#dare i say.. true Taint

[pinkfey]

maybe this is nitpicky but did the blight just stop being infectious

[anyarose011]

Et tu, Brute?

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Reader x Lucius

Summary: You went by many different names: "Rome's Delight", "The Woman with the Golden Mouth", "Geta's Favorite Whore", and "Julia". None of these were your true name; all used just to dehumanize you as nothing more than a slave. When the General Acacius returns from conquering Numidia, and you meet one of the slaves that was brought from the bloodshed, you hope to reclaim not just your freedom...but power along with it.

Part 1 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Depictions of rape and SA [not shown], slavery, cannon typical violence, minor Stockholm Syndrome, major character deaths, historical inacuracy [but I tried my best to make it somewhat accurate] and Spoilers for Gladiator II

I saw this movie once, watched Game of Thrones at the same time, and cranked out a story where you, the reader, know how to play "The Game" (but also not because let's keep it kinda realistic) I'm gonna be honest, this might be a hot mess, and I used a script I found online (but Idk how accurate it is). Also, this first part is just mainly story based with the events of the film the SECOND part will focus on reader and Lucius' relationship (including smut, you sluts {I am also slut, don't worry}.

I do want to say though that the depictions of SA are in no attempt to romanticize them. I also decided not to write out the specific scenes because I myself am a survivor, and wanted to focus more on the protagonist's growth. The trauma still affects her story, but I do not want to write rape scenes merely for shock purposes.

Also, if you name is actually "Julia"...no it's not :)

Word Count: 16.1k

It was your own fault, that was what they tried to make you believe.

How dare you not wish to participate in the public baths, how dare you desire to bathe in the place you felt most safe.

Foolish, foolish girl. You were not even safe on your own porch in the house you grew up in.

Your father hadn’t been the wealthiest of merchants, but before he passed into the Elysian Fields after his death that year, he had made a fortune; so much as to buy a bathtub for your house.

If anything, you had bathed at night when you believed no one could see you not for your own modesty, but to prevent anyone from stealing it.

Yet, one particular night, a man had spotted you.

The Emperor Geta of Rome had watched your naked form glisten in the moonlight as you washed the most intimate areas of your body; sighing at the feeling of being clean after the day, only for your soul to feel tainted once morning broken.

Guards had nearly broken the hinges off the front door to your house, and dragged you to the palace. You had lived in that house for your entire life, the same neighbors beside you, yet as you kicked and screamed…none helped.

You had grown tired once in the palace, and the eldest of the twin emperors stood before you. He cupped your chin.

“What is your name, girl?”

You answered him, attempting to speak with venom, but the quaking of your voice betrayed anxiety.

He hummed, repeating your name. “Why are you all alone?”

You huffed. “My mother died in the battle that is childbirth, and my father was lost to an ailment in his loins.”

“You have no brothers?” Geta questioned, his eyes running down your form. “No husband?”

“They called my father strange for leaving me his possessions.”

“He mustn’t have passed on so long ago.”

“Why does the death of my father concern you if you only seek my body?” You questioned.

A smile twisted upon his lips. “Perhaps I like to know my fruit before I devour it.”

And he kissed you.

You had been kissed before, but this was the first time you hadn’t wanted to be. You hadn't expected him to be serious about devouring you. His teeth sank into your chin, then your cheeks, until they were finally upon your lips.

It was the first time, in all your life, you felt your body grow cold and freeze despite his hands wandering over you, pulling at the thin fabric of clothing that covered you.

You fell to the floor, clinging to it desperately as he tried to lead you to his chambers. You had expected him to order one of his men to kill you, or have them carry you…

Instead, he took you right there. He simply lifted his own robes then yours and stole what wasn’t his to take.

All you remembered of that was counting how many pillars were in the room.

You were one of his several concubines. Yet, despite being the newest, you were his favorite.

“Julia,” he whispered to you in the night a month after he had made you his. A month after he had decided to call you by his mother’s name instead of your own. “are you awake?”

You mewled, sitting up. “I am now, my love. What is it?”

Geta smiled, holding out a stack of parchment. “Look at what some of the men found in Carthago.”

You rubbed your eyes as the lamps in his room brightened before looking down at the crudely written words. Geta looked at you in earnest.

“Can you read them?”

A few days prior at him and his brother Caracalla’s birthday festivities, it was revealed that you spoke five languages: Latin, Phoenician, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Greek. Your father had taught you every single one of them to fend for yourself amongst all kind of people.

Now, it was nothing more than a shameless trick Geta used to his amusement.

“Rome’s Cleopatra,” he deemed you in front of the crowd. “the Woman with a Golden Mouth”.

Everyone in that room and all of Rome knew that your ability to speak so many dialects was not the only reason he gave you that title.

Still, as you lay in his bed with crumbling parchment in hands, you forced a tender smile. “Yes, I know what it says. Would you like to know?”

He laid his head in your lap without another word.

Months passed, and he had grown kinder…only when it was night, and even so, that was only when the moon was full.

There wasn’t a day where your body hadn’t ached from the turmoil he put you through. It was hard to discern when he would want you to be small and subservient to him, or confident and commanding in matters of the bed.

The handmaids that were blessed to not be in bed with him would bathe and coddle you as best as they could, for even through your suffering, you tried your best to treat them with kindness.

You didn’t even know who you were after the fourth month of being Geta’s slave.

Gone was the girl who had a peaceful life; there was now the Emperor’s Pet.

General Marcus Acacius returned to Rome after overtaking the kingdom Numidia in the emperors’ names, and it was the first time you were in his presence. It was certainly a surprise that Geta would string you alongside him on personal matters that had nothing to do with sex.

The general would glance at you every so often, and his look of pity felt more violating that any of the times Geta, or his brother, or anyone else in all of Rome had looked at you.

Upon the general’s return, a series of games at the Colosseum were to be hosted, among parties that would last for the remaining week.

The first was at Senator Thraex's home.

“My little Julia,” Geta caressed your cheek as you sat upon his lap in the makeshift throne. “might you fetch me another cup of wine?”

You nodded, taking his cup and kissing his hair. “I shall, my love.”

He ran his fingers down your neck as you got off of him and made your way to the barrels. Yet, as you passed an open door, something caught your eye. Peeking around the somewhat crack in the door, you saw a few men sat in the room, chains around their ankles and their wrists.

One of them, more muscular than the others with brown curls, held his head low. His skin wasn’t as dark as other men from Africa Propria, but not as pale as the Germanic lands.

When his eyes met yours, you saw a pale blueness only seen in the sky on a summer’s day.

Gasping, you hid behind the door for only a moment before looking again. His gaze was still on you. Deciding to end the strangeness of the situation, you spoke.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized.

He said nothing; you tried again.

“I’m sorry.” You said in Greek.

The look in his eyes changed to confusion, but he said nothing.

“Hebrew?” You questioned. “Aramaic? Phoenician?”

“You speak Phoenician?” He asked as if he hadn’t heard it in forever.

You nodded. “I speak five languages.”

“Ah,” he answered in your native tongue to your surprise. “Rome’s Cleopatra.”

Your nose scrunched as if you smelt something rotten. “You understood me the first time?”

“I did.”

“So why not say anything?”

“What am I to say to your pity?”

You hummed. “I do not pity you, I was showing respect.”

He scoffed. “Respect? Am I a man that looks as if I deserve respect?”

“I believe every man deserves respect so as long he is kind.” You glared at him.

The man shook his head, sighing. “You are a foolish child if you believe that men can be kind.”

“I haven’t for quite a while.” you stated. “I pray that it is the hope that kills me.”

He questioned. “And not one of the emperors?”

“What is your name, slave?” You crossed your arms.

He huffed, drawing his eyes away from you and clenching his fists before relaxing them. “Hanno.”

You nodded. “They call me ‘Julia’.”

“But that is not your name.”

It was blistering hot that particular day, but you felt your body run cold; the same cold you felt when Geta…when he first…

“Who says it is not my name?” You challenged.

“You are merely a concubine,” he said. “you are not a part of his lineage, and therefore, your name is not ‘Julia’.”

You do not know why you seethed with so much rage from his words. You did not even spit on him; you merely stomped away from that door, filled up the emperor’s cup, and went back to Geta.

“It took you nearly a millennium to come back, my sweet.” He scoffed yet kissed your bare shoulder. “I was beginning to worry.”

You shook your head, leaning against him as you sat on the arm of the throne. “You mustn’t over me, my love.”

“You seem distressed.” Caracalla teased beside you. “This is a festivity; you should be merry!”

All you did was smile and nod. It was a pleasant change from the parties you were forced to attend in the past; you weren’t the center of attention, and this was the first time Geta dressed you in the bright colors everyone else wore instead of white.

You could pretend you were royalty for a day.

Not so long after you came back, both Thraex and Macrinus, a stable master who traveled far and wide for new gladiators, approached with their own champions to fight.

You were not even at the Colosseum, and yet, violence still had to be played for everyone’s amusement.

Hanno entered from the door you had previously been at, and another man entered from the opposite side of the room. Both were given swords.

“Brother,” Hanno began. “let us not kill each other for their amusement-.”

The other man struck him without hesitation. You had seen fights before, but none like this. It was ruthless, quick yet drawn out. Hanno lost his sword in the middle of it all, leading to him smashing a flowerpot over his opponent’s head.

The fight was still not done, he rose up on his feet and took his sword from the ground, raising it high above him. Hanno, against all odds, knocked him back onto the ground and took the sword just as they both sood, stabbing his opponent in the chest.

A chorus of cheers and groans echoed in the room. Geta arose from his seat, laughing and applauding as you sat there, eyes as wide as they could be at the bloodied sight before you.

“Remarkable! Gladiator, which part of the Empire do you hail from?” He questioned Hanno. Hanno stood stoically, glaring at the emperors before him. Geta tutted, turning to you. “Julia, open your golden mouth and-.”

“-The gates of hell are open night and day.” Hanno interrupted in the common language. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”

Geta smiled. “Ah…a poet!”

The rest of the world fell away as you could not tear your gaze away from the man laying on the floor. If he hadn’t died from his wounds, he would’ve from choking on his own blood.

“-You understand, don’t you?” Geta asked.

You sat in your own personal chambers that night for the first time in a while. You were never overjoyed to be in his bed, but being sent to your own perplexed you.

Then, he simply told you that you were to be General Acacius’ for the night.

“He’s sacrificed so much, my little Julia.” Geta combed his fingers through your hair to soothe you. “I refused him once already; I cannot do so again. Do you understand?”

The emperor had never shared you with anyone. He wasn’t delicate with you, but at least you knew what to expect.

He clenched your jaw. “I do not care to ask you a third time, girl.”

“Yes,” you squeaked. “I understand, Geta.”

Nodding, he softened his hold, leaning his head against yours. “You are still mine alone; I promise, it will only be us after tonight.”

You swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

“There she is.” He kissed your lips before pulling away and standing. “He will be in right away. Do not fret, I told him to be gentle with you.”

Geta left through your chamber doors without another word. There you were, sitting on your bed, draped in silks you should have known were given to you out of lust and not out of kindness. Your eyes trailed to the empty vase on a table beside your bed.

You didn’t know what possessed you that night, but you yanked it off the table, and smashed it on your bed. The handle of the door began to rattle. Quickly pushing the shattered pieces under your bed, you hid a shard behind your back and sat at the head of the bed.

In came General Marcus Acacius, wearing only a thin overshirt that went down to his knees. You’d done this game of seduction many times with Geta, how different could it be for him? Grabbing the bottom of your night dress, you raised it until it bunched up your thighs, revealing your bare center to him.

He took a hitched breath. “My lady-.”

“-What troubles you, general?” You asked then smiled with gritted teeth. You felt your hand begin to ache as you squeezed the vase shard.

Marcus furrowed his brow, and as if he already knew, he said. “Cover yourself and show me what is behind your back.”

Your eyes dropped along with your heart. Still, as his face turned into a scowl, you cooperated. Handing him the shard and quickly pulling your dress back down, you spoke with intensity.

“If you will not stab me before you rape my corpse, then I shall throw myself from the nearest window and allow the people of Rome to defile me. I will not lie on my back and take it anymore.”

He took a deep breath, holding the sorry excuse for a weapon in his hand. “It is unwise to tell the enemy your plans.”

…What?

“It would serve you greatly to control the faces you make before harming a man as well. Yet, above all,” He held the shard out to you. “your enemy is not afraid to kill you; you should feel the same.”

“Why do you tell me this?” You asked, still not believing it.

Marcus sat up. “I believe we can help each other, my little dove.”

“How?”

He lowered his voice. “You have heard of the gladiator Maximus, his dream of a free Rome, yes?”

“Yes.”

“A dream that cannot be obtained from the rule of two emperors.” He lamented. “My wife and I, along with several others, plan…to fulfill our shared dream.”

They were going to overthrow Geta and Caracalla.

“What gives you reason to believe I won’t say a word of this to them?” You asked.

He smiled for the first time since you’d seen him. “That freedom belongs to you.”

“I…I’m still lost. How will I be of any use?”

“Emperor Geta favors you considerably. He is a man, and not a cunning one at that. There are ways to wear foolish men down.”

You nodded, beginning to understand. “There’s always a woman.”

“There’s always a woman.” He solidified. “Gain the trust of the public; make them love you, and they will not see the emperor’s whore but a woman of the people.”

“And how will that dethrone them?

He smiled. “My wife and I will meet with the counsel tomorrow night. I will send for you.”

You scoffed. “Geta said that after tonight I am just his alone.”

“Then I’ll refuse to give him Persia and India.”

“He’ll have your head.” You berated. “Besides, I don’t think he’d believe my cunt would be worth two countries.”

Marcus shrugged. “Considering he only wants you to himself, I have no doubt that it is worth that much. But I am unable to confirm it.”

You sighed. “Even if he’ll allow it, he’ll send a guard with me.”

“I am not one to invite a third into the bedroom.”

“Then where shall-?”

“-Little dove,” he interrupted. “the city was not built in a day, therefore it cannot be emancipated in one.”

Gods help and forgive you for being impatient on wanting to be free. Still, you composed yourself. “Alright.”

He nodded, standing up. “I will be seeing you on the morrow, one way or another.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“For what, child?”

You swallowed thickly, avoiding his gaze. “Not forcing yourself upon me.”

Marcus’ face softened, and he lowered himself to your height as you sat on the bed. He took your face into his hands, and you immediately tensed when his face drew closer to yours.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “it’s not that kind of a kiss.”

With a tenderness that reminded you of your father, he placed his lips on your forehead and pulled away. Giving you one last knowing nod, he promptly left your chambers.

You wanted to do nothing more than shed tears of happiness, yet for no reason at all, you could not cry.

Your father had only taken you to the Colosseum to watch mock animal hunting. Even when your friends invited you to watch gladiator fights or other public executions, he had found ways of making you stay far away from them.

There was a strange humor in sitting in the best chair for your very first gladiator duel. That being in the front as Emperor Geta ran his hand up and down your back.

In utter honestly, you tried to stray your attention away from the fights, speaking more with Caracalla of all people. He was more erratic than Geta by far, and it was more difficult to tell when he would be kind one moment, then out for blood the next.

Yet at least he was open about being cruel, unlike his brother.

When you would watch the fights…a familiar face seemed to catch both you and the general’s wife’s, Lucilla, eye.

The man with light skin yet hailed from Numidia…Hanno.

You hadn’t recognized him at first, for it wasn’t his mere presence that drew you to finally look at the event before you. No, it was the way he fought.

Most men previously had attacked with brute force; just stabbing the beast and hoping it would die. Hanno fought with wit. Simply using the sand beneath his feet as an advantage, blinding and tricking the rhinoceros to run directly into the wall.

He was cunning…he commanded the men beside him as if it weren’t the first time he’d done so in his life.

Then, when it came to deciding his fate when all seemed lost…Geta turned to you.

“My love,” he played with a strand of your hair. “shall I show the poet mercy, or bloodshed for your entertainment?”

Even if it weren’t Hanno, your answer would have been the same. “Mercy.”

As a hush fell over the crow, Geta rose his thumb up, sparing him. As cheers erupted, Hanno shook his head.

“No, no mercy.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses-.”

“-I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!”

Thus, the fight continued. An act of defiance…Peculiar…Quite peculiar.

Both you and Marcus were correct about the night; Geta did indeed allow you to go to the general’s house, but only if you were escorted by a trusted guard. When you arrived, Marcus immediately draped you in a cloak, practically covering your face and had excused as not wanting the staff to tell his wife of who he was bringing into their house.

Marcus led you into his chambers, and there you saw two people. Apparently, they weren’t even apart of the counsel; simply paid to pretend to be both you and the general as the guard would listen outside, assume it was the two of you fucking.

He had certainly thought through every little detail.

Marcus pushed on a stone in his chambers, revealing a hidden door. You had only heard of these within stories, and as he led you down the darkened passage with only a torch in one hand, and the other holding yours, you had never felt more alive since your past life had been stolen.

You were welcomed to a room filled with dozens of the senate you had passed by in the palace. How strange it was to see them all huddled into a dimly lit room, plotting the demise of the men they initially swore to serve.

An arm looped through yours, and it was Lucilla. She whispered into your ear.

“Whatever you have to say, speak it to me, and I shall speak to them.”

You turned. “Why must I not speak for myself?”

“I only allowed you to be here if Marcus agreed to not let your voice be heard.”

“What?”

“I will explain more to you soon after, I vow it.”

Thus the meeting began. In all truthfulness, you were only able to understand the bare minimum: In a few days’ time, Marcus would lead five-thousand men into Rome to overtake the thrones of the empire, and thus destroy them, restoring the Roman Republic.

When the conversation turned to you, you were merely referred to as an informant who had the closest relationship to the emperor.

It still perplexed you as to why you needed to remain anonymous; there was an excellent chance they would know you as ‘Geta’s Favorite Whore’.

Yet, you did your best to inform the counsel of a plan you had simply created on the spot (they did not need to know the latter part of it).

You would gain more favor from the public, while at the same time, putting Geta’s worries to rest about any uprising or dislike from the majority of the empire.

How you would do that…it was fortunate that they didn’t ask you to give specifics.

Once the meeting ended, you were taken back up from the secret passage, yet instead of going back to the chambers, you felt Lucilla take your hand and lead you down another path.

You couldn’t even get a sound out before she said. “It is alright; he knows I want to speak with you in private. We will not take long.”

She led you up into the bath area of the house. It was quite beautiful; the tub wasn’t made of porphyry, but that did not make it any less exquisite. There was something about it being lesser of the baths you’ve had in the palace. It wasn’t entirely reminiscent of the one you had at home…

But you felt safer.

Lucilla had been gentle in pulling off your robes, and never once did it feel wrong. You were a woman and so was she. She never pulled or scratched your skin, and you knew that she only felt sorrow when she gazed upon the bruises and wounds you had received from Geta.

“How long have you been at the palace?” She questioned as she carded herbs through your hair.

You glanced at her, sighing. “I’ve stopped counting…months, I know.”

“Were you forced to leave any family? Brothers, sisters, children?”

“No. My mother died birthing me, and my father was taken half a year ago to an ailment emperor Caracalla also suffers from.”

She hummed. “Have you ever been in love?”

You laughed the most genuine laugh ever since you became a slave. “Why on earth would you ask that?!”

“I am merely curious!” She teased. “You are truly beautiful, and there is no doubt that men would throw themselves off cliffs for you; but it matters most of who you would choose.”

Her question scraped your mind. There had been times you were fond of, even lusted over, men both your age and older…but love? The only one you experienced would be storge; perhaps philia…but eros? Agape?

“I don’t think I have been.” You answered. “Have you?”

She nodded, a forlorn look in her eyes, but smile upon her mouth. “Twice.”

“Twice?” You couldn’t help the nervous giggle that left your throat. “It can happen twice?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

“And who have you willingly fell captive to?”

“Marcus is the most recent, though there are days I do not understand what he sees in me. Then…the father of my child.”

Lucilla poured water upon your head to wash out the soap in your hair, and a silence fell over both of you. One that was broken when you spoke a name.

“Lucius…”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“He-he had gone missing all those years ago, hadn’t he?”

“He had.” She ran the bar of soap over the top half of your body. “I believe he must’ve been around your age when he ran away.”

“And there hasn’t been any sign of him since?”

“No.” She answered right away.

You curled into yourself. “I apologize if I upset you my lady-.”

“-No. I…I love talking about him.”

You managed a gentle smile to soothe her. “What was he like?”

“Headstrong.” She chuckled. “Wanted to become a gladiator more than anything in the world. Yet, he was gentle, and kind as well. He…I believe he would’ve adored you.”

You shook your head. “Maybe when we were children, but I don’t think so now.”

“It’s hard to judge.”

Whilst the air between you turned into more intimate topics, the question that had weighed on your mind was brought to light. “Why did you not allow me to speak or show my face tonight?”

Lucilla stopped her ministrations. You looked up at her, and the look she wore bore an exhaustion that you had felt recently.

“I know too well the cruelties of men.” She began softly. “My brother had done everything to keep me from ever resisting him…he had done everything. I had only wished for someone to be there with me at every moment when I faced his abuse.”

Words; simple words that meant everything to you was what made you weep.

There was no warning at all. Once she was finished, tears sprang to your eyes, and you felt your sinus clog up. Even as you tried to tear yourself away from her comfort, she merely wrapped her arms around you in an embrace from a mother you had never felt.

“I don’t want to go back.” You begged. “Please don’t let me.”

She kissed your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“No!” You sobbed. “I-I don’t want to! Please, please, you can’t make me. I-I-I-!”

Lucilla shushed you, rocking you back and forth. “Do not weep. You will be free beside all of Rome, and the past months of your life will be nothing more than a distant, horrible dream.”

You pulled away just enough to look at her. “You-you must promise me something.”

“My child-.”

“-Promise me and I shall help you overthrow them until my last dying breath!”

She stared for a moment before nodding. “Yes. What is it?”

Your lip quivered. “When I die, you must bind my legs with chains or ropes when you bury me. I have,” you whimpered. “I have been told of men who dig up the bodies of girls and…”

Lucilla kissed your forehead before holding you once more. “I vow I will honor your wishes.”

All you could do was believe her.

There were more times than not the Emperor Geta would talk about filling you with his seed as he bedded you. You never were able to discern if he was serious about wanting to give you a child (they would be his, not yours).

It all became too real when you didn’t bleed that month.

Yet, you also did not feel sick in the morning, and your breasts hadn’t swelled. You still had urinated on wheat seeds for several weeks, but they had not sprouted.

You weren’t with child…yet there was nothing stopping you from convincing Rome you were. It would certainly be a risk; for there was no telling how Geta would react. But that was a risk you were willing to take.

Once a week, you were allowed to go outside the palace during the day, and you had chosen then to venture out into the numerous markets. It was nice to speak with the merchants you knew from your childhood. Some were elders who would watch over you when your father was busy, others were friends who had grown up with you.

“Now what would a little empress want with commoner’s food?” A man’s low timbre voice asked behind you.

Turning your head, you saw Macrinus standing before you with a curious grin. You mirrored it. “That’s not an appropriate title for me.”

“Ah, you are correct.” He nodded. “My apologies, ‘Lady with The Golden Mouth’. Or do you prefer ‘Rome’s Delight?’.”

“You may call me whatever you wish if you’d like.” You forced a laugh and turned back to the merchant you had known since you were a babe. “I’ll take a sack of wheat and small bag of garlic, Gaius.”

“Of course, lady Julia.”

Not even a childhood friend could say your real name. A tight smile formed upon your lips when he turned to sack the wheat before you. Macrinus spoke again.

“You still didn’t answer me about why you’re exactly here.”

“I am not an empress.” You turned to him. “I am not a queen from another realm, I am not even a lady. I am a lowly whore that was fortunate enough to be chosen by the emperor. I like to keep my own schedule from before, so I am aloud to bake my own bread.”

He hummed. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Gaius handed you the sack of wheat and garlic, and you held out three silver coins. He shook his head. “No, just a copper-.”

“-Please.” Was all you said.

He hesitated, then took them from you, smiling. “May Fortuna rain a thousand blessings upon your head.”

“And unto you as well.” You curtsied and turned on your heel to leave.

Macrinus walked beside you. “How generous you are.”

“I try to be.” You decided to change the topic. “You are in charge of Hanno, are you not?”

“I certainly am, why do you ask?”

“Just out of interest.” You shrugged. “There is talk of him being similar to the one Maximus from years ago. Many admire him already and it has only been a day.”

Macrinus laughed. “It is my duty to entertain the people. I noticed though that you are more prudish of the games.”

“I must admit, I am not used to the violence.”

“A sheltered girl?”

“Ashamedly so.”

“There is no shame at all. So, it is the Numidian that has captured your affection?” He teased. “How scandalous for the young empress to fall for a slave.”

You chuckled. “Nothing of the sort, I just find him amusing.”

“Oh, I am more than happy to let you see him alone if you ever so desire. You don’t need to wander upon him at another party.”

Your carefree air fell once he asked that. “I don’t know what you-.”

“-It’s alright.” He interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with being curious, I am only concerned for your own safety.”

You stood taller, a shy smile upon your lips. “I am capable of taking care of myself, sir.”

“Of course my lady, why else would you be out here in the streets of commoners without a chaperone?”

Purposefully, you turned onto one of the crowded piazzas where the music and laughter was the loudest. You grinned from ear to ear.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you volunteered yourself to keep me safe.”

He laughed. “No, just wanted to say hello.”

You didn’t have time to respond, as one of the performers had recognized you. Ah, a girl that lived in the house across from yours when you were children! You still remembered her name, and after you passed your belongings to Macrinus, she pulled you into the circle of performers, dancing with you.

You laughed the most you had that year; in fact, you swore your bruised your ribs just from the sheer joy you felt. You don’t know how long you danced and sang with those who were your neighbors and friends, but just as you felt your feet begin to give out, Macrinus put his hand on your shoulder.

“I believe you should go back to the palace and rest.”

Nodding, you said farewell to your companions and took the bag of wheat and garlic back from him. “You are right, thank you so much.”

He grinned. “Let me escort you back.”

“No,” you walked ahead of him. “I wish not to bother you anymore. Good day, Macrinus!”

You lost yourself in the crowd, purposefully making it harder for him to follow. Once you were in the palace, you rushed into the kitchen, holding the sack of wheat behind your back, you greeted the cooks and snuck into the small pantry. You set the sack down on a shelf and pocketed two single reeds, along with an onion.

That night, Geta had called you into his chambers. Before going, you had cut the onion and brought it to hover around your eyes. You were crying by the time you were at his door. Immediately, he took notice of your reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, only crying more. It was less because of the onion now, and just everything coming down crashing onto your shoulders once more. Geta pulled you into his chambers by your shoulders, sitting you on the bed.

“Tell me now what is bothering you.” He commanded.

You shook your head. “I-I can’t-.”

“-Now, Julia!”

Taking a deep breath, you reached into the pocket of your breast, taking out the two reeds and setting it in his hand. He furrowed his brows.

“I do not understand.”

You took a deep breath. “The handmaids have given me wheat and barley seeds ever since I have arrived. If they grow, then that means…that means I am with child.”

The look on his face spoke it all. You were certain you were dead.

“I-I didn’t know how you would feel, and-and so I-.”

He crushed you in an embrace, attaching his lips to your jaw. “Jupiter has blessed me.”

It was the first time you felt happiness in his presence. Of course, not because of him, but still joy. You returned his embrace, sighing in relief. “You are happy?”

“Happy?” He pulled away, holding your face in his hands. “There is nothing in this world that could sadden me right now. I will have an heir.”

As long as it was a boy (if it were real at all).

You feigned your smile and leaned into his touch. “I am fortunate to give you one.”

“And I am most fortunate to have you.” He laid down and brought you with him.

Perhaps, in another life, he was kind to you and didn’t only value you until you gave him a child. Perhaps you would be in love with him, and he would make you empress

But you weren’t fortunate to be born into that fantasy.

You wished nothing more than to sit with Marcus and Lucilla as you made your way into the emperor’s booth of the Colosseum. The three of you had managed to speak to one another, but only about meaningless things. Still, you just enjoyed their company.

 It would be more exciting that day. A naval battle, the Naumachia. The arena was filled with water and sea creatures you could never even possibly imagine. It was a wonder in and of itself how all the ships managed to fit themselves in the arena.

“Caracalla,” you said to the brother beside you as you were about to take your seat. He looked up upon hearing his name. You handed him the bag filled with garlic. “I finally found some for you.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “And you say that if I mix this with myrrh, I shall be cured?”

“It should treat the lesions on your skin.” You corrected. “This is what I did for my father.”

He died of the same ailment, but Caracalla didn’t ask; simply smiled. “Thank you, dear sister.”

You nodded, sitting down on the arm of Geta’s throne that would have put you in the middle of him and his brother. He wrapped his arm around you.

“You’ve been far kinder these days.” Geta pointed out.

“Perhaps that means I’ll be the most agreeable mother.” You jested, kissing his cheek.

He smirked, and as the man on the far end of the Colosseum began to announce the games, Geta stood up and rose his grail.

“I would like to propose a toast!” He yelled. The crowd fell silent, and you felt your skin crawl away from you. Geta continued. “To the health of wives and to mothers. Especially to my lover, Julia, who carries my son the moment as we speak!"

An eruption of applause and cheers filled the stadium. You blushed upon the praise, and genuinely wanted to hide yourself from the gaze of everyone; especially the ones closest to you. You could feel both Marcus and Lucilla’s eyes on you, attempting to hide their shock and perhaps horror. The worst was that of Macrinus.

He knew. Just from the look of him (or perhaps it was your own paranoia), but he had to have known from the moment you bought the wheat.

Still, they all applauded, and ones the excitement of your supposed pregnancy died down, the enthusiasm for the battle was born.

It was perhaps the one event you could stomach. While you could still clearly see men dying, it wasn’t as horribly bloody as the prior. Were you becoming numb to the cruelty of these games because you were pretending…or were you letting the game invade your head?

As several ships collided within the growing chaos, men would either die from their fellow man or would simply fall into the water and be devoured by beasts you had never seen until then. Your eyes had been following Hanno the whole time, whether purposefully or not.

Words could not describe the terror that had been brought upon you as you saw him aim his crossbow at the booth you sat in.

You did not think the arrow would pierce you, but it did. It longed into your right shoulder, and a cry you had no idea you were capable of making tore through your throat.

Tears blinded your vision, but the screams from the whole arena deafened your ears you could not even hear what Geta was saying to you.

You could barely make out Marcus’ in front of you as he snapped the body of the arrow and then hoisted you into his arms. You’d never been carried like this as a woman; only as a child by your father.

The heat of Rome felt hotter that day as the pain in your shoulder only grew tighter and tighter as if your skin was going to stretch away from you. The next thing you knew, you were laid upon a cold, solid surface, and sound returned to your ears.

“It’s alright, you’re alright.” Geta shushed, brushing your hair. “You’ll be okay.”

Someone stuck their fingers into your wounded shoulder, and you could only scream. A tender hand laid itself on your cheek, and just from touch alone, you knew it was Lucilla.

“Do not touch her!” Geta hissed, swatting her away.

“No, no!” You whined, reaching out and holding onto her.

Lucilla dropped to her knees, kissing every part of skin that was available, mumbling. “I know, I know. This too shall pass, you are stronger than you believe, my dear.”

Then, just like that, you felt the arrowhead leave your body. The pain was still excruciating beyond belief, but all that was left was for your arm to be wrapped in cloth, and to rest.

One of the guards in charge of the gladiators approached you when you were finally able to sit up.

“My lady,” he began. “did you happen to get a look at the man who shot you?”

“She’s only starting to recover!” Geta snapped. “How dare you. She carries my child, and-!”

“-It’s alright, Geta.” You soothed.

You could’ve done it. Told him with full confidence that it was Hanno. There would have been your chance of power; to kill the man who had nearly killed you.

Yet…you were vindictive and wanted to do it yourself.

“I have no memory.” You told him. “It happened so fast.”

How horrible it is that Geta would stop forcing you to pleasure him only when you were supposedly with his child and injured. You assumed that if you were suffering from only one of those ailments, than he still would’ve held you down and used you.

You thought nothing else would happen that night. You would simply speak to one another, pretending to be completely enamored by his existence, and then lie down to sleep.

Of course, that would be too peaceful.

You were awoken gently, to your surprise, by Geta shaking you. Humming, you rubbed your eyes. “What is it?”

“The general and his whore wife.” He gritted his teeth. “They planned to kill us.”

You shot right up, forgetting about your injured shoulder, and let out a cry. Geta helped you stand, and that was when you saw Caracalla standing before you, his monkey companion Dundus perching upon his shoulder.

“How-how do we know?” You stammered, not having to feign your terror.

Neither of them answered, and the three of you were led out into the throne room. There before you in their night clothes just as you were, Lucilla and Marcus.

Geta approached them first, seething. “The honor, the dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you. All this you have forfeited by your treachery. Thanks to the civic virtue of men like Macrinus and Thraex your insurrection has been revealed-.”

 “-Torture me if you want,” Marcus shook his head. “but please, don’t lecture me.”

Geta’s face turned almost as red as his hair. “Your name and deeds will be forgotten, lost to history! You are damned to oblivion!”

“You damn me?” He laughed. “I don’t care. Everything is forgotten in time. Empires fall… and so do Emperors.”

Caracalla rose from his seat, reaching for his brother’s sword. “Why wait? I'll gut him right now!”

Geta grabbed onto him. “Brother! Brother! His death must be public.”

“Public, yes. Hang his entrails from the city gates!” He pointed at Lucilla. “Crucify her!”

“No!”

All eyes fell on you after your outburst. Even you froze in place, feeling bile begin to rise up within you. Geta let go of Caracalla. “‘No?’ You say? What would you have me do then?”

Swallowing thickly, it was hard to speak as tears began to fall. You held your stomach. “Crucifixion is…it’s…”

His face dropped into a scowl. “You aren’t saying I should let them live, are you?”

“No-!”

“-Then which is it?!”

Your voice fell silent as your chest constricted, and you could barely breathe. Your mouth would move, but nothing came out; not even strangled noises of desperation.

“If I may, your grace,” Macrinus stepped forward. “I believe she means to bring equal punishments to the crimes committed.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “I do not know what you speak of.”

“Please, let the rest of them out of the room so I might explain more clearly.’

He considered his words, then turned to his guards. “The criminals to the dungeons, my brother to his chambers, and my love-.”

“-I wish to be alone tonight.” You stated.

The emperor scoffed. “What?”

“The babe.” You began. “I-I have helped many women deliver their children, and what has always caused an early birth is stress. I-I cannot take any-anymore of it, or I fear…”

Finally, he took in the sight of your fearful face. Sighing heavily, he said. “Put my lady in her chambers for tonight.”

“Thank you.” You kissed his hand.

You were led into your own chambers, and once the door was shut, you threw yourself onto your bed and wept. You wept until you were wailing into the night, you wept until your eyes were as red as the sun in the morning, you wept until it hurt to continue to do so…

It was unknown how long you had cried, but the opening of your bedroom door is what alarmed you. Snapping your head over in the direction, you were shocked to see Macrinus.

“The general and his wife’s fate has been decided.” He stated.

You held a pillow to your chest, rubbing your reddened nose. “And what is it?”

“The emperor has chosen to let the gods decide, and Acacius will fight against Hanno tomorrow in the arena.”

“You mean you convinced him to.” You glared.

Macrinus approached you. “May I try some of the bread you have baked, my lady?”

You held no confusion when he asked you that. Surprise, yes; but you knew what he asked. You took a deep breath. “I believe I don’t understand.”

“The wheat you bought only days ago.” He reminded. “You said you would bake your own bread. Surely, you didn’t use it as false proof of you carrying the emperor’s heir?”

You didn’t dare look at him. Even when he laid his hand on our back, rubbing circles over your nightdress. “I wish to help you, my child. You must be willing to help me first.”

That was why he also didn’t alert Geta of your betrayal…unless, he had no idea of your alliance with Marcus and Lucilla.

“What is it that you want?” You asked.

“All in time.” He soothed. “I wish to give you the privilege to speak to someone.”

You finally looked at him, your eyes wide. “General Acacius?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I am unable to escort you to the dungeons below the palace. Yet, I can take you to the pit of gladiators.”

“It is easier for you to take me out of the palace than below it?”

“Take you to the man who nearly overthrew the emperors?” He chuckled bitterly. “Not possible. I cannot grant you the gift to say goodbye, but I can allow you to bargain for his life.”

You blinked. “Hanno?”

“Correct.”

“How can I leave the palace at this hour, after what has just happened?”

“You underestimate the silence men will take when it is weighed in gold.” He tutted. “I can only give you ten minutes with him. Will you go or not?”

You were forced to decide quickly…This could be your chance. He had nearly took your life the other day, and the pain in your shoulder was just a growing reminder of that. If he were dead…there was no way you could overtake him.

Yet, you learned that, in a world of men, you didn’t have to be stronger than them: Only smarter, and faster.

“I will go.”

You had hidden a kitchen knife under your bed the moment you had your own chambers. Geta had gifted you several colorful ribbons he loved to see you wear in your hair. He perhaps did not expect you to tie one around your waist under your gown, securing the knife.

Macrinus led you swiftly from the palace to the gladiator pit, which was thankfully not a long walk. You ignored the stares and intrigued calls from the other men as you treaded the halls. You were stopped by a door. Macrinus didn’t even warn Hanno who stood shirtless in his cell, only opened the door and let you enter.

“I’ll rattle the door when it’s time.” That was all he said and left.

Hanno didn’t even seem alarmed. “And what is Rome’s Delight doing here?”

Your blood boiled upon seeing him, yet you remained calm. “I have come to make a bargain; a plea.”

That was when the puzzlement appeared on his face. “And what is that?”

“The man you will fight tomorrow, you must spare him.”

“Why should I?”

Your grief and despair had made itself known to everyone around you for the past few days; yet, in that cell, only with Hanno as your witness, did he see your rage.

“He is the one who saved my life when you meant to steal it!”

The only change you saw in him was his jaw clenching. Other than that, nothing. “The general?”

You only nodded.

He sighed, brushing past you and shaking the door. “Macrinus!”

“What are you doing?” You hissed.

“I will not have you waste your breath on that man.”

“I will give you anything you desire.”

Hanno faced you. “Then you can deliver his head on a platter for me.”

You gawked as he walked away.  “What have I ever done to you?”

“What?”

“Do you truly hate me that much?!” You turned back to him, getting closer. “Kill the man that is the reason I am still here?”

The last thing you thought you would hear left his lips: A laugh. No, not a genuine one. One that you yourself have released on multiple occasions when you have been in disbelief.

“You truly believe everything that happens is because of you?” He taunted. “Has the emperor been filling your mind with so many delusions of grandeur, you can no longer conceive a world where you are not the center of it?”

“Is it so difficult for you to answer my question because you are a fool, or because you wish to not admit it?” You hardened your tone.

“What is your question, my empress?”

“Why did you shoot me?!”

“The arrow was not meant for you!”

You felt your shoulders drop upon the confession. Your aggression ceased only because of your bewilderment.

“Then who?” You asked.

He backed away. “The general you so wish to defend.”

“Whatever it is that he has done, it can be solved with-.”

“-He murdered my wife.”

Hanno said it so easily. No pain, no rage, nothing. It was a fact, and that was what he wanted you to know.

And how stupid you had been. No one in all of Rome was pure of heart; including Marcus. He was a war general; how could you think he wouldn’t have committed sins against the innocent?

“Why so silent, my lady?” He asked. “Are you in disbelief that he has enemies?”

“I didn’t know that.” You admitted.

“That the general is too a monster, or that he killed the only thing in my life worth living for?”

“And that is your desire?” You prodded. “Take his life so that he may die knowing his wife will be ravaged by wolves?”

When he charged at you, you barely had enough time to reach in your dress and unsheathe your knife. Hanno stopped himself just in time for the tip to kiss his chest. Nothing to cause any more harm than a scratch.

Even though you were not the one hurt, you breathed as if you were. He stared down at you as you shrunk under his gaze, and the two of you remained frozen. That is, until he grabbed both your wrists, and rose them above your head.

“I am only merciful because the general still breathes.” He spoke so only you could hear. “If your bastard of a lover had put him to the sword this night you chose to visit me, you would be dead before you could scream.”

Your nose was an inch from his, that was how close he stood to you. His breath caressed your skin, and you turned away in disgust. He let go of your empty wrist, yet still held the one with the dagger.

“Did you believe you could kill me tonight?” He asked, yet you said nothing. Hanno then brought the dagger to his breastbone, angling it upward. “Do not stab head on; stab up.”

Silence and an iron gaze was your reply.

He then hovered it to the pulse point of his neck. “If you want a quick death, right here; with a thinner blade, preferably.”

Then, he placed the tip just above his brow. “If you need information out of a rat, and you have the stomach to do so, drag it across. It will make the mightiest of men cry like a child in the night.”

“You are clever and a skilled warrior,” you finally said. “what is it you want me to tell you?”

“That you will leave it up to the gods and to me if your general lives or not.”

“But I cannot.” You dared to dig the blade just a little into his skin, and his breath hitched. “My desire for him to live is stronger than for you to die.”

Hanno finally let go of your wrist, and you immediately retracted the knife from his brow. “So do you wish to try again to kill me?”

“I wish for you to show mercy.”

“Mercy?” He questioned. “Mercy upon the man who pillaged my home and killed my wife? Mercy for the one who has made me a slave?”

“I too am a slave and-.”

“-And?!” He cried. “And there is nothing! You are draped in silks whilst I in chains and are bathed in clear waters while I in blood, yet you say we are the same?!”

You swallowed your anger, knowing it would bring you nowhere. “You entertain the horrid creatures of Rome; I am forced to pleasure the emperor. We perform differently, but we are still slaves.”

“You are with child.” He stated. “Will that child also be a slave though the emperor is quick to claim it is his heir?”

The crackling of the torches in the room only added to the fire th in your soul. If not contained correctly, you would surely burn and take him with you.

 “A child…yes.” You relaxed, folding your hands. “A child that I could command to be Geta’s. Perhaps, if I wanted to have the brothers slaughter one another, I could say it belongs to Caracalla. Or, if I despised you anymore than I do at this moment…I could say that it is yours.”

Hanno’s eyes dropped in recognition, saying softly. “You carry an empty womb.”

You nodded. “It is the same as your honor.”

Moments later, the door behind you rattled, and Macrinus spoke even when you didn’t. “The time is up, my little empress.”

You bowed your head to Hanno, curtsying. “Sleep well.”

He said nothing in reply, and you turned on our heel, leaving the cell. You pulled your hood back over your head as Macrinus led you through the darkened streets of the city.

“Did you get what you came for?” He asked.

“No.” Was your immediate reply. “And I do not know truly what I wanted.”

The day was as blistering hot as the others, yet the stare Lucilla gave you as she was being led into the emperor’s viewing box made your blood turn to ice. There was not a hint of wrath upon her face; there was nothing at all.

She already looked as if her soul had been stolen.

“How does your shoulder fair, dear sister?” Caracalla brushed his fingers over your arm.

A watery smile was upon your lips like second nature. “It still aches, but it heals, thank the gods. And your overall health?”

He sighed. “I do not know how much longer I have upon this earth.”

“Do not say such things.” You squeeze his hands. “If the gods will it, you shall live for another hundred years.”

He kissed your hands that held his. “I hope so, my love.”

Your grin fell upon the title, and Geta immediately sat you down on the chair behind him that was beside Lucilla’s. He gave an apologetic look.

“He only grows more confused by the day.” He caressed your cheek. “You are well?”

You were far from it, but you could not say that. “Your son feels better now.”

Geta smiled, lowering his head down to kiss your womb. “He will need all his strength.”

The announcer on the other side of the arena yelled to gain everyone’s attention. “From the vanquished city of Numidia, the victor of three contests in the Colosseum, the barbarian Hanno!”

You watched as he ran up from the pit, sword in hand. On the other side, you watched at they brought in Marcus. You could barely look at his already beaten figure. The announcer continued. “Will challenge General Marcus Acacius for his treason against the lives of the Emperors and the enemy of the State!”

The two approached one another on the sandy field. Even from where you sat, so close to them, you could barely make out the look in their eyes. You assumed their was hatred, but your own eyes must have deceived you, because you swore you saw a hint of regret within Marcus’ own gaze.

You blinked and the battle between the two had begun. It was a different level of insanity at how they fought. Marcus was decades older than Hanno, and yet, there were moments where the Numidian had to keep up with him.

Than, the roles would be reversed.

Blood stained the floor of the Colosseum as they fought. Then, when all feel silent between them, and Marcus could barely stand, his lips moved as he spoke to Hanno, then raised his hand.

He yielded.

The patrons of the arena began to mumble amongst themselves, growing louder and louder. Geta rose to his feet. “Romans! What say you?”

In an instant, choruses begging him to be spared overpowered the few that wanted him to be killed. Geta shut his eyes, raising his hand, and they were silenced.

“The gods have rendered their judgement.”

His thumb pointed downward, and the crowd erupted in dissent. Your heart was forcing itself to beat out of your chest as you could only stare at the sight of Hanno glaring down at the general before him.

He tossed his sword to the side.

You hadn’t even noticed Caracalla stood until you heard him yell. “Kill him, kill him!” Like an angered child.

“Is this how Rome treats its heroes?!” Hanno shouted, staring at the audience all around him and pointing his sword. “If his life has no value, what are yours worth?”

Geta stepped up onto the barrier, balancing between the viewing box and a fifteen-foot drop into the arena. He held his arms out to his side, his sleeves dropping to the ground, and his pale face was red. “The gods have spoken! Kill him!”

From all sides of the stadium, hundreds of archers aimed their bows at the center of the battleground. Yet, none fired. Caracalla jeered.

“In the name of Jupiter, kill him!”

The arrows were released, and they screamed like none other as they fired into the center. As they pierced Marcus’ body, you did not know you had been wailing in fright until Geta had slapped you.

“You mewling cunt!” He cursed. “You wish to weep over the man who nearly had you killed?”

Blood fell upon your tongue from your bruised lip, and you did not dare to look at him nor Lucilla.

“Death will be too good for you!” She cried with all of her heart.

The noise from the crowd died as if the people themselves had done so. Then, just like the confused murmurs when Marcus yielded, the same began to grow and grow into a call of rebellion.

It was all in your ears. Lucilla’s weeping, the curses from the crowd, the panic of the emperors…but you stood absolutely still.

With hooded eyes, they drifted up to see that Geta stood just on the edge of the barrier, his back turned to you. Your gaze fell to the ground below you, and it was only then you realized how high up you truly were.

You do not know who or what willed you to, but you then looked at Hanno still the center, covered in blood. As if he knew what you would do, he shook his head.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Macrinus grabbed your arm roughly when you took one step towards Geta.

The emperors turned to him upon his appearance, and Macrinus loosened his grip on you before saying. “For our safety’s sake, we should leave.”

“Yes.” Geta stepped down, wrapping his arms around you. “We should.”

You never knew there was a safe house in Rome until you were forced into it. Perhaps that was the reason for it being a safe house, so that no one knew of it. Yet, apparently, almost all of the roman citizens found it that night. Or, they were simply rioting wherever a free patch of land was.

The cries played in your ears despite them being behind heavy walls of the safe house, and you dared not to peek out the windows as the several fires would temporarily blind you. In the house was you, Macrinus, Dondus (Caracalla’s pet monkey, although he’d call him his other half), and the twin emperors.

“How is the babe?” Geta asked as you sat with your head hanging low.

Of course he would ask that. You didn’t look at him. “He is in fear for his life.”

“I understand,” he sighed. “but there-.”

“-But what?” You finally looked at him, hissing. “Chaos has fallen upon the city because of your actions.”

“There was nothing else to do.” Geta glared at you. “He and his bitch were plotting to kill us! If I’d let him live-.”

“-Don’t you hear them?” Caracalla cried out from his seat, holding Dondus. “They’re calling for our heads! She is right, you brought this upon us!”

Geta placed his hands on him. “Calm yourself, brother. The Praetorians will put down this crowd like they have others-.” The money upon Caracalla’s shoulder chirped out in anxiousness from the people outside. “Keep the ape still!”

“Beware of how you speak to Dondus!” His brother berated.

“Perhaps,” Macrinus finally intervened. “you should take Dondus and Julia elsewhere. The noise outside is too much for them; you should comfort one another someplace quieter.”

Caracalla nodded, gathering up Dondus and moving to help you stand, but Macrinus reached his hand out first. You took it, and as you stood, he said into your ear.

“I will find you on the right side of the hall.”

This was not the time nor place for riddles, but you could not react in any sort of way. You looped our arm through Caracalla’s and walked out of the room, hoping to find somewhere quieter.

“I’m afraid,” you confided in him, truthfully.

“I am as well.” Was all he could say.

You stopped in the middle of the hall once he found an open door. “I…I need time with my own thoughts. Please.”

He nodded, cradling Dondus closer to his chest before entering the room, shutting the door tightly. Within the minute, you watched as Macrinus approached you from the other side of the hall.

You spat. “What do you want?”

“I know I stole your moment of vengeance, and for that, I apologize.” He stood before you. “But let me make it up to you.”

“How could you possibly?”

From his cloak, he brandished a knife, holding the handle out to you. You took it without hesitation, yet question was still upon your face. “I do it myself?”

“You could,” he shrugged. “or, you could have his own brother do so.”

“Caracalla? He is senile.”

“Then I have a proposition for you.” Macrinus pointed to the door Caracalla was behind. “Convince him that Geta will destroy all of you if he is not disposed of. Convince him that, as the new emperor of Rome, he will need more trusting subjects. I shall be his second in command, and you shall be free.”

You furrowed your brow. “Who shall be first?”

“The monkey.” He smirked. “Do you believe he would put me above him?”

It sounded so simple; too simple. Yet, as the crowd began to die down, and you could no longer hear their protests from outside, the quietness brought to you what you had always known: You would never be your own person again so long as Geta breathed.

You held the dagger to your heart, saluting him. “I shall do my duty.”

He nodded. “May the gods be with you when you do, Brutus.”

An insult to most, and while it shocked you, you took it in stride as you stood outside the door. You made yourself look smaller, more afraid, and hid the dagger within your cloak as you entered the room.

There, sitting upon the floor, was Caracalla and Dondus. Like a scared child, he held the monkey close to him, grooming one another as if it was the only thing to bring comfort.

“Caracalla?” You whispered.

He stared up at you, and you noticed he had been crying. Immediately, you sat before him, bringing him into your arms.

“Nothing was ever mine.” He cried, embracing you. “Everything was ‘ours’, always. Even in the womb, he gripped the umbilicus in his tiny fist to deprive me of air.”

“He did?”

“Certainly, one cannot forget.”

You pulled away only to hold his face tenderly in your hands. “You must listen to me, for what I tell you is dire. Your brother wishes to blame you before the Senate; for what happened, for the chaos in the streets-.”

“-That is a lie!” He tore himself from you. “I didn’t do it!”

“I know that, but they don’t. No testimony is more damning than that of a brother against another.”

“He lies! He always lies!” He sobbed.

“He’s very persuasive.”

“What will they do to me?”

“I don’t dare imagine, but…gods above, I don’t wish to know what they will do to Dondus.”

His jaw quivered with the rest of his body. “What-what shall we do?"

You sighed. “I…I have a proposition, but it is most outrageous and-.”

“-Julia,” he begged, grabbing your hands. “dear, sweet sister, please tell me.”

Breath shuttering, you reached into your cloak and held the blade out to him. “Slay your brother tonight. You shall be crowned the sole emperor of Rome when morning comes, and Dondus, the child I carry, and I will be safe.'

He took it, yet still had that look of terror. “This…It has always been he who led everything. I do not know who to trust or-or who to command.”

“Then let me-.” You stopped yourself, eyeing the monkey that lay at his legs. You held your hand out to him, and Dondus climbed into your arms. “Let us help you. Claim Dondus as your first in command, and I your second.”

You wished the same as Lucilla and Marcus; to have Rome be a free empire. Yet, you would have to free Lucilla yourself before that happened.

Caracalla nodded yet said. “You-you are with child. You will become delirious as time progresses.”

And he was the epitome of having a clear mind.

“I will need a third.” He settled.

You shook your head. “That has never been done before-.”

“-I will be emperor!” He screamed. “If it is to be done, it shall be done!”

Raising your hands in surrender, you pleaded. “It shall, it shall! For a third…Macrinus. He has been loyal and informed us of the general’s betrayal.”

“Yes, yes Macrinus will do.” He grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours. It didn’t even truly feel like a kiss, yet it shocked you nonetheless. “You are the wisest woman I have ever met, dear sister.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. With that, he stood on his feet and left the room. IT would have been easy to stay in there and wait for his return…

Yet, you wanted to be the last thing Emperor Geta saw.

No fear toiled within your body as you approached the throne room, not even when you hear the cries that you knew belonged to Geta. You walked through the doors, watching as Geta held his hands up in fear, begging his brother to spare his life as he was forced onto his knees, trying to stop the knife in Caracalla’s hand.

“I love you!” Geta squealed, staring up at him through tears “You are my brother, I love you!”

You moved to stand behind the younger twin, glaring at the man before you. Geta’s eyes dropped in relief.

“My love, my love, please help me!”

There was nothing uncertain about how you grabbed Caracalla’s hand that held the dagger. With eyes unblinking, you guided the blade into Geta’s throat, pushing it further and further as blood drained from his mouth.

The emperor was dead, and you would sleep like a child once more that night.

There was something inside of you when you awoke that morning. Not the child you had lied to all of Rome about; it felt like a parasite. You threw up an hour after you woke up, but when you checked with the healers, they said that there was nothing ailing you.

Was it…guilt? No, no it could not be.

Was it possible to feel guilt for the act of killing someone, but not feeling it for who was killed?

You had no time to debate these issues as if you were a philosopher.

Dressed in your finest silks, you made way into the room where the hundreds of senators met, carrying a hefty sack beside you. You sat in a chair next to Macrinus.

“You have done well.” He said softly.

You smiled. “Only because of you.”

Your gaze turned to Caracalla, who sat in one of the two thrones that were there for him and Geta. He looked like the worst you had ever seen him be. A blood rag had been placed at his feet.

“Now I am the only one.” He began, voice low. “I was the true us, and he was the false me. We were always ‘we,’ all our lives, but now I am only I, me, alone.”

The senators look at one another in silent terror. The only ones to not feel fear were you and Macrinus.

Caracalla continued. “My hand held the blade, but my father’s hand guided mine. I was the puppet, dancing on his string. As Emperor, I have convened the Senate to appoint my First Consul and bestow upon him the power to administer the military and civic functions of the Empire.”

He tossed his hand to the second thrown, revealing his fury companion. “I name Citizen Dondus!”

Where the senators were beyond terrified, they were now confused. Macrinus was the first to rise, applauding. “Hail Dondus!”

You repeated his sentiment, clapping with vigor. Caracalla and the rest of the mortified senators applauded all repeating ‘Hail Dondus!’.

Once the excitement died down, Caracalla resumed. “As is custom, I am naming a Second Consul to advise the First and to assure his integrity. Though you will find that Dondus is incorruptible! As Second Consul, I name…”

Macrinus took one step forward.

“The mother of the future heir to the throne, Julia!”

All eyes fell upon you, standing taller than you ever had done in your life. How strange it was though, that the same reaction to a monkey being assigned first in command, was to you, a woman.

Utter silence, until Caracalla applauded enthusiastically. Like sheep, the senators followed; all but Macrinus.

“Yet, as mother to the heir,” the emperor said after finishing. “it is apparent she shall be incompetent for majority of her advising. So, for the first time in the history of Rome, I name Citizen Macrinus as my third!”

Even with this third twist in a counsel, the senators seemed more so relieved at the decision. Macrinus did not smile or even acknowledge the honor, simply stared ahead. Caracalla gathered Dondus in his arms.

“There will be a triumphal parade to celebrate. There will be games and mass executions! Long live the Empire!”

“Long live the Emperor!” You and the senators all yelled.

The Emperor Caracalla carried the First Consul Dondus sweepingly out of the hall, to the Senate’s terrified silence. You picked up the sack that had been beside you this whole time, then making your way to the center of the room.

You opened the sack, and out fell Geta’s decapitated head. The Senate gasped and gagged at the sight of the former emperor’s head. You almost felt sorry for the horror they felt that whole time. Yet, there horror is what would bring you fortune.

“This is what befell your emperor.” You pointed to the head at your feet. “He was slaughtered by the one who shared a womb with him. Tell me, senators, is this who we must trust to maintain the greatness of the Roman Empire?”

They did not glance at one another in uncertainty; no, no they were listening to you.

You continued, your heart stammering. “I am not the one who will stand with you for the rest of my days, it is the son I carry within me. And if it is my son who will become emperor, then there must still be an empire for him once he is born. Hysteria has poisoned the streets for decades now, it is time to put an end to it!”

Murmurs and nods of approval began to echo amongst the counsel.

“Every single one of Rome’s children matters; from the beggars to the emperor himself. If one falls, so shall the rest of the Empire. I have walked beside the lay people of the city, and they feel betrayed by the former emperor for the murder of their beloved general. To right this wrong, I call for the release of Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.”

Not one of the hundreds of senators made a sound. Deep within you, you knew that there wouldn’t be much rejoicing over Lucilla’s freedom, but you still had to try.

“The people adored her for far longer than they adored the general!” You pleaded. “If we kill her only for the amusement of the elites, then the children of Rome-!”

 “-Shall live.”

You turned to Macrinus, who finally stepped all the way forward.

“Forgive me,” He bowed mockingly. “my lady, but for a woman complimented to have a golden mouth, you have no idea what you are saying.”

A few of the senators chuckled.

“You wish to free the woman who mean to have you, and the emperors killed?” He questioned.

You refuted. “I wish to show the world that Rome is capable of forgiveness.”

“A desire so foolish, only the emperor’s favorite whore could have it.”

“Another word of slander out of your mouth, and I will have your tongue removed!” You stood toe-to-toe with him.

He grinned like the devil, and just from your outburst alone, no matter how warranted it had been, he had you. Macrinus stepped away, looking around at the senators.

“Me thinks the little girl believes she is Marcus Aurelius himself born again.” He straightened his tone. “What say you, senators? All in favor of releasing a traitor to the Empire, speak.”

Not one of them said ‘aye’. If you weren’t under a sheer amount of duress, you would’ve seen perhaps a few faces of inner turmoil, debating on calling for Lucilla’s release.

Yet, no one said a word because they shared the one thing that will contribute to the death of humanity: Cowardice.

Macrinus tutted. “Now, dear Julia and I happen to have, through good fortune and not a little skill, the remaining emperor’s ear. We can speak reason in it and tame the madness in the street. Yet, I will leave the domestic work of calming the emperor to his second in command. As for myself, to restore order to Rome, I will need power over the affairs of the state. Including command of the Praetorian Guard. The decision is in your hands. Ballot or hand?”

One hand rose immediately. Another followed, then ten, then thirty, and then, all of them. He provided no evidence for his cause…yet there was a unanimous decision.

Macrinus held his hand out to you, and you could only stare up at him in question.

“I believe we shall take the seats that are rightfully ours.” He said lowly.

Carefully, you slipped your hand into his, and he led you up the stairs to sit upon the chair that belonged to Geta, while he took Caracalla’s.

This would be the first and the last time a woman ever sat upon the emperor’s throne.

After being embarrassed that morning, you paced around your chambers. Perhaps you could have found Caracalla and gave him the same reasonings the senate did not listen to. Perhaps he could somehow see to the logic that would be in setting Lucilla free.

No, of course he wouldn’t. Even if his mind was sound, he still knew she was apart of the coup to try and have him dethroned; killed in his mind’s eye.

As your mind grew heavy with existential possibilities towards the future, the door to your chambers opened. Stopping where you stood, you watched as Macrinus entered.

“Now, try to make me understand this," he shook his head. "I let you have your vengeance on the man who used you as a slave, I promised you freedom, and yet you wasted it.”

You clenched your jaw. "How dare you-."

“-How dare I?” He tensed his voice. “How dare I keep silent about your lie? How dare I give you the privilege to take your revenge? I have saved you more than you believe I have harmed you, lady Julia."

The name had always bothered you, but with one emperor dead and the other incapacitated, you assumed it would stop.

Now, it only enraged you more; or perhaps that was just because it was Macrinus saying it.

You glared. “It was your own mistake to believe you were the only one who desired power.”

He took a deep breath, then moving to sit on your bed. “Sit beside me, Rome’s Delight; I have a story to tell you.”

“I am not a child, you may tell me in short.”

“You are not the only slave wishing to be free.” He pulled back the collar of his clothing, revealing a branded ‘M.A’ “You are lucky enough to not carry your master’s mark, but were a slave nonetheless. Marcus Aurelius spoke of peace while still using violence against those who served him.”

Swallowing your pride thickly, you said. “I’m sorry.”

“You have learned now, that is all that matters.”

“But Lucilla will still be dead.” You tried to keep your voice steady. “She wanted the emperors to be gone as much as you, but she will-."

“-Her father enslaved me.”

“Her father is dead; and if taking his empire wasn’t enough, than killing his last child will satisfy you?"

Macrinus clutched your arm, fingers tightening with every word. “I would be careful with how you speak to me. I wish to offer you one last ounce of kindness before I regret it. Now tell me, Brutus, will you accept me as Rome’s new emperor?”

You had all the right to say it was Caracalla, but you thought better of it. So, with the softening of your entire person, you nodded. “I accept you.”

He dropped your arm. “I’ll let you say goodbye this time.”

Macrinus led you down into the dungeons of the palace, and he was right; somehow it was more heavily guarded than the gladiator pit. Even when the worst of the worst prisoners sneered or jeered at you, your sorrow and anger could not stir your fear.

The door to one of the cells was open, and you ran in just as Lucilla turned to see you.

“Five minutes.” Was all Macrinus said before locking the door and leaving.

You embraced one another when he left. Neither of you said anything, just clung to each other as if the world itself would tear you apart.

“Forgive me, mother Lucilla.” You choked up.

Lucilla pulled away, taking your face into her hands. “Sweet child, there is nothing to forgive.”

“I failed you.” The tears finally came. “I was right there in the senate’s room, I-I told them the chaos that would befell Rome if-.”

“-You were in the senate’s room?” She sounded as if her breath had been stolen.

You nodded. “Yes, but they wouldn’t listen!”

“My dear girl,” she smiled. “if you were able to even get half a sentence in, than they listened! My father but sixteen years ago said that it was a shame I had been born a women, for I would have been a magnificent emperor. Yet, here you stand; you who had been once a slave, rose above into having a sear in the senate council.”

Still, no matter how much pride she held, your own shame outweighed it. “I still have failed you.”

“I have already accepted my fate.” She whispered. “I must take care of those who matter to me before I leave this earth.”

“Do not say such things!” You cried. “I’ll still find a way to save you.”

“Hanno is my son.”

You expected her to deny your attempts at rescuing her, you even expected her to coddle you, curse you…but this?

“What?” You uttered.

“He is Lucius Verus Aurulius,” she said gently. “second of his name, but the first son of Maximus Decimus Meridius.”

“The-the gladiator?” Was somehow the first question you asked.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Lucius didn’t run away, I sent him. With him as heir to the empire, I know many would not rest until he was dead. How was he to fight for a claim he knew nothing about? Now, he is here; and I am no longer frightened of dying.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to!”

She shushed you, combing her fingers through your hair. “I can speak to you until the earth is burnt by the sun of how I have made peace, but I know that will not work. So, I have two final requests for you.”

“Anything.”

Lucilla walked to the small desk she had in her cell, then picking up a scroll loosely wrapped in twine. She handed it to you. “My first is to give this to my son before tomorrow. It…explains a great deal of things I do not have the time to say to him.”

You took it, holding it to your heart. “And the second?”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around you and kissing the side of your head. “To take care of him as I intend him to take care of you.”

It was not the first time that day your eyes had grown. “He despises me.”

“If the gods are merciful, then I truly believe you will both come to see eye to eye as the only two who remain.”

“I nearly killed him.” You admitted. “The night before his duel with Acacius, I brought a knife with me and stabbed him; well…not enough to harm him.”

Lucilla shook her head, giggling. “He will need someone who disagrees with him.”

You found yourself laughing along with her, even through your sobs. She pulled away from you, wiping your tears. “He is a good man. He may deny it but believe me when I tell you.”

“I trust you.” You nodded.

She took a deep breath. “I will be with you, even when I’m gone.”

“I…I know.”

“Now go before I beg you to stay.”

You forced yourself away from her before you could change your mind. You could not even look at her as you left her cell and went up the hall. Just in time, you remembered to hide the scroll as Macrinus approached you.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Sighing, you said. “She’s…inconsolable. I couldn’t bear another moment with her.”

Macrinus nodded. “You should rest for the remainder of the day. It has been quite exhausting.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “it certainly has.”

It was the first time that night you were forced to sneak out of the palace on your own. Fortunately, you remembered the route you took to the Gladiator pit and managed to dodge any of the guards on patrol that night.

The pit proved to be more difficult as the overseers of it had less space to watch over, yet you still somehow managed to maneuver them.

Perhaps the gods were on your side.

“Hanno.” You whispered once you found his cell.

The man turned over his shoulder once he heard your voice and approached with a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

You wasted no time, holding out the scroll. “Your mother told me to give you this.”

He paused for only half a beat. “My mother died when-.”

“-Your mother is Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.” You whispered fiercely. “And you are Lucius, the lost son.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he reached down to the latch of the door, and cracked it opened. “Get inside.”

Though you wished to, you didn’t question how he had unlocked it and only walked in. He shut the door tightly, then took the scroll from you. You stood there as he unraveled it to read. His face changed every few seconds, ranging from distress to downright confusion. When he was finished, he looked at you.

“She gave this to you?” You nodded. “Why?”

“I was allowed to say goodbye to her.”

“From Macrinus?” He tested. “Was this before or after you attempted to steal his power?”

“I was cruel to you.” You admitted. “Even after discovering Acacius had pillaged your home and murdered your wife, I expected you to show mercy. I am astounded you did, but as I look back, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t. My desire for the general to live extends to your mother; if not more. She did not give up my name at any moment despite the fact I too was apart of the coup to try and overthrow the emperors. I cannot simply let her die.”

Lucius stared at you, his gaze intimidating yet at ease. He approached you. “You wish to save her life?”

“More than anything.”

“It is a rumor that Macrinus was the one to puppeteer Caracalla in slaying his brother. But…it wasn’t him, was it?”

Breathing deeply, you looked at the floor. “It was I.”

“Look at me.” He commanded softly, and you did. “Would you kill again if it meant protecting her?”

Your mind said ‘yes’ without a moment’s hesitation, but your heart only sunk into your stomach at the thought. It must have been apparent on your face, for he said.

“There is no shame if you are unable to.”

“I will be with him in the emperor’s box.” You said, determination in your eyes. “I will simply need you to buy me time in the arena. It shall be done.”

Lucius nodded, and released along breath before saying. "I treated you harshly. I...I don't believe I would have survived what you have been put through."

You picked at your fingers. "I think you would have."

"No." He solidified. "I wouldn't."

A silence fell between the two of you. There wasn't a hint of discomfort; as if, for the first time, you felt seen.

“You never told me your name.” Lucius uttered.

You pressed your lips together, shrugging. “It was never important.”

“It has been,” he said. “and it is now. You know my true name, if I am to understand you as how my mother wishes I do, then I must know yours.”

Your mouth parted to speak the first syllable, but even that had felt foreign. You instead lied. “I do not remember it.”

As he looked at you, the steely gaze you always knew began to disappear. “You must remember how it sounded from your mother’s mouth.”

“She died before she could hold me.”

“Then your father.” He walked closer to you, yet you felt no fear. “It does not matter if he was wretched or kind, he spoke your name and your name alone. What did it sound like?”

Like he loved you. Even when he was cross, he never raised his voice. You hated more than ever how tears started to build within your eyes.

“Geta had beaten me until I could no longer use it.” you confessed. “It will feel like poison upon my lips.”

“Then whisper it to me so you will scarcely have to move them.”

You had been lain down on a bed and had every bit of a man touch and invade your body. Even before the emperor, you had lain with people in the past of your choosing…

But none of that amounted to the intimacy you felt in that cell as Lucius stood nearly chest-to-chest with you, hovering his ear over your mouth as you finally (finally) spoke your name aloud.

If the heat of his body lingering over yours did not set your entire being aflame, it was the breath he released once he said.

“It’s a kind name.”

It was all too much for you, so you pulled away from him, drying your eyes. “I…I will pray for your safety.”

He outheld his hand to you. “Strength and honor.”

A saying you had overheard people use as they entered the stadium. You shook his hand. “Strength and honor.”

You didn’t expect to be in the parade Caracalla raved about the day prior. Yet, there you were, draped in the finest and most colorful silks with jewelry in your hair. Inside your sleeve, you’d hidden the same kitchen knife you attempted to stab Lucius with.

You were sat beside Caracalla, who had Dundus upon his shoulder, and who had only grown more delusional since the day prior.

“Where is my brother?” He pulled on your sleeve like a child as you were escorted from the float and into the Colosseum.

A watery smiled pulled upon your lips, and you soothed him. “He feels most unwell today.”

“He should be here.” He sulked as you walked. “He would be happy for me.”

“And he is.” You lied. “You will see him again shortly.”

That managed to ease him, and you both were seated in the emperor’s box with Macrinus. It didn’t escape your vision how hundreds of Praetorians also circled the entire arena. As the time to the match grew closer, you did your best to calm your own nerves. This would be for the good of Rome. Once it was done, you would be able to rest easily again.

It was then you watched as, on one side of the Colosseum, a wagon was rolled out into the center of it. Tied to a pole, dressed up as if she were Venus herself, was Lucilla. All that attempt at soothing yourself was gone once you saw her eyes.

“Must we kill Lucilla?” Caracalla questioned.

You couldn’t even snidely repeat his question to Macrinus you were in such a state of anxiety. Macrinus responded.

“Until she is dead, you will never know peace.”

Thus, the event commenced. The announcer himself even sounded guilt-ridden as he spoke of the crimes Lucilla was being charged with. Treason, betrayal, all of it only anguished the spectators even more to see her being prepared for execution.

“Let it not be said that the Emperor is not merciful!” He yelled. “The queen will be granted a champion to defend her!”

Out from the other side of the arena came Lucius. Half of the Praetorians held their weapons to the man, while the other half faced the civilians as if expecting them to riot. Once again, at the sight of the scene before them, it would not surprise you.

You had been taught one a many myths by your father, mainly belonging to the Greeks. You were Cassandra; blessed by Apollo to speak of prophecies but cursed to not be believed.

When it seemed that hope was gone…Lucius rose his sword, and hundreds of gladiators sprinted from all sides.

The crowd and Caracalla were in an uproar at the excitement. Pandemonium ensued as the gladiators began to climb the barriers and civilians were attempting to enter the arena. The sound of arrows screaming entered your ears; so much so you could not hear what Macrinus was saying to another man, and why Caracalla was screaming.

You simply blinked, and once your eyes were open, you watched as Macrinus dove a needle into the side of Caracalla’s neck, killing him.

Only a gasp tore through your throat, having no ability to scream. Your body soon found reason to move, and you rose to your feet, remembering your duty. Macrinus had acquired a crossbow, aiming it towards Lucilla and Lucius now at the center of the arena.

You rose the knife from your sleeve, charging towards the man. The arrow was fired, and you leapt upon his shoulders.

He moved wildly, trying to force you off of him. You made attempt to slash his throat, but it made contact with his eye instead.

Still…he overpowered you. Flipping you over him, you dropped down into the arena, your head colliding with the ground.

The sky was orange above you when you opened your eyes. Your head had never felt so awful before, and you were surprised you could even sit up. All around you, bodies littered the Colosseum floor. If there was not blood laid before you, there were swords and shields.

Your eyes drifted to the center, and now sunken to the floor, was Lucilla on her wagon. You forced yourself to stand and walk towards her.

When you could see the arrow sticking in her chest, you began to run.

Climbing atop the wagon, you untied the ropes around her hurriedly.

“Mother,” you begged. “mother, can you hear me?”

“I am still here, sweet child.” She whispered weakly.

“Save your energy now.” You managed to free her, and then pulled her to your lap.

“I will be seeing my beloveds now.” She smiled.

“No,” you hissed. “you are going to live.”

She reassured. “It is alright. I have fulfilled everything that was asked of me, and what I wished for.”

“Mother-!”

“-You will look after him, won’t you?”

You wanted to cry; you wished that sadness was the first thing you felt. But no, it was anger. Still, you nodded. “I will, but you will be there to make sure he takes care of me too!”

“He shall.” Was all she said.

“You will live, just please stop talking.”

“I love you.”

“Lucilla…” Your voice broke.

“Tell Lucius I would do this all again for him.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Lucilla rose her hand to your cheek, brushing it tenderly one last time.

Her eyes were held open as she went limp in your arms. You closed her eyelids, knowing her gaze would haunt you.

You did not move for the first hour, nor did you cry out in despair. It was when the sun was completely gone, and you tore yourself away from her corpse did you collapse into a fit of sobs.

The ugliest sounds were released from your mouth as you could barely stand. You do not know how long you cried, but when you could finally move again, you crawled to the nearest sword, and trailed it behind you before climbing back up onto the wagon.

You tied the rope from her body around her legs, and brought her back into your lap, sword in hand.

There was no rest for you that night. You would nearly drift off into sleep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give in until you could bury her properly. You also couldn’t bring yourself to bury her at the same time.

When you had lost time altogether, and the sky was purple as twilight broke, a gentle hand shook you.

Raising the sword in surprise, you felt your body relax once you saw Lucius. You should have asked how he survived, what happened to Macrinus, anything else…but all you said was.

“I wouldn’t let anyone touch her.”

He nodded, tears threatening to fall as he gazed upon his dead mother. He took a deep breath. “May I take her?”

You handed her to him, and he took her into his arms. You scooted off the wagon, your eyes reddened and exhausted.

“Where,” you cleared your throat. “Where should she be buried?”

“I…” He heaved. “I know where my father’s grave is.”

“Okay.” Was all you managed.

And you walked by his side, neither of you knowing what your fate would befall in Rome.

Yet…once both slaves, you were now free.

[reignpage]

First Friend

Your daughter has an imaginary friend. 

The doctors, all six of them, explained that it’s normal for toddlers to have an over-active imagination, in fact, it’s a good sign. She must be really smart. And when the top paediatricians in the country tell you all is well, who are you to argue?

‘She’s only four, she’ll grow out of it,’ your mother-in-law says. 

And you’re inclined to believe her; she’s done this before, after all. 

Warm and welcoming, you never turn her away when she shows up at your door unannounced multiple times a week with various gifts: cookies, banana bread, baby clothes, groceries, and tonight, a bottle of wine. 

‘How are you?’ Her eyes are full of worry, and right as you open your mouth, she clarifies, ‘How are you really?’

You tell her you’re fine, that your daughter’s a handful and she’s the best distraction around. The woman doesn’t seem to believe you, instead she wordlessly pours you another glass, and you watch the red liquid swirl as if entranced. 

She’s been the greatest support you could ever have; radiating comfort, grace, and kindness, you know she’ll be a much better role model for your daughter than you will ever be, because no matter how hard you try, you can’t ever seem to replicate that patient smile she always has. 

‘My son loved you very much.’

You gulp the blood-red liquid down. 

Most times she doesn’t dare mention him, and you assume it was because it was just as painful for her as it is for you, but now you know it’s because she’s walking on eggshells, worried you will snap. 

It’s laughable, really. A woman with a variety of health problems, fighting a losing battle with time as evidenced by the wrinkles that map her face, is worried about you. She should worry about herself, if she knows what’s good for her.

Guilt starts to gnaw at you; you shouldn’t think about her like that. She’s been nothing but kind, picking up the pieces that you’ve left to fester, and taking charge every time you’ve stumbled. 

She may be your greatest supporter. 

She’s also the most painful reminder of what you stand to lose as a mother. 

Looser and calmer, you feel your inhibitions slip with every glass. your mind starts to wander, about a past life, and a man long gone, and everything that could have been. This always happened at night, when your daughter’s asleep, all the chores are done, and all that’s left to do is to watch the lights flicker in silence. 

‘I’m worried the imaginary friend’s a cause of, I don’t know, trauma or something.’

You hadn’t meant to say that. 

You aren’t supposed to say that.

She sighs. 

‘She’s too young to remember.’

That isn’t true, you almost say, but you don’t. She wouldn’t be able to bear it — her hands are shaking with both the burn of the loss and the coldness of the time ticking away in the distance. It’s likely she believes that as much as you do, maybe she repeats that mantra as often as she can, the way you do, and maybe she needs to believe in that, in something, to ease the sorrow. 

You don’t get that relief. 

Because you know your daughter has been affected by the sudden loss. Psychologically tainted. The doctors disagree but you’re a mother, you know these things. 

Otherwise, how can it be possible that she calls her imaginary friend something you’ve never taught her, something she never got to learn?

‘Dada Kenny.’

[nagaytoe]

Got a req! Howlw about some angst? What would happen after the bad end?

Evanescent

(Adj.) Soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence; quickly fading or disappearing

Solivan Brugmansia X Reader

TWs: Murder, attempted murder, weapons, just a lot of death in general, loss of loved one, shifting blame, like one mention of necrophilia

Word count: 2.3k

I am currently cooking up 3 more scenarios of what could've happened after the bad end on day 2 but this is the first one that's actually finished (there were just too many ideas popping into my head so ofc i have to write for all of them lmao)

Requests: open

Disclaimer: i tried my best to proof-read it and tried using they/them pronouns but when i first wrote it i used she/her, i just hope i got all of 'em lol

Also, apparently 'whose' can also be used for objects as well and not just for people??? Sounds wrong to me but if the internet says it's right then lets hope its right haha

SPOILERS FOR DAY 2 OF THE KID AT THE BACK

Sol was inconsolable, his face buried in your neck, tears staining your shirt. His arms were wrapped around you but you didn’t reciprocate the gesture. How could you anyways? You were dead. Stabbed by Sol's only friend, Hyugo, who was currently cleaning up the gory scene.

---------------------------------------------------

Just a few moments ago you stumbled upon a horrifying view: Your friend, best friend, and your first love, Jericho Ichabod, laid on the dirty ground of a shed whose door you just broke down, his head barely attached to the neck.

Your knees gave in beneath you as soon as you gazed upon Crowe, grabbing his body, shaking it and willing him to wake up again. How could this happen? He was well liked, nice to everyone he met, who would think about taking his life? You barely registered footsteps behind you because of how loud you were sobbing, but the clanking of metal on the ground didn't slip past you. Turning around, your eyes are met with the sight of someone you didn't expect. You expected a gang leader, a thug, everyone but the one who actually stood in front of you.

Solivan Brugmansia

Just yesterday you befriended the seemingly timid boy and now he was soaked in blood, his red eyes wide as your gazes met.

“[____]...?” Tears of his own started to well up in his eyes which currently roamed over your hunched figure.

“What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here, you need to leave!” By the end of his sentence he was yelling, tears streaming down his face.

Truly a miserable, pathetic sight.

“You killed him, you killed Crowe, didn't you?” Anger was bubbling up in the pit of your stomach. On the inside you were praying to whatever god was watching from heaven above, if there even was one to begin with, that all this was nothing more than a bad dream, hoping insistently to wake up. However, this was a nightmare you were not permitted to ever wake up from.

“I only did what I should've done years ago.” His words caused you to huff in disbelief, “You're not even gonna deny it, huh?”

“I would never lie to you, [____]” Was he fucking serious? He just killed someone, but at least he's not a liar? What the hell was wrong with him?! You were enraged, he had no reason to kill Crowe, to play god by ending his life and taking your love from you.

“Why? Why did you kill him?!”

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU AND HE TRIED TO TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME! I COULDN'T SIT BY AND LET THAT HAPPEN… YOU'RE MINE! MINE ALONE!” he finally snapped, showing his true colors. Was everything he showed you before just a facade? It had to be.

The words he just spoke left a disgusting taste in your mouth. Love? Love?! How dare he use this sweet word in such a disgusting fashion? How dare he taint it in order to justify his vile actions? It made you sick to your stomach and you were blinded by rage as you lunged at him.

“YOU MONSTER!”

You unbuckled the strap of his choker and pulled on it, strangling him in the process.

“YOU LOVE ME?! I LOVED HIM! HE WAS EVERYTHING TO ME! MY BEST FRIEND, MY FIRST LOVE, MY SAVIOR! YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME, I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU! DON'T YOU DARE IMAGINE YOU KNOW ME IN THE SLIGHTEST! I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE!”

Sol was clawing at your wrists by now, but it was no use, every action of his seemed slow and heavy, as if it took a lot of effort, almost as if he was paralyzed.

His hands fell to the side and just as you thought you managed to avenge your love something sharp pierced through your chest.

--

Here you were, taking your last breaths in the arms of the person you despise most.

“[____], please… please stay with me… don't leave me [____]...” his pleas were a stark contrast to what he is screaming at the person who stabbed you.

“HOW COULD YOU!? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!”

Then he went back to sobbing into your shoulder. He seemed completely out of it, switching between grief and anger every other second.

You couldn't seem to make out the words your killer was saying, everything they said was incoherent, except for the last two words:

“No witnesses.”

---------------------------------------------------

“What do you plan on doing? Hold them until they start rotting?”

Hyugo was standing in front of Sol, who was still sitting on the ground, sobbing and cradling you in his arms. After he managed to clean up the scene, the only thing left to do was the disposal of your corpse.

“Just kill me alongside them.” Sols voice was quiet, barely above a whisper and it was strained from crying and screaming so much. It hurt Hyugo to see his best friend like that.

“You know very well I can't do that.”

“YOU WERE ABLE TO KILL THEM THOUGH! I JUST GOT THEM BACK AND YOU TOOK THEM FROM ME!”

Hyugo couldn't hold back his anger anymore. How could Sol still fail to see that this would've never worked out either way?

“THEY TRIED TO KILL YOU!”

Hyugo sighed deeply in an effort to calm himself before continuing, “Even if I had only knocked them out, do you think they would’ve forgiven you for killing Crowe-”

“Don't you dare bring up that bastards name. All of this is his fault anyways. If it hadn't been for him… me and my sweet [____] would still be together now…”

Sols voice was laced with venom as he gripped your body tighter. You have stopped breathing by now, the color has long drained from your face and the warmth of your skin has vanished. All that was left was an empty shell of who you once were.

Just yesterday, you were breathing, talking, laughing. Now? Now you will never be able to do any such thing again.

“It was you or them, Sol. I need you to understand that. Do you truly believe they could've loved you back after finding out you killed someone? Do you think the two of you would have lived happily ever after?” The blue haired man was trying his best to reason with his best friend, but to no avail.

“We could've made it work, I know that we would have… We were destined to be together, there wouldn't have been any other way…Maybe I should just keep them…”

“Sol.” Hyugo put his hand on the taller males shoulder, who was still sitting on the sheds ground. “We need to bury them.”

Sol seemed to be pondering for a moment, the hold he had on your body relentless.

“I can't… I can't let them go. They're gonna be really scared if we bury them and leave them in the darkness forever…”

“Sol, I'll repeat myself one last time. We need to bury them. What else are we supposed to do with their body? Keep it?” Hyugo put his hands on his hips, his patience wearing thin.

“I see no reason to not keep it…” the males words were muttered, but his friend was still able to hear them.

“You can't be serious! Do you know what happens to a body when it decays? They'll have 2 weeks at best before there's nothing left of them, except for the bones.”

Sol knew his friend was right, but how was he supposed to let go of you?

“They deserve a gravestone… a funeral… they deserve a memorial and not to be buried in the woods like some dead animal…”

Hyugo sighed. He knew that there is pretty much nothing he could do right now to convince Sol to do the right thing, he will keep arguing until he gets his way.

“What's your plan?”

Sol considered his options for a few moments before responding,

“Let's call the cops, make it look like an accident or shift the blame onto someone else”

Hyugo scoffed, “And what do you plan to tell them? We don't exactly have an alibi and there aren't that many families with Katanas either, you know? The only other family I can think of right now is Subarus.”

Red eyes met Hyugos teal ones, it's obvious an idea struck Sol. “That's right…”

Hyugo immediately cut Sol off before the latter could finish his sentence.

“Absolutely not! I will not drag my brothers family into this.”

“He doesn't even like you!” Sol retorted.

The shorter males eyes grew wide for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure.

“You know what? Do whatever you want. Keep their body like some necrophilie if that's what you desire.” Turning on his heel, Hyugo began walking off. He already took care of everything necessary, cleaning the scene and disposing of the weapons alongside Crowes body. He was not in the mood to argue with someone whose judgment was clouded and wouldn't even listen to him in the first place.

Sols rage grew stronger by the minute. How dared he? Hyugo killed his one and only soulmate in cold blood, like they were nothing and now he walked off just like that? No… No, he won't. Sol won't let that happen. He couldn't let him disrespect you like that. Carefully lowering your body to the ground and standing up, just as Hyugo walked out of the cabin, Sol quickly lunged at the shorter, unsuspecting male.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that Hyugo might be good with weapons but he wasn't all that strong physically.

Well, at least he was weaker than Sol. Since Hyugo buried his katana alongside any other evidence all he can fight with were his bare hands.

“SOL, GET OFF OF ME!”

Sols hands wrapped themselves around Hyugos throat, just like yours were wrapped around his not even half an hour ago. Pressing his friend's head into the dirt ground, Sol is blinded by rage. Hyugo clawed at the taller males wrists, kicking him but Sols grip won't loosen. Letting go of the hands that were wrapped around his throat, Hyugo felt the dirt ground around him for something he can potentially defend himself with and sure enough - he managed to grab ahold of a rock, swiftly smashing it against the side of Sols head.

The taller male staggered and collapsed on the floor next to Hyugo, who hit the exact right spot to knock someone out.

Hyugo stood up, dusting off his clothes and sighing. What a mess. He knew that he needed to get rid of the body, even if it'll drive Sol further into madness.

So that's what he did. He buried [____]s body deep in the forest before sitting down by Sol's side, waiting for him to wake up.

—————————

Sol didn't attempt to kill Hyugo again after the first time, though part of the reason might be the ax Hyugo found in the shed and kept on him afterwards for self-protection. Either way, Sol acted like Hyugo didn't exist. To him he was dead anyways.

He tried his best, tried to go to school but the next days there were hell. People talked, gossiped, conspired as to what could've happened to [____] and Crowe. Were they kidnapped by the mafia? Did they commit suicide together? Did they run away together? Did they join a cult? People made up all kinds of stories in order to make sense of the situation, but only Sol and Hyugo were the ones who knew the truth.

After a few days, Sol stopped going to school. He couldn't handle it any longer.

Every time he sat in his classes he would draw you, instead of paying attention to what the teacher was saying.

Every time he sat in art class he was met with the sight of your unoccupied seat.

Every time lunch break rolled around he would go to the library where the two of you met and sit down in the seat he sat in on that day.

After school he would go to your apartment complex and break into your apartment to lay down on your bed, hugging your sheets and pillows, pretending they were you.

Hyugo never told Sol where he had buried you, too anxious about what Sol might do were he to know where you've been buried.

Not even a week passed before Sol decided what he had to do next.

On monday, almost a whole week after your death, Sol went back to school. The place where he first saw you, where he fell for you and in whose proximity you had died. Though, instead of attending class, he walked up the stairs to the school roof. The cool november breeze brushed over his face, twirling his hair and swaying single strands from side to side.

He climbed over the fence, briefly sitting down on it.

There was no further purpose in living, that, he was sure of. He lost his only purpose and what meaning does life have if it has to be spent without you, his darling?

All he could do was atone for his sins.

His mind is occupied with memories of you as he leapt forwards, clutching his fist to his chest where his heart resided.

“See you soon, pumpkin.”

Everything went dark as his body met the ground. There was no pain, there was no afterthought. All that's there is nothingness.

Of course, to the people now surrounding his body there was a gruesome scene, perhaps they would prefer nothingness as well. But if there was nothingness, there would be no note either, tucked away in his fist.

“In the forest”, the note read.

Sol promised to atone for his sins and he would never lie to you, remember?

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [14]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 13 | Fic Masterlist | Part 15

"J-Jinjoo? Is that you?"

Your breath caught in your throat as you observed the scars scattered across her body, wounds that hadn't been there the last time you saw her. The severity of her punishment was evident, and judging by the marks, it seemed unlikely they would fade anytime soon, if ever.

The younger girl smirked bitterly, "Are you happy now? All five of us have been beaten nearly to death, left with scars that will likely never fully heal in this lifetime. Mother will serve until the day she dies, and the three of us will pay for a good chunk of our lives!"

As if anticipating your inquiry about the former minister, she shook her head and balled her fists, "Father has endured enough beatings and torture to render him almost paralysed, and guess what? He's been exiled to god knows where. If you want more details, perhaps you should ask your husband about it."

Your heart sank at the mention of Seonghwa, "Wh-what do you mean? Your punishments were determined by His Majesty. Why would my husband be involved—"

She scoffed incredulously, "Did you truly forget who General Park really is? He sat back and enjoyed the show while we suffered, allowing the torture to happen. That absolute monster—he did this to us; he ruined our lives forever. I mean, sure, we weren't great to you either, but look at you now, Lady Park. It's all thanks to us that you're who you are today."

Noting your silence, she continued with a sly edge, "Though I wouldn't celebrate too soon if I were you. Who's to say when he'll show his true colours once he's grown tired of you?"

Before you could respond, Hongjoong appeared at your side, his tone laced with disbelief, "Worry about yourself first, peasant. Oh, the audacity of this young lady. Do you even realise who you're addressing? How dare you try to twist this around and play the victim? You and your family got what you deserved. Count yourself lucky that you're still alive and well, hm?"

The dressmaker turned to signal the factory owner and the elderly man immediately rushed over anxiously, "S-sir, what brings you to this part of the factory? P-please, allow me to escort you out."

Halting the man, Hongjoong gestured towards your stepsister, "This one right here was being disrespectful to Lady Park. Would you mind teaching her a good lesson for me? Otherwise, I may have to reconsider our choice of fabric supplier."

Suddenly realising her mistake, Jinjoo trembled like a leaf under the owner's stern gaze. He bowed repeatedly at you and your friend, "O-of course, sir! Rest assured, I'll ensure she never forgets her manners again. You have my word!"

As Hongjoong guided you out of the store, you remained silent, your thoughts swirling from the disturbing revelation that the general had been involved in the punishments of your family.

Walking alongside the dressmaker, the weight of the revelation bore down on you like a suffocating blanket. The image of Seonghwa, once your loving husband, now tainted with the sinister aura of someone who could watch others suffer without flinching, haunted your thoughts. Sure, you were there to witness him extracting the confession from your father, but you never fathomed that he would actually be involved in the subsequent punishment.

Your stepsister's words echoed in your mind, stirring up a cocktail of dread and uncertainty. Could it be true? Have you really forgotten the true nature of General Park? The man you had once trusted implicitly now appeared in a new, unsettling light. The realisation sent shivers down your spine as you contemplated the implications.

Fear gnawed at your insides as you entertained the chilling possibility that if he could inflict such cruelty upon your family, what would stop him from doing the same to you if ever he grew displeased? The thought sent a chill down your spine, leaving you questioning everything you once believed about the man you loved.

Throughout the remainder of the day, you remained unusually quiet, your thoughts clearly elsewhere. Hongjoong opted not to pry, deciding to wait until you were back within the safety of your home before broaching the subject. Despite his efforts to lighten the mood and draw a smile from you, it seemed futile. He was acutely aware of the impact Jinjoo's words must have had on you, especially given your delicate emotional state. After enduring years of mistreatment, he could see how trusting others fully must be an immense challenge.

Later that evening as you sat down for dinner together, he finally broke the silence, setting down his chopsticks with a sigh, "What's on your mind, Lady Park? You know you can talk to me, right?"

You paused at his question, pondering whether to confide in him about your inner turmoil. How would he respond? Would he be disappointed in you? After all, the general was his close friend. It seemed likely he would take Seonghwa's side and defend him. Though your husband hadn't given you any reason to doubt his affection thus far, his decision to hide this information from you must carry some significance.

"It's nothing, Hongjoong. Maybe I'm just feeling a bit weary after our day out," You mumbled, resuming your meal and hurriedly stuffing more food into your mouth to avoid conversation. He frowned at your behaviour and gently intervened, placing a hand on yours, "Hey, hey, slow down. The food isn't going anywhere; it's all yours."

With his arms crossed over his chest, he shook his head disapprovingly, "Who are you trying to fool with that lie? You might be able to deceive anyone, even your dumb husband, but not me. You were perfectly fine until you ran into your... into her."

You froze, caught red-handed in your attempt to deflect. You should have known better than to think you could fool Hongjoong with such a feeble excuse. Instead of scolding you, he softened, uncrossing his arms and leaning in, his eyes full of understanding.

"Listen, I'm sorry I wasn't there by your side to defend you earlier. I should have prevented all of that from happening today; it's entirely my fault. When I heard what she said to you, I knew it would affect you. And now, seeing you like this, I can tell I was right. Don't you dare believe any of her ridiculous words, you hear me?"

Setting down your chopsticks shakily, you turned to face him, despair etched clearly on your features, "But Hongjoong, what if there's truth in what she was saying? Wh-what if he eventually grows tired of me? Will I end up suffering like all of them too?"

The dressmaker didn't have the heart to berate you, understanding your doubts despite the internal frustration he felt at your stepsister for undoing all the trust you had in Seonghwa with just a few words.

He released a deep breath and offered a smile, "Have you forgotten everything I've told you about how he's different when it comes to you? He would never do anything to hurt you; I can vouch for him. As ruthless as General Park can be, he reserves that side only for those who deserve it. Your family deserves every bit of the punishment they received for the harm they caused you. You shouldn't feel any guilt for them, you know?"

Hongjoong leaned in closer, his tone softening, "Trust me, she's just jealous of you. It's obvious she's envious of the life you have now, and she's intentionally trying to stir up trouble between you and your husband. Don't let her get to you. You and Seonghwa have something special, something she'll never understand."

As his words sank in, you felt a slight sense of relief wash over you. It did make sense that Jinjoo would resort to such tactics out of jealousy. After all, her resentment towards you had always been evident. You felt ashamed for entertaining the possibility of your husband hurting you when he had only ever been good towards you.

However, the memory of the scars on your stepsister's body lingered in your mind, knowing the ones on your father and stepmother were even worse than what you've seen. While you recognised that your family deserved the consequences of their actions, the realisation that Seonghwa had played a part in their suffering made you feel sick to your stomach. Your emotions were in disarray; it was difficult to act nonchalant after learning the unsettling truth.

Despite the turmoil raging within you like a storm, you didn't want to add to your friend's concerns. Putting on a smile, you nodded, "You're right, Hongjoong. I must be silly to let her words affect me like this." You forced a light chuckle and went back to your meal, hoping to change the subject.

Though the dressmaker felt somewhat reassured that you acknowledged his advice, he sensed you were still troubled by what you had learned. He could only hope that with time, you would be able to move past Jinjoo's words. The last thing Seonghwa needed upon his return from war was to find his beloved wife fearful of him.

Damnit, I shouldn't have taken her there.

"General Park hasn't arrived yet, you say? Well, who would have thought he'd become such a loving husband? This Lady Park must be quite remarkable for him to—"

Rolling his eyes, the general heard the familiar deep voice gossiping about him from outside the main tent, where meetings would take place. With a loud clear of his throat, he pulled open the flap and entered, his presence immediately causing everyone in the room to straighten up, "I'm here now, Mingi. It would be great if you could cease your idle chatter and get to work at once."

"S-sir! It's been a while, you look good—"

"Save it, Officer Song."

Acknowledging the command with a salute, the taller man swiftly proceeded to the central table, laying out numerous documents detailing the strategies he had developed, "Yes sir, here are some of the plans I've drafted thus far."

Seonghwa nodded approvingly and approached him. As he listened to his colleague's explanations, a satisfied smirk graced his lips, affirming his keen judgement in promoting the right individual.

General Officer Song had risen to become one of the most esteemed military strategists in Joseon, all thanks to General Park's recommendation. Your husband was notoriously difficult to impress, but Mingi's exceptional talents caught his attention during a particularly challenging battle many years ago. Despite being a mere low-ranking soldier at the time, he devised a brilliant plan that ultimately turned the odds in their favour, leading to an epic victory.

"Ruhon is known to be rash in their decision-making; their impulsiveness is evident in their sudden attack plans," The taller man explained, his fingers tracing over strategic points on the map, "We can capitalise on this by striking where they least expect us. Through my research, I've identified blind spots that will catch them off guard. May I have authorisation to deploy troops to these locations, sir?"

The general nodded decisively, "I have faith in your judgement, Officer Song. You've never let me down in all our years together; I'm confident this time will be no exception."

"Thank you, sir."

Once all the necessary arrangements had been finalised and everyone had been briefed on their roles, the meeting came to an end. While the other officers and soldiers hurried off to relay the information discussed and carry out their assigned duties, Officer Song lingered behind, sharing a knowing look with the general.

Taking a seat beside the person he considered his friend and mentor, Mingi offered a genuine smile, "Congratulations on your recent marriage, hyung-nim."

Returning the smile, Seonghwa gave the taller man a pat on the back, "Thank you, Mingi-yah. I hope you've been well these past few years. Once this is all over, might I hear news of your own wedding?"

Blushing faintly, the strategist shook his head, "Unfortunately, I haven't found my one yet. But I am happy for you, general. Everyone in Joseon seems to know about your new wife and her difficult past. I'm just glad you found each other. I heard you were granted a few days with Lady Park before coming here. How is she holding up?"

The mention of his wife brought a pang of discomfort, evoking memories of your heartbreaking farewell. Throughout his journey to the war site, your husband couldn't shake the image of your tear-stained face, "She's... she's handling it better than I expected, or maybe that's just what she's showing me. When I told her about my departure, she didn't break down. Instead, she smiled at me with understanding and simply asked when I would be leaving."

"Huh, did she really?" Mingi mused, a hint of admiration in his tone, "I suppose now I understand why you're so smitten with her. It seems she's truly as delightful as the rumours claimed." Even from the snippets of what he had heard, the strategist could tell that Lady Park was indeed an extraordinary person, and he could see why Seonghwa held you in such high regard.

With a nod, the general's expression grew sombre, "Indeed, she truly is. But I won't lie and say I'm not worried about her," He admitted, "When she first arrived, I treated her poorly. I mistook her for just another spoiled brat, only to learn she's suffered a life far worse than mine. I'll never forgive myself for that. From that moment on, I vowed to give her nothing but the best. You know, I had plans for a grand wedding, a chance to make up for everything..."

Officer Song's face mirrored your husband's solemnity as realisation dawned, "Then this war happened..."

"Yeah, but that's not all," Seonghwa continued, his voice heavy with worry, "I just... God, what if I don't return to her? I've only just found her..."

Bowing his head, the general felt overwhelmed by his concerns. Mingi placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, "Have you forgotten who you are? You're General Park of Joseon, the King's most trusted warrior. If anyone can make it out of this war unscathed, it would be you. Trust me, you will make it back to Lady Park. And you better invite me to that wedding of yours." The strategist said, his words laced with a touch of humour.

Despite the weight of his worries, your husband chuckled softly, nodding gratefully at the reassurance, "Of course, Mingi."

Before the two could continue their conversation, a soldier barged into the tent, panting heavily, "General Park! Some of Ruhon's troops have been spotted approaching. We need you out there!"

Alright, let's get this over with.

Meanwhile, back in the general's estate, you found yourself in your usual spot in the pavilion. Lady etiquette books lay scattered around, forgotten as your gaze drifted distantly over the tranquil lotus pond.

Regardless of the overwhelming emotions that had consumed you the day before upon learning the truth about your family's punishments, you couldn't deny the longing in your heart for Seonghwa's presence. Being alone in the pavilion now felt even lonelier than before. Accustomed to his warm embrace, his absence left a void that seemed impossible to fill.

However, as you contemplated the absence of your husband's comforting presence, conflicting emotions surged within you.

No matter how hard you tried, you simply couldn't shake the unsettling realisation that the same hands that held you close were also stained with the blood of countless others. Hongjoong's reassurances echoed in your mind, yet a nagging doubt persisted. While he assured you that the general would never harm you, your moral compass grappled with the knowledge that he was capable of inflicting pain without hesitation, regardless of justification.

It just felt so... wrong.

"Ah, is this the famous lotus pond you've mentioned, Miss Jang?" The unexpected voice startled you out of your thoughts. Turning to confirm your suspicions, you let out a loud gasp at the sight of the fourth prince standing before you.

You scrambled to your feet immediately, performing the formal bow, "Y-your Highness! What brings you here?"

Rushing up behind Yeosang, the head maid panted heavily, bowing deeply before you and shooting an apologetic glance, "Mistress, I am so sorry for not alerting you of our guest! His Highness showed up spontaneously without making an appointment prior and wouldn't allow any of us to announce his arrival."

Eunsook nearly had a heart attack when one of the maids informed her that the prince had arrived unannounced, waiting to be greeted at the entrance of the estate. Jongho was absent, having gone out with a few other servants to replenish household essentials. Rushing over, she found that Yeosang had insisted on surprising you personally, leaving her flustered and anxious. With her master now at war, it was evident to her that His Highness was attempting to make an advance on you.

The prince couldn't help but grin at how adorably confused and caught off guard you looked, "Yes, that's right. I wanted to surprise you, Miss Jang. Are you surprised?"

Quickly regaining your composure and summoning the poise of a noblewoman, you nodded, "I guess I am, Your Highness," You said before turning to dismiss the elderly woman with an assuring smile, "It's alright, Eunsook. I was growing slightly bored anyway. Come, Prince Yeosang, let me show you around, and you can tell me why you've decided to pay us a surprise visit."

Recalling his fondness for flowers, you led him through the winding paths of the estate's gardens, each turn revealing a new burst of colour and fragrance. Sunlight danced through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the well-tended flowerbeds, "Now, I know our humble garden obviously cannot compare to the ones in the palace, but I am very proud of our servants' hard work. What do you think, Your Highness?"

While your eyes remained fixed on the colourful flowers, the prince's gaze was captivated by you, his admiring gaze lingering on your graceful movements amidst the blooms.

"I agree; I think it's absolutely enchanting. While it may be humble, it surpasses the beauty of any of the palace's gardens." He remarked, his words carrying a subtle double meaning. He wondered if you could discern the implied compliment; he was indirectly comparing you to the royals in the palace. In his eyes, you outshone any of his sisters, his father's concubines, and all the potential candidates ever presented to him.

Yeosang found himself torn between amusement and slight disappointment as you appeared genuinely oblivious to the deeper meaning of his words. Your reply, however, pleased him, "Thank you, Your Highness. It seems you have good taste," You attempted a joke. Fortunately, he laughed in response, "I think I do too, my lady."

He halted his steps and turned to you, "I have a question," He said, and you nodded, encouraging him to continue, "Go on. Ask away, Your Highness."

"Even with all these beautiful flowers here, is your favourite still the lotus?" Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the lotus, a symbol closely tied to memories of your husband. Determined not to show any hint of turmoil, you nodded and answered steadily, "Of course, my prince."

The prince kept his smile intact, "Hmm, I see. Is it solely because the general dedicated a pond full of them to you?"

When you remained silent, he clarified, "What I mean is, if you had the freedom to choose, which flower would truly be your favourite? Instead of accepting what's given to you, I believe you should have the right to make your own choice." It was another subtle suggestion that you should be able to choose your own path, including your life partner, rather than conforming to arrangements made for you.

It appeared that you had grasped the underlying meaning of his words this time. You blinked rapidly as you gathered your thoughts before letting out a chuckle, "Ah, I suppose that hadn't crossed my mind," Shifting the topic, you continued, "Anyway, let us move on from idle chatter. Why don't you enlighten me on the purpose of your surprise visit, Your Highness? With my husband away, I'm unsure if there's anything I can assist you with."

Sensing your slight discomfort, Yeosang decided to get straight to the point, "Right, I'm aware General Park is currently away, bravely fighting for our country. That's precisely why I'm here—I was hoping you would be able to represent him at my upcoming birthday banquet. Her Majesty, the Queen, has also expressed her desire to meet you in person."

Your eyes widened at that, "Sh-she has?"

« Preview of Part 15 »

Feeling like you were left with little choice but to agree, you accepted the prince's invitation to his upcoming birthday banquet, scheduled just a week away.

Since bidding him goodbye, you had confined yourself to Seonghwa's study, burying yourself in your studies. The weight of the upcoming royal event weighed heavily on you. It would mark your debut in royal circles, and facing it without your husband by your side added to your nerves. Could anyone fault you for feeling anxious?

You contemplated seeking help. While Eunsook was supportive, her knowledge of palace affairs was limited. Would Hongjoong or Yunho be able to offer insight? Perhaps Jongho, with his years of service to the general, might have some valuable advice.

A light bulb went off in your head when you remembered San, the King's royal secretary. Surely, he would be the most knowledgeable about the matters you needed help with. However, your enthusiasm waned when you realised you had no means of reaching out to him. Moreover, you doubted he would have time to spare for a little woman like you, given his busy schedule.

Palming your forehead tiredly, you suddenly noticed a shadowy figure loitering suspiciously outside the study. Their silhouette, visible through the paper walls, didn't resemble anyone familiar, and it sent a shiver down your spine. If it had been one of the estate staff, they usually would have announced themselves.

Jumping to your feet, you instinctively grabbed the inkstone from Seonghwa's desk, preparing to defend yourself. With cautious steps, you approached the entrance where the unknown person lingered, apparently trying to catch a glimpse of you, "Who's there? I know you're not one of my staff. If you do not reveal yourself, I won't hesitate to hurt you!"

Your yelp escaped when the individual abruptly swung the door open in response to your words, "Woah woah, it's just me!" He reassured, causing you to pause with the stone halfway raised as you blinked in recognition, "O-oh, it's you..."

Scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, he apologised, "I'm sorry for startling you, Lady Park. In case you forgot, my name is Wooyoung. I'm here on the general's orders to assist you should you need anything."

Dun dun dunnn! Wonder what Prince Yeosang has up his sleeves heeheeee anyway, I just wanted to tell y'all that I'm about to have another crazy week ahead. So, like this part, the next one is probably gonna take a while too😭

Also, Happy Lunar New Year to those of you who celebrate it! As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[greycloudsinwinter]

Hii, could you write a Yandere Jacaerys Velaryon with a Targaryen reader? (the reader is Viserys and Alicent's daughter)

YANDERE JACAERYS VELARYON X TARGERYAN READER

🌊 you were the second daughter to alicent Hightower born after aemond . Alicent often spoiled you since unlike your other siblings you were close to normal. Normal in being that you didn’t cause trouble or rumours.

🌊your half sister rhaenyra had brought up the discussion of your betrothal to the small council. Alicent desperately tried to keep you away from your half sister and her plain featured sons however failed to do so and as a way to repair the family you and your nephew jacaerys would wed on your sixteenth name day.

🌊jacaerys wanted a marriage full of love and trust so he tried to find out everything about you. however he didn’t know was doing this would cause him to fall into a pit of infatuation.

🌊his obsession grew quickly and just as quickly as it came the stronger it grew. He began to become possessive demanding that as his future bride you should only be around him and no others since they could taint you. He even brought it up to the council staring alicent in the eyes as he said “I would not want my future bride to be tainted by I’ll willed men and bastards” leaving alicent in a fit of rage . As she knew and everyone knew who the true bastards where in king’s landing.he was left successful so you are no longer around any others other then him and your mother…

🌊he forces you to wear red all green is burned in your wardrobe.

🌊anyone dares look at you will be fed to vermax under suspicious circumstances that they had somehow made there way to the dragon pit and went to see a dragon.( they didn’t jacaerys forced them to go down there and vermax feeling his riders feelings did as he was told ).

🌊as soon as you are married he takes you to dragon stone there you can only have his company he doesn’t allow you to have maids he says “I can’t trust them with you you far to important to me “.

🌊he wants an heir really bad so he gets to work if you can’t have a child for some reason he blames it on your mother and the greens .

🌊he does spoil you loads by giving you jewels and trin keys that you may not need but looks gorgeous.

🌊if you have a dragon he will not allow you to ride it he will only allow you to ride with him on his dragon.

🌊if for whatever reason you have to go in public he showers you in pda and I mean SHOWERS you.

🌊when the dance of dragons begins he is frustrated and the news of his brothers death just adds to it . He will be furious and throw tantrums and will say things like “your lucky little star I got you out of there when I did !” And “now can you see why I must keep you here in this room those ignorant usurpers are traitors and would’ve tainted you without a single thought… I saved you “

🌊he will guilt trip you and manipulate you with every trick in the book until your truly obedient for him don’t get me wrong though he will 100% be loyal to you and anything you wish is yours there are only two rules :

1. Stay with him

2. Don’t ever try and leave him.

🌊he is 7/10 not the worse yandere to have but definitely not the best . Overall good luck …

Thank you for the request ❤️❤️

[jesssssssssica]

cause you were never mine mv1

You should've known from the beginning to never listen to the whispered promises that he had told you at night as you laid against one another skin to skin. You should've never listened to the false dreams and aspirations that he had promised would come true, even going as far as to swear that he would 'Leave her and the rest of the world behind so you two could run away to somewhere so much further than here.'

It all sounded so promising and beautiful that it was almost impossible to try and fight back down the sinking feeling in your stomach every single time you saw him and her holding each other so passionately in the paddock.

Truthfully, you had known that the possibility of this having a positive outcome in general was slim to none and yet the simple prospect of living happily with a man that you were infatuated with wiped away your realisation.

Which is why it hurt you so much to see that all the promises that he had made had been all lies. He was expecting a child with a woman who was not you, starting a family with someone who was not you and would never be you.

Nothing could've prepared you for the sickening feeling you felt every single time a reporter had come and asked you about how you felt about the arrival of a 'Verstappen-Piquet', whilst also having to keep a calm and collected composure under the watchful gaze of the journalists, all eagerly waiting to scribble down the nonsense you had to say,

"It's amazing news, i'm really happy for them. I always knew Max wanted to become a father."

Lies. All of it lies. At least most of it lies.

It was true that Max had wanted to become a father as it was one of the things he would always say to you as he held you in his arms, stroking gently up and down your back in a way to soothe you into a deep sleep. You had always slept best when in the company of Max, with a warm heart and dreams tainted with innocence and motherhood.

But truly what had you expected? If Max had gone along with his now empty promises then it would've meant tearing apart a relationship with Penelope and that it would've piled onto the negative things that the media already wrote about you. It would've also led to the growth of even more misogynistic comments spoken about you and your journey into Formula One.

It just wasn't fair that he hadn't spoken to you beforehand, only pulling you aside on the Friday after the Instagram Post and the dinner that you had had the previous night, where you held hands beneath the table to calm each other's nerves. All that was spoken to you in that brief moment was of you having to reassure him that it was all okay and that you were happy for him.

Now that was complete and utter bullshit.

How was it okay for him to diminish you into a small child in a matter of seconds, having you feel as though you were being berated by a parent for daring to have such negative thoughts of what could be if you had just told him how you truthfully felt?

How was it okay for him to just burst this bubble full of bright and beautiful colours and reduce your world into black and white and leave you there stranded and alone whilst he gets to live his life happily ever after?

How was it okay for him to revert back to a sense of normality whereas you had to bathe in a pool of melancholy and feel the growth of pressure build upon your shoulders?

You should've just told him no in the first place, saving yourself over a year of having to sneak around and lie to those you loved most and stopping yourself from becoming drawn to the addictive personality that belonged to him. 

In a way you wanted to let your selfish side overwhelm your senses and just tell him how you truly felt but you knew that you would never be able to crawl out of the emotional debt of leaving a child to grow up in a broken home through the selfish act that could’ve been avoided. 

It was unfair how beautiful such a sinful and illicit thing could be and how hard you desired to experience it over and over again even with such a tragic ending, it even led you to question the sanity of yourself. 

Maybe one day you would be able to heal and move on from the memories of the fleeting time you had spent within the comfort of Max Verstappen, but for now you were just trying to survive the self-destructing feeling that bubbled within you every single time you would stare at the happiness radiating off of them, a stark comparison to the envy that reflected off of you, with hints of somberness seeping through as well. 

It was a shame that you had never met him first. It was something that left you awake at night, staring at the peeling paint that covered the ceiling, fingers fumbling within one another, desperately trying to succumb to sleep. It haunted you deeply. 

So now after everything, after the exchanges of your deepest and darkest secrets, you have to deal with the brief acknowledgement of one another, a nod or a wave being the only form of communication between one another, with his arm around the woman he’s decided to settle down with, whilst you have to accept the fact that he was never yours. 

And that's the thing about illicit affairs.

[animeshotsh]

Chains P2 | Yandere!Alastor x Overlord!Reader x Brother!Husk

Notes: I havent seen the season finale so this may have OOC characters/events/ canon divergence in terms of time.

Warnings: Yandere!Alastor | mentions of blood, fight, violence, cursing | Mentions of Alastor eating habits | grammar mistakes |

Tags: @lorkai

Staying at the hotel has proved to be both, good and bad. Good, because you got to be with your brother everyday, feeling his soul so close made your mood improve a lot. When in the past you would be more cruel, angry and always hissing now you found a part of yourself you thought you had lost. Smiling and purring (the last only with Husk), its was a good Change. You also could see the good the Hotel was making in your Brother. Now sober and less grumpy towards others. Showing sings of trust and affection.

Now the bad, or terrible was that Alastor was always around.

Always.

His shadows could not mix with yours thanks to your power, but they would follow you and then tell Alastor where you were. And Alastor knowing how much you hated him would appear, calling you "sweet" nicknames that made you give him the death stare.

On Alastor part he was trhilled to have you so close and without having to do something for it. He never undertood why you cared for Husk so much but he took it for his advantage, he knew you would not try to pick up a fight with him because of your brother. And seeing you, your eyes showing just how much you wanted nothing more to destory him but could not made him feel things he was not sure what they were but the feeling was not an unpleasent one.

~☆~☆~☆~☆

Husk prepared himself an early drink only for it to be snached form his hands. A glass of milk now replacing it.

He shoot an annoyed look but still decided to drink the milk, he took notice of the fish sandwich you have made for him too.

Oh, you could be so sweet.

"You need Real food" you simply stated, crossing your arms "I can just smell how bad you have been taking care of yourself"

"Im fine, you dont have to worry" Husk dismissed. He did not want you to find out how truly fucked he had been.

"Oh~ I would not say that!! As your owner I had to stand your smell and poor hehaviour. Its nice to have a sweet sister to be around right?" Alastor spook towering over Husk them appearing besides you. "A sister who's soul its tainted but has such a good smell and so powerfull" Alastor was salivating by now "I wonder if you teast such as good as you look my Dear! No other overlord could compare to-" Alastor was stopped when a very pissed Husk trow the rest of the milk towards his face.

"Stop talking about my sister"

"Husk-"

"And what did you just do" The voice of Alastor changed, its shadow getting bigger. His eyes now a deep black with no emotion with his clawns being out and ready to attack Husk.

"I say, dont, talk, about, my, sister," Husk responded his love for you overcoming his fear of Alastor's power. He could crush his soul if he wanted.

In response Alasto's shadow started to grow, his teet got sharper, horns bigger as well as his claws and body. His eyes now a deep black with pupils like radio ones. A green chain appear, showing how Alastor owned Husk's soul.

"My, my, looks like I have left you be too free in here" Alastor sinister voice said pulling Husk towards him who tried to remain emotionless.

"Maybe I should show you what happens when you missbehave" Two claws went for Husk's left eyes ready to pull it out. "Maybe I should pull this thing out and eat it. Let you see how truly bad I can be" he half joked.

Before anything could happen Alastor was pushed hard away from Husk by you. Your own true Demon form now on display. You got bigger, your wings now with a sharp end as well as your tail, your eyes just like Alastor deep black with no pupil. You got two pointed horns as well. And your hands were now with black furr, red claws out.

"Dont fucking dare to hurt my brother" you roared sending off your poker cards to cut off the black tentacles Alastor had called.

He smirked, pulling out his shadows to try and get you down only for them to be vanish when a sudden fire erupet from your hands.

"My dear! This is New, I never know you could control fire!" Alastor said pretty much now into the battle with you forgetting Husk.

A wall was crashed as you two rolled outside the hotel, getting everybody's attention.

Alastor ended on top of you a tentacle firm around your neck, however one of your poker cards was against his neck. Just one move from any of you and both of you would be dead.

"WHAT IS THIS" A very Angry Charlie called, besides her Vaggie came looking just as angry.

Alastor smirked letting you got, going back to his usual form as you did as well.

"Ah Charlie! This was just a small fight between old Friends" Alastor said moving his hand to repair the wall.

"SMALL? You two broke a wall" Vaggie called getting just a smirk from Alastor and a blush from you.

"Im sorry, this wont happen again" you promised seeing Alastor from the corner of your eyes.

"It better not, or you are out" Vaggie finally called. In reality she would prefer for you to stay and Alastor to leave but she knew that saddly they needed the radio Demon in the hotel.

~☆~☆~☆~

As night fell you went to Alastor's room, knocking with Force the door opened revealing himself with a fake suprised look.

"(Y/N) I was not expecting you"

"Lets get to the Point. What can I give an no. Not my soul so you wont hurt my brother"

"Well, you need to know it was his fault" he started getting a hiss from you. "Can you blame me? He trow milk at me, my suit was ruined"

"We both know you were looking for a reaction out of him. Just tell me what you want"

Alastor seemed to think, you were proud and firm. Too proud to negotiate your soul. Even if you loved your brother you knew it would not change much. Sure, Husk would be free but how free? He could very much try and give his soul back to get yours out of Alastor's hand.

"Well, what I was saying was true. I wish to know if you teast as good as you look" he smirked taking your chin in his hand " you might have something to give me"

~☆~☆~☆~☆

Alastor stood in his room. Carefully drinking from a tea cup with a black liquid inside. Besides it a full bottle with the same liquid was.

He closed his eyes, feeling the flavor of your blood. If your blood was like this what would your flesh be like? Could he ever dream on getting a bite from you?

And why did he find the small fight against you so....he had no words. He felt alive full of something he could not understand.

Oh, he had to get your soul somehow. No matter how.

~☆~☆~☆~

[admiringlove]

rotten touch. number four of @angstober this year! enjoy <3 event masterlist can be found here.

karmic debt had scared the conqueror of demons into being a secluded man.

his fellow yaksha had long since fallen; succumbed to madness or death, they had left him alone to bear the weight of their shared burden. the debt pressed heavily on his mind, pushing him further from the world. he kept to himself, avoiding mortal affairs whenever possible. on the rare occasions he was forced to intervene, he was distant, cold, urging people to speak quickly, for their own sake. he would help, do what was needed, and disappear as swiftly as he had arrived. that was how it had always been.

but then, you came into his life—radiant and unassuming, with your closed-eyed smiles and a voice full of stories that never seemed to end. tales of morax, of the other adepti, of a world that xiao had all but abandoned. he hadn’t wanted to listen, and yet something in your presence tugged at him, something gentle yet persistent. against his better judgment, he found himself lingering, intrigued. he felt drawn to your warmth, your unwavering enthusiasm for life, as if it held the promise of something he had long forgotten. something he hadn’t dared to indulge in for centuries.

and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, xiao found himself tempted to stay a little longer, to listen just a little more.

you had been surrounded by monsters when he first saw you, kneeling at the statue of morax in qiongji estuary, but calling his name instead. your voice had been steady, filled with a kind of faith that surprised him. you knew who he was, you’d said, as if it was the most natural thing. you’d heard stories from your grandmother, stories of a lone yaksha who appeared whenever his name was uttered by those in need. and you wanted to see if it was true.

and so, here he was, appearing as you’d called, defeating those mitachurls one by one, each strike of his spear swift and precise. when the last one fell, he stood there, catching his breath ever so slightly, casting his spear aside in silence. he hadn't expected anything more from you—just another mortal in need. but you had smiled at him, a smile so calm it almost unnerved him. instead of thanks, you'd offered him almond tofu with a laugh, as if the battle had never happened. and then you’d started talking, right away, without hesitation.

you had talked, and talked, and kept on talking, telling him things that made no sense, stories of your childhood, of legends passed down, of things he barely listened to. later, he would call it yapping, a playful word he used to tease you, a way to remember just how talkative you were, how easily words flowed from you. but in that moment, all he could do was stand there, quietly watching, trying to understand why he didn’t just leave like he always had.

"you know," you'd said once, watching him eat with that familiar knowing smile, the one that always seemed to see right through him, "you really should talk more. or mingle. you'd see how nice the world really is. it might do you some good."

he barely looked up from the almond tofu you'd ordered for him, scoffing quietly between bites. "i watch the sun set every evening from wangshu inn’s balcony. i think i’m aware of how nice the world is."

you’d laughed then, that light, carefree sound that somehow always made his chest tighten, and said something about how adepti were as strange as they were magnificent, both awe-inspiring and out of reach. it was so simple for you to say things like that, as if his world wasn’t weighed down by centuries of bloodshed and darkness.

but to him, you weren’t just a passing experience or another mortal he’d saved. you were more. you had become everything. you painted his once colorless existence with your brightness, your endless energy and warmth. you tainted all that was his, and yet he found himself unable to resent it. instead, he cherished it. you made the world around him vibrant in ways he hadn’t thought possible anymore.

you hadn’t realized how much of a monster he truly was. how deeply he carried the burden of grief, the looming presence of death that trailed behind him like a shadow. you didn’t know, and he was grateful for that. he was thankful you never had to see the weight of karma he bore, how it could have destroyed you just by being near him. but you didn’t care. you stayed, content just to exist beside him, as if his presence alone was enough for you. and in his quiet way, he was glad.

"why do you seclude yourself?" you had asked him softly one evening, sitting on the balcony of wangshu inn. the sky was painted in soft hues of orange and pink, but your eyes were fixed on him. you sat with your back against a large potted plant, legs stretched out on the wooden floor, your gaze gentle but unwavering. he shifted where he sat, clearly uncomfortable under your scrutiny, before clearing his throat.

"everything i touch... rots," he said, his voice low, as if the words themselves were too heavy to say.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you tilted your head, brow furrowing in confusion, but still, there was kindness in your voice. "i think you’re wonderful."

he looked at you then, a brief glance, his expression unreadable. "that’s because you’re one of the only things that hasn’t rotted. or died."

there was a pause, the weight of his words settling like a dark cloud between you. before you could respond, he stood up, turning away abruptly. he didn’t want to explain further. he knew you too well—you would pry and prod until the walls he’d built so carefully over centuries crumbled around him, and all his hidden scars and buried grief spilled out like shattered glass. you were good at that, at unraveling him without even trying.

he never liked talking, especially not about himself. he kept to the shadows, spoke only when necessary, exactly as you’d always pointed out. but with you, it was different. it felt easy. and that frightened him more than anything else.

and you chased after him like he was your wildest dream, determined and unwavering, as if he was something worth catching. your presence clung to him, a persistent shadow in his mind, trailing him wherever he went. the memories of you were relentless, following him like an irritating seelie, refusing to be shaken off. there were moments, in the thick of battle or when danger pressed close, when he’d see your face flash before his eyes—and that terrified him. because now, he had something to lose. he had something he cared about.

and that, in itself, was a weakness. but perhaps, a greater strength.

still, the nightmares came, wrapping around him like chains, pulling him into the past. memories of his fallen comrades, consumed by their karmic debt, haunted him. the weight of it all pressed against his chest, a suffocating reminder of his inevitable fate. would it catch up to him too, one day? would he fall just like the rest of them? the thought twisted inside him, more painful than anything he had endured in the past half-century.

for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he was afraid. afraid of death—the very thing he had accepted long ago as his inevitable fate. it was always there, lurking like a familiar shadow, patiently waiting to claim him. he’d lived for so long without fear, resigned to the thought that when it came, he would welcome it like an old friend. but now, that resignation was gone, replaced by a gnawing anxiety that gripped him tighter each day.

because now, he worried. he worried about what would happen to you if he suddenly disappeared, if one day he simply didn’t return. who would you crack jokes with? who would you buy almond tofu for, or carefully prepare bowls of soup when the weather grew cold? who would you call out to, just to chat, even when you knew he wouldn’t say much in return? the thought of you standing there, waiting for a response that would never come, terrified him in a way nothing else ever had.

"xiao," you said his name with such softness, so much tenderness, that it made his skin crawl in ways he didn’t understand. it was unsettling, how easily your voice could unravel him, how it could make the walls he had built around himself feel so fragile. he didn’t know what this feeling was, this ache that blossomed whenever you were near, but he knew one thing with certainty: he had to push you away. slowly, carefully, before it was too late.

it would be for the best. he couldn’t afford to let you stay close, not when his existence was tainted by karmic debt and mistakes that clung to him like a curse. staying near him would only bring you pain, and he knew—he knew—he couldn’t watch that happen. he’d rather do it to himself, rip you away before the world did it for him. better to sever the bond now, before it destroyed you both.

"xiao, are you listening?" you had asked, your voice a gentle lilt that pierced through the fog of his thoughts. your hand waved playfully in front of his face as you stood beside him on the balcony, a place that had slowly become yours too. it was a small slice of the world shared, where laughter intertwined with silence and secrets lingered in the cool night air. but with every moment you spent together, he felt a deepening ache—a nagging reminder that everything that was his was now entwined with your fleeting existence. he hated that, the way you had woven yourself into the fabric of his life, and the thought of it made his heart feel heavy.

a mortal’s life was but a flicker in the vast expanse of time, while his stretched endlessly, a burden he didn’t want to bear. he knew, deep down, that staying by your side would only lead to heartbreak and ruin. the longer you remained together, the more he feared he would hurt you in ways he couldn’t predict.

it felt like he was grasping at shadows, coming up with excuses to push you away, which he probably was. but in his mind, it was the only way to keep you safe. and safe meant far from him.

with a soft hum, he blinked, finally turning to face you. you tilted your head, watching him with an all-knowing expression that unnerved him deeply. in the time you’d spent together, you had learned to read the subtle shifts in his demeanor, peeling back layers he thought he had locked away. that, too, irked him.

"i think we should go see lantern rite together this year," you said, leaning casually against the railing of the balcony, the soft glow of the lanterns in the distance reflecting in your eyes. he felt his heart skip; a flurry of emotions swirling inside him. this was it, he thought, his moment to counter your enthusiasm, to disappoint you.

this was how he would push you away.

"i cannot," he replied, his voice strained as he cast his gaze down to the rushing waters below, the sound echoing his turmoil. "in fact, i don’t think you should see me anymore."

you blinked slowly, a flicker of confusion passing over your face as you tilted your head, that endearing gesture that sent a fresh wave of warmth through him. he continued, forcing the words through the tightness in his throat, "it is not right for me to stay by your side all the time. you have become a weakness."

the mantra repeated in his mind: this was for the greater good. you would be safe, removed from his chaos, ensconced in the comfort of your home. away from him, you would remain alive and untouched, without the looming shadow of his past creeping into your light. you wouldn’t have to face the horrors that stalked him, the remnants of bloodshed that stained his hands and soul.

it would be better this way, he reassured himself again and again, each time feeling the sharp sting of betrayal against his heart. to summon the courage to break your heart felt like a curse. but he knew he had to do it—for you, for your future, for the fleeting moments of joy that would continue without him. the thought twisted like a knife in his gut, yet he clung to it, desperately trying to convince himself that it was the right choice.

he watched as your lip twitched, the slight quiver betraying the storm behind your eyes. they narrowed in confusion before widening in a painful clarity. he could feel your throat tighten, mirroring his own, and the ache in his chest spread like the roots of a poisoned tree, twisting deeper with every second. it was unbearable, watching the hurt bloom on your face, raw and unfiltered. "why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice soft but strained, barely holding itself together. "i thought everything was fine. between us, i mean."

"nothing can ever be fine," he said, his gaze pulling away from yours, as though the weight of it was too much to bear. he couldn’t look at you—couldn’t let those wide, vulnerable eyes unravel him. if he held your gaze for even a moment longer, he knew he’d falter. and he couldn’t afford that. he had to do this, to sever this fragile bond before the world shattered you in ways he couldn’t prevent. "nothing is fine if i am in it," he added, his voice hollow, "this is for your own good. leave, and be safe by yourself."

"what are you saying?" your voice trembled, disbelief washing over your features. "i’m perfectly fine, and i’m capable of taking care of myself—"

"you don’t even have a vision," he cut you off, sharper than he intended, each word slicing the air between you. the look in your eyes made his chest tighten further. "i don’t trust you with a normal hilichurl, let alone the dangers that surround me. you can’t protect yourself if you stay near me. so please, try and understand. it’s better for your safety... for your future, if you simply stay away. stay away, and you’ll be fine. you’ll be okay."

"are you doing this for my safety, or for your own peace of mind?" you asked, your voice shaky, fragile as the first hint of winter frost. the tears welling in your eyes reflected the lanterns glowing faintly in the distance, and he felt his heart twist violently. more than anything, he wanted to reach out, to cradle your face in his hands and wipe away the pain he'd caused. to hold you close, to whisper lies of comfort, to pretend that this wasn’t happening. the wind gently tousled your hair, carrying with it a soft scent of jasmine, a cruel reminder of how close you still were. but instead of pulling you into his arms, he stood there, motionless, breaking what you both held sacred with words that tasted like ash.

"i..." his voice faltered, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like an invisible force. "i’m doing this because you’ve become a weakness. and i can’t... i can’t see you becoming my strength."

your lips part, and a single tear glides down your cheek, tracing a delicate path of sorrow that he cannot bear to witness. silence envelops the space between the two of you, heavy and suffocating. you don’t say a single word; instead, your lips press into a straight line, an unsaid disappointment that hangs in the air. you gaze at him for a few fleeting moments, as if hoping he might find the strength to apologize, to reach out, to do anything that might undo this unbearable weight hanging over you both.

but he remains still, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun dips below the edge of the world, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. the beauty of the sunset contrasts sharply with the growing ache in his chest as he listens to the sound of your footsteps retreating down the stairs, each thud echoing the fractures forming within his heart.

did yakshas even have hearts? he muses, a bitter thought cutting through the remnants of his resolve. he could conquer legions of demons, wade through oceans of blood, yet he stands powerless against the choice he’s made, knowing he must let you walk away. it is a paradox he cannot escape: to have you near would invite chaos, hubris, and ultimately, ruin—his own and yours.

and so, xiao, the conqueror of demons, watches as you slip away into the gathering dusk, a light fading into shadow. he knows, with a heavy heart, that if he had allowed you to remain by his side, nothing would have been lost, and everything might have been different. yet duty looms larger than any fleeting moment of joy or connection, a relentless tide that pulls him under. he clings to it as a lifeline, forsaking the warmth of your presence for the cold embrace of his responsibilities, believing that sacrifice is the only path to salvation.

and he continues to rot everything he touches. because he believes he has to.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[agentrouka-blog]

When Sansa poses as Alayne, she experiences Bastardphoia firsthand. Not only is she being mocked and openly insulted, but she is also being confronted with the common stereotypes of bastards (wanton, lustful, inherently lesser). She also meets another bastard child of an important lord (literally the king's firstborn!!! The daughter of her fathers best friend) and befriends her! Genuinely likes her, cares about her, and worries for her! How people read all that and can say to themselves "well the idea that Sansa and Jon would reunite and then actually get along is preposterous, she is clearly a judgemental stuck up cow" I will never understand. The entire Alayns arc seems (to me) to lead to her coming to a greater understanding of the one bastard she knew before coming to the Vale.

Sansa really doesn't have that much to learn on that front. Her first scene contains a compassionate assessment of Jon's limitations in life and how they might affect his behavior:

Sansa sighed as she stitched. "Poor Jon," she said. "He gets jealous because he's a bastard." (AGOT, Arya I)

Sansa has one moment of genuinely unkind thoughts about one (1) peasant boy, when she's jealously angry at Arya for playing with him instead of spending time with herself.

But there really isn't any evidence that Sansa is "bastardphobic" (what a word) in a way that is different or worse from any of her siblings including Arya.

Being kind to Mya isn't new or learned behavior. It's Sansa's normal behavior, and any deeper understanding of the bastard experience she gains while posing as Alayne is only augmenting what she already knew and what she already understood and what she herself already experienced as a disgraced "traitor" hostage, socially ostracized, accused of tainted blood, denied a proper wardrobe and subject to verbal and sexual assault. And through all this we know Sansa can cling to her true identity, so to her it always remains an act, even an escape, unlike it is for Jon.

So, I dare say, it's mostly window dressing on an already inherent ability to understand Jon as a person.

And yet, it enables lovely lines like this:

I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise. (AFFC, Alayne II)

<3

[warping-realities]

Bed and Breakfast

"I can't believe you're going to make me stay in a place like that." Said the beautiful woman with an arrogant tone towards her companion. Without realizing that she was being heard by the owner of the small and cozy coastal inn.

"Babe, calm down, the place is really nice and seems to be very comfortable. And it's highly rated on travel sites. We'll be lucky if there's room for us here."

"We wouldn't have to go through this if you had booked a hotel in advance."

"Laura, love. You decided on a trip to a fashionable place at the last minute during high season, there was no vacancy and yet you insisted on coming."

"Of course, everyone important is here, what do you think my followers would say if I didn't come. An influencer has to be aware of all the trends, Jeremy and this is the place of the moment, only God knows why." Laura replied, making her boyfriend let out a sigh before being prevented from responding by a cheerful and jovial voice.

"Good night, I'm Cintia, owner of Cozy Cabin, welcome, how can I help you?"

"Good evening, ma'am. My name is Jeremy Grant, and this is my fiancée, Laura. We are looking for accommodation."

"Oh dear! I'm sorry, but we're all booked up, reservations have been closed for over two months, we've become a very popular place lately." The woman of indecipherable age responded, because at the same time that she showed signs of age, she had an aura of joy and youth around her, at that moment tainted by a genuine tone of sadness at not being able to help. Which turned into indignation and anger when the young, pretty blonde woman in front of him let out a dismissive giggle followed by a howl of reproach towards her fiancé. However, before Cintia could say anything, Jeremy quickly intervened.

"Isn't there really the slightest possibility Cintia? It would only be for one day so that Laura can take some photos and post them, she is a digital influencer."

"Really? I've never heard of you darling." Cintia said, taking advantage of the moment to repay the young woman's rudeness, who in turn couldn't stand to remain silent.

"I work with a young audience, it's understandable if someone your age doesn't know me." Laura replied, causing Jeremy to have a mortified expression and a dangerous glint to appear in Cintia's eyes.

"Ah, believe me, I know how to recognize an influencer with an impact, right now we are hosting Miguel Ramos, the famous fitness influencer, it is already the fifth year that he has visited us at this time. Which gives me a wonderful idea to solve the your problem. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll be back with news soon."

"Stupid rag" Laura commented bitterly as soon as Cintia left the room.

"Baby, you provoked..."

"Don't stand against me, Jeremy. How she dare, compare me to that fairy Miguel Ramos!"

"Laura, be careful what you say, I've heard a lot about Miguel Ramos, he was already a very respected Personal Trainer before becoming a popular fitness influencer and has a good follower base."

That was a huge understatement and they both knew it. While Laura's number of followers had not yet reached hundreds of thousands, Miguel's already surpassed the million barrier. And of course the vain woman didn't like being reminded of that and soon found a reason to tease her fiancé.

"Jeremy, that stubble of yours looks horrible, how many times have I told you to keep your face smooth! My followers prefer you to complement my look!"

Jeremy didn't know if that was true, Laura's followers really praised how much they complemented each other in appearance. But he couldn't help but occasionally wonder if the fact that Laura made him wear clothes in a similar style to hers, coupled with her insistence on keeping a smooth face and his blond hair in neat curls, resembled hers to the point where some people thinking that they were brothers and not a couple was a proof of a totally narcissistic nature as the class's detractors insisted on shouting. However, every time those thoughts arose, Jeremy quickly suppressed them, he had long ago accepted that he would be nobody without his girlfriend, to the point of giving up his career as a physical educator to follow her, ensuring all her wishes and canceling himself in every way. Because he was completely sure that he was not worthy of her love and that no one in the world would be able to love him like she did. It was precisely because he thought all of this that when he saw Cintia return with a look of satisfaction on her aged face, he responded calmly.

"Yes, love, that's the first thing I'll do as soon as we get to our room.”

"My dears, I found a solution, it's not perfect but it should help for today." Cintia began with a playful smile and that sparkle in her eyes. "We have a few rooms with extra beds that are not being occupied and two of our guests have kindly provided those beds to you for a couple of nights. In two days Mrs. Goldschmitt will return home and her room will be free if you wish." extend your stay."

"You mean you want us to stay in separate rooms?" Laura asked indignantly.

"It was the best I could do, dear. Of course, if it doesn't suit you, feel free to leave and look for accommodation elsewhere." Cintia replied with an icy smile.

"No, no, it's great, we accept!" Jeremy quickly interrupted, wanting to avoid more conflicts and the loss of the only stay they found.

"Great! Please follow me, then I'll ask one of the assistants to take your bags to your respective rooms." Cintia replied, looking genuinely pleased as she led them down a hallway and a flight of stairs to the first room and knocked on the door, which was promptly opened by a handsome Latino man in his thirties, with developed muscles detailed by a fitted white t-shirt and a friendly smile in his handsome bearded face.

"Goodnight." He said simply with a voice exuding masculinity.

"Miguel, dear. These are Jeremy and Lau..."

"You don't need to introduce me, I'm sure Miguel knows who I am." interrupted Laura while Miguel stared at her as if she were a creature that had jumped in front of him.”

"Laura... apparently she's a digital influencer." Cintia continued as if she had not been rudely interrupted. "Jeremy and Laura, this is Miguel Ramos who we talked about earlier and who kindly agreed to give Jeremy the extra bed in his room."

"Thank you for the lovely introduction Cintia and it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person Laura and you too Jer..." Miguel began, also being interrupted by Laura.

"I think our followers would love a collaboration from us."

"Um, sure, we can discuss this tomorrow, Laura. I believe you are both exhausted now and Cintia still has to take you to your room."

"Yes, yes, you're right, we'll arrange everything tomorrow. Shall we go then?" Laura ended talking to Cintia without even saying goodbye to Jeremy, who in turn approached his girlfriend and kissed her on the cheek.

"Good night love, sleep well!" - He said before entering the room and seeing his fiancée being taken by Cintia inside the building.

.....

"Welcome Jeremy, unfortunately you'll have to take the single bed."

"Thank you Miguel, you didn't need to do that or pretend to know Laura."

"Ahh, I'm sorry about that, but I thought it was better, I know how hurt some influencers can be by not being recognized, I've never particularly cared about that, but I've seen some uncomfortable situations to say the least. And as for the bed, It's just a bed, I'm not really using it and Cintia asked me for a favor, she's a great friend and was a lot of help when... anyway, you are welcome here.”

"Still, you didn't have to do any of that, thank you very much." Jeremy replied as he prepared to sleep, thinking about what Miguel had left to say. It was nothing new that his breakup with his long-time boyfriend, a famous film actor, had been very traumatic, so much so that he had remained out of the spotlight for several months until he was photographed on the beach close to where they were, which is why the interest in place had lit up. The only news there was knowing that he will not be staying in a luxurious hotel but in Cintia's small and cozy inn. Laura should be happy, Jeremy thought before falling asleep, she had gone to look for copper and apparently she had found gold.

Already lying in the single bed, Jeremy found the courage to say something else.

"Miguel, thank you really, I'm very grateful for your kindness... but... well... I apologize in advance if Laura expresses... um... any dissatisfaction with the accommodation arrangements... she's used to get what she wants and... well... there might be some kind of... jealousy... so..."

"She doesn't need to worry Jeremy, I'm not into man skinnier , smaller and younger than me." Miguel responded in a joking tone but causing Jeremy to immediately recoil.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't offend me Jeremy, I was just joking, you can rest assured, in fact feel free in the room, as far as I'm concerned the room is as much yours as mine. Have a good night.”

…..

The morning sun invaded the inn's bedroom, causing Jeremy to turn over in bed and wake up, rubbing his eyes, being treated to a stunning image, Miguel wearing only white underwear, with his sculpted body on display, staring intently at the bedroom wall as if he was lost in reminiscences. At that moment Jeremy felt something he had never imagined he would feel when seeing another man, a pang of desire, accompanied by a familiar sensation in his dick that he only associated with when he saw the image of Laura in her naked beauty. His surprise at that was so great that he moved abruptly, causing Miguel to wake up from his reverie.

"Good morning, I'm sorry if I woke you up, I forgot to close the curtains last night."

"No problem." Jeremy replied, hiding his erection with a pillow.

"Anyway, I'm already on my way out, going for my morning run before breakfast."

“Oh man, I miss doing that!” Commented Jeremy.

"Do you have this habit too?"

"Yes, I was a physical educator just like you, but since I started following Laura... she's not a morning person and gets upset when I wake her up early... anyway, I've been running on the treadmill while she makes the videos her at the gym."

"If you want to train with me..."

"Nah, man, thanks, but no. I'm going to rest a little longer" Jeremy replied, still hiding his erection.

"Then I'll see you later. Sweet dreams." Said an already fully dressed Miguel leaving the room and Jeremy alone with his disconcerting thoughts.

…….

To say that the trip had been a disppointment to Laura would be a huge understatement. First Jeremy hadn't been able to make a simple reservation and even had the nerve to blame her when he should have been able to foresee this kind of thing, then there was the beach itself, she had never liked sun and sea, and only Thinking about sand made her skin itch, but unfortunately, thanks to Miguel Ramos' stellar divorce and his apparent bad taste, that little beach was the star's hot spot for the summer. Ending up in the same inn as him could be a golden opportunity, but for that she had to put up with the arrogant old woman who owned the place, the fact that her fiancé was sleeping in the same room as that fagot and the annoying roommate she that she was sure it had been chosen by the old ghoul with the only intention of irritating her. And it was with a look that reflected her inner bitterness that she waited for her fiance to appear for breakfast, which made her even more indignant, as she was not used to wait and at the same time she refused to call him. After all he should know his place and his duties!

It was with that sour face that Miguel found her after taking a shower and getting dressed as quietly as possible to avoid waking the still sleeping Jeremy. Upon seeing that expression, he seriously thought about escaping from the breakfast room without being seen, especially since he hadn't had a good initial impression of Laura, which was confirmed when he saw the type of content she produced, with Jeremy appearing as more of an accessory to her outfit than as a real boyfriend, which raised the suspicion that perhaps the other man was trapped in the type of abusive relationship that he himself had lived in until recently. But before he had time to escape, their eyes met and a practiced smile appeared on her face without reaching her predatory eyes. Knowing that game very well, Miguel plastered a smile as fake as hers on his own face and approached her table.

"Good morning, Miguel, I hope Jeremy's snoring wasn't disturbing." Laura said, starting the conversation in the worst possible way and making the smile disappear on Miguel's face.

"On the contrary, it didn't bother me at all, Noah snored a lot more." He replied, making a look of irritation momentarily cross Laura's face due to the comparison with his ex-husband. Wasn't it enough that her boyfriend was sleeping in the same room as him?

"You're very kind, but it's my fiancé you're talking about, no one knows him like I do."

"Of course, and if you allow me to say, seeing your posts on social media is possible to see all your influence on him." Miguel replied, barely hiding the sarcasm in his voice.

"Thank you. It was hard work." Laura responded in turn without realizing the criticism embedded in his comment. "Speaking of work, when are we going to do our collaboration?" She concludes.

"We'll certainly find a way." He responded in turn, knowing that as far as he was concerned, that would never happen. "If you'll excuse me now I have an appointment. Maybe you should check on Jeremy, when I left the room he was sound asleep. It seemed to me like he hadn't slept so well in a long time." He concludes with a bright and genuine smile before leaving the room, turning his back on a fuming Laura.

Although Miguel's statement was intended to provoke Laura, that was not far from the truth. Jeremy had slept as well as ever and didn't even wake up when Miguel returned to the room and got ready for breakfast. If he had woken up he would have been mortified, because in his sleep he ended up ripping off his pajama shirt, and without realizing it, he reached for his erection that had returned along with Miguel's presence in the room, while his mind filled itself. one of the most different and vivid dreams he had ever had. In the dream he found himself lying completely naked on a beach not very different from the one where the inn was located, and with the sun bathing his body a beautiful blonde woman approached and began kissing his naked body, he couldn't tell if was it Laura or not, because each kiss given in the dream made him feel an immeasurable ecstasy, strong enough to cover up any sense other than pleasure, so much so that he only realized that the figure in the dream had changed, becoming a muscular man and bearded with his dark body shining with sweat in the morning sun a few seconds before he was awakened by the indignant voice of his fiancée.

"Jeremy, so this is what you were doing instead of meeting me for breakfast? Masturbating in that queer's room? How disgusting!"

Said an indignant Laura when she found her boyfriend in that position. Jeremy, taken by surprise in turn, responded without thinking

"Never use that kind of word in my presence again Laura, if there's anything disgusting it's those expressions!"

"Jeremy, how dare you correct me! Disguting yes, and even more disgusting are the habits of these fagots, but apparently you're already quite used to it, right, jacking off in one of their bedrooms. And you didn't even shave that disgusting beard. As if not If you just cut your hair without talking to me, I'm at my limit!" She barked back, causing all the layers of inhibition to return to a now more awake Jeremy.

"I'm sorry, babe, I shouldn't have talked to you like that. Give me a few minutes to get ready and we can have breakfast together." He said, returning to his servile habits as he struggled to understand what she meant about his beard and hair.

"Well, you can have your breakfast alone. And you don't even need to come with me to the beach, I'll take Kayla to help me. Make the most of your day without my presence!" She replied angrily, leaving the room and a confused and still sleepy Jeremy behind.

He in turn stood up and stretched, losing his balance a little as he felt the strange sensation that he seemed to be a good few inches taller, which he knew was nonsense, since no one grows overnight other than the fact that that he had had that height since the beginning of his adult life, which had helped him in many volleyball and basketball games when he was younger. Other activities that he missed but couldn't find time in his day to practice. He had never resented Laura for these things, but deep down he couldn't help but feel an irritation at having given up virtually all of his interests for hers. Shaking his head in an attempt to get those intrusive thoughts out of him, he went to the bathroom and took a long shower, knowing that there was no point in looking for his girlfriend while she was in that mood, that poor Kayla, whoever she was, who would have to put up with Laura for that morning, he thought with uncharacteristic sarcasm as he soaped the six blocks set on his abdomen, this time without trying to shake that thought away. After getting out of the shower he looked at himself in the mirror, for someone who could no longer follow a strict exercise routine he looked very good, he was slim but defined and his short beard accentuated the angles of his face, framed by golden curls in a medium lenght haircut.

Maybe it was time for Laura to learn to better appreciate the boyfriend she had, he thought, leaving the bathroom without shaving, before changing and getting ready to enjoy a morning of sun and sea without Laura's constant complaints and orders, which without a doubt it was the best thing that could have happened, said a new invasive thought that once again did not go away.

……..

Jeremy wandered along the seawall for several minutes, feeling the sand beneath his feet, the scent of the sea breeze filling his lungs and the sun's rays bathing his fair skin, even though he knew he risked getting burned, it was too good for him let it go. After wandering for a long time he sat down on the beach and simply let himself be invaded by it all, with a wave of peace and completeness filling him. Without realizing that the longer he stayed there, the less white his skin became, turning to a golden summer tone, at the same time that his muscles expanded slightly, leaving him with the appearance of someone who trained frequently and carefully.

And there he would have continued without noticing the changes if he hadn't been interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Hey, roomie, watch out for a burn on your skin!"

Opening his eyes Jeremy found himself staring at Miguel in all his glory, with a happy smile plastered on his face.

"I may not have your Latin genes, Miguel. But it's been a long time since I've been burned!" He replied, smiling, as that strange feeling invaded him again.

"Still, the sun around here is much stronger than what you're used to. Let me help you." Miguel replied, approaching with a tube of sunscreen in his hands. "That is, if you don't mind."

Jeremy did care, not because of any prejudice, but because of the fear of what that closeness would make him feel, not to mention the erection that threatened to return. But at the same time he couldn't resist that proposal.

"No problem, I think you're exaggerating, but Laura will be unbearable if I burn myself, she already doesn't like my skin being so tanned."

"What nonsense, your skin is beautiful, that tan contrasts very well with your blonde hair, it gives you a healthy look, especially with those defined muscles."

"Thanks man, it's nice to hear a compliment from... hummm”. He groaned when he felt the other man's strong hands massaging his back.

"Something wrong?" Miguel asked.

"No... no... it's just that the sunscreen was cold."

"Ah, I'm done. Just a little more down here." Miguel said with his hands approaching Jeremy's buttocks and making him contract all over.

"Okay, do you want me to apply it in your front?"

"No, you don't need to, I'll do it myself." Jeremy quickly responded, taking the cock from Miguel's hand without even wanting to think about those manly hands near his cock.

"And where is Laura? I thought you helped with her content production."

Thinking about his girlfriend brought an unexpected wave of irritation to Jeremy, as if a cloud was blocking out the morning sun.

"We had an argument in the morning... in fact she did what she always does, said what she wanted and left me alone, I guess in the hope that I would go after her... but not this time... she might to fend for herself with her new friend." He responded with a certain bitterness that didn't go unnoticed by Miguel.

"Relationships can be complicated."

"Ours isn't, but I'm starting to think it's just because I'm used to canceling myself out in front of her."

Miguel, who had already noticed that, preferred not to comment anything.

"Anyway, we should see each other later and resolve this, I still love her of course, but some things will have to change in our relationship."

"So how about we do that run now, a little return to your old ways?"

"Are you sure you'll be able to keep up with me, with all this extra size and already running before..."

"Boy, respect me, I'm not one of the best known personal trainers in the world for nothing."

"Then we'll see!" Jeremy replied, getting up and running away.

……

Laura walked with disgust on the beach sand. Her morning, like the rest of that trip, had been dark. Kayla was pleasant company as she shared the same interests as her, although she was in a lower category with only a few tens of thousands of followers. Still, she expected Laura to return the favors she did by asking her to take photos and record videos of her. Simply unbearable. And it was all Jeremy's fault, obviously. She still couldn't believe that her worthless boyfriend hadn't come looking for her and even worse for the second time that day it was she who was forced to look for him in the middle of that damned sand.

It was with this feeling that she watched two muscular men running from the edge of the beach towards the sea while laughing loudly and then diving. A ridiculous and childish behavior in her opinion. So what was her surprise when she saw that one of those men, the tanned blonde with a haircut made up of a pompadour and a side fade, accompanied by a full beard just as blonde, smile and approach her with his tanned muscular body still moist from the sea water shining in the midday sun.

"Hey babe, how was the morning?"

"Jeremy, how dare you leave me like that! And that beard, you said you were going to trim it! And your hair??? What nonsense is this?"

"No nonsense Laura. They look the way I like!"

"But not in the way my followers and I expected! You're almost bald! That tan and those excessive muscles weren't enough!"

"Don't exaggerate Laura, and if I decide to shave all my hair I will. Your followers have nothing to do with how I decide to cut my hair or my beard."

"Of course it has to do with it, you're my boyfriend, you influence the way I'm perceived!"

"Apparently that's the only way I care about you, how I make others perceive you."

"And how would it be different, I make a living from this, I'm an influencer, and my boyfriend needs to agree with my branding."

"I'm not your accessory, Laura."

"Well, my dear, in the end it's as if you were!"

"So I don't know if I still want to continue this relationship." He replied, turning his back on an angry Laura.

"Jeremy! Don't you dare! Jeremyyyy....!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, but he didn't turn around and walked aimlessly towards the other side of the beach, followed by the watchful eye of Miguel Ramos.

…..

Jeremy wandered the beach for several minutes trying to calm the influx of thoughts. He was torn by the despair of losing the woman he believed he loved and the growing feeling of contempt for that same woman. How could he cancel himself out for so long, how could he not see who she was? And at the same time she had been his life for the last few years, how could he live without her? He certainly wouldn't be capable of that! Deciding to run back after her and humble himself by her forgiveness, he started running. Only stopping when he heard the voice did he start to associate that strange feeling, mixed with desire and comfort.

"Hey, Big Guy, what's the rush?" Asked a smiling Miguel sitting on a bench in a beach bar.

"Sorry Miguel, I need to find Laura!"

"And what would be the point of talking to her with a hot head, wait for you two to calm down."

"You do not understand!"

"Ah, I understand. I understand so much that I'm going to offer you the two things you need most right now, company and a few shots of Tequila!"

"I do not know dude..."

"Relax man and follow me." Miguel said, taking Jeremy by the arms and taking him to a table in the bar.

…..

"I shouldn't interfere in your relationship with your girlfriend. But I recently went through a complicated divorce. And the truth is that it took me a long time to realize that I was in an abusive relationship." - Miguel said to a saddened Jeremy.

"I'm not in a relationship like that, I love Laura." Jeremy replied, but with less conviction than he wanted to make it seem.

"And does she respond to this love? She loves you the same way you love her."

"It is clear..."

"Really? Be honest with yourself if you don't want to be honest with someone you barely know."

"I want to believe so, but..."

"But you have doubts. Let me propose a little game, I'm going to ask you some questions about relationships and for every positive answer from you and me we'll drink a shot of tequila, I bet you that we'll drain a bottle with ease.

"First question. Have you ever felt that you were giving much more of yourself to this relationship than your partner?"

The two took a shot and although neither of them noticed, the tan on Jeremy's skin deepened, reaching a caramel tone very close to Miguel's.

"Second question: Have you ever felt diminished by your partner?"

Another shot for both. And now Jeremy's height has increased making him several inches taller than Miguel.

"Third question: have you ever felt that you are nothing more than an accessory to your partner, that he doesn't even see you as a person but as an object?"

Another shot. Another change. Jeremy's muscles expanded, surpassing the size of Miguel's and reaching the proportions of an amateur bodybuilder. The bottle was already half full, but both men, who were not small, were already quite upset, as that level of drinking was not part of either of their habits.

"One more... one more..." A drunken Miguel said, looking extremely distorted in Jeremy's vision. "Have you ever felt like you're in this relationship out of fear... afraid that you're not good enough... that you can't be loved by someone else... and that your partner takes advantage of that to keep you stuck with them?

Another shot and Jeremy's already blurred vision began to swirl as a feeling of anxiety took over him for finally admitting those truths even while drunk. Miguel was spinning in front of him, and he felt an immense desire to get up and run away, but as he did so he fell to the ground.

"Jeremy, Jeremy..." He heard the voice in the distance, that voice, which awakened so many feelings in him. "Jeremy..." A voice that made him realize that he could still desire and be desired... "Jer...." The voice that made him excited just by hearing it. "Jav..." The voice of the man he was in love with but couldn't admit."

"Javier, get up, is everything okay?"

And Javier stood up amid laughter.

"It's all right Miguel, it was just bad form, it takes a lot more than a shot of tequila to take down a man my size." Replied a smiling Javier Garcia, sitting at the table again. At the same time he ran his hands through his long, glossy black beard.

"Let me ask the question now." Javier said, smiling wider. "Do you think you're ready to leave this relationship behind and move on to better opportunities?"

One more shot for both.

…..

Javier lay down on the cramped single bed in the room he shared with Miguel, feeling his head spinning. While the roommate spent non-productive time feeling the same thing sitting on the toilet. As he tried hard not to spill everything he had eaten that day, he felt his cell phone vibrate. When he looked at the screen he noticed that there were hundreds of messages and calls from an unknown number. Choosing to deal with it when he was in better condition, he closed his eyes again and thus did not see each of those messages and calls disappear from the records.

With his head still spinning he fell into a restless sleep filled with rapidly changing dreams, until again he dreamed of that thin, beautiful blonde woman. In the dream she lay down on him again and began kissing his naked body, but without provoking any reaction in him, nothing, no excitement, no pleasure, until once again the smooth woman's skin gave way to that rough sensation of a beard shaving the skin. his body and then it was Miguel who kissed him, rekindling the flame of desire within him. As he slept he moaned with excitement, with a powerful erection between his legs, until he finally woke up feeling Miguel's real mouth wrap around his engorged cock. Trapped in that feeling of pleasure, he pulled the other man closer to him, being invaded by the no longer strange sensation of real desire.

After hours of wild sex, Javier got up from the only bed in that room, a King Size bed reinforced to support the weight of two athletes. Stretching, he stopped to admire the muscular body of a professional bodybuilder in the bedroom mirror.

Every fiber of his body was worked with the utmost dedication and commitment, and soon he would be on stage to put all that work to the test. He ran his hand through his shaved hair and finished the movement with his long, soft beard. He knew he would have to shave it before the performance but he was reluctant because Miguel liked him too much that way. Speak of the devil, Miguel at that moment repositioned himself on the bed and watched Javier look at himself in the mirror.

"A penny for your thoughts." Said the smaller and younger man but who had still won the position of his coach along Javier's heart.

"It's no big deal, Mig, I was just looking in the mirror and thinking it's a shame to have to shave, you like it so much..."

"Javi, I want you with or without a beard, I don't care how you present yourself, I care about being with you."

"So you mean if I were smaller and thinner you'd still be with me?"

"Maybe you wouldn't have caught my attention at first sight, but like I said, I care about the person you are, the man I fell in love with and if he loses weight or gains weight that won't change."

"Thanks, babe. That's really good to hear." Javier replied, going to the bathroom.

"Where are you going, are you going to shave now?"

"I thought you didn't care about my beard."

"I don't mind, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it a little more and you a little of this" Miguel replied, lifting the covers and revealing his huge hardened cock and making a big smile spread across Javier's face.

……

The afternoon sun shone like never before, but even that didn't seem to light up Laura's life as she gossiped with Kayla in the bar by the sea, while they discreetly watched Miguel and Javier talk.

"Is this a good time? They seem to be arguing." Asked Kayla to her colleague.

"Just because they're serious doesn't mean they're fighting. If we take into account their social networks, they're living wonderfully." Laura replied.

"You know as well as I do how deceiving social media can be."

"Still, this is our chance to collaborate with them, it's not every day that we get to work together with two of the biggest fitness influencers in the world."

"Smile, they're looking this way!" Said Kayla, making both of them give identical fake smiles, returned by a nod from the fitness couple of the year, who then got up, put on their tank tops and headed towards the beach.

"There goes our chance." Laura grumbled.

"Don't worry my dear, people like you always get what they deserve." Said a smiling Cintia who was passing by before positioning herself at the bar counter and smiling.

A smile that widened when she saw Miguel and Javier together on the beach sharing a passionate kiss. If there was something she was proud of, it was a job well done and at her inn that meant much more than just bed and breakfast.

[esotheria-sims]

🎃 Not-so-Simstober 2024 - Day 2 🎃

"Nightmare"

Few dare venture near the old cemetery that looms atop the hill. Its soil, tainted and rotting, is said to be cursed by something far older than the graves it holds. Whispers say that the dead do not rest… and when night falls, nightmarish creatures crawl from the fog, waiting for the cover of darkness to roam free.

(Featured location: Haunted Hilltop Cemetery)

A/N - Get it? it's a night-mare! 🐴 I love being literal sometimes, lol. And yes, this is the same spirit that Annika met and vanquished a while ago. But alas, the rumors are true: dead things don't stay dead for long in this place…

[leviraaaaaa]

"Can I... help you?"

He looked up at the hesitant, quiet voice, catching your eyes staring at his in the mirror in front of him. You were standing in the bathroom door behind him, unease clear in your body language.

That, for some reason, made his heart throb.

Why did you look uneasy? You were never uncomfortable, never with him.

And for the first time in all the years he's known you, Levi couldn't read your eyes. Blank since the moment Levi opened his own.

And the stubborn, stubborn part of him wanted to say, no. To tell you to leave, that he can do it by himself.

And another, softer, hidden part of himself urged him to let you. He craved you and your touch, no matter how fleeting they would be, the barest brush of fingertips against skin, he craved it. He'd take it, he'd take what he gets. He wanted it. So bad.

And despite his heart pounding warning bells in his chest, he nodded, looking up to meet your eyes again.

Self control went out the door when it was you.

"Just..." He hesitated, he'd be lying if he said it didn't sting his ego. He wished he looked better. Less pathetic.

But he gestured at his face. "The rest I can do by myself."

Levi was a mess of bandages. He had clumsily wrapped it around his damaged hand, and then attempted to do his face. But couldn't seem to do much with the state of his hand. And of course, he'd rather bleed here out to death than ask anyone for help.

You carefully stepped around the med vials lying on the floor to stand infront of him. Then, slowly, cautiously, you worked your hands. Despite the efforts, he still winced when your fingers accidentally added pressure but he remained silent, biting down on his lips at the sting his wounds caused because of the meds.

Levi tried his best to focus on the ache. It was better than focusing on you, on how damn close you were. His knees almost touched your and you had one hand placed on his shoulder, every once in a while cradling his jaw, positioning his face so you could work better.

He felt bad when you muttered out apologies. He couldn't tell you that it wasn't the meds, it was the feel of your fingers that burnt more than anything.

Straight into his heart.

"So, you're done avoiding me?" Levi asks casually, glancing at your focused, but otherwise empty expression.

"I wasn't avoiding you." You replied blankly, denying the very true accusation.

"You haven't been anywhere near me since I've woken, let alone talk to me. That's avoiding."

"I wasn't avoiding you." You were avoiding him.

"You refuse to even look at me in the eyes, kid."

"I wasn't," You repeated. "avoiding you."

"Is it the scars? Does that repluse you?"

"Captain."

One single warm teardrop skidded over your face.

His eyes met yours as you looked away, eyes widened in confusion.

"Are you.. are you crying?"

"No." You shook your head, trying your best not to be so obvious when you obviously dragged your arm over your face to wipe your eyes.

"What? Was it something I said?"

"No." You shook your head again. You felt his gaze searing through you, setting your skin on fire.

You swallowed.

Why were you here?

No, why was he here?

Why was he wrapped in bandages and his skin tainted with bruises and bloody wounds as if he didn't have enough scars to begin with? Hadn't he suffered enough?

"I thought you were dead."

You spoke finally, the barest whisper, but you felt him stiffen. You turned to look at him, fingers running carelessly over the deep scars, careful enough to not hurt him. Your fingertips turned red with his blood

His blood.

You dared not look at his damaged eye. Scared that the raw sight of his pain might just be enough for you to break.

"Well, I'm not." He said, voice bitter. "So stop bawling."

You let out a half sob-half laugh.

And then you dropped. Onto the ground, right between his legs.

Your hands found his hands, cautious fingers wrapped around his. Focusing to not touch his injured fingers.

"Captain."

He stared, wide eyes staring down at you.

But he didn't pull away.

"If I beg you," He knew before you even spoke. And you knew his answer before you even finished. "To not do this. To not go out there. To not fight. To stay here and stay alive. Would you listen to me?"

"And what?" His voice was soft. There wasn't anger, there wasn't annoyance. Just gentleness. "Let you brats go off and kill yourselves?"

You shook your head. Again. Again.

The image of him broken and bloody refused to leave you.

You can't let him die.

You won't let him die.

"I beg of you," You were desperate, on the edge. You looked down, letting go of his hands only to cover your own face as tears streamed down in full flow, blurring your vision. Another hand wrapped around your own hair.

What do you do when it was oxygen that was choking you?

You pulled your hair, hard, trying to release the nightmares.

"Stay here," You gasped, eyes wide. "Stay in with Gabi and Falco and Annie."

"I'm on my knees, begging you. Im begging you to just fucking listen to me. Just this once, step the fuck down. You don't have to keep fighting. Not this time."

Gray, gray eyes on yours.

Could he hear the crack in your voice? Did he know those were the sounds of your heart falling apart?

But you knew when you looked at him.

It was your turn to stay silent. You knew you couldn't persuade him, but you had to try.

You had to.

Your head was splitting in halves and it took everything you had to keep them together. Don't break, don't break, don't break.

But slowly, hands wrapped around yours gently pulling them away from the grip you had in your hair.

"Hey. Look at me."

You shook your head.

You wanted to look at him. You really did. You'd look at him forever if you could. Because maybe, maybe this was the last time you'd ever get to.

But you didn't want him to look at you.

"Look at me." His hand pulled your chin up, making you look at him.

Such pretty eyes.

You lost all ability to function properly.

"If I told you, all of you, to sit back, would you?" He knew the answer, just as you did.

"That's not—" You attempted to protest.

"That's the very same thing. If not us than who?"

"It doesn't have to be you."

"Damn well it has to be me. I didn't survive through all that to back off now. You know that as well as I do, so why are you being soppy?"

".... because," You were exasperated. "I don't want you to die,"

"None of us will die." He said firmly.

"You almost died."

"But I didn't die."

"You could've " you whispered. "I watched the life drain out of you with every passing second."

Had your lungs stopped working? You wondered. Why else was it so hard to breathe?

"I was soaked in your blood." You were so quiet, you could hardly hear yourself.

"I had to stich those up. I had to wrap those damn bandages. I had my fingers pressed to your pulse the whole time so I'd know you were still alive." You said, voice breaking a little more with every word and with every word you lost a part of your soul, the memories were parasites feeding on your brain and you couldn't get them out.

"I killed people." You said. "I killed comrades I grew up with, fought side by side with years. And I didn't hesitate for one second because they were a threat to you. Because they were going to hurt you. With my own damn hands, I shot then down. Hange had to physically hold me back from striking Floch and Zeke." Levi's knuckles were white, and with every word you said, his fingers only dug deeper into your own hand.

"I can't let you die, captain. I won't." You shook your head. "Not when I'm alive. You don't get to die first."

There was silence. Two hearts beating, and it sent echoes along the small bathroom, wrapping the two of you around in the sound. Breathing was a myth, you thought. And overrated. Because every soft inhale only made your lungs bleed.

"As stubborn as always, aren't you brat?" Levi finally spoke, his words were unsure, as if he wasn't quiet certain what to say. But you didn't miss the slightest way his breath hitched. He sighed, eyes downcast. "Always being such a pain in the ass."

Levi hesitated. He was never very good with words.

"..but I'm grateful for you." He said. "You piss me off, but I'm grateful for you. I hope you know that." He said slowly, locking eyes with you, hesitantly putting a hand over your head, placing an awkward pat. "I appreciate all that you've done for my sake and..all that you're prepared to do. And I appreciate your concerns. But this–" He pulled away his hand, making a frustrated gesture towards himself. "Protecting me isn't your job. I'm the captain, kid. You don't have to worry about me."

And for a few seconds you didn't say anything.

"No." You finally said, shaking your head, a sad smile tugging your lips. Typical Levi, you thought. You hadn't expected anything less. "It's always that, isn't it? It's always your duty first."

And you sighed.

"Tell me captain." You looked up. "Is that all I am to you? A soldier?"

Levi's eyes widened, mouth parting as he gaped at you.

"You're.." He swallowed, looking down at you.

Is that all you were? He thought as he looked down on you.

No.

You weren't just a soldier, never was. Not to him.

You were always something more. Something he never dared admit to himself.

"...a comrade." He blurted out. "A friend."

He shook his head. "You're someone I trust."

You only stared.

Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open, the loud noise making the two of you jolt. You snapped your head towards it to see Hange standing in the doorway with a grim expression, hands folded over their chest.

"Oi, you two." They said. "Meet us downstairs, we're holding a meeting." Their eyes fell on Levi and they frowned. "Levi," They sighed, pursing their lips at Levi's bandaged state. "I personally wish you'd just stay in bed, but I also know you wouldn't listen."

"I tried, Hange." You reply in a defeated voice.

"Yeah, thought so." They sigh.

"Tch." Levi clicked his tongue, glancing from you to Hange. "What is this? I could be half dead and I'll still be more capable than any if you." He shook his head.

Hange was about to retort something back at him, scowling and parting their mouth, but you cut them off.

"You go ahead, Hange." You said. "We'll just finish up here."

You watched as Hange left, shutting the door close.

Then you stood up slow, setting your hands on his knees to push yourself up.

"Captain." You spoke softly.

"Wherever you go, I go. I'd follow you straight to hell. Me and you. We stick together."

Then you leaned forward, planting a kiss on his brow. He went instantly rigid beneath your touch.

"If we survive, me and you.." You whispered, closing your eyes. "I'll tell you something, captain. Something I've always wanted to tell you."

You pressed your forehead against his, your hands on his shoulders. Your heart pounded, but you couldn't have cared less. You only wanted to savor the warmth of his skin against yours, this moment. This was everything.

If you were going to die within a few hours, you might as well.

"So live." You said. "You have to."

@sad-darksoul @anxious-chick

[wisteria-blooms]

*NSFW* strawberry wonderland (ii) (bill weasley & reader)

*MINORS DNI!*

PAIRING: Bill Weasley/You SUMMARY: Unbeknownst to you, you have more of an effect on Bill than you could ever imagine. And he can't stop thinking about all the things he wants to do to you in Nice. WARNINGS: sex, fingering, oral, masturbation, unprotected sex

A/N: To get me out of a writer's block, I present you this. I've only read it over it once so I'll fix any mistakes as I go. I hope this doesn't ruin long hair & tattoos for you... it doesn't need to be part of the original series if you don't want it to be. It's set after Bill and Reader arrive in Nice.

STRAWBERRY WONDERLAND (II)

Strawberries.

That’s what you smelt like to Bill Weasley. And very much overwhelmingly so as you nestled into his arm, preparing to disembark the ship that had just docked the nauseatingly rocky French shores. He attributed it to all the fresh strawberries you crushed up at the bar. 

“What kind of liquor do you reckon goes well with this?” you asked, holding up the bleeding purée to his face. 

‘Anything that would get you to kiss me,’ a voice in his head willed him to say. He swatted that thought away and instead replied, “Rum.” All his family recipes and all his female cousins’ favourite girlish drinks came to mind.

“Hm.” You turned away from him and perused the shelf for the highest of top-shelf rum. “And what else?”

“Maybe some simple syrup, a dash of lime and—,”

You slammed a bottle of rum on the table and twisted it open. Bill closed his mouth and let you speak. “Keep rambling and one might think you’re an expert at cocktails or something of that sort.”

“You asked me!” Bill said in defense, a chuckle erupting from his lips. A lush haze was concentrating in your eyes from the wine you’d inhaled the moment you boarded the ship. Bill figured his taller and heavier figure was better in diffusing the alcohol than your smaller one. 

“Whatever,”—you slid the cup of strawberry puree towards him—“let’s just drink.”

And now the scent of fresh strawberries, lime, and wine lingered on your person, stuck to it like summer honey. It was the most heavenly of scents. He imagined it would be most concentrated on your lips and tongue, and he would risk everything—a lot—to test that hypothesis. And what if that old saying were true? ‘You are what you eat.’

Would you taste like strawberries elsewhere, dare he dream, on another pair of lips?

“Do you think we had too much?” you asked him, snapping him out of his dirty reverie where he was in between your legs. “I might be sick.”

“I’m sure the sea made it worse,” he reassured you, letting you grip him tightly. He looked back at the relentless waves. Merlin, if you kept touching and squeezing his arm, he wasn’t going to make it until after you left. “And you best recover before your dinner tonight.”

“Right—ooh.” You drew the last vowel, lips rounding, which sent a chill up Bill’s spine.

Then when you let out a deep sigh into the crook of his arm, he found himself at war with himself. He looked down at your eyelashes, fluttering down to cover your eyes and traced your pouty pink lips. You were the sweetest, most innocent thing at twenty-three years old. And he didn’t realize how much desire had stirred up inside him in the past few months that he now really wanted to kiss you—Oh, what was he sugarcoating his own private thoughts for? He wanted nothing more than to fuck you.

He just wanted to know what your innocence would feel on him and his experience. But he couldn’t. He was much too old, much too tainted compared to the likes of you. What he wanted was above any voice of reason. 

Fuck it, he was tempted by the thought of ruining you. 

Bill Weasley had to wonder how he got himself in this tricky predicament as he settled into a bed miles away from home. With age came maturity and emotional growth, right? At thirty-one, he had years to leap over and meet his milestones. Clearly, he missed a couple landmarks because he felt as if he was trapped in the body of a fourteen-old boy who’d discovered pornography à la Wicked Witches Weekly for the first time.

Everything in his mind was just wrong, wrong, wrong. 

After the whole debacle with you walking in on him mid-shower complaining that your own room had flooded and him checking that it really had, you’d insisted on taking the couch in his own room. He pulled off his shirt and shut the lamp off. Then, he laid on his left side and tried to make out your figure on the couch.

He shouldn’t be thinking about having sex with you as you were peacefully asleep a few metres from him. He was supposed to be the epitome of your older, more mature (pretend) boyfriend who could will away an inopportune erection at any time. But what was consuming his mind right now was, well, the fictitious scenario where you did agree to share a bed with him tonight. There wouldn’t be a cold and empty space beside him. You’d be right up against him, unknowingly grinding up against his aching nether region as you combed through a bad dream, and teased out his erection further as a result. The fantasy echoed in his mind again and again until sleep finally caught up with him.

“Ngh, Bill,” you whined, your voice thick with sleep. 

You nestled into the cove of pillows, trying to chase away your bad dream. Your body followed suit. Your ass was turned towards him, giving him full permission and the ability to grind against you. He meant to be gentle, but his thrusts—like his breathing—were growing more rapid and frantic.

His hands weaved their way past your loose cotton top and landed atop your naked breasts. He was grateful that your shirt was cut so loose and short. His hands latched onto your breasts tightly, mainly out of lust and secondarily to find an anchor for his writing body. His calloused fingers began their usual routine of teasing your nipples. He pinched them occasionally as he continued to rub his stiff cock on your behind. You were responsive, both in the soft moans that left your lips only to be subdued by the pillows, and the wetness collecting in your cunt.

Your panties were fucking soaked. Bill could detail your folds through the slickness, and feel your spilling entrance through the thin fabric. And that thin fabric was the only thing preventing him from thrusting his full length into you. You writhed harshly when he pinched your left nipple again. The nub was standing at full attention for him. 

“What do you think?” asked Bill, voice husky as he asked in your ear. “Can you take my cock or will I have to stretch that tight pussy out?”

You responded with nothing more than shaky breath. You grinded against him, trying to shove your panties aside. “....want… your big cock inside me, Bill.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. 

One of his hands hastily left your breasts in pursuit of your panties. He shoved one side to join the other which gave him freedom to trail the head of cock against your cunt. How much better you felt without a fabric barrier was indescribable. The precum leaking from the tip of his cock met your own wetness. He felt like he was being enveloped in silk. And your opening swelled as if inviting him in, begging him to fill you up with his endless cum and impregnate you.

He dove two fingers straight into you, just to really confirm you were ready. He immediately began curling his fingers inside you, feeling the engorged, sensitive area inside that drove you wild.

“Your cock, Bill,” you whined.

His hand was drenched when he pulled his fingers out. Immediately, he replaced the emptiness with his cock. With one thrust, he entered you. You let out a sharp gasp. He knew his size was hard to take, and it always took you a minute or two to adjust to him. But he knew how much you wanted him to ruin you, begging him to fill you up to the hilt. And he could only oblige in those moments, watching as your eyes rolled back every time your orgasm washed over you. 

“Please,” you begged through gasps. “I need… need all of you inside me.”

Bill flipped you over so your face was pressed against the pillows. His hands spread your ass cheeks apart. He could see the tight ring of muscle that was clenched around his thick cock. He was really stretching you out. And as much as it hurt him to do, he pulled out.

“No,” you whined, your hand flying back to find and guide him back into you. 

“Patience,” he commanded. 

He ran the tip of his cock up and down your folds, gathering enough lubrication to meet your increasing demands. And when he felt it was sufficient, he slid himself back into you, pushing past the drier spot that was cutting him off halfway.

“Yes, that’s it, ah—,” you moaned, meeting him halfway for the last couple inches. Your ass raised in the air, desperate for more of him. You held yourself up with your elbows, using them to anchor yourself as you pushed back on him. You worked through the part of him that was thicker than the rest. It was always tricky, but how fast you got there depended on how horny you were, and tonight, you were insatiable.

“Fuck,” he whispered, feeling himself being enveloped by more of your sweet cunt. You were so helpless and needy for him. When he looked down again, he realized he was completely sheathed inside you. He began thrusting, the first couple of seconds working at a steady pace. He earned a few moans. Then, he pulled himself all the way out only to fill you completely again. 

“Bill!” you screamed. Your legs trembled as you clenched around him. He did it again, and again, so hard and fast, aching to hear those delicious screams. Wetness dribbled down your thighs and onto the sheets as you lost yourself in the pleasure. 

“Stop, Bill, I’m going to cum—”

Bill woke up with a jolt. His chest heaved up and down and his breathing was significantly laboured. When he grew accustomed to where he was—the Malfoy summer house in Nice—he looked over to you. You were buried under your covers, blissfully unaware of the lewd positions he held you in in his dreams. He hoped you didn’t hear his breathing, or that he hadn’t said anything weird in his sleep. 

He felt a severe ache between his legs. He had feeling this was the most intense erection he’d had in ages. He already knew he was intensely red and swollen. 

Maybe he needed to have sex with someone, anything that wasn’t his own damn hand, but he wasn’t fond of an anonymous hookup.

Curiously, he reached past the waistband of his briefs, looking for some sense of relief. He was pulsating hard and it was barely what, seven in the morning? He gave himself a stroke, gripping hard at the base and letting go near his wet tip. He suppressed a moan. An image of you, edging him with your tongue, came to mind. 

No, he couldn’t do this with you in the room. It would be most improper and he had to hold himself to a higher standard. Instead, he grabbed a newspaper on his nightstand. It was two days out-of-date, but he figured he should get up to speed with what was going on in Egypt. He was certain that reading about excavations and pyramids and uprisings would take his mind off things. 

Not more than a few minutes later, he heard some ruffling and kicking about on the couch.

“Morning,” Bill greeted.

“Good morning,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “How’d you sleep?”

“Very well,” he responded. A fucking bold-faced lie. “You?”

“I slept well, too.”

You were all bed-headed, doe-eyed innocence in the white sheets and he was corrupt was hell.  

You got on your feet and pushed open the curtains, letting the sun fully stream in. Bill gulped silently, watching your legs sway around the room. Fortunately for his sanity, you had on some white shorts. Unfortunately, they were so short that any unplanned movement could reveal your panties, and he wouldn’t be able to stop there. 

“We usually eat breakfast together downstairs," you yawned, covering your mouth, “but maybe some caffeine is in order first. I’m still waking up.”

“A morning swim is the best way to do that,” Bill suggested. He was really treading a fine line with that suggestion; he was adding fuel to his own wildfires. He really loved the idea of a morning swim, he really did. But there was the bonus aspect of you having to be properly suited for the occasion, and you weren’t going to do it in those itty-bitty shorts and a tank top.  

“It’s one of the things I miss about Egypt that we don’t have back home. And it helps quell the heat, too.” He, honest to Merlin, did do this in Egypt. But not for any underlying reasons. 

“That’s a good idea,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do that.”

When you arrived at the private stretch of beach, Bill watched as you slowly unwrapped yourself from the shawl you had on. When you found the will to submerge yourself, even if it was just a toe, he approached from behind you.

“Gently grazing the water isn’t the definition of a swim, you know,” he said, lightly tapping the inward curve of your bare hip.

“I know,” you mumbled back, a tinge of pink on your cheeks. 

He jumped in without thinking and you soon followed suit. He submerged his whole body into the pristine waters of the French Riviera. When he resurfaced, he was treated to a view he was sure he didn’t deserve. 

The wet, white material of your bikini clung onto the skin of your breasts like it was a matter of life or death. Drops of water dotted down your cleavage, slowly, tantalizingly so. The weight of the water dragged your bikini straps down, giving him an expansive view of your breasts. And was that an erect nipple poking through? The cold water must’ve teased it out. 

Yeah, the swim was a bloody awful idea. 

“You’ll never catch me, (Y/N),” he teased. He sent another wave of water towards you to stall you, laughing as you squeezed your eyes shut and sputtered.

“This means war, Bill!” you cried. You outstretched your arms to pull him back towards you. You were aided by a little current that carried you closer and your fingers finally made contact with his strong shoulders

“Ha!” you exclaimed, your fingertips getting a grip on him. “You’ll be sorry!”

He held his breath as he fell back into the water with you on top of him. When he felt sand and little pebbles dig into his back, he knew you’d both arrived on shore. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw you directly on top of him. Your wet hair grazed his cheeks and—

It wouldn’t be technically wrong to say you were grinding on him, not with the way your legs were splayed on both sides of him and the pressure you were putting on him. Your breasts were planted on his chest, and he could appreciate the clothed erect nipple on his skin. And as he looked down, there was more to see of your breasts than before. One wrong move and he would have a full view of the girls. It would be such a shame if your top came undone. But never mind that, he had to resist to urge to plant his hands on your hips and—

“Bill, it’s too deep,” you whined.

Bill’s hands were planted firmly on your hip bones, holding you down, forcing you grind on him with his cock deeply planted in you. You’d enveloped him to the hilt before, but you’ve never had him like this before, not in this position, and it was becoming too much.

“I think you like it, (Y/N),” he said with a chuckle. You looked down, embarrassed at the sudden spurt of wetness that ran down your thigh from your sex. As he began thrusting, you lost any sense of speech besides the ability to give a silent moan. When one of Bill’s hands loosened their grip on your hip to tease your engorged clitoris instead, you threw your head back.

The moment you’d realized how you’d fallen, you yelped immediately and apologized. 

“Time for breakfast?” you offered impassively, carefully looping your other leg over and rolling yourself off him. Sand stuck to the side of your wet legs. You offered him a hand.

“About time for it,” Bill responded as you pulled him up. 

“That was fun,” you commented, wrapping the beach towel over yourself and slipping into your sandals. “Better than my usual idea of a swim.”

Bill hummed in agreement, saying, “your idea of a swim isn’t much of a swim,” and followed you back into the house.

When you were back in your room, you’d dried off hastily, saying you were going to be late to breakfast.

“Is there a set time for breakfast?” he asked, eyeing as you flew around the bathroom looking for a comb.

“Not really, but it’s always at eight, and I was already chastised for being late yesterday.”

He had suppressed a comment about how beautifully haphazard you looked. Your hair was half-tamed, your cheeks flushed. You looked like you’d just had a good long romp in the sheets. 

“Then I’ll join you in a second,” he promised. “I’d like to look a little more presentable for your parents.”

“You look fine,” you commented. “But that’s alright, I’ll let them know.”

When you’d left the room, Bill headed straight to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and removed his clothes. As he felt his hardening cock spring loose, his frustration grew tenfold. He shouldn’t have suggested the swim; he was going to lose circulation to his brain if you kept turning him on like this. He stepped in the shower and placed his left forearm on the wall. His right hand reached out to stroke his uncomfortable erection. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. Drops of cold water ran down his back as he leaned over. He was so close already and thinking about your body atop of his, your wet cunt pushing down on him, begging to be fucked, was really expediting the process. “Shit.”

In no time, he felt the intense pressure break. He bit down on his lip to keep from making too much noise. Ropes of cums spurted out of his cock, falling into the shallow water that’d accumulated in the shower base. He heaved, his heartbeat rapid, as his strokes slowed.

When he looked down at the mess he’d made, he could only think: ‘what a waste.’ It should’ve gone into some orifice of yours instead. Maybe your mouth, where his hold on your head would be iron-clad, and he’d make sure you swallowed every single drop. Or even better, your cunt, where it would all spill out on the sheets the moment he pulled out because it was just too much for you.

When Bill felt himself harden again, he cursed the higher deities. He’d never recovered this quickly before. Again, not since he was a teenage boy. And there was what, another two weeks of you frolicking in bathing suits and sun dresses? 

You were slowly and surely going to be the death of him.

[hwascripts]

A Yandere Love Letter From Satan

Warning: Brief mention of violence, toxic behaviour, dark themes. This is simply a work of fiction, I in no way support or condone yandere behaviour.

Check out my directory if you want to see more

Hello, my darling.

I hope this letter finds you well. At the moment I am writing this, it has been exactly three days, 17 hours and 56 minutes since you “escaped” from me. Yes, darling, I’ve even counted until the very last minute. Your absence has been absolute torture, my sweet one.

Tell me, my beloved, did you honestly believe you could escape that easily from me? Did you sincerely think you could hide from the Avatar of Wrath? How silly of you to believe you could run from a demon you have a pact with; how silly indeed.

I know you've run off to the human world, my beloved. I know exactly where you are, and I can't say I’m amused. I’m furious with your decision to run away from me, your soul mate, to foolishly frolic around with your...” real boyfriend.”

The mere thought of a lowly, worthless, filthy HUMAN laying his hands on you, filling your pretty little head with ridiculous ideas, makes me want to rip out his heart. How dare such a disgusting, vile creature taint you with his impurities.

I am not a patient demon, my darling. My patience has been stretched thin over the last three excruciatingly painful days. You have one day to return to your rightful home, here in my arms. Fail to return, and I shall take matters into my own hands. I sincerely hope that wretched beast isn't too fond of his limbs because I’ll tear them apart slowly if you don’t take my warning seriously, my beloved.

And I do hope you don't think you won't be punished for this outrageous behaviour, darling. I hate punishing you, sweet one, but you must repent for betraying me, your only true love.

But for now, my beloved, I hope you like chains because you’ll be chained to my side forever.

Eternally yours,

Satan.

[theocddiaries]

Bruce: Face it, Dick. Our family is fucked up. Dick: How dare you say that!? [Jason arrives home dragging a bare Christmas tree] Jason: Dad, I need 20 bucks so I can tell my boss I sold these trees… And 50 bucks to fix a guy's windshield. Bruce: Hm... Exhibit A. Damian: I looked everywhere and I still can't find Ace. [sobbing]. What if he's dead? Bruce: Then he's the luckiest in the family. Dick: Bruce, shut up in this instant. Honey, he didn't mean that. Jason: Seriously, Dad, I need that money. That guy said he might sue you. Bruce: He better starts soon. [Tim comes in running] Tim: Jimmy Fitzsimmons is coming to kill me! Bruce: Well, there you go, perfect score! Let's just bring all the bad news at once! Santa Claus is coming early this year! [thudding] [From outside] Margie: Hey! Wayne! Where is the little spawn who hurt my son?! Bruce [sighs]: Great. [Gets out the house to meet the parent]. Can I help you? Margie: Your kid almost killed my kid. Bruce: He looks pretty alive to me. Margie: He tried to get my son to rob the church! Tim: That's not true! Jimmy: Yes, it is, you liar! Jason: Hey, leave my brother alone! Jimmy: Hey, you're the one who almost ran me over! Damian: Go away, Fitzsimmons! Jimmy: Mum, that one tried to gouge my eyes out! Margie: Christ, Wayne, are all your kids psychos? Bruce: Hey! Nobody calls my kids psychos except me! Tim: Thanks, Dad. Bruce: Shut up! Dick: You've got some nerve coming to our house on Christmas Eve to insult us and invent things about my brother. You owe us an apology, lady. Margie [Mockingly]: Uuuh, 'an apology', someone went to college. Dick: Yeah, I did. Tim: He didn't finish it, though. Dick: I swear, all the fucking times… Margie: You should've minded your own business, you nosey bi-- Bruce: I dare you to finish that sentence if you want your great-great-grandchildren to keep paying mine what you’ll owe me when I sue you for even the smallest infraction since you tainted the world with your birth. Margie: Jesus Christ, these people are crazy. [Leaving with his kid]. Your whole family's crazy! Bruce: I've got the best family in this whole goddamn town! And don't you ever come back! [Slams the door shut]. Jason: You mean that about us? Bruce: I absolutely do. You all right, chum? Dick [Smiling, knowingly]: Yes. Fine. Tim [Hugs Bruce by the waist]: Thanks, Dad. Bruce: OK, all right, all right. [Pats his head]. Dick [Whispers]: Were you saying earlier? Bruce: Alright… I got some good kids. Jason: Considering who raised us. Bruce [Ruffles his hair]: Despite that, yes, you're OK.