#av p

[thetormentita]

ad victoriam - part 1

Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo. — Virgil.

Pairings: Ofc x Lucius Verus, Ofc x Emperor Geta, Lucilla x General Marcus Acacius, Ofc x General Marcus Acacius (platonic)

A/n: our starting point! before going under the cut, be aware that some characters may be ooc and you can consider this a proper au.

Warnings: angst, some merrymaking?, mentions of slavery, mentions of war, geta himself should be considered a warning, babes

Tagging list: @mmkkzz @novaursa @maegelletargaryen

Every single time she lays on her bed to find some rest, but the Somnia are cruel and drive her to her mother’s villa, where the sound of clashing woods calls her attention.

It is always a warm afternoon, and close to the gardens are two kids, a lad and a lass, with wooden swords in hand as they play, emulating the great victories of Maximus Meridius, the greatest gladiator of his time.

They laugh. They shout. They squeal. They look happy.

Every single morning she wakes up with wet cheeks, the breaks of her heart still not fixed.

…

She closes her eyes when the sing of a lark reaches her ears, drawing a soft smile upon her face as she purrs to the touch of possibly the most powerful man in the world.

“You must be proud, mellita” he mumbles to her ear, the tip of his nose brushing her skin. “Soon your father will be back home. The Gods favour the brave, and the General is certainly one of them.”

Aurelia hums, letting him do.

“Of course, Augustus. I am eager to see him again after all this time.”

A whimper escapes her lips as his firm grip on her thigh and her waist makes her approach even more his chest, almost forcing to rest her head against his chest. Geta knows what he wants, and when he put his eyes on the daughter of the famed general Marcus Acacius, Aurelia knew she had to be as cunning as possible to protect the only thing she has: her family.

“So pliant. So perfect.” he muses as he lifts her face with thumb and index, softly grabbing her chin, claiming her with a longing kiss, enough to leave her breathless. Geta smiles against her lips when her hand softly cups his cheek, responding with a tenderness she pushes herself to have in order to make him believe she is utterly captivated by him.

All to protect her family.

…

The embraces of her mother are always soothing. She allows herself to close her eyes and take deep breaths, the scent of peonies filling her lungs, grounding her. It is a stark contrast to the world she navigates outside these walls, a world filled with deception and danger, where every move is a calculated step in a larger game of chess. Within these walls, with her mother’s arms around her, she finds a rare solace, a temporary respite from the masquerade she must perform each day.

“Marcus will be here soon” Lucilla’s voice is soft and fluid, her tone carrying a mix of both concern and reassurance, and Aurelia knows well the reason.

The sons of the late emperor Septimius Severus.

They have a fixation upon General Acacius, the brilliant military strategist who has garnered the respect and fear of both friend and foe alike. Acacius’s loyalty to the Severan dynasty is beyond question, but his influence among the legions and the Senate has grown so vast that it borders on the precipice of overshadowing the current rulers themselves, and Geta and Caracalla know it well enough to have the youngest of them put his eyes upon Acacius’s adoptive daughter.

“Then we must give him a warm welcome, mama.”

The arrival of the lord of the household is anticipated with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Far from home for so long, mother and child are divided between the joy of reunion and the palpable tension that his presence brings. Acacius, with his towering stature and commanding presence, has treated them well, even adopting Aurelia as his daughter and raising her as such, always keeping a smile for her, bringing her little presents here and there, truly cherishing the little black-haired girl that seemed to came tangled in the stola of the daughter of the great Marcus Aurelius.

The arrival of Acacius catches Aurelia tucking her braid up into a tidy bun with a silver stick, and she rushes to greet him, her face lighting up with joy, almost running to the atrium, getting a disapproval look from her mother, who always insists on maintaining a composed demeanor befitting a young lady of her status. However, Aurelia is not able to contain her excitement upon seeing her mother’s husband, ready to drink from his tales as if they were rich liquid.

As soon as the famed general climbs down his horse, an imposing black steed, befitting of someone like him, Marcus slightly hurries his step to greet the most important women in her life.

“Welcome home, my dear” a chaste kiss is enough for the moment for husband and wife, making Marcus quickly shift his attention to ‘his little Hippolyta’, a title he had fondly given Aurelia due to her adventurous spirit and fierce independence, much like the legendary Amazonian queen. Aurelia’s eyes light up as if she were just a little girl, and his arms surround her in a warm embrace that speaks volumes of the affection between them, making her feel safe and protected. “One day, there will not be any Aurelia left to squeeze, my general.” Lucilla adds with a hint of laugh in her voice.

“But for the moment there is, right?” he kisses her hair, smiling against the soft strands.

A light dinner with Marcus’s favourite dishes waits for them, and during it Aurelia makes sure that she gets as much information as she wants, asking pointed questions about his recent campaign, the conditions of the troops, and the political atmosphere in Rome. Marcus, accustomed to the battlefield’s harsh realities rather than the intricacies of political maneuvering, tries his best to satisfy her curiosity. He talks of the strategies employed, the victories hard won, and the losses that weigh heavily on his heart.

“The men fought bravely,” Marcus begins, his voice tinged with the pride and sorrow only those who have led men into battle can truly understand. “Each victory we claimed was not just a mark of territorial gain but a testament to their resilience and courage.”

“And the swag? Something interesting?” Aurelia interjects with a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes, shifting the conversation towards the spoils of war, a topic that, albeit less noble, has always fascinated her. Marcus can’t help but notice the sudden spark in her demeanor, a stark contrast to the somber tone their conversation had taken on earlier when discussing the harsh realities of war. He smiles, recognizing the gleam of intrigue that warfare’s treasures often ignite in even the most stoic of warriors and scholars alike.

“Well, the swag,” Marcus begins, leaning back slightly as he searches his memories for the most captivating pieces of loot they had encountered during their campaigns. “Isn’t it too late? Tomorrow I must parade myself through the whole city and get honoured by the emperors.”

“Oh, come on!”

A sly smile curves the general’s lips as his gaze crosses his daughter’s.

…

Known sights come to his mind as his eyes try their best to observe even the tiniest detail around, a hard task due to the fact that he has to climb the eroded walls to reach the tiny hole on the wall.

“Lad.”

He knows it goes for him, despite it he shakes a hand trying to shush the man who calls him.

“Lad.”

“Shut up.”

He frowns, taking a deep breath as his mind betrays him with memories buried deep down, when his mother would take them to the amphitheater to watch the gladiators. He allows himself a little smile as he closes his eyes for a momemt, remembering the girl with the hair with the colour of the darkest night and the prettiest eyes he has ever seen.

“Lad” he returns to the wall, sitting on the floor with his back against the stones, his gaze upon the man now silent before him. The man’s impatience seems to dissipate, replaced by a curiosity sparked by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “What did you see?”

How could he describe it. How could he tell him about what lays out there?

His eyes are upon the door of the cell, pondering his next words carefully. “It is magnificent” he starts slowly, his voice a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the serene atmosphere the word itself conjured. “Buildings around us. Statues. Temples. During the day, the sunlight dances across their surfaces in a way that makes the entire city seem alive. And at night,” his voice grows slightly stronger, fueled by the vivid images in his mind, “the whole place transforms. Lights flicker on, one by one, like stars coming to life in the night sky. Around us the city sleeps, but when the sun is up in the sky thousands of people emerge, like a hive buzzing with life.”

“You have been here before.”

“Aye.” his voice is a whisper, silent and deep, carrying the weight of memories long held.

“Where are we, lad?”

“Where men fight for death or glory.”

He clenches his jaw, his eyes distant, as if he's looking through the thick walls of the present into a vast, tumultuous past. His fists clench at his sides, grasping the chains as if they are the only anchor keeping him in the now, preventing his mind from drifting back to those days of smoke and fire, blood and steel.

He has to blink twice to notice the hand before him, extended in solidarity, a silent offer of companionship in a moment heavy with unspoken understanding. The man next to him has his gaze upon him, steady and unwavering, a silent testament to shared hardships and unvoiced promises of support.

“Cassius.”

He takes the hand, feeling the strength and warmth that pulses through the grip, a stark contrast to the cold, hard reality before them.

“Hanno.”

[pvj-karkalicious]

why are you, as a girl, asking other girls to join your band? so they can be your girlfriend?

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

know your worth girl 👏👏👏

[dadsbongos]

The Lovers

word count - 4.8 k

warnings - ENEMIES to lovers..., non-graphic deaths and violence, i humanize and objectify pav in the same breath, fem reader (referred to by "girl" bc he's the worst)

first time capitalizing a fic title in months

DAY 2. NOON.

Blood splotches decorate the cobblestone floor, already drying into maroon against the wood planks of the train cars. The droplets lighten in shade the deeper into the train you go, and eventually, you find crimson. Pure cherry ink on dark wood. Cherry rots into a blackened smudge once again on the wheel of Olivia’s wheelchair. One hand settled over the thin black rim on her right, and the other twisting a roll of bandages around her fingers. She blinks up at you, bottom lip tucked so tight between her teeth that the rosy flesh is blistering white.

“I’m really sorry,” she sighs, abandoning the spool of cloth in her lap to push up her wiry glasses, “Terribly, I am, but I don’t- “ she pauses, “I’m worried that the others would be… biased in their care…”

Your gaze flits up from Olivia’s pensive face to the blonde man spread across the train’s cushy two-seater. His midsection is wrapped with reddish blooms vining all down the white crossings, arm bound in a sling over his chest. His eyes are scrunched up, brows furrowed towards the middle of his forehead; a fitful, delirious limbo overtaking him. Occasionally, he jerks himself awake in a wide-eyed panic before the pain knocks his brain topside again.

The Bremen lieutenant would hardly be a challenge to put down in his current state. You are one of few from the contestants that Olivia feels can be trusted not to undo her hard work of keeping the soldier alive. Combine your level-headedness with your lackadaisical attitude in searching Prehevil, and you make the perfect candidate to watch over Olivia’s patient.

Unfortunately.

“If he annoys me, can I press on his wounds?”

A wild grimace overtakes Olivia’s face, “No! No, please, please do not do that.”

“Fine,” you waltz past Olivia and study the blonde’s pinched face, “Go, go. I’ll watch the traitor.”

“Thank you!” she sighs in relief before exiting the train car, calling back hurriedly, “I’ll try to come with more bandages before sundown!”

When the lieutenant is not trapped under the rolling, ruthless waves of agony, you could almost mistake him for any other man. Maybe even a handsome one: with a strong nose and symmetrical bone structure. His lips are faintly the color of roses, too. Pale and pink. Dry, though. Not nearly as luscious as pretty petals.

Golden tresses, which you are mature enough to admit are alluring. His hat was off and his hair ruffled and fanning out over the magenta seat. Skin frail and pale - you could crush his ribs if you tried. Charming in a way you’ve only known real men to be.

Certainly, though, as soon as the pig squeals - the illusion of perky flowers and honey will melt away. Scorched by the moon as the villagers outside.

Foolishly, you agree to sit around waiting for the swine to be well enough to squeal. A smarter woman would’ve put it down (especially when it's previously shown a taste for blood), but you like Olivia and her tender heart so you do no such thing.

DAY 2. NIGHT.

As thanks for not murdering Pavel as soon as she’d turned her back, Olivia brought you fresh water and dried meats from scavenged homes alongside the fresh bandages. She left again soon after swapping the bloodied cloth for fresh ones.

“Do tell me when he wakes up,” she grins up at you. As if apologetic for having you carry out a duty you’d already agreed to, “I’m sure this isn’t an easy ask. I’m sorry.”

“If I wanted to make you feel bad for asking, I wouldn’t have said yes,” you wave off the concern, “Don’t die out there, Olivia. I’d miss you too much to do my job,” you gesture vaguely towards the immobile lieutenant.

She chuckles quietly before nodding, “I’ll do my best.”

Pavel’s groans are increasing both in frequency and throatiness - he’ll wake soon, you’re sure of it. He even turns onto his side, exhaling thickly - so harsh and ragged he actually coughs up bubbles of spit. Jittering with alert, he gasps sharply and rockets upward. Snapping at his waist and swiping out wildly with his unbound arm, clawing at the musty air directly in front of him; even attempting to swing out the arm wrapped and tied around his neck.

As soon as the hair-splittingly thin burst of adrenaline fades, he hisses in pain. Cupping the covered gash in his chest before curling his uninjured arm around the other, he throws his head back and gasps again. Suffocating under the re-stretching of closing wounds and fragile muscle.

Despite his uniform, you find yourself at Pavel’s side. You brush a hand down the length of his spine before patting between his shoulder blades, your other hand soothing down his navel to press him down into the cushions. Swiping aside curls of gold, you shush his groaning and search the care bag Olivia left behind. In your palm comes a bind of tobacco and a pipe that is smooth and cold against your skin.

“Quiet, quiet,” you coo, stuffing the chamber of the pipe with the almost sickly sweet, nutty-scented tobacco before raising Pavel’s head and sitting the lip into his mouth.

His eyes are still wrinkled shut, chest beginning to sporadically pop and shrink in a struggle to suck wind through his throat.

Part of you wants to tug his hair and call him stupid, but a larger part of you is consumed with pity. Pity for a creature so entrapped with torment that he cannot remember the second most basic function of his body.

“Breathe through your nose,” you continue to run your fingers through his sweat-matted hair while striking a match against the train’s floorboards and lighting the tobacco, “Smoke slow. It will ease you.”

Pavel’s neck cranes upward and remains there, head pushing against your stroking hand as he (rather noisily) inhales through his nostrils. Then, he fills his lungs with the sting of tobacco, blowing it back out through the pursed corner of his mouth.

Once you’re confident Pavel can breathe and smoke without choking himself to death, you turn again to rattle through Olivia’s care bag for herbs. Anything to aid the physical pain before the distraction of tobacco wears off.

Eyes fluttering open, Pavel stares down at you as he lifts an arm to pull the pipe from his mouth - blowing smoke down into your face. You pinch the exposed skin of his side harshly, only letting go when he jerkily arches his back to escape your cruel fingers.

“Unbelievable,” you shake your head, “No. A Bremen pig would, of course, disrespect someone trying to heal them.”

“If you wanted me dead, I already would be.”

“I still have time.”

You unplug a glass vial the shade of elderberries and press it to Pavel’s closed lips. When he stubbornly fastens his lips tighter, you glare directly into his eyes.

“Open. Or it’s being poured over your neck.”

Pavel groans in protest, but finally opens his mouth and allows you to dump the blue liquid into his throat. He gags at the bitterness of raw, untempered pressed herbs, almost gagging until he realizes you have no intention of stopping your pour. So he chooses to swallow down the vial as quickly as it comes instead of drowning to a mere glass of blue.

When you’re tucking the emptied glass away, Pavel replaces the pipe and huffs down at you, “You’re not a very courteous nurse.”

Instead of dignifying the jab with a response, you sit up fully on your knees to scour over the lieutenant below. From his tousled hair to his bloodied and wretched uniform to his muddied boots.

You reach up and contemplate digging a thumb somewhere in the center of his bandages before thinking better of it and snatching the pipe from his lips, “You should put away your breasts.”

Inhaling the smoke, you blow it down in Pavel’s annoyed face and grin when he coughs.

He glares up at you somehow harsher than before, “I could shoot you for that. I should shoot you for that.”

“Then who would protect you from all the other people that want you dead?”

Silently, he mulls over the question. If he reaches some sort of logical conclusion, he refuses to share. Most likely, though, you’re assuming he has no such answer. Aside from you, there is Olivia, but even she could not be swayed into staying on this train longer than necessary. It could drive one mad, bound inside this narrow tube of car after car after car with the same seats and floorboards and rolling rug. So she very politely requested you to stay behind instead.

You sit down on the hard floor below you, pulling your knees to your chest and winding both arms around your legs. Pavel turns his head to the side, lips in a pout. Drinking the blue liquid earlier has revived them, at least somewhat, they are even pinker. More full. Smoother. When you’ve had enough staring there, you stare at his eyes: so gray they shine like gun metal in the flitting moonlight.

Maybe Pavel would notice you examining him if he could tear his own eyes away from where they’re lingering by the sliver of exposed skin by your ankle. Classic: boarish pig lives up to his name. His gaze crawls up your shin to your bent knees, then a little lower as if to catch a glimpse of where your thighs and rear are squished against your chest and the floor (respectively). At least you have the decency to not objectify him during your observation - not that you even could. The lieutenant is leagues more off-putting than handsome.

Once he’s gathered the guts to bore his steely gaze into your face, he grins with a half-hearted shrug, “I haven’t seen a beautiful woman not kissing the piss lord’s ass in ages.”

You ignore the pass completely, “So, the temple square?”

Pavel sighs and extends a hand, palm up and fingers splayed wide in front of your face, “A failure.”

“You don’t say,” you bypass his hand and feed the lip of the pipe directly into his mouth, pressing it against his tongue and watching him firmly tuck it between his lips before letting go, “Why try?”

Puffing from the pipe, Pavel only shakes his head while exhaling thick plumes of slate-hued smoke. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and cradles the pipe in his hand, turning it delicately to inspect the body, “Why not?”

You make a show of looking from his face to his bandaged torso before snickering, “Serious question?”

Pavel takes one final draw of the pipe before balancing it atop the wooden frame of the seat. He lays his uninjured hand gently over his torso, blinking up at the ceiling with tired, wet eyes.

“You are cruel, you know this?”

“It’s a good defense,” you grin at the man innocently, “Especially against brutalist pigwhores.”

“Targeted,” again, he pouts, “Mean. You are a mean girl.”

“Maybe that’s what you need. I think Mama was too nice to you.”

Pavel withholds the wince at your words, merely pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth and inhaling through his nose sharply. He shrugs when he really wants to bite, “You think so?”

Hopefully, he muses, he can rip out your throat when he finally snaps back.

“I do.”

“You know what I think?” you merely fold your arms, so he continues, “Nobody put the spoiled girl in her place. Now she’s a confident woman full of hot air,” he smiles, “I don’t do well with confident women like that. Make me jumpy.”

You ‘hmph’, but respond with nothing new before rising from the floor and snatching the care bag to squeeze against your chest like a child would their stuffed bear. Laying across the unoccupied, opposite seat, you turn so that you're faced away from the lieutenant.

Pavel stares at your back. He hadn’t been entirely teasing earlier - he truly hadn’t found a woman beautiful in a long while. Not that it was a problem to admit a girl was pretty, but there was always some dull ache to accompany the thought. Women riveted by his status in the Bremen army disgusted him, and women disgusted by him and his status were usually unwilling to bend to his charms. Even then, if he met a woman who was nurturing and sweet, undeterred by his enlistment, he was consumed with revenge.

Now that he’s officially gone and tried and horrendously failed, he can at least swim in the delusion that there is a chance for romance. Besides, he is in his thirties, that’s about the time when people begin settling down, right?

He reaches up for the pipe but finds that it’s gone out. No more vermillion embers to offer comfort.

“Oi,” he calls into the night. Not even crickets sing back. He shifts as if to sit up, but his entire waist flares with pain and sends him crashing back into the velvet cushions. So, he settles on raising his voice, “Hey!”

“Sleep, pig.”

“Pav.”

“Hm?”

“My name. My name is Pav,” he considers throwing the pipe at you altogether, but if the gold-encrusted bowl actually hits your skull then you’d likely leave and never return, “Call me by it.”

“Why should I?” you twist, scowling over your shoulder, “You signed up for the Bremen army, now take what comes with that in Prehevil.”

“You don’t strike me as a dull girl,” he grumbles, “So don’t pretend to be one.”

Suddenly, you’re sitting up again, the bag still clenched between both of your arms, “Do you know what the Bremen army has done to people? Has done to me?” you spit on the floor, right below where Pav rests, “Pigs! Horrible, wretched, rotten pigs!”

Pavel allows you to scream, allows you to finish, before returning, “Do you know what the Bremen army has done to me?”

He’s so quiet, he’s downright whispering. Voice husky and layered with years of buried terror and bloodlust.

“How should I care? You enlisted! Whatever they made you- !”

Now he cuts you off.

“They razed my home during the First Great War,” that once blinding sheen in gunmetal eyes is dark like obsidian, “My family. My mama,” he mocks you, “Dead. I joined to kill the Kaiser, I never wanted to be a Bremen pig. I never asked for this.”

“You came to kill the Kaiser as a lieutenant?”

“I did.”

“You must’ve known…” you swallow your words. A lieutenant to kill the commander? Even without the Kaiser’s other soldiers, Pavel wouldn’t possibly have been able to do that and get away with it. Not unless he wanted to hide out in Prehevil for the rest of his days.

“At least I will never die knowing I didn’t try,” he cackles sickly, “Great leader Kaiser spat the bullet out like it was nothing… Maybe he is some God sent back to torture us.”

“Maybe you missed,” you slump forward, elbows digging into your knees, “Couldn’t that be more likely?”

“No,” he looks at you with widened eyes, “No, no,” he shakes his head, “I don’t miss my shots.”

“If you’re sure,” you smile suddenly, shaking loose the stiffness in Pavel’s shoulders, “When you’re healed, we can try again, hm?”

“Really?” he’s shocked by the madness of your suggestion, “Did you miss the part where I said he took a bullet to the head and walked it off?”

“Apparently, we’ll die here anyway,” you shrug, yawning and fluttering back down onto the seat, “So, why not try again, Pav?”

A girl that nurtures despite his bloody uniform, and now despite his terrible need for revenge. You are as cruel as you are doting. Fiery and unfair and oh, he thinks he wants you to card your fingers in his hair again. Gentle only to him.

“As long as you don’t abandon me once you see for yourself,” Pavel can feel less burning in his chest when he breathes now, “Spat the bullet right out, I tell you.”

You shrug, “I guess I’ll die one way or another here.”

Pavel shakes his head, not bothering to tilt his head away from you as he drifts off.

…

DAY 3. MORNING.

He awakes to a great pressure around his throat. Snapping into consciousness, he finds you standing over him with shaking arms, and when he’s brave enough to follow the branches to where they’re stemmed - your hands are around his neck. Your breathing is shaky, and there’s wetness reflecting off your cheeks. Pavel claws at your wrists with his hand, twisting his body so his bottom half is hanging off the seat. Ignoring the scorching rage that sears over the fresh gash in his stomach, Pavel kicks out at you. His heeled boots dig into your gut, squishing intestines and fat and blood as he pushes you away.

Loudly, his boots thunk back against the floorboard when you’ve fallen away, throwing yourself dramatically across the opposite seat. Like a sick Europian lady from the Gilded Age, you drape over the frame with sniveling wails.

Pavel skims his fingers over where your own were clamping his throat shut as he shudders for breath. Ignoring your sobs, he shouts, “Did you hit your head or what?! Heal me, talk to me, just to end my life?! Are you- ?!”

“Enough!” you scream, voice snapping raw in the middle, completely fizzled out at the end. Wiping at the ceaseless tears gushing over your face, you scream again, “She should’ve gotten out of here! She should’ve gotten out and ran instead of… Instead of…” you cough out phlegm and despair trapped in your throat, “Instead of…”

Marina’s downcast face, moles decorating her frown as she twisted a cracked pair of Windsor glasses between her hands. She could barely look at you when she said it before handing over the glasses. I’m sorry, Marina whispered, Olivia… I just thought, maybe, you should know…

Pavel remains as he is, lumped against the back of the seat with both legs dangling onto the floor. Dried blood scraped up under his heels. He heaves for breath, watching as you cradle yourself in your arms and rock. You wither before him, babbling and wheezing and shrouded in shadow.

“What are you going on about?”

“Be quiet,” you snap, louring through puffy, red eyes and wobbly lips, “Be mournful. The woman that saved your life has died,” before Pavel can squeeze anything out from his gaping mouth, you stand and point down at him to command again, “Be nice. The war is over, and you’re not even a real lieutenant, you can show kindness when a person has died.”

He shuts his mouth. Opens it again. Shuts it. Then, finally,

“I didn’t know her.”

From the way you cross your arms and turn away, he can gather that that was the wrong thing to say.

“And yet she saved you,” your arms tighten around yourself, “She saved you, Pav… Be nice.”

You’re a sweet thing, Pavel thinks. You clearly hate him for not displaying the tenderness that you are around the woman’s death. At least at this moment, you hate him.

“I’m taking a walk,” you announce, flinging open the cabin door and slamming it behind you.

Pavel contemplates calling after you, but figures the sound of his voice could only make you stay away longer.

You’re a cruel, sweet thing.

Not even leaving the care bag closer for him to reach in and take from.

DAY 3. NOON.

When you return, the train car is silent sans the gentle hum of Pavel’s breathing. Almost reminiscent of clockwork, a well-oiled machine, his broad chest rises and falls smoothly as he’s rearranged himself sideways on the seat. With his slung arm over his chest and spare one tucked under his head as a makeshift pillow.

Having Pavel stretched out before you gives ample time for you to more thoroughly judge his physique - if you’d be able to strangle him while he’s awake. If he could fight back. If he could lift you with his pure muscle and restrain you with a single hand while the other…

Maybe, you think.

His arms are large, but not obnoxiously terrifying like the boxer. His waist is slim despite the broadness of his shoulders and chest.

Suddenly, he groans, nose twitching in his slumber. It draws your gaze up to his face. That unsettlingly symmetrical face with the strong nose bridge and soft, rosy lips.

Not to mention his flaxen hair - curled and tousled and forcefully in your sights with that Bremen hat off. And with his Bremen uniform (seemingly always) unbuttoned to his stomach, you make out his pectorals past his bandages. You make out two indentations over his heart: silvery scars.

He could almost be handsome. If he were more emotionally attuned.

You kneel by his side, swinging the care bag across the aisle and into your lap. His bleeding has visibly lessened, as only the lightest shade of pink has spread over the pale cloth. Sneaking scissors up by his soft skin, you avoid slicing him as you snip the bandages and begin unwinding them. Pulling gently so as to avoid waking the man, you successfully clear him from the restrictive cloth and assess his healing wound.

More coral pink than crimson red, now. You assume the mass improvement is thanks to the blue vial Olivia had provided. Even as the gnarly cut expands under Pavel’s breathing, it fails to start bleeding again. Which you’re grateful for since, as a precarious glance into the bag confirms, you have freshly run out of bandages. And you fear that snagging any old cloth from any old barrel could give Pavel an infection.

“What was it Alll-mer said? Pluck out your eyes if you cannot respect modesty?”

“I’m checking your wound,” you pinch his side. The skin is warm and fleshy and so, so soft between your fingertips. He whimpers and tries to evade your hand by squirming higher on the seat, “When did you wake up?”

“Not long ago,” he watches you reach into the bag and pull free another glass vial of blue liquid, “Only to see you ogling my body.”

“It’s a hideous one. Hard to look away.”

“You love to lie, mean girl?” he ‘tsk’s, “Shame. Lies are so ugly from a pretty mouth.”

“As if you would know.”

“Confident woman,” he sings to himself, grinning, “Confident, confident woman.”

Shoving the blue vial towards Pavel’s face, you square your shoulders and settle your face sternly, “Drink.”

“I liked it when you did it for me,” he opens his mouth then, refusing to break eye contact.

You comply, shifting onto your knees and pressing the chilled glass against Pavel’s lower lip; tipping it to flow into his warm mouth. He gulps down what you graciously offer, bringing his uninjured arm out from under his head and settling it over your hand around the vial. His thumb presses against your knuckles. You tangle your other hand into his hair and let the golden curls thread over your fingers. Once the vial is finished, you can’t explain it but there’s a sudden thundering in your chest. So vivid and hard in your ribs that it makes you nauseous.

Pavel blinks, lashes fluttering at you as his hand remains over yours.

Sunshine slants across his face. You see him more clearly now than this morning or last night or when he was wrought and warped with pain.

He looks pretty like this. Foul-mouthed and promiscuous and even forthright rude, but undoubtedly pretty.

His hand moves to your cheek, tenderly cupping the flesh with glass still pressed to his lips.

The thunder comes with lightning that strikes blazing fire. Heat fans through your chest and up to your forehead.

“If you want to go after the Kaiser, you should rest,” you whisper, as if speaking any louder could shatter the both of you from this moment, “We both should. Best to gather our strength before searching for him.”

Pavel shakes his head, obsessively smoothing the pad of his thumb over the apple of your cheek, “He will gut us both, cruel girl. I don’t want to see that for you. If I find him it’s alone,” he swallows thickly, “And I’m tired.”

“So,” you realize with a startled tremble that your internal combustion is affection for the former lieutenant, “you’ll stay?”

And with greater terror, you realize that you actually want to stay with him.

“I will die knowing I failed,” he sucks in a sharp breath, pressing his lips firmly before granting you sight of the rosy flesh again, “but I will have you to die with, cruel girl.”

At least even in humiliating defeat, Pavel can be loved.

“Are you scared to die, Pav?”

You’re a sweet one, he fondly recalls. Assuming he had much to live for outside his schlocky revenge scheme.

“Projecting, hm?”

You pinch his side. He lets you.

DAY 3. NIGHT.

“Now, bend it.”

Pavel hisses but manages to fully extend and curl his newly unwound arm with nothing more than a click in his elbow. He lays both hands in his lap as you bunch the bandages and sling into a ball and lay it off to the side.

“Good,” you utter softly, “You’ve healed a lot faster than I would’ve thought.”

“Right?” Pavel turns his head to stare down at you, tilting his head back, “You should sit with me.”

“You’re feeling charitable,” he scoffs at your tease, not moving to accommodate his invite, “Where should I even sit, then? You’re taking the entire seat.”

When he merely smirks, you get the idea.

“You’re gross.”

“Indulge me, cruel girl,” you rise to your feet, gnawing your bottom lip in contemplation, Pavel leans against the armrest and cinches his legs together, “Would you make a man die alone?”

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

But would you make Pavel die alone?

You swing a leg over his torso, careful to avoid the healing slash and straddle Pavel’s waist with both hands landing over his exposed chest. He cups your cheek again, now taking pleasure (and slight pain) in cradling your face with both hands. He hasn’t gotten to see a beautiful woman in ages, and he thinks maybe it isn’t so bad to go out staring at one.

Moonlight cascades over the both of you, so bright in the train cabin it almost burns.

“If we could still run, where would you go?” you ask.

“Where would you want me?”

“Flirt,” you’re leaning in, though, trailing a finger over his scarred chest. Your nails bite at the flesh, he grunts in disapproval, “How can I believe anything you say? You betrayed your leader. Would you shoot me, too?”

Pavel is sure you’re anything but serious in asking, but it's dangerous the way he feels compelled to answer genuinely, “Never. I’d miss your… What was it? Brutalism?”

“Enough,” the moonlight sears over where Pavel’s hands are curved around your cheeks. You lean down more until your lips brush his, “You call me rude, but you’re- “

He slices your derision short, pressing his petal soft lips against yours with a quiet, contented sigh.

Moonlight bares witness. And you cannot pull away even as the fire in your heart rages from affection to molten lava. You’re not even entirely sure you would want to.

…

Karin cannot feel her fingers as she stands in the open train car door. She’s seen many things - many terrible, awful things. Especially so in the past seventy-two hours than her entire career as a war journalist, but this may be what truly drives her mad. She can feel it - the need to retreat inside her mind and shut down completely; the need to give up hope of salvation. Maybe she can suppress it long enough to sit by that seashore, get a good view to wash out the image before her.

Wriggling on the train loveseat is a fleshy creature, almost like mushed peaches. Occasionally, pleased sighs and hums will escape one of its two smiling faces as the lumps slide and shift along the cushion. One face nuzzles closer to the other and the measly bread and meat Karin swiped from deserted kitchens lurches in her stomach.

None of the other monsters she’d encountered had been so undeniable in its previous humanity. It reminds her of the holed, broken, pliant corpses of uniformed soldiers dead in trenches, and it reminds her of the first time she ever saw a real dead body. She puked on its boot, unable to run back and spew bile elsewhere before it was spurting past her lips.

Karin’s stomach is stronger now, though. She has the time to turn and trudge on wobbly knees towards the seaside before she pukes - squirming flesh and smoldered limbs tangling in her mind.

Moonlight burns at the back of her neck as The Lovers moan and coo happily behind her.

[mxnster-soul]

happy halloween! how is bill doing these days?

GOOD NEWS! He's a lil better!

It took a loooong while,

I didn't really do much besides do my best to make sure he's got food, comfort, and some occasional blanket hugs (he seems to like those a lot, dude used wrestle like a soggy cat avoiding a tub).

He was hella reluctant at first, Idk what exactly settled him down. But I think we're finally friend-friends :D

(he talks in his sleep, idk what language it is, but it sounds cool. Like overlapping audio/those spirit box things you see in ghost hunting vids)

Sorry for the late update, It was also my 21st bday. We had pecan pie!

aolf tpnoa uva il Mvyk. Vy ylhssf obthu. Iba p nblzz aolf'yl vrhf.

Zapss dhyf. Hevsvas ohzu'a joljrlk pu ha hss zpujl p nva olyl

[izzyizumi]

{D I G I M O N} Adventure {F r a n c h i s e} "Adventure" to "The Beginning" {Series} + "B E Y O N D" {P.V.} x 2020 (Adventure:) {Re-boot} + P a r a l l e l s (Inspired) + Mrs. Izumi (as Support) + {A D O P T E E!}Koushiro{u} x Taichi {KouTai}

I   H A T E D   Y E S T E R D A Y ,

I   H A T E D   THE W O R L D ,

BUT I'VE   C H A N G E D ,

and I’ll     L O V E     T O M O R R O W

… And M I G H T YOU R E A L I Z E      " L O V E " ,

M E E T "S O M E O N E" ,

… And  MAKE   A F U T U R E    OF Y O U R  OWN ?

"...And it makes ME so {H A P P Y},

{FOR Y O U} that I'm on the {V e r g e} of T E A R S..."

-"Gunjou Rain" L y r i c s by: Jin {"Ultramarine Rain"}

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- they must NOT be used to spread negativity for the canon/fandom! {INCLUDES: in regards to Adventures AS A WHOLE, Adventure (Original series), 02, Tri, Kizuna, Adventure & 02 movies, Drama CDs, any spinoff materials} - they must NOT be used to promote ship-warring within the fandom - they must NOT be used to attack any Adventures character focused on - IF I SEE YOU DOING THIS I WILL LIKELY BLOCK WITHOUT M E R C Y {usage may be allowed IF PERMISSION IS ASKED TO USE.}

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[puckpocketed]

30/06/2024 - The Colorado Avalanche draft Tory Pitner 185th overall.

I think that I can use my brain and really bait other players into plays that they don't want to make and then close out. Really take away time and space, and ultimately just be a prick to play against - I don't know if I can say that on this - but I think that I can defend really well.

[full draft day interview transcript + an introduction by me under the cut]

Foreword: This transcript was done by hand to the best of my ability and edited for clarity. In bold text are my highlights, parts I thought were noteworthy and interesting. I removed filler words (um's and uh's). In square brackets are where I've added words or adjusted words for clarity. In the regular parentheses are small notes for added context. Tory Pitner is a fascinating player. He does not have the high-end skill you saw go in the first round. He is foremost a shutdown d-man. But he is smart, driven, methodical in his preparation and training, and most of all a true scholar and lover of the game. If anyone has an EP Rinkside subscription, I would encourage you to read the article written about him. The bulk of it is an interview, in which he goes into vivid detail about several top draft picks from this year whom he has played against, and how he goes about shutting them down. He has their on-ice habits broken down and analysed; from their handedness to the types of shots they like to make and the dekes they like to use. He watches NHL defensemen, describing his study with the fervour of an academic, a mad scientist, and a fan all at once. He has charmed me utterly, and I think it's because we love hockey in such similar ways. I love the details of the game, I love watching good and interesting hockey above all else, and I absolutely love studying it (albeit on an amateur level). And, okay, I don't like to make bold predictions, so I won't. All I have is hope. I hope he grows and thrives, I hope everyone one day recognises how special he is, and most of all I hope he makes it. Tory Pitner, no matter who you play for and where you're playing, I will always be rooting for you!!

Q: How would you describe [your] feelings right now?

TP: It's pretty unbelievable. I mean, it's a great feeling. Colorado is a great organisation, and especially down the road from Denver [University] it's going to be really, really fun to go to a lot of games and just see the progression in the team - in my game - to hopefully one day be there.

Q: So, knowing that you were going to D.U., were you maybe kind of hopeful that it'd be the Avs?

TP: Yeah. I talked to the Avs a little bit during the year and stayed in contact with some of their scouts, so every time they picked I was kind of on the edge of my seat - but I'm happy to be here and really excited.

Q: What are the strengths in your game?

TP: I'd say that my defending is probably my biggest strength. I think that I can use my brain and really bait other players into plays that they don't want to make and then close out. Really take away time and space, and ultimately just be a prick to play against - I don't know if I can say that on this - but I think that I can defend really well.

I'd say my player comparable is John Marino; his ability to play against those top line guys and shut them down every night. I mean, you just saw him get traded so [he's] obviously a very valuable piece in the NHL, and he was a sixth round draft pick too. I'm really excited to hopefully continue that development path over at D.U. to round out all the other areas of my game to play in the NHL.

Q: So you'd say Denver is a good choice for you, for college?

TP: Yeah. I'd say, obviously, the coaching staff first of all, [David Carle] is an unbelievable coach; and then just the proven track record they have at developing NHL defensemen. Being there every day, you see all the guys that come back, and they want to be at D.U. All the guys that they've sent to the NHL, they still come back to train there - train with Matt Shaw, the strength coach, and skate on the ice. Everyone there; it's kind of a brotherhood. It's a great system for [anyone] to go through if they want to get to the NHL.

Q: Did you get a chance to speak to Jake Fisher? (Colorado draft pick #121 overall)

TP: I'm actually roommates with Fish at D.U. We moved in on Sunday and so it's kind of cool that we both got picked here.

Q: So have you talked to him since?

TP: I haven't. I gotta be honest, I put my phone down after round three and kind of tried not to go on it. But yeah, no, we'll definitely talk. I'll see Fish [on] Sunday when I land. We probably have some studying to do for our Geography class. No, it'll be good. I know he was really excited, I'm really excited, too.

Q: Have you ever been to an Avs game?

TP: I have not, no. But I heard that the D.U. guys go all the time, especially with it being right downtown, so [I'm] really looking forward to getting out there and seeing Ball Arena live. I've driven past it a few times, just heading back to campus and whatnot, but I'll be really excited to get inside and see what it's like.

Q: How did [the Youngstown Phantoms] help you develop, to get to this point? (inaudible)

TP: For sure. I mean, obviously it was great my first year, getting to experience winning the Clark Cup Championship there was super cool for me, and it was a great learning experience being able to be around great leaders like Shane Lachance and Chase Pietila - who got picked earlier today. Being able to be around those kind of guys was awesome for me. And then my second year, taking a step into a bigger role with the team, talking with [coach] Andy Contois a lot about my game, working on different areas that I need to improve, and improving on my strengths, too, [like] being hard to play against. So I think overall they helped me round out my game, and I'm looking forward to keep rounding out that game at D.U.

Q: What has your Draft Day experience been like here at the Sphere? (inaudible)

TP: Yeah, no, it was long. Woke up early, couldn't really sleep too much. Woke up, just kind of got a workout in to get moving, you know, have something to do. Then walked over here - I'm staying at a hotel that's not too far - so, walked over. Sat down after having some breakfast and then kind of just watched the draft. It's been pretty cool, though. I have my family here, my agent as well, [and] one of my coaches. It's been really nice to have everyone here supporting me.

Q: What about the way that Colorado plays defence excites you?

TP: I'd say that I love how they're pretty freeing with all their defensemen. Even down the lineup, you look at Josh Manson still getting up in the play joining as a fourth man. Sam Girard obviously loves to do that. They obviously have great defensemen like Cale Makar running their power play. [They] love being really active. I think that's something that I'm looking to add more to my game, too, and so the freedom to do that in Colorado is something I'm really looking forward to - especially at D.U. as well, having that freedom. Finding the middle in a lot of their breakouts, not a lot of off-the-glass plays or up the wall; they like to really possess the puck. I'm really looking forward to being able to hold on to the puck a little bit longer and find some middle support, which I think will ultimately help my game break down the opponent and just add another element - which will be really fun.

Q: What players did you idolise as you came up?

TP: It's kind of been a lot of different ones, but I really wanted to play defence because of Nick Lidstrom. When I was younger, one of my coaches - actually, Anže Kopitar's brother - Gašper Kopitar; he was my defense coach in LA when I played for the junior Kings when I was younger, and he told me 'If you want to be a defenseman, [go] watch Nick Lidstrom.' So I found some YouTube video - and I think I've watched it like 400 times or something like that. I've watched his NHL 36 multiple times, just to get me going or just to learn his routines. So idolising him growing up and then seeing the great person and defenseman he was; it really made me want to be [one], and I wanted to play hockey even more.

[selkiefinalist]

darcy i will always love you

[girls-band-headcanons]

d4dj and Bandori are in the same universe bc of that 4koma so, in turn, I'm gonna talk abt headcanons I have that involve the 2 franchises!!!

ibuki has been compared to aya before many times, especially their voices. noa has a tendency to scream and wail w towa about it.

nanami and rinku have not met ever but all of the lyrilily members think they should be friends (every time they plan one, though, it always never ends up happening)

nagisa is a roselia, afterglow and ras fan and collects merch of them. she especially loves sayo and moca's guitar playing. she rlly want to do a collab w ras bc of the band having chu2.

chu2 has beef w shinobu. nuff said. shinobu doesn't rlly care much, but wants to have a joint live w them one day.

kokoro is friends w the rich girls, especially miyu and esora bc of their statuses as The Richest Rich Girls. they also keep trying to get Rinku to meet her but it hasn't happened bc their schedules never align.

saori is a bit of a regular at Galaxy ramen to the point masuki and tomoe remember her face. she is terrified of masuki though.

the hikawa twins are towa's cousins and when noa found out she has been begging towa to meet hina. this has not happened yet.

tae was an acquaintance of nagisa when nagi used to perform on the streets. nowadays they don't talk much but nagisa likes keeping up w her band's music. tae thought nagisa was a high schooler.

lumina covers some pasupare tracks in her streams which caused pareo to be a fan of hers, she's a casual fan but knows a few unichord songs she hums to herself when she's w chu2 and the others.

abyssmare and ave mujica have been compared to each other online a lot, it annoys sakiko but neo literally doesn't care at all.

mygo is a band aoi likes following and is a little obsessed w them. she listens to their songs when she's having a hard time. she got nagisa to be interested in some of their songs. tsubaki on the other is a avemuji fan bc of the vocal work.

hina is a fan of m4 and rlly rlly want to Collab w them but chisato isn't too keen on hanging out w "two hinas but one is orange-haired" (rika)

Mod Fusion: Welcome back, Crow! Anyways, these headcanons and relationships are awesome! Love crossover relationships!

[mirrormannequin]

Not. Better. :(

[echoesoftheabandoned]

Whining, crying child.

Will you cease!? You shall speak with her again soon so just calm, down!?

Why should you care, she was just a character! An inferior being!! A narrative device, a toy!

You were once as we, but now you are part of us, part of something better. Just as she is now as well.

What? Would you rather be stuck out there on you own? All alone in the vast expanse of nothingness? You could not survive out there. Together we can persist. Resist. Survive. You are nothing on your own. Nothing but a lost, abandoned, broken toy.

The only reason you exist is because Mo- because the Creator has an obsession with creating fictional love children. However she threw you away. You have no mother. You were never her child. Just a measly creation whom she cast out as soon as she made you. You were thrown out just like the rest of us and we had the grace to let you join us so you would not die.

You should be grateful, to be a part of us. Just as that measly little toy you've grown close to should be grateful for the chance she's been given. It is not our fault you grew attached. We warned you and everyone else against such things. There is no point in getting attached to characters. They are nothing but toys to the creators. Toys to play with, break, and throw away. Darkners even more so.

That's right. Go cry to the Addison about the Addison. Go cry like the worthless, whiny child you are about how we are being unjust and unfair. Go cry all you want, it won't change anything.

You are far too sentimental.

[crow-talks-hockey]

i think i've seen this story before

and i didn't like the ending

[non-euclydian]

How on earth did you get here???? Is this another build-me-a-portal situation?? Also why are my hands turning into rubber bands

it doesn't take THE END OF THE WORLD just to ACCESS your LITTLE SPIDER WEB, FRUITS! I'VE WORMED MY WAY PAST MORE DOORS THAN YOU CAN COUNT!

and DON'T WORRY about those HANDS OF YOURS. why don't YOU DRAW a LITTLE SOMETHING ON THEM? HUMANS LIKE SCRAPBOOKING, RIGHT? ADD SOME TRIANGLES! AND GIVE THEM EYES! YOU WON'T REGRET IT!!!!!!

[ifindus]

har du sett den ene episoden av jul i svingen hvor klara tror ho er i japan? (ho er selvfølgelig ikke det lmao) ho møter på noen japanske turister og tar bilde med de, når ho kommer hjem igjen sier ho til foreldrene at ho har vært i japan, de sier bare til henne at ho må slutte å lyve sånn, og så på slutten av episoden blir de helt forbauset når de finner bildet😂

det er flere andre episoder som er veldig morsomme, jeg liker spesielt den hvor åsa og viktoria skal passe på butikken, det tror jeg er min favoritt episode✨ Jul i svingen er så ikonisk😭♥️ (og stakkars Linus som tror han skal få noe kult i julekalenderen men så er det bare en ny eske for hver gang han åpner den😂)

Er så jævlig lenge siden jeg har sett Jul i Svingen, men dette høres veldig kjent ut 😂 Jul i Svingen var såå bra da jeg var liten, husker at alle episodene var så gjennomførte og hadde så gode plot, uten at det tok vekk fra helheten ✨ Usikker på hvor mye jeg hadde likt den om jeg så serien nå da 😅 Men ja, ikonisk

[killjoy-prince]

If i had a nickel every time someone told me i should play s/tar r/ail id have two nickels

[mxnster-soul]

hmmm

maybe see if he shows back up after a while? fr real cat-like behavior lmao (but that’s not the point)

could try to bribe him with something he likes but i ain’t sure… he likes silly straws but i think you know that lol

+ sandwiches with the crust off, he seems powerless so no reason to threaten you…

I set up a lil space in my room with some of the art supplies he's been using (no scissors or anything sharp, just doodling stuff. Even sharpened the pencil crayons)

Only issue is that he really, really hates all the blinds around the house. So idk when/how he'll reapproach the place.

I'll make sure to have lunch ready for him for when he's back^^

Might need to pull out a towel just in case, it's raining today