#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! ❤️

[sol91]

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.

[impact-theater]

𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓

Pairing: yandere!Xianyun, yandere!Ga ming

TW: yandere, obession, self-aware

You've collected 60 wishes for this banner. Ever since you saw Ga Ming, and then Xianyun, you knew you needed them in your team! Especially when you saw their leaks!

89%... this game is really taking forever to uploud. You might as well go grab yourself a cup of coffee.

Inside the game, there was fight going on you didn't knew about!

─ "They'll be here soon!" - Ga ming panicked, going all around wishing screen

─ "I wouldn't count on that. They just went to get cup of coffee and still have 3 more procent." - While Xianyun kept her calm, not bothered by how fast the bar went

─ "It can pass in a second! I just bet my cutie will first wish for me and I will appear in their first 10 wishes!" - boy fixed his hair and brushed off the non existing dust from his shoulders

─ "As you wish. I'm taking their first wish." - woman said with her eyes closed and her face unbothered

You came back to your pc to find game already installed! You could only click "launch" and let the white screen blind you as you took a sip of your coffee.

Xianyun stood up, fixing her glasses and began walking to her banner space, stopping in front of brown-red haired boy first though...

─ "I wouldn't mess with Cloud Retainer on your place." - she kept her head high, so only her eyes looked down at the boy. her voice somehow menacing

─ "I'm willing to risk ANYTHING for them to see my fice as first thing after loading." - Ga ming on the other hand seemed to not get scared at all and instead kept his face courageful

While you finally entered the game. You claimed all the rewards possible before finally clicking on the wishing icon. Immidietly seeing Xianyun and Ga ming you smiled, getting any of your ritual objects ready.

Ga ming already had a big grin, so luckily he didn't had to hold back from that. What he needed to hold back from was blush that was risking being more and more visible. While Xianyun, having rather cold face, needed to keep herself back from cracking smallest smile or else you'd notice.

Seeing you had not 60 but 61 wishes, you decided to challange the fate and do one single wish first! Promising yourself oh so dearly outloud that you'll main and triple crown whoever comes first.

In that 2 seconds of making a wish, happened more than you could imagine. Ga ming runned like he never did, motivated to make his cuties day. Though Cloud Retainer seemed to not stand back and watch as she made sure to pass the boy. Surprisingly they arrived at your screen almost at the same time!

Well... almost...

On your screen appeared woman with long black-green hair and name "Xianyun" above 5 stars on left.

You let out small squeak and Xianyun couldn't help but crack a grin which she quickly turned into well known cold face to not raise suspicion.

You clicked the x button hoping to check out skills but you were surprisingly stopped... you saw image of boy with brown-red hair, name "Ga ming" above 4 stars on the left...

─ "Weird... I only made one wish..." - you thought to yourself, thinking it as of a simple bug. well at least you gained 2 wanted characters just like that!

After clicking x again, you returned to simple wish screen you knew. Leaving Xianyun and Ga ming enough time to talk again before you check any of their profiles.

─ "Do you realize what you just did?" - woman asked furrowing her eyebrows

─ "Oh don't tell me you wanted to see cutie's sad face when they wouldn't get me!" - boy asked furrowing his eyes in response, his tone slightly annoyed

─ "No, I'm saying that if they or anyone who discovers about this reports it to Hoyoverse, they'll fix this 'bug' in a second. You might loose your self-awarness and so may I."

─ "Oh it won't happen! They're gonna triple crown me after all~"

─ "They saw me first I'm afraid."

─ "Maybe. But they said they're gonna triple crown whoever end in their first pull! And that was me as well!"

Xianyun rolled her eyes, annoyed by boy's confidence. She looked at your happy face from the other side of the screen and smiled on her own.

─ "How cute you are, my dear~" - she thought seeing you clicking on "characters" button

─ "I can't wait untill you start to main ME~" - he thought seeing you hesitating who to check out first

Author note: I wanted to write something based on actual genshin bug or so but since these 2 are coming out, I decided to just do classic self-aware fic. Still thinking of what next to do sooo I'll figure it out later!

[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."

[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.

[snail-eggs]

Can we please hear more of your beautiful thoughts on Craig Boone?

my god, anon, do you know how long I've been contemplating this ask? I have so many thoughts and none of them are simple enough for me to put into words sdhfdf.

Boone is one of many canon characters I often rotate in my head, both because of the fact that I am currently writing a fic with him and just because he's a fascinating guy. He's got this country boy stoicism to him (thank you Rags for using that phrase to describe him. I will never forget it) that I think people don't really use to their advantage?

It's really easy to ignore the depths of his character when you don't know the type and don't see it walking around every day: stoic, quiet men who would rather gut themselves in front of their mother than talk about their feelings. There is such an inherent softness in that fear of vulnerability. Like they want to make themselves an impermeable wall to protect themselves and I think that much is true for Boone, especially after Carla. In my mind, that softness had a lot more space to shine while she was alive. I feel like it's obvious (at least to me) that Boone became hardened by her death, by having caused it---this isn't anything new. If anything, it's so easy to read that it is in the text of the game itself. But Boone, as I write him, is sort of subconsciously fighting the desire to want to be soft again, even if just a little. It's why he has these moments of tenderness with my courier; Craig Boone, not the man we know that has been hardened by his actions but Boone, the man that is still in there, craving love and tenderness like any other human being is begging to be set free.

But then, of course, there's this conscious effort to suppress that. He doesn't want to want that, doesn't think he deserves any of it---at least not anymore. Whether he does or doesn't actually deserve it is irrelevant in this all because he isn't operating on fact or the absolution that Six gives him time and time again. He's already resigned himself regardless of it all.

And that grief, that resignation, sends me on kind of a spiral. Like, how would it have changed his behaviors, mannerisms, the subtle things, you know?

This is pure headcanon that I'm pulling out of my ass here, but I think, Carla's death especially, made him more militant. Made him want to cling to routine and fill his day so that he never had time to think about her for even a second. Never had the space for the image of her in his sights to pop in and break him all over again. I imagine that he hyperfocused on the little things: on the cleanliness and machinations of his rifle, the exact time, down to the minute, at which he ate every day, every person he recognized coming through Novac and which direction they went off in when they left. He wouldn't let his hair grow. Would take a razor to it every other morning, sometimes dry because he felt that he deserved the burn of it. Everything oscillates between discipline and punishment with him and nothing else.

Realistically, I could go on for hours about him but I also don't know quite what to say without like a specific question. I guess this was my long-winded way of justifying his baldness and subsequent un-baldness in my fic but whatever. Thank you so much, anon, this was fun!

[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.

[youkaiyume]

So had my consultation with the Oncologist today. (That's a doctor specializing in cancer btw) And it was a lot and also not a lot of information. But also, I finally saw the imaging of my bffs the ovarian cysts. Gross medical things under the cut:

HOLY SHIT I know the left one was huge but apparently both my right and left ovaries are sporting cysts larger than grapefruits each. They're literally shoving all of my organs out of the way what space is there for anything else down there???? And I have a small pelvis, no wide child bearing hips on this gal. The doctor said they are probably dermoid cyst which can have all sorts of things floating in there in addition to fluid like... hair and skin--and she said they detected calcium so I possibly have TEETH in there??? TEETH.

She also said that the cancer markers were high. like really high. Like normal is 30 and my readings were 3600--100x more than normal. She still said that she doesn't think it's cancer because nothing else internally looks like it's affected and there have been one other case who was like, in the 7000 marker that turned out to be nothing. But Also it could mean if it was some type of cancer that it was in the early stages. HOW FUN.

They won't know for sure though until they test the cysts themselves and that can't happen until they surgically remove them. After making sure I don't want children she says that they'll still try to leave me some ovary... nubbins? Nubs of ovaries. just enough to still produce estrogen because they don't want to force early menopause by taking out both of my ovaries cuz apparently that causes a bunch of other health issues I'm too young for. But also if worst comes to worst and it IS cancer they might have to just take all the girl bits out. The ovaries, a hysterectomy. The works. Which is fine I don't ever plan to have children and if I did I wanted to adopt anyway. Again, can't know until they test my GRAPEFRUIT CYSTS.

I have yet to hear back from the scheduling lady for a confirmed surgery date but hopefully it will be two weeks from now. They did warn me that hopefully they can just peel the cysts off and they will do their best to make sure none of it is left but there is an unlikely event that the cyst could burst mid surgery. Which they said they'll try to clean up if that happens but if it does I might have to be hospitalized again just so they can flush all the...cyst juice out. But ALSO because it is potentially cancerous and they don't know we really don't want that to happen cuz you know. the cancer could spread. And ALSO hopefully in the time that I am waiting for surgery we also hope that the cysts don't burst.

I'm totally not an anxiety puddle HAHAHA. I'm staying optimistic but it's still a big waiting game of I don't really know and I won't know for weeks. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

[mrs-monaghan]

He wanted to stay at Jimin's house like he used to before all this.

I've been hearing it from lot of Jkkrs. But are you sure 😭 he was living with JM. Yes we have few similar car moments but other than that ? There is no info

Why would there be in4? Do you know what being in the closet means? You sound stupid

Okay, it has been a very eventful day. But I'll tackle one Jikook ask for the road coz I got 1AM on my end.

Anon, Jikookers have something called common sense. Thats how we came to the conclusion that Jikook were living together and even though it might just be occasionally rn for their safety, I will be using present tense.

When members first moved out, Jimin was the only one who purchased a dilapidated house and anyone could tell he sure as hell wasn't living there. So all 6 others were accounted for except him. So where was he living? Then him and JK were sharing cars all the time. For years. Not "a few moments". And when Hopekook became neighbours, we saw Jhope, Jimin and JK share cars a few times. Again, super sus. Why was it always Jikook at the crime scene?

Anyway, let's look at a few moments in no particular order.

Exhibit a) Spotted outside JK's apartment multiple times.

Exhibit b) Namkook on that one live and RM talked about the cafe infront of their house.

Why is he using our and why is JK nodding in agreement? Last I checked Minimoni are the ones who live in 9/1 not JK.

Moving on

Exhibit c) JK says he will make pizza while looking straight at Jimin which is what prompted Jimin to think he was talking about their home.

Tweet

But then JK clarified that no, he meant at work.

Exhibit d)

When they go home, JK will let Jimin rest. Right. Not sus at all.

Exhibit e) I feel like this sentence went over people's heads.

Jimin doesn't wake up and go look for Jungkook. He wakes up and the first thing he sees, is JK. Thats literally everything right there. Honestly. But sure, I got more.

Exhibit f) My memory is hazy on the context. But RM asked JK why he had watched something. I don't remember what. But JK replied that he watched it because he was at home with him. Him in this case being Jimin.

Exhibit g) Jimin was project manager for BE. So as they were winding up RM told everyone to send their shit to Jimin once they were done.

This part conveniently doesn't get translated but Karmy were kind enough to let us know, when JK taps Jimin's thigh he says; I'll just show it to you.

To recap, anon. Jimin will be at home so everyone else needs to send him their work but JK doesn't need to because he can just show it to him. Because he will already be there with him.

Exhibit h) A favourite of mine. So basically their favorite chef comes over for this episode and brings with him 7 knives including for Suga in absentia. So just so we understand, 7 members, 7 knives.

Basically, members are trying to one up each other and JK is like "we got 2 knives so we win" 👀 Are y'all getting that? Every member left with 1 knife each, but the Park Jeons are way ahead of them because they have 2 knives. Why is JK counting Jimin's knife??

(Side bar: Jimin's face is everything. He knows bae is slipping but he can't do anything without calling attention to it 😂😂)

Exhibit i) Last one since I'm out of image space. This one came from our president. Jimin tells us he hangs about at home naked and Jhope added that JK is usually in charge of music. Jimin's face was e👏🏾very👏🏾thing!👏🏾

Tweet

There you have it. Jikook live together. Jikook boyfriends. Jikook real.

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 9}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Back on Tatooine, where you once resided, a lot of thoughts and emotions consume you. Trying your best to field them while Din is away on a job with an eager young man who is willing to prove himself worthy of joining the very Guild that Din betrayed.

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, gun violence, ptsd, trauma, nightmares, physical illness, vomiting, avoidance of food, food trauma, physical descriptions of injuries (brief), thoughts of suicidal ideation, mention of past suicide attempt, mentions of past self-harm (not detailed), description of scars, body image issues, sexual trauma, mention of past SA (not detailed / brief), reference to past captivity / slaving environment, major angst, mental illness

A/N: hello, hello. a lot has been going on in my personal life and i had exams due last week. i received a comment on chapter 7 regarding san's mental health and how it felt 'rushed' bc she didn't exhibit typical trauma responses 'enough'. and while i appreciate the reader reaching out, to hear that i'm not writing an angsty enough exploration of her experiences and trauma was a little disheartening, bc i don't want to write such a full bodied character with a rich background to feel 'glossed over'. especially with having planned exactly that for this chapter. healing isn't linear, good moments and passages of time where things almost seem to be okay is completely normal. so with that in mind, this is a rather heavy chapter, i've had it planned for a while to explore san's mental state now that there is no impending return to her mother or inherent survival instincts she's reliant on with din willing to watch out for and protect her. thank you all for reading, i appreciate each and every one of you, you have no idea how much

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

Sparks flew inside the control room as you rushed to your seat, hands grabbing onto anything it could to help keep balance as you did so, the ship wavering heavily with the effort it was taking to keep the course of flight steady. Alarm blaring to let the pilot and crew know that some damage was taken from a successful hit to one of the engines. Din seemed to be collected, but you could tell that being tracked by another person piloting a ship the second he dropped out of hyperspace was a worry to him. The ship sputtered loudly as the same engine took another hit.

“Hold on.” He announced as he maneuvered the ship into a smooth spiral. The movement offset your sense of gravity and you shut your eyes tight as he tried to evade the determined attacker. One the ship was back into a right side up path, he was muttering to himself too low for you to hear over the cacophony of the ship and blasters raining down all around, some of them zooming past you into the empty space around the ship before tapering off with nothing to land on and cause damage. The bright red of their beams lighting up the near darkness of the control room.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” The voice transmission crackled with static as Din quickly jerked one of the few gear shifts, this one seeming to be for some sort of speed control system as the ship lurched to a halt. The spare second of silence with the engines ceasing operation was broken by a twin wooshes that made you think enough damage was done in such a short time that the ship would falter and you’d be left floating dead in space with no running mechanics. Your chest panged with the force of falling forward and the belt around you dug into your front. As soon as you were able to, you turned your head over to the Child, seeing him struggling just the same as you, if not more so due to his size.

With the attacking ship now in front of the Crest, Din quickly locked onto it, the screen beeping with a good track.

“That’s my line.” His voice was even, only a hint of the annoyance he was feeling seeping through before he fired a hit with every blaster canon that was still operating. The ship exploded in front of you with a roar, the flare of it so bright it lit up the control room in a red and orange hue.

Alarms were still blaring as Din tried to gather diagnostics. He only managed to come to one conclusion before the engines powered down and sent you all into darkness, either by his hand or of their own accord to conserve power: the ship was losing fuel.

“Can you flip that back up switch on the wall behind you?”

“Oh, um, yes. Of course.” You unbuckled the belt from around you, still feeling it pressing into your skin even though it had lost its tension. Standing swiftly, you felt around the wall for what he was talking about and flipped it. As soon as you did, a faint red glow signaled that some things were back up and running, drawing from whatever power you had just engaged. He was busy switching switches and pressing controls, trying to get the ship to sputter back to life as much as possible. He seemed to know what he was doing as the engines kicked back on and the ship was moving through space once again.

All was quiet for a few moments of travel until the brightness of an approaching planet came into view, growing to encompass most of the view from the control room as it loomed closer.

“This is Mos Eisley Tower, we are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.”

“Copy that, locked in for three-five.”

“He’s fast asleep.” You carefully cradled the Child in your hands, having decided to bathe him while the ship closed in and landed on the planet. He was snoring quietly, the sound rather cute. It had been a challenge, he was small enough to fit in the fresher sink but he hadn’t been a fan of the water temperature the second it had begun to cool during the endeavor. You had just cooed to him, letting him know with soft words that he was alright and could sleep as long as he liked afterwards.

“We can secure him in my room, while we go and get a lay of the land.”

When you didn’t say anything in response or move to place the bundle in the small space, Din came up behind you and placed a hand on your upper arm in a silent question. It took you a moment to gather your thoughts, to figure out how to best explain your hesitancy without seeming too…you didn’t even know. You felt guilt for nearly leaving the small being behind in your attempt to run away from your own fate. Abandoning the only other being who you knew had gone through what you had as your temple got stormed and destroyed all those years ago. How easy it had been for you to defer to self-interest and preservation when he was so reliant and those around him. Another victim you hadn’t even given any thought to. He could easily fall into another situation like the one that you had both found yourselves in, captive at the hands of someone willing to sell you for their best interest. But he couldn’t fight his way out of it like you could.

“He’s…he’s so small, what if he wakes up and get confused?” Your breath shuddered as you spoke, giving away the emotions you felt consumed by.  You avoided looking over at the man close by, not wanting him to get a better read on your thoughts than he already was by the was you were having trouble speaking and muscles so tight you were worried they would snap if you moved too fast.

“He’ll be okay, we won’t be gone long.”

You nodded before securing him in his own little hammock, the door to the small space shutting and locking behind you as you followed the man down the ramp and into the sunlight. As you did so, three small droids no taller than your knees began to approach with various tools in their hands. The suddenness of Din brandishing his blaster and firing a shot toward them had your next step faltering. Confusion colored your expression at the rather admittedly pointless action.

“Hey!”

A short woman with extremely curly hair in a jumpsuit appeared from inside the hangars enclosed space, brandishing a heavy-duty diagnostic clipboard at him.

“You damage one of my droids, you’re gonna have to pay for it!”

“Just keep them away from my ship.” Din pointed a finger at them as they had popped back up from their cowering crouches and busied themselves in the presence of their owner.

“Yeah? Think that’s a good idea, do you? Let’s look at your ship.” Her eyes took in the tall form of the armored man in front of her, flickering to you behind him still atop the ramp, hidden mostly in the shadows of the interior. You had stopped following so closely as the blaster shot had rang through the air, not wanting to cause any trouble of your own. It was now, you were realizing, that you hadn’t really seen the man interact with another person in such a setting. The display he was putting on new to you after putting so much distance on direct interactions back on Sorgan. You had never actually seen him in a larger, more intricate setting.

Of course he would be different than when alone with you, the cautious and careful demeanor reserved only for you and the Child. Gruff nature seeming to be the way he operated with other people, new people. He didn’t mince words, you realized, and was a man of so little to begin with. It would make sense he had no notion of alluding to things, saying them plainly as they came to him. As the mechanic took a precursory look over the rather battered ship, you adjusted the cloak over your shoulders, making sure the front panels of it covered the handle of your weapon that was fastened to your belt.

The hemming and hawing of the mechanic filled the space with a one-sided conversation as you and Din watched her swivel about, taking stock of things that needed to be repaired and the damage done in such a small interaction.

“How did you even land? That’s gonna set you back.” She stepped away from the ship, facing the armored man directly now. Her expression was serious, the glint in her eye letting you know she was confident in her skills and knowledge to know that what she said was true. That most people didn’t argue with her when she told them what was wrong with their ships.  

“I’ve got 500 Imperial credits.” Was his easy response as he reached into a hidden pouch on his belt, pulling out a small pouch.

“That’s all you got?” She swiped the pouch from his offered hand harshly, as if worried he was only brandishing them at her and not actually going to hand them over in exchange for the work. She turned to address the droids that were still milling about the hangar space. “Well, what do you guys think?”

They only chittered in response, now all gathered beside her.

“That should at least cover the hangar.” Her eyes darted from him to you and back.

“I’ll get you your money.” His visor was tilted down as he addressed her seriously, no notes of betrayal in his tone.

“Hmm, I’ve heard that before.” She turned her full attention and sharp eyes to you, apparently done talking with him. “What, your wife not have anything to contribute?”

You resisted the urge to correct her and when Din didn’t your stomach did a flip. You tried not to let that little detail wiggle its way into your already overwhelmed mind, not wanting to dispel energy on overthinking the exchange. She focused on him again, seeing that you weren’t going to respond based on the way you had tensed slightly at her words.

“She’s to help earn credits to pay for the repairs as well.” He didn’t turn toward you as he spoke, keeping his gaze on the rather animated mechanic in front of him. “Just remember-“

“Yeah, no droids. I heard ya. You don’t have to say it twice.” Before she even finished talking, Din was walking off toward what you assumed was an exist route that opened up into the street of Mos Eisley.

His figure disappeared up the small set of steps that lead to it without so much as a glance over his shoulder to see if you were following.

“Jeez. Whomp rat.” The mechanic muttered under her breath. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the exchange, it was so interesting to see him interact with someone who didn’t seem to be afraid or intimidated by him in the slightest. She reminded you a bit of Cara and it softened your heart despite the words she had used to address you.

“You coulda picked a nicer man. With better people skills, no idea how he managed to get you.”

“He’s alright most of the time.” You offered her a small smile, reaching into your own pocket. Ignoring the way your chest fluttered at the insinuation of her words, you held out a small pouch of credits to her as well. You had divvied up your own currency when taking stock of things last night, wanting to keep some aboard the ship, some in your bag, and some on your person in case anything should arise. You had forgone your bag today, opting to leave it on the ship since you didn’t anticipate being gone long despite not knowing what was on the mental do-to list of your companion.

“For your troubles.” She reached out far more gently than she had with Din. Opening the pouch to quickly look over what you had just handed her. She looked up to you, with a cheeky grin you weren’t too sure how to read.

“This will help cover the repair for the fuel line, but it’s a lot of damage.”

“We’ll get you the money, you have my word.” As you turned, the front of your cloak lifted with a gust of wind, your weapon glinting in the sunlight. Her eyes widened slightly at the exposure of it, but her demeanor didn’t change in the slightest. She simply nodded at you and waved you away to get started on the repairs. Turning her attention to the droids, she started barking orders of things for them to fetch her.

The streets were busy, the further you followed Din into the city, away from the hangar and the outskirts that bled into the openness of the desert. You tried to keep a distance of a few feet behind him, but he was a fast walker. As he turned a corner, you spied a display of storm trooper helmets mounted on spikes and your heart nearly stopped. Steps faltering, you stood in front of them and took in the rust and blood that had been baked into the metal from the heat of the suns. They had to have been here for years. But for all the Maker was good, you couldn’t recall ever seeing the set up before during your previous time on the planet. Maybe you had been too preoccupied, maybe it had been a recent installment as a result of a battle?

You knew there were Imperial remnants scattered all over the galaxy, that much was to be expected after such an all-encompassing and long regime. But you hadn’t faced an actual storm trooper since before your capture, when whispers of the Empire falling had just begun to spread through word of mouth and the destruction of the Death Star was still a startling event. You had considered coming out of hiding then, to reach out to the few who had been rumored to help eradicate the whole organization. But you had been scared, worried, ashamed.

The names Luke and Leia Skywalker said on every planet, ushered in reverent tones. You hadn’t been in touch with the Force much during those days, your saber locked away in a trunk and buried deep in the place you hadn’t been able to call home, despite being there for so long at that point. Meditation and practiced routines with a wooden staff had been all that you kept up from your training, worried about drawing attention by doing anything else even that far out into the desert with no one the wiser of where you were.

Your mind was trying fruitlessly to supply a reason as to why they were there in front of you, but it couldn’t. It just was. Glaringly, jarringly there.

“They got what was comin’ to them.” A passerby nodded at you, noticing the way you seemed almost frozen in your stance. You nodded back to them, not willing to verbally speak with the person. They moved on down the street, in the direction opposite of where you had been following Din’s lead. The man’s steps were shuffling, while Din’s were not. The armored man was suddenly beside you and when you turned back around you tried not to let your surprise show.

He looked from you to the helmets and back. The heat of his eyes through the visor could rival the suns for all the concentration he was focusing on you in that moment. As if he was trying to read everything, he could from the way wrinkles formed over your brow as it had furrowed to the slightest downturn of your lips as your gaze focused on the display before you and he was catching a glimpse of the memories playing behind them.

“Cuyir gar jate?”

Are you okay?

Pitched low, a few feet from you, you would be the only one to hear his words. They didn’t register for a second, your thoughts consuming you again the moment white armor filled your gaze. Anxiety hummed through you, making your fingers and arms tingle, your legs tense. Your lungs felt much like they had when still healing from the metal that had made a home in and around them, all those weeks ago, it was hard to take a full breath.

“Elek, ni ceta.”

Yes, I’m sorry.

“Nayc linibar at cuyir.  Ni shi turned rud bal gar rucuyir dar.”

No need to be. I just turned around and you were gone.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, a breath of space between the pauldrons atop his and the fabric of your cloak. Being this close allowed you the realization that he made up a large, broad figure. Intimidating to some, but you were beginning to see around the walls he had meticulously built and underneath the armor. Privy to things most people never would be, all because he was letting you. Maybe letting him catch a glimpse of your own nature would be helpful…

“Ganar gar ru'akaanir ti verde?”

Have you fought with them before?

“Elek, val ru'ram'or te jetiise bajur-taap.” 

Yes, they attacked the Jedi school.

“Pehea ruug'la rucuyir gar?”

How old were you?

“Ta'raysh.”

Ten.

Silence fell, something permeating it that you didn’t want to explore. Emotions overwhelming and the conversation too real to handle, despite giving the man answers to the questions he had asked. Having wanted to provide answers to him. He had wanted to know, however small and painful, he had wanted to know. You could understand that, you were traveling on his ship after all. Of course he wanted to know some things about you. Needing to be alone, to not have the weight of the visor trained on you, you took a step back and looked down the street to your right. A faint buzz of conversation and movement could be heard from further down, indicating that the marketplace wasn’t too far from your position.

“Ni linibar kebise, cuyir bic jate par ni at slanar?”

I need some things, is it okay for me to go?

Feeling the small tug at the corner of your mouth as you try to mask your emotions from the man in front of you, you cut your eyes at him to get a glimpse. The visor stayed still, facing the display of the helmets still, but that didn’t mean that where his attention was focused. He could’ve very well been clocking the nerves that were sparking all along your body as anxiety smoldered inside and you would be none the wiser.

“Urcir norac sha te crest?”

Meet back at the Crest?

All you could manage was a single nod of confirmation before you were walking away from him, down a side street.

There was no trace of you other than the collection of things that had been deposited atop the makeshift table when Din returned to the hangar and ascended the ramp into the Crest. He scanned the space of the hold, not finding any other hints as to where you were other than your cloak neatly folded and placed atop the crate he had given you to store your belongings in. Heaving a sigh, he went to retrieve a bag of his own when the open door of his quarters caught his attention. The small space was empty, the blanket you had wrapped the Child in laying in a crumpled heap right in the middle of the cot.

“Hey!” His voice boomed across the hangar as he bounded down the ramp with quick steps, tension drawing him tight and sparking the beginning of a headache about his temples. The unknown on top of the questions he hadn’t been able to keep quelled earlier today in front of those kriffing helmets. The stab of fear that he pushed you had made his chest tight underneath the armor until you had given him answers. Something he had so selfishly sought out from you, knowing he had to right. But you had shared with him.

The commotion of the mechanic jolting awake could be heard from somewhere within the enclosed area of the surrounding infrastructure. Calls of her being there and awake making their way to his ears as he tried to push down the panic that rose in him the longer he didn’t know where you or the Kid were.

Surely you wouldn’t have just taken him and run? You couldn’t have, you had all but promised him you would return to the ship. Why would you have purchased whatever you had and left it only to disappear with the Child?

“Where is he?” Din gruffly demanded as her small form appeared, cradling the Child in her arms.   

“Quiet! Oh, you woke it up!” She spoke between soft hushes and bounces in an attempt to calm him down. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?”

“Give him to me.” Din pointed a finger at her, letting his anger and emotions get the better of him in light of the unknown

“Not so fast.” She fired back at him, her own annoyance flaring at his aggressive behavior. “You know, you have an awful lot to learn about raising a young one. At least your wife, really nice girl, came back and asked me to watch over him if he woke up.”

“She left?” His tone was still harsh, but not as loud now, as he realized everything seemed okay. It was good, you had come back and tended to the Child when you dropped off whatever you had gotten at the marketplace. Visor aimed at the now calm form of the Child, taking in the way he seemed to be okay at the mention of you and in the arms of the mechanic. He was gazing up at her with wide, curious eyes.

“Said she needed a few more things but wanted to check on the little one. A load more responsible than you, not even telling me he was on board all alone.”

“Was… she okay when she returned?” Din was hesitant to ask but pushed through the feeling because the need to know overwhelmed him. He could ask you, he was aware of that, but you would most likely give a perfunctory answer. Something to appease him and seem like everything was okay or at least that you have everything under control. But the shouting, the nightmare, the crying he could hear from the shower the night before. The way you had seemed so hopeless and fragile when you said you could still feel their hands all over you…

It was concerning. Din could help to heal your body, heal you of physical injuries and tend to them as they required. Should you allow him to. But mentally? He had no idea how to even offer his help, beyond pulling you to him and making you feel safe. But even that could be in poor taste, he was realizing, when so much of your trauma stemmed from physical touch in the first place. 

“Seemed alright, a little anxious. Was kind enough to bring me some lunch.”

“Did she eat?”

“I don’t know, I’m not her keeper.” The mechanic tempered back with a huff. She seemed to soften momentarily, as she hushed and bounced the Child in her arms once again. “I didn’t see it, but she could’ve while out and about.”

She continued on to let him know the progress on the ship, messing with the diagnostic readings on the mechanics she had hooked the ship up to. As she spoke, he retrieved the bag he had come back for, letting it hang from his hand in favor of tossing it over his shoulder. With a rather pointed remark about starting the other repairs aside from the fuel line, she glanced down at the cooing Kid in her arms.

“I figured you were good for the money, since you have an extra mouth to feed and the reassurances of your wife.”

“Thank you,” His words were sincere, relief flooding him as everything did seem to be okay. You had come back with a promise to return, talked to the mechanic to check on the progress of the repairs, assured her of proper payment, and acted with responsibility.

The mechanic seemed momentarily taken aback by his genuine thanks, much like you had been when he first extended what comforts he could provide to you.

As you rounded the corner, with a heavy second haul of items, you took notice of the scene in front of the hangar door. There was a young man beside two speeders, the mechanic who was holding the Child securely in her arms, and Din, who you could sense was rather tense even from the distance.

“Hey, Mando. What do you think?” A younger man preened as he leaned back against one of the two speeders parked outside of the hanger. He was about your height, if not a bit taller. Dark hair, an earring glinted in the two-fold sunshine beaming down on the planet, and predominantly black outfit with blue accents and vest. No armor adorned his body. Seemingly proud of himself for collecting them at what you were sure was the behest of Din, possibly for a job he managed to find. “Not too shabby, huh?”

Din was busy placing his bag atop the one closest to him, walking up and down the length of it as he looked it over. You watched him as he did so, approaching the small group.

“What’d you expect? This ain’t Corelia.” The young man nodded his head in greeting toward the mechanic. She didn’t seem too impressed, but the Child giggled in her arms, drawing attention to himself. Your approaching figure caught the young man’s attention and his brows disappeared into his dark hairline as you looked you over.

You had forgone your cloak for your second run into the city, needing to try on vambraces and some other items. That left you in your high collared tank top, your upper arms exposed and feeling the heat of the day. Your saber was secured inside the pouch fastened by two straps to your right thigh, over the black of your form fitting trousers. You had already made the knee pads you purchased as a part of your attire. In a huff of exasperation in the middle of the marketplace, you had braided your hair to one side and looped it on along the back of your neck with a pin.

“And who might you be?”

You ignored him, not liking his tone or the air about him. His entire demeanor and presence activating your instincts for flight. Instead, you sidled up a few feet from Din.

“Oh c’mon, don’t be that way. I’m here to help your friend, Mando.” The volume of his voice rose a little, making you uncomfortable even more so. You fixed him with a stern look, letting him know you weren’t going to play along, manners were for nice people and something about him didn’t sit right with you. He held his hands up in mock surrender, though the cheeky grin pulling at his lips made your skin crawl. He was exactly the type of person who you would’ve sourced information from once upon a time, but now you wanted nothing to do with his type.

“Mar’eyir a bora?” Find a job? You turned your attention back to the armor wall that Din made up, the beskar glinting beautifully where the suns shown on it directly, not wanting to deal with the young man anymore.

“Yes.” He responded in Basic, closing the distance between you and reaching for the strap of your bag to gently pull it from you. As he did so, he pressed his helmet to your forehead by way of greeting. The hand he wasn’t holding the bag with hovered over the small of your back as he walked you toward the entrance of the hangar space. He hadn’t touched you since untangling from you earlier in the day and it was thrilling, despite it being so casual. Despite the mental exhaustion that was settling in from a day of interaction with too many people.

“Give me a minute.”  Were the simple words thrown over his shoulder as he guided you through the door and down the steps into the enclosed space. The ship was open, as you had left it, and the side paneling along it was removed to show where the mechanic was working on things. You let him guide you further, toward the ship. He placed your bag town on the makeshift table, beside the one you had already dropped off earlier before turning to face you. He just took in the way you began to dig through it, pulling out a pouch that clinked. You opened it to reveal thin, dark rings of metal. Setting it aside you pulled out a vambrace, one that was made of a dark metal as well, it would fit perfectly over the gloves you adorned.

“I haven’t programmed my chain code into it yet, I’m a little hesitant to, if I’m being honest. But I got one with communication controls.” You held it up to show him with a small grin, rather proud of your find and the cost hadn’t been too bad to get it up and running. The scrubbing and reprogramming had been a bit steep, but it would be worth it to have a scrapped mechanism you could customize for your needs. “It only has short range, but I figured that would be good enough for while you’re out on jobs or I’m away from the ship.”

When no answer came from him, you turned worried eyes over the helmet. Your mouth was open, and words were rushing out before you could stop them. Letting the man in front of you be privy to the overthinking nature that you possessed. Prattling was a nervous habit, one that you had thought you had grown out of being alone a majority of the time, it having turned into stubborn silence in wake of a mental barrage. But something about the man in front of you brought it back to life. Not wanting to seem like a bother or say the wrong thing and then ending up saying a whole lot more than was necessary.

“That is, if you want to keep in touch while separated. I didn’t mean to insinuate that I needed to be able to get ahold of you at all times. You’re a grown man. I’m assuming? I mean, I’ve seen…you…before but you’re rather fit and that doesn’t really reflect age. Oh Maker, I don’t even know how old you are, I might be older than you.” You ducked your gaze, eyes focusing on the cuirass as you felt the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. Self-consciousness taking a hold of you with its gnarled hands and pulling to make your skin feel too tight and uncomfortable.

“Calm, mesh’la.” Din’s deep voice washed over you in an easy chuckle paired with the nickname he favored had your stomach fluttering. He closed the distance and brought a gloved palm grip to rest it atop both of your hands where the vambrace was still in your grip. You hadn’t realized that they had begun to tremble slightly.

“I just- I don’t want to overstep.” 

“It was good for you to get a comm link.” His fingers tangled with your own as he took the vambrace from you and began to inspect it. With the helmet no longer trained on you so directly, it was easier to take a deep breath to recenter. The device beeped to life under his gloved fingers, and he punched in some information before holding moving to fit it over your hand and secured it to your left wrist. He lifted a hand to the right side of his helmet and your comm link blinked to signal an incoming transmission. All set, it seemed. “Your puck had your age displayed, we’re very close.”

He shifted on his feet, creating space as he did so. A weird tension blossomed in the space, putting you on edge. Both of you so consumed by internal conflicts and worries. Of the unknown that had settled over the coming days.

“Don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Okay.”

“Just… be here when I return.”

“O-of course.”

Without another word, the armored man departed.

Being aboard the ship alone was a weird phenomenon. Yes, the Child was still with you, but it was a foreign feeling to be here without the shape and presence of Din Djarin. He had told you that the space was yours as much as it was his, but that hadn’t settled into a concrete thing quite yet. It was still new, all of it and it was overwhelming.

Being out of captivity, being free, traveling, being on a ship. Having a ship be your new settlement of sorts, something you hadn’t ever really considered as you sought out whatever peace you could, too ignorant of ship mechanics and it being too handsome of an investment to make. Breathing out a heavy sigh, you cradled the small figure in your lap. You had been sat for quite a while, meditating. The Child settling into the space of your crossed legs to do the same. It had taken him a long time to settle and focus, as it always did when he wanted to join you, but once he did he had been silent for as long as he was able to.

He was fidgeting now, breaking your own concentration.

Feeling a little foolish, you hit the call button on your vambrace. Heart beating fast as it waited for pickup to make a connection. When it pinged, you startled a little at how quickly the low, full-bodied voice displayed cleanly over the line.

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing! Everything is okay.” You had no idea why you were so nervous; it was just a conversation.

“…okay.”

“Um, I was- I was wondering if I could take ad’ika out for a while.” You gathered the Child in the crook of your right arm, his eyes trained on the small speaker Din’s voice was coming from. He cooed as you stood, reaching for the vambrace, but you offered him your fingers instead. He gripped them tight, legs kicking out slightly as he wiggled about. You felt a wide smile pull at your lips as he loosened his grip and you made grabby motions at him, picking at the fabric of his outfit. His giggles were loud, and it made warmth blossom in your chest to hear them so unbridled. Your own soft laughter joining his. “Just for some fresh air! We’re so far from the city center, just around the hangar, so he can see the sunset.”

“That…should be fine.”

“Only if you’re okay with it. He’s in your care.”

“Ad’ika?”

“Oh,” You breathed a gentle laugh at the confusion you detected in his single word. Setting the happy child down atop the makeshift table, you opened a cannister of fruit for him to munch on before moving toward the paneling. You finished your thought as you opened it up to reveal the small kitchen set up and reached to activate the caf brewer, slightly nervous he was going to tell you it was an unnecessary shift. “Figured since we don’t know his name and he doesn’t want to tell me.”

“He talks to you, in actual words?”

“No, no, um, it’s…rather complicated.” You tried not to huff out your exasperation of finding only one pod of caf left in a storage drawer. You popped it into place and set a mug underneath where it would brew from once finished. The clink of the mug was loud, creating a bit of static over the line.

“No words. But talks.”

“…yes.”

“Letting him watch the sunset should be fine.”

“I’ll be on high alert, just want him to not feel trapped here on the ship is all.” When nothing was said in response, you shifted your weight from leg to leg as you stood before the caf machine began to brew with a sputter. “Okay, well, um, thank you.”

The line disconnected.

“Okay, ad’ika, we’re waiting on this drink, and we can go outside.” You turned to smile at him atop the makeshift table, trying to push down the weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. His little trill of a response fell on deaf ears. The guilt of having just messed up somehow bubbling up and making it hard to think. You focused on the line of liquid as it cascaded down from the machine into the mug, the noises it was making as it did so to try and center yourself.

Holding a steaming mug in one hand and a small snack in the other, you let the Child walk alongside you down the ramp and through the hangar space. You waved in greeting at the mechanic who was milling about. It seemed like she was about done for the day, the droids gathering things and putting them away in a flurry of movement around her. She returned the wave before disappearing inside.

“We have to be careful, okay?” We aren’t taking anything for you to hide in, so if you get scared I’ll hold you, got it?” You glanced down at him beside you as you walked through the door that led out to the street. He nodded, making little noises as he took in the empty surroundings. With the suns so close to the horizon, about to disappear beneath it, many people were already retired for the day.

You settled yourself against the wall that made up the hangar, facing the direction of the suns as they began to dip down and disappear. Sipping from the mug in your hand as you crossed your legs in front of you, leaving them stretched out from being busy all day. You had tried to understand what the mechanic was doing, asking her questions and to walk you through the basics of what she was doing before you had moved onto other things and looking after the small figure that was currently bustling about in front of you.

He was seated as well, small claws reaching out to play with rocks and watch a scant lizard or bug as it crawled about. Something with a stinger got too close to him and you waved a hand to get it away from him, the tingles of the Force sparking in your palm. That drew his attention back to you, his eyes focused on the snack you had brought out and was resting on your knee. He held a hand out much like you had just done and closed his eyes in concentration. The furrowing of his small brow created deep wrinkles and it made you hold a laugh back at how much like an old man he looked with them. The snack lifted into the air slightly, wobbled, and then fell back to your knee with a muffled thump.

“It’s tough, I know.” You soothed, knowing how hard it was to begin to harness the energy of things. The concentration and focus it took second nature to you at this point. Something that had come back to you easily, you were thankful for, after so many years of the ability being dormant. You raised a hand and motioned for him to give it another try. His eyes closed and he spread his claw wider.

The snack hurdled toward him, too fast for him to catch it and it smacked him in the forehead before falling to the sand. He let out a startled noise as it did, his wide eyes beseeching as he looked at you. You were setting down your mug and rushing over to him as his eyes watered and he began to breathe in a weird staccato.

“Oh, hey, hey, no, no.” Reaching for him, you pulled him to your chest and his claws dug into the fabric of your cloak. “You’re okay, ad’ika.”

You both sat there, watching the sky fade from orange hues to the darkness of night. As stars began to twinkle above, you pushed yourself up and made your way back to the Crest, the small creature fast asleep in your tight embrace.

Deciding on a shower to wash away the day, you wrestled with the notion of whether or not you should disengage the ramp to close up the ship. You trusted the mechanic, but that could only go so far. She said she had engaged the alarm system for the hangar once you returned, letting you know that she had shared it with your husband.

You knew she meant the word as a way of referring to Din, not knowing his name or knowing what else to call him. But that word, that term, it felt like a threat. The last time you had heard it, it had been one and it was triggering as all the ugly details of the last encounter you had with your mother rose up along with the acidic burn of bile in your throat.  

It felt like something was coming alive in your very body, awakening after a long slumber, and stretching its claws up your chest as it unfurled. Something dark and sinister, the weight of it suffocating and making it hard to breathe. It was something you recognized, something you knew too well as it perked up and burrowed into you, like it knew it was home and there to stay. Your head felt light as quick breaths were all you could manage.

Double checking that the door to Din’s personal quarters was locked and the Child was safely inside, you moved into the fresher with hands guiding you along the walls. Locking that door behind you, you turned the water on full blast, cranking the handle to make it as hot as it would go. The first drops of water barely had time to travel down to hit the tile of the stall floor before you were throwing up what little was in your stomach.

Tearing the off, it piled on the floor around you before you stepped into the stall. You hissed as the water hit your skin, the heat and steam of it filling the small room in almost a suffocating way. But it was welcome, the strong of it on your skin as it drowned the thing that was stirring inside. You had sunk to your knees, sitting right underneath the stream of water. Hanging your head, the wet locks of your hair stuck to your body as you got lost in the thoughts of how the day had felt too easy, too normal.

Everything from the way you had woken up to an empty bed after sleeping tangled in the arms of a man you hardly knew to the domesticity of talking to him on the comm link as you and the Child played around. It was all so casual, so domestic, so completely ordinary. And it felt good, to experience normal things, things people took for granted. And that felt bad, the guilt of wanting it to continue. To keep living when for so long you hadn’t wanted to.

You had done so many questionable things in your life, faced so many threats and that was before becoming the shell of a person at the hands of bandits had turned you into, who kept you so drugged up you hadn’t even known where you had been. You didn’t deserve any of it and how could you?

The berating words and actions of your mother having molded into your very psyche reminding you that you were a bad person for choosing to live your life the way you had wanted to at a young age. That choice leading you to a life on the run, to a life of stealing and cheating and hurting others to ensure your own protection. That choice leading to a target on your back that wouldn’t disappear until you took your last breath. It was all your fault, the hand you had been dealt. All a result of wanting to learn how to harness the skill a stranger had noticed in you.

Lightly tracing the scars you had dug into the skin of your thighs, your hands began to shake with wracking sobs. Tears falling fat and heavy from your eyes to coalesce with the steaming water cascading down your body. Eyes unfocused as you tried to watch the way your nails were now digging into the flesh as you gripped your legs so tight your knuckles popped.

Just as you were standing from your seat at the makeshift table, skeleton assembly of what would turn into a set of pauldrons, you sighed. It was late, sleep evading you in wake of your breakdown. To distract yourself, you had set to working with your hands, beginning to work the materials you had gathered into armor for yourself.

The metal rings in various sizes you had purchased earlier were strewn about in small, organized piles alongside two types of pliers, a mandrel, and a pair of snug leather gloves to protect your fingers as you worked. You had purchased rings that were already annealed twice over, before and after the openings were flattened and drifted in the traditional wedge style you preferred over circular. It would turn into a sturdier piece, the strength due to the harder to damage bonding.

Stretching your back, hands on your lower back you paused as faint footsteps sounded outside as someone trekked toward the ship. Shrugging your cloak on over the full outfit you had changed into after your shower, you made sure the Child was secure in the hammock and hit the panel beside the door to close the small space off from the rest of the ship, the mechanism for the lock clicking.

A blaster shot buzzed through the air and you dodged it, the hit making contact with the paneling behind you. It pinged before ricocheting and the single light you had on went out with a pop. A muttered curse was all the warning you had as you turned on your feet and raised a hand, reaching out with the Force to hold whoever had dared to enter the ship in place. The figure looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t place them in the sudden darkness of the ship.

The sounds of the person struggling against the hold you had on them were too close for comfort, and you swiped a foot out to kick their feet out from under them. As they went down, they fired something that wasn’t a blaster. The sting of something sharp reverberated down your right arm, tingling as a cool feeling washed through your veins almost immediately.

“Sedative, learned from a friend it would be the only way to take you down.” The voice spoke into the darkness, not registering quite yet in your mind. You cursed, pulling the long needle from where it had penetrated the fabric of your cloak to embed itself into the flesh of your arm. You dropped it to the ground, feeling the coolness of the sedative take over, lighting you up and muddling your brain in a way you hadn’t been in weeks.

You tried to move away, to put the makeshift table between you and the voice, but you ended up leaning heavily on the surface, arms already feeling too heavy to control. The hush of a blade being drawn had your heart beating a little faster, only aiding in the drugs taking over that much faster.

Breath hissing out as the blade sliced into the side of your thigh, you tried to step back but stumbled as your legs felt as if weights had been tied to them. Arms swiping across the table as you tried to balance yourself, sending the metal rings atop it to scatter everywhere with little pings. Vision wavering from focused to fuzzy made it hard to see the rope and cuff links now in the man’s hands, mind too sluggish to listen to your instincts and put up more of a fight. Blinking profusely, your eyes took in younger man Din had left with yesterday. Only Din was nowhere to be seen and the man seemed particularly focused on you.

“Don’t hurt either of them, take me. Turn me in. Let them go, my bounty is high.” You could only watch as he approached you, body too heavy to usher away from him. His response sounded so far away, as if you were struggling to hear him across a vast distance and not a few feet.

“How many times do I have to tell you people, I don’t care about the money.” He snarled, face ugly as it contorted with his anger and continued misunderstanding. He shoved you harshly to the ground, the body that was no longer under your own control going with the movement. The rings scattered over the floor dug into your skin and clothing, stinging as they did so. He threw himself over you, legs heavy on your own as he pinned you to the floor, reaching to secure the cuffs over your wrist. You swiped out as adrenaline sparked at being pinned down, surging up as best you could with bared teeth. He screamed as you raked your nails down the column of his neck as hard as you could manage, drawing blood in thin lines.

With a scowl he took hold of the front of your cloak and slammed your head down to crack against the metal of the floor. You shouted out at the pain that blossomed there, fuzzy vision graying at the edges.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just let them be.” Your words slurred as you begged, too far gone to do anything else, the sedative he used was either high quality or he had used a lot of it. If it was the only way to get him to change his mind, alter the motives he was working off of, then it was an offer you would make. For the sake of the Child, for the sake of his safety with Din. You could faintly sense the tears that were falling from your eyes, the thought of the Child being captured hurting even more than the predicament you were in. You would take on the world for him to have a good life, the chance at a good life.  

“Not lookin’ for that type of action right now, sweetheart.” Your attacker moved to cuff your ankles together over the leather of your boots. The rope in his hands going around them next. “But Mando is in for a surprise if he ever finds his way out of the desert. His quarries are mine now.”

The look of triumph that could be glimpsed from the faint light seeping into the ship was the last thing you saw as your vision blacked out completely.

The run was rising just as the mount Din had secured entered the outskirts of Mos Eisley. The deep navy-blue of the night sky fading on the horizon to the muted haze of peach sunlight that was cresting over in the signal of a new day. Everything was quiet, the city asleep in the early hour. Outside the hangar entrance was the speeder Din had been comfortable leaving behind with Callican, foolishly he muses now. Whatever had transpired between the young man and Fennec Shand had inspired his abandonment of the job to capture her. Din could only hope that Callican hadn’t done anything too foolish or rash in his shifted focus.

Brandishing his blaster, Din entered the hangar space with quiet steps.  

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @strawberri-blonde @moonknight-s-cumdump @js-favnanadoongi

dividers by the lovely saradika

[kdwg]

Accepted or Declined? [Dottore x Reader x Pantalone]

First, English is not my mother tongue so maybe i make mistake in grammar or anything, sorry

Secondly, i played chess when i was 5,6 idk and now i almost forgot all of them, everything mentioned chess in here maybe not right

So sorry again... i am really bad at writing in eng

p/s: Dottore does not appear directly, Reader has no feelings for Pantalone

You wait in the eerily quiet surroundings. All the lights in the main hall have turned off, leaving you alone with the weak light of an oil lamp just enough to see the chess set. Fear and impatience are increasing in waves as your fingers tend to tap harder on the marble floor.

When will Dottore finally complete the experiment?

Once again, thoughts of him flashed through your mind, distracting you from the chess match laid out before you. You take a deep breath, feeling the refreshing cold flow into your trachea, flowing into your thoughts like a cataclysm that extinguished all concerns about him. You move the white pawn up 1 space, as programmed, and after completing one step, you rotate the chessboard 180 degrees. You put all your focus on the chess position in front of you, you repeat what you want to do out loud, win yourself, win yourself, win yourself... However, you cannot understand the blurred black and white chess pieces right in front of your eyes replaced by the image of a blue-haired man. Helpless, you can only sigh, knock everything down and rearrange the two sides into two straight rows.

Dottore reigns in your mind like an incurable plague. You threw the pocket watch into a corner somewhere, stopping yourself from waiting so you wouldn't suddenly open it and then be disappointed how long it's been since he's started that damn experiment. All the waiting time is now counted in chess matches, but at thirteen you stopped counting and the games after that are just mechanical, dealing with yourself. You begin to think he had left, half of you believe that Dottore was a man of his word, but the other half suspect that he had completed the experiment and then left, forgetting his promise. Speaking of credibility, Dottore was like that, but I don't know if he has changed with everyone, or just with you. 

Beyond credibility, many things have changed.

You sigh, you should focus on something else to wait for him. Just as you were about to place your pawn on E4, a deep voice ring out at the front door of the hall:

“Sicilian defense as usual?”

You can easily recognize the owner of the voice and it is not good to have the company of other harbingers except number 2. Luckily the oil lamp light is not bright enough to illuminate the discomfort on your face. At that moment, you quickly stand up, bow properly and reply in a very neutral tone:

“Mr. Regrator, it is a pleasure to meet you, even though it is midnight.”

“What I said, you can call me Pantalone.”

You want to say something sarcastic, but this bastard will always respond with an obnoxious, peaceful smile, not paying any attention. Finally, you smile, your knuckles digging into the back of your shirt even more intensely when Pantalone does not leave but sits down opposite you.

"I didn't know you would spend your precious time here with me so late at night instead of a good night's sleep. Do you have something you want to discuss? It's definitely not due to poor chess."

Pantalone still keep his usual smile, he turn the chessboard so that the white pieces are on his side.

"A match, shall we?"

This man is definitely not here just for the reason of having a chess match for entertainment. Surely Pantalone is thinking about something, you wonder if you should find an excuse to refuse and then leave because any more lingering with him will only be disadvantageous. You want to dissect the man in front of you, you want to know what he is planning behind that gentle face. What was the reason for Pantalone's approach? Why you and not Dottore? Looking at yourself, you can't find anything that would be useful for Pantalone.

Thousands of questions constantly appear in my mind, neurons are pushed to maximum performance to encode as quickly as possible. The soles of your feet tingle and itch like an ant making nests, and your body was urging you to run away. Run away for what? You do not know.

"Let's sit down."

Your body stiffen as Pantalone spoke. It was supposed to be a reassurance but underneath the layers of subtext you felt it was more like an order. You sit down forcibly, your fingers gripping the hem of your shirt until they turn white.

"It's just for fun. I definitely won't punish you if you lose."

You feel regretful that you didn't choose to leave.

"What's wrong, Dottore doesn't allow his little friend to socialize with other people?"

Pantalone laughs very politely and sarcastically, you hate the way every time you met him he always mentioned Dottore. In the past, you didn't mind, but right now, anyone mentioning his name makes your anger flare up. However, who can you blame for when you have become his shadow for so long, when did you lose your own identity and choose to stand behind?

"If you want to talk to Dottore, you should find the owner."

"Okay but the main topic tonight is you."

This time Regrator laughed heartily, not the commercial smile in meetings. You want to correct yourself but Pantalone doesn't give you the chance:

"Do you ever use any opening other than the Sicilian defense?"

Pawn to D4.

"Sometimes I open with The Ruy-Lopez"

Pawn to D5.

"So two openings, why don't you try some others? The other openings didn’t bring victory?"

"I tried..."

You're a little confused when you remember the last time you used other openings except the Sicilian defense and The Ruy-Lopez. You suddenly realize it's been a long time, maybe since you were an Akademiya scholar. That's when you started practicing chess, choosing the suitable openings to master them.

"I tried Ponziani and the Slav defense but it wasn't effective."

If you don't want to say you lost badly to Dottore when you were trying to find a third opening.

"As a scientist, I see you have no tendency to innovate."

This time you couldn't hide the irritation in your tone, but you were calm enough not to express anything too extreme.

"What do you mean by that?"

Even though you are not an official scientist, you chose to become Dottore's assistant, but each of those words severely attacked those in the field of research and development.

"Don't get angry," Pantalone seemed happier when you no longer remained neutral in your actions and words, "I mean, sometimes you should step out of your safe zone, choose a bold decision that can end the chain of thoughts: worries, hesitation and negativity."

Pawn to C4.

Looking at the situation in front of you, you can partly feel the suspicious message he is conveying. What Pantalone wants to say has also appeared in your subconscious countless times. They appear every time you realize that you were slowly drifting off to sleep while sitting on the chair waiting for him to return every night. They persistently whisper in your ear when Dottore and you argued about unnecessary issues. They become a ghost that resides in your left chest when you crossed out past your birthday on the calendar, reminding you that Dottore has completely forgotten you.

Pantalone can clearly see your trembling hand playing with the lock of hair on your cheek.

"You know, there are things that have to be sacrificed for a greater purpose."

Your gut is tearing, you feel bile rising into your throat, you don't know how to show exact expression to him. You are becoming more sensitive than ever, 7 parts of you are agreeing with Pantalone's words but 3 parts are shaking your spirit, you should not trust him, you must choose Dottore. You raised your face, eyes unable to hide the fear that was locked on Pantalone's every move.

Pantalone walks towards you, bend down to face level, his fingers wearing a sparkling ring trying to touch your cheek but you backed away to avoid him.

He makes a fake sad face, not giving up, his ten fingers cupping your face and pulling you closer. You try to pull Pantalone's wrist away, but your limbs feel as weak as plants.

You are not afraid of Pantalone, the terror that is coming at this moment is the competing thoughts of Dottore going on in your head. You know Pantalone is not the cause of your rebellious thoughts, they have always existed in your mind every time Dottore's credibility dropped. But you always pushed them away, burying them all deep in some corners, overpowering them with the illusion of justifying yourself to Dottore. And, Pantalone is the catalyst, igniting the fire that allows them to escape and burn down the stronghold you have built. Why does Pantalone do this? Does Pantalone know that Dottore is an unambiguous person? Even if Dottore still has feelings for you and if his plan of separating was successful, Dottore’s collapse because of love is still extremely unreasonable. So what is the key to doing this?

"Look at me."

The sweet words make you shiver, he brushes your strands of hair into your ear. You can feel his steady breathing on your nose, it took your breath away. His purple eyes under long eyelashes seem to illuminate your frustrated heart. They consider, open each layer of skin, see through thousands of thoughts that are tangled together like a ball of wool. But those eyes did not untie every knot, they burned like a volcano, burning everything to ashes. They leave your mind as hazy white spaces, and in your eyes everything is gradually fading, only the silhouette of the ninth harbinger remains. Rough gloved fingers touch your lips, Pantalone smiles happily, he parts your teeth, and blows air into your mouth. You startle and cough when the smell of cigarettes hits you. You are not aware that you had stopped breathing since he held your face. You want to remove your face from his hands, but they are on your waist. He leans in so that his nose touches your skin. You are irritated, your eyebrows furrow to show your displeasure for him to let go. As for Pantalone, he seems a bit regretful when he didn't put two fingers in your mouth.

"Accepted or Declined?"

You blush when you feel his lips playing with yours, you blame it on your anger from waiting for Dottore and the banker's weird joke. You remove Pantalone's hand, quickly stand up and lay your king down.

"I resign."

You leave, leaving Pantalone laughing happily at the game he had created. You leave, this time you didn't care if Dottore was still at the palace.

[mushroompoisoning]

Good friend, I ask of you because I trust you, what are these "The Mechanisms" you are so fond of?

Okay I tried to type out an incredibly long summary but tumblr deleted it so you're getting a semi-sane version instead

The Mechanisms are a band of immortal, space-faring pirates travelling the universe singing about the tragedies they witness for our entertainment!

There are nine main members you'll hear about, with the tenth - Dr Carmilla - having left much earlier and making her own music 👍 ( there is technically an eleventh but they're more of a mystery easter egg than anyone we know things about )

Quick lore thing: the mechanisms immortality works from the mechanical part(s) they each have. They can die and get injured, but they'll revive whenever the narrative wants them too. All logic in this universe functions off of Would It Be Good For The Story

The cast is:

Jonny D'Ville (he/him) is the ship's first mate ( don't let him tell you otherwise ) and he's got a mechanical heart

Nastya Rasputina (she/her) is the ship's engineer and girlfriend! Yea the ship - Aurora - is alive btw. She's got me hanical blood

Ashes O'Reily (they/them) is the ship's quartermaster and best arsonist! they've got mechanical lungs

Drumbot Brian (he/him) is the ship's pilot and the only one with a moral code. It's controlled by a switch which flips between Means Justify Ends and Ends Justify Means with no nuance. everything is mechanical except for his heart

Ivy Alexandria (she/her) is the ship's archivist! Pretty chill, cares more for books than violence but that doesn't mean she disapproves of the latter. she's got a mechanical brain

The Toy Soldier (it/its) is the mascot and whatever else they tell it to be! it just wants to be involved. will follow anything you tell it if you ask nicely ( or with enough force ). it's not actually mechanized, and is instead a sentient wooden man

Gunpowder Tim (he/him) is the ship's master at arms! madman war veteran who I love dearly. he blew up the moon. he's great. I pick favourites. he's got mechanical eyes

Raphaella La Cognizi (she/her) is the ship's unethical scientist! nothing is off the table when it comes to research. nothing. theory is she mechanized her, but iirc that unconfirmed. she's got a mechanical spine and wings!

and Baron Marius Von Raum (he/him) who is neither the ships baron nor doctor. he claims to be both, though. Deeply unserious fella. he's got a mechanical arm

^ here are some good images for crew reference

OKAY! Now onto actual music

They have six albums and a couple singles!

Once Upon a Time (In Space) is an unconventional retelling of classic fairytales

High Noon over Camelot is a retelling of King Arthur

Ulysses Dies at Dawn is a greek mythos adaptation

and The Bifrost Incident is a norse mythos adaptation

there's also Tales To Be Told volumes I and II, and the two single Frankenstein and Death To The Mechanisms ( technically that one is part of an album but the album is just a bunch of their other songs from already existing albums )

The tales to be told albums contain some of the mechanisms origins!

One Eyed Jacks is Jonny's

Lucky Sevens is Ashes'

Lost In The Cosmos is Brian's

and Gunpowder Tim vs The Moon Kaiser I don't think I have to say

Nastya has an origin song, but it was never officially put on anything. You can find it on the @mechanismslorearchive ( you can get any lore you want on there )

They also have a number of live shows ( you can find those on youtube ) and written stories on their website! I recommend these if you wanna get to know the mechanisms as characters better

that is the basic rundown. I'm not an expert on the mechs so if you're looking to talk to a metaphorical seasoned nurse instead of a med student I'd go to @bugsinthebayou or @gunpowderdtim (sorry for tagging yall)