

His body - bless the cape! - shielded you from view. Behind his back he moved to clasped his wrist in one hand and you intertwined your fingers. Giving him a squeeze.

“Have you had any elephant, yet?” he looked over his shoulder - body still hiding you - to ask you the completely normal question.

“I have not. I'll have to try some.” You smile up at him, a real one. It didn't quite meet your eyes because you were clearly confused and concerned but he would take it.

“I can cut you a piece.”

“That would be very kind of you, General.” You blinked exaggeratedly when you spoke the word.

His eyes hardened and you mouthed a quick ‘sorry’.

The casual conversation drew no attention. He cut you a slice and you chewed happily. Thanking him.

Your mother hissed your name and you were summoned back to her and Octavius. “Until our next meeting.” You gave a polite nod and brushed your hand against his when you left.

The singing was actually a half play. That's why it took so long.

There were better things he could be doing with this time. There were swords to polish and beautiful women to steal away and fuck. If only he were Pluto and he could whisk you away to his realm like Proserpina.

When the half play eventually ended some people were dabbing their eyes!

The Emperors clapped and gave their seal of approval before demanding real entertainment.

“I was promised a show, Thraex.” Geta demanded. He had no other way of speaking, he always demanded things and was always appeased. He was to be approached with caution.

Thraex chortled. “My dears, I do have a show. Straight from the Colosseum itself.” He waved through a pair of fighters and asked the group to move back.

“Acacius.” Geta called. “Come here. I want to know your opinion on this fight.”

Marcus waited a beat but did come to stand at Geta’s side. Strategically the better move. He wouldn't have liked to be in between the two.

The fight began, the man using nothing but their two fists, much to Caracalla’s chagrin.

“You get a longer fight, brother.” Geta waved him off. “Are they really trying to hurt each other, or are they just elongating the show?”

“They are doing a bit of both but he-” Marcus pointed to the taller man. “-has a past injury, it must be difficult to keep up.”

“Ah.”

The men were on the floor in a scramble, causing the crowd to step back - Octavius moved you out of the way.

“What did her teeth look like?” Geta asked, also watching you.

“Pardon?”

“Her,” He spoke your name. “You were just at the table, what were her teeth like? Signs of illness?”

How did he answer that? Did he say yes and then you wouldn't be wanted? Did he say no and stay in this Emperor's favour for being truthful?

“I didn't notice any signs, I wasn't looking for them.”

“You can usually smell it. Disease has a stench but you'd know that.”

Marcus’ head swivelled to meet Geta's stare.

“Plenty of death and decay out there.”

“Yes.”

“I'm meant to have her.” He shrugged in an aloof manner. “I'm not a fan of the younger ones, they don't know as much. Useless. But the older ones get sick quicker." Geta sighed. "I'm curious. Why has she not taken a husband? Why not be married off? Do you reckon she's a hermaphrodite? Or has a disgusting body? Well... There's not much we can see to look at. I don't like her nose and she's… she's a little bland isn't she?”

Bland?

Fucking bland?!

He took a deep breath. “You are the Emperor, you have the greatest and best taste of all of us.”

“I don't know why her father is so insistent that I take her.” He mused.

“Years ago.” Marcus picked his words carefully. “I asked her father for a union and he denied it, so it is a privilege that he’s offered her to you. However, if you do not want her and don't feel like she is worthy. Don't stoop, don't give in, stand tall. Find yourself 10 that are better. You are the Emperor, don't settle for less.”

Geta considered the words as the champion was announced. He merrily clapped. “I will see you in the Colosseum! You've made a name for yourself!” His cheery demeanor fell when he directed his attention yet again at Marcus. “I want Africa, Acacius.”

It was a change of pace but yes, Africa was doable. “It won't be easy. With the right men and training I believe we can claim it for Rome.”

“Everyone!” Geta giggled, standing to address you all. “I have an announcement. Our hero, General Acacius has promised to deliver me and Caracalla and you Africa. We will claim it. We will conquer it. And as reward I am feeling generous.”

“I need no reward.” Marcus stated. “Serving Rome is enough.”

“Nevertheless, I am a generous Emperor and I am to gift you something of mine.” The crowd gasped. “Something I had yet to play with.” Marcus frowned. “I have heard whispers and rumours about our beloved hero and the absence of any heirs.” Marcus’ frown deepened but shot up as Geta called out for you. “Come hither.” You hesitated. “Now.” His harsh tone forced you to move but you were too slow. Geta met you halfway and forcibly dragged you across the room, hissing. “Do not be ungrateful, girl.” He raised the arm he was clutching in a death grip and announced, “A bride for our General.” Geta then tossed you into Marcus. “I have done well here. You are to tell everyone that Geta has secured the future of Rome with this marriage.”

Marcus held your bruised wrist with care and he gritted out. “Thank you, Emperors. This is an immense honour.”

“Thank you.” You bowed your head, hiding your glossy eyes.

There were nail marks at your wrist where he raised it and would be bruised on your bicep from him dragging you across the floor.

“Well done, brother!”

“To sheepish.” Geta sneared. “Train her General then if you should perish I'll consider her.”

~~

The following week was chaos.

Your father wasn't pleased. He accepted the union but you knew he secretly loathed it.

Mother was overjoyed. I) you were safe and II) she got to throw the biggest celebration Rome had seen in a while.

You were pleased, of course, you were safe. But there was this niggling feeling that Marcus wasn't. He was stuck with you, now.

You weren't a prize. Yes, there were times he spoke of your beauty and sometimes when he kissed you you believed you were loved but… he hadn't said that. He offered to help you because you were in danger. It was simply helping a friend.

The two of you hadn't been able to see each other alone whilst preparations were underway.

The Augurs were consulted and a date was picked. It wasn't far off at all. It would be in June so the Goddess Juno would bless your union.

That gave you four weeks and two days to plan, incorporate the Emperor's hefty list of demands, settle your father's complaints and figure out what to say to Marcus.

He was distant.

When you were testing wines, he sat next to you with tense shoulders, smile was slightly strained.

Aelia had even commented a few times but you didn't have the time to entertain that.

You were helping your mother create beautiful lace work, it was a hobby for those in the lower classes but you found it to be just as stimulating as weaving.

The weeks flew by.

It was all too quick and suddenly you found yourself trying on your white gown. The red cape - for fertility - was harsh in contrast but you mother found a pair of earrings the same colour.

It was real.

You were marrying Marcus.

This was wrong.

You were trapping him.

At least the two of you were friends. If he wanted to engage in another you could deal with that. Right?

“I know it's customary but do we think the six stranded braid is prettier than when you weave her hair?” Your mother asked Aelia.

Aelia’s eyes squinted in thought. “I think you may be right, the flowers would sit better.”

“Then it's settled.”

You were perfect. The perfect bride for the perfect groom.

All of Rome was please - ecstatic - to hear Marcus had been gifted a bride. And the Emperor's choice?

This was the marriage of the century.

It didn't feel like it should.

You sigh, staring up at your ceiling, mind set back to last month simpler times when Aelia snuck into your room. “Marcus’ servant gave me this to give to you.”

You bolted upright. “What does it say?”

“I haven't read it.”

“Has he run away?” Your nails were battered from weeks of abuse, but still you picked them. “Escaped?”

“I doubt it.”

“Aelia, he has been forced into this.” You took the papyrus and unravelled it, reading aloud. “Meet me at noon, behind the Thermae. Marcus.”

“It's not negative.”

“It isn't positive, either.”

“Will you go?”

“Of course.”

And so you were off to the baths for a treat. Neither of your parents minded, they were encouraging, you should enjoy yourself. Let loose. Have some fun!

You kept the charade up, a happy bride-to-be going to treat herself before the big day.

Everyone ate it up.

You round the building and find no one there. Aelia was waiting at the front, so you walked down the thin alley and sat in solitude on a broken piece of wall.

It took three songs - you were humming to keep your spirits high, this was a creepy alleyway - for someone to walk over.

It then struck you that the message may not have been from Marcus at all. This hooded figure walking towards you could be anyone. You could be kidnapped right here. Beaten, raped.

“Marcus?” You forced your voice to be strong.

He dropped his hood and, yes, thank the gods, it was him. He looked tired but it was Marcus. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You clasp your hands on your knees. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Sorry for the lack of communication, the Emperors have been on my back.” He explained. “They want Africa and they want it now but realistically it will take years to train men and to find the resources. The senators are against it and I'm caught in the mi- what happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” You glance at them, they look awful but they're not bleeding, and then shrug him off, “Wedding planning.”

“Ah yes. My bride.” He spoke, giving nothing away. You can't judge his feelings, he may be happy or miserable.

“My husband.” You rebut.

“How are you feeling about that?” He steps closer, leaning against the wall opposite and filing his arms. “I know I'm probably not the first choice but better than them right?”

“Of course, I am beyond grateful for the union. I cannot express how glad I am that it is you. You are my friend and have helped me.” His lips twitch. “I feel so guilty that you're stuck wit-” you sigh. “You could have anyone you wanted and they lumped you with me.”

“I've not been lumped with you. I am also pleased that you're my bride.” That was something. “It's not often I get what I want.”

“What you want?” You were what he wanted?

“Yes,” he chuckles darkly. “Did your father not tell you?”

“Tell me what? I know he isn't pleased but he's taken a distance from mother and I.”

Marcus’ face scrunched into an adorable frown. “He really didn't tell you?” You raised your brows and gestured for him to speak. “Years ago, when I was just a soldier, I asked for your hand.” Excuse me. What the fuck?

“Sorry, can you repeat yourself? It sounded like you said you had already asked for my hand.”

He smiled warmly. “I did. He denied it. Something to do with our fathers, I never knew why.”

You were in a state of shock.

He had asked for your hand?!

He

Had

Asked

For

YOUR

Hand.

And he admitted he ‘wanted’ you. Still wanted you.

“I-I-” Words failed.

“Are you okay?” The question was genuine but you could see the smug glint in his eye.

“Come here.” Offering your hand, he took it and you yanked him over the short distance.

He was between your knees, hands landing on your thighs, staring down at you with what you now know to be devotion in those eyes.

Your hands are connected behind his head, arms resting on his shoulders. “I never thought you cared for me.”

You felt the puff of laughter on your lips. “I don't usually offer to bed my dearest friends.”

“I have been fond of you from afar since childhood.” The confession heated your cheeks but you were proud to finally say it. “Remember in summertime, the year Brutus died, when you made me that flower crown? I wore it for days. It was dead when I finally took it off.”

“I remember that.” He pecked your temple. “It was all I could offer you.”

“You gave me more than a crown that day.” You extend your neck upwards, “kiss me?”

Marcus obliged.

The kiss was simple and innocent. The two of you hadn't had many that were.

You kissed because you could, not to dive into the bedroom. Not because it was part of some training.

You kissed him because you wanted to.

And so did he!

You broke the kiss and Marcus’ lips followed yours, reconnecting them for one last.

“I wasn't finished.” He joked.

“So… we-” you giggle. “We're getting married in less than a week.”

“Say that again, hearing it brings me such joy.”

“We are to be wed in five days.”

His grin was illuminating.

“Did the ring fit?”

“Yes.” You show him, the ring was simple but elegant. There were words etched into it, too faded for you to make out. "What does it say?"

“It says 'even after death'. It was my mothers.”

You bite the inside of your cheek looking down at your intertwined hands. His was so large and rough, yours small and soft. The ring looked like something he would give. It had a subtle beauty.

“I can't believe I spent so long thinking I was trapping you when years ago you asked for me!”

“I cannot believe you think you are a trap.” He scoffs, bringing his hands to smush your cheeks together. “You are by far the most beautiful woman in all of Rome.” The subsequent frown elicited an actual fit of hysteria.

Marcus had to bury his face into your neck and you were holding his entire weight as he chuckled into you.

Once the laughter had died down to short shaky breaths you spoke. “I'm glad I amuse you.”

His shoulders shook but he controlled himself. “Please, don't make me laugh anymore.” He spoke below your ear, voice strained. “It hurts.”

You hum, rubbing his spine and holding him.

It was odd.

No.

It was nice.

You held him close, smelling his hair and pressing kisses into his crown. You'd only ever held babies like this but right now you were holding Rome's future.

Marcus was beloved, more so than the Emperors. He made the Empire proud, he was cheered for in the streets, people gifted what little they had to him.

He was an honest to God's hero.

And here he was laying on you, stroking your arm.

He seemed small like this.

“I hate the way the Emperor refers to you.” His voice was low.

“What does he say?”

“They gave you to me. Like you were their property, like you're just a piece of clothing. Sometimes they imply I'm renting you or I'm preparing you.” His sigh heats your skin. “He thinks I will perish before we get Africa.”

The hand in his hair coaxes him from his hiding place. “Marcus you will not.”

“I have come close many times, this is something you will have to make peace with.”

“I won't allow you. I will walk to Pluto's domain and bring you back.” It was a fact. You wouldn't let him die. Not now he was yours.

“You'd defy the gods?” He quirked his head.

“For you, I would.” It was true. You'd jump into the Colosseum and fight every Gladiator there was - even Maximus - if it meant saving Marcus. “I want you to know, you're not renting me. I was not given to you, I wanted you. If I had known you had asked- the circumstances leading up to our union may have been unusual, unbelievable, but what is important is: we got there.”

He squeezed you so tight you could burst, kissing you with such force your nose hurt.

“I love you.” It was whispered into your ear, his face hidden but you knew he meant it. He liked to hide from you when he was emotional - like when you kissed his scars and he tried to hide his tears, you'd seen the wet eyelashes but knew not to comment.

You kissed what you could reach - his temple - and replied in your own hushed whisper. “I love you, too.”

~~

Despite having previously seen you wearing white and red for that matter, you were a vision. Your stola was white - fresh with unuse - with a pale embroidered trim. Over your shoulders sat a deep red cloak - white for purity and red for lust - that swallowed your body. The red shone against your skin, making you rosy. Attached to a thin red veil on top of your head sat a crown of roses and geraniums.

”Do you like it?” He hoped you did, he'd spent a while perfecting the crown. Used to braiding rope and nothing as fine as flower stems.

“Of course I do.” You beam. “It is spectacular.”

He didn't get to self-deprecatingly comment that 'it wasn't' because you placed it on your head and he was struck. Your cheeks and knees were dirty from the ground and your hair had loosened significantly, this was you. Boisterous and bold, laughing freely against the wind, following him through his exploration with curiosity.

“Only as spectacular as you.” Marcus looked down the hill at a distant Rome, avoiding your eyes.

You sat on your knees glancing down where he lay on his spine. “You're too kind.”

No, he wasn't. You were amazing. He- well, he loved you. He was lucky enough to have met you - his father bringing him along to a meeting - and be trusted enough that the two of you could go exploring - servants keeping a distance. If only he could be yours.

“I'm not.” He needed to change the subject. Marcus sat up, arms resting on his knees. “I'm going off soon.”

Your smile faltered but you gave an encouraging nod. “So I hear. You'll be a General in no time.”

He scoffed, “we can hope.”

Your fingers twitched and he noted your eyes flickering between his and his lips. Why were you looking at his lips? He could just lean down now and kiss you. Should he?

No.

He shouldn't.

He didn't.

Marcus ached to touch you, to brush a hand on your cheek, but he held back. Your parents were overseeing everything, father chatting jovily with guests - entertaining the forever bored Emperors - as your mother micromanaged each servant.

The ceremony lasted an hour however to Marcus sacrificing the lamb and throwing cake crumbs over your head before signing the contract felt like mere minutes.

Within seconds he and you were joined.

Finally.

It had taken years.

He had wanted this for so long.

You'd vowed to be his!

By the Gods you were his.

You were his!

Once all the ceremonial business was complete and the party commenced spirits were high. There was dancing and drinking and gift giving and life advicing.

You'd slipped from his grip to dance with your servant, uncaring about the judgemental glares. Marcus clapped along to the tune of three singers and one harp, smiling every time you twirled.

It was a sight to see. Not one person in this room could recall the General smiling. He was known for his stoic demeanour and, depending on circumstances rude, behaviour. It wasn't a deliberate act, he just didn't have the patience nor the time for half these men.

Glancing around the room he made eye contact with your father.

Marcus took a reassuring breath and stalked over to him.

He had faced hoards of men on the battlefield meeting your father over wine would be easy.

“Acacius.” He greets with the usual amount of disdain.

Marcus gave a curt nod and with a wicked glee he spoke, “Father.” The man bristled but couldn't argue. He was the only father figure that Marcus had. “I've received many gifts but, please, give me this one: Why do you hate me?”

He didn't give anything away, taking a long sip from his cup. “You're a soldier.”

“I am.” Marcus came to stand next to him, facing the crowd instead of his back to it. “Is that not a noble profession? Did that not build this Empire?”

He scoffed. “It leaves widows. You'd know the destruction conquest brings.” That was harsh but true. He had seen widows screaming in muddied fields, orphans weeping. He had made them. He wasn't proud of that. "How old were you when he died?"

Marcus was taken aback. He hadn't realised his father was the subject. He had only focused on his destruction, on his vengeance but thinking about it...

His father did die when Marcus was a boy and his mother perished shortly after. She didn't die but she was a ghost. A shell of herself.

Walking around lost.

Her appetite shrunk and her mind frazzled.

She died before Lebanon.

That's what your father meant.

“That isn't your only reason.” Marcus accused. It couldn't be.

“It's the only one you need to worry about.”

The two were quiet, silently stewing. How was he supposed to win your father over if the man wouldn't tell him why he was so against this union?

He stood next to your father watching you laugh, barefoot on the dancefloor.

Marcus would endure the brunt of your father any day just to watch you dance some more.

“The Emperor is wise.” Your father grumbled the words. “He knows what's best.”

Marcus didn't reply. Didn't know how to.

The singers, and thus the dance, finished and you broke from your servant - Alea? - with a grin.

The two of you skipped over to him, you weaved your way into his arms.

“Father, isn't it wonderful? You and mother have done such a great job.” You gestured to the room. Your mother had decorated with long flowing blue and red sheets, hanging from ceiling to floor, she and her servants - and he assumed you as well - had woven dark floral banners to match each vase of live flowers. The wedding and afterparty were happening in your home - there were the seven torches and the standard pyre but otherwise the home was transformed into a place of ceremony - he didn't mind. The two of you could leave when you wanted. To his… well… to your new home. “And you look lovely.”

Your father was wearing an orange toga to compliment your mother's green. “Thank you.” He spoke with a hint of a smile. “You are, of course, a vision.”

You rolled your eyes but didn't argue which was good. You must've felt how you always looked: pretty.

He squeezed your sides. “You are.” The light in your eyes was blinding and your smile adorable. He recentered a flower on your crown and ran his knuckles down to your temple. “Gorgeous.”

“Ahh, Rome's most popular pairing.” Geta interrupted your moment. The twins watching with morbid curiosity. “Aren't you something.”

“Yes, Emperors.” Marcus straightened his back, securing his hold of you, keeping his arms locked in place. “We have been blessed.”

“Thank you both, so much.” Your voice was confident.

“I cannot wait for your offspring. Literal proof of a good decision.” Geta’s eyes raked your body before he prodded your stomach. “Perhaps motherhood will suit you.”

Marcus knew this was a cruel joke, the Emperor was referring to his previous remark about your body but he found that he was distracted. Lost in those words.

Motherhood.

The two of you were going to be parents.

That was fucking brilliant. Marcus had to contain the full force face-splitting grin into something lesser.

You would look good swollen.

Your stomach round with life.

He could picture it. You holding their child.

Would it be a little girl or boy? He hadn't had to consider this. Hadn't had any reason to.

But, despite popular belief, he could only see a little girl.

He would stand her on his feet and dance, put her on his shoulders and be her horsey, he'd let her press flowers into his hair.

She would look like you.

He didn't want any part of him in her. He wasn't pleasant to look at.

But then, in this dream, she grinned up with big teeth and wide brown eyes. His eyes. And he didn't mind being part of her.

Her hair was a brown curly mop and she played Gladiator with him in the garden.

You would be the Lion.

The servants would gossip and rumours of your unusual parenting methods would spread but no one would mind. Because it was your family. The two most loved people in Rome.

He wouldn't go off to war as much. No.

He didn't want to.

Not now.

Snapping back as he realised this was a reward he hadn't paid for yet.

He would have to leave.

When, he didn't know.

But he couldn't whilst you were round and wouldn't when the baby was young. To leave when it was a toddler or a child was cruel.

That didn't leave an awful lot of room for the Emperor's plan.

"A mighty warrior." Geta forced your chin high, fingers denting your flesh.

In one fluid movement, Marcus pulled the hand down, clasping and shaking it. "We are blessed and will endeavour to bring one into the world."

“Are we to witness the joining?” Caracalla’s eyes wandered towards the lectus. “It is customary.”

Marcus frowned. “No. We won't be taking part in that.”

“Breaking tradition…” Your father huffed. “That's not a good omen.”

“It was my choice.” You rushed, taking the blame.

“Interesting.” Geta's eyes squint. “Either way, I expect an heir soon. And a male one at that.”

~~

Staring at his bed was heavy.

You were nestled in Marcus’ arms, breaking tradition again by being transported to your new home in only his muscled hold. You could understand why ususally many people caryed the bride as he almost walked the two of you into pillars because you were kissing.

“Lady Acacius.” His words drew you back to him, looking down at you with love.

“My husband.” You kiss his nose.

Marcus walked you to the right corner before he let your feet land on the stone. He undid your robe and let it fall to the floor, taking your hands in his and removing your bracelets.

He deposited them on your vanity table. It had come with your belongs as well as you and your servants, tucked into a corner for your oils and hair accessories to be held.

His hands removed the thin veil and delicate crown, placing them with precision.

“You've deflowered me.” You spoke the jest with a bitten lip.

His eyes flashed dark, movements halted. “Not yet.”

You chuckle and he rotates you by your shoulders to face a mirror - that he had brought you - adjusting the mirror so you can see yourself. His hands unclasp the necklaces and earrings and then make their way to your hair. Taking out the minuscule pins.

You were free of any jewellery bar the two rings on your left hand. The newest was a brighter gold an was etched with the same font 'forever and always'. He told you that it was how he truly felt and it matched the older's 'even after death' in a beautiful poem.

With you free of jewellery he slowly undoes your stola.

It's a shame, really, to wear it only once. The effort it took you to embroider the patterns felt silly. With it gone, he found you bare. You weren't wearing a tunica tonight in preparation.

Marcus’ breath grazed your neck as he placed deliberate kisses to your ear and down your neck to shoulder.

His hands wrapped around you. One palmed your left breast and the other went straight where you wanted it.

He played with your folds, running his finger through. You shuddered but welcomed the feeling.

You'd wanted him all night. He was yours. The two of you had both teased each other through the celebration with kisses and wandering hands. You were certain in almost no time you'd be begging for him so you tried to force that down. Tried to remain cool.

But he kept swiping his way through the now slicked folds.

He bit your jaw, making your back arch, and then sucked the raw flesh.

You kept spasming without meaning to, feeling and watching him enter you was something else entirely.

His movements ceased, “put your leg up on that.” Gesturing with a nod to the stool.

“My leg?”

He wanted you to what? To put your leg up there? You'd be open. You weren't against that ordinarily however to be watching oneself… it was a little intense.

“Come on.” He cooed.

You raise a wobbly leg and put your foot on the stool. The only reason you didn't feel silly was the shaky breath in your ear and watching his mouth fall open. “You like that?”

He growled in your ear, nipping your cheek for being cocky, and resumed his handiwork.

Your leg being higher meant that when your spine jolted or arched he didn't fumble.

You mewled as the torturously slow circles he created against your clit. “Marcus..”

He chuckled behind you.

The circles stopped altogether and you whined.

“If I'm doing it wrong, show me.”

Your cheeks were hot and you felt frustrated. He wasn't usually like this.

You sucked your finger before your hand knocked his out of the way and relieved yourself in the best possible way. The flick of your wrist had you moaning like a whore, what could you say? You'd had the time to practice.

Marcus’ breathing sped up as he watched you and you realised this is what he wanted.

He wanted to watch you enjoy yourself.

The fucker.

He brought his hand back up to your breast - you didn't notice it fall - and his ring was cold against your skin.

“If you wanted a show.” You pant. “You could've asked.”

It was a blessing that he was standing behind you holding you upright because you were a wreck. You don't usually do this standing.

His hand joined your own, two fingers slipping in, and you open your eyes to see his were wild. They were darker than you had ever known.

Your head was resting on his shoulder meaning that you were millimeters from his neck. So, you left sloppy kisses and lapped the tan skin.

Marcus pinched your nipple, his hand speeding to an impossible pace. Your only response was to moan.

You could feel him, behind you, firm against your rear and could just taste it. Forcing his hand to stop fondling you, you drag it to your mouth and begin sucking his digits. There was no reason except that you needed something to do, other than groan, with your mouth.

He bit your ear and you felt close.

You were ready to cum any second now.

Marcus trailed a stripe up your arm and entered a third finger.

How it was possible that he could reach somewhere inside that caused instant bliss, was a mystery. You hadn't even found that spot, hadn't been able to reach it.

Without his hand on your chest - that's why it had fallen - he wasn't there to stop your hips squirming but it didn't matter.

You felt the thread snap and you cried around his fingers. The orgasm sept throughout your body - everywhere going slack - and he worked you through it as long as he could.

He pumped his fingers into you until you begged him to stop.

He pulled out of both holes, a trail of spit and slick flowing as he did. Marcus pecked your cheek and made a display of lapping his right hand.

“You-your fingers are so much longer than mine.”

If he had done this, if he had have bedded you and then you were to go to the Emperors you'd be fucked.

He was all you ever wanted.

All you ever needed.

“Not just my fingers.”

He pressed his hard length into your rear and you let out a guttural moan. “I want it.”

“You're getting it.” He reassured before crushing your lips to his again and walking you to the bed.

Mirroring your way to the bedroom; he blindly led you to the bed, distracted beyond belief.

You could feel him disrobing and when your legs met the bed, you opened your eyes to see him bare before you.

Licking your lips, you reach for him but he stopped you and situated you amongsthis pillows. You wiggled your brows and Marcus followed you, kneeling between your bent legs.

“I'm glad we waited.” He opened up, eyes sincere.

You agree by pulling him closer, so he was hovering inches above you. “Let's not wait a moment longer.”

“Well, this-" He kept his hips still. "this may hurt.”

“Hurt?” He had brought you nothing but pleasure.

Your mother and Aelia had mentioned the act hurting but you thought that was preparation for the Emperors.

This was going to hurt?

“Not a lot and only for a moment but it may.”

Well, shit, now you were worried but ultimately, “I trust you.”

Marcus’ brows pulled and he pecked your nose. Then your cheeks. Then your neck. Then left so many marks on your chest that it looked like one big stain.

He was sneaky about deflowering you.

Rubbing his head between your folds to get it slicked and teasing you. You could feel your walls clench around nothing, waiting for him.

He distracted you by raising your leg and biting the flesh of your calf.

“Marc-uus.”

His blunt head pressed into you.

It was big. You knew it was going to be a tight fit and still it was big. He pulled back out and through your dazed vision you could see him analysing you.

He pressed back in and made it further in.

Only to pull fully out again.

What was he doing?

Was this part of it?

Marcus thrusted into you even further and it felt like he was splitting you into two.

He kissed your temple and played with your clit, repeating the action again and again.

It was strangely familiar and enjoyable.

You had used your hands, Marcus had used his and his tongue.

But it was also vastly different.

You felt full and every vein had your back arching. It was incredible.

Once he deemed you ready, he was able to speed up.

And you felt cheated.

You could've had this years ago.

The rhythm was perfect.

Both your bodies moving together, connecting in a way you had never.

“Marcus.” Your mouth was speaking on its own accord. “This is-yes, do that again.”

He pressed his palm against your stomach and reached even deeper inside you.

Ow.

That did hurt.

What the?

Oh, no, the pain had vanished.

You were biting your lip to stop the slew of dirty words and filthy moans escaping.

He held himself up - by your head - using his left arm and when you threw your head backwards in pleasure you glimpsed his muscle.

Bringing your useless - they were so useless, what had they been doing? - hands up to his cheek and his bicep you cupped each with an equal amount of love.

He noticed your infatuation, “you like that?”

Yes, yes you did. Very much so. It may be a more barbaric part of your mind but you did enjoy his body a lot.

He was quite possibly the strongest man you knew. You felt incredibly safe with him. And to see his strength as he thrusted into you was not a bad sight.

“Yes. My General.” You winked.

It was almost animalistic the way he growled and thrust into you harder than before.

Again there was a slither of pain - your nails leaving indents he’d parade about later with into his flesh - but that quickly morphed into pleasure.

As He hooked a hand under your thigh and, again, brought your leg up, folding it so he could hold your ankle into place; you simultaneously yanked him, down by his hair, for a heated kiss, tongues and teeth colliding.

The new angle he thrust himself into was even better than before.

He knocked that spot and you were crying his name over and over in a prayer.

Marcus kissed the groan out of your mouth and then, as if this wasn't enough, let go of your leg - you held it still - and paid close attention to your clit.

“Fuck, oh, fuck me.” The words spilled before you could stop them.

“I am.” He drove into you a touch harder and you were stuttering out a final moan.

Orgasm surprising you, rupturing through you, intensifying as he kept going.

He milked your orgasm longer than you could stand but you wouldn't stop it. No, you wouldn't dare.

His last strokes were sloppy and he fumbled, leaning on his left side a little as he came.

You could feel it inside you.

Was it demented to say it felt right?

You were empty without him inside you or splashed across your walls.

Marcus held off for a while but eventually did lean his full weight on you. You cuddled him, squeezing him with your arms and legs and even your core.

You caught your breaths, he took longer but that was okay. That meant you could run your nails over his back and play with his hair.

“Let me get you a cloth.” He spoke, trying to sit up.

“No. Not yet.” You gently pat force him back down, closing your eyes. “Just lay here a moment longer.”

A soft rustling caused you to open your eyes.

It was dark.

You had fallen asleep.

Reaching across the bed to what you assumed was now Marcus' side you met nothing.

“Marcus?” Your voice was hoarse, you rolled over in the blanket and found him by the door. “Marcus? Where are you going?”

He spun, caught in the act, pillow in hand.

Oh.

Oh gods.

You were right.

Not now, the first time.

He didn't like you.

He was leaving. Going somewhere else.

Shit.

That was okay.

No. You'd work through this.

You could do that.

Of course!

He only slept with you because the Emperors had repeatedly mentioned an heir.

Fuck.

Ouch.

That hurt.

“I was going to sleep in one of the guest rooms.” His voice gave nothing away and he was haloed by the tiniest spark of a flame so you couldn't even see his face.

You were such a fool. “No, this is your bed.” You sit up and shuffle towards the end. “I'll go, you could've just told me this was all an act. I would’ve helped. I don't mind you not liking this union but to lie… to give me your mothers ring and bed me and then- Marcus, that is despicable.”

He rushed over, halting your next movements. “No, you mistake me.”

“I mistake you? You're sneaking out on our wedding night?!” Now he was standing there between your legs, you could see him a little bit clearer; the moonlight half illuminating his features.

“No, I promise. I am not regretting us. I-” He sighed, rubbing his hands across his face. “I am afraid.”

Despite yourself you knew it took great strength for him to talk like this so kept quiet. You wouldn't belittle or make fun of him, you'd hear him out and then decide what to do.

“My bride, I am a soldier. I have seen things.” One of his hands fell, fingers brushing your knee as it sat at his side. “Sometimes war returns in sleep. I-” He sniffs. “I have awoken to ripped sheets, to damaged pillows. I yell also and sometimes I wake and need to let it out. I punch the bed.” Marcus stepped from your legs to flop down next to you. He plucked the discarded pillow from the floor, holding it to his chest. “If I did that to-” He shook his head, glancing at you with fat glossy eyes.

You instantly wrap your arms around him, feeling idiotic again. Your hands rub his back and you kiss his forehead. “My love, you've fallen asleep before.”

He shook his head. “You left after minutes.”

You hum a ‘no’. “It was longer, perhaps an hour or two.”

He took your information in and dissected it. You could see his brain working, the great military mind.

“If you were to ever harm me-” his whole being tensed. “-shh, it's okay. If that ever did happen. I would love and forgive you.”

Marcus’ face crumbled and the tears fell.

You pulled him closer. Holding firm as he forced the shaking shoulders to calm.

“Please.” You speak into the darkness. “You don't have to. Please, stay with me tonight?”

Marcus was still but you felt the miniscule nod and shuffled the both of you back into the bed, bringing him back onto your chest.

You couldn't see his face, only the mop of hair you had tugged earlier. So you ran a hand through his locks and wrote ‘I love yous’ onto his back.

You hadn't ever cradled anyone like this before. You'd held children and animals but nothing like this.

This was Rome's golden General. A great leader and ruthless man.

But it wasn't. It was your Marcus.

The man that had loved you silently for years.

The man who offered to help you with an impossible task.

The man who kept you safe.

The man who treated you well.

The man who would gladly gift you the world.

You loved him more than anything.

~~~ epilogue ~~~

“We're goin- going to be late.” You whine into the table.

“Who's fault is that?” Marcus asked above you, hammering into you from behind.

You'd knocked on his study’s door, interrupting his war meeting - not that he gave a single fuck, you could interupt anything and this was your home, too. You didnt need to knock! - and informed him that you were expected at the Colosseum shortly.

He quickly bid farewell to his senators and lieutenants but stayed sitting. You always knew what he wanted so sauntered over and very seductively said. ‘We don't have enough time’.

You were bent over his maps and war plans a moment later.

This was the best position for you at present due to the growing bump of your stomach.

You groan out a cry and glance over your shoulder, mouth open in a sexy 'o'. He loved that look, your mouth open and brows pinched, he was still convinced you were Venus. Maybe a demigod?

Marcus was quick to lean and connect your lips, hand holding your stomach to keep it from hitting the lip of the table as he bent forward.

Your legs seize and you're cumming around him. Walls spasming as he eats your cry.

He stands upright and pistons harder into your heat.

As soon as you became pregnant your sex drive heightened. In fact, at breakfast you stopped him to drag him over to a lectus and ride him. He loved it. It was his favourite position and sadly it was becoming increasingly hard for you to do - he loved watching you rise and fall, engulfing him fully. You had really surprised him one night by asking if you could be on top and since then he was done for - your swollen breasts and stomach were the cause but it was such a sight.

He did that. In there was a part of him. It was growing steadily and every day he was grateful beyond words.

You weren't allowed to do nearly as much alone as you had been before you were pregnant. He was always in the same room and if he couldn't be Aelia was your asigned guardian. If anything happened... he would come down on with a vengance. If one thing was to happen to that fragile life he would burn Rome.

Now he was to be a father - he considered himself one already - he saw the world in a differen light. He couldn't wait to meet your child.

He came with a shudder, wishing upon anything that it would take a second time. That every time he painted your walls it would result in a baby.

Marcus panted, looking down at the face: brows pinched, mouth open. You'd even drooled on his map which was an issue, not for a practical reason, but because now he wouldn't be able to take meetings without thinking about fucking you. Not that he did anything without thinking about fucking you.

He pulled out an inch but you suddenly stopped him.

“Wait.”

It was only then he noticed the hand practically vibrating between your legs. Fuck.

Marcus inched back in and out in a slow agonising thrust and you shook, cumming again.

Your orgasm shot through him, making him twitch.

“Oh, gods.” You lazily smile. “Okay, you can now.”

He thanked you for the permission and eased his way out.

You rose, shakily, and replaced your stola. “We're going to be immensely late.”

“I don't care.” He fixed your hair. “They won't either, we're their favourite couple.”

“Hmm.” You made a face. “The both of them keep staring at my chest and when Geta asked about milk?!” 

Marcus let a small huff of a laugh. At the time he was fuming but your face was humorous. “You lied well.” 

“Well, I couldn't say that you had tried it.” You straighten his toga. “I had to say I hadn't produced any yet.” 

“I know.” He kissed your temple. “You're a good girl. Brave.” 

And you were. 

You were the bravest person he had met. 

To deal with the now what-seemed-to-be-jealous Geta as well as the morbidly fascinated Caracalla was a feat. 

He knew you were afraid but sadly the two of you had to deal with their company. You were perhaps more popular than them - if the cheers of the arena were true - and by default now part of their posse. 

“When she is here, I'm sure they'll lose interest.” He knelt to cup your stomach, his forehead and nose resting against the firm bump. “It will be an age, something else will come along."

“Yes,” You run a hand through his hair, the surefire way of relaxing him. It had become his favourite part of the nightly routine. You whisper so quietly he almost missed it, “they'll send you off to Africa.” 

Marcus’ head snapped upright. 

No. He had at least a year and a half, maybe two before anything like that happened. 

“No.” He stood to his full height. “They won't that soon. I wouldn't let them.” He soothed your worries, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “I won't let them. I will be here to stand between you and them for eternity.” 

You lean into his right hand. “Forever and always?” 

He may not know the future but he knew that to be true. “Forever and always.” 

You take his hand and caress the ring. "The baby is a boy."

"No, she's a girl."

[w31rd0-art1st]

Update on my clone troopers live au: I'm almost done with one sheet! I just have to finish coloring.

(btw don't worry if anything looks off- I'm still adjusting things.)

Image one from left to right: Droidbait, Cutup, Hevy, Fives.

Droidbait is the unofficial "Distraction expert". Cutup is a sharpshooter. Hevy is a heavy Gunner, and Fives is an arc trooper.

Image two from left to right: Echo, Hardcase, Dogma, Tup.

Echo is still an arc Trooper, but he's gotten more training in splicing. Hardcase is a proper Heavy Gunner now. Dogma and Tup are both in Arc training, and Dogma will officially be awarded his jaig eyes for killing Krell once his therapist thinks he's processed the incident (him shooting Krell) well enough.

Third image, Left to right: Jesse, Denal, Thorn, Empty.

Jesse is still an arc trooper, Denal has been promoted to lieutenant and turned down Arc training. And Thorn has been reassigned to Captain.

I still have one more slot to fill, and I have another sheet for anyone who would like to request any clone troopers that have sadly passed.

Also this is tups full body sheet of tattoos

He's still got alot of space to fill.

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Happy Valentine's day Y/N 2.

Y/n x Pick your character.

You're not a huge fan of festivities, especially Valentine's day, but your best friend is more than ready to make you change your mind and maybe he's also ready to confess to you something you have been waiting for so long.

📢 Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Ghost.

You and him have been friends since you were children, you've seen the worst and the best of Simon Riley and still you adore and support him, you are roommates now, but everybody would say you're more of a husband - wife relationship, you like that thought, you will not say that loud of course, Simon is at home for Valentine's, you welcomed him and put his laundry on the washer, he also brought a strange box with him, you don't like to ask, but you felt your curiosity taking control of your mouth.

- what's that box? Can I see?

- Sorry love, that's... Personal.

-oh... Well, it's okay, take a shower big boy, I'll go to the supermarket quickly! Do u need something?

- Will you bring me a bottle of...

- whiskey? got it, that's already on the shopping list, something else?

- you know me so well love, no, I think that's all, if you need help call me, alright?

- Yes Lt. I'll be right back!

You left the house wondering what that box was, Simon doesn't hide anything from you but this time it looks like he wants to keep a secret.

Ghost opened the box and started his mission, packed a lot of gifts, put some balloons around, oh this poor man doesn't know how to show affection, but his team gave him some ideas, he really wants you to know how he feels for you. He doesn't know how long it will take you your little trip to the supermarket but he tries to get ready as soon as possible.

You ran through the supermarket, you don't want to waste time when Simon is at home, you want to spend as much time as possible with him, you were putting your bags in your car when the sound of barking caught your attention, an old woman is selling puppies, you don't even know if that's still allowed but no one would judge you if you go to see the poor puppies, to your surprise there's just one «this is the last one» you heard the woman said, a little boy came to see it too, you were leaving until you heard the little boy talking to his mother. «Mom! Look! This puppy has a ghost face in his back!!! Can we take it with us?» «No honey, there's no space enough for puppies at home, let's go».

A ghost face in the back of the puppy? You looked at the dog carefully, indeed, there's a huge spot in the back that looks like a ghost, you remembered how much Simon wanted a dog a few months ago, the puppy looks perfect for him, also it's Valentine's day, friends can also surprise each other with presents, no?.

- How much for the dog?

- Do you want him? It's the last one... If you want it, take it for free.

- Oh! Really? Is there a problem with it or something?

- No, it's healthy, it has its vaccines and all, I just wanna go home, so do you want it or not?

You looked at the woman trying to find out if she was lying, after a moment you took the puppy in your arms, thanked the woman and went home.

- Simon! I'm home! I need help with the bags!

- Get it! I'll go in a minute.

He was nervous, he was watching himself in the mirror, everything looked nice, he smelled good and looked good, he had to admit he looked very handsome, he went to help and you were melting at the view, how this man can look so good all the time?.

- Si... Are you using perfume? You're not wearing sports clothes... Do you have a date or something?

- What? No, I just... took a shower, you told me to do it.

- oh yeah, sure, so... I have a surprise for you! Close your eyes, please!

- How will I help with the bags if I have to close my eyes?

- Forget about the bags! Please close your eyes!

He did and extended his arms, while you put the puppy in his arms, the puppy fell for Simon very quickly, he started to lick his finger.

- alright, open them!

- seriously?

You never saw him so excited for something, there he was, a perfect picture, Simon and... The still unnamed dog!

- Yes, do you like it? Consider it as a Valentine's gift! How would you like to name it?

- love, this is a wonderful present, thanks... And i don't know, we accept suggestions.

- I'm glad you liked it, it looks like he likes you too, and I was actually thinking about 'Riley' or 'ghost' since the spot In his back looks like your mask and your baklava...

He laughed, he was laughing, something that only you can do, he kept looking at the dog who was now trying to bite his fingers and then he looked at you, there's something different on his eyes, there's something else, a stranger spark.

- I think Riley is perfect. Y/N?

- Yes?

- I, I also have something for you, is... In the kitchen, Would you like to see it?

- Seriously? You didn't need to ask! Let's go!

You ran to the kitchen and the first thing you saw was a lot of balloons and small boxes and paper bags.

- What's all of this? All those are for me?

Simon put the dog on the floor to let it explore and walked to you.

- Yes, all are yours, I buy souvenirs or things that remind me of you every time I have a mission and write small notes to not forget why I bought it.

You started to open every box and bag and read every note «i saw this lipstick in the mall, I think it matches your skin tone» «these gloves reminded me of your small hands, it will keep them warm in my absence» «if you were a gem, I think you would be a sapphire» «I found it in the Market, maybe you will use it for your sketches» «I know how much you like to take photos, fill this album».

After a while you took a moment to see Ghost who's standing at the doorframe, there's no need to speak, you walked and kissed him softly, both have been feeling in the same way for so long.

- Happy Valentine's Simon.

- Happy Valentine's my love.

Price.

John and you were neighbors, you noticed he was a very busy man and you also noticed the food delivery service knocking at his door when he was around. That's how it started, you decided you wanted to give the poor man a proper meal when he's at home.

Eventually, you and him started to hangout and spend time together, it was clear for you the age difference between you and him, but who cares? The heart wants what it wants, but you know Price thinks differently, he told you about how insecure he feels when you're together and people of your Age approach to ask you for your number.

- You're a Sweetheart but people always think I'm your dad, have fun with people of your age, don't worry about me.

- John it'll be a Valentine's party! I won't go alone, I want to go with you but if you don't feel comfortable we can do something different, I don't mind.

In fact, you're so sweet, John doesn't know when or how exactly happened but he fell hard for you, you're younger than him but you talk as if you have the same experience as him, you are funny, you cook delicious, you're perfect for him, but he feels like he would be selfish for drag you to his way to live, he's not sure if you would be comfortable with something else than a friendship, he even talked about his dilemma with his boys.

- Cap, you're better than any man of her age, we're in a new era, Age is not a problem anymore.

- Gaz is right Captain, also if she prefers to spend time with you every time you're at home and cook for you doesn't make you think she probably feels the same way for you? Maybe love is in the air cap.

- I hate to say this, but maybe they're right Captain. Take the risk.

And that was all, that conversation made Price reconsider his options, and now here he is, cooking dinner for you, putting fresh flowers on the table and getting ready to confess what he has been feeling lately.

* knock, knock *

You look amazing, that blue outfit and the light make up definitely will make him fall at your feet, you also bring a very expensive but small present for him, today is the day, you will risk it all.

- Hey y/n, happy Valentine's, you are stunning today! Come in.

- Thanks John, you look very handsome too. oh! Before I forget, this is for you, I hope you like it

He opened the small box and oh my god, where did you get all the money you pay for that gorgeous watch? You're making very difficult for him to stop the urgency to kiss you.

- fuckin hell, is amazing, you didn't have to, I bet it costs a fortune...

- of course I needed, i couldn't stop to imagine it on your wrist! It's a classic!

He put the watch on his wrist, indeed you have a wonderful taste, it looks good on him.

- Doll, you didn't have to, I love it.

He couldn't contain himself, he hugged you, you tried to smell and retain in your lungs the perfume he was using, this man is so handsome, strong, elegant, he is perfect for you.

- come on sweetie, dinner is ready, do u want a drink?

- Sure, do you need help with something?

- Oh no, it's okay, all is under control, what do you want to drink? I have... Fuck, uh, I have water, sparkling water, juice, soda or whiskey, but if you want something else I can go to the store quickly.

You laughed, why is he so... Nervous?.

- John, it's fine, a Whiskey is perfect!

- alright love, a whiskey is on the way.

The meal was delicious, the conversation was funny and interesting, he taught you to dance a little, the drinks were also helping both of you to be brave.

- I have to sit, I'm getting older sweetie, you're a good dancer, I also have to give you your present, wait here...

He left the room and you sat on the table waiting impatiently, he was fast, he went back with a box with a pink big ribbon adorning it.

- Here it is, I... I spent a whole week looking for the perfect ones, I hope you like it.

You looked like a little kid on Christmas, you broke the paper, untied the ribbon and when you opened the box you found the most beautiful jewelry, the necklace was made of pearls and emeralds, the earrings were two small emeralds to match the necklace and a silver bracelet, you screamed with excitement, you stood up from your chair and gave small jumps.

- Jesus Christ! John... There's no way I can't accept all this, is amazing, is perfect, and I bet it's also fuckin' expensive!

- Doll, please accept it, you've been doing a lot for me since we met, it's the least I can do... And...

He took the bracelet and put it on your wrist, he held your hand carefully and put your hand under the light of a lamp.

- there's a secret message on the bracelet...

Indeed the bracelet had a message engraved. «To my one and only, I love you.»

You looked at him and he smiled at you nervously and before he could try to break eye contact you held his face with your free hand and kissed him.

- I love you too John Price, I love you too.

[kerubimcrepin]

An analysis of Joris Jurgen’s various fears and insecurities

Aka, Liveblog - Dofus, livre 1 : Julith [PART 9]

This scene is one of the most important pieces of Joris's characterization,  — because of what it shows us about Joris's inner thoughts, and how he came to be the person that he is.

Joris knows what he said to Kerubim was cruel. And the things that terrify him are both the guilt and the reaction Kerubim might have:

The guilt of knowing why Kerubim is like that: His life full of nothing but horrible things and tragedies, that made him vulnerable. And Joris just called him an old wreck, as if it's Kerubim's fault that he was wrecked to begin with.

And the fear that he will be too distraught to reason with. That Joris will have to grovel and beg for him to calm him down.

He probably deems himself selfish, for feeling bad about the idea of giving Kerubim an apology for everything he said. Selfish, because really, he does owe everything to him, does he not?

Joris is perfectly aware of his place in the world as an orphan. Kerubim didn't have to adopt him.

He could have tossed him out like a hot potato, and perhaps, for how grateful Joris is, it might be just what he deserves, as far as Joris is concerned.

Joris is more than aware that he's fortunate to even have a roof over his head and some semblance of a family. Both because of Lilotte, and Kerubim himself.

So feeling bad about anything concerning Kerubim is like looking a gift horse in the mouth.

And here's the jealousy I spoke of, earlier. He views Lilotte both as a friend, and as a rival for Kerubim's affections, — because his survival has always depended on Kerubim liking him.

It's why he's so anxious, and why his thoughts are so quick to spiral out of control, just like at this moment of the movie.

He has nothing going for him besides Kerubim. Absolutely no family to speak of. So, if Kerubim can't, or doesn't want to take care of him, he has nobody left.

Children learn very early on how to please their parents: and for Kerubim it's pure, uncomplicated love, with no drama, no hate involved.

And it's the reason he fears Joris growing up, and keeps treating him like a little kid, trying to offset the inevitable:

Subtly, these feelings of love become more and more complicated, as someone grows older.

It's why Joris tries so hard to mold himself into a comfortable image for him.

And yet, despite all his attempts, Joris finds himself growing up into yet another person scorned, — doomed to hurt Kerubim. Even though growing up and hurting Kerubim, whom he loves so much, is the last thing he wants.

Even though he has his own needs for respect and personal space now. These childhood experiences and pain make him into a very guarded person. To him, deep friendship is all about emotional labour and being infantilized.

Joris can't really be his own person as Kerubim's son, and nobody will ever take him seriously from a first glance, — he's faced with reminders of that in every aspect of his life. This has made him a creature of pride.

He has to work with every fibre of his being to seem serious, cool, and professional, — because otherwise, he is doomed to not be taken serious, and be considered a child yet again.

And he has every reason to feel that way. It's just a constant uphill battle to be recognized as an adult.

It's why he wants Kerubim and Atcham to act as his children, — he can't, he just can't have people he actually likes knowing about Kerubim, and risking them seeing him as subservient to the man, as his son.

It's a way of having Kerubim and Atcham treat him as an equal — as a superior, even.

Though he knows that Kerubim and Atcham will never actually think that way of him, it is enough.

They keep protecting him. And also, softly, making fun of him for these neuroticisms. But at least they don't think of him as child anymore.

And at least, he doesn't have to care about offending them, — a father is a creature that offends often, after all.

[moirindeclermont]

Happy Sunday!! Today prompts for my Polin Kinktober are Dirty Talking and Dacryphilia (which is a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing - this story is my version of that k!nk) also, there is going to be some exploration of body image issues, so if you're sensitive to that, keep that in mind. This is also more modern!au than regency.

Colin knew he had to stage an intervention.

He left Pen for a round of shopping and she come back almost in tears, not having found anything. Or to be precise, she did find plenty of stuff, but no one had her size. Which was also Colin experience, sometimes, being so tall, but it seems it weight on her a lot.

Which is why he staged that intervention. He don't have the pretence it would fix her problems, but maybe it will help her a bit.

His resolve straightened when he noticed she didn't ask him to follow in the showers as usual.

So, he did wait in their bedroom, already naked, for her to arrive.

She looked like a siren or a goddess, as she walked almost naked in their space.

She looked at him and smiled, knowing why he was here.

"How did you know I needed some of your reassurances?"

He smiled back, inviting her into the bed. "I know you sweetheart and how hard you are working on loving your body."

He did know. Hours and hours of therapy.

"I also know sometimes it is normal to have a little bit of a down. I want to help."

Pen caressed his cheek. "You been here helps, more than anything in the world. But yeah, proceed with your intervention."

She chuckled as she was kissing him.

"Lie down love and open the towel for me, please," he said, whispering against her ear.

She trembled a bit but she listened to him, her gorgeous body unveiled for him and him only.

Intervention was just a name he gave to this: he would undress Pen and calling her all the beautiful things she deserved until she was crying - the emotional release she needed after the physical one.

Colin loved to be able to do this for her, her tears and sob not because she was feeling ugly, but because his words and action made her feel beautiful and cherished.

He started by straddled her, caressing her cheek again.

"There is nothing I love more than losing myself in the splendor that are your eyes. They shine so bright when I'm near you. They become almost black when I do something you like. Your lips too are sinful just to look at, as I want them all over my body. Your tongue is a s devilish as the rest, making me feeling so good."

He accentuated each word with a soft touch on said parts that made her gasp and tremble slightly.

He kissed her again, deeply, before moving down.

"I don't think the poets have yet thought of a word good enough to describe what I feel when I can see your lovely neck on display," he stopped to give a light bite to said neck, making her giggle, "and you know that your breasts are my religion. I have never seen something so transcendental. Full and round, and the way the flesh spills when I squeeze them," he said, squeezing them, "if I could I would make you forsake every bra, so I would just access to these beauties every single time."

He paused to give each breast a kiss and a light suck on the nipple, making her moan.

"You waist and your tummy. I know how you feel about them, but I love every roll and every stretch mark. So good under my hands, it makes me want to kneel in worship," he whispered, squeezing and touching, while his tongue followed some of her stretch marks. Pen was looking at him, her eyes shining with unshed tear as he went down.

"The curve of your stomach that dips into your mound. I dream about that curve. If I was good at math, I would find its equation, because somehow I can grab it as it was made just for me," he added, demonstrating his statement. He went on her hips and her thighs, a kidding where she was most sensitive for now.

"I tremble the first time I touched your thigh. This creamy expanse of skin and muscle and, yes, fat... Because it's not a bad word, I love how you squeeze me when I put my cock there."

And then, her ass "you don't know how many times I almost fall, just walking, because I was lost looking at your fantastic ass moving." He confessed, hearing her laugh softly.

"And this pussy," he said opening her legs wider "this pussy is my religion. Your auburn curls glistening with arousal at my words, the way your vagina clutch and stretch around my cock. Your clit, the source of your pleasure. My altar on which I give myself to you." He put one finger on her slit, finding her wet.

"I love eating you while my hands find every dip and curve of your body," and then he did just so, teasing her with tongue and mouth as his hands went to touch her hips and waist, her stomach and her thighs, all the places he most loved.

"Fùck, Pen... I need you," he said breathless and as she nodded, he align himself, entering slowly.

"The way you accept me inside you," he said before starting thrusting, "so wet and warm, it's like you were made for me."

He lift her legs and put them on his shoulder, chasing the right angle.

Pen was sobbing by now, he left her tears untouched as she was watching him, moaning her pleasure. "Pen, my love. You are everything I always dreamed and more," he said as tears were falling on his face too. He didn't care. She was more important.

They released almost at the same time, Colin slightly before Pen, as if his orgasm triggered hers as well.

Only then he moved, kissing her again and tasting their tears combined. It was always so emotional for both of them, when they did it like this, but as they cuddled and whispering love words to each other, they had not a care on the world.

Colin did make Pen laugh the next morning: he sad he would start a sewing course, so he could make her dresses she liked.

[a-sweeter-solarsystem]

A handful of awoken headcanons i've been thinking about,,,

(image ID and more details below the cut)

First and foremost awoken should have fangs. Full stop. Give them sharp teeth please,,,

Secondly, while I do love the idea of leaning into that whole "space elf" vibe the awoken give off, I don't think having large pointed ears is the move. If anything their ears would be ever so slightly sharper. Like if you scrunched the top of your ear a little bit just for it to look sharper, without changing the shape of the rest of the ear all that much.

Both of these are stuff that, if an awoken and human had a kid, would likely be passed onto them! There's a lot of genetic funkiness that would go into deciding what traits would win out but it would still be things that would get picked up and carried down with the generation.

Speaking of fun genetics, markings!! I genuinely think it's just a random chance thing. Like you either have it or you don't. You can't control the marking either, so you're not really gonna end up seeing an awoken kid match 1:1 with their parent. It's really common to see awoken with line markings because those are easy patterns for awoken skin to figure out. More detailed patterns, however, tend to be a bit harder to pass down or can become a bit of a blur over time (think vitiligo. It doesn't always stay as a small lil blurb, that stuff grows over time without anything to counter it)

I also make note of it being more common in guardians because guardians are more likely to gain markings after being revived. Many, many awoken guardians were born without markings but later gained them after they were revived. Not saying it's rare for awoken to be born with markings!!! It's just more common to see them be acquired later on!

anyway yeah i'm still brainstorming a lot of these but they're traits I try to remember to show in my art bc I think it's neat ヽ(‘ ∇‘ )ノ

I also have some more ideas about awoken skin and cultural variations between distributary, reefborne, and earthborne awoken,, but those I think would be for another post cause that gets really rambly really fast ajfklsdjf

[Image ID: A collection of sketchy head doodles and written text. The top left figure looks unsure and has his mouth open, showing his fangs. He has short, messy hair and a lace-like facial marking covering the top part of his face.

The text next to it points with an arrow to the figure and reads "Awoken have sharper, more pronounced canines compared to humans." There is a small mouth with sharp fangs under this text.

The top figure to the right is smiling with their eyes closed. Their fangs are also being shown, and they are resting their cheek on their hands. The figure has short hair as well, though their hair is slightly longer and lays party over the side of their face. They have horseshoe-like markings on both of their eyes.

There are two pieces of text next to them. The top text reads "This trait often passes to hybrid offspring." The bottom text points to the figure with an arrow and reads "Half human Half awoken"

There is text in the bottom left that reads "Awoken headcanons" followed by a watermark for the blog a-sweeter-solarsystem.

There is another figure in the bottom left. They are in a side profile view, and are looking off towards something behind them. The figure has simple, line markings on the top and bottom of their cheek and eye. Their hair is tied in a bun. There are two drawings of an ear next to them. One ear is labeled as "human" and the other, a slightly more pointed ear, is labeled "awoken". There is a line pointing to the top of the awoken ear with a text label that reads "Slight point".

The text next to this figure reads "Awoken ears are ever so slightly pointed. Enough to be noticeable up close. Not from afar."

There are two chibi-style figures to the bottom right of the screen. One is a rounder version of the first figure in the top left of the screen. The second is a figure with a bob haircut and has small dark lines as a marking in the middle of her forehead.

The text above the two says "Markings are far more common in guardians. Related does not mean you'll have similar markings either!".

There are two sets of labels pointing to the figures. The first label reads "siblings". The second label reads "Shares a father, different mothers".

/End ID]