#acor playchoices

[mischiefy]

NOBODY is hearing mc out on this one god i miss you acor you were so funny

[bejewellled]

would've could've should've

[playchoicesconfessions]

Sent by anonymous

‘Reminder that by starting ACOR around the new year and playing 2 chapters a week, you can finish the book/stab Julius Caesar on the Ides of March’

POST/CONFESSIONS DO NOT REFLECT THE MOD’S PERSONAL OPINIONS!

[mythris]

blades 2 and cop 2 airing weekly is the closest we’ll ever get to perfect match, ilb, and acor at the same

time 😭

[luminouslumity]

Julius Caesar has been dead for many slutty, slutty years!

[a-cloud-for-dreams]

Nymeria, Princess of Gaul, in 10 Quotes

[nefertiti-fooling-fellow]

This is completely unprompted but here are my top 5 Choices books:

1. Endless Summer:

I mean, this is just an absolute classic, I love mystery, I love fantasy, and every ending was so heart wrenching in its own way. And your choice actually matters (ironic that this is so rare for a book called Choices, but oh well) I never recovered from when I read this for the first time, unmatched.

2. Blades:

You don’t even know how much I went back and forth between these two for the number one spot. Honestly they’re both my favorite. The writing, the character, the plot, the music, the art, Blades has it all. I remember playing the final chapter with goosebumps all over my body. I’m a DnD player, what can I say.

3. Crimes of Passion:

Banger, banger, banger. Just so good, the romance between Trystan and the MC was amazing yet it didn’t feel like it was overtaking the plot at any point, I loved their dynamic and I love the intricacy of the overall mystery. Just the right amount of dark and lighthearted, I will never get tired of rereading this book.

4. The Elementalists:

I know there are valid criticisms of this book out there, but it’s just so fun. I love the worldbuilding, I love the magic system, I love how balanced the emphasis between romance and platonic relationships is. Also, academic rivals to friends/lovers, you can’t go wrong with that. And you get to play a super cool magic jock!!

5. Bloodbound:

Okay, so I will admit I didn’t really like the first book, but the second and third more than makes up for it. MC is just such a badass and the ANGST, the angst is god-tier in Bloodbound.

Honorable mentions:

A Courtesan of Rome (Every single romance route HIT in ACOR except Cassius)

Desire and Decorum (I’m a Jane Austen fan, what can I say)

Ride or Die (Cars. That’s it. Cars)

The Heist: Monaco (Sonia my love <333)

[masked-alien-lesbian]

[cassiopeiacorvus]

Shades

Read on AO3

Summary: As Cingerix fights for survival after his family's triumph, he's haunted by echoes of the past.

Words: 1,342

Warnings: Brief/Implied mentions of torture, slavery, and blood.

It started with Talius.

When Cingerix and his sister would spy on the Roman soldiers, they’d catch glimpses of the other Gauls being carted away to slavery. Cingerix would watch his people be marched away and bite hard on his tongue to stop himself from racing out. His sister would be there with a gentle hand on his shoulder, begging him not to act. Most days, he'd be able to contain himself, blood pooled in his mouth. Cingerix would look away and see him among the trees on the other side of the pathway.

Talius. The same strong legs, the calloused hands, his toned arms, his taut chest. His jaw, his nose, his bright green eyes, bored into Cingerix. If he’d walked over, Cingerix would’ve been able to place his hand on his chest, feel his heartbeat, kiss his lips.

But Cingerix knew that wouldn’t be real. He’d seen those same legs grow fatigued from battle. He’d seen those same hands drop their weapons in anguish, those same arms grab him in desperation, that same chest struggle to keep breathing. That same jaw slackened in death. That same nose broken in two places and leaking blood. Those same eyes gazing up at him and seeing nothing. Cingerix blinks and Talius is gone. He’s died a second time. Cingerix followed his sister when she pulled him further into the forest. He didn’t tell her what he saw.

Cingerix stopped seeing Talius after the triumph. He liked to think that Talius saw no point in continuing to watch him. They’d soon be together again. Cingerix was sure he’d be sent away to a latifundia or perhaps the mines. He wouldn’t have to wait long to join Talius if he was sold to the mines. Instead, his family was snatched from him, and the Romans broke him piece by piece.

He was sold to the legions, enslaved to an officer. Cingerix did as he was ordered, told himself he was being treated fairly, and kept his head down. He was given the opportunity to enlist. He once told his sister that he’d rather die than be a slave and now he would fight to enslave others. He walked out of the tent a newly minted soldier, and his father stood before him.

Victus looked tired. Their two years in the woods had taken its toll. His back, once unbowed and unbent, had slackened with the weight of the slaughter of the Verbigeni. His dark angry eyes pierced into Cingerix. They felt like daggers stabbing into his chest.

Cingerix wanted to say he did what he needed to survive. He wanted to say that Victus had no idea what they had done to him. Victus was dead; his family was dead. How was he supposed to go on without them? His words died on his tongue.

Cingerix tried to move, to push his father out of the way, but Victus was gone. And Cingerix was alone again.

He saw his mother by the river. The legion had finished setting up camp for the night and he had snuck away to wash himself. He thought of the cleansing ritual Delphinia had taught him and wondered how tainted a person could be before the ritual stopped working.

As he bent down to scoop up the water, he saw her in the reflection. He knew that if he turned around, she wouldn’t be there. He looked anyway. Only the forest greeted him. He turned back to the water, and she was still there.

Delphinia looked worried. There was that crease between her brows that she had always gotten when Cingerix and his sister did something reckless. When they were fighting the Romans, it never seemed to leave her face. The kohl around her eyes made them stand out and it felt as if Isis herself was judging Cingerix through her. He slapped the water, and his mother was dead again.

He thought about performing the ritual but doesn’t attempt to. Cingerix knew he was tainted. He didn’t need a ritual to tell him. He settled for washing his hands and feet. Baths were a rare luxury on a march.

He spent most of his time with the rest of the Gallic auxiliary units, but occasionally he’d hear the Roman soldiers talk about how they missed the bath houses. It sounded appealing. He’d like to see Rome again one day. His family’s triumph had faded to a corner of his mind, an old shame he was glad none of his fellow soldiers knew about. Perhaps it was time to look to the future.

Cingerix did see Rome again. After Gaul submitted to Caesar’s will, many triumphs were held. Cingerix marched with his fellow soldiers as they displayed the spoils of Gaul. At the front of the procession was Caesar himself dressed in the toga picta and wearing a laurel crown. His soldiers lovingly mocked him with lewd songs as they wound through the streets towards the Temple of Jupiter.

As much as he tried not to, Cingerix’s focus was riveted to the centerpiece of the triumph, the Gallic chief Vercingetorix. The man who banded the remaining tribes together to defeat Caesar. Cingerix remembered the Battle of Alesia. There the chieftain was tall and shining. He galvanized his forces. Even in defeat, he laid down his arms and surrendered with the utmost calm and deliberation.

This was not the man who stood before Cingerix now. Six years in the Tullianum does much to a person. Vercingetorix was hunched over, barely able to keep himself upright. His bones jutted out at odd angles. His once lustrous hair hung limp and matted. Cingerix couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. He turned to the crowds.

All of Rome had come to see them. The teeming masses of the city surrounded their procession route, eager to take part in the games and parties that came along with triumphs. Ten years ago, he wanted to rip out the throats of the Romans who were celebrating the slaughter of his people. Now he was celebrating along with them.

Then he saw her. His sister Andarta. She was standing in the middle of a group of women. Cingerix stumbled for a moment. A fellow soldier steadied him and kept up his bawdy ballad, unaware of the change in his comrade.

Time slowed. Cingerix should surely have passed her by now, but the moment stretched on into eternity. Andarta wasn’t even looking at him. Her eyes were fixed to Caesar at the head of the procession. Cingerix could feel the heat of her gaze, as if the war goddess she was named for had descended from the sky. It brought him back to the forest, to dodging Roman legionnaires, to his own past rage. He had to do something. She couldn’t be that bold in public. If Caesar saw—

Cingerix cleared his head. Caesar wouldn’t see. His mind was playing tricks on him again. Andarta wasn’t here. She was dead. She wouldn’t have survived. His sister was many things, but she was not subtle. She was not quiet. Cingerix would be shocked if she had lived even a few days after they were all separated. She wouldn’t compromise herself. Not like he did.

This was the gods mocking him. Perhaps it really was the goddess Andraste in the crowd. He had turned from the gods even before the triumph and this was how they punished him. These visions, these shades were a reminder of his failures.

But he hadn’t failed. He had survived and no one would take that away from him. The procession finally moved passed the sick simulacrum of his sister. Cingerix closed his eyes and imagined his family as they had been before all this began. Victus walking with the men of their village discussing the day’s affairs. Delphinia teaching the women her ways of healing and worship. Andarta teasing him as they helped with the day’s chores. He left them in their home and walked forward, his eyes on Caesar, never to waver.

[the-pale-goddess]

I've polished this anger and now it's a knife.

[rosesnink]

TOP 10 FAVOURITE LIs OF ALL TIME

POV: We're all basically women here! And uh... Sinclaire!

Honourable mentions: Annelyse Adair, Shreya Mistry, Kamilah Sayeed, Quinn Kelly, Dakota Winchester, Vera Reinmonenq, Stacy Green, Ava Cunningham, Gabriela Adalhard, Cassie Harlow, Princess Valax, Hana Lee, Sonia Alves, Danni Asturias

[thefirstcourtesan]

Me: (casually during a conversation about Roman history) "I went through a phase a few years ago where I was really interested in learning about Marc Antony."

Not elaborating that phase was motivated by a visual novel and the smutty fanfic I wrote because of it.

Oh, good times.

[they-callme-ami]

Sometimes I lay awake at night and think about how Black ACOR MC was really serving. Like baby, that face card NEVAH declined.

[playchoicesconfessions]

Sent by @cadybear420

‘It’s really fun to diamond mine ACOR for spending on OG HSS Book 2. Getting to stab Caesar and then taking down Principal Isa right after is such an experience you have no idea.’

POST/CONFESSIONS DO NOT REFLECT THE MOD’S PERSONAL OPINIONS!

[boneandfur]

Choices Flash Fic! DarkFic; Tobias x F!MC

Angels in Hell

@choicesflashfics #36. Uses prompt #2, "You’re allowed to fall apart a little."

A/N: I started writing this before I thought to grab a prompt, and it went to dark places. It was supplied to be a Harper x Ethan, but F!MC started talking... That's it. This fic is dark and I'm not sure why it came out, since it seems like the first chapter rather than a one shot. // Words: 1150 // Pairing: light f!mc x Tobias, acor MC x Antony (implied) // implied age gap relationship.

I always knew I'd end up working for the Outfit, from the time Uncle Tony caught me with a plastic stethoscope in my hands, to the day that Uncle Sam signed my soul over to the combat medical corps.

We need good people... like you, Chiara. You're the brains and Sy is the brawn. There will always be a place for the both of youse in the Outfit.

Is that because of Mama? I asked as I stood in front of Uncle Tony's desk and watched him swallow his grief along with his Campari, gold rings glittering. The shadow of two days beard was heavy on his jaw, and I yearned to reach out, to touch him, but instead crumpled the acceptance letter to Edenbrook in my pocket into a smaller and smaller ball, trying to keep my breathing steady as I watched him, the hero of my girlhood, the master of us all.

He set the glass down on his desk, the sound of it like the funeral bells that had gonged as the hearse pulled away from the cathedral steps in Little Italy, and I felt my throat tighten too. I swallowed my grief with my wine, clinking his glass in a toast. To her, then. I would always live in her shadow, until I could prove my worth.

Uncle Tony's eyes glistened wetly. Arin was a good woman. Bellissima... my tiger. You remind me of her, Princess. That blonde hair, and those eyes... Dio in paradiso, but she was a hurricane. And you are her very image...

Even though he'd married Octavia, I knew Mama had been the love of his life. Uncle Tony would have died for her, and nearly did. That was why I gave him my pledge of loyalty, right there in that room. A pledge for love, the kind that lasts beyond the grave.

And when I returned, I was no longer Chiara Valentine, Arin Valentine's little princess, but Chiara Valentine, combat medic and fast tracked through medical school due to all the strings pulled by Uncle Tony. It wasn't that I couldn't have done it on my own recognizance, but time was a luxury we didn't have after Doc Claudius had gotten his brains blown out by the Family, out in Drakovia. And Sy was in the clink. Again. For stealing cars from some gang in LA, connected to the Yakuza.

The Campari on the desk turned into the Negroni at the bar, and I was staring up into the golden eyes of my boss's and biggest mistake's biggest rival, the one and only Dr Tobias Carrick.

"Valentine." His upper lip curled, and I itched to smack the smugness right off his face, but I'd probably break a nail. After all, I was the Brains. I'd never fought anyone closer than fifty paces in my life, and we'd been in a tank. "Am I really that ugly, little princess, or do you scowl like that at all the plebs?"

If it were up to me, men like him would be six feet under, but I'd promised to hold my peace on mob soil, and the last thing Uncle Tony needed was a war with the Irish. Not that he'd do it for my sake -- it had been Mama who held his heart, and always would. So when I opened my mouth, what came out next surprised me. "I lost ... I lost someone. Today... it's the anniversary of her death."

"Bartender!" Tobias waved down the hipster serving white claw spritzers to the masses. "Get us a bottle of -- what's your poison, princess?"

"Limoncello." I didn't have to hesitate when the bartender slid the bottle down, and poured us two, on the rocks.

He prepared to knock back the entire glass when I caught him on the sleeve, for a moment looking thrown off his game, like he'd never seen a woman before. "Whoa there, Princess."

"Do you know what they say, Dr Carrick? They say that only the dead have seen the end of war. That's Plato. And don't call me princess." That's Antony's name for me.

"You’re allowed to fall apart a little." He touched my cheek gently, and it was only then that I realized I was crying. "Was it... a patient?"

What could I tell him? Of Afghanistan, and the starless desert skies that seemed to reach into the abyss, or of that single moment when my life changed forever? Or of how my life now seemed laid out before me in a single straight line with only a few stops along the way, Chicago to Afghanistan, to Boston and soon, soon, sooner than anyone could ever know, back again.

A pledge for love, the kind that lasts beyond the grave.

"She's been dead a long time." I wiped my cheek angrily with my sleeve, streaks of mascara coming away on it. "My mother. She died, and no one ever figured out what it was that killed her. That's why I'm here, really." I had never admitted the truth out loud before, to anyone.

Antony had come to find me at the barracks. I'd been barely eighteen, and one year in the army already. We'd drunk Limoncello til midnight, Arin Valentine's favorite drink, and we'd held one another and wept. In the morning, he'd left me with blood still drying on the sheets and an ache in my heart that no amount of Limoncello would ever ease.

A pledge for loyalty, until I stepped out of her shadow and proved my worth.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Tobias rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw and held out a hand. "We can just walk, Chiara. You look like you need some air. I won't talk about old business tonight, and it's not a trick, I... I promise."

I took his hand, Dio in paradiso, heaven and hell. Eyes as gold as the sunless desert sands. "You can talk about it all you want, Tobias." I don't care if we win, after all, a snap of the fingers, a pouch filled with thirty pieces of silver, a handshake in a back room, that grant will end up lining the pockets of Edenbrook instead of Mass Kenmore, whether Tobias Carrick likes it or not.

I'll be going back to the Outfit, my mother's daughter, back to Antony. For I owe so much more to him than blood. Life and loyalty, and a love that never dies.

"Valentine?" Tobias waited by the door, jacket thrown over one shoulder, looking at me with a troubled question in his eyes. If I slid off the stool now, I'd have to make that choice. I'd have to face the truth about what drove me to this place, to Boston, to Edenbrook, and to stare at my own reflection in a glass of Limoncello as I counted the stars like the drops of blood in a vein, all the way down the bloody years.

Blood on my hands, blood on the sheets, washed clean by my tears.

Demoni in paradiso, angeli all'inferno.

Only the dead have seen the end of war.

[jumpinjordan]

A Courtesan of Rome you will always be loved