#before you ask... no || cassius

[catilinas]

if you were to make an ides of march themed coffee drink what do u think screams a man getting stabbed several times over?

sleeplessness as a Motif in jc is OUT from now on we are focusing on cassius' anachronistic coffee machine.

Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.

i think in the space of that incomplete line (i have not slept) brutus should take a massive slurp from a mug of coffee. (i can excuse the anachronism but i'm not sure if cassius would actually drink coffee? maybe he just makes it for brutus. who Has Not Slept). artist's rendition of brutus' mug:

do you think the number of stab wounds in caesar being relatively way fewer than the number of conspirators / the general poor aim and accidental injury among the conspirators was due to jittery hands from the coffee from cassius' anachronistic coffee machine (which he obtained through The Time Loop. btw). do you think the reason cicero was not included in the conspiracy was because then cassius would have to let cicero try coffee and that would have been genuinely cataclysmic to the political state of rome (i think tiro deserves to try coffee though).

anyway. if i were to make an ides of march themed coffee drink i think the only appropriate addition / flavour would be blood

[maracujatangerine]

92: Playing with the pet

CW: institutional slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation, box boy universe, implied abuse, physical injury

The pet’s master had guests. The pet was on its best behaviour, kneeling on the hard, grey tiles next to Master’s chair. It was tired, cold, and hungry, but it did all it could to keep itself from swaying in place.

To distract itself, and to prepare itself for what might happen, it watched the guests carefully. These people were new. The pet had never seen them before.

Two large, muscular men with colourful tattoos running down their arms and wrapping around their necks. Both of them carried themselves as people who were no strangers to violence, and the pet caught a quick glimpse of a gun in a holster when one of them leaned down to place their tan leather messenger bag on the floor.

With them, they had two women in their late teens or early twenties, well a decade younger than the men. They wore carefully applied makeup, and flowery perfumes that itched the pet’s nose and made it want to sneeze.

“Oh!” The blonde woman exclaimed in surprise when she saw it. “You have a pet! That’s so adorable!”

“Can we play with him?” The redhead asked wistfully. The pet saw how its master and the two men exchanged meaningful looks, even though the women seemed unaware. When the burly men nodded, the pet’s master smiled and, with an inviting gesture, handed over the pet’s leash to her.

”Of course you can, Jenna! You can take him into the living room across the hall and play with him as much as you want.”

”That’s amazing!” She turned, and the pet scrambled clumsily to its feet, stiff after kneeling for so long. ”What’s his name?”

”Um… well…” Cassius hesitated. ”He doesn’t really have a name. We usually call him pet, or… well, my niece and nephew sometimes call him buddy.”

“Okay, Buddy it is, then.” She smiled at the pet and patted her thigh. “Come on, Buddy.”

The pet glanced at its Master, but Cassius had already turned away and was busy pouring whiskey into three tumblers. Despite the fluttering of fear in the pet’s chest, there was nothing for it to do but to follow the young women across the hallway and into the room on the other side.

The blonde girl sat down in the black leather sofa and pulled up her legs under her. Jenna sat next to her, and as she held the pet’s leash, it knelt down on the grey carpet in front of her. They both looked at it, which made its stomach tighten in fear. Unsure of what to do, it tilted its head and tried an imploring smile.

“Awww! Look, Crystal! That is so cute!” Jenna clapped her hands together appreciatively.

“Do you know any tricks?” Crystal asked, and the pet immediately panicked.

What tricks? It hadn’t been taught any tricks.

It could walk at heel, and serve canapés, and pour champagne in a straight and perfect arc. It could cook, and clean, and listen sympathetically to its owner’s lamentations. It could grovel, and beg, and bleed. But it had a terrible feeling that none of those skills were what these young ladies wanted, and if it couldn’t show them a sufficiently amusing trick right now, they might hurt it, or its Master might be displeased, and that would be the same thing…

It knew it was spiralling, but it couldn’t stop. It was all it could do to keep the confusion and fear from its face.

“Shake!” Crystal leaned forward, a strand of her blonde hair - more warmly yellow than the pets pale blonde - falling down over her face. She held out her hand, and dumbfoundedly, the pet laid its hand in hers. She gave it a vigorous shake. “Yay!” She cheered. “Good job! Good boy!”

The words rushed like endorphins down the pet’s spine. Blessed relief! It had guessed right at least this time.

”Wave!” Crystal nodded to the pet, and it tentatively raised its right hand in a cautious wave. ”That’s good! Now spin!”

The pet hurriedly span around on its knees, making a full circle and then, daringly, tilting its head at them again.

It was equally successful this time. Both Jenna and Crystal laughed and applauded.

”Let me try.” Jenna said. ”Roll over.” She told the pet, who laid down on its stomach and rolled around on its back to land on its stomach again. ”Good!”

”We should give him a treat for doing well.” Crystal said suddenly.

”Yes!” Jenna nodded. ”Do you like chocolate?” She asked the pet.

”Y-yes, Ma’am.”

She rummaged around in her bag and found half a bar of milk chocolate. Unfolding the metal foil, she broke off a square of chocolate and held it out to the pet. Hesitatingly, it leaned forward and carefully took it between its lips. The burst of flavour almost shockingly sweet.

”Sit pretty.” Crystal ordered, and the pet almost lost it for a moment. It was already sitting, what else did they want from it? In a burst of creative inspiration, it held up both hands in front of its chest, mimicking a dog sitting up on its haunches.

It was rewarded by laughter, and another chocolate square. Crystal leaned forward and tousled its hair appreciatively.

“I know!” Jenna looked at Crystal with a wink, then, with a mischievous smile, she turned to the pet and gave the order.

”Snoot Boop.”

Shyly, the pet stretched up on its knees to lightly touch its own nose to hers. Jenna giggled. It kept its eyes respectfully downcast the whole time. Her breath smelled sweet and fresh, like peppermint, and even though her flowery perfume was strong, it was not unpleasant.

The pet sat immediately down on its knees again, and when it dared to look up at her, Jenna’s dark blue eyes looked straight into the pets own. They glittered with laugher, but the pet could see no hint of maliciousness. It was more like she was laughing with it, enjoying its cleverness, rather than laughing at it.

Crystal raised her right hand, index finger pointing at the pet.

”Bang!” She said. This time, the pet caught her meaning quickly. Dramatically, it flopped down on its back on the carpet, eyes closed.

When its theatrics made the young women laugh, the pet felt really proud. It hadn’t been trained for this, but they thought it was funny - and well-behaved.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped.

“Oh no, look.” Jenna grabbed its wrist, making the pet instinctively go limp, letting her twist its hand to and fro as she pleased. A long, infected scratch along its arm glistened damp and red in the lamplight. ”You’ve gotten hurt.”

Before the pet had time to react, she called loudly out into the other room.

”Cassius, did you know that Buddy is injured?”

A moment’s silence, then the pet’s Master’s voice.

”It’s nothing to worry about, Jenna. You know pets, they play rough sometimes.” He cleared his throat. ”If you want to fix him up, there’s a first aid kit in the kitchen.”

”I’ll get it.” Jenna jumped up and walked out towards the kitchen.

”You poor dear.” Crystal said. ”What happened?”

The pet could very vividly recall Kristoff pushing it up against the chain link fence, its arm catching on the strand of barbed wire hanging down loosely from on top of the fence. But if it said that, the truth might reflect badly on its Master.

”T-this pet cannot remember, Ma’am.”

When Jenna came back with the first aid kit, they carefully cleaned the cut and dressed it with a proper, white bandage and everything. The pet was amazed, especially since they gave it the whole rest of the chocolate bar, ’for being so brave’.

”Can we braid your hair?” Crystal asked, as Jenna gathered up the first aid materials.

”Y-yes, Ma’am.”

So then the pet sat with its back against the sofa, while both Jenna and Crystal played with its hair, making Dutch braids on either side of the pet’s head. They were so gentle and careful. The pet closed its eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation, when something tilted and shifted. The memory slid away from it, and changed.

Another hand touched its hair, roughly.

”Did you make yourself this pretty for me?” A deep, melodious voice asked.

The pet froze. In the distance, it could hear its Master greet the man with respect and notes of fear in his voice.

”Of course you can feel free to borrow my pet. Take your time and enjoy him as much as you’d like.”

The pet was immobilised. When it opened its eyes, everything was dark. There were hands all over it, groping, stroking, probing. It knew, that whatever it did, they would have their way with it. Maybe today would be the day that they broke it.

The pet pleaded, begged, finally screamed, but the wandering hands did not let up. It twisted and tried to get away.

It screamed again and then, suddenly, jerked awake.

The soft, warm light from the night light alleviated the darkness.

Hands were touching it, but these hands were safe. Coriander heaved itself up into sitting, and nearly melted into the familiar hug, only now aware of the tears running down its face.

Miss Lydia hugged the pet gently. She stroked its back.

”It’s okay, Cory.” She repeated quietly. ”It was just a dream. You are here with me now. You are okay.”

The pet was clinging to her, taking shivering breaths. Slowly coming back to itself. Relief flowed over it, as it realised it was true. It had just been dreaming.

Then, the pet remembered. It froze. When Miss Lydia felt it stiffen, she froze too.

With an effort, Coriander straightened up, and turned away.

”P-please, Miss Lydia. Don’t… P-please leave this pet alone.”

It didn’t look at her, but it could feel her hesitation. After a moment, her breath hitched as if she wanted to say something, but instead, Lydia got up and walked away.

She left the door ajar.

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[andy-15-07]

A Family Beyond War

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader Word Count: 2616

The sun burned high in the sky over Rome, its rays reflecting off the golden armor of General Marcus Acacius as he stood on the training field. His two sons, Cassius and Tiberius, mirrored his stance, their youthful faces determined as they wielded wooden practice swords. Marcus’ wife, Y/N, watched from a shaded pergola nearby, her youngest daughter, Aurelia, seated beside her with a scroll of poetry in her lap. The warm air was filled with the clanging of swords and the occasional barked correction from Marcus.

Cassius, the eldest at 18, struck forward with precision, his blade aiming for Tiberius’ midsection. Tiberius, 17, blocked, his movements slightly more hesitant but determined nonetheless. Marcus stepped forward, his commanding presence evident as he corrected Tiberius’ stance.

“Keep your guard high, Tiberius,” Marcus instructed. “A single mistake in the field could cost you your life.”

“Yes, Father,” Tiberius replied, adjusting his posture under his father’s watchful gaze.

Aurelia looked up from her scroll, her brow furrowed. “Must they always fight? There is more to life than swords and shields.”

Y/N chuckled softly, brushing a strand of Aurelia’s dark hair back. “Your brothers wish to follow in your father’s footsteps. It is their way of honoring him.”

“But I do not wish to honor bloodshed,” Aurelia replied, her voice tinged with disapproval. “What glory is there in taking a life?”

Before Y/N could respond, Marcus’ voice rang out. “Enough for today! Cassius, Tiberius, well done. Your skill improves daily.”

The boys beamed under their father’s praise, their faces flushed from exertion. As they approached, Marcus’ eyes softened as they fell upon Y/N and Aurelia. “And how are my ladies?” he asked, his tone gentle.

“Aurelia was just lamenting the barbarity of your craft,” Y/N teased, a playful smile on her lips.

Marcus knelt beside Aurelia, his hand resting on her shoulder. “You disapprove of our training, little one?”

Aurelia hesitated, then nodded. “It is violent and cruel. Surely there is a better way to resolve conflict.”

Marcus’ expression grew thoughtful. “Perhaps you are right, Aurelia. But until the world embraces peace, men like your brothers and I must be prepared to defend our home and our family.”

Aurelia sighed, her gaze falling to her scroll. “I wish the world could see the beauty in words instead of war.”

Later that evening, the family dressed in their finest attire and made their way to the Colosseum. The massive structure loomed ahead, its arches and columns illuminated by the setting sun. The roar of the crowd grew louder as they entered, the scent of sweat and anticipation thick in the air.

Y/N took her seat beside Marcus in the reserved section, their children flanking them. Aurelia sat stiffly, her discomfort evident as the first fight began. She flinched at the clash of swords and the cheers of the crowd as a gladiator fell to his knees.

“Barbaric,” Aurelia muttered under her breath.

Marcus glanced at her, his brow furrowing. “Aurelia, come with me.”

Surprised, she followed her father out of the stands and into the quieter corridors of the Colosseum. Marcus stopped in a shaded alcove, turning to face her. “Speak your mind, daughter.”

Aurelia took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly. “I hate it, Father. The blood, the violence, the cheers for death. It’s monstrous. How can you support this?”

Marcus’ jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, he knelt to her level, his eyes filled with a rare vulnerability. “I do not enjoy it, Aurelia. But it is a part of the world we live in. The Colosseum is not just a place of death; it is a reminder of Rome’s power, of the discipline and strength that built our empire.”

Aurelia’s eyes welled with tears. “Must strength always come at such a cost?”

“No,” Marcus admitted. “Strength can also be found in compassion, in wisdom, in the courage to speak against what you believe is wrong. You have that strength, Aurelia. Do not let the ugliness of this world dim your light.”

She threw her arms around his neck, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “I love you, Father. I just wish things could be different.”

Marcus held her tightly, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. “So do I, my little poet. So do I.”

The weeks that followed saw a shift in the family dynamics. Marcus encouraged Aurelia’s passion for poetry, often asking her to recite verses during family meals. Cassius and Tiberius, inspired by their sister’s bravery in confronting their father, began to view their training with a new perspective, seeking to emulate not just their father’s strength but also his wisdom and compassion.

One evening, as the family sat together in their garden, Aurelia stood and cleared her throat. “I have written something,” she announced, her cheeks pink with nervousness.

Marcus gestured for her to continue, pride evident in his eyes. “Let us hear it, Aurelia.”

She unfolded a parchment and began to read, her voice steady and filled with emotion. Her words painted a picture of a world where swords were beaten into plowshares, where the cries of battle were replaced by songs of peace. As she finished, the family sat in awed silence.

“Beautiful,” Y/N whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Marcus rose and embraced his daughter. “You have a gift, Aurelia. Never stop sharing it.”

In that moment, the general and his poet found common ground, their love for each other bridging the divide between war and peace.

As the seasons passed, Aurelia’s poetry began to gain attention beyond their household. Word of her talent spread, and soon she was invited to recite her work at gatherings and festivals. Marcus and Y/N attended every event, their pride in their daughter evident to all who saw them.

One day, Aurelia returned home with a scroll in hand, her eyes alight with excitement. “Father, Mother, I have been invited to present my work at the Forum!”

Marcus smiled, his heart swelling with pride. “The Forum is a place of great importance. You will be speaking to some of Rome’s most influential minds. Are you ready for such an audience?”

Aurelia nodded confidently. “I am ready. My words will speak of peace and understanding. Perhaps they will inspire change.”

On the day of the event, the family arrived at the Forum, where a large crowd had gathered. Aurelia stood on the raised platform, her presence commanding despite her young age. She began to speak, her voice clear and passionate. Her words wove a tapestry of hope, challenging the audience to envision a Rome where wisdom and compassion reigned supreme.

As she concluded, the crowd erupted into applause. Marcus watched with a mixture of pride and awe as his daughter descended the platform and was surrounded by admirers. He saw in her the potential to shape a better future, one that transcended the violence and bloodshed that had defined his own life.

That evening, as the family gathered in their garden once more, Marcus raised a cup in a toast. “To Aurelia, whose words have the power to change the world. May her light guide us all.”

The family joined in the toast, their bond stronger than ever. In that moment, they were not just a family of warriors and poets but a beacon of hope for a better Rome.

As Aurelia’s influence grew, she began to attract the attention of Rome’s elite. Senators and scholars sought her counsel, and even the emperor himself invited her to speak at the palace. Marcus, though wary of the political implications, supported his daughter’s endeavors, knowing that her voice was a force for good.

Cassius and Tiberius, inspired by their sister’s courage, began to explore their own paths beyond the training field. Cassius developed an interest in engineering, designing structures that could benefit Rome’s citizens. Tiberius, meanwhile, turned his focus to diplomacy, using his father’s teachings to mediate disputes and foster alliances.

One evening, as the family dined together, Tiberius spoke up. “Father, I have been invited to accompany a delegation to Gaul. They believe my skills as a mediator could be of use.”

Marcus regarded his son with a mixture of pride and concern. “Gaul is a land of uncertainty. Are you prepared for the challenges you may face?”

Tiberius nodded. “I am, Father. You have taught me well.”

Marcus placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Then go with my blessing. Make me proud.”

As the family’s influence continued to grow, they became a symbol of hope and unity in a fractured empire. Marcus, once known solely as a warrior, found his legacy evolving through the achievements of his children. Together, they forged a new path for Rome, one that balanced strength with compassion, and tradition with progress.

And through it all, Aurelia’s words remained a guiding light, reminding them of the power of hope, love, and understanding in a world often overshadowed by darkness.

As Aurelia’s influence spread, the delicate balance between her poetic pursuits and her family’s military legacy continued to shift. Her poetry, infused with visions of peace and a world beyond war, struck a chord with many in the elite circles of Rome. It wasn't long before high-ranking senators, philosophers, and even foreign dignitaries sought her counsel. Her words, once confined to the walls of their home, were now finding an audience in the halls of power.

Marcus, despite his initial hesitation, couldn't help but feel immense pride in his daughter’s growing stature. He had long been known as the great general, a man of iron and blood, his legacy tied to the battles he fought and the empire he helped to build. But as Aurelia’s influence grew, he realized that his legacy was evolving, shifting into something more than just strength and conquest.

Cassius and Tiberius, too, found their paths diverging from the training fields and the weight of their father’s expectations. Cassius, with his keen mind and inventive spirit, took an interest in engineering. Inspired by the growing need for infrastructure in Rome, he set about designing new aqueducts to carry water to the farthest reaches of the city, improving life for the common people.

Tiberius, always more thoughtful and diplomatic than his brothers, began to consider a future in statecraft. His natural ability to mediate disputes, honed in the small lessons his father had given him over the years, became a vital tool as he began traveling with the diplomatic corps. He was frequently tasked with negotiating with foreign dignitaries, ensuring that Rome’s alliances remained strong, even as the empire stretched its borders farther than ever before.

One day, while Marcus and Y/N enjoyed a quiet evening together, their conversation turned to their children’s futures. Y/N, ever the pragmatic one, voiced her concerns.

“Do you ever wonder, Marcus,” she began, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and worry, “how our children will fare in the world? Our sons, particularly, are stepping into roles that will shape Rome’s future. I fear the weight of their legacy may be too much for them to bear.”

Marcus, who had always been a man of action rather than reflection, looked at his wife with a rare softness in his eyes. “I fear the same,” he admitted, his voice low. “But they are their own men now. I can only guide them, not live their lives for them.”

Y/N smiled, her hand finding his across the table. “And Aurelia? She is unlike any of us, and yet she is perhaps the most important of all.”

Marcus chuckled softly. “She has a power in her words that no sword can match. I believe she will do more for Rome than any general ever could.”

Weeks passed, and Aurelia’s name became a familiar one in the highest circles of Roman society. One evening, after a particularly well-received performance at the Senate House, Aurelia returned to the family home to find her brothers waiting for her.

“Well, well,” Cassius said with a teasing grin. “The poet returns from conquering the hearts of the Senate.”

Aurelia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “They don’t know what to make of me, but they’re intrigued. It’s a step forward.”

Tiberius, his brow furrowed in thought, placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done more than step forward, Aurelia. You’ve made them listen. Do you realize how many people are talking about you?”

“I don’t want them to talk about me,” Aurelia said, her voice soft but firm. “I want them to hear the message in my words.”

Cassius gave her an appraising look. “You’ve always been the brave one, haven’t you?”

“Bravery has nothing to do with it,” Aurelia replied, her eyes meeting his with quiet intensity. “It’s about doing what’s right, even when it’s difficult.”

Tiberius nodded. “I think you’re right. Maybe there’s something to your vision of a different Rome—a Rome that isn’t built on conquest, but on understanding and strength in other forms.”

Marcus, who had overheard the conversation from the doorway, stepped into the room with a proud smile. “And what would you know of that, Tiberius?” he asked, his voice warm yet teasing.

Tiberius met his father’s gaze with newfound confidence. “I know that Rome cannot grow only through the sword. There must be other ways—ways that preserve the essence of our strength while also allowing for compassion and diplomacy.”

Marcus nodded slowly, impressed by his son’s resolve. “You have learned much, Tiberius. Perhaps the time will come when your role in Rome will be as important as any general’s.”

Cassius chuckled. “Don’t get too comfortable, Father. We still need you in the field. No one can fill your boots just yet.”

Marcus laughed heartily, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Perhaps not, Cassius. But there may come a day when it is you who steps into them.”

One evening, when the family gathered for dinner, the conversation turned to an unexpected subject. A letter had arrived that morning from a foreign delegation in Gaul, requesting Tiberius’ presence for an important negotiation regarding Rome’s borders.

“Father,” Tiberius began, looking up from his plate, “I’ve been invited to represent Rome at the negotiations. It’s a significant step for me.”

Marcus studied his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke. “It is a dangerous path, Tiberius. The politics of Gaul are volatile. But I trust you. If you believe you are ready, then go.”

Tiberius’ eyes shone with a mixture of pride and fear. “I will, Father. I will make you proud.”

Aurelia, always the most thoughtful of the family, placed a hand on his. “You don’t have to prove anything, Tiberius. Just do what you know is right.”

As the family shared a quiet moment of reflection, Aurelia felt the weight of the changes around her. Cassius, Tiberius, and even their father were finding their own paths—paths that had once seemed unimaginable in the shadow of their military heritage. They were forging a new Rome, one that blended the strength of warriors with the wisdom of poets, engineers, and diplomats.

In the days that followed, Tiberius prepared for his journey to Gaul, while Aurelia continued to write and speak of peace. Marcus, ever the watchful father, took pride in the direction his children were taking, knowing that the empire was in capable hands—hands that understood the power of strength and the importance of compassion.

And so, as the seasons changed and the world continued to turn, the Acacius family stood at the crossroads of tradition and progress. Together, they carried the legacy of Rome forward, not with swords and shields alone, but with wisdom, courage, and the power of words.

[tightjeansjavi]

Et Auream - Act II : The Gladiator

A/N: well, here we are! :3 I started writing this chapter back in July, right after the trailer for gladiator ii dropped, and I have since then gutted it completely and rewrote it start to finish 😆 I have to give a HUGE thank you to @sinsofsummers for being one of my many cheerleaders and for betaing. I love you so much pookie 🫶🏻

word count: 3.2k

Summary: It’s been 5 years since the passing of the late emperor Septimius Severus, who was succeeded by his sons, Geta and Caracalla. General Octavius and his forces continue their campaign against the Caledonians, and Acacius, one of the most fierce gladiators that Rome has ever witnessed, feels nothing but bitter resentment towards the emperors.

Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc

Warnings: canon typical violence, brutality, enslavement, domestic abuse, power imbalance, violent punishment, language, alcohol consumption, +18 minors dni! Please let me know if I missed anything.

series masterlist | playlist

Translations: Dominus - Master voluit vivere - he wanted to live Praetorian - bodyguard of a Roman emperor

THE COLOSSEUM - five years after the death of Emperor Septimius Severus April, 216 AD

The thunderous chants from the crowd echoed deafeningly in his eardrums. Steel bars that imprisoned gladiators from the spectators in the Colosseum shook wildly from the crescendo of voices shouting in unison; KILL! KILL! KILL!

A hush fell over the crowd at the emperor’s silent command of a raised hand and thumb leveled to the side.

A man’s life hung in the balance between two young emperors. Caracalla was the younger counterpart by two years to his brother, Geta, and mercy would be granted only if they felt it was earned. But in reality, it depended solely on their moods.

The games were nothing short of barbaric, and the people of Rome loved the thrill of a brutal fight. The suspense, the bloodshed and sacrifice. This was entertainment for the poor and rich, young and old would flock to the Colosseum to watch men, women, and beast fight to the brutal death.

Emperor Geta pointed his thumb downwards, signaling another life ending, and the crowd erupted in deafening applause.

Acacius chanted a silent prayer under his breath to grant the soul whose life had just been snuffed out, safe passage to the afterlife. He flipped his sword in his hand and awaited the gates to open once more.

Geta reclined back on his golden throne with a satisfied grin plastered on his face.

“I expected there to be more blood,” Caracalla muttered alongside him, a pout formed on his thin lips. “He should have been gutted, his innards should have fallen to the ground!” he groaned in disappointment.

“You and your obsession with gore,” Geta responded with a roll of his eyes at his brother’s complaining. He reached for his chalice and brought the rim to his lips, but before he could take a sip, he was stopped by one of his advisors looming at the entrance of the viewing platform.

Cassius, one of Geta’s trusted advisors and a member of the senate, bowed quickly and reached into his tunic and pulled out a sealed scroll; a letter from the general.

“Caesar,” his nasally tone grated Geta’s ears.

“Cassius,” he responded flatly.

“This just arrived. A letter from general Octavius,” Cassius informed him.

Geta carefully tore the ruby colored wax seal off and began to read the written scripture. He had only reached the first sentence when he noticed that Cassius’s presence was still lingering. He waved him off, his eyes stayed glued to the parchment. “You are dismissed.”

Cassius bowed once more and turned on his heel quickly, leaving Geta to read in peace.

“What news does our general bring us today?” Caracalla asked.

Caesar,

Our latest battle was successful, but I have lost a few hundred men, and I myself have been injured, but the medicus assured me that it is not grave. The Caledonians have retreated, but I fear this is only temporary. My age begins to show and my bones grow tired and weak. My men will not continue to follow me if they feel that I am unfit to lead them. Discuss with Caracalla in regard to finding a man worthy enough to succeed my position as general when my inevitable death arrives.

I wish you and your brother fair health and prosperity,

General Octavius

“Our recent battle against the Caledonians was successful, but we have lost a few hundred men. The general was wounded, but not gravely,” Geta recited with a sigh.

Caracalla scoffed and shook his head. “We should abandon the campaign entirely like I had suggested after Father died. We are wasting precious resources and able bodied men, and for what?”

“Abandoning the campaign would disappoint our late father greatly. We promised him that we would not cease our attack until the Caledonians are defeated, brother,” Geta said in a low tone.

“He is dead, Geta. What does a dead man care about a campaign that was a disaster from the start? And now with the general wounded, our soldiers could turn on us at any moment! They will become unpredictable and restless without a leader,” Caracalla seethed.

“General Octavius suggested that you and I find someone worthy to succeed him when he inevitably passes either from injury or old age. I have a man in mind for the position, but you will detest it I am certain.”

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of turning that gladiator scum into a general, brother. If anyone should succeed Octavius, it should be a worthy soldier in his ranks. Acacius is unworthy and unfit for the position,” Caracalla waved his wrist animatedly in disgust. Golden bangles that adorned his arms made a short, sharp, ringing sound from the sudden movement.

“And yet you love to watch him fight. He is one of our strongest and resilient gladiators. He is just as worthy as any soldier. The people love him, Caracalla. I intend to turn him into one of the greatest generals Rome has ever seen,” Geta countered swiftly.

“Of course I love to watch him fight!” Caracalla snapped. “He is one of the best that we have, but he will never be a general as long as I am still breathing.”

Before Geta had the chance to respond with something snarky, his attention was drawn to the start of the next fight.

The sun blinded Acacius’s vision as he stepped out into the arena when the gates were opened. The sun was scorching, and sweat already began to drip down the plane of his brow. His opponent was larger, broader than he was, but Acacius was swift, and able to recover in half the time. The crowd roared his name, stamped their feet and cheered at his entrance. His face was stoic, void of emotion to the wild chanting of his name.

His opponent, however, basked in their cheers like a preening peacock. A thirst for blood is what many of Acacius’s opponents experienced, but he was simply doing what he must do to survive another day. They thought that volunteering to be a gladiator would bring them riches and fame beyond their wildest dreams, until they would meet the cold kiss of his steel in their gut. Maybe he would feel the same swelling pride as they did if he had been given the option to volunteer.

The two gladiators walked to the middle of the arena and faced the viewing platform where the emperor’s and their subjects were seated. Their swords were brought to rest against the breastplate of their armor and they recited the words, “Hail Caesar, those who are about to die salute you!”

In another viewing box below the emperor’s, she was feeling the same level of disgust as Acacius was towards the brutality of the games. And like him, she was forced to participate by her Dominus, Cassius, who was enthralled by the games and even more-so when he knew that the sight of blood and violence nauseated her.

Her name was Aurelia; the golden one, although her life wasn’t very golden at all. She was Senator Cassius’s prized possession, his property till the day that she would inevitably die.

“If you keep your head hidden between your thighs any longer, you’ll miss the entire fight, Aurelia,” Cassius said condescendingly alongside her. His chalice of wine filled to the brim, and nearly spilled down the front of his tunic.

Aurelia bit down on the soft flesh of her inner cheek at his words. She gnawed on it until she tasted copper on her tongue. That is the whole point. Is what she wanted to say, but she remained silent in her distress.

Cassius rolled his eyes, not appreciating the way that she ignored him and he placed his hand around the back of her neck, his fingers slipped into the small space between the iron collar that was fit snug around her neck and tugged harshly, enough for her to wince from the uncomfortable tightness.

“I said,” he snarled against the shell of her ear, “you’ll miss the entire fight, my pet. It will please me if you watch. Do as your Dominus commands,” he released her neck from his unforgiving grip, finally. No one in close proximity to them batted an eye at the mistreatment she experienced.

Aurelia forced herself to watch the brutal fight. The sounds of steel clashing rang in her ears and from the viewing box, she could make out the details on one of the gladiator’s faces. His dark hair was cropped short and curled around the top of his ears. His skin, sun-kissed in gold, was littered with old and new scars traveling up the expanse of his arms.

She could not help but wonder how old he must have been when a sword was thrust into his hands and he was forced to kill another man and the emotional turmoil he must have felt after the adrenaline would inevitably wear off. She found herself gasping with the crowd when his opponent's blade grazed Acacius’s bicep, slicing the skin there just enough that beads of crimson wept through the laceration. Acacius gritted his teeth together, letting out a growl that was nothing short of animalistic and charged forward, his eyes set ablaze with determination.

Caracalla was seen smirking over the rim of his chalice. He was foolish to believe that a minor cut on Acacius’s arm was enough to deter him, but unlike his brother, Geta was locked into the fight. He leaned forward in his seat, his demeanor stiff and rigid.

The shield belonging to Acacius’s opponent was suddenly knocked from his grip, shattering from the sheer force of Acacius’s sword colliding with it. His opponent stumbled back, and dug his heels into the sand to keep himself upright, but without a shield to defend himself, he would have to rely on his strength alone.

Acacius flipped the hilt of his sword in his calloused palm and charged forward again with vigor. The sting from the cut along his bicep, and the dull ache in his shoulder drove him forward. He would not die today, this was certain.

Their swords met again and again until his opponent began to tire and Acacius went in for the kill, and with one swift kick to the abdomen, his opponent fell to the sand with a dull thud.

The crowd cheered, their fists raised towards the heavens as they chanted, “KILL! KILL! KILL!”

Geta rose from his seat and raised his hand above his head, and the crowd fell into a hushed silence at the sight of the emperor's thumb turning to the side.

Acacius could hear the blood that pounded in his ears as he stood towered over his fallen opponent. His brows were pinched together, his armored chest rose and fell rapidly from the energy he exerted.

His opponent awaited his fate, exhaustion written across his bloodstained face.

Acacius saw a boy when he looked into his opponent’s eyes. A frightened boy who isn’t yet ready to die, and he sees himself all those years ago. When the crowd erupted into cheers once more, Acacius did not need to see the Emperor’s hand to know what was being demanded of him. His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword and he raised it above his head as if he were to bring it down upon his opponent for that final, devastating, fatal blow, but he stopped midway, and threw his sword to the side in defiance.

Aurelia’s eyes widened in shock. Out of every fight that she was forced to attend, never did she witness a gladiator defy an emperor’s demand so boldly. His defiance sent her pounding heart ablaze with a new sense of hope that she had not felt in ages. Acacius the merciful, they chanted.

“Kill him!” Caracalla cried out wildly in protest, his body lurched up from his throne. His shrill tone was like that of a child throwing a tantrum. The eldest emperor did not react, but Acacius could feel Geta’s harsh, disappointed glare burning holes into the back of his skull when he bent down and offered his hand to his fallen opponent who stared up at him in bewilderment.

“Take my hand,” Acacius whispered through the deafening cheers.

Carcalla leaned over to his brother and whispered, “what was that you said earlier about Acacius being worthy to succeed general Octavius?”

Geta could hear the grin appearing through his tone, but the eldest emperor gave no indication that he was unnerved by his brothers jabbing words, or Acacius’s defiance, except for the slight flare of his nostrils, and his left eye twitching, rimmed in darkened makeup.

The defeated opponent reached up with a grunt and clasped his hand around Acacius’s firmly. He lifted him from the ground with ease. When he looked up at the emperor’s viewing box, Geta was no longer standing there and looking down at him and a sinking feeling of dread for what was to come washed over him.

Aurelia watched the way he turned on his heel, his teeth gritted together in pain when his bad shoulder began to flare up and bother him. He subtly leaned his weight to his left side for some reprieve, though temporary. He did not reach down for his sword and walked past it in the direction of the open gates, disappearing behind them a moment later.

She paid no mind to Cassius muttering beside her about how blatant defiance should be punished and ‘rogues’ like Acacius should be terminated as quickly as possible.

Acacius was not even granted the luxury to even attempt to remove his armor when he heard the approach of many heavy footsteps through the corridor. He felt the sharp tip of a spear pierce the side of his neck, and before he had the chance to fight back, a hand harshly clasped down on his bad shoulder and the sudden, sharp pain that felt like a thousand knives were stabbing him at once, sent him falling to his knees.

Geta promenaded through his appointed guards and crouched down to Acacius’s level. His expression was placid, lacking emotion. Internally, he was furious, but he did a good enough job to hide it.

“Look at me, Acacius,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm.

Acacius refused and he let out a sharp cry of agony when the Praetorian guard dug his fingers deeper into his shoulder and he finally drew his gaze from the ground and to the emperor’s hardened stare.

“Are you going to punish me?” he spat.

“No,” Geta said with a slight shake of his head.

“I defied you. I deserve to be punished, so fucking punish me,” he snarled through gritted teeth and the emperor couldn’t help but let his mask fall briefly. A smirk crossed over his lips.

“And do you believe that your deliberate display of defiance will shorten your servitude and grant you your freedom faster than the rest?” He gestured with his hand.

“No,” Acacius said grimly and his eyes lowered their gaze back to the floor.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” Geta demanded.

Acacius glared up at him, his brows were pinched together and his lips were set in a harsh line. “He didn’t deserve to die. He fought just as hard as I did. That is why I chose to spare his life.”

Geta chuckled at this. “And yet, your opponent is out there right now, boasting that he won. Do you think that he is grateful for your mercy?”

“I do not care if he boasts that he won. I saw the fear in his eyes, Geta. He did not want to die. voluit vivere.” (He wanted to live)

“Everyone wants to live, Acacius. But you cannot save every person from their predestined fate,” He sighed and stood up and dropped his hands behind his back. “Do you remember the day that we met?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I asked you what you desired most in this life, and you told me that all you wanted was to be a free man, Acacius. Caracalla believed that you wouldn’t defy the odds that were stacked against you. He claimed that you wouldn't survive your first fight, but you proved him wrong. You showed strength, bravery, and resilience. Your courage has not gone unnoticed, and it is most admirable. I can make you a free man, I can turn your life’s legacy into something great—beyond your wildest dreams, but I require your trust and loyalty.”

Acacius wanted nothing more than to laugh in his face, but he wouldn’t give Geta the satisfaction. Instead, he steeled his expression and despite the pain in his shoulder, he sat up straighter, his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, “you will never gain my trust and loyalty for as long as I live.”

“I pity you, Acacius. You refuse to see the potential for greatness that you possess. Your hatred for Rome, and the man that tore you from your mother and the life you knew, into a life shackled in servitude, clouds your judgment. I granted you mercy five years ago. I could have casted you aside, let you fend in the streets like some feral beast till your spirit eventually fades, and still you refuse the hand that I am graciously offering you.”

“Mercy?!” Acacius barked out a strained laugh. “That’s what you believe that you granted me?! If you were merciful, you would have freed me! Instead, you have forced me to fight for your own entertainment. The games are a spectacle for the people of Rome. You bring them bloodshed and brutality and they love you for it.”

“They don’t just love me, Acacius. The people of Rome love you. Do you not feel a sense of pride when they chant your name? Acacius the great! Perhaps even the greatest gladiator that Rome has ever seen!” Geta exclaimed.

“I never wanted to be a gladiator. I never wanted to spend my life killing men who share the same circumstances as I. I-I wanted my life to be different. I don’t want greatness. I don’t desire wealth or materialistic pleasures,” He whispered solemnly and Geta imagined a boy, no older than thirteen, and already so broken when he looked at the man kneeling before him.

“Then I implore you to rethink your strategy to gain your freedom. Defy me all you choose, but if you continue down that route, you will either die in that arena, or rot in a cell till you inevitably die. The choice is yours, and for your sake, I hope you choose wisely. Nothing is permanent, Acacius. Remember that.”

“If the gods wish for me to die in the Colosseum, or bound in the chains that you put me in, so be it.”

Geta said nothing more, and he turned on his heel to walk away. His guards awaited his command, but he did not address them. That’s all Acacius could think about when the guards surrounding him took it upon themselves to punish him. His wrists and ankles were shackled in iron, and he didn’t make a sound, or flinch when the crack of a whip rang loudly in his ears as it was brought down against his back and shoulders. His already tarnished tunic had been ripped down the middle, exposing his scarred skin. The pain was soothing, in a morbid fashion. The feeling of his flesh being marred, and blood dripping from the open wounds should have caused him to cry in distress, but he took his punishment in complete and utter silence.

He did not give them the command.

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[daintyys]

needy

MDNI - fem!reader x coriolanus snow, 1k words, angst, swearing, non-descript masturbation, needy coryo, intentional lowercase, lmfao i hope its not obvious but i need to reread the book

an: this is literally AWFUL but i needed to post and i didn't want my first post in a while to be smut. i'm taking asks for coryo and sejanus! if u want me to write anything just ask me!

he's into you. he hates to admit it, but its true. when you're assigned as partners for a project, coryo doesn't know how to act.

coriolanus snow had a problem: he was too observant. whenever you were around, he couldn't stop himself from watching your every move. he disgusted himself, honestly. how perverted he was, being obsessed with a girl he hardly knew. how even more perverted he felt as he rushed home from the academy, straight to his bedroom, needing to fuck himself to the thought of your face. you were too pretty not to think about, he had to rationalize with himself whilst cumming on his sheets.

the professors at the academy were being tough on their students, as the end of term was drawing near. coriolanus constantly found himself buried in projects, textbook readings, and presentations. he wasn't worried though, his grades were perfect, he had exemplary attendance, and had never turned in a late assignment. all he had to do was get past his exams, and then it was all over.

history class was no exception. professor demigloss assigned an 8-page essay analyzing cassius heath, the winner of the first hunger games, and it was to be done with a partner.

demigloss was notorious for not letting students pick whom they wanted to work with, so it was no surprise as he began to read out the pairings for the essay.

coriolanus was bored. he knew all about the first games, and certainly didn't give a damn about cassius heath. he was 8 when the games happened, his father had just been killed, and he understood they were made to punish the districts.

what finally got his attention was hearing your name, along with, ironically, his. he looked up quickly, turning his head toward where you were seated. you stared back at him, flashing him a smile. fuck, coryo thought. just his luck.

the essay was to be done outside of class, so coriolanus gathered all his courage to stop you in the hall after history.

when the bell rang, he ran straight for the door, and stood outside it to wait for you. he clutched the strap of his satchel, palms sweating and knuckles turning white.

you exited the classroom, and coryo's breath hitched. he'd never been this close to you before, even if it was just 10 feet. he cleared his throat and you looked up. "y/n." he greeted, sounding colder than he had intentioned.

you approached him and smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. coryo quickly wiped his palm on his jacket and took your hand in his, shaking it. "i'm afraid we've never actually spoken before." you noted, taking your hand back. "you seem to be right." you answered his agreement with a nod. this was awkward.

"so, y/n, when should we plan to do this essay?" coriolanus queried, running a hand through his unruly hair. you cocked your head. "tonight? my place?" you proposed, opening your satchel to retrieve paper and pen to write your address.

coryo nodded, feeling his neck begin to sweat. "great," you affirmed, handing him the paper. "just come over after class lets out." with that, you walked away, leaving coryo dumbfounded.

he had been quiet, cold, and he was disgustingly clammy. stupid, nervous, guilty, girl-crazy coriolanus.

when school let out, it felt to coriolanus like it had been days since he'd seen you. he took out the paper with your address, admiring your handwriting. your hand had been small and soft... he wished he could touch you again.

covering the growing bulge in his pants with his satchel, coryo made his way to your apartment.

coriolanus deeply regretted all those times he'd jerked off to the thought of you. he never thought he would actually have to talk to you, and yet here he was. how could he look you in the eye? he hardly knew you, and you hardly knew him.

you lived in a nice building, and your apartment was close to the top floor, with a fantastic view of the city (which wasn't really much to look at). coriolanus knocked at your door, pushing his hair out of his face.

you opened the door after a moment, out of the academy uniform and wearing an adorable floral sundress. "coriolanus!" you smiled, opening the door further for him to enter. he walked into your apartment, admiring the interior.

"you have a very lovely home, y/n." he complimented, placing his satchel on a bench next to the door. you blushed at his remark. "it is lovely, isn't it, but it's quite far from the academy. speaking of which, you didn't walk all the way here, did you?"

coriolanus paused. neither him nor tigris had a car, so there was no way for him to be driven somewhere, and he hated asking for favors. "i like walking," he lied. "i get to see the city." you smiled, guiding him to the study. "there really isn't much to see." you joked.

the two of you sat close to each other at the desk, legs brushing against together every few minutes. you both read your textbooks, compared your finds, and drafted the essay.

you found yourself admiring coriolanus. everything you'd heard about him seemed to be true. he was a genius, sickeningly handsome, and one hell of a writer. every time you made eye contact with him, you could feel your heart pounding in your throat.

there was definitely tension between the two of you, your bodies grazing each other, feeling the other jump every time you touched. coriolanus struggled to focus on the task at hand, resisting the urge to kiss you. you noticed this change in him.

"coriolanus, do you like me or something?" you joked, eyes skimming your textbook. coriolanus paused. "i tolerate you." he deflected, face burning. "well you hardly know me!" you giggled, eyes bearing into his.

"that's why it's easy to tolerate you, y/n." he smirked, blue eyes glistening. you rested your head on your hand, studying his features. coryo pretended not to notice, his heart beating rapidly as he acted like he was reading.

you smiled at him, and bit slightly down on your lip. you hardly knew this guy, so why were you trying so hard to get his attention?

coriolanus met your gaze, looking from your eyes to your lips. "i want to kiss you, y/n." he ventured, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "oh do you?" you giggled. "yes, i do." coryo sat up straight, turning his body towards yours. you looked up at him longingly, mouth slightly ajar.

he gently cupped your face, rubbing your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "i need to kiss you." coryo clarified, his cock straining against his pants. "then do it." you purred.

so he did.

[bitethedevil]

Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 16

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Raphael and Tav have a long conversation and she finally makes her decision.

(AN: Here we are. We are finally reaching the conclusion. This chapter is technically the end, and the next one will be a sort of epilogue (and the very last chapter.))

Tav was pacing. She was thinking. There were too many thoughts going through her head at once. Too many of them were colored by feelings rather than rationality. Anger at what she had witnessed. Grief at what she might be losing no matter what she chooses. Stress at having to make a decision like this. Fear of the inevitability of it all.

Raphael finally came back up from Hope’s old cell. He was in his cambion form, suggesting that he might have taken out his frustrations from her comments on Cassius, though she could see no blood on him. He tried to silently sneak past her. She did ask for peace and quiet, after all. She found out that peace and quiet did nothing for her. She stopped her pacing to look at him.

“Come here, please,” she said.

Raphael stopped in his tracks and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. The look of defeat he had when she gave him a piece of her mind in the cell had been exchanged for his usual façade of calmness.

“You said that you wished for a moment of privacy.”

“I did. Now I don’t,” she said and waved a hand at a chair. “Please sit down.”

He narrowed his orange eyes at her.

“You seem confused, dear,” he said. “Your current predicament does not allow you to give me orders in my own home. You—”

“Would you please shut up for once,” she snapped in irritation. “And sit down. I’m not ordering you I’m asking you, and even if I was, stop acting like you are not interested in what I have to say.”

There was a look of faint surprise on his face at her bluntness. He opened his mouth to say something.

“No,” she warned before a word could come out and pointed at the chair once again.

She could see him bite the inner side of his cheek to not smile in amusement. He looked her up and down while he was trying to decide whether he should fight her on the matter. He eventually walked to the chair and sat down. He leaned back in the chair and waited patiently for her to talk. She threw herself down in the chair opposite from him.

“You are without a doubt the worst bastard I have ever had the misfortune of knowing,” she said coldly. “I hated you so much before I was released. I hated you after as well. I still do, in fact. You are a terrible, evil person and that’s a fact you are well aware of. A fact that you enjoy, even.”

A smile tugged at Raphael’s lips.

“May I speak?” he asked.

“No, this isn’t really a conversation,” she said with a sigh and brushed his question away with a wave of her hand. “I just feel stupid talking to myself.”

Raphael gave her a short ‘mm’ and nodded, while he tried his best to hide his amusement at the situation.

“Let’s go over what you have actually done to me personally though,” she mumbled to herself with another sigh and started counting the incidents on her fingers. “You kidnapped me because you were angry that I broke into your house and that I did not give you the Crown of Karsus. You fucked me to pieces the first time we had sex…”

A self-satisfied look washed over his face at the mention of that. Tav kept listing:

“You almost killed me in your sleep, accident or not. You fingered me while you made me play the song that you planned on killing me and all of my friends to.”

“You were not complaining at the time…” Raphael chimed in with a smile.

“Shhhh,” she shushed and kept going. “You made it sound like I was complicit in what happened to Cassius the first time you punished him. You are doing the same now that you are punishing him again…Then there is of course the parade of evil shit you have put me through the last 24 hours…And all of the blatant manipulation and mind games, but I don’t have enough fingers for counting that.”

She leaned back in the chair and looked at the ceiling as she tried to remember if she had forgotten anything.

“Quite the list, but not as long as I might have anticipated,” she mumbled. “Most of them are not that horrible either. Though it doesn’t include all the horrible things you have done to others, which I should consider. I have killed plenty of other people for less than what I know you have done to others. I don’t even want to think about what I don’t know.”

She took a deep breath. It was quiet for a moment while she was thinking. There was only the sound of the cracks from the fireplace and the howling of souls in the distance. She fiddled with the arm of the chair while she looked into the flames with an empty stare.

“You’ve also been kind…” she said quietly. “To me, at least. That night where you almost killed me. You saved my life as well after. You accepted my scars when I showed them to you…You slept in human form from that day on so you wouldn’t do it again.”

“You called out my name…”

“What?” she asked.

“You called out my name that night,” he repeated in an uncharacteristically quiet voice and then cleared his throat. “I woke up because you screamed my name while I was tearing you apart.”

“Well…yes,” she said as if he had stated something obvious. “To make you stop.”

He gave her a small smile and then looked into the fire.

“You had been sleeping,” he said in a low voice. “You could have called for one of the servants, you might have even been sleeping so heavily that you did not realize where you were and called for your friends in a moment of confusion, or you could have even simply called for help. You did not. Your first instinct was to call on me. You were so certain that I would stop if you simply awoke me.”

She raised an eyebrow at that.

“You did,” she said. “Or at least you must have at some point, since you managed to save me.”

“Though you were so certain that I would that you might have used your final breath to call out for the very person who would have been the cause for your death.”

Tav scrunched up her face and looked at the floor as she thought about it. It had been instinct. She had instinctively known that he would stop if he knew what he was doing, though he had given her no reason to believe that he particularly cared for her at that point.

“Your life was never crucial to my plan,” he said. “A fact that I am certain you have already figured out on your own. Perhaps, if you had not called out my name that night, I might have saved myself the trouble of saving you and gone along with my second plan: tell your friends that you are dead, wait for them to avenge you, kill them, and retrieve the hammer myself. How different things could have been, were it not for such a small thing…”

He looked at her. Though there was still a façade of calmness on his face, she could see that there was also a glimmer of something in his eyes that suggested that a part of him was worried about her reaction. She probably should have been mad at having just been told that she could have been long dead, killed by the man she loved. She was not. She was confused more than anything.

“Well why didn’t you then?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I found it curious,” he said quietly. “The stubborn, idiotic woman who had been a thorn in my side for so long, who was then reduced to this…fragile, dying, little thing in my arms. It felt like hours as I held you under the water, wishing for it to wash away what I had done. You had trusted me in your final moments…found me a savior, even. Not out of desperation like so many others, but pure, naïve, misplaced trust.”

He turned his head to look into the fire again and took a deep, sharp breath. It was clear on his face that the devil part of him was actively fighting the mortal part that felt some emotion over the confession.

“Then you told me about your father and the pieces started coming together,” he continued and brushed away the emotion with a lazy hand gesture, returning to his cold and rational self. “A child is forced to trust those who care for them to survive, no matter how cruel they might be. Some of those children continue to do so even when they grow up. Like yourself.”

“And some of those children refuse to trust anyone at all when they grow up,” she said softly. “Like you…”

He looked sharply at her with a slight warning in his eyes. It softened a moment after, and he looked away from her again. He did not comment on her observation. It had been a reach in the dark. She did not know much about Raphael’s relationship with his father, other than he both hated him and was terrified of him, though his reaction had told her that she was right in her guess.

“I think that night was when I started truly feeling something for you as well,” she said.

“I’m aware,” he said with a small smile. “You made it all too easy for me, my dear. I knew I had you in the palm of my hand from the moment you dared to show me your scars. From then it was a game: drawing you in by showing you the parts of myself that I knew you wanted to see and pushing you away with the parts of what I truly am to see how far I could go.”

“Say what you will but it was not all deception,” she said. “I began to be able to tell the difference.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Which I only allowed because I knew I had you. Then you ran away, and I thought for a moment that I had been wrong, and I let you go. I rarely am. Now you are here, proving that I was right all along. You might not know what your answer will be yet, but I do. You will stay.”

“Am I truly so hopelessly predictable?”

He did not say anything, but his smile said everything.

“If you were so sure, then why were you still playing your mind games with me?” she asked. “Why did you try to appeal to my stubbornness by saying I would leave you?”

He took a deep breath and studied her with an unreadable expression for a moment.

“I dislike being proven wrong,” he said in a quiet voice. “It does happen on rare occasions. This is something that I am not sure I can bear being proven wrong about…”

She looked at him and how his eyes softened ever so slightly as he said it. He looked and sounded so sincere that it almost made her tear up. She was not going to let him off the hook so lightly though.

“Say it then,” she said hurriedly, her voice beginning to crack. “Say that you want me to stay. Use that clever silver-tongue of yours to convince me to do so. I need to hear it.”

He looked at her with such longing for a moment.

“I will not lie to you, Tav,” he said. “My intention when I let you go was sincere. It would be better for you to leave. Was I not selfish, I would have left you in Baldur’s Gate and refused you entry to my home. The foundation for your love for me was built by the cruelties you have known in your past. You are young and have had no time to build anything else, though you should be given the chance before I eventually come for your soul. However,” he said and paused before continuing. “It just so happens that I am selfish. I do want you to stay and I do love you...Though only in a way that will never be adequate for what you need or deserve…”

Tav’s tears were running down her cheeks. She inhaled sharply as she tried to stop crying so much. They had never told each other before. Not really. He held out a clawed hand to her. She got up from her chair and took it. He gently pulled her to his lap and wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed into his doublet.

“I love you too,” she sobbed while he ran his fingers through her hair in a soothing motion. “I just wish…gods…I just wish it didn’t have to be like this. Because this is the person I love. Not the person I have seen today and yesterday.”

“No matter how much you wish it, they are the same,” he sighed into her hair. “You cannot get the man and discard the devil, my sweet.”

“But you could change,” she pleaded. “I don’t know how. You could just stop. Stop collecting souls, stop torturing people, stop all of this.”

“I am thousands of years old,” he said. “I am set in my ways. I cannot change just for you, my dearest, and I do not wish to. Your life time is a mere blink of an eye for someone like me. I have to survive and live on long after you are gone and—”

He cut his sentence off abruptly and held her even closer. His breathing changed and he was not allowing her to see his face with the grip he held her in. Was he crying? It was gone again after he cleared his throat and kissed the top of her head.

“It will hardly matter though, will it?” he asked softly. “You will choose to stay regardless…you poor thing.”

She started crying again when she realized that he was right. She nodded. She heard a small sigh of relief coming from his lips. She placed her hands on his cheeks and looked into those orange eyes of his.

She never realized how differently she had seen his two forms before now. That she had somehow separated who he was even in that regard. She looked at that orange light that shone through the black abyss of his sclera, and at the jagged horns that protruded from his forehead. She had always thought that she had only loved the man. She found to her horror that she loved the devil as well.

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” she asked him genuinely, as if she truly did not have the answer herself and had gone slightly mad. “Or I’m evil too, perhaps. A terrible person at least. I’m not a hero, that’s for sure, or a good person. How else could I do this?”

“You are human,” he said with a smile. “The Hells would be empty if it was not for that simple quality of imperfection in mankind. I should know. I have spent my life on exploiting it.”

She went quiet and leaned against his chest again. Her head was still running away with her. Not because she was to make a decision, but to cope with the one she had just made.

She was standing on the balcony, looking out over the hellscape of Avernus. Her new home. It was an impossible task to take it all in at once. Everything had happened so fast. Perhaps that had been the point. Even now, she was not sure how much of the outcome of the situation had been meticulously planned by Raphael.

She had felt the same way during her adventure. Everything seemed complete coincidence until Raphael’s name seemed to pop up everywhere, and it became apparent that the devil had orchestrated a lot more than could ever be seen at their first glance. The Shadow-cursed Lands, Astarion’s scars, Gortash, the Crown, Orpheus and his chains…All tied to one man who seemed to hold fate itself in the palm of his clawed hand.

Who knew if she was not simply a key to something bigger down the line as well and that it had all been one big trick? Everyone else who had gotten connected to him probably thought they had the upper hand as well and it seemed all too like him to let them believe that.

She felt that she understood him and knew how he worked. She was sure of it. Then again…a person might understand the intricate nature of any beast, but that won’t make the beast any less dangerous and it won’t save them from being devoured if it pleases it.

Her head was somewhere else when the beast himself snaked an arm around her waist from behind her and placed a kiss on her neck. His free hand held a rolled piece of parchment in front of her face. She took it.

“Read it through carefully,” he purred and placed another kiss on her neck. “We can discuss any changes or adjustments you might have after.”

She rolled out the parchment and looked it over briefly.

“What is this?”

“A contract of sorts,” he said. “Not for your soul, but for your life. Rules for you to follow and freedoms that I will grant you in return.”

“A deed of ownership, essentially…”

“Marriage, essentially,” he corrected and smiled against her skin. “I did tell you that if you chose this, you would be mine. Mine in life and in death.”

She huffed and turned around to face him.

“Same thing in the end, isn’t it?”

“Must you be such a pessimist, my dear?” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Read it. Let me hear your thoughts when you are done.”

She smiled at him and lowered her gaze to read it through. It was rather long and extremely detailed.

A few of the notable freedoms he would grant her did in fact surprise her: she would be granted four months of every year to spend time on the Material Plane, which would not include the times where he might take her there himself. She would also be given a private space that she could use as she pleased. She would never have to sleep in the same bed or occupy the same space as him, if she did not want to, and most importantly, it was stated that he could not force her to do anything against her will.

She got to the clauses containing the rules for their ‘marriage’. There were a lot that made perfect sense, such as infidelity not being permitted in their relationship (there was an extensive list of what Raphael categorized as such underneath). There were also plenty of odd ones: She could not communicate with other devils or agents of the Infernal in any way, shape or form. There was also another one that was wrapped in so much Infernal legalese that it took her a while to decipher it: she was unable to remove the effects of any spells or conditions that Raphael put on her for whatever reason.

Her eyes scanned over every word, though when she had read to the end and there was only the dotted line left on the page, she was still confused about one thing.

“You can’t take my soul as collateral if I break the rules since you already own it,” she stated. “So, what am I signing away?”

“Correct,” he said. “This is a different sort of contract. In a sense it is not entirely different from a warlock’s pact. If the warlock breaks any clauses, their patron might take something away from them for a time instead of breaking the pact entirely. In the cases of warlocks, that would be their powers, but in the case of you, it will be some of those freedoms stated in your contract.”

Ah. There was the catch that she had been waiting on. She sighed and scanned through the contract once again. Most of the rules seemed easy enough to follow. Then again, that was often the thing with contracts like these: they looked fair on the surface. She had already taken a decision, so it was too late to back out now anyway. She would simply have to trust him.

“I’ll sign,” she said. “But I have one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You will be more honest with me in the future,” she said. “I know that you don’t lie, but I want you to be clearer with your intentions in the future. No more games...”

He smiled at her.

“Such things are awfully difficult to write into a legal document,” he said.

“I just want your word on it,” she said. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said. “Will you sign then?”

She nodded. He summoned a quill. She took a deep breath and looked it through one last time before signing it. She was going to regret this. She just knew it.

He smiled fondly at her and made the contract disappear with a snap of his fingers. He walked closer and his arms wrapped around her.

“Another rhyme then…for old times’ sake,” he said quietly to her and looked at her lips. “Though fate was cruel, the cat said, our paths again align. The chase is over, my sweet mouse, now that you are mine…”

She smiled. He leaned down and kissed her softly. In that moment all her worries disappeared from her mind as if they had never been there in the first place.

She loved him. The man who felt, and the cruel silver-tongued devil who did not. All of him. She would gladly hand him the knife that he would use to cut her open with, if only it meant that she could be the blood that clung to him after. He would stitch her together again anyway, and she would know that only he could ever make her feel whole.

[ahoyimlosingmymind]

we can argue day and night whether or not Alden and Della were emotionally abusive, if the Vacker kid's lives really were perfect, if Fitz was just born with the coping mechanisms he has, or if they were created etc...

But here's the thing. When you take into consideration WHAT is valued in the lost cities, what is expected of imperfect people, all of the boundaries and barbed wire around what makes someone 'good'- nobody, and I mean NOBODY is coming out of that world emotionally unscathed.

Lord Cassius is not the only elf in the lost cities who cares about the status of himself and his children, and keeping up appearances. We know he has a warped view of his desire for Keefe to succeed being a form of love. We know how he has pathologized his self-absorbed need to keep his ego intact. He's a piece of shit. But part of the reason is that he values what his world has taught him to value. Prestige, sophistication, power etc...

There's a reason Mr. Forkle had to keep his twin a secret his whole life. A reason the Song Twins were rejected. Why Stina was raised to bite before assessing the danger. Because they were born 'imperfect' to their 'perfect' world's standards. They were born with the short stick. The scorn built in. There's a reason the school, Exullium, exists. For rejects, for people who don't meet the standard. Bad matches, being talentless etc... because their world rejects people who are 'chips' in the facade.

which means, that regardless of what you value, your world will punish you for anything that doesn't meet their quota. Sure, there's elves who choose their values over expectations (Dex's parents) but there's still a lifelong social punishment that comes with it.

Which means the threat of this punishment hangs over every elf's head. Which means that there are undoubtedly elves who adhere to values they don't agree with, solely out of fear of the consequences of choosing what they actually care about. This is their world. This is their lot in life.

And good luck trying to kill out this way of thinking and running the world, when elves live forever, and the people in power are the oldest elves in the world.

Now- imagine you're the Vacker's. You are the spitting image of what perfection is thought to be. You are renowned, watched- YOU ARE THE STANDARD. But even the Vacker's know they aren't perfect. Which means that regardless of how they feel about any of it, if they want to avoid scorn- they have to meet impossible requirements.

And to some parents, loving their kids means 'saving them' from that scorn. Which means heaping the expectations of the world onto their kids tenfold.

standards that are inherently abusive.

I don't think the Vacker's could come out the other side anything but emotionally abused. because the standards of their world. Because the standards they are held to, are so unrealistic, and the punishment for not meeting them is so heavy, the only way to meet them is to die a million deaths and not let anyone see that you are a corpse. You either become exactly what the world wants, or you fall, and everyone watches when you hit the pavement, and then they remark how ugly you look, and how you failed to even be appealing in death.

But guess what- that is your fate. Because it is impossible. And this type of pressure doesn't make diamonds, it creates kids like Fitz Vacker, who's fall from grace was inevitable. Because the standards were always impossible. No soul could meet them.

You can't come out of a world like that without some measure of emotional damage. It's a cycle.

Some elves choose to fight the power, but that resistance is futile when the power is literally ancient, with a relative scale for justice, and an 'objective' scale for judgement.

it just so happens that the Vacker's response was to melt their gold exactly into the shapes asked of them, regardless of how wrong it felt, and how much it hurt.

[timetravellibrarian]

Zoro x reader

Zoro x femreader

Summary: A man seeks to follow his dreams, following only the path his swords carve for him and wherever his crew goes. Little does he know that the missing piece in his life, his soulmate whom he doesn't admit that he tries to seek would end up in a love-hate relationship.

Chapter One

_________________________________________

Chapter Three

You found yourself on the very same large rock at your islands beach, eyes looking over to the ocean. The mark in your wrist reminding you of the small ache in your heart. Your soulmate.

No night ever falls without your mind going to whoever out there in the world was meant for you. Someone who would choose you first. Someone who would love you unconditionally without the expected duty. You honestly didn't know how to explain what you felt.

"Penny for your thoughts, my lady?"A whisper broke you out if your thoughts, a small squeak barely escaping your lips before you felt yourself slipping from the rocks surface. The drop would be devastating had it not been for firm arms immediately wrapping themselves around your waist and pulling you flush against the one who intruded in your quiet time.

"My lady! I'm so sorry, he– I didn't see him pass throug–"

"It's alright Lyra. I'm alright." Your eyes went to your friend who seemed to have been thrown into panic, her rushed steps trying to balance in the rocks to try and reach you. Alas you were in the arms of the man you were promised to marry, Prince Cassius.

He let out a small huff of amusement as he picked you up bridal style and headed down the variously shaped rocks with waves crashing harshly against them. Soon Lyra, Cassius and you had landed safely on the dock, the prince placing you down.

"I apologize, princess. I wished to speak with you but I had been informed that you weren't in the castle."

You nodded, a look of curiosity at what he wanted to talk to you about.

"...then I asked your sister and brothers where you ought to be at this hour and they didn't know..."

"How did you find me here?"

He smiled," I have my ways, princess. Or should I refer to you as my beloved seeing as we are to wed in a month's time."

'A MONTH!'

"Pardon, a month you say?" The mark on your wrist felt like a rocks piling up on top of your body, held up by little hope.

"Exactly why I wanted to talk to you. My father spoke with the king and have agreed on a date at around this time next month.

You stayed silent. Looking up at his chestnut brown eyes,the unnoticeable freckles on his face. His sharp nose. 'My children might inherit that'

"I know this is a large step for you." His hands went to yours, fingers trailing over R.Z that's was etched onto your wrist by fate. His lip quirked down in unnoticeable displeasure at its sight. " I will do my best to love you as much as any soulmate would. Maybe even more."

His eyes locked onto yours longer than you were used to, his words were like a promise. One that wouldn't be broken. But promises are merely words used to appease fools. Maybe right now you would allow yourself to believe. What could possibly go wrong?

_______________________________________

"Don't you wonder who your soulmate is?" Sanji said as he placed a cigarette to his lips. His eyes went to the uncovered mark on Zoro's wrist. The whole time he had gotten to know the swordsman he never heard much word about his soulmate. The matter shut down with a glare or met with silence.

Everyone present on deck almost held their breath. Robin , Nami, even Luffy.

"I have thought about them." Zoro answered, taking a sip of the bottle in his hands,"I've never stopped." And true to his word he never has.

The sun never rose without his mind wandering to the mark on his wrist. The one connection he had with the person who was truly meant for him.

All his life Zoro had been fighting. He fought in Shimotsuki Village, growing up. He fought in Shells Town before and after he met Luffy. Now he's in Skypeia and he's fought since since Enel had discovered them. Almost everyday he fights to fulfill his dream. To become the world's greatest swordsman.

But do dreams keep a man warm? Do dreams chase after him as much as he does?

He loves his crew, would die for them even. But what is this feeling of loneliness that lies deep within the pit of his stomach and cuts deeper that a sword against his skin.

He looked at the swirly haired cook, the bane of his existence.

"Then why don't you try to find them?!" Luffy yelled, his face staying in confusion. "They're somewhere out there aren't they?"

Nami slapped Luffy upside the head. "Don't be an idiot Luffy. The world's too big. He or she could be anywhy."

"Not to mention that anyone can have those initials." Robin added, paging through her book.

"And they could possibly be a marine, a rival pirate, a serial killer, an arsonist, a murderer and other very bad things." Chopper added as he came back from restocking the infirmary. He sat down beside Robin as she read.

"You guys really know how to cheer up a guy," Sanji said as he blew out a puff of smoke," Those are realistic expectations. But let's be positive for a second."

"Skip the positivity, I'd rather not sit around and wait to be swept off my feet. Life goes on. I'm sure wherever my soulmate is she's fine." Zoro took one last gulp of his drink. Washing down the sense of foreboding that plagued his senses

_________________________________________

She in fact wasn't gonna be fine

@mars-mizuko

@bi-narystars

@mythicallystupid

@urbisexualfriend

[historical-kitten]

Inviting Ancient Roman Politicians to a Modern Costume Party

Gaius Julius Caesar

Enjoys a good party and accepts your invitation, but when you go to pick him up you aren't sure if he's in a costume or just dresses like that. It's a very fabulous look. Or maybe he's dressed up as Elton John?

Marcus Licinius Crassus

The only way he attends is if you bribe him to go. He takes cash, Google pay, Apple Pay, Paypal, Cash App, and Venmo. It costs extra if you want him in a costume.

Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus aka Pompey

He will accept your invitation, but he wants to go in one of those inflatable costumes that looks like he's riding an elephant. If you can fit that in your car and through all the doorways, he'll be decent company at the party.

Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus aka Augustus

If Agrippa is meeting you there, lead with that and you might convince him to join you. He'll want all the details on the party and who will be there, so indulge him. He doesn't particularly want to wear a costume, but might dress as Apollo if pressed.

Marcus Antonius aka Mark Antony

He will absolutely come to your party, you don't even have to twist his arm. He likely takes it over once he arrives, though, so be prepared! He is fun and charming, but will not be going home sober. He might dress as Hercules, Dionysus, or Osiris.

Marcus Aemilius Lepidus

The way he disappears when you're at the party, he might as well be dressed as the Invisible Man. No really. Where'd he go?

Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa

He will go and stay with you, a loyal friend, unless Octavianus shows up and then he ultimately follows him. He didn't wear a costume but let someone paint a teardrop on his face. He wins "Most Original Costume" for his 'personification of human sadness' outfit. He doesn't look happy about it.

Publius Clodius Pulcher

He's always up for a party and will look a million times better in his costume than you do. Whatever you do, don't tell him about that girl's night only Halloween party unless you want him to show up dressed like one of the girls. (He'll be really fun, but might cause a divorce.)

Sextus Pompeius Magnus Pius

He is gracious as a guest and wears a nautical Captain's costume. He'll party with you, but not over indulge. Just don't ask if he's a pirate, that's rude.

Marcus Junius Brutus

He only accepts the invitation if friends of his are going to the party. His costume seems to be a dark hood and cape and he disappears into the corner with Cassius soon after you arrive.

Gaius Cassius Longinus

He is quite amiable with his friends and if he's yours, he'll accept your invitation. The costume is sleek and dark and furtive, possibly a rogue or assassin? Just don't be hurt when he disappears into a corner with Brutus at some point in the night.

Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix

You do not want to invite him, do you? If you do, he accepts. Although he was wearing regular clothes initially, they're definitely covered in blood before you're at the party for long. That's fake blood... right?

Marcus Tullius Cicero

You have to cajole him to go, but once he is there, he is happy to be the center of attention telling jokes and stories. Wearing a costume is beneath his dignity, but judging everyone else's is not.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fear Of The Known

Lucifer x Fem!Angel!Reader

|Chapter Twelve|

"You're serious?" Michael asks, still in shock by the news Y/n just gave him. Y/n nods her head. "I'm just as surprised as you are, but...Maybe this will do some good. At least now I won't feel like I'm being kept in the dark about certain decisions."

"Well...I can't say I didn't see this coming." Said Michael. "You are a very important figure in Heaven. Everyone looks to you for what the future will bring. I guess it only makes sense for Father to do this."

Before Y/n had left after speaking with God, after delivering news of a war on the horizon, and thankfully altering the future, God had proposed an offer to her.

'You want me to...what?' Y/n asks in disbelief.

'I wish for you to join my council. You will be present for most meetings, alongside my most trusted Angels. I believe it will be best to have you here, given it being such a...sensitive time. Adam is gone, and now one of Hell's Overlords have access to angelic weaponry.'

Y/n still couldn't believe this. Very few were apart of God's council, as he said, only his most trusted Angels stood by his side. And now, she had the opportunity to become of those Angels.

'What we choose to do next, will entirely depend on what the future holds. You could be there to guide us to the right path, and keep Heaven safe and untouched by evil. Do you accept this offer?'

Y/n never thought she would be given a chance like this. Yes, her future vision set her apart from many Angels. But she was still beneath so many Angels who held power of their own.

Now, she had the chance to join their side.

And so, graciously, she accepted.

"I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other from now on." Y/n smiles. Michael chuckles. "As if we don't already?"

"Only this time, it will be in a more professional setting." Y/n adds. "To think I'd be along side the best. And the most powerful...Hah. I already feel out of place, and I haven't even been to single meeting yet."

Michael places a hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to worry about. You know those Angels as well as I do. We all view you with the same respect you view us with."

"Though none of them panic whenever they're around me. Unlike me, around them. You're the only one who I've ever felt comfortable with." Y/n tells him. Michael's smile soften, his heart flutters ever so slightly. He tries not to pay it any mind. "Oh? Not even Cassius?"

Y/n rolls her eyes playfully. "Well, no, Cassius is fine."

"Or Leroy?" Michael asks.

"Leroy is fine too." Y/n laughs. "See, that's two already." Michael says with a shrug.

"Yes, but I really mean Joel and Gabriel. Then of course, Leo. They're all so serious. And Azrael is...Azrael."

Michael laughs. “He is, isn’t he?” His laughter dies down as he places his hand on Y/n’s gently. “As intimidating as this all might be, I know you will do just fine. If father believed you could not handle such an important promotion, he would not have given it to you. And of course, I will be there with you too.”

Y/n smiles warmly. “Thank you Michael.”

“Now.” Michael starts. “I’ll be sure to wake you up early for the meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning!?” Y/n gasps. “So soon!? Oh my goodness, I-I didn’t think-”

“Y/n, Y/n, calm down.” Michael chuckles. “It’s alright. It’s nothing huge, just a simple meeting about what’s to be done with the former exorcist angels.”

“I’m sorry.” Y/n sighs. “The exorcist angels…There was so many of them. What will they do now?” She asks. Michael shrugs. “That’s yet to be decided. Just try to relax. Everything will be fine.”

Everything will be fine. That's what Y/n had to keep reminding herself, that everything would be fine. With every step closer to the meeting, her anxiety spiked. But everything will be fine.

At least the people she'd be in that room with would not be total strangers. Some of them more intimidating than others, even if not intentionally. But still, familiar faces nonetheless.

And Michael would be there. That alone made the walk there slightly less nerve wracking.

Y/n slowed to a stop when she came across the two large double doors, on the other side, she could hear the faintest of voices conversing amongst each other.

She inhaled, smoothed out her dress, and opened the doors. Everyone's eyes were on her as soon as she stepped in. Y/n felt as if she would faint right then, the only thing keeping her composure was Michael and the God's temporary absence in the room.

Still, Y/n made herself look presentable and respectful of the angels before her. "Good morning everyone. How are you all today?" She asks with a kind smile.

Michael opened his mouth to speak first, but someone else beat him to it.

"Hi, Y/n! It's been ages since we last talked!" Cassius. They stood from their chair and walked towards Y/n, and taking her hands in theirs. "When I heard you were going to joining father's council, I almost couldn't believe it! Well, almost couldn't believe that you weren't invited sooner. You do play a pretty important part around here."

"Yeah, seriously. Pretty sure Heaven would have more than a few problems if not for your guidance." Leroy says.

"What matters is, she's here now." Said Michael. "And because of that, Heaven's future will be heading on the right path."

Y/n's smile became a bit more genuine. "I'll be sure to do my best."

"You better, otherwise we're all done for." Azrael teases, which earned a sharp look from Leo. "Enough, Azrael." He says firmly.

"Ah, lighten up Leo, I'm just playing around." Azrael leans back in his seat. "We all know she can handle it. I mean, she wouldn't have gotten this far if she were utterly useless right?"

"Azrael." Leo warns, but Azrael just laughs it off. "Come on, Y/n knows I have faith in her. Right?"

Y/n shifts awkwardly. "I hope so." She laughs lightly.

"Pay him no mind, Y/n." Gabriel spoke up. "You are here for a reason. Father believes you can better guide Heaven alongside us. Your gift of the seeing the future is special, it's important. You are important, to all of us, and to the countless souls of Heaven."

"Thank you, Gabriel. That means a lot." Y/n says with a warm smile.

Just then, the doors opened again, and in walked God with Galim at his side. Everyone became quiet as they stood from the seats as God entered further into the room. He took his place at the head of the table before speaking.

"Good morning everyone. I hope all of you are doing well. Let's get this meeting started, shall we?" He spoke. Everyone nods before seating.

There was a slight stretch of silence before God spoke again. "Now....What was the meeting about again?"

Galim, along with a few others sighed in defeat and slight annoyance. Did...Did he actually forget? Y/n watches in silence.

"The exorcist angels, your Heavenly Grace. We are to discuss what must be done with them." Galim tells God.

"Oh! That's right!" God chuckles. "Well, how about you take it from here then? I feel as if I need to be caught up again as well."

Galim nods before clearing their throat. "As you all know, there has been an army of exorcist angels that had been kept secret from Heaven for many years. An army only few knew about. Those being, the late first man Adam, his lieutenant Lute, and the head Seraphim Sera." They continue.

"The proposal was first discussed with Lucifer Morningstar. Once agreed by both him and Sera, Adam was given the ok to raise an army of exorcists, that would once every year, portal to Hell and slaughter it's inhabitants. All in hopes to keep Hell's population controlled."

"As of recent events, the council has decided to put an end to the exterminations along with the army. We have lost many souls to the exterminations, even if they were exorcists. Adam was among those souls." Galim looks to Y/n.

"And with the trusted guidance of Y/n, it was fated that any further exterminations would prove to lead to a terrible future for Heaven and it's people."

Y/n stiffened at the mention of her name, but she kept herself composed as Galim continues.

"Now, we must decide what is to be done with what remains of the exorcists."

"Very good Galim!" God claps. Galim awkwardly smiles.

Michael is the first to speak. "The exorcists won't fit into society so easily. Their whole lives, they had been trained to kill. Aggression and violence is all they know."

"Then what do you suppose we do? Lock them all away? There's hundreds of them." Said Gabriel.

"We could always have them banished to Hell." Said Azrael. "After all, they did go against Heaven by keeping their bloodshed a secret."

"Them, and Sera." Said Joel. "If Sera were not such an important figure, banishment would be a fitting punishment."

"Of course, that would spark panic amongst the civilians." Leo sighed. "There is nothing we could say to explain just why the head Seraphim was casted out of Heaven. Sera would be gone forever, regardless of what we say. And people will become suspicious. And their suspicions will lead to fear if they ever knew the truth."

"I believe we should try and give those exorcist a chance." Cassius speaks next. "One last chance to prove their souls are worth saving."

Y/n listened as they converse among themselves, she was unsure of when she should speak. But also, she was somewhat captivated by the council in action like this.

God took note of her silence, he raised his hand, and everyone quickly became silent. "Y/n? What do you propose we do?"

Y/n froze. What should she say? She didn't want those angels to be banished. She didn't want Sera to be banished either. But could they adapt to a new way of life? Would they even consider it?

"I...I do not particularly favor the idea of banishment." Y/n spoke truthfully. "However, I am unsure of what their reactions will be to fitting in with Heaven's society. Their violent tendencies, their bloodlust, all of it must disappear if they are to join within civilization. And I don't know how easy that will be for them or if they will even like the idea." She took a minute to think.

"I suppose I can look into the future for an answer." She suggests. God nods his head. "If you must."

Y/n closes her eyes, the path of the near future open ahead. In the future, she saw some of the angels agreeing to leave their life of bloodshed behind. But most...most will not comply. Which will lead to one of two things.

The angels who will not give up their old habits will spend eternity locked away from the rest of Heaven. Or...

Banishment. They will all be casted out of Heaven, and never return to Heaven's light.

Then she saw Lute. Y/n looked further to see what might become of her. Adam's death took a heavy toll on her, surely, she would choose to stick with what she has always known. Murdering demons.

However. That is not what Y/n saw for her future. Instead, Y/n saw Lute complying along with the few angels. Choosing a life in Heaven, free from the bloodshed.

Y/n opened her eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. It was that easy? Lute would go along with it just like that? Even after witnessing Adam's death at the hands of the very creatures she hates?

It was that easy?

"Y/n?" God spoke.

Y/n looked up. "U-Um." She cleared her throat. "Very few will agree to live freely with the other civilians of Heaven. Most must be locked away or banished. However, it is up to us to decide which it will be."

"Thank you, Y/n." God says before turning his attention back to the rest of the council. Y/n barely paid any attention throughout the remainder of the meeting.

She was too busy thinking about Lute, and the odd feeling she got whenever she looked into her future...

Suddenly the doors to the meeting room burst open. Shocked, everyone looked towards the entrance, and saw a frantic angel who panted every breath.

"Your heavenly grace!" The angel began. "I have urgent news from the head Seraphim!"

God narrows his eyes, but nods his head. "Go on." He tells the angel. They sucked in a lung full of air before delivering the news.

"A sinner has passed divine judgement and entered Heaven!"

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[thegorydamnreaper]

Ajax and Lysander

Inspired by this scene from Dark Age:

“Is it him?” Kalindora asks a taller, younger knight in armor the color of a storm cloud. His skin is black, his eyes violent amber. The pelt of a pearl leopard sways from his powerful shoulders as he steps forward to examine me. For a moment, it feels as if we’re both looking through a dirty pane of glass, leaning and squinting to see if the apparition on the other side is really a long-lost friend or merely some trick.

I barely recognize the man I once called “brother.”

Only the long lashes of his eyes are the same.

In the eleven years since I last saw him, his plump features, often an item of hushed ridicule on the Palatine, have melted away to reveal an Adonic visage so surly, so passionate, so manly even Cassius might, in a drunken moment, declare some minor flaw in the man in hopes of diluting his own utter jealousy.

Octavia was always disappointed in her little genetic experiment. She would not be now. Ajax, son of the loveless genetic union of Aja and Atlas au Raa, is a masculine specimen.

By the phalera that bedeck Ajax’s armor, I see he has already fulfilled his childhood dreams. He wears not just his Peerless scar, but insignia signifying the office of Storm Knight, and the rank of a full Legate infantry commander.

With my scarless face and my drab civilian vestments, before the two Olympic Knights, I feel my ten-year absence more acutely than ever.

“You are the man who claims to be Lysander au Lune,” Ajax sneers.

“Ajax.” Mistaking his tone for banter, I reach to embrace him. The Stained block my path. I actually feel wounded. “Don’t you recognize me?”

Ajax’s eyes narrow to slits. “Test him with the Manteío.”

Hope you guys like it!! ♥️

[the-morningstar-family]

Mama lays there. Thin and gaunt like never before. Cassius hasn't come home for days.

He didn't help anyway. He made it worse. It's good he hasn't been there.

Alastor looks at the crying boy. He's just turned 14. Mama had apologized so much for not being able to do something for him. But the boy just took care of her. He'd simply wanted her to get better.

Alastor stares at the corpse. His teeth grind together painfully, and he glares at the boy.

Alastor, voice low: “Can't you do anything right?”

The boy barley looks up, fixated, tearfully, on Mamas cold unmoving face.

Alastor: “How could you just let her go like that? She deserves so much better”

The radio demon's voice is unusually emotional, almost breaking at the end. He doesn't hold anything back, in fact, he lets it grow in his chest.

Alastor: “You could've done so much better!”

The boy is entirely engulfed by the mother's death. Alastor would be understanding if it wasn't this boy. This boy is the exception.

Alastor: “You could've stolen his money, for a doctor or at least medicine. Why didn't you?”

His words are almost pleading now. The command sucked away. Almost begging himself to find an answer. Why he didn't do this or that? Turn the time back and do anything to avoid the inevitable, what already happened

Alastor: “Get this under control”

He motions to the boy's tears but doesn't really look at him anymore.

Alastor: “You know he won't care”

If one listens very closely, there's a soft note to it. A little sorrow for the. Boy with a father who won't cry with him. Who won't help him at all, and worse, might pose a tantrum for the emotions in the first place. A few more shuddering sobs. And the boy takes a deep breath. Then he gets up and wipes his tears away. With shaky hands he rearranges the blanket of his Mama, then does her hair one last time. She is so still and cold and unmoving. He just wonders how he'll arrange a funeral, without any money.

Alastor stares at the cloth. Almost tempted to pull it back. She is dead still, but oh does he miss her face. But a blink later he's starring at dirt, and a self made little wooden cross.

The bayou had always been a part of home to Alastor. So he'd taken it to hell.

Though this is not hell's. The boy never could get that money, and after another one of Cassius rage filled rants, he was afraid that he might find her body gone. So after after three days, he puts Mama to rest at their favourite spot under a tree and it's the most empty he's ever felt. The boy is remembering one of Mama's favorite songs in the radio.

Boy: “Well meet again, don't know where don't know Wh- when- b-But I know we'll meet a-again-”

The boy's voice cracks to hard, and his breath is too uneven to continue to sing.

Alastor: “You won't”

He says matter of factly. But as another sharp breath is drawn in, the boy burries his head in his arms. And suddenly, the demon doesn't have the heart to remain synical.

Alastor: “... It is for the best, rest assured she's happy.”

The boy looks up at Al as if asking for an answer to a question he doesn't even know.

Alastor: “You will always miss her. But you will learn to bear it”

The boys sobs quiet a bit. They look into nature in front of them. No word is shared. And yet, it feels right somehow. That in someway he's made a step forward, while not having moved at all.

[withasideofshakespeare]

Woah no way?? People (completely unprompted /s) want to hear my trans Shakespeare headcanons?? You bet I can do that.

I’ve done this once before:

But I have even more thoughts now!!

In no particular order:

Puck (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): Every single pronoun possible. He/she/they/it + all of the neopronouns and xenopronouns that exist currently or will ever exist. Fairy gender is always weird but Puck’s is extra weird.

Oberon (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): Fairy gender. Probably he/they/it?

Titania (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): More fairy gender. She/they/it?

Titania’s fairy attendants (Midsummer): Get a hat and fill it with various pronouns and draw them out at random for the fairies.

Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing): Could go either way, but I really like the idea of transfemme Benedick. Or he/him lesbian Benedick.

Beatrice (Much Ado About Nothing): The she/they to end all she/theys

Viola/Cesario (Twelfth Night): Could be trans in literally any direction. I made a post about this too at some point. My suggestion is all of the directions: they/she/he

Sebastian (Twelfth Night): He/him, transmasc. I also made a post about this at some point.

Feste (Twelfth Night): I saw a great she/her Feste last summer.

Orsino (Twelfth Night): Specifically the himbo variety of he/they

Margaret of Anjou (Henry VI trilogy and Richard III): If I ever play Margaret, I will use she/they pronouns.

Catesby (Richard III): Just played Catesby with she/her pronouns and it worked!

Richard II (Richard II): Tell me Richard isn’t the most they/he or he/they guy alive (or… dead).

Hal (1 Henry IV-Henry V): Saw Hal played with she/they pronouns last summer and it was great. Could also see he/they Hal. Very nonbinary vibe overall. I personally believe that going by Hal rather than Henry for two whole plays is their way of pulling the “going by the first letter of what my name used to be instead of picking a name from scratch” nonbinary trick. He probably pretends to be cis after his dad dies and he becomes king—one more element of Hal’s lifelong identity crisis.

Hotspur/Harry Percy Jr. (Richard II & 1 Henry IV): He/they in denial.

Kate Percy (1 & 2 Henry IV): She/they, not in denial. (Also Katespur should be bi4bi)

Ned Poins (1 & 2 Henry IV): Transmasc Ned Poins?? Maybe he doesn’t actually have a sister and Nell is just his deadname. Ned Poins’ failed scheme to flirt with Hal.

Romeo (Romeo & Juliet): he/they (t4t R&J!!!)

Juliet (Romeo & Juliet): she/they (t4t R&J!!!)

Mercutio (Romeo & Juliet): they/he(/it?). Vibes alone. Look at them. Just look.

Nurse (Romeo & Juliet): she/her, transfemme!

Cassius (Julius Caesar): Would love to see a they/them Cassius

Hamlet (Hamlet): he/they. I’ve made multiple posts about this theory and I still love it.

Ophelia (Hamlet): she/they. As she should.

Laertes (Hamlet): she/him and NOT just because Laertes used she/her pronouns the first time I saw this play.

Rosencrantz (Hamlet): he/they/she. Vibes. Sometimes goes by Ros/Rose. Probably genderfluid.

Malcolm (Macbeth): they/he or they/them. Also vibes.

Lady Macbeth (Macbeth): stolen straight from my last post because this is still my HC: she/they; would insult you for “having pronouns in your bio” and then turn around and punch you in the face for using their pronouns incorrectly.

Angus (Macbeth): she/her, transfemme. (t4t Ross/Angus. I will die on this hill… Dunsinane Hill.)

Ross (Macbeth): he/him, transmasc

Caithness (Macbeth): she/they lesbian

Mark Antony (Julius Caesar and Antony & Cleopatra): I would not bat an eye at he/they Mark Antony

Edmund (King Lear): they/he, nonbinary, sexiest man (/gn) alive.

Edgar (King Lear): he/him. Transmasc Edgar is slowly becoming canon To Me.

Cordelia (King Lear): she/her, transfemme.

Goneril (King Lear): she/they. I would let them kill me.

Coriolanus (Coriolanus): transmasc OR transfemme Coriolanus is!!!! The butterfly/metamorphosis motif! Name changes during canon! Discomfort with scars/body! Lack of autonomy granted by society! This is THE transgender play. (Other than Twelfth Night)

Imogen (Cymbeline): Tell me she doesn’t want to be a she/they so bad.

Florizel (The Winter’s Tale): he/they(/she?). Literally just a vibe. I have a pet rock named Florizel.

Perdita (The Winter’s Tale): she/they. I also have a pet rock named Perdita.

Ariel (The Tempest): Similar to Puck, probably they/she/he? Even my conservative English prof consistently rotates between she/her and he/him for Ariel (possibly not intentionally? I’m not convinced he knows what her canon pronouns are.)

Ferdinand (The Tempest): she/they. PLEASE give me transfemme Ferdinand. PLEASE let Miranda realize she’s a lesbian during canon.

Miranda (The Tempest): she/they. Ariel taught them about the existence of she/they pronouns and she immediately started using them.

So in other words… every Shakespeare character should be trans, actually.

[abarbaricyalp]

Written a week late for the @sambuckylibrary Anniversary Event!

Sorry about any typos in advance

Sam Wilson, God bless his nearly perfect soul, didn't have the self-serving skills that the good God gave a gnat. From across the diner, Annalise watched her best friend's son ignore every single sign that his handsome, quiet friend was putting down across their quickly emptying breakfast plates. Her own breakfast was cooling below her, but she had already forgotten about her blueberry oatmeal (cinnamon on top).

To begin with, Sam had invited her to eat with them, despite the fact that were clearly new flowers sitting on the table as well. She knew Bucky Barnes had already made friends with the local florist and she knew he had a weekly order of Sam's favorites set up. (Sam had dropped his affinity for carnations since high school, but still liked yellow flowers and baby's breath). Bucky had also been sitting with his hand on the table, palm up towards Sam, but Sam hadn't taken it yet, hadn't seemed to notice, except to occasionally move some silverware closer to him. Then there was the matter of Bucky's feet, which Annalise could see clearly under the booth as he keep putting his ankle to Sam's, only for Sam to apologize and move his feet back.

Sam Wilson had all the easy charm of his father, but didn't seem to have inherited Paul's keen sense of when the attention was on him. Paul had been a flirt and a half back in the day. He clocked Darlene's interest before Darlene even admitted it to herself (or Annalise, for that matter). Oh, how he had worked day and night to woo her. And then he spent the rest of his life doing the same thing.

Sam was staring down an oncoming train of attention and devotion and he didn't even hear the whistle.

"Dom," she said softly when the waitress walked back by her table. She was across from Sam's booth anyway, but she was pretty certain that even if she was right next to them, neither young man would hear her, too focused on each other. "Could you send a slice of chocolate cheesecake over to them?" she asked. "Keep it between us."

Dom looked back at Sam and Bucky as well, humming in agreement. "Ma'am, consider that fine idea on the house," she laughed. "Might forget a spoon too."

"Oh, now you're speaking my language, young lady," Annalise laughed. "Isn't it great when a plan comes together?"

Dom squeezed her shoulder with an exuberant grin before she disappeared into the kitchen again.

She wasn't the only exuberant one. The boys were bright and cheery as well. It was nice to see after a couple of weeks of quiet from them. Times when one or the other of them was pulled away for their superhero business were always rough. Times when they were both gone were downright untenable. The recuperation needed for the superheroes also never sped things along.

But they seemed to be more at ease, finally back home, as they swiped bacon and toast from each other's plates and cried foul at the same time.

Sam Wilson deserved the world and every happiness. Even as a young boy, clambering over the pulpit to set up his daddy's readings before church, but getting distracted by the crickets that needed a helping hand outside, he had a heart of gold and a moral compass that would go toe-to-toe with most adults in the community. Annalise could remember all of his accolades from high school so well. The sports trophies, the academic achievements, the service awards. She didn't know how he found the time in the day for everything he did, and then helping his parents with the boat and the food boxes as well. All the Wilson kids were like that, but Gideon had gone off without a forwarding address and Sarah had learned to go for what she wanted, created a fairytale love story in front of everyone. Sam had joined the Air Force and spent the rest of the story sacrificing. It wasn't until he came home for Cassius Sr's funeral that they even heard about the accident in Bakmala. It took years after that and a slip up from Sarah for them to learn just how deep the relationship between Sam and his Air Force partner actually was. He just never spoke about it, even to his longest supports in the community. Just focused his attention on Sarah while he could before going off to save the world again.

Too much pain had visited the Wilson household in waves that just never stopped coming. First Gideon leaving, then Paul and then Darlene, then Cassius Sr. and then Sam's partner. Or near enough that order. Plenty of sunshine too, though. Sarah's boys were stunning fruit off of the healthiest of trees. It was hard not to see Sam when Cass was running around town, feeding strays, or when AJ read at church.

But Annalise had been waiting for Sam to bring someone home, make something just for himself. Being Captain America was hardly helping matters. If the young man had ever run out of excuses for his lacking love life before, he had a fresh host of them now.

If you can have lunch with me once a week, you can find yourself a nice man too, she'd said to him a while ago.

It seemed like he had found himself a nice man, she had to admit. No matter how goofy a name like Bucky was, there was no denying he was a good man. (Sure, she'd heard the youngsters talking about The Winter Soldier, but she'd never met the Winter Soldier, thank you very much. Just Bucky Barnes) He was exactly the kind of man for Sam. Not afraid to get his hands dirty, strong and supportive but soft too, on the inside. He was clearly so far gone on Sam that his eyes practically radiated hearts at all times. And, oh boy, could he keep Sam on his toes. They were delightful together in a way that made her ache for her own long-gone love.

And Sam was oblivious to it all. It wasn't for lack of interest. During their lunch dates, the conversation could center entirely around Bucky some days. No matter what else Annalise brought up, Sam would find some way to circle it back around to whatever heroic, or idiotic, thing the other young man had done recently. (Not so young, she supposed. Bucky corrected her every time she said it) If Sam wasn't as far gone on Bucky as the reverse, it was a near, and growing, thing.

So she watched them flirt and banter and pretend like their fingers weren't touching on the table as Bucky mooned over Sam and Sam couldn't look away from Bucky.

Dom came back just as Sam was eating the last of Bucky's pancake. It took a moment for them to look away from each other and to clock the cake she was setting between them.

"Oh, we didn't order this," Bucky corrected sweetly.

"Or that," Sam added as Dom produced two glasses of mimosas as well. His eyes instantly darted over to Annalise.

"Don't worry," Dom assured. "It's on the house. Just a little early-bird-regular special." She smiled brightly at them--there'd been a time Annalise would have loved to see Dom settle down with Sam and they'd have made a lovely couple too--and then turned to leave.

It was Bucky who reached for the spoon first. Then Sam, who came up a spoon short.

"Oh, wait--" he started to call, but Dom didn't look back. Sam shot another glance towards Annalise, who was doing nothing but minding her own business, thank you.

"Well, this is some of the best cake in the state," Bucky pointed out smoothly. He offered the first bite to Sam. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that."

Sam put his fingers over Bucky's hand on the spoon. He maintained eye contact for just a second before he had to look away as he took the proffered cheesecake.

Bucky grinned cheerily at him before taking at least twice as big a scoop for himself, which led to a familiar scene of them squabbling and trying to strong arm each other into relenting.

"I'll give you the rest!" Bucky insisted, trying to hold the spoon away from Sam's reaching hands.

"The middle is the best part of the slice!" Sam argued, halfway climbing across their booth table. He put a hand on Bucky's shoulder to hold himself upright and had almost reached the spoon when he hip-checked the glass of sweet tea between them. Annalise had lost track of whether it was his or Bucky's. They both had a sweet tooth to end all sweet teeth.

Bucky took the opportunity of Sam reaching back to catch the glass to shove the spoon in his mouth. Sam squawked out a sound that Annalise was sure Captain America shouldn't make and then actually reached over like he was about to pry into Bucky's mouth.

Bucky quickly smacked a hand over his lips as he bent over laughing. "Stop it. I'm gonna spit it on you if you don't stop," he warned, trying to fend Sam off with his other hand. "Don't make me laugh."

"You didn't even taste that!" Sam accused. "That was a waste of the perfect bite!"

"I did taste it," Bucky promised. "It was so good. You missed out."

Annalise was starting to agree with AJ. Sam and Bucky were gross together, in the most endearing way. She hadn't seen Sam goof around like this since junior high. It felt like a little bit of sunshine had been restored to the world.

Bucky chopped off a bite of the crust and offered it to Sam as reconciliation. Judging by the way Sam was still pouting, it was only partially working. Sam took the spoon and they settled down as they finished the cheesecake and their mimosas.

Sam had mentioned that Bucky couldn't get drunk, on account of his serum whatnot, but Annalise wasn't sure she bought it. Every time she saw him drinking, he still seemed to get loose limbed and smiley. Then again, she only ever saw him drink around Sam, so perhaps she was giving credit where it wasn't due. She watched him practically melt into the booth seat, hooking his ankle on Sam's and finally being allowed to stay there as they chatted about their plans for the day as orange juice and champagne slowly fizzled away. They were back to working on the house they'd bought. Technically there had been a housewarming party a couple of weeks ago, but she'd seen the both of them in and out of the hardware store often enough since to know the work was not done. She'd bring over some pie for them. Bucky liked cherry and Sam liked peach, both of which she had in her kitchen.

Eventually, she turned her attention to her thoroughly cold oatmeal. She had almost finished it when the boys started shifting around, bickering about the bill. Bucky darted away to pay for it, even though he'd just been complaining about having to use the restroom. Sam came over to her table, catching her eye as he stood. By the time he sat across from her at the two-seater, she still hadn't looked back up.

"Surely you can't still want to have breakfast with me," she teased him finally when he didn't offer a new greeting.

"You're really just gonna set me up like that, huh?" he asked. The gap in his teeth always gave away his grins, just like Paul's had. He really did make her chest ache sometimes. "Just 'cause Bucky won't blame you doesn't keep you out of my sights."

Annalise scoffed softly and shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about, Samuel Thomas. Mind your manners."

Sam held up his hands placatingly. "Was there any reason cake appeared between us then?"

Annalise shrugged and pretended to read something on her phone. Usually she read the news while she had her breakfast, but she hadn't even opened her subscription because Sam and Bucky were more interesting. "I suppose there was extra. It can only sit out so long, you know."

Sam put his chin on his criss-crossed fingers, elbows on the table, which she swatted at but was ignored for. She continued to pretend to read a text message until she sighed.

"I just think you deserve something nice. You never take anything for yourself," she admonished lightly. "And I'm not talking about cake, young man."

Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise, but not at her words, she didn't think. Just at the admission. "Bucky is not nice," he said. "He's a pain and a lot of work."

Annalise hummed with a smile, thought of her loves. "All the best things are, aren't they?"

And Sam smiled. Really smiled. The sun came out. Birds sang. He really was her favorite Wilson child. "Yeah, sometimes they are," he agreed.

"Ready to go?" Bucky asked, appearing like he'd been summoned by that smile. He had his hand on the back of Sam's shoulder, inching towards his neck. "Hi again, Mrs. Corbett," he said to Annalise warmly.

"Yeah, mind pulling the truck around?" Sam asked.

Bucky glanced at Annalise, then back to Sam. "Sure," he agreed. "I'll give you two a little while longer to gossip."

Sam had a scar below his left eye that hadn't been there when he'd left for the Air Force. Shrapnel, she'd heard from someone, but she wasn't sure how true that was. Sam never talked about it and it'd be rude to ask. The first time she'd seen it, it had made her heart stop to think about something so violent coming so close to Sam's face, his eyes. By then, it had been a pale thin, still a little tender and thin, but healed. By now, it was barely noticeable, unless the sun was shining in the window just right to make it shine a little. Unless she was watching it as Bucky's lips came down on it, even though Sam's left side was across from where Bucky was standing.

Sam's eyes were still closed, long eyelashes fluttering, as Bucky stood up again. "Don't leave me idling for too long," he warned as he squeezed Sam's shoulder and turned for the door.

She watched Bucky leave, a Levi's ad come to life, and then looked to Sam who had come back to the world of mere mortals.

"Now, Samuel Thomas Wilson," she started, pointing a spoon at him.

Sam laughed merrily, slapping a hand across his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I didn't set you up anything! You set me up!" she accused. "Why haven't you told me?"

Sam was still laughing, shaking his head as he clutched onto his ribs. "I don't know, Miss Lise. I guess...I just liked having it for myself for a while. I was gonna tell you first," he said with a hand over his chest. He settled back in his seat and watched her with a slight apprehension.

Annalise watched him back. "I like Bucky," she said. "I don't like his name, but I like him. You did good there."

"I know you like him," Sam assured. "You just tried to set me up with him."

"Well, the last time I tried to set you up, you just never showed up," she said with a sniff.

"It was a dinner with you!" Sam defended. "I didn't know you were going to ditch me with a stranger."

"She wasn't a stranger. She was only three years younger than you."

"I lived in DC at the time," he added.

Annalise shrugged. "You skipped. Did you know Bucky then?"

Sam laughed softly and shook his head. "No, not then," he said. "Not yet. Besides, it took us a while to get there, even once I did know him."

Annalise knew there was a whole novel worth of story behind Sam and Bucky. She read the news about Sam, and Bucky had been mentioned in a few of them, but she hadn't been paying attention to him at the time, nor did she care to go back and reread anything.

She reached out for Sam's hand and squeezed his fingers. "I'm glad you're happy, Sam," she said softly. "It's what you've deserved for a long time."

Sam put his other hand over hers to squeeze back. "Do you think they'd like him?" he asked softly.

Annalise looked out the front windows, where Bucky was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of the truck Sam had had since high school, singing along to some song she couldn't hear. She squeezed Sam's hand tighter.

"I do, Sammy," she said with a smile. "I really do. They'd be so proud of you. All of you. Always."

Sam kissed her hand before standing up. "Thank you, Miss Lise."

"We love you, Sam," she said, standing to hug him. She kissed his temple fiercely. "Good job on this one."

He smiled again and then left to get into the truck. He paused outside the driver's side to kiss Bucky through the open window.

Annalise smiled too. "Dom," she called, sitting again, "could I get some cheesecake over here. I earned it."

[lunamaraproject]

LUNAMARA: Fragments [7]

🦢

“A little to the left… no, no, the other left,” Felix tilts his head, squinting. “No, too far. Back to the first left.”

“How are you half a century older than me but don’t know your left from your right?” Rufus grumbles, adjusting the picture on the wall again. He steps back and checks his work, and then walks away before Felix can annoy him by asking for more adjustments. “That’s the last thing in the living room box.”

“Thanks again for this, Rufie,” Felix says, tottering after his superior and out of the living-dining room. He really does think it looks nice, though for the sake of Rufus’ patience, he’ll wait until after he’s gone home to tweak things a bit. 

“Cassius Corvus has informed me that you are prone to ‘chipping a dainty little finger’ if you’re not supervised while doing heavy lifting tasks,” Rufus replies, with a bit of heat, probably from the unwanted nickname. He strides down the hallway to the bedroom ahead of Felix. “And I owe him a favour, so.”

“Aw, I thought you were here because you wanted to help me unpack out of the kindness of your heart!” Felix trails behind him, skipping a little. “And hold on, how long have you and Cas gotten along?”

“Since we found we could commiserate over having to look after both you and the Princess,” Rufus glowers at him over his shoulder. He nearly walks into a low ceiling beam by doing so, and dodges at the last moment. “Why in Luna’s name are you so obsessed with these low ceiling apartment designs?”

“It’s cozy! I save on the heating bill! I would think that someone as energy efficient as you would appreciate that!”

“You are going to crack your head open on one of these and then all will be able to see what I suspected for the past century: that it’s empty!” 

“At least when they’re this low you can reach to hang the ceiling decorations– woah!” 

Felix is proud of himself for dodging the slipper that Rufus just threw at him. It was, luckily, the first thing he happened to grab out of the box labeled ‘bedroom’, rather than the ornamental globe, or the lamp. That might have been a greater test of Felix’s reflexes. 

“I can leave you to do this yourself and if you chip then that’s your problem.”

“No sir, pwease sir, not my delicate widdle fingies! Pwease, merciful Lowd Canis!”

The look that Rufus gives him could, as the humans used to say, sour milk. 

“Never speak like that again.”

“Yessir.”

Rufus turns back towards the box, and drags it further towards the center of the room. The nicknacks inside are practically overflowing, and it’s only one of three fairly large containers Felix has shoved his entire bedroom into. He did have to sleep here last night, so the bed is made up, but it looks a little sad and lonely without its dozen throw-pillows and blankets to drape here and there. Rufus starts taking out these things and looks more and more aghast at how many there are. 

“You do know that your family crest is not an excuse to start actually nest building, yeah?” he says, holding out a particularly obnoxiously coloured pillow. It’s bright pink, and fluffy, and shaped like a heart. Felix plucks it out of Rufus’ hands and hugs it to his chest.

“The Cygnus family does not hold a monopoly on enjoying comfortable living! But we are very good at it,” he places the heart pillow directly in the middle of the large pile against the headboard of the king size bed. “I like collecting these sorts of things. They make my home feel like my home no matter how many times I move!”

“If you just stayed in the palace you wouldn’t have to move at all,” Rufus fires back, taking out a jewellery box and showing quite a sweet amount of care in delicately placing it on the dresser. “You know the Princess would be delighted. And Cassius would be relieved. And I wouldn’t have to deal with your stupid excuses for being late to the office.”

“But unlike you, I like to keep this mythical thing called a ~work-life balance~,” Felix wiggles his fingers and releases a light sparkle into the air. Rufus looks disgusted at him for wasting magic for dramatic effect. “Which is much harder to do if I live in the same building where I work.”

“Seems to work fine for the royals.”

“Ah, but as you have likely seen from existing in the proximity of the palace and around some extremely stressed out royalty, it really doesn’t,” Felix counters, dusting off a small mirror and setting it to one side. “And I am not a royal, so I’m not obligated to put myself under that kind of pressure. So I won’t.”

“So you’re just going to live in one crumbling ruin of a building after another?” Rufus frowns as he sets hairbrushes and polish onto the dresser. 

Felix watches him for a moment, and then smiles. “Thanks, Rufus.”

It catches him off-guard. “What? For what?” Rufus asks, squinting at him as though expecting some sort of stupid joke.

“For caring. For worrying about me,” Felix says, entirely sincere, picking up an empty box and folding it closed. “I know you don’t want me to get caught in some sort of cleaving event and end up in a million pieces on the surface. But I promise I do thoroughly check the location of my apartments, and that they’re not likely to fall off the side of the city at a second’s notice. I’ll be fine here. Really.”

There’s an awkward silence, wherein Rufus won’t look directly at Felix, a soft scarlet glow at the tips of his ears, which is how Felix knows he was right on target. For a man who keeps people at arms length, Rufus is certainly easy to read once you know how. 

It’s sweet, really. Felix appreciates it.

With a purposeful flourish, he hefts up one of the two large boxes remaining onto the bed, and opens the lid. The inside is almost exploding with fabric. “Anyway!” he declares. “Onwards to putting away all my wardrobe! Rufie, grab the other one!”

“... Wait, are both of these just clothes?!”

🌗

More from LUNAMARA:

Fragments: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

Comics: [Good Night] [Good Morning]

Art by Luka (http://nousanti.tumblr.com/) Story by Pidge (http://pidgestories.tumblr.com)

[bitethedevil]

Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 6

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Raphael learns that Tav has been up to something. Tav is reminded of the reality of the situation she finds herself in and of who Raphael really is. She also learns that she is beginning to develop a bit of Stockholm Syndrome.

(AN: I can't believe we're already at Chapter 6. I think I started writing this fic early this month. I literally haven't thought of anything else since. I should really try touching some grass...)

TW: Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Blood.

Hope you are still alive and well. What is it that Raphael wants from us and what should we expect if he contacts us?

That was the message that she had received in the morning from Gale. She had to get a message back to her friends, though it would prove difficult as Cassius was watching her with the intensity of a predator waiting for its prey to move before it pounces.

She could take him easily. That was not the problem at all. The problem was that Cassius would not fall for the same trick and he would definitely tattle on her this time if she tried anything. She would have to be very discreet.

She got up from her chair and started slowly walking back and forth in the large main area of the house. Cassius narrowed his eyes at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting some exercise. It’s not like I can go out for a stroll, is it?” Tav answered and stretched her limbs.

“Sit down,” Cassius ordered.

“Free roam of the house~” Tav said, repeating what Raphael had promised her on her first day there. “You are supposed to follow me, not the other way around.”

“I can’t watch you if you keep pacing,” he said with a sneer. “Sit. Down.”

“No,” Tav said and kept walking at a leisurely pace.

There was a quiet growl of frustration from Cassius, but he did not get up from his chair, although he kept watching her intently.

She kept walking around the room, testing if he would get up from his chair if she turned her back on him. She could sense that he tensed up when she did, but he did not move. All she needed was a moment.

She turned her back on him once again. She quickly and quietly mumbled the message she had rehearsed in her mind for Gale.

Unfortunately, Cassius were on her before she could even say the incantation for the sending spell.

“You insolent little bitch,” he hissed.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her backwards, making her land on her back. She opened her mouth to say an incantation, but Cassius was fast. He punched her square in the face, and it took her by surprise. It was clear that he had just been waiting for an excuse to hurt her.

He held her arms down and muffled her with his hand.

“I can’t wait till he sees your true colors,” Cassius said and pressed down the hand that was over her mouth and nose, making it hard for her to breathe.

Tav bit his hand hard and then she worked fast: Thunderwave, Sleep spell.

Cassius flew back and slumped to the floor.

Tav was breathing hard. She closed her eyes for a moment to try and calm her pulse down a bit. She rubbed her face and when she withdrew it, she saw that there was a good amount of blood on it.

She got up from the floor and walked over to Cassius, before casting another spell that would ensure that he would keep sleeping for quite a while before getting up again.

Tav closed her eyes and said the message she would send to Gale:

The Orphic Hammer. I’m in chains. He is trying to lure you here to try and free me. Don’t come here under any circumstances.

She sent the message and then glanced at Cassius on the floor before sending another as well:

I’m safe and well. I’ll probably not be able to contact you any time soon. Too risky. Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out.

Tav sighed. She threw herself down in an armchair and called on one of the servants. The poor halfling woman who entered looked at Cassius’s unconscious body and then at Tav’s bloodied face with widened eyes. Tav smiled politely at her.

“Can you call Raphael here?” Tav asked.

“Yes, miss,” the halfling servant mumbled and nodded.

“Thank you.”

Tav waited and expected the worst when Raphael would come home.

Raphael was in his devil form when he returned home. He looked furious when he entered and saw his warlock unconscious on the floor. He looked even more pissed when his eyes went to Tav.

“Please…” Tav said and held her hands up in defense. “Let me explain…”

“Oh, you will,” Raphael said in a low voice and walked closer to her. “Talk.��

“The day after I got here, I incapacitated Cassius to cast a sending spell to my friends,” she explained hurriedly. “I convinced him not to tell you. Today I did it again. I am being upfront with you, because it’s not my intention to piss you off or to hide anything.”

The latter being a bit of a lie. She would not have told Raphael if she had not been caught in the act by Cassius, and he probably knew that she was only trying to come clean in order to get ahead of Cassius’s allegations.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed at her as he studied her bloodied face. He was quiet for a moment. It was tense and uncomfortable.  

“What did he do to you?” Raphael asked. He said it with eerie calmness, but she could hear the anger hiding right under the surface.

That was…not the question she had anticipated. She had been so busy saving her own ass, that she had not really considered the fact that Cassius might be in danger from getting punished as well. It was not that she had a lot of sympathy for the warlock, but she knew what Raphael was capable of doing to people, and she did not like the thought of being responsible for it.

“Oh this?” Tav asked and gestured to her face. Her nose was still slightly bleeding, and she felt that her cheek was starting to swell up slightly. “He only tried to hinder me from attacking him.”

Raphael's eyes narrowed even more.

“Mm…And why are you protecting him, Tav?” Raphael asked in a dangerous tone.

“I’m not,” she said with quietly. “It’s just…he was just doing his job.”

“I am well aware of his incompetence. His job was to call upon me should anything happen. Which he has failed to do twice, if what you are saying is correct,” Raphael said darkly and came closer. He grabbed her chin gently and turned her face to study her injuries. “I did not give him permission to harm you like this, so I will ask you again…Why are you protecting him?”

The intensity of Raphael’s stare and the tone of his voice made her nervous. She swallowed hard and her eyes flicked away from his gaze.  

For once, she actually felt like a little mouse, shaking under the paw of the cat, knowing that one wrong move could mean that its claws would sink into her.

“Do you care for him, is that it?” Raphael asked pointedly.

Her eyes went back to his and her brow furrowed at the odd question. Was that…jealousy she saw on his face?

“No,” she answered as if it was obvious. “I don’t. I’ve told you what I think of him before…it’s just…”

“Just what?” Raphael asked, his fiery eyes still boring into hers.

“I just…don’t want to be responsible for what you are going to do to him…” she answered in a quiet voice.

A sadistic smile flickered across his face for a brief moment.

“Do not worry yourself with such matters,” Raphael said in a slightly lighter tone and ran his thumb over her chin before his tone turned dark again. “Cassius, is responsible for what I am going to do to him.”

He let go of her chin and used the same hand to snap his fingers. Korrilla appeared in a flash of smoke and embers. It looked like she had been in the middle of something when she was whisked away. She looked at Tav and Raphael with slight confusion.

“Take her to the boudoir,” Raphael said to Korrilla and then looked at Tav to address her. “You and I will talk later.”

That little sentence and the tone of his voice made her hair stand on end.

Tav was pacing the room with an empty look in her eyes. She was not easy to scare, but now she was terrified of what Raphael might to do her. She had heard the sounds of when he sometimes punished the servants for disobeying his orders.

Whatever he would do to her, it would be personal. She had told Raphael too much. There was way too much for him to use against her and she felt anxiety bubbling in her stomach. She had not felt fear like that for years. She felt like a scared little girl again and she hated it.

“Sit down, Tav,” Korrilla said calmly. “You are going to make a hole in the floor with all that walking back and forth.”

“I think I really fucked up…” Tav mumbled and kept pacing. “What do you think he’ll do? Do you think he’d go after my friends?”

Tav had not even considered that before she said it. He probably would not. It seemed below him, but her anxiety was telling her that he might.

“Sit down, Tav,” Korrilla sighed. ”And calm down.”

“How am I supposed to be calm?” Tav asked and flinched slightly as she heard the muffled sounds of Raphael’s shouting at Cassius through the barrier to the boudoir.

“Tav,” Korrilla said slowly. “Sit down and tell me what happened.”

Tav sighed. She sat down and explained everything to Korrilla. She noticed that Korrilla was suppressing a smile as she explained, which annoyed her to no end.

“What is it that is so fucking funny about this situation?” Tav suddenly snapped at her.

Korrilla chuckled. She put her elbows on the table between them and leaned closer to Tav.

“You’re a smart girl,” Korrilla said in a lowered voice. “Use that brain of yours. You’ve seen his other debtors roaming the halls, haven’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” Tav said with an annoyed expression. “Yes, obviously. So what?”

“Do you see any of them getting treated as well as you? Are any of them dressed in silks, sleeping in their master’s bed?” Korrilla asked.

“No but that’s just because he needs me alive and in one piece to lure my friends here. He said that himself,” Tav said. She was getting frustrated with Korrilla’s calmness.

“Why?” Korrilla asked and then pointed to Tav’s chains around her wrists. “You’re wearing those. You can’t leave the house anyhow, so how would they know that you are 'alive and in one piece'? Wouldn’t it be more motivating for your friends to come and save you if they were told that you are suffering in a dungeon somewhere in the Hells?”

Tav was looking at her with a mix of annoyance and confusion.

“What are you saying?” Tav asked.

“I am saying that had you been any other person who had defied him, you would be in there watching as he made an example of Cassius. Instead, I was ordered to herd you into the only room that is somewhat soundproof in this house,” Korrilla said. “He favors you, Tav. You are not in any danger of getting hurt. Not yet anyhow.”

Tav rubbed her face trying to make sense of it. Of course, she knew that she was being treated surprisingly well for what she had expected when she got there, she was not blind. It just did not make sense, when she was the one who robbed him of his precious Crown of Karsus that he had been hunting for years. It must be some cruel joke and at some point, the hammer would fall.

“But why?” Tav asked.

“Who knows,” Korrilla said with a shrug. “I’ve worked for him for a long time, and I still won’t bother to try to figure out his motivations when it comes to certain matters. It’s a lost cause. Raphael does what Raphael wants. Which is what Cassius is learning for the first time as we speak.”

As if on cue, she heard the muffled sound of a scream from the other side of the barrier.

Tav hid her face in her hands.

“I feel terrible…” Tav said. “I hate the fucker, but he doesn’t deserve that.”

“Do you want me to make it worse?” Korrilla asked.

“No,” Tav mumbled into her hands.

“In the beginning we were given permission to hurt you if it was necessary to stop you, you know?” Korrilla explained anyway. “It sounds like Cassius overreacted, but technically he was not completely out of line. Aside from the fact that he failed to report it when you did it the first time, of course.”

Tav looked up from her hands and her brow furrowed.

“Then why is he even getting punished?” Tav asked in disbelief.

“Half of the job is figuring out Raphael’s whims and fancies…” Korrilla said. “I suppose he changed his mind along the way.”

Tav was quiet for a moment. She was trying to make sense out of it, but with little luck.  

“But you haven’t heard any of this from me. Understood?” Korrilla said, as she always did when she had said too much. 

Tav nodded. Gods, she loved Korrilla for her tendency to gossip.

“Thank you, Korrilla,” Tav said.

“For what?” she asked. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t common sense…”

Tav flinched as she heard another muffled gut-wrenching scream.

“What should I expect from him when he’s done?” Tav asked.

“My guess? He might yell at you. Perhaps a few threats of what would happen if you do it again,” Korrilla said. “I really can’t imagine that he would hurt you over something like a few sending spells.”

Tav nodded. That helped her calm down somewhat.

Tav and Korrilla went quiet when Raphael entered the boudoir. Korrilla left immediately, leaving Tav alone with him.

He was drying his hands from blood with a handkerchief. He looked Tav up and down. She looked him up and down in return. Her anxiousness was bubbling up in her stomach again. The fact that Raphael’s facial expression revealed nothing, did not help. He was eerily calm. He started walking towards her at a leisurely pace and sat down where Korrilla had sat a moment before.

Tav’s nerves made her break the silence.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked with a tinge of nervousness in her voice.

He looked at her with a slight smile and those same intense eyes he had looked at her earlier.

“Is that fear I hear in your voice, mouse?” he asked. “How delightful it is to see that you do��have some sense of self-preservation after all…”

He snapped his fingers and the bloodied handkerchief disappeared.

“Tell me, what did you say to your companions in those messages?” he asked calmly.

Tav hesitated with her answer for a moment. He would most likely know if she was lying, so she decided to tell him the truth.

“Where I was. That I was safe for now…That they should not deal with you no matter what,” she explained.

“Mm…” He hummed in thought. “And this was the day after you arrived, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Raphael said. “And the second message? There were just those two, yes?”

“Well, I sent two today right after each other,” she explained. “I received a message asking what you wanted from them. I explained and once again emphasized that they should not come. Then I told them that it might be my last message, because I anticipated that I would have to come clean to you.”

“I’m glad you did,” he answered calmly. “Cassius will not be guarding you anymore. He won’t even see you if it can be avoided.”

Tav’s brow furrowed in confusion. Surely, Korrilla would not be able to do anything else if she was constantly watching her.

“Who will be then?” she asked.

“No one,” Raphael answered. “You will be granted that privacy you’ve been yearning for. I see no reason why you should not. You haven’t proven to be destructive or shown even the faintest interest in escaping. Not that you would have any luck even if you tried, of course.”

…What?! Tav could not believe it. This had to be a trap, or she was seriously missing something. She was dumbfounded.

“I hurt your warlock twice, I send messages to my friends to discourage them for falling into your trap, and I’m getting rewarded for it?” Tav said in disbelief. “What am I missing here, Raphael?”

“I had expected you to do as much. In fact, I had expected you would do much worse…” Raphael said calmly. “I am rewarding your honesty, not your actions. Besides, I am using a lot of resources on keeping an eye on you and I now find it unnecessary. It is as simple as that.”

Tav was still dumbfounded. She was honestly a bit more nervous about this reaction than she would have been if he had simply punished her or yelled at her. He was up to something. He must be, or it did not make sense.

“Though I need you to understand this…” he said and leaned closer to her. “If I catch you trying anything, I will not let you escape punishment again. I will not let you abuse the trust I am giving you by loosening my grip on your leash. Do you understand?”

She into those fiery eyes of his and nodded.

“Good,” he purred and smiled at her. He studied the injuries on her face from Cassius punching her. “You should get that cleaned up, dear.”

Tav wanted to ask him something, but she hesitated for a moment.

“What did you do to him?” she asked quietly.

There it was again. That look on his face that she could not quite place. Anger? Jealousy? Possessiveness? He quickly replaced it with a smirk.

“I still have a few things to see to before I will return,” Raphael said, ignoring her question and getting up from the chair. “Enjoy your first little taste of privacy, my dear.”

He left her and as promised, no one came to watch her. She was alone for the first time in over a week. There was complete silence. She found herself unable to figure out what to do with herself.

She was left to her thoughts, and it quickly became uncomfortable. She had acted like a good little pet for Raphael, and she was starting to realize that she had almost forgotten that she was there against her will, robbed of her freedom.

She had cowered before him and admitted everything. She had been reminded of what he was capable of and who he really was…and yet…throughout the day she found that she missed him and longed for when he would come home again. And yet, she found herself thinking about what Korrilla had said to her: He favors you, Tav.

Why did that thought excite her? Why did she care that he favored her? She was nothing more than her captor’s favored prisoner, but she found herself feeling warm inside at the thought.

It disgusted her to think of who she was becoming and yet, the feelings were still there...