#i felt like i was speaking to children but even children get this

[reality-itself-but-magic]

Lost in a land not your own, with your memories of the past torn and smudged like paper left out in a storm, you clung to whatever memories you could salvage. When you woke up, you had three things: A brittle, broken sword, a map with a destination circled, and a simple written apology. You were found in the temple of one of the newer gods, one of those which hadn’t quite learnt to control their powers. There were reports of them making storms in deserts, warping life by accident, all sorts of bizarre occurrences. Bizarre almost like taking a stranger from their home and dropping them somewhere else.

But gods did as gods were, and seething over the mistakes of a child would not do any good to you. You set out to get to the circled destination, determined to find your way back home. Home to where there would be people waiting for you - maybe even people who worried after you.

You set sail with a company of honest folk, merchants and farmers looking to sell their wares across the seas. You didn’t want to trouble any of them, taking up instead a quite corner, where it was just you and the rocking waves.

You took out the sword you had landed with. It was broken, brittle, bad craftsmanship. You couldn’t remember where you learnt to tell how well made a sword was. Running your hands over the dull edge, you startled as you heard a voice from behind you.

“That looks awfully worn.” A stranger commented. “Want me to fix that up for you?”

You took them up on the offer, once they told you they used to be a blacksmith. Crows feet lined their eyes, but warmth still shone in them. They told you much more, as you spent the whole evening with them while they worked, partially to keep an eye on the sword, and partially because you yearned for conversation, a sympathetic other. When they were done, they handed you the sword, no longer as marred and battle-worn, but still without many virtues to extoll. Your hands closed around the leather of the hilt, and with a flash you knew something with certainty. You had loved this blade, once. This was a blade you knew as kindly as yourself. The blacksmith might have seen some of that, because they left you be for the evening, departing with an address and a firm order to drop by if you were ever near.

By the time the voyage over sea had ended, your spirits had grown low, and the map had faded for him many times you had unrolled it, pored over it, imagined yourself home with it. The next leg of your journey, you went to meet a woman who led travelers on trips to the mountain villages, whom the blacksmith had recommended you speak to.

She was kind, a bit sharp while she bargained, but kind, inviting you to stay in her house for the night, as the trip on horseback began the next day. As you followed her along hallways with framed portraits, floors dotted with children’s toys, you felt a sort of yearning, a nostalgia for a place you’d never been. The warm, lived-in home she kept was painfully familiar to you, but terribly out of reach.

By the next day, when lunchtime rolled around, the unpolished nature of your sword was irritating you. You picked up a round enough stone, with an expert eye, and spent your spare time polishing the blade. You remember… something. There is a great weight to this sword.

By the time she guides you to the village, your memories are lacing together. Your recollections multiply, you know this path, this stone, this plant. You know this place where you learnt the trade of forging, this place which is your home.

You break into a dead sprint as your heart pounds in you ears. The guide is left behind but somehow, you don’t think she’ll mind. Up ahead, tending to the garden, is a beautiful woman half-wearing armor, interrogating someone nearby. As she sees you, her face lights up.

“So you are here! Everyone seems awfully worried about you, and I was gone far longer than I meant to be, the bounty hunters guild is being stingy as always-” She was cut off by you barreling into her, hugging her as if you could merge into her so you would never be separated again. You step back, drawing the sword.

“I believe this is yours?” You ask, memories almost all reformed. You remember her - your beautiful, amazing wife, for whom you had forged this sword with your two hands, who probably didn’t even know you were missing if she was just now able to return from her adventuring - and you swear you’ll never forget her again.

@otherwindow I made it unsad ^^

A Dark Souls-like game where the lore for a weapon gets less vague the more you upgrade it. Broken Blade: A brittle sword. You can’t seem to let it go. Unpolished Blade: A cherished weapon from ages past. Polished Blade: You remember something. Bride’s Blade: Your wife’s sword.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Found | Platonic Yandere Demon Queen

Thinking about how society treats pregnant women. It’s a freshly new concept that pregnant women have autonomy and independence. More often than not when women are identified as pregnant there’s a trend of infantalizing. In a backward sense of thought a woman dealing with carrying life is reduced to a tired, stressed, and moody woman that must be appeased. Cravings demand she want pickles and ice cream. She’s got it! Don’t have this meal have this one, it’s better for your baby's health! Oh listen to Fur Elise it’ll calm you and make your baby smart! Tantrum at 3 in the morning? Don’t pay her any mind. 

Not all of the people caring for pregnant women do this negatively. Many times the concern of friends and family can ease the entire process. What’s more not all of the typically overreaching behaviors are unfounded, during a pregnancy there’s so much happening with the body the brain can be especially fragile. 

All that being said when the Demon Queen announced to her generals that she was expecting, immediately her subordinates silently moved to support their Queen on a much….deeper level. 

“My Queen I have some unfortunate news.”

“Speak General Mordecai.”

“The….raspberry jam reserves are no more.”

“I see…then break out the grape. It’s not my favorite but it’ll be due until we can get a new shipment.”

“That’s the thing….there are no grape jams left either.”

“…AAAAAAAGGHGHGH”

It’s a small dangerous line her generals tread on. Between receiving demands for jams to attacking the human kingdoms it’s left many exhausted. But there’s hope as the 10th month of her pregnancy concludes. Her army and its leaders will be assured further tantrums that result in heads being cut off will only be because she is dissatisfied with their work rather than her paranoia about her changing shape. 

But alas nothing is ever easy in the demon army, when the emergency messenger wyverns fly to the top-ranked generals with grave news. 

“The Queen’s child is….dead?!”

Children are a gift….miracles that can last as long as the tallest tree or end in a second faster than you can blink. Unfortunately, the Queen’s miracle was exactly an hour which meant a month of devastation for everyone. Of course, a mother’s grief is immeasurable and tragic but a the Demon Queen was a mother is even worse. Every day her generals stomached the thick and violent aura that oozed from their leader for meters long. Even the humans felt it; their crops drooping as if sharing her sorrow. Other forms of magic degraded at the glum influence her power held. 

In a moment of respite, the highest Demon General and the Exalted Hero came together. 

“This can’t go on….the magic this world has is sure to dissipate with this much despair.”

“I…agree…but grief isn’t something to be done away with, so simply.”

“I do have…one idea.”

“I don’t trust your judgment, Hero.”

“Sometimes neither do I, but I wouldn’t be the hero if I didn’t try!”

“.....Your optimism is nauseating. After this, I’m going to intensify my efforts to smite you.”

“Wow, thanks.”

The Exalted Hero’s glorious plan could only be enacted by the Demon Queen’s highest-ranking general. Strong enough to withstand the toxic magic-draining aura she exuded with little trouble. Her pride long out of reach as she rotted in the opulent and soft expanse of what would have been her nest.

“My Queen, would you like to overthrow the village on the outskirts of town? It’s been long since we’ve terrified the humans you and I.”

“...YoU DArE IntErRuPT mY BrOodING!?”

After sustaining some minor injuries a broken horn he stood by her side as she annihilated the entirety of the outer village of humans, sending a pillar of purple fire. Of course, only a few foolish humans attempt to intervene before she quickly snaps her fingers and their heads go flying. The humans are so full of non-magic that they are unburdened by her presence and she finds little enjoyment in making them writhe before dying. Her first officer knows this has done nothing but stave her boredom as the few who remain scream in agony or attempt to run. Without calling attention he steps away, picking a random home currently on fire. He steps inside hardly caring for the gaggle of gasping humans crawling helplessly around. It isn’t until he sees the singed doll on the ground does he fully inspect the home. Going deeper within as he hoped he finds precisely what he’s looking for.

When he returns to the Queen’s side, the boredom on her face hasn’t changed and he’s sure in a moment he’ll be ordered to level the town but first–

“Mordecai you can begin the—”

“WAHHH!”

The cry of an infant has the Queen sprinting, breaking the sound barrier to the burning house. On the doorstep is a naked babe, face contorted as they cry something fierce. Dismissing the nearly charcoal human reaching out the Demon Queen picks the baby up, cradling them into her chest.

“You poor poor dear, what Mother would leave you unattended during such a tragedy?”

The crying calms as she rocks the baby, waiting for its grabby hands pulling at her enchanted armor just like her own child did for the hour she knew her. Barely feeling the clasp of burnt fingers wrapping around her ankle she shakes her boots and steps on the weed pulling at her.

“Mordecai I leave this mud heap to you. Leave no trace.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Oh and announce to the armies that my child has been found.”

The Queen’s teleportation and the dissipating fog of her magic-draining cloud made the general smile. Far away the Hero has to refuse the help of the orphanages, they so gallantly encouraged. While the general hated the hero with all his being, the plan was diabolically perfect. What grieving mother would resist an orphaned crying babe? This mother just so happened to be the Queen of Demons with despair deep enough to cripple the entire living world—and now she was happy again.

“All of my demons, behold! The heir to the New World!”

“RAAAAAAHHH!”

Lucky you. The human baby of the feared Demon Queen set to inherit the world their mother was set to conquer. Surely their only real obstacles will be navigating the demon hierarchy and even that will be limited. For now, the Demon Queen has a child and absolutely no one will threaten the happiness of her darling baby.

More? Who am I kidding I'm definitely writing more of this 🖤🖤🖤🖤

[marlynnofmany]

Correct in Size and Opinion

So, most intelligent species get their common names by suggesting an idea themselves when they enter polite society. There’s a whole database for making sure there are no duplicates, and minimizing confusion. Sometimes their existing name for themselves makes it in, if it’s pronounceable enough for the average intelligent being (“humans”), and there’s no easily-agreed-on description for them. But usually the common name is a descriptive word (“Heatseekers”), or even a long phrase, shortened down for casual use (“The Mesmerizing Ones” / “Mesmers”). Sometimes a nickname becomes more popular than the official name. (Nobody calls Armorlites “The Mighty” unless they have to). At any rate, an intelligent race’s common name generally tells you something about the way they see themselves.

Which made it all the funnier when I found out that the gigantic elephantlike folks I hadn’t seen in ages were officially called “Those Who Are the Correct Size.” Sizers for short. They were the biggest aliens I’d interacted with personally, and it seems they had opinions about that.

“How do you suppose that conversation went down?” I asked Mur as we walked. The raised sidewalk was impressively sturdy, and I felt confident that I could carry on a conversation while carrying the package for delivery. The fact that there was a clear wall instead of railings helped. It was a long drop to the ground.

“The diplomats probably thought it was funny,” Mur said from behind me, making quiet tentacle-step sounds. “Or these folks were pushy about it, but they always seem pretty easygoing to me.”

Sizers ambled past on the main road, behemoths in shades of sunset pink, largely ignoring the smaller citizens on the walkway at head level. None moved with any particular urgency. They probably would have noticed if someone was in stepping-on range, but thankfully the architecture had been modified to reduce that risk. Raised walkways lined every building, some leading to ramps and stairways while others had their own little doors cut into the walls.

It was all very thoughtful. I wondered how many accidents had happened before those alterations were put in.

Mur suddenly said, “Grab on!” then the walkway shuddered.

I clutched the top of the railing-wall, looking about wildly for the danger. It wasn’t hard to spot. A handful of babies — toddlers the size of a city bus — had tumbled against the side of the building. The street below us was now a riot of clumsy pink limbs and flapping orange ears, the babies squalling and whapping each other with their trunks. Those trunks came in pairs, top and bottom, and their tails were similarly grabby. These little ones didn’t know how to use any of them yet.

An adult Sizer waded in and separated the children, calming them with strokes of his own trunks and with rumbling words I couldn’t hope to interpret. But the walkway was stable now.

A giant eye focused on the pair of us, then the Sizer switched to a more recognizable language. “Look, you almost made some of the littles fall. Apologize for scaring them.”

A chorus of badly-pronounced apologies drifted up to us.

I waved a hand. “Apology accepted! No harm done.”

Mur agreed, his tone a bit forced.

The adult shooed the children away down the road, keeping them corralled between his trunks in the center of the road while they stumbled eagerly.

Mur collapsed dramatically into a squidlike puddle of relief. “I am so glad they’re leaving. What absolute menaces.”

“Ah, they can’t help it,” I said. “Cute little things. Well, relatively speaking.”

“Not the word I’d use,” Mur said, pulling himself together and getting upright.

“I know, none of them are little.”

“I mean cute! What is cute about those terrors?” he demanded, pointing with a tentacle to where they disappeared in the crowd. One of the babies was spinning its top trunk like a propeller, and another had just tripped over its own feet.

“They’re adorable,” I told him. “You saw them shuffling around looking shy and saying ‘sowwy.’”

Mur squinted up at me. “You and I have very different ideas of what should be adored. Do humans always appreciate other species’ infants?”

“Well,” I said, thinking. “Probably, yes. Somebody once explained it to me that since our own young are helpless for so long, we got evolutionarily overclocked for thinking babies are cute, just to make sure we take care of them. That might have spilled over to other things.”

“That explains a lot,” Mur said. He stepped past me to lead the way. “I remember Zhee losing a bet about whether you would pet that spiny little creature a while back.”

“It was precious once it calmed down!”

“According to you.”

“It had a cute little face, and made the most charming little noises,” I insisted.

“Even though it looked nothing like your own species, huh?”

“I can’t believe you don’t think it was cute, honestly.”

The conversation lasted until we reached our destination: a door with the word “Medicinery” written somewhat clumsily above it. When Mur pushed on the door, it swung open as easily as a cat flap.

Our walkway continued along the interior wall, giving us a good view of several adult Sizers waiting patiently in line while others moved about behind a counter. It was all similar to any number of other places I’d been, just at a much larger scale.

Since the walkway only led in one direction, we went that way: down a bit of a slope to a wider platform at the end of the counter. One Sizer saw us coming and finished talking with a customer, moving over to greet us instead of the next in line. A different receptionist called over that person instead.

“Hello!” she said, deep-voiced and cheery. “What can I do for you today?”

I lifted the box. “We have a delivery for you. Medicine, I believe.”

“Oh yes, I heard we were running low on something!” She reached out her trunks for it and I handed it over, feeling like I was faced with a pair of animated engine chutes. I’d seen Mimi working on parts of our own ship this size.

While she set the box aside, I got out the payment tablet with Mur whispering unnecessary reminders of how to set it on magnified holographic mode. This particular client had no chance of being able to sign for the delivery at our scale.

She made an elegant swooping signature in midair, then typed in her other identifying information on the holographic keyboard. “There you go! Thanks for bringing this. We don’t get too many patients your size, but it’s important that we have the proper medicine in stock for when we do. Un-expired, even!”

“Yes, that part’s important!” I agreed.

She asked, “I hope the walk over was agreeable? Everything accessible and in good repair?”

“It was fine!” I told her, folding away the holographics. “Great setup you have here.”

Mur grumbled an objection, but not loud enough for the Sizer to pick up.

“So glad to hear it,” she said to me. “It’s the least we can do to keep you little folks out of harm’s way. Wouldn’t want anyone to step on your cute little heads!”

Mur made a snorting noise while I answered diplomatically. “Our cute little heads appreciate it.”

She flapped her ears and waved a trunk in body language that might have suggested she was embarrassed about her own choice of phrasing.

Mur spoke up. “I have a quick question, if you don’t mind.”

I raised an eyebrow while the Sizer encouraged him to ask his question.

“We were having a conversation on the way here about the respective adorableness of other species,” Mur said, flipping a tentacle between the two of us. “Is there a general opinion among Sizers about small folks being cute?”

She definitely looked embarrassed now, waving her trunk and glancing away like an elderly aunt who’d said something improper. “Oh, well, some definitely are if you ask me, but I can hardly speak for everyone. Some, yes! With your cute little heads and tiny eyes. Absolutely precious.”

She was looking at me. Mur’s head was shaped like a squid; hardly little.

“Anyways!” she said, standing up straighter. “That hardly factors into making sure everyone has a safe route through town, without a danger of getting stepped on. I’m very glad you found the walkways acceptable. Thank you again for the delivery!”

“It was our pleasure,” I said.

Mur added, “Have a nice day!” but she was already moving on to the next Sizer in line.

I met Mur’s eye, holding in a snicker, and headed for the door. I made it outside before collapsing into laughter.

“See, it’s not just humans!” I exclaimed. “She thinks we’re cute!”

“I can’t believe it,” Mur said. “She really does. And the others probably do too.”

I pointed a finger at him, still laughing. “And she doesn’t think you’re cute!”

Mur folded half of his tentacles, standing tall on the other ones. “That’s up for debate.”

“We have to tell Zhee. He’ll think this is hilarious.”

Mur agreed, “He really will. Pity he didn’t come today. I wonder if the Sizers would think he looks like an adorable little youngling too.”

“Probably not, if I had to guess.” I started the long walk back to our ship. “My species isn’t historically charmed by exoskeletons, and theirs may not be either. But who knows? We can always call them up and ask.”

“I am absolutely not doing that.”

“Yeah, me neither. But it would be funny.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[sn0tcl0wn]

just found out that gen x really doesnt get that cancelling isn't gonna ruin anyone's career if they listen to their pr teams and that they do it to celebs too. this is wild to me.

they're so scared of the liberal agenda that the second some old fuck they vaguely know about says they're being hunted for sport by the blue haired pronoun people, they immediately jump on that person's side with no interest in finding further context. meanwhile the reasons they were cancelled for their political beliefs usually come down to them bullying leftists and minorities on twitter, spouting white supremacist dogwhistles, or saying suuuuper fucked up shit about national tragedies or sensitive topics they have no right to be speaking on period, let alone so callously.

but no we all decided to ruin the careers of these people we don't even care about for no reason other than we're not being catered to. it's never that we just don't like them and talk shit on the internet or the person was being a straight up bigot or fuckin criminal. nah we're just lil haters who are out to get the conservatives lmao. watch out.

[beef-brisket]

Adam groaned as the bell rang, signalling the end of the extermination. He's noticed that the sinners are getting more resistant, and some are even attacking.

Not that it's doing much, his girls are able to handle anything, even if these assholes have angelic weapons.

But that doesn't mean Adam isn't worried. He stuck semi close to Abel, making sure nothing happened and nothing got too close.

Once Adam returned to the barracks, he couldn't see Abel anywhere. He was worried at first and took it upon himself to look around the common areas before heading to the commaders room.

But when he wasn't there, Adam started to panic, and on his way out, he nearly smacked into someone he really didn't feel like dealing with.

Lucifer: I- woah! Ada! Where's the fire?

Adam wants to break this basfards nose, do badly. If he had a nose, that is.

"Move. Abel is missing. I'm going out to find him."

Lucifer: Abel? Oh, I'm sure he's fine!

"He comes back with everyone at the end of each extermination! This is the first time he's late- and sinners have been fighting back, I'm not taking any chances."

As Ada started to leave, Lucifer quickly followed. He didn't know what she meant by sinners are fighting back- they shouldn't be. But... he does t blame them, he supposes.

Adam stopped when he heard someone following him. What he didn't expect was seeing the king.

"...What are you doing?"

Lucifer: Helping you, of course! I don't want the commander getting hurt. Not on our watch. It'll start a damn war!

Adam glared. "Damn fucking right, it will."

-

They flew around for what felt like hours, and Adam was getting extremely worried. He couldn't believe he had left his son for more than a second.

He couldn't trust Hell. His baby was too pure for this shit hole.

Lucifer could sense the growing tension, and as much as he hoped the second son was alright, he was curious about how Ada would act once they found him.

Ada came to a sudden stop. The king watched on a few beats in front of her. He watched her for a second before she dived down into an alley.

The king wasn't ready for Ada to be so quick, so he didn't move right away but when he did, he followed her down.

Landing at the entrench of the alley, he looked and saw Ada hugging a shaking Abel, surrounded by at least ten bloody bodies. One even had his golden sword sticking out of its back.

He could hear muffled whispers coming from the two. Abel sounded so panicked, and... he couldn't make out what Ada was saying. IF she was saying anything.

Lucifer: ...What happened?

Abel jumped, and looked up from Ada's arm: Y-You highness?! I-I didn't know you were here- I- I'm sorry-! S-so sorry! They crowded me- attacked me- I didn't want to- I didn't want to!

There aren't many of Adam's children Lucifer would feel sorry for, but Abel? Now? There was definitely a clench in his chest.

Looking up at Ada, Abel already have his hands wrapped around his helmet. Lucifer cpuld hear him begging to take it off, that he couldn't breath.

Ada helped him, quickly lifting it off his head.

Lucifer didn't know what to expect, but seeing a young man with a mop of blonde hair and Adam's golden eyes wasn't it.

He looked too innocent to be the commander. Lucifer couldn't understand why they got rid of Adam. Sure, he was an asshole but even Lucifer would admit that he was good at his job. Too good, sometimes.

Abel: I-I want to go home- can you- take over? P-Please- please, I can't do this.

Lucifer strained his ears to hear Ada speak, but he couldn't. It was like her voice was at a frequency only Abel could hear, and at first, Lucifer didn't know she was saying anything but by the lack of hand movements he put two and two together.

Adam: We're ending the extermination early, okay hun? We're heading back.

Abel: B-Back? But- can't Sera just... m-make you commander...? A-Again...?

Adam cupped Abel's face: I wish, bud. Really. But it's not that easy. She won't make it easy. So, we'll end it early.

Abel: No! No-no, I can... I don't want to disappoint the exorcists. Make them not have faith in me... I-I want to make you proud.

Adam smiled: You already have.

Abel cried and nuzzled into Adam's neck, making the first man wrap his arms tightly around the him.

Glancing at Lucifer, Adam made sire he was far enough away to not be able to hear them. They we're speaking as quietly as possible, but Adam doesn't trust the little bastard.

Abel: I... I want to try... I don't want to let them down or Heaven.

Adam's always been proud of his children, even Cain, but especially Abel. Right now, at least. He was being so brave, braver than Adam was when he first joined Heaven's army. He refused to attack, but Michael put a stop to that very quickly.

Adam: Okay, hun. I'll stay with you as best as I can.

Abel nodded and pulled on his helmet, both exorcist stand and carefully step over the pile of bodies.

Adam stood near Lucifer and watched as his son pulled his sword from one of the sinners' backs.

Lucifer looked between the two before looking up at Ada: Everything alright?

Ada nodded. "Fine. He was just a little shaken. He's never killed before. And no matter who you are, having a group of people corner you isn't the best feeling."

Lucifer nodded: He defended himself. But, this-.

The king waved a hand towards the carnage at the end of the alley.

Lucifer: Is the point. Their meant to die. And he feels... sorry? He's not like Adam, is he? He's too... sweet. Almost as if Adam never left- uh, it doesn't matter. Forget I said anything.

The first man wanted... to do something violent towards Lucifer. Like he'd know what he was like in Eden, Lucifer was the one that ruined it and turned cold towards Adam BECAUSE he acted that way. Because he was so different than Lilith.

He didn't even notice the changes in Adam as the days went past, as Lilith got bolder and more hurtful.

"...it's his first extermination. He's never killed anything in his life or afterlife- until now. And he doesn't know how Adam acted in Eden. He was born on earth and not in paradise. But I'm sure you remember. Don't need a history lesson after so many years, do you shorty?"

Lucifer stared at Ada, his red eyes burning brightly: No. I remember perfectly well.

"Good. I hope it hurts to remember all the shit you caused."

Lucifer glared, but before he could say anything, the new commander walked up to them, bloody sword in hand.

Abel: Okay- sorry about that... are we ready to head back?

He felt awkward as he looked between Lucifer and his dad. Why... were they together? He's never seen his dad hate anyone more than Lucifer and... well, he's heard the rumours about Lucifer and Lilith's feelings towards Adam.

Not that he understands it, but he knows better than to bring up Eden.

"You're fine, bud. You okay?"

Abel smiled awkwardly, Lucifer was still staring- glaring up at Adam: Uh- yep! I'm ready- are you?

Lucifer: We are. Let's head back. Quickly.

"Agreed."

Adam the Exorcist

@beef-brisket

Lute looked up wide eyed as her commander was giving his speech and there was a little sinner coming up behind him.

Lute: SIR BEHIND YOU!?

Adam stopped and turned, he gasped and grabbed Nifty by the neck and threw her at the hotel crew and Lucifer, glaring at the lot of them.

Adam: THIS ISN'T FUCKING OVER!!

Lucifer: I think it is bud, you should go home.

Adam glared more, he was leaving because he wanted to not because this little fucker told him to. He waved his hand giving them the signal that extermination day was officially over.

Adam: Exorcists fall back!

Lute: But ..... Sir -

Adam: NOW Lute!!

She nodded and glared at the King and princess of Hell along with her friends. They all flew back to heaven and Adam flipped Lucifer off before he was fully back in.

Adam groaned when the portal closed, they had never had it go that wrong that fast. This wasn't going to end well.

-

Adam: Retire!?

Sera sighed she knew Adam wouldn't take this well.

Sera: Yes Adam, it's time you step down as the commander of the exterminators.

Adam: Is this about what happened!? Because it won't happen again.

Sera: You're right, it won't.

Adam sighed: But Abel? My boy is too soft to do that job.

Sera: There's no one else to do it. You nearly died down there we....... We can't lose you.

On one hand he understands where she's coming from, but he was meant to do this! The only reason things went bad was because Lucifer showed up.

Lute just HAD to kill the princess's pet.

Adam: I don't want him to die.

Sera: He won't. We will be doing a more regimented training routine. You deserve a rest Adam.

Adam: ..... Yes Sera.

She smiled and held out her arms, Adam hugged her. She was only doing this because she loves him, he knows that. Doesn't make it suck any less.

Adam went back to his room to lay down, he didn't realize how tired he was until he did.

There had to be a way that he could still be an exterminator.

Some how.

[dream-sans-mogai]

Anyway, because I'm considered a bigger creator within the mogai community and I have a responsibility to address things given my bigger audience-

Please remember that Tumblr, especially LGBT Tumblr concerning discourse and intracommunity issues, is a hyper niche, reactive, violent, sensitive community with next to zero basis in reality at large and you should not take any of its opinions as absolute fact. Especially the mogai community's opinions.

A lot of people on mogai Tumblr talk big game with very clearly fake the-whole-bus-clapped stories about the real world concerning acceptance towards mspec monos, Neopronouns and Xenogenders and it's my job as an adult and guiding voice to remind people these experiences may happen but rarely do and you absolutely should not just tell random people you use purr/purrs pronouns or your a bi gaybian or you identify as Chronosian or other things like that because it's really fucking dangerous even in hyper progressive places like new york, cali and Detroit. It can be deadly in many many small towns, including ones in progressive states. Especially dangerous in non accepting states.

I don't say this to burst your bubble or ruin your hopeful world view but many stories of acceptance are fake, even if some are true, most of the community is underage and just cause your teacher may approve of your Soniccharic identity, doesn't mean they won't tell your transphobic parents. It's scary and dangerous out here for trans and gay people rn and I won't be one of the idiots who tell you to run and frolic with your Xenogender pins Infront of increasingly hostile transphobes. I want the younger gen z trans people to survive and I won't lie to you about the reality of the battle we all are staring down concerning project 2025.

Most of the people telling these stories live in progressive states and do not tell you about the failed times or exaggerate the acceptance they supposedly received. I'm telling you from the mouth of someone who grew up in a tiny town in South Ohio with less than 1,000 people, it's still just as dangerous as it was 10 years ago. I still get followed in my home town. I still get stares in my home town. My actual home town, a place I grew up in where people knew me as the gnc dyke for a good while in my last 2 years of school. Do not spread this shit around to everyone. Nex didn't think they would become a victim, Brianna didn't think she would be one of the unlucky ones, plenty of those we've lost did not think they would die in hate crimes. I almost died in two of the hate crimes I've experienced.

You need to be really fucking careful and although I love than Neopronouns and Xenogenders are becoming more accepted by the larger LGBT community, you need to be very very VERY careful about what you do, what you wear and who you tell what because word spreads fast in suburbia and hate spreads faster. You do not want to be wearing a pin the day some white cishet magat decides he's tired of the "pedophiles" and chooses you as the first victim because you were the first he saw. Don't hide who you are but Be. Fucking. Careful.

[waheedawolf]

.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Me, You, and Baby, Too

Summary: You and Joel have always wanted kids, but didn't want to rush into having them until you both were ready. After a surprise at his job, Joel realizes there's nothing more he wants to do than put a baby in you as soon as he gets home.

Pairing: Husband!Joel Miller x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (it's baby making time, so hush), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, big ole fat and nasty breeding kink (.... don't look at me it's bad), creampie, cum play, talks of starting a family, calling Joel "Daddy" (in the sense you want to have his babies, but also 🤷🏼‍♀️), Sweet soft Joel who loves his wife and would give her the universe if he could, honestly with just the way Joel is talking about makin' babies, I think I'm pregnant

A/N: It's that time of the month where Madeline ovulates and writes feral breeding kink smut!!! 🤪 Okay I am so nervous to post this because I have never written for Joel before and I'm worried it's trash with a capital T, but after re-watching TLOU, I need 2003 Joel Miller carnally, so here we are. This is also inspired by @mrsmando post about 2003 Joel Miller constantly keeping you barefoot and pregnant because it made me unwell, and no lies were told. (thanks for ruining my life mimi) 🤠 ANYWHO I hope you guys like it, and if not, I'll shut up and go back to writing Javi and Frankie and pretend like this didn't happen

There were a lot of stereotypical answers that you expected from your husband when you asked him how his day at work had been:  

“Good.” 

“Fine.” 

“Long.” 

“My knees are killin’ me.” 

“Tommy did somethin’ fuckin’ stupid again.” 

“Better now that I’m home with you.” 

So when Joel arrived home today after a new job he had started with Tommy on a bathroom renovation, there were few things that could have prepared you for the response your husband had when you asked him how his day had gone. 

“Hey, honey. How was your day today?” You smiled, watching Joel stroll in through your front door, kicking off his work boots at the entryway, beginning to put away his things before strolling into the kitchen to greet you. 

“Pretty good." He paused, leaning in for a quick kiss before making his way over to the closet before speaking again. "Saw a real cute baby today.” 

You could practically feel your heart skip a beat as you looked up from the vegetables you had been cutting up for dinner, tightening the grip you had around your knife to make sure you didn’t drop it in shock. 

Out of all the things for Joel to bring up on the first day at a new job, a cute baby had been at the top of the list.

Not floor plans. 

Not timelines for the project.

Not something stupid that Tommy did. 

Not even what he had done today on the job. 

The top news that Joel Miller had to report back to you about his day was the sighting of a cute baby. 

You and Joel had always agreed that you’d wanted kids, and your husband had been not only adamant, but genuinely excited at the prospect of becoming a dad. But only being a little less than a year into your marriage, the two of you had decided you didn’t want to rush into anything, and when the time felt right, you’d both know it. 

But one by one, as your friends began to announce their pregnancies, baby showers, and pictures of their adorable newborns, you couldn’t help but deny the baby fever starting to burn hotter and hotter inside you with every passing day. 

You’d brought it up in passing a few times with Joel, talking about your friends who had kids, or a cute mom and her children you saw walking around in your neighborhood, and while he had always had a positive response to what you had to say, you just had a feeling that now just wasn’t the time for the two of you yet, and that was okay.  

But here you were, standing in your kitchen, jaw practically scraping the ground at the notion that your husband had dropped just about the least subtle hint ever that babies weren’t just at the forefront of your mind- they were on his, too. 

“Awh, really?” You asked, shaking your head to snap out of your shocked state, returning back to dice the onion you had been working on before Joel could turn around to see you after finishing hanging up his things in the closet, trying to subtly coax more information out of him. 

“Yeah.” He smiled, joining you in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to his chest for a soft kiss to greet you, “The family we’re startin’ the bathroom reno for just moved in. Had their first baby a few months ago and just hadn’t had time to work on fixin’ things.” 

“So they’re already putting the baby to work with you and Tommy?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at Joel playfully, giving him a quick peck back on the lips as he laughed at your sass. 

“Cheap labor.” Joel shrugged back, playing into the joke, “Nah, she woke up from her nap while Tommy and I were runnin’ through some measurements so her mom brought her out for the last lil bit we were there. She was damn cute, too. Just smilin’ and laughin’ at everything.” 

You were glad Joel’s arm was still wrapped around your hip, because you were convinced if it wasn’t, you were about to melt to the floor into a puddle, watching how soft and sweet Joel was talking about a cute, smiling baby. 

“Well a cute baby definitely sounds like a very nice perk of being on the job.” You smirked, trying to play it cool enough to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. 

“Yeah.” Joel replied softly, quietly pausing for a moment, watching the gears turning in his brain, carefully calculating his words before he spoke. 

“You okay?” You asked, looking up at Joel, knowing your husband well enough that he had something on his mind he was trying to work up the confidence to spit out. 

Joel looked back down at you, big brown eyes locking with yours as his grip around your waist tightened ever so slightly, tongue swiping against his plush bottom lip as he took a long, deep breath in and slow exhale out.  

“Honey, what is it?” You asked again, now slightly concerned with how nervous your husband looked in his stoic silence, reaching up to gently wrap your fingers around his arm, thumb stroking his skin. 

“I want one.” 

You froze, worried that your heart may have actually stopped as you looked at Joel, making sure that you had really just heard what he had said. 

“W-what?” 

“I want one. A baby. I- I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked about it, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and seein’ that baby today, it just- shit, I just couldn’t stop picturin’ what it would be like to have one of our own I guess.” 

If you weren’t a puddle before, you sure as fuck were now.  

An overwhelming sensation of nerves and excitement began thrumming through your veins, your heart beat pounding in your ears as your face grew warm and a smile started to spread between your cheeks. You were almost certain you had to be dreaming, asking again to make sure that someone needed to come and wake you up and send you back to reality. 

“Joel… Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Nothin’ I want more. I know I ain’t gonna even be close to the perfect dad, but I know you’ll be sucha good mom, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want some tiny lil versions of us runnin’ around. Couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier than that. Like I said, I know that we ain’t talked about in a while, and if ya aren’t ready yet that’s okay but I-” 

Before Joel could even finish the rest of his thought, you were pressing up to plant your lips to his with passionate intensity, hands roaming up his chest before cupping his jaw and the scratchy stubble of his cheeks while your stomach flipped with arousal and want, already feeling a damp patch beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear. 

You pulled away, kisses traveling along his jawline and up his neck until you were nipping at his ear, the hot breath of your words whispering against his skin. 

“You wanna make a baby, Joel Miller?” 

“Fuck-” Joel groaned, reaching his other arm around you grab at your ass, pulling you in tight enough to feel the bulge beginning to grow under the denim of his worn jeans, pressing against your thigh.

“‘Cause there’s nothing that I want more than to make you a daddy.” You smirked, looking up to watch Joel’s eyes darken with lust, jaw going slack as a low groan rumbled in his chest, his once half hard cock now fully erect and straining against his zipper, trying to keep from giggling watching your husband try to string together any sort of thoughts to speak. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” He moaned, running his hand over his face to try and regain his composure to keep from busting right then and there. “You- fuck, you sure, baby?” 

“Mhmmmm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anything in my whole life. So sure,” you paused, softly pressing your lips to his between words, “that I think we should go make one right now.” 

Your adamant confirmation was all it took to set off something almost animalistic in Joel, crashing his lips back into yours in a messy clash of tongues and teeth, gripping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up around his hips and lock your legs behind the small of his back. Without ever letting your mouths part, Joel was already halfway to the bedroom before you had even realized it, playfully giggling at how frantically he was carrying you down the hallway, your bodies bumping against the walls and door frames, too focused on desperate and needy kisses for any sort of spatial awareness. 

Finally reaching your bed, Joel carefully laid you down, letting your back fall into the mattress, leaving your lower half to hang off the edge before your husband was on his knees, settling himself between your parted thighs. 

You sat up on your elbows, watching as Joel tightened his grip around the meat of your legs, peppering kisses up the inside of each across your soft skin before coming face to face with your core, planting another soft kiss there before letting his fingers ghost over your heat, still covered by your jeans. 

He rapidly worked at the button of your pants, shuffling them down off your hips to reveal your underwear, now absolutely soaked with arousal from the prospect alone of Joel knocking you up and carrying his baby. 

“Jesus Christ, baby girl, look at ‘cha.” Joel tutted, admiring how the cotton of your underwear clung to the outline of your cunt, sticking to the puffy and swollen lips of your pussy from how wet you were. “Haven’t even touched ya yet. This all for me, darlin’?” 

Just as you began to try and answer, Joel took one of his fingers, barely dragging it over the damp fabric before beginning to rub soft circles over your covered clit, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you at the electric sensation.  

“F-fuck- It’s all for you, b-baby.” You stammered, moaning even louder as a second finger joined the first, pressing more pressure into you sensitive nub as he nudged each of your legs to drape over his shoulders, his free hand tugging at the waistband of your underwear, making you instinctually lift your hips as he yanked them off your legs to crumple in a messy pile with your pants. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.” Joel mewled, running his fingers up and down through the weeping seams of your folds, toying with your entrance while draping his arm across your hips to hold your squirming lower half in place. “Wants me to fuck her full of me and fill her up so bad, huh?” 

“P-please, Joel. Want you to fill me up so badly.” You whimpered, staring down at your husband, a devilish grin spread across his face, licking his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between your blissed out face and the glistening mess between your thighs. 

“I will sweetheart, promise. Gotta taste you first though, baby. Gotta make sure you’re nice n’ready for me. ‘Cause once we start, I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till I knock you up.” 

With that, Joel was diving between your legs, lapping you up in long and firm strokes, pressing against your clit in the way he knew would make you fall apart under his tongue. While he would have loved to have spend hours just like this, making you writhe under his touch, drinking up your arousal like a wandering man parched in the heat of the desert, Joel had one thing on his mind, and one thing only- 

To get you pregnant.   

Joel began to intensify the pace of his tongue, swirling and sucking around your clit as two of his thick fingers pushed into your heat, sliding in and out of your entrance with ease from how wet and worked up you were. Curling his fingers ever so slightly, you cried out as Joel bumped against your g-spot, pushing against the soft, spongy spot as his tongue worked its magic. 

You could feel the arousal shooting through your veins, heat beginning to bloom in your stomach as Joel fucked you with his fingers and mouth, shooting your hand down to grab fistfulls of his thick, brown hair to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. 

“J-Joel, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, I’m c-close. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” You whined, pussy beginning to flutter around Joel’s fingers, the tightening only egging him on further to get you to cross the finish line. 

With just a little more pressure of his tongue, Joel could feel your cunt clamping down around his digits, watching the pleasure shoot through your body as you came, your orgasm crashing through you like a tsunami. 

As you reached your high, Joel drank up your arousal, not faltering in his pace, too focused on your pretty cries of his name being chanted like a prayer to do anything but keep going and making you feel good. 

Truth be told, Joel had gotten so lost between your thighs, the only thing stopping him was the tensing feeling between his, so pussy drunk and determined to fuck you full of him that he was worried he was about to cum too if he didn’t stop. 

Pulling off you, Joel frantically stood up, racing to undo his belt and jeans, yanking them down his legs in tandem with his boxers as his cock slapped against his stomach, precum already pearling from his tip, desperate to be inside of you. His shirt quickly followed his pants, ripping it over his head as his broad body caged yours under him, helping you to scoot back on the bed until your head hit the pillows, trailing kisses up and down your body the whole way. 

As Joel kissed and nipped at your skin, you quickly shuffled off your top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him, moaning as his tongue flicked against each of your newly exposed pebbled nipples, grouping your breast and kneading the soft flesh in his palms. 

Even though you had just came, you could already feel your cunt starting to clench around nothing, desperate to feel Joel inside of you, to stretch you out with his thick cock and fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. But with the way your chest was heaving and breath shaking from your orgasm, you could barely muster out the words you wanted. 

“J-Joel, p-please, baby. P-please.” 

You snaked your hand between your bodies to reach for Joel’s cock, wrapping your fingers around his length and swiping your thumb over his leaking tip, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you stroked him, trying to guide him to slide between your legs and ease your ache. 

Lowering his hips, you moved your hand and let his replace it, Joel pumping himself a few times before guiding his tip between your folds, collecting your slick to coat his cock, using every last ounce of self-control he had as his eyes locked with yours, wanting to see your face as he pushed inside you. 

“Please, what, darlin’?” Joel teased, knowing damn well what you were begging for. 

“Need to feel you, Joel. Need you to put a baby in me.” You moaned, reaching up to grab his face, your palm rubbing against his stubble as your fingers tugged on the curls at the nape of his neck. 

With one more pump, Joel lined himself up with your entrance, sliding into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting of his length making the breath hitch in the back of your throat, filling you up inch by inch until he bottomed out inside you with his tip just kissing your cervix. 

Joel couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your mouth fall open, parted lips letting a soft moan escape while your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head at the newfound sensation, giving you another moment to adjust before he began to slowly roll his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your core. 

“Christ, baby girl, so wet and tight. Like this pussy was made just for me. Made for me to fuck ya full of me until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ take.” Joel groaned, reaching down to grab your thighs, pinning your knees to your chest, stretching you open to take Joel even deeper, practically feeling him in your stomach with the position he had you in. 

“Joel, oh my god- fuck, you feel so good. Fuck, baby. Want you to fill me up so bad.” You whimpered, Joel now beginning to pick up his pace as he thrust in and out of you, continually punching in that perfect spot over and over again, leaving your brain bordering on short circuiting. 

Joel’s fingertips dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pushing your legs down just far enough to be chest to chest with you, the sweat dampened curls of his forehead brushing against yours as your mouths met in an electric kiss, catching each other’s muffled moans with each snap of Joel’s hips. 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you? Let everyone see what a pretty momma you are, carryin’ our kid?” Joel grunted, picturing you, months from now, belly round and tits swollen, pregnant with your baby, wondering how many you’d let him give you, because fuck, he’d keep knocking you up until he had nothing left to give. 

Each push and pull of your bodies against each other felt more and more electric, an undeniable coil tightening in your stomach with the way Joel was pounding into you and the hairs at the base of his cock were brushing against your clit, already feeling yourself beginning to teeter on the brink of pleasure once again. 

“Yes, fuck, fuck- yes, Joel. I wanna have your baby. Want you to knock me up so I can make you a daddy. Please, baby, please.” You were all but sobbing at this point, your fingers digging into the tan and sweat sheened skin of Joel’s broad shoulders, overwhelmed by the lewd combinations of Joel’s heavy pants in your ear and wet squelching of your pussy as his pelvis flushed against yours repeatedly. 

Joel could feel you beginning to tighten around him, pussy sucking him in with its warmth and wetness, ready to clamp around his cock and milk him for all he was worth. 

“That’s it, darlin’, I know you’re close. Gotta cum for me first though, baby girl. Gotta feel ya soak me before I stuff ya so full of me, I swear t’god, you’ll be drippin’ outta me for days. So fuckin’ full that I’ll get you pregnant right now.” Joel groaned through gritted teeth, leaning back to reach and grab your leg, wrapping it around the small of his back before you lifted your other to join it, locking your ankles to keep him as close to you as possible. 

“Joel, oh my god, fuck baby, fuck, I’m gonna- fuckfuckfuck-” 

Suddenly, your orgasm was rushing through every inch of you, crying out as the pleasure hit you like a freight train, choking Joel’s cock with your pussy, unable to do anything but relish in the white hot bliss that had you nearly floating out of your own body. 

While Joel would have kept fucking you until the sun went down, the truth was he was relieved to feel you cum, spending every second since your agreement in the kitchen trying to keep from finishing until he was balls deep inside you and you were soaking his cock as you reached your high. The realization that now was his chance to make good on his promise, to fill you up and fuck a baby into you, ignited something primal, feral, in him, pounding into you at a punishing pace as he could feel himself teetering on the brink of collapse right with you. 

“That’s my girl. That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby. Shit, I’m gonna cum too, fuck- gonna fill this tight lil pussy up so goddamn much, give you a baby, make you a momma, oh fuck!” 

With one final stutter of his hips, Joel let out a strangled moan, flushing his hips against yours as he milked himself of every last drop, painting your warm, wet walls with hot ropes of his spend, making sure nothing went to waste. 

He couldn’t help but but press even further into you, plugging you with his length and fucking his cum as deep as he could into your cunt to make sure it took, collapsing on top of you with his cock still buried in your heat, letting your chests heave together in sync as you both caught your breath. 

Joel was convinced he had never cum so much in his entire life, afraid that if he pulled out, that somehow he’d have more left to give, and sure as fuck wasn’t going to risk letting anything coming out of him end up not inside of you. 

Well, not until your muffled grunt rumbled beneath him. 

 “Joel, baby, I love you but you’re kinda squishing me.” You huffed, giggling to yourself as you watched your husband come-to in real time out of his post-orgasmic state, immediately offering a half muttered apology as he rolled off you, sitting back on his knees to admire the shiny and slick mess between your legs. 

“Fuck me…” Joel murmured to himself, eyes wide as he stared at your pussy- wet, puffy and soaking with your arousal, bringing his fingers to your spent hole as he watched a dribble of his cum begin to leak out. Gently scooping it up, he collected everything he could, pressing it back into your cunt before pulling his hand out. Crawling up the bed to lay next to you, Joel wrapped you up in his arms as the little spoon, peppering ticklish kisses over your back and shoulders, making you burst into laughter. 

“Joel, stop! That tickles!” You squealed, squirming in his grasp, trying to defend yourself from his unrelenting attack of soft, plush lips and scratchy beard dancing across your skin. 

“Don’t laugh so damn hard, or all my hard work’s ‘bout to come out!” Joel teased, giving you a playful nudge, pulling you in even closer. 

“Stop making me laugh, then! Plus, I think you came enough to put quadruplets inside of me, so I think we’ll be okay.” You snorted, Joel joining in on the laughter. 

“Baby, I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard in my whole goddamn life.” Joel sighed, shrugging as you rolled your head up to look at him and that stupid goofy grin he got whenever he couldn’t contain his excitement about something. “God, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Joel.” 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, Joel slowly bringing his arm to rest across your stomach, thumb slowly tracing careful circles on your skin. 

“You’re gonna make such a good mom. I’m the luckiest man alive that you wanna have a family with me. Still not really sure what I ever did to deserve it.” 

“Joel! You’re gonna make me cry! And this is before pregnancy hormones, ya jerk.” You tried to laugh, choking back the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Yeah, what a jerk, your husband tellin’ you how much he loves you.” He teased back, planting a long kiss on your temple, before pressing another one to your lips. Another wave of soft silence followed, watching Joel’s face scrunch in a calculated concentration. “How big of a crib you think I gotta make? I don’t know ‘bout a rockin’ chair, but a crib can’t be that hard. I gotta measure the guest room tomorrow.” 

“Honey, I don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet, you don’t need to have a crib built tomorrow.” You teased, laughing at Joel, despite the fact his mind was already thinking about a baby room and accessories had you melting. 

“Sweetheart, what did I say earlier? I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till we know there’s a baby in there.” He smirked, nodding at his hand still splayed across your stomach, “So you better get comfortable, ‘cause if it’s up to me, there ain’t a chance in hell we’re gettin’ anything but a positive pregnancy test at the end of this month, and we'll sure need that crib nine months from now. Never hurts to get a head start."

Tag List: (Sorry if I tagged you and you don't wanna be tagged, just let me know!!)

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[sensitivegoblin]

Just started watching class of '09 and it's frickennnnn sweet :)

[salemlunaa]

𓆉 ˚∘YOU ARE NOT BOUND TO THIS REALITY࿐

stop acting like this place is your home, it’s not. Same thing with those trying to manifest things. You’re manifesting a new body but You believe that your home is the reality where you hate your body and that you’re doing something grand and groundbreaking by trying shift from that. You want your dream life through the void state. But you believe this reality you’re experiencing right now is your home. Your base point. Your starting ground. And you think that because you are so tied to this reality by scripting and shifting to a new life you’re doing something crazy and out-of-body like.

Let me tell you something. You aren’t. This is going to sound insane but you are as close to this reality as you are to your dream life. You are as bound to the reality where you have your dream green eyes than you are to the “current” where you have blue eyes that you don’t want.

The only reason that us bloggers use the term “current reality” is because this is the reality where your consciousness lies. I will say this again: there are multiple different versions of you reading this that you aren’t aware of and they’re probably not aware of you. Think of the country you live in right now. There’s a version of you that is from somewhere else and may know nothing about the place you call home and haven’t even stepped foot there. It’s so trippy to think about but what i’m trying to get at is that this isn’t your home. It’s nothing to be scared of, shouldn’t it be empowering and comforting to know you could be anyone you want to be?

like this is literally you:

(found this from @shiftinglea)

It’s so easy to shift your consciousness it’s not something you need to mentally prep for, there’s nothing to do. As soon as you want and intend the shift, it happens, regardless of what you’re seeing. You aren’t stuck here, and it pains me when you guys speak about circumstances as if they’re permanent. They don’t have to exist at all. There is no journey, it’s just immediate teleportation. Think as if. Think of your “desired reality” and your current. Place your awareness there.

The reason you have so much resistance is because you believe you have to. Deep down, you believe effort is needed to leave, you believe you need some extravagant journey as you’re leaving the place you felt bound to all this time. You don’t, you’ve left. you’ve shifted. You can’t grasp that nothing, absolutely nothing needs to be done to enter the state of pure consciousness, your literal naked self.

You believe it needs to be hard because it’s too good to be true.

Leave that belief behind. You aren’t far from your life. The life you intend to have. In fact, you’re right there. Think of all these realities like your children. All of them are related to you in the same way. You don’t have one child that you’re absolutely bound to, assuming you’re a good parent with no favourites. They’re ALL close to you in the SAME PROXIMITY. They ALL have the same relation to you. It’s YOUR BLOOD aka YOU running through their veins, all of them, the veins of all these realities, even the ones you aren’t conscious of yet. You aren’t just bound to one.

So you don’t need to work super hard for that body, that shift, that face. When we say it’s yours we aren’t just trying to be encouraging it’s just facts. I’m not the most well versed marvel fan, but does Dr. Strange have a hard time shifting or does he just know where he wants to go and opens those portal thingys? Be like him. Know where you want to go and leave.

Wash your hands of what you don’t want and think as if. Thinking as if = placing your consciousness in desired state = you are in desired state = 3d will follow.

This isn’t home base. There isn’t a home base. Take that into consideration when you’re struggling to truly “just be” while trying to induce the void.

THESE REALITIES ARE ALL THE SAME. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS DECIDE WHERE YOU WANT TO BE ࿐

[tokkiwrites]

Hi happy holidays! Can you please do a Sergei kravinoff smut x innocent female virgin reader “babe in the woods” trope. Sergei is immediately fixated on reader and wants her to be his grude & mother of his children. He immediately marries and later takes her virginity. He hopes to impregnate her from their first time together. Ty!

thank you for this request, anon! and sorry it took so long to post. I've had it written, but it just took a while for me to get the smut part going. i hope you like it!

Sergei Kravinoff × F!Reader ♰ themes of stalking, obsessive Sergei, kidnapping, Kraven is a weirdo and needs to be locked up, i would say innocent reader but more so an unbothered reader kind of, she is just confused, forced marriage, themes of Stockholm syndrome, loss of virginity, fingering (reader receiving), afab reader, unprotected p in v, Sergei wants to get the reader pregnant.

The woods were quiet, save for the whisper of wind threading through the branches above. You loved this time of day when the sun filtered gold and green through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the earth. It was your sanctuary, far from the clamor of town and the heavy, watchful eyes of others. Here, no one could accuse you of being strange, or sheltered, or too naive. You simply were.

The faint crack of a branch made you stop mid-step, your basket of wildflowers swinging lightly at your hip. “Hello?” You called, voice soft, hesitant. The forest had always been safe— or so it felt. until now, you had never had the need to question it.

He emerged from the shadows, and your breath caught. The man was massive. A towering figure, his broad shoulders draped in animal pelts and his chest bare save for the crisscrossing scars that marked him as something primal, dangerous. His face was angular, carved from stone, with piercing eyes that pinned you where you stood.

Sergei Kravinoff. The name would mean nothing to you, but to others, it struck fear—a hunter of men and beasts, a predator who bent the wilderness to his will. He did not speak at first. He only looked at you, as if you were some rare, delicate creature he had stumbled upon. The longer his eyes lingered, the hotter your cheeks burned.

“Who are you?” you asked, clutching the basket to your chest. His lips curved into a smile, though there was nothing warm in it. “I am Sergei,” he said, his voice low, thick with an accent you couldn’t place. “And you" he paused for a bit. " Should not wander alone in places like this. The world is not kind to lambs.” You blinked at him, confused. “Lambs?”

“You,” he clarified, taking a step closer. His sheer presence seemed to draw the air from your lungs. “Soft. Untouched. So trusting.” You took an instinctive step back, and his smile widened, as if he enjoyed your unease. “I—I’ve never seen you here before. Are you lost?”

“No,” he said simply, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “But perhaps I have found something worth staying for.”

It reeked of dangerㅡ death. yet you still came back.

Over the next week, you saw him again and again. Always in the woods, always watching. At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence. this strange man simply shared your love for the forest. But his presence became impossible to ignore. He never tried to speak much, yet his eyes seemed to devour you every time, as though he were committing every detail of your face to memory. You should have been afraid. You should have stopped going to the woods entirely. But something about him fascinated you. He was so unlike the boys in town, who stammered and avoided your gaze, intimidated by your quietness. Sergei was bold, unflinching. He seemed to look right through you, to the parts of yourself you didn’t even understand.

you little lamb.

“Why do you keep following me?” He tilted his head, his gaze softening though not entirely. “Because you are mine.” The bluntness of his words made your breath hitch. “I don’t even know you.”

“You will,” he said, stepping closer. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and though you should have flinched away, you didn’t. His touch was surprisingly gentle, reverent even, even if his rough fingers scratched your skin. “I have decided. You will be my bride.”

“Bride?” You echoed the word foreign and strange on your tongue. “But we’ve only just—” you laughed. surely it must be a joke. “You are meant for me, little lamb” he interrupted, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “I have hunted all my life, little one. I know when I have found my prize.” Suddenly, the world went dark.

maybe it was all just a bad and confusing dream. though his touch still lingered.

You woke in the morning to find yourself not in your small, familiar room. outside the window that overlooked the bed you were in, the forest. The air smelled of pine and smoke, and outside, the trees loomed tall and unyielding. Panic gripped you as you sat up, heart racing. “Where—” The door creaked open, and there he was, filling the frame with his imposing presence. “You are awake,” Sergei said, his tone calm, almost pleasedㅡ excited. He carried a tray with food: fresh berries, bread, and cheese. “Eat. Now."

“Where am I?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Why did you—” He set the tray down, cutting you off with a look. “You are safe. That is all you need to know.”

“I am not! This isn’t right,” you said, tears pricking at your eyes. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” he said sharply, though his expression softened as he stepped closer. “I have waited long enough. You do not understand, but you will. I will take care of you. Protect you. You will want for nothing, my little one.”

You shook your head, backing away from him, but he caught your wrist with startling ease. His touch was firm, yet not cruel. “Do not fear me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost tender. “I would never hurt you. You are too precious.”

Sergei did not wait long to make you his.

The days in the cabin blurred together, each one steeped in an odd rhythm. Sergei’s presence was constant, protective, and overwhelming. He would watch you eat, his sharp eyes softening whenever you complied. He brought you small gifts: wildflowers, trinkets carved from wood, pelts to keep you warm. He never let you wander far, always ensuring you were within sight. And though he never forced his touch upon you, you could feel the tension thrumming beneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.

In the evening, as the fire crackled and cast flickering shadows on the walls, Sergei sat across from you. He leaned forward, large hands resting on his knees. “It is time,” he said, his voice calm but unyielding. “Time?” you echoed, your throat dry. “For us to marry.” You stared at him, heart pounding. “I… I can’t. I don’t even know what you want from me. I—I never— You kidnapped me!”

“You were made for this,” he said, cutting you off. his eyes were setting you a-light, it made your skin prickle. “You think I do not see it? Your purity. Your innocence. You were meant to be a wife. My wife.” Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “But I’m not— I need to marry someone I love!"

“You are ready,” he insisted, his tone softening only slightly. “I have waited long enough. It will be done."

And it was.

The ceremony was simple, ritualistic. Sergei had prepared everything. rings made from woven silver, a bearskin cloak to drape over your shoulders as a symbol of protection. There was no priest, no people, only the two of you and the forest as your witness. He spoke vows in a language you did not understand, his voice deep and reverent, as though he were offering you up to some ancient force. When it was your turn, your voice faltered, but under his watchful gaze, you repeated the words he taught you.

“You are mine,” he said at the end, taking your face in his hands. His eyes burned with possessive fire. “And I am yours.”

but every wolf gets hungry eventually.

When night fell, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands clutching the thick wool blanket. Sergei entered the room, his movements slow and deliberate. He had shed his usual pelts, his bare chest glowing in the firelight.

“You are trembling,” he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. He knelt in front of you, his massive frame now not so intimidating. “Are you afraid of me?” You couldn’t meet his eyes. "I don’t know... what you expect from me? What you w-want...”

“I expect you to trust me,” he said simply, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You are my wife now. It is my duty to show you what that means.” Your breath stopped as he leaned closer, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “I will not hurt you,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “But you are mine, little lamb. Every part of you.”

His lips met yours�� soft at first, testing, as though he feared you might shatter like porcelain. But when you didn’t pull away, his kiss deepened, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His hands cradled your face, his touch reverent, almost worshipful.

“I have waited for this,” he said against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Waited to claim what is mine.” You didn’t resist as he laid you down, his hands tracing over your trembling form. He was patient, guiding you gently, his touch surprisingly tender for someone so fierce. But his intent was clear.

oh, little lamb.

rugged hands make their way up and around your hips as his bearded face stays flush against your tender neck. he was ready to devour you. Sergei looked up into your eyes and for the first time you've seen him smile. and as if all of the things you felt caused you fears melted away, so did you into his embrace.

his lips meet yours, and it all finally made sense. you could feel the hunger, the will in him to give his all right here, right now. you wrapped around him like vines on a tree, his low growl of approval making you clench around nothing. it all felt so new, yet familiar, as if somehow, this wasn't the first time. the forest outside sung as your quiet moans filled the cabin. Sergei discards all of your clothes with ease, leaving you in nothing as you stayed splayed on the bed. the fur coverings under, pooled around your body, the moonlight dripped on you like dew in spring and you looked like a precious painting.

with no time to wait, sergei quickly gets naked. it wasn't the first time you saw him like this, but it was the first time you saw it. to say all that fear bubbled up into your stomach was an understatement. you gulped down as your glossy eyes looked at him up and down. "Spread your legs for me." it wasn’t a request, it was an order. and you obey. spreading your legs you give him a full view of you dripping cunt, and sergei throws his head back with a low groan. you finally speak up. "IㅡI am a...a virgin." it all seemed so silly to say now. "I know." he smiles in the corner of his mouth. "Smelled it on you the first time we met." and you whimper. "I will get you ready now." somehow, you knew what it meant. He kneels in front of you on the bed, pulling you so that you thighs are right over his, your puffy lips on full display. two of his digits make their way up to your mouth. "Suck." you comply.

after that was done, his calloused fingers make their way between your folds, gathering up the juices you've been dripping. You whimpered softly and Sergei shushed you, rubbing small circles on your plushy thigh with his other hand. He pushes one of his fingers inside, and you can feel it. It didn’t hurt, not yet, it was just strange and new. the second finger comes quick after and he starts pumping them, swirling them around as his lips made contact with your swollen bud. Your eyes jot open as this feeling washes over you, and you can't help but let your legs shake uncontrollably. The fire wave envelopes you whole before it comes to an agonizing stop. You open your eyes again and above you is Sergei, his shaft in his hand as he aligns it with your asking entrance. "If it hurts...yell. Scream as much as you want. Hurt me back. I am here to teach you."

and teach you he does. he pushes in slowly and the stretch is agonizing, the pain making all of your muscles tense. "It's alright, I'm here, little girl." you let out a sigh, the tears slipping past your lids when you open your eyes. the moon engulfed Sergei in It's beautiful light, his silhouette looking as if it was carved out perfectly. a couple of inches, then some more, and some moreㅡ until he is fully inside. you bite down on your tongue, but Sergei preps soft kisses along your jaw and you seem to forget about the pain. "You're doing so, so good. So good for me." he hums, taking in a big breath of your smell before he snaps his hips slowly. In a few seconds, the burn turned into a delicious feeling you couldn’t quite describe. And though it felt so new, your body fell in place right into Sergei’s touch, as if it were meant to be.

When he finally started to move faster, his groan was one of triumph, a sound that you know will echo in your ears long after. “You will give me childrenㅡ" he said, voice low and ragged as he moved inside of you. “Strong sons and daughters. Our legacy will begin tonight.”

your legs quiver around him, but he leaves no room for mercy. Above you, he looked just as a predator ready to swallow his pray whole. you weren't one to fight back, and you really didn't want to. you back stayed arched against the coverings of the bed, fingers clawing at his broad shoulders as he pumped into you. your tummy was churning, and your head was dizzyㅡ you were far gone, too drunk on the way he perfectly hit that spot with each thrust. "You were made for me, made to take meㅡ fuck, you are so beautiful." you whimper, feeling that fire wave starting to take over again. your velvet walls squeeze around him, causing him to growl. Sergei leans forward, propping one of your legs above his shoulder, the angle making you gasp for air. you look up at him, eyes glossy with tears. An animal. His eyes grew darker, lips crooked in a smile before he delivered his final blow.

you come undone right under his fingertips, writhing and shaking as small pleads fall from your lips. You can feel his seed deep within you, threatening to slip out around his cock that was still inside of you, pulsing. "Good girl."

he prays it sticks.

Sergei’s obsession with you only deepened—he barely let you out of his sight, his touch lingering whenever he could. Yet there was a softness in him, a desire to make you happy, even as he bent you to his will.

He began teaching you small things. how to tend the fire, how to skin an animal, how to defend yourself should a predator come. But you were never allowed to go far. “Why can’t I leave?” you asked one afternoon, your frustration bubbling over. Sergei turned to you, his eyes darkening. “Because the world is cruel, little one. It will devour you. You are too soft, too trusting. Here, you are safe.”

“Safe,” you repeated bitterly. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he cupped your face in his hands, his gaze softening. “I would rather you hate me than lose you.” you were beginning to see the truth of it. his love for you was consumin and obsessive, but it was real. He worshipped you, protected you, but at the cost of your freedom. And yet, part of you began to adapt. To find comfort in his arms, in the way he looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered.

Perhaps you were.

[somnoir]

Gotham's newest Crime Lord - part 3

Part 2 | Masterpost

"You know your way around the city." Dan commented, eyes narrowed once he realizes that Kitty and Johnny adapted a little too well to Gotham. Going to places even he didn't know existed, exploring and giving them intel he never realized was relevant. They knew history of Gotham in a way a local would. 

Johnny shrugged, turning back to Kitty who welcomed Ember with a bright smile. The two were squealing, talking about how they were going to help mess with Firefly after burning down a well-loved studio down town. 

For Dan, he wasn't going to intrude too much on his former rogues but... "You're from Gotham. Both of you." 

Johnny twitched, watching as Shadow moved to play with Elle in the air. 

"Yeah, we’re not too sure if our folks are still kickin’, but Kitty and me took off after they flipped over our thing. This place still gives me the heebie-jeebies, but hey, you guys are here. Gotham’s cool these days with all the furries and rogues runnin’ around." Johnny laughed, his cocky nature still burning bright, even when he looked almost melancholic at the memory of this place. 

No ghost was truly comfortable in their hometown, whether they died there or not. This was where they were born, where their lives began. 

"I see..." Dan mumbled, glancing to the space where Danny was usually in. His younger brother was off doing kingly duties again, slumped by work and the Observants pestering him about shit. 

There's a quiet knock on his door and Jeremy was poking his head into the room again. The ghosts didn't even care, continuing to be visible and floating around. Discomfort and a bit of fear was clear on the man's face but he turned to Dante with as much courage as he could muster. 

"Boss, we've got a lead on the missing kids." 

Ah, yes. The recent disappearances of children. He doesn't know where they go, what happens to them. All he knows is that children were picked of the streets and never to be seen again. 

"Someone's been takin' kids?" Kitty grimaced, not minding how Jeremy shuddered. "Dan, dear, darling! Send me and Johnny. We know this city better than Batman and his little birdies."

Again, Dan sighed. "Gimme a minute, Kitty. Not enough information." He grunts, turning to Jeremy to hand him the report. 

"Anything else?"

"Well... About the Bats..."

"They snoopin' around again?" 

"Trynna sniff out Phantom." Jeremy shrugs. "Red Hood's been pretty active. Heard he's been wonderin' about Phantom not visitin' the kids last week." 

"Thanks Jeremy. Tell Marigold I said hi." 

"Will do, boss!" 

Once Jeremy left, the other ghosts were swarming Dan like bees. Their eyes glittering with anticipation, excitement, and vengeance. It felt strange for them to pay attention, to follow him. Danny's always felt like the better leader, struggling and suffering in the role yet rising above it all. That was why he was the king now. 

"Alright, let's get to work. Most of these kids have one thing in common. Their skills. Flexible, acrobatic, and have some sort of combat training. Usually in self defence." Dan plugged in the USB into his laptop, projecting the screen on to the tv. "The latest disappearance is Layla Smithson. Fourteen. Gymnast and was sent to take taekwondo classes by her parents. Before that was Evan Chavez. Another gymnast but was also known to get into multiple fights."

"So whoever is takin' the kiddies, they go after the ones with pretty good skills." Ember hummed, turning to Kitty and then nudging her. "You've got anything to say about that?" 

"Well... Maybe." Johnny shrugs too. 

"Ooh! What about that nursery rhyme every Gothamites gets to listen. Y'know. About the court."

Dan frowned. "What court?" 

"The court of owls!" Kitty grinned, "Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowy perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send the Talon for your head." 

"Who the fuck uses that kind of shit for a nursery rhyme?" Dan scowled, but considered the possibility. "Any idea if they're real."

"Very." Johnny warned, "When Kitty and I died, we came back here a couple of times. Explored the place and tried to dig up secrets that would have killed us if we were livin'. One of 'em was the court. A secret society of a bunch off rich bastards."

"Johnny," Dan warned, knowing that something was still being kept from him. 

"There's another thing..." Johnny hesitated but Kitty took his hand and continued. 

Kitty grimaced, "The Court of Owls has a bunch of soldiers. They got this chemical they use on people, turnin’ ‘em into their own assassins. From what me and Johnny dug up a while back, these assassins were trained when they were kids. They call 'em Talons."

Dan wanted to yell, scream. Burn down the cursed with it's cursed bricks. Fuck. Fuck. Was the world always so shitty? 

"You're telling me... There's an entire secret society that uses chemicals to turn children into assassins?" 

Children.... Fucking children. They were weaponizing kids!

Ancients, he might just commit mass genocide again. 

"Alright. Alright. We leave the living people out of this. The court? Their talons? I want all of you prepared. I'm gonna contact Danny to drag Skulker and Wulf's asses here immediately."

Elle grinned, "GRAB AMORPHO TOO! We're gonna need his help if we want to dismantle the court."

The office is vacated quickly, with Elle dragging Ember and Kitty for girl time and Johnny runs off with shadow. Dan is left alone, frustrated at the new information before he does his best to summon his brother, the very annoyed ghost king that appears before him in full royal regalia. 

"A bit busy, Dan. Still tryin' to fight the laughing magician to help with getting rid of the Anti-Ecto Acts. Constantine is running around trying to destroy the GIW now." 

Dan snorted. He knew about John Constantine. The crazy motherfucker who's soul fragments were scattered around and Danny had to deal with the paperwork and mission to collect them all. 

"I know, yeah, sorry. I get that's important. But we've got a situation here."

"What would that be?"

"Secret society of rich fruitloops that are worse than Vlad. They're kidnapping children and making them into brainless assassins."

Immediately, the room grows colder than the far frozen. Danny's eyes are as green as they could ever be, but his pupils were an icy blue that would have made Frostbite shudder. 

"What do you need?"

"Skulker, Wulf, and Amorpho." 

"I'll send them on your way. They'll be here within 3 hours." Danny sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I'll finish up things on my end to help."

"Sure thing, twerp."

"Fuck you." Fondly. 

"Fuck you too." Affectionately.

"OH! Your revenant was looking for you." 

"THE SEXY RED HOOD WAS LOOKING FOR ME?!" 

It was an entire week of silence. Of Wraith not doing anything at all. Even the rogues felt apprehensive to act on anything after Wraith's new subordinates started popping up to pester them. The reports were the same. Distorted footage, meta-human abilities, and a ridiculous amount of chaos. 

Apparently, Two face has waged war on one of them, named Ember. Riddler was also ready to throw hands with Specter. And then Harley and Ivy were hunting down a couple names Kitty and Johnny 13. Why they were named that, none of them knew. But considering Wraith and Phantom's titles, the entire group was Ghost themed. The majority of Gotham have taken to calling them the Ghosts. 

But then...

"Bruce... Get a look at this." Barbara's voice shook, horrified as she stared at the screen. Majority of the family was already in the cave, preparing to patrol once more. But their eyes were drawn to the screen. They all froze, struggling to fathom what the fuck was it they were looking. 

"Holy shit." 

Everyone was frozen, staring at the clear, untampered screen. 

Bruce sucked in a deep breath, reading the bloody message written on the wall of... He couldn't recognize it properly. "Farewell to the Court of Owls that once watched from their shadowy perch. Their talons covered in the blood of children they once purge. Farewell to their judge, the parliament says goodbye. To Talons, to owls, the ghosts says hi." 

And right beside the message was the hanging body of what Bruce recognized was the Judge of the Court of Owls. 

The Court of was in ruins. 

"Holy shit. HOLY SHIT!" Tim screeched, almost stumbling as he stared at the morbid message. "The Wraith and his ghosts took out the fucking court."

There was a loud rev of an engine, momentarily dragging their attention to Jason who was hurriedly getting of his bike and taking of his helmet. "Fuck, you've already seen it."

"You saw it in real life?! Where the fuck is that? The location is distorted but the entire thing is being broadcasted to the entirety of Gotham." 

"There are two of 'em. That one's on the clocktower."

Barbara snapped her head towards him, "MY clocktower?!" 

"Sorry 'bour that Barbie. But it got the job done for them, all of Gotham know about the court now."

Bruce grimaced, "And the other location?" 

"Arkham... The Talon is the one being hanged up there. The message is shorter: Bye-Bye owls. Shouldn't have messed with the dead." Jason clicked his tongue, "That's either about the fact that the court has been messing with the dead or it's cause Wraith's group is called the Ghosts." 

Jason shook his head, knowing for the fact that he'd have to track down Phantom soon. His eyes turned towards Dick, who stared at the screen as if a burden was just freed from him. Jason thinks it has. 

They had found out about the Court a little while ago, then found out about Dick's situation with them. How the circus he grew up in was one of the facilities that groomed Talons. How Dick was supposed to be recruited as one when his parents died. 

"Dick?" Jason murmured, gently taking Dick's hand. The other man jolted, his domino mask hiding whatever emotions there was in his eyes. 

"Little Wing..." 

"C'mon. Let's go grab some of Alfred's cookies. The rest of the family can deal with this." Jason quickly hurried his older brother out the cave, urging him to change our of his suit. 

Dick, once again, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, struggled to understand that his nightmare that was the Court was finally dead. Most likely slaughtered by the hands of a new crime lord, a rogue that seemed desperate to keep children safe. He held the tea tightly, closing his eyes as Jason sat opposite to him. 

The court was dead. 

Talon was dead. 

"I'm gonna go look for Phantom in a bit." Jason hummed, trying to appear comforting to Dick. 

And the image of the Judge of the court's body hanging from the clocktower flashes in his head again. 

"Jason." Dick whispered, "Get me a meeting with Wraith."

"What?" Jason blinked, "Dickie, no. Wraith might seem like a pretty nice guy with how he's protecting the kids, but he's still..." He paused, "He's still like me." 

"I need to meet him, Jaybird. I need to confirm that the Court is gone for good. He's the only one who can do that for me." 

"Why would Phantom even let you meet him?"

Dick frowned, sucking in a deep breath before taking Jason's hands. 

"Tell him that Nightwing was supposed to be a Talon."

Part 4 | Masterpost

[geneviveleocardius]

i want y’all to know that this isn’t okay, i’m not romanticizing it, much less normalizing it in any way.

simon riley never saw himself as a good man. not even close. he knew his flaws too well—sharp-edged and cutting like the knives he carried. you deserved better, he told himself a hundred times, but selfishness had sunk its claws deep into him. you were his, and the thought of you walking away felt like a death sentence.

lately, though, he couldn’t ignore the signs. you weren’t as warm as you used to be, weren’t lingering in his arms like before. your laughter, once so easy and free around him, had quieted. he told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that you’d come around. but when he caught you sitting alone, staring out the window with an expression he couldn’t read, doubt began to gnaw at him.

you were slipping away.

he couldn’t let that happen.

that night, when you crawled into bed beside him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. his grip was firm, unyielding. you stiffened at first but didn’t pull away.

“what’s wrong with you lately?” you asked, your voice soft, almost cautious.

he knew what you wanted—what you’d confided to him during one of those rare moments where walls had come down. you wanted a family, a child to hold and love. he’d scoffed at the idea back then, brushed it off as something far too tender for someone like him. but now… now he saw it differently.

he saw it as a way to keep you.

he didn’t answer right away, his face buried against the curve of your neck. he breathed you in, grounding himself.

“you’re mine,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “you know that, don’t you?”

you shifted slightly, trying to put some distance between you, but his hold tightened. “simon—”

“no,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “i mean it. you’re mine. you don’t get to leave me.”

“i’m not trying to leave you,” you muttered, but he didn’t bought it.

he didn’t believe you. not fully. and that fear, that bone-deep terror of losing you, made him desperate.

“simon,” you murmured, your voice laced with sleep.

“shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “just relax.”

you didn’t resist as he tugged you closer, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, spreading you beneath him. his movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t want to give you a chance to question him. instead, he focused on the feel of your skin, the way your body responded to his touch. he buried himself in you, his breath hot against your shoulder as he moved, his grip on your hips possessive.

he knew exactly what he was doing.

he wasn’t thinking about the consequences, not fully. all he could focus on was the need to keep you tethered to him. and he knew what you wanted—had heard it in the way you spoke about children, about the family you dreamed of.

this was his way of giving it to you, of ensuring you’d stay.

when it was over, he stayed inside you, his hand splayed over your stomach as if to seal the promise he’d just made—without words, without asking. you didn’t say anything, your breathing still uneven as you lay there, and he took your silence as acceptance.

he told himself it was for the best. you’d understand eventually. and when the time came, when you held that baby in your arms, you’d stay. you’d have to.

because simon riley didn’t lose the things that mattered to him.

he’d make sure of it.

[rafesangelita]

♡ everyone is lucky farmer’s!daughter!reader is in a jail cell when she finds out her favorite sheriff isn’t around because he’s on a date with another woman..

warnings: mentions of being groped in public, just a little bit of southern dialect, small town gossip, mentions of jj x reader, lots of comebacks and insults, jealousy, implied age gap, reader stays the night in jail, hitting, very slight physical altercation, reassurance, comfort (?), little bit of kissing, suggestive ending

a/n: read more of sheriff!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader here <3 i would say this particular situation takes place in the beginning stages of their complicated relationship lol. read how sheriff!rafe’s date went here!

wc: 1.5k

“what did she do this time?” sheriff thornton looked up from his desk, an amused smile playing on his lips as you glared at him from under your lashes. “she threw drinks over at keith’s son, ‘said he groped her and all hell broke loose.” your wrists ached as the metal of the handcuffs dug into your skin, your boots scuffing the concrete flooring before the sheriff behind you plopped you down in a chair. “she gave me a hard time and resisted arrest, so now she’s here.” you scoffed at his words, a bitter laugh emitting from your throat. “i gave you a hard time because you tried to apprehend me before the asshole that started it!”

both of them ignored you, leaving you to sit uncomfortably in the main office while bryan, the newest rookie in the department, got your paperwork together. “uhm— do you have anyone you could call? it looks like you’re going to stay the night in here..” he looked almost scared as he broke the news to you, his eyes blinking rapidly as you shot daggers at him from where you sat. “are you pulling my leg?” you narrowed your gaze, “there’s no way in hell i’m spending the night here.” you shook your head, hopping onto your feet. just then, topper came in and sat you back down.

“i’m already in the shit house with rafe for manhandling you last time, don’t make me do it again.” speaking of rafe.. “you’re not scaring anybody, topper.” you used his first name against him, catching him off guard. “where’s sheriff cameron, anyways? i’m sure he’d love to know that you haven’t fixed my skirt since i’ve gotten here. i think the new boy has already stolen a peek at my underwear.” bryan’s eyes widened at your words. “i haven’t, miss, i swear!” topper glanced over at him with irritation evident on his face. “she’s fuckin’ with you kid, jesus.”

dragging you up by your arm, topper lead you to the back where the holding cells were. “it’s a shame you’re wearing nearly nothing,” he shoved you inside, “it’s gets pretty cold in here.” you cursed under your breath when he finally uncuffed you, your fingers itching to punch him square in the mouth. he watched as you adjusted your denim mini skirt, his eyes trailing down your bare legs. “you’re a mystery, y’know.. ‘way too young to be acting up like this.” if you had a penny for every time someone brought up your age, you’d have enough money to leave this shitty town and never look back.

“and you’re just annoying.” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest before sitting at the edge of the cold steel bed. you should’ve been used to the discomfort by now, considering you’re here at least once a month, but you still couldn’t help but shiver at the harsh contact. “i need to talk to sheriff cameron. i shouldn’t even be here.” topper walked out of the cell, locking it shut behind him. “yeah, well he’s not on duty tonight. my pal finally scored himself a date.” he laughed. you felt your stomach twist at his words. not a damn thing was funny. “what did you say?” your voice was barely above a whisper when you looked up at him and met his eyes.

“yeah,” he nodded, “me and the department decided we’d stitch him up with ms. belle, she teaches the children’s sunday school down at the church.” he winked. your leg was bouncing now, your chest heaving with anger as your eyes brimmed with tears. “who knows, maybe after tonight they’ll be the newlyweds of the town.” you looked down at your feet before topper could question anything, your nails digging crescents into the palm of your hand. once you heard the heavy metal door slam shut, you covered your mouth with your hand as tight as you could and screamed.

rafe was so scared of what people would think of you two, he never showed you affection in public, let alone take you out on a proper date, yet here he was; willingly taking someone else. no matter how many times you told him you didn’t care about what anyone thought, he insisted that it was for your own good that no one saw you running around with a man who was much older than you were. the people of this town were far too judgmental to just accept something like what you and rafe had. figuring it was pointless to use your one free phone call, you settled into the hard surface before curling up and shivering yourself to sleep.

“y/n..” it was the next morning, and you were far from letting go of the information you found out last night. “y/n, you’re free to go.” your eyes were open as rafe patted your back lightly, his touch only fueling you with pent up anger. turning around, you shoved his hand away, your eyes bloodshot from crying so much. “don’t touch me again,” you hissed, “not ever.” rafe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as you got up on sore legs. “i had to stay here all because you were too busy with someone else!” you spat, shoving him again except this time in his chest.

“hey, you stop that!” he said through gritted teeth, shooting up to his feet before backing you up against the cement wall. “i hate you!” you whispered, attempting to get out of his grip. your efforts were deemed useless of course, your strength being nothing compared to his. “no you don’t.” he pinned your wrists down by your sides. he hated when you said shit like that, then again he knew you had every right to feel the way you did. nothing about your shared arrangement was fair, especially for you. “i went on that date for the sake of getting everyone off of my back, alright? it didn’t mean a thing.”

you laughed, avoiding his heated gaze. “well surely it meant something, because you agreed. you agreed and got ready and dressed nicely for her. you fixed your hair, you shaved, you put on your best smelling cologne and you picked her up. don’t you dare tell me it didn’t mean nothing when you put in that much effort.” rafe blinked, his nostrils flaring as he cupped your chin and forced you to look at him. “it didn’t mean a thing.” he repeated. you stared at him, reading his eyes as best as you could. “sure.” to say you were hurt would be an understatement.

“i mean it,” he started, “i did it for appearances. i’ve never been married, i don’t have any children. people talk around here, y/n, and just recently did i hear something about us both. people are catching onto your ‘get out of jail’ free card, and you could only imagine what their reasoning for that was.” he grimaced, recalling the disgusting words filtering the air of the diner where he drank his morning coffee. while the claims weren’t completely false, his said intentions couldn’t be more wrong. “rafe,” you glared at him, “i. don’t. care.” not wanting to rile you up any further, he let go of you before you could get the bright idea to knee him in his manhood.

“you know.. how do you think i feel when i have to see you around here kissing jj fuckin’ maybank, and i can’t do shit about it, huh? how do you think i feel when i see him have his hands all over you? you think i like that shit?” you rolled your eyes, about to step out of the open cell before he shut it closed. “why do you do that? why do you get joy out of pissing me off?” rafe caged you between his arms, his gun holster digging into your hip.

“first of all, i’m keeping up appearances just like you.” you stood up on your tippy toes, pecking his cheek before you placed your lips right next to his ear. “and secondly; you only act like you care about me when i’m all over someone else. it’s either that or i have to get into legal trouble just to get you to myself. so you try to imagine what that makes me feel like.” you pulled him close by the buckle of his belt, his large hands finding your hips as he towered over you. “do i really have to go to jail just to get a kiss?” rafe leaned down, his lips finally taking your own. he groaned at the taste of you, your cherry lipgloss still sticky with its sweetness.

you two stayed kissing like this until he grew rock solid in his pants, the buckle of his belt not being the only thing poking your tummy. “i don’t want you with any other women. i can’t take it.” rafe nodded, his bottom lip shining with your gloss. “you have my word, sweetheart. i’ll set aside time for us to be together, i promise.” his sheriff’s hat tipped to the side, revealing his buzzed scalp. “but if i see you with that maybank kid i’ll have to lock him up for good.” you smiled, your red nails raking down his buff arms. “yes, sir.” rafe cursed at the nickname as he glanced down at the digital watch on his wrist.

“i got about an hour to spare..” you hummed at his words, palming him through his pants.

“well what are we waiting for?”

[gojoest]

FIRST WORD — girl dad!gojo satoru

girl dad satoru, established relationship (you’re married, it is indicated that you have two other kids besides the little one that appears in this drabble), nanami cameo, suggestive credits at the end (breeding hinted, just to be safe), sry this lowkey sucks + not proofread, i typed it out in 10 mins but i hope you enjoy!

satoru is trying really hard to get his little daughter to say “papa”, but oh well

“come on, my life — say it”

satoru, crouched down before the baby chair where his little daughter is sitting, a picture of his face in one hand while the other alternates between pointing at the photo and then at his face, slowly repeats, over and over, with utmost perseverance and patience, the first word he wishes his little one would utter—

“pa-pa”, he carefully speaks, syllable by syllable. “pa-pa”, and again. “come on, baby — at least you don’t betray me, i know you’re papa’s girl — come on now, say it”, he pleads.

this has been going on for the past few weeks.

your entire house currently looks like the room of a teenager where it’s posters on the walls and little trinkets on the shelves, courtesy of heavy hyperfixations. but instead of posters and trinkets it’s your husband’s face, everywhere. kitchen, living room, hallways, your baby’s room — every-single-where and every-single-surface and wall has the photograph of your husband’s face on it. he even purchased custom-made plushies and toys of himself, some of which are hanging from the musical baby mobile above your daughter’s crib — but instead of music it’s his voice, teaching his toddler through made-up songs how to say ‘papa’.

“satoru, don’t you think this is a little bit, um— “, you once brought up, pausing to clear your throat, trying your best to sound softer while you say this. knowing how sensitive he is about the matter, and how devoted to have this innocuous win — “…too much? hm, love? it’s like you’re… brainwashing the baby…”

lips immediately pursed, satoru pouted under his nose — “easy for you to say, our two other kids said ‘mama’ first — effortlessly, at that. let me have this one at least”

okay, you shrugged and backed off.

and this morning, as you sipped on your coffee, you silently watched your husband in the kitchen — kneeled down before the baby chair, going about his educational routine.

after he was done with the photos, he took your daughter’s hand and pressed her fingers on his lips, while he kept repeating the word ‘papa’. he said that this method allows the baby to see the way your mouth moves as you speak but also hear and feel the sound all at the same time. (he sure has read a lot of things on the internet)

but your little one remained silent, only giggling here and there as she poked around her father’s face, completely refusing to cooperate with him despite his desperate attempts.

it is an endearing sight, really. part of you felt pity for your husband, you cannot lie. he was trying so hard, and for what...

all of a sudden,

the doorbell rings.

“i’ll take it”, you quickly pad over to open the door.

it’s nanami — dropping by with some baked treats for the kids, as he often does. your children love him a lot. during dinner gatherings he always sneaks away to read them bedtime stories. even though he doesn’t look like the type on the surface, he sure has a soft spot for children. and, truth be told, they are all naturally drawn to him as well. maybe it’s his calm demeanor and the sense of safety he brings along with his presence.

“ah, thank you — these look so delicious, i am sure the kids will die for a bite”, you chime, as you guide him into the kitchen.

“oh— nanami, it’s you”, satoru casually points out without even turning his head to greet him, his eyes glued on his little daughter… who seems to be looking elsewhere, past her father…

…at nanami.

a bit bothered by that, satoru shifts a little bit to the side, to block the view — to, once again, be the main focus in his daughter’s eyes. but, alas…

she tilts her head, googly eyes glancing at the blond man behind her father.

she opens her mouth, a giggle first escapes, and then—

“na-na—”, she pauses… “—mi” — a beam of laughter and her hands reaching forward, pointing at nanami.

silence in the kitchen befalls.

you cover your mouth with a hand, trying to prevent yourself from bursting into laughter. it’s tragic but funny at the same time, and you know — in just a few seconds the real baby in this room will not be your daughter.

“nanami”, satoru slowly stands up, shoulders hanging low and voice — monotone and stern. “get out”

p.s.: satoru makes a scene. he is absolutely devastated. you have to drag him away and pick up the pieces and calm him down. and, of course, he thinks — the only way to make things better is to give him another child. a new opportunity…and you need to get down to business, now. while nanami is babysitting downstairs.

[makethatelevenrings]

Ubi Amor Ibi Fides (Where there's love, there's faith) // Lucius Verus x f!reader

summary: When he saw you that day, surrounded by a gaggle of children who begged you to tell them a story, he had no idea that the Fates had their own epic tale in mind of everlasting devotion. OR, contrasting vignettes of the past and the present through the eyes of Hanno and his wife.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE!! 18+, war, blood, death, allusions to rape and what happens to female prisoners of war, allusion to desecration of a corpse, historical inaccuracy (if Ridley Scott can do it, so can I!), smut, Lucius being Down Bad for this wife, mythology and religion (with inaccuracies), discussion of suicide, suicide attempt, grief, throwing up, Roman culture???, period-typical misogyny but like, make it feminist

“Tell me a story.”

Exhaustion clouded his voice and you turned away from your weaving to find him leaning against the roughshod mudbrick door frame. It was days like today that you cursed his stubborn nature. While he had been willing to let you help in breaking in the ground for the coming harvest, your husband sent you inside by midday when the sun was at its highest. Now, you were rested and chilled by the wind that eased its way through the small house, and he was completely depleted.

“Come.” You beckoned him with an outstretched hand. “Rest beside me and then I will tell you.”

He didn’t argue, for once, and took your hand in his. You drew him down to sit beside you, his head settling in your lap. Your fingers curled into the soft, downy hair at his temples and he relaxed with a sigh. While you wished you could continue stroking his hair, the weaving in front of you wouldn’t be completed without two hands. As you went back to your work, you began to speak.

“There were once two lovers by the name of Pyramus and Thisbe…” He huffed out a quiet laugh. You smiled at him, delighted that it made him relax even further. Most of your stories were the ones he had told you about from his childhood and you weren’t really in the right mind to come up with a fresh story.

“The parents of our two lovers refused to let them marry, but their love reigned strong through the thin crack in the stone wall that divided their property.” As you spoke, you embellished the story with extraneous details and dramatic gasps, eliciting quiet chuckles from your husband. He looked weary these days and not just from the labor in the fields. The Romans were creeping closer, and it would only be a matter of time before they came to your city. You woke up last night to a cold bed and found him standing at the doorway, staring out towards the sea. He knew what was coming. You both did.

“The gods looked favorably upon their sacrifice and changed the tree to its dark appearance to signify the devotion between them.” You ended the tale and stopped your weaving for a moment to gently trace your fingers along the edge of his features. You loved the sharp crest of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the bright blue of his eyes. His lashes were so long that they left shadows across his cheeks when he shut his eyes.

“I understand why he did it,” he said softly.

“Hmm?” Your hand stroked over his curls once more as you thought through everything you needed to get done tomorrow. You paused, however, when you felt his face turn to see you better and his lips brushed against your palm.

“I understand why Pyramus ended his life.” His calloused palm covered your own and he turned your hand over, his fingers sliding along yours and intertwining. “One can only imagine the pain he must have felt.”

A painful squeeze built in your throat and you felt an awful burning sensation behind your eyes. He sat up and gently cupped your face in one of his large hands, drawing your gaze up to meet his.

“Hanno,” you breathed. He smiled softly and leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He was never one for words, always more inclined to act. Breaking apart, you pressed your forehead against his and breathed in the masculine scent of him tinged with soil, sweat, and something purely him.

“When death claims us, we go as one,” he vowed. “I cannot exist in this world without you.”

“As the gods see fit,” you assured him. “I will follow you wherever you lead.”

You wished this was a story.

It had been an easy day in the fields. You were sprinkling seeds in the ditches that Hanno dug earlier. The chickens clucked at you from their pen, begging for a bit more food as if they hadn’t been fed a hearty amount of grain earlier. After you planted these, Hanno would place the earth back over it while you worked on your herb garden.

You were capable of doing the hard, manual labor. Growing up, you would always help your parents through the entire process of planting, but Hanno was insistent on keeping his precious wife away from the heavy work. Rather, he encouraged your herb collecting and training with some of the city healers. You were grateful for him, truly. Most men would sequester their wives in their homes and work them to their deaths from labor, both of earth and child. 

But Hanno was different. 

He taught you to read, speak, and write in Latin. He would easily switch between Numidian, Phoenician, and Latin until you could respond perfectly. When he took breaks from tilling, plowing, and managing the harder tasks with the animals, he sat next to you at your garden and asked about the different plants. He was never cruel, never struck you or screamed at you the way you had heard other wives whisper to one another. In fact, Hanno was exceedingly kind to you and to anyone he didn’t view as a threat.

Which is why you thought this was a nightmare at first.

The horns of war sounded and you stood up straight to watch as the beacons erupted with fire at the top of the wall. Fear seized your heart and you stood frozen, transfixed, by the flames that licked the sky. Smoke curled off the top of them and the smell burned at your nose. You might have stood there all day if it hadn’t been for Hanno rushing out of the small house to your side.

“Come,” your husband instructed you. “We must get ready.”

He grasped your arm gently and it snapped you out of your reverie. Swallowing down your panic, you followed him into the house and to the small trunk he had made to hold your armor. The two of you silently donned your gear and were nearly finished when Jugurtha came to your door.

“My lord,” you greeted him with a slight bow. The chieftain’s face betrayed nothing, but you could see the worry in his eyes. Hanno and Jugurtha would be in the heat of the battle, directly in the path of the oncoming Roman fury. Would the gods listen if you sent them a prayer now? It felt as though they had decided to abandon you.

“The healers are gathering at Taklit’s house.” Jugurtha looked at the two of you, a hidden regret in his gaze. “We will come retrieve you once we have claimed victory.”

“Yes, my lord.” Your voice had softened as you realized how quickly this was all happening.

“I will join you soon,” Hanno replied. Jugurtha nodded and left, his imposing figure leaving an empty space in the doorway and in your heart. Needing a distraction, you turned and focused your attention on securing Hanno’s armor. As your trembling fingers finished tightening his armor, his hand enfolded around yours and he drew your fingers up to his lips. Hanno placed a delicate kiss on the tips of each finger. You searched his face to memorize every last detail, from the crinkles beside his eyes to the slight curve of his lip. Only the gods knew how this battle would end and the anxiety felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

“We go as one,” he reminded you. “I will not lose you.”

“Nor I, you.” His lips ghosted over yours and you leaned up, capturing him in a searing kiss. You poured every ounce of your devotion, fear, and worry into the kiss and he took it all onto his broad shoulders, shielding you from this world. His hand fisted in your hair and he pulled you impossibly closer so he could sink the weight of his devotion into every fiber of your being.

The gods had granted you this man as your husband. Perhaps they had not abandoned you yet.

“Be brave, my Hanno,” you whispered once you broke apart. He pressed his brow to yours and you breathed him in. “Be strong and be brave. And come back to me.”

The warm metal of his betrothal ring pressed into the skin of your cheek as he cradled your face between his hands. He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your clammy skin. You savored the ring, this physical reminder of his tie to you, and touched the one that rested on your hand as a reminder of your tie to him.

“I will see you soon, my love.”

How bittersweet endings are, you thought to yourself as the walls of the city were seized by Romans. Men and women fell left and right from the parapets and you knew there was no help you could give them once their bodies hit the ground. Instead, you watched in horror as Roman soldiers grew closer and closer to where you were stationed and awaiting the wounded. You could see Hanno at the top of the wall fighting for his very life and your heart beat wildly in your chest at the sight of so many men around him falling in battle. Would he be next?

A cry of pain nearby alerted you to someone needing help. One of your people had been caught within the crosshairs of an archer and you rushed out of the house to grab them and drag them to safety. The child, only a mere babe, shrieked in agony as you dove to cover his little body when another arrow went sailing over your head. Even over the din of war, you heard Hanno scream your name. 

A Roman soldier grabbed you by your hair and yanked you up off the ground, forcing your back to bend sharply and a shout to emerge from your lips. He drew his sword, placing it to your throat with the intention of drawing your blood, your life, out of you with one swift pull. Despite knowing it wouldn’t help, you shouted your status in Latin.

“Healer! I’m a healer!” Perhaps he would be merciful. Perhaps he would let you go. Your eyes sought out the top of the wall and you saw Hanno desperately fighting to get to you, but he was too far away. The blade knicked the soft skin of your throat.

Two things happened simultaneously. One, a general pointed at you from the crowd and yelled at his man to stop. Two, Hanno was shoved off the wall and into the sea, right where huge rocks clashed with the waves.

A scream escaped you. A wail. War makes widows, your mother had said. And here you were, one of them. 

The soldier removed his blade and forced you up to your feet, shoving you back in the direction of the house. You scrambled to scoop up the child in your arms. If you could not save your love, maybe you could at least save a mother from grief.

The child died in your arms by the time you stepped into the healer house.

Numidia fell. Rome claimed victory and dominion over the land. Hanno was dead.

You busied yourself with tending to the wounded in hopes that you wouldn’t think about the fact that you were now under Rome’s control, a widow, and possibly homeless. What would happen next? Would they let you retrieve his body? Or would they throw him into a pile and burn it all along with the city itself?

A shadow fell over you as you tended to one of your own. You looked up to find the general gazing down at you. All at once, you were filled with hot rage and the deepest sorrow. You stood quickly, your hand reaching for a stray knife on the ground but he merely raised a brow. Right. What skill do you have against a Roman general?

“You’re a healer,” he said, not as a question. “And you speak Latin. How?”

“How do I heal or how do I speak Latin?” you spat. He remained stoic and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. You would never reveal Hanno’s secrets. Not even under the threat of death.

“My husband is-” You stopped yourself and swallowed hard. “Was a merchant. He taught me so I could help him sell.”

“But you are a healer.”

You shrugged. “We do what we must.”

He studied you carefully and then nodded at one of his soldiers. A sudden bolt of terror struck you. Was this your future? To be a general’s plaything? A concubine? Some kind of bed warmer until he got back to Rome and disposed of you into the nearest brothel?

No. You were the wife of Hanno, a kind man and a good soldier.

“If you expect me to lay with you, I ask that you let me slit my wrists first so that I can die knowing I never let you take more from me than you already have,” you hissed. The soldier went to unsheathe his sword, but the general raised a hand to stop him. He took in your figure and the way you trembled with rage and grief.

“I need a healer,” he explained. “For my men. I will not touch you, for I am a married man, and you are a widow.”

He turned to the soldier once again. “Place her in chains and then put her in my room. Do not lay a finger on her, nor let anyone else.”

What choice did you have? If you defied them, you would be dead. If you went with them, you would have a chance to avenge Hanno before you died. Either way, you would join your husband in the afterlife. Going meant you had a chance to drag another life with you on the journey.

You dropped the blade and let the soldier lead you to the ships, not daring to look at the mass of bodies being piled up on the sand. Tears blurred your vision as you were hauled onto the ship. The keening wails of mourners raised above the fractured walls and you watched as smoke started to envelope the city. Just this morning, you had been thinking about spring planting and now you were a Roman slave.

What fresh hell was this?

The soldier clamped the heavy irons onto your wrists, connecting them together, and then attached two to your feet as well, forcing you into a shuffle as he then moved further below deck to a room. He tossed a thin blanket onto the wooden floor and pointed at it. You needed no words to explain that it would be your new bed.

When the door shut behind him, you fell to your knees over the chamber pot and promptly threw up everything in your stomach. An agonized sob tore from your lungs and you grit your teeth to silence the wail that threatened to emerge. You beat your fists on the hard, unforgiving wooden floor and wept silent tears, rocking back and forth in time to the crests and waves of the wailing mourners outside. Your people were subjugated. Your home was destroyed.

Your Hanno was dead.

Oh Thisbe, you thought as hot tears coursed down your cheeks. I understand. I understand. I understand. If I cannot shoulder this burden, then let the gods strike me down so that I may join him in peace.

“Tell us a story!”

The voices of children bubbled up over the crowd and Hanno looked up from sharpening his sword to find a woman surrounded. The kids eagerly mobbed her, their little heads bobbing up and down as they pleaded for her to tell them a tale. A basket balanced precariously on her head, but she seemed as though there was no worry about it falling.

But the thing that Hanno noticed the most was that she was completely and utterly beautiful.

“Who is that?” Jugurtha smiled at the young soldier’s question. He saw the way the woman captured his gaze. He knew that look in his eyes.

Jugurtha said your name quietly and explained how your family used to live on the outskirts of the city so they could accommodate a larger farm, but recent skirmishes in the area had wounded your father and drew you behind the walls of the city. Hanno had met your father before and made a mental note to visit the man and see how he was healing. Perhaps he would bring some fresh fruits from the merchants.

Jugurtha must have caught onto his train of thought because he called you over. The gaggle of children followed closely behind and you laughed, a sound that Hanno delighted in hearing.

“Are you interested in a story too, my lord?” You said in greeting. Jugurtha grinned and gestured for you to sit.

“You’ve been hard at work. Take a moment to rest and tell the children a story.”

With careful hands, you reached up and lowered the basket to the ground. Hanno could see it was full of various types of plants and fabrics. He had a million questions swirling around in his head. What did you do to pass the time? Where were you staying? Did you like it here? He stayed silent, however, as you slowly lowered yourself onto the ground. Your dress pooled around your legs and the coins on your shawl clinked against each other. What would you look like bare? He banished the thought as soon as it appeared.

“Come.” You beckoned the children to sit around you and gathered one of the youngest into your lap. The child reached up and played with the ends of your veil and you smiled down at her before beginning your story.

“Long ago, there was a queen of Numidia by the name of Kahina. When invaders came to Numidia to conquer us, she stood strong and fought them off with all of her might. Kahina was brave and smart, using both her strength and her mind to push the invaders back.” You launched into a tale filled with drama, some comedy, and even a bit of romance that had the kids shouting and cheering with glee. Hanno even stopped cleaning his weapons to sit and listen. He was enraptured by the way you kept the kids engaged as you weave your tale. The child in your lap started to drift off and you didn’t even hesitate before drawing her closer into your arms and cradling her.

“Queen Kahina is a reminder to all of us,” you declared. “That each of us has the power to stand up for ourselves, to do what’s right, and to be proud of who we are.” You gazed out onto the sea of little heads bobbing their agreement and then looked up to lock gazes with Hanno. For a brief moment, it felt like everything in the world went still. He scarcely knew he was breathing until Jugurtha nudged him. You tore your gaze away and offered a brilliant smile to the children. Clapping your hands together, you shooed them back towards the gathering of homes.

“Your mothers are probably wondering where you’ve gone off to. Now, go home and do some chores to help her out.”

“Oh, but we want another story!” One boy cried out. You huffed out a laugh and shook your head, your veils moving like buttery silk across your skin.

“Only if you finish your chores for the day. I will ask your mother and you know I will. Now, off with you!”

The children dashed off, leaving you with the sleeping babe in your arms. You slowly started to rise, intent on not waking her, when Hanno spoke.

“Here, let me carry your basket.” He stood and took the wicker basket from the ground so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying both child and items. You regarded him warily at first and Jugurtha had to hide his smile behind his hands.

Truth be told, you were one of the most desired women in the city. You were also one of the least trusting. Your mother desperately tried to set you up with suitor after suitor, but none met your standards. Your father laughed off your mother’s attempts and said that the gods would lead the right man to you. You were older than most women to be unmarried, but you remained steadfast in your belief that the right man would come someday.

And perhaps today was that day.

Jugurtha offered you a short nod to express his approval of Hanno and your suspicious expression melted somewhat. You turned and started to walk towards the village. When you realized that the handsome man with blue eyes wasn’t following, you glanced back at him.

“Are you coming or not?”

Hanno scrambled to catch up and quickly joined your steps, a smile cresting on his face as he asked you about how you were settling into the city.

Hanno cried when his mother sent him away. He sobbed when he fled his hiding place, cried on the boat crossing, and sniffled away into his sleep the first few days of living in Numidia. But he had never wept like he did when they tossed him into the hold of the ship with a Roman brand on his shoulder and a ring that felt infinitely heavy on his finger.

The last thing he saw before plunging into the sea was the blade sliding across your neck. Stuck between the two worlds of consciousness, he saw flickers of a wheatfield stretched before him and, for a moment, saw the outline of your body amongst the stalks. He reached out, his hand passing through where you stood, and then you disappeared from his grasp.

Coming to, he rushed from the sea and towards the city, but two Romans stopped him. He needed to find your body. He needed to see that you were buried properly. He was never as devoted to the gods as you were. You kept idols on the hearth and prayed regularly, but he only found himself turning to the gods at a time like this. But, right now, he found himself praying to Viduus, Libitina, and Proserpina.

Let her soul cross, Mercury. Bring her to the Fields of Elysium. Please. Tell her I will meet her on the other side.

He was forced to kneel next to Jugurtha, stripped of his armor and weapons, and watched as they loaded body after body into a pit. Jugurtha’s gaze never left the growing pile, even as he asked the question that Hanno dreaded.

“She’s gone,” he said, his throat raw from screaming your name across the battlefield. Did it hurt? He wondered. Was it instant? Did you feel pain? His sweet wife who dedicated her life to healing and helping died in such a brutal manner. His hands curled into fists as rage filled his veins. You were supposed to die at an old age, tucked in his arms and surrounded by your children. That’s what he planned that day so long ago when he walked you home, basket in his arms and a babe in yours. You dropped the child off with her mother and he refused to let you take your basket back, instead carrying it to your small house where he checked in on your father, met your mother, and charmed your whole family.

He craned his neck to see the dead lying a few feet away in hopes of catching a glimpse of any sign of you but there were too many dead. Too many lost. He saw the man he had bought silk from two days earlier. The midwife in the village. So many of the soldiers he had helped train.

Hanno glanced beside him and saw a fellow healer who was weeping openly. He leaned closer and asked if she knew anything about what happened to you.

“They took her,” she wailed. “They took her.”

Any grief that remained calcified into pure, hot rage. They took your body? For what sick purpose? To desecrate your corpse? To taint you with their hatred and their delusions of power, even when you were already dead? He started to rise, intent on seeking out your corpse and draping himself over it so that he would still be holding you when they killed him. Jugurtha stopped him with a shaking hand around his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” the leader lamented. “But not like this. This is not how you will die.”

Hanno’s eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the soldiers, in front of the keening mothers and children, in front of the men he had defeated and stripped of their armor to expose their humiliation. Hanno remembered the way he pointed directly at you, encouraging the soldier to keep the bloodshed continuing, and knew what Jugurtha meant.

He was going to kill him, and then he would reunite with you in the afterlife.

“Tell me a story,” Lulit encouraged as the two of you picked herbs from outside the city. The two of you rode out early this morning to gather herbs not grown in the village gardens. Lulit was with child and Jugurtha insisted on a guard coming with you and you glanced over at the man asleep at the base of the tree that the horses were tied to.

You paused for a moment to consider which tale you should tell. Recently, the only stories that came to mind were romances. Your face burned at the thought, but you knew why they were the only things that floated to your memory. A certain blue-eyed man had consumed every waking thought of yours and it was driving you mad.

He was a consummate gentleman and always found ways to visit your family. He started helping your father get his new trading business up and running in the city. He brought your mother fresh wheat to bake bread. He carved toys from wood and willow reeds for your siblings.

Hanno was the man of your dreams. He was exceedingly kind, handsome, and funny. He was sincere and wasn’t putting on some kind of face to impress you. He was just truly nice to everyone he met. You saw him once helping one of the elders bundle their wheat harvest and carry it into their house. Jugurtha had already come by and assured your parents of Hanno’s good nature.

He had started to teach you Latin and how to read and write Phoenician and Numidian. He told you stories from other empires and listened intently when you told him tales your grandmother had told you. The gods had indeed brought the right man, the perfect man. 

“Psyche was one of three daughters of a king and a queen of a far away land. She was renowned for her beauty and praised among the land as the second coming of the goddess of beauty. Her admirers would bring offerings and gifts to her, angering the goddess, who decided that Psyche must be punished.”

A thorn caught on your finger and you let out a hiss of pain as you brought your finger to your lips, sucking the blood away. You began to continue your work and your story when a horn trumpeted across the sky.

The sounds of war.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you immediately looked to Lulit. Her face had drained of color and she traded a worried glance with you. In the time you had lived here, the horns had never sounded.

“We need to move.” Despite being asleep moments earlier, Hanno was already leading the horses to the two of you.

“Who is it?” You knew better than to stall, especially when he wore such a serious expression. He helped you climb onto the back of your horse and paused for only a moment, one of his warm palms resting on your skirt-covered thigh.

“A small war party, by the looks of it. Nothing the defense can’t handle. But we need to get out of the way before they attack. There’s a forest just a few paces away, but we need to get moving.” He ensured that you and Lulit were secured before he climbed onto his own horse. Dust grew in the east and you felt your worry build with it. Hanno tugged at the reins of your horse, urging you to follow. You urged your horse into a gallop and kept close to him, but you still looked over your shoulder to gauge how close the marauders were.

“Hanno.” Your voice carried a warning and he looked back to see a rider closing in on them. He let out an expletive and pointed to the trees that were nearing with every step.

“Go! I’ll find you.” He slowed his horse and fell in line with you, his bright eyes meeting yours. “I swear to you.”

You swallowed against your rising panic and he sent you a reassuring smile before he turned his horse around and rode off in the direction of your pursuer. You looked back to watch as he drew his sword with expert ease.

Focus, you chastised yourself. You need to focus.

Lulit silently followed you as you led the way to the forest. Once the trees began to cloud your vision, you looked back and saw nothing but dirt and sky. He would be okay. He had to be.

Dismounting, you grabbed the reins of your horse and led her further into the forest until you came to a clearing with a good underbrush. You tied the horses and instructed Lulit to dig out some of the underbrush so she could lay down and rest while you brushed out the horses.

“Are we in danger?” she asked. Were you? You had no clue. But you set your shoulders and covered her with the blanket she kept on her saddle.

“Hanno would never let anything happen to us,” you told her. You settled down onto the soft grass next to her. “Let me continue my story. While Psyche’s sisters married, she found herself still unmarried and that worried her father who consulted a seer. The seer predicted an awful outcome for the beautiful daughter, one of a brutish husband in the form of a dragon who came to claim her and whom the gods feared. But truthfully, the goddess of beauty had been so enraged by the people’s devotion to Psyche that she sent her son to enchant her with a hideous creature, but instead found himself falling in love with her.”

Lulit curled up onto her side, cradling her growing belly with her hands as she listened raptly to your story. You spoke of the trials the lovers endured in their pursuit of one another, but as you began to wrap up the story, you found that she had drifted off to sleep.

A branch cracked nearby and you flinched. There was a small knife in your saddlebags that you used for foraging and silently, you crept over to your horse and retrieved it. The leaves rustled and you spun to face whatever beast dared to come close. You held your knife aloft and pointed it in the direction of where the noise was coming from. Oh, you were not brave. You were a farmer’s daughter and a healer. The most you knew with a knife was how to butcher an animal.

“You need to adjust your thumb to the other side,” Hanno said in greeting as he stepped through the forest and into the clearing. “It will give you better control.”

With a ragged sigh of relief, your shoulders fell from their tensed position and you dropped the knife onto the grass below. He stooped to catch it and studied the small blade with a hint of a smile. Droplets of blood stained his face and you carefully examined him for any sign of injuries.

“I am unharmed, my little warrior,” he teased. He rose and handed you the knife once more. “And I will make sure to teach you how to use that.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He could easily be lying. Father always brushed off your mother’s worries so as to not incite her own anxieties. Hanno raised his arms from his sides and slowly turned so you could see that he was indeed unharmed. His sword hung from its scabbard and you could see that blood still lingered on its surface.

“Are we safe?”

His eyes darkened and he stepped closer, his hands hovering over your waist. He searched your face for something, you weren’t sure, but dipped his head into a nod. “Aye. I would never let anything happen to you. To you or Lulit.”

“Then rest, soldier. Let me clean your sword.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but determination furrowed your brows and Hanno reluctantly unstrapped his sword from his side and handed it to you. This was a task you had witnessed your mother perform before when your father took on anyone trying to attack the farm. Blood was not a foreign thing to you, even if Hanno appeared to want to protect you from it.

You took a rag from your saddle pack and sat down by a tree. Hanno joined you, his back against the bark and his eyes studying the treeline for any disturbance. Slowly and methodically, you ran the rag over his blade and ensured that every last drop of blood and gore was cleaned from it. He searched your face for any sign of fear. Fear of what? Of him? A man who so willingly charged into danger to protect you engendered no fear from you.

“There,” you declared. “Good as new.”

He gratefully accepted the blade from you and placed it back in his scabbard. The sun was starting to set and the glow between the trees created a halo of light around you. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair out of your face before curling his knuckles against your jaw and stroking his thumb over your cheek. You let your eyes flutter shut and leaned into his palm, savoring the rough drag of his calloused fingers against your soft skin.

You loved him. Oh, the thought made your heart race and you surged forward. He caught your waist in his calloused hands and let his lips meet yours in a breathless kiss. Hanno groaned against your touch and you pulled away, thinking he was hurt with some injury you hadn’t seen, but he merely cupped your face and pulled you back in so he could nip at your lips and soothe the slight sting with his tongue. You whimpered at his touch and kissed him once again, moving your hands down to trace along the hard lines of his chest. Your hand moved lower and Hanno quickly pulled away from you, one of his hands catching yours and tangling your fingers with his.

“Not yet,” he panted against your cheek. “Not yet.”

Dawn was breaking when you awoke. Your head rested on a blanket that you recognized as Hanno’s while your own draped over you, protecting you from the bitterly cold nights of Numidia. Your soldier sat wide awake and alert beside you and you could tell, from the fatigue weighing down his eyes, that he hadn’t slept a wink through the night. A silent sentry, guarding you and Lulit from any unseen danger.

The blanket fell from your shoulder as you began to sit up and he instinctively reached over to drag it back up your shoulder, bathing you in warmth from both the outside and surging through your insides at his tenderness.

You woke Lulit and the three of you rode back to the city, barely making it in time before a search party headed by Lulit’s husband went out. He wept when he saw his wife and swept her into his arms. Two men offered to take your horses to the stables to care for them and you graciously accepted. Hanno refused to leave your side until he deposited you at your doorstep.

It was still early but you knew your parents would be awake, both from their anxiety and their history as farmers. Your mother let out a shriek when she saw you approach and ran from the doorway to hug you. Hanno squeezed your hand once and made to step away, but you kept your fingers tightly entwined with his.

“I believe you have something to ask of my father,” you explained. His brows raised in surprise and you offered him a shy smile. As your mother ran back to the house to exclaim of your return, you raised your clasped hands so you could press a kiss to his dirt-stained skin.

“Are you sure?” His hesitation had nothing to do with you, but rather in his belief that he was not good enough for you. You laughed and started to drag him in the direction of the house.

“You foolish man.” A boyish grin lit up his face and he followed you inside.

“What happens to me once we reach Rome?”

General Acacius looked up from the letter he was writing and turned to face you. The floor barely made a comfortable place to lay your head, but he had at least given you blankets and removed the chains from your legs. They only went back on when you were on the deck, thanks in part to your failed attempt to jump overboard and sink into the sea.

“My wife will find a place for you in her house,” he explained. You scoffed and picked at the dried blood under your fingernails. You spent your days stitching up and tending to the wounds of Roman soldiers and spent your nights curled up on the floor of this room, dreaming of bright blue eyes and a crooked smile.

“Why? Couldn’t you just drop me off at the nearest brothel and let them rip me apart?” His compassion, minimal at best but still present, confused you. To him, you were barbarian scum. A conquered people. Prisoner of war, spoils, an artifact of his military prowess. He winced at your accusation, knowing that it was true for many military campaigns that the women were subjugated into the slave trade and forced into prostitution. The general refused to meet your eyes and you savored what little bit of power you held over him.

You could picture it now. You would demure yourself and behave in his wife’s house until you found a chance to slit her throat and leave him with the same raw, empty feeling that consumed you.

“You have skills that would be useful,” he muttered. “Your husban-”

“Don’t you dare speak of him,” you hissed. “My husband was a good and kind man. You do not deserve to speak of him.”

“He taught you well,” he continued on. “Lucilla could use someone with your skill set.”

The name made you pause and you tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing as you mentally ran through your memories. “Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius?”

He regarded you with suspicion. “Aye. How do you know of her?”

“Everyone knows of Marcus Aurelius,” you retorted. “I’d be a fool not to.”

A sudden knock on the door drew his attention away from you and he rose to answer it. General Acacius left the room to sort out some sort of issue and left you alone with your thoughts. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested your cheek against your folded arms. If you shut your eyes, you could see his face. If you thought hard enough, you could feel him in your dreams. The rough stubble of his beard. The high plains of his cheekbones. The crooked smile he gave you when he made you laugh.

Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius, you ran the words over and over in your head. Aurelius. Aurelius.

You could only hope that Hanno would forgive you if you delayed your joining with him in the afterlife for a little bit longer.

He slept fitfully on the ship and in the cages. He dreams of your eyes, your laugh, your smile, and wakes with your name on his lips in a strangled cry that he buries into his bicep and lets only a few tears leak out onto his battered skin. 

He has nightmares most nights and the lack of sleep fuels his rage. Dark circles take hold under his eyes and weariness leaves red rims around his blue pupils, making him appear as the wild barbarian they purport him to be. His muscles ache and scream and bruises litter his torso. He bites a monkey back and savors the burning anger that courses through his veins. The crowds cheer and shout and applaud his fury, but he pays them no mind. All he focuses on is going back to his cell and dreaming of you once more.

Killing men has never been an issue for him. He was raised a fighter, even in Numidia where he helped Jugurtha lead their forces. He fought in skirmishes and battles. When he met you, it brought another reason to keep the fight going. He refused to let a single person pass into the gates of the city when you were seeking protection inside. He had failed you, and every new scar on his body was merely penance.

Ravi chastises him for the way that he seeks out injury, but the man doesn’t refuse to help him. In an opium-fueled haze, Hanno tells him quietly that his wife was a healer. She was exceedingly kind and gentle. Too gentle for him. He was scared he would break her with his brutish nature, but she was also enduringly strong. A stray tear slips down his cheek and he tosses the opium aside in favor of feeling the pain and knowing that it pales in comparison to the ache in his chest. His grief builds and compounds into this sickening version of him that he cannot recognize. The blood of other men stains his skin, no matter how hard he scrubs in the baths. Even when the iron-thick substance is gone, he can still see it.

Macrinus brought the finest courtesans by his cell, but he refused them everytime. Once, the girl shared a similar hair color as you and he invited her into his cell, but merely let her rest on his cot while he sat at his desk and sketched what he could remember of your face on thin papyrus.

When he looked into the stands and saw your murderer seated with his mother, his rage calcified into his heart. With every kill, he pictured your pale face crying out for him. With every breath, he reminded himself of his failure to protect you. His mother had the audacity to reason with him.

“Do you have a family?” Lucilla asked.

He says your name with the reverence afforded to the gods and then hisses out that you were dead and taken from him by her husband. How dare she try to call her son home when she shares a bed with that monster? Ferality consumed him and his thirst for revenge. He meant what he said to Macrinus. Only Acacius’ head will quench this fire in his blood. For a sickening moment, he wants his mother to feel the way he does.

There are times when the night is darkest that his mind descends into the throes of the deepest depression and he wonders about how you would feel if you saw him like this. There is one nightmare that plays over and over again in his mind. He is in the Colosseum and the crowd is cheering in their bloodlust. The gates open and he steps out to face his next opponent, only to find you standing in the sand with your hands outstretched towards him. In this dream, he can’t stop himself from raising his blade an-

He woke up screaming.

Hanno doesn’t trust Macrinus within an inch of his life, but he trusts that he’ll bring him Acacius and that…that will be enough.

“Can I tell you a story?” Hanno whispered into your hair.

The wedding was an all-day event. You looked resplendent with flowers woven in your hair and layers of colorful fabric adorning your body. It felt as though the whole city came out to celebrate your union and the dancing, food, and music flowed for hours. Jugurtha clapped his hands on Hanno’s shoulders and congratulated him. A knowing glint flashed in the older man’s eyes and Hanno was eternally grateful for the man’s meddling.

Your father had tears in his eyes when he took your hand from his and placed it into Hanno’s, but they were tears of joy. When discussing the marriage negotiations and dowry, your father declared that there was no one greater for his daughter. In his vows, Hanno promised to protect and provide for you until his very last breath, one that he would take with you in his arms at an old age, with your children around you.

As the night grew longer, the crowds began to thin out. Parents took sleeping children home and the elders slipped away so they could rise early and start their daily chores. The fires began to burn low and Hanno looked over to you, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the realization.

His wife. His wife. Your lovely face was now his to wake up to every morning and your sweet laughter was his to elicit. Izim was telling some tall tale about his adventures as a sentry, but Hanno didn’t hear a single word. He ignored the hoots and hollers of his fellow soldiers and friends as he left their group and strode towards you.

The women around you tittered and giggled as he approached and it drew your attention away from whatever Seble was telling you. You barely had time to react when he suddenly scooped you into his arms. Hanno easily cradled you to him, your long veils swirling around the two of you, and he made his way towards the new house he had built with the help of your father and a few friends. The party cheered and you hid your laughter into the crook of his neck.

Hanno stopped in the doorway and set you gently onto your feet so you could examine your new home. Someone, your mother, you presumed, had already set some lanterns alight in the house and a clay jar of flowers sat on the small wooden table in the center of the room. It was a small house with the bed on one side and a small kitchen on the other. You traced your hand along the furniture that you knew he constructed himself. Your dowry chest laid at the foot of the bed already and a loom was on the wall. Your husband had done all of this.

The word made your throat squeeze with a level of affection you had never experienced before. He watched you carefully from the doorway, but you could see tension in the line of his shoulders and how his hands fidgeted until he clasped them behind his back. The flames from the lanterns made his eyes glow and heightened the smooth planes of his face. You reached up and unclasped your veils, letting them pool at your feet before you took a step forward.

He met you halfway, his hands going to settle on your waist as you nestled into his strong arms. Your hands came up to rest on the rough fabric of his tunic and you could feel his heart beat wildly under the tips of your fingers.

“My husband,” you breathed to the heavens. You wanted the gods to know that this man was yours. He had placed an iron ring on your finger and you savored the weight of it, the press of it against your skin. Hanno’s lips lifted in the barest hint of a grin, but his eyes took on almost burning intensity.

With nimble fingers, you released the clasps of his tunic yet kept your gaze locked on his as the fabric pooled to the ground. Hanno’s breaths grew ragged as you settled your hands back onto the chiseled muscle of his chest. For a moment, nothing happened. You just stared at one another as the air electrified with palpable energy. You had no idea where this boldness emerged from, but you slid your hand down his bicep, along his arm, and then to his wrist where you clasped it and raised his hand to rest on your breast. He swallowed so hard you could see his throat bob and just the simple evidence of his arousal made your skin burn.

“My wife,” he said hoarsely and untied your dress.

Hanno sucked in a shuddering breath as the fabric fell away from your body and joined his on the floor. He stroked his hands over your quivering flesh and stepped forward so that his body pressed against the length of yours. You felt him harden against your thigh as he leaned down to capture your lips in his. The two of you had kissed plenty of times, from small chaste pecks to that heated moment in the forest, but this felt entirely new and you welcomed it. He nibbled at your lips and explored your mouth with the desperation of a dying man searching for water. You moaned your approval which encouraged him and he let one of his hands drift down to cup your breast.

Hanno’s touch made your skin light on fire with every simple brush. How were you supposed to act when the man strutted around shirtless most of the time and built your house? Some of the older women in the city gossiped about their husbands. They told you about how it hurt, about the way he took without giving, and how they hated it.

From the delicate way Hanno touched you and the tender press of his lips against your pulse point, you knew that this would be different. He bent down and hauled you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist for security, but you knew he would never drop you. You slid your arms around his neck, pulling your chest flush with his and he let his head fall back with a sinful groan, exposing the column of his throat. Eagerly, you licked a stripe up against his sweat-tinged skin and savored the taste of salt, musk, and man.

“By the gods, you will be the end of me, my little wife.” His teeth enclosed around the hinge of your jaw and you let your head fall to the side with a little sigh. Hanno nipped at the skin of your neck and you jolted against him, causing his throbbing cock to brush against you. Hanno squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation that wracked his body and you turned your head so he was facing you. Running your thumb along his jaw, you pulled your husband into another kiss and then pulled his bottom lip between your teeth. He sucked in a sharp breath and his hold tightened on you, sending a zing of pain mixed with pleasure down your spine.

“Take me to bed, husband,” you panted against his mouth. “Claim me as yours.”

Furs and silk lined the bed and softened your fall. You marveled at the way he prepared everything for you, even bringing over the blankets you wove for your marriage chest and setting them on the bed. He planted himself over you, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he took and you stole a glance down his broad chest to the heavy manhood that stood proud between his thighs. Your body pulsed with want even as your mind protested the idea of taking his length. He sensed your apprehension and leaned down to place a gentle kiss against your temple, your brow, both eyelids, and then your lips once more.

“I cannot promise it to be painless,” he said. “But I will do everything in my power to make sure you find bliss too.”

One of his hands snaked down to your most intimate place and your eyes widened with shock as he brushed the pad of his finger along the seam of your cunt. Your legs spread further apart instinctively and he kissed you in thanks for your invitation. A gasp escaped you as one of his fingers slid past your entrance and he kissed away your shock, even as you felt the rough and calloused pad of his finger slide up and press against some part of you that had you seeing stars. A little whimper from you had him pausing and he immediately pulled his hand away, eliciting a low whine from his wife. Hanno couldn’t stop his cocky smile that spread across his face before he touched that part of you again. His finger drew a circle over your flesh and your hips canted up, a mewl spilling past your lips and your breath catching. He stole a kiss, then another as he sent electricity up your spine and shocks scattered through your bones.

“You are magnificent,” he murmured just as he slipped another finger into your aching cunt. For a moment, you felt a hint of discomfort and bit your lip to refrain from making a sound. Hanno frowned and pulled your lip out from between your teeth. Some small part of you whispered ugly words and lies into your mind in an attempt to push his affection away. He only wanted you because other men did. You were merely a token to conquer. He needed a wife before he could get a concubine.

“Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He kissed the corner of your lips and you turned your head to see him properly once more. His eyes burned with a hunger you had seen before like in the forest or when he saw you carry one of the village babes on your hip. Hanno cheek pressed against your own and he whispered into your ear as he sank one finger into you and then two. He told you how proud he was of you, how good you were for him, how precious you were, as he pulled little cries of pleasure from you. You tightened around his fingers and he leaned back and watched your face as your body twitched and seized with the electric shocks of pleasure. A proud smile captured his face and he craned his head down to kiss you again and again and again. You climbed higher, higher, higher but then he abruptly pulled his hand from you, leaving you empty and aching. 

“I know, I know,” he groaned in that deep timbre bass that wracked through your body. Hanno rubbed a gentle circle into your outer thigh and shifted himself until he was kneeling between your spread legs. He grasped his cock in one hand and pressed his other hand to your hip, holding you in place under his heavy gaze. You squirmed as his eyes raked down your naked body and the little thoughts began to creep in once more, but he silenced them with one word.

“Divine.” Hanno leaned down and laid the flat of his tongue along your cunt. Your back arched off the bed with a choked out gasp and for a moment, you thought you died and entered the afterlife. He chuckled against your inner thigh and pressed a kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his heels. He stroked his thick length twice before moving closer to you. He nestled his face against your hair and inhaled the sweet scent of rose petals. His cheek rested on your temple, and he shocked you with his question.

“Can I tell you a story?”

You choked back a laugh and kissed the shell of his ear. “I suppose.” While you were the typical storyteller, you would always accept whatever he gave you.

“There was a king of the island of Ithaca by the name of Ulysses*. He was sent to fight in the Trojan War and on the way home, was blown off course. The journey home took over ten years and was filled with countless obstacles and dangers.” You gasped as the blunt head of his cock slid past your entrance and Hanno inhaled deeply. “Odysseus had a wife, the queen of Ithaca, named Penelope. A hundred suitors from the various lands and tribes came in an attempt to woo her and take her hand in marriage. Everyone thought Odysseus to be dead.”

He rocked his hips and his thick length began to split you open and your lips parted in a silent moan. Any air that was in your lungs seemed to evaporate as he filled you fully. Hanno swallowed your shaky whimper with a sweet kiss. You clawed for purchase against his chest, your limbs liquifying when he pulled out. Hanno caught your hand in his and flipped your hand over so he could pepper kisses along the inside of your wrist.

“Penelope was a devoted wife and ever faithful. She never doubted that Odysseus was alive and would come back to her. She lied to the suitors and told them that she would marry them when she finished weaving a funeral shroud. But she undid her work each night.” This time, his intrusion didn’t have the burn like the last thrust. Instead, his cock dragged against your walls in such a way that had your eyes rolling back into your head.

Hanno groaned as he started a steady thrust of his hips. He moved your hands above your head and entangled his fingers with yours, squeezing them in assurance as he fucked you. The pleasure burned so hot in your stomach and consumed your entire being. Everytime he thrust in, it felt like he was carving you out and branding you with his claim and oh, how you wanted this. He built this house for you and your future and even though he put a roof over your head, you saw stars with every touch against your skin.

“Ha-Hann…” You whined as he hit a certain spot that made your head spin. “Hanno.”

He frowned and slowed his thrusts and he touched your cheek, his thumb rubbing away the tear that you didn’t realize slipped down. “Does it hurt?”

You yanked him closer until his nose was touching yours. Your legs wrapped around his hips and he bottomed out in surprise.

 “Don’t you dare stop.” He grinned that reckless, crooked smile of his and swept your lips into a bruising kiss as he fucked every last thought out of your head. His name became a prayer that you chanted to the skies as he took you higher and higher until that coil that wrapped in your stomach snapped. You clenched around his cock and your body seized up as your orgasm washed over you. Hanno let out a guttural, animalistic groan and he spilled his seed into you, flooding you with warmth.

Silence enveloped the two of you, only the heavy exhales from exertion permeating the bubble that surrounded you. Hanno’s body relaxed and he caught himself before he put all of his weight on you. Rolling to the side, his arm came up to curl around your front, and he pulled you to his chest. Nose to nose, you met his gaze and let your breath mingle with his.

“Penelope didn’t falter in her devotion,” you said hoarsely. “Did she?”

His hand drifted up and down the raised gooseflesh on your arm and he reached over to draw one of the furs over you. “Aye, she didn’t.”

You tossed the edge of the fur over him and kissed him once again. “I will always remain steadfast.”

His lips met your temple and he tucked your head under his chin. “And I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.”

Acacius lead you into the villa, the shackles and a new plate around your neck indicating your designation as slave. Lucilla immediately greeted him with an embrace and you looked away, your heart shattering at the sight. Quiet words were exchanged between the two before Acacius paused and stepped back to display you.

“She is from Numidia,” he explained. “She has skills in healing and I felt she would be a good addition to the household.”

Lucilla approached you and took in your sorry state. You felt bile rise in your throat as you bowed your head to the woman, but she stopped you with a raised hand.

“What is your name?” she asked you in Phoenician. You paused before answering her in your second tongue. That’s when you saw her eyes and realized, with a jolt, that she was indeed the woman you had heard of.

“Leta,” Lucilla called for another slave. “Come. Show her to the baths and give her a fresh chiton. Acacius, unchain her.”

He obeyed his wife’s command, but the slate remained. Perhaps you would wear it for the rest of your, hopefully short, life. Leta, an older woman, silently beckoned you to follow her deeper into the villa where a few slave women were gathered together over a pool of warm water.

“Who is this?” one of them asked in Latin.

“A Barbarian whore for the general, I presume,” Leta replied. “He brought her from Numidia. Thing hasn’t had a bath in her whole life.”

You remained silent, hands clasped before you, even as Leta pointed towards the bath. “You. Wash.” You pretended not to understand and she huffed out an annoyed breath and marched off, leaving you to strip out of your ruined and bloody dress from home and step into the water. You didn’t want to wash the gore off of your skin. Not when it was your last reminder of home. Of him.

Taking a moment to look around, you tried to picture what it was like living here in all its splendor. Leta returned and tossed a dress for you onto the edge of the tile and you stared at it blankly. She turned her back to you and started to gossip with the other girls. Your hands scrubbed at your skin, but your ears picked up all that they were saying. Gladiator games, senators, the emperors, it was all banal and boring.

But you found it all invaluable.

When night fell, you slipped out from the tiny cot you had been given in the slave quarters and silently made your way through the halls. Mosaics lined the walls and depicted everything from myths to actual battles. You stopped at the bust of Marcus Aurelius and stared at it for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved on to the hall that everyone had pointedly walked past and Leta explained was off-limits. Or as she said, “no touch”, because she thought that your supposed inability to speak Latin was also an indication of your idiocy.

You pushed open the doors and entered the chambers. Dust covered every inch of the place, as if no one had been in here for years. You carefully made your way over a broken tile and into the bedchamber where the sheets were still unmade and a book lay open on the desk. Turning slowly, you took in the whole of the room with an unsteady inhale.

“The gates of hell are open night and day,” you whispered under your breath. The words were etched onto the top of the wall. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.” As you spoke, you could almost feel the presence of him at your back, his rough and low voice breathing the words into your ear.

You fled from the room, unable to bear it.

You almost made it back across the atrium when Lucilla emerged from seemingly out of nowhere. The two of you paused and you quickly lowered your head in deference.

“I hope you weren’t trying to escape,” she said gently. “Acacius told me that you were recently made a widow.”

The wince on your face was visible even in the moonlight and she stepped forward, her hands clasping over yours in comfort. She spoke her next words in Latin. “I am sorry. These meaningless deaths are foolish emperors playing war without considering the human cost of it.” The older woman patted your hand and made to leave, but your voice stopped her.

“Your slaves do not respect you,” you spoke in Latin. “Leta spreads vicious rumors about you and she said she has ties with some of the senators. Your allies are playing you and your plan is shaky at best.”

She whirled around to face you and you jutted your chin out in defiance, your eyes flashing with something dangerous. “In Numidia, my husband was the soldier, Domina. But I was the politician.”

Macrinus delivered on his promise. Acacius faced off with four soldiers in the Colosseum before Hanno was given a taste of vengeance and oh, did he savor it. Acacius ordered your death. Now, Hanno had the chance to ensure you were honored properly.

But Acacius stood across from him, sword on the ground, and accepted his death with a stoicism that Hanno only dreamed of possessing. The crowd roared and swelled with indignation after Hanno demanded to know their morals, but he was ushered away before he joined his father in dying in this ring.

He was granted the chance to see his mother one last time before her execution for treason and his slaughter in the arena. Lucilla told him of his father and he remembered meeting Maximus and how kind he was, even in the jaws of death. When his mother meets him for the last time, his only thought is how much Lucilla would like you.

She gave him two gifts in parting.

One, his grandfather’s ring.

Two, a lock of hair. And not just any…

Lucilla smiled sadly. “Acacius took her from Numidia to be a healer and didn’t realize she was your wife. She is safe, Lucius, and under the care of my household. I’m afraid I put it together too late, and she isn’t aware that you are here.”

For a moment, the rage subsided and he heard only a shrill ringing in his ears, as though he took a heavy blow to the head. Lucius turned the hair over in his hand and raised it to his nose, smelling a faint hint of rose petals.

I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.

His mother was taken back to his cell and he took a moment to curl his palm around this fragment of you and press it to his chest to guard it from the world.

And then he called for Ravi.

Your hands remained steady when you slit Leta’s throat. You did so quietly, in the darkness of an alleyway. Blood never fazed you before, and the taking of a life was no different now. As far as you were concerned, this woman was one of the reasons why your Hanno was dead. Was it a rational thought? Perhaps not. But rationality would come another day.

The Colosseum roared with fury and you tried not to flinch at the deafening sound as you slipped in through the gates below, into the pens with the animals and gladiators. Chaos reigned above and below the world’s largest stadium so it was easy to blend in with others. The cloak you stole from Leta made you appear to be a fellow slave working amongst the masses. It never failed to amaze you how they called you a barbarian when they fought men to the death for their entertainment.

Your fingers skated over the smooth wood that curved over your spine and you felt a little better knowing that it was on you. The games were already underway with a few prisoners being devoured by Barbary lions as the crowd screamed for their blood to spill. You slipped around a few courtesans that lingered in the hall and passed the raised dais where three maidens were chained. Pushing on, you found a small corridor that was unoccupied and slipped in between the stones to hide from any roaming eyes.

The noise increased and you knew what was coming. Lucilla would be executed and Macrinus was to blame. The lanista was the mastermind of all of this, and you knew firsthand what war could do to people. You refused to let Lucilla die and, as much as you hated the Romans for what they took from you, the innocent children in the streets would die.

After this, you promised yourself, you would join Hanno.

Footsteps rushed past your hiding spot and when it quieted down in the hallway, you took that as a chance to peek out and see if you had an opening. You slipped out into the hall and darted towards one of the gates that was partly open. A bloodbath was the only word to describe what was happening in the Colosseum. You blanched at the sight of Lucilla tied to the dais, but it seemed as though the gladiators had it well in hand.

Removing the bow from your back, you notched an arrow onto the string and inhaled deeply. Macrinus was not hard to stop, thanks to his place behind Emperor Caracalla, but you didn’t have a clear shot. The crowd was turning on the Praetors and more soldiers entered the Colosseum on horseback. One Praetor nearly took the head off of a gladiator and you turned your bow in that direction.

Breathe in, aim, fire as you breathe out, Jugurtha had instructed. Keep your arm steady, your aim true, and your mind clear. There is no time to panic, just shoot.

The arrow sailed through the air and straight through the Praetor’s shoulder, knocking him off his horse and to the ground. You drew another arrow and started to aim towards Macrinus once more, but this time he was standing up. Caracalla was slumped over dead in front of him and Macrinus had his own bow in his hand.

Numidians were excellent horsemen and archers. Before you ever met Hanno, before you even bled for the first time, you were trained in the art of horsemanship and archery. Indeed your husband vowed his protection, but you were not one to go down without a fight. He taught you how to manipulate a knife, where to aim on the body, but Hanno never came close to your familiarity with a bow.

Your next arrow arched through the air and collided with Macrinus’ shot. The wood splintered midair and you loaded a third, but the lanista fled the stands before you could take another shot. It gave a gladiator the chance to free Lucilla and pass her to another gladiator, a hulking beast of a man. The gladiator gave chase to Macrinus and you focused your attention on your subject at hand.

There had to have been a reason the gods kept you alive and took Hanno. Clearly, it was to protect your husband’s mother.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?”

His hand stilled from where it had been absentmindedly stroking your thigh. Hanno came home from the field and immediately drew you into his lap, inhaling your sweet smell and letting his hands roam all over your body. You savored his touch, but marriage had sharpened your mind regarding his mannerisms. Something was bothering him.

Hanno sighed and he nuzzled his nose against your shoulder. You let him have this moment, but you would weasel the truth out of him, someway or another.

“Is it another woman? A concubine?” you asked, your voice hushed and wounded. He laid a kiss against your skin and shook his head.

“Rome is moving closer,” he finally said. You turned so you could see his face and cupped his chin, drawing his head up to meet your gaze. He blinked up at you with those sky blue eyes of his and nestled into your palm until he could lay a gentle kiss there.

“My name, my real name,” he whispered, “is Lucius Verus Aurelius and I am the prince of Rome.”

The first thing he did after ascending his rightful place as Emperor of Rome was go to his mother’s villa.

Lucilla was fine, a small gash on her bicep and shaken up, but fine. He tried to be a good son, but she could tell his focus was on anywhere but her. Lucilla directed him to the gardens and that is where he found you.

The Roman dress was different from what he was used to seeing, but you still covered your head with a veil when praying to your gods. Head tilted towards the heavens, hands outstretched, you made a beautiful image of devotion.

Your feet inched closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Forgive me, my love, for being so weak that I could not do this sooner,” you said. Tears coursed down your cheeks and stained the fabric of your chiton with damp tracks. You muttered a mixture of prayer and apology and he strained to hear it.

“Give me the strength to commit this final act, oh gods, grant me this. I have protected his mother and granted her the life he was not spared. Please, oh Hanno, let me see you in the afterlife. I am tired, so tired of only seeing you in my dreams.”

“Step back from the edge, my heart.” His voice came out in a tremble.

“Hanno,” you whispered. “Forgive me for being so weak. Forgive me for failing you. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been nothing but strong.” A ferocity claims his words. “Step back from the edge.”

“We made a promise,” you pleaded. “We go as one. Let me join you, please.”

You raise one foot over the rocky cliff and he lashed out before he could think. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back so hard that the both of you tumbled to the ground. Quickly, Lucius kneeled by your side to search for any injury.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered. This was the afterlife. It must be. You obeyed his command to find those bright blue eyes that haunted your dreams.

“Am I finally dead?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

No, this wasn’t the afterlife. Blood caked his skin and scars littered his bare arms. He had been muscular before but now he appeared to be only thick, corded muscle. Your hands came up to rest on his neck and you examined his face. The same freckles. Same lines by his eyes. Same long eyelashes.

Trailing your hands down along his arms, you skirted around the obvious injuries he had until your fingers brushed something new, something entirely foreign to you that resided on his shoulder.

A brand.

And with that, the dam within you shattered. The wails of a widow finally escaped your chest and you let out an agonized scream as you curled in on yourself. Hanno gathered you into his arms and buried his face into the crook of your neck. Hot tears slid down his cheeks and onto your skin. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on the armor that still adorned his body and you eventually settled on cradling the back of his head with one hand and grasping his forearm with the other.

“I am so sorry,” he wept. “If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you sooner.” He wrenched the slave plate from your neck and kissed the places where the chain had rubbed your skin raw.

All the agony of grief and rage and terror from the last month spilled out of him in broken, gasping sobs. His precious wife was alive and in his arms. Numidia had fallen, but now he had the chance to protect her with all the power and might of Rome. He could now have armies at his beck and call, coffers of coins brought to him, and enemies assassinated but the true power laid in his arms.

His little wife was right. He was the soldier, the muscle, the physical strength. But the reason he fought and killed, the reason he kept going even when every part of his body screamed to give up, was because of her. As far as he was concerned, she had the power to raze cities and command armies. All she had to do was ask him.

“Is this real?” you breathed once your sobs and trembling ceased. He pulled you into his lap and almost began crying once again at the feel of your supple body against his.

“It’s real,” he assured you before he bent down and kissed you. Despite the blood that coated his skin, you savored the taste of him. You never thought you would get this again. Maybe the gods did bless you.

He kept you pressed against his side as you made your way back into the villa. One of the slaves nearly dropped her tray at the sight before her and ran to grab Lucilla. The stately woman swept into the courtyard and met you both there.

“Lucius,” she exclaimed. “I take it that this is your wife.”

“Yes.” His gaze never strayed from your face. “This is her.”

You instinctively went to bow to Lucilla but she stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“You are not my slave any longer,” she assured you. “Not only did you save my life, but you are now my daughter and also Augusta.”

Hanno, Lucius, you reminded yourself, stood in all his resplendent glory, covered in dirt and blood with his gladius hanging from his sheath. How different the two of you were now, yet still fit like the gods made you for each other. Your small house was gone. Your home was subjugated. Your family and friends in the afterlife. But Lucius was still here and still breathing. That made it all worth it.

He might be the Emperor of Rome now and you, the Empress, but he was still your charming soldier, your devoted husband. This, you decided, would make an excellent story someday.