#imagine the process. imagine how many days I'd take

[acaciapines]

okay that would totally be more practical but consider. someone should say no fuck that im making my book in my own vision and my vision says focus on just one color <3 i Would be the sort of person to read this lol. but other than people like, using format really creatively i think left/right would be the standard.

SQUIRREL GLASSES…..god thats so amazing i love this. there'd be such a huge industry for daemon-related gear wouldn't there. like boots for everyone who doesn't just want their bare paws touching every surface ex. in bathrooms or whatever. daemon clothes…and daemon accessibility tools!

i tend to default to daemons can do whatever a human can--so, anything daemons pick up on is processed through a human brain, right? so i actually think daemons cant see beyond the colors a human could (and if human-half is colorblind, so is daemon-half). course thats just a preference thing so i think daemons being able to use the abilities of the species they are ALSO makes sense…i feel like i go on a case by case basis lol. maybe its a practice thing--i could see it where someone COULD learn to echolocate as a bat, but a lot of bat daemons wouldn't bother since it involves translating senses across species which must be Very Hard. basically i think daemons are animal-shaped but not actually animals, which would sorta limit how well they can understand the way that animal would see the world.

incorporating these different colors into tech and shows WOULD be super fun, though. love that idea.

god the stigma around witches (/people with no or larger-than-average ranges) must be awful. i feel like its totally possible to stretch your range and in some professions they wont even allow you to join if your range isn't on the longer side. so people who literally aren't even severed but DO have these larger ranges are also caught up in all this--its like, this byproduct of how humans see the world? bc i honestly imagine severing is lowkey more complicated than people tend to see it. back in my wolf 359 days i was really interested it it…this idea of like, you survive being severed, and how you figure out who you are--never the same, but being new isn't a bad thing. so, some people choose to stay together, some people choose not to. but i imagine this is a small community 'cause most people the shock of severing kills you, and medical advice is 'push back together at all costs' which would ALSO kill people! (if in a less obvious way)

this is so real but i also tend to ignore that part of hdm lol i really just take daemons and run w/ it. also religion isn't my think so i dont have too many interesting things to say about it. i think speculative fiction being the catch-all makes a lot of sense tho. feels like there might be more range there too--like its not as narrow? idk

i'd LOVE to get more research on brain death in a world with daemons…like, when does the brain actually die? i wonder if theres a period of time where the human brain is still working, and maybe that brings up questions of when daemons become dust--like, is there a set period of time where a daemon turning into dust could be saved? could there be brain death but not daemon death? since this is an entirely fictional world the answers can be whatever is most interesting for the story which i love

teen acting truly just keeps getting worse <3 no escape its SO bad. and GOD yeah i imagine if someone settles in a long-running show they might just work it into the plot, but if its like a movie maybe they have stunt doubles specifically for this sort of thing. i imagine a human actor with a daemon actor (so they aren't the same person, two separate halves) wouldn't be Very Fun, but i could see this being the general solution. or terrible cgi but i think cgi for daemons would be pretty frowned upon bc its like, you can tell RIGHT AWAY that its fake. unless they also cgi the human lol.

hello !! what are your thoughts on actors and acting in a world with daemons ? how do you think they would work ?

oooh this is super interesting...i've been thinking over this most of the day and i honestly think there wouldnt be a lot of like, huge and drastic changes. i do think people would cast for appearance of the human actor AND the daemon actor, so there would 100% be casting calls that would be like 'canine daemons only' because whatever character youre auditioning for would have a canine daemon.

BUT ALSO i think there'd be like. daemon costumes!! for places where you need a specific form but your actor isnt settled as such--like, maybe youre doing a documentary about a real person who settled as a parrot, and your actor is AWESOME but a rat. so there's a rat with a parrot costume :3 i feel like this would be more common on stage than on screen (think like, if youve ever seen the costumes of lion king on broadway, thats sorta the vibe i could see), since i feel like CGI tech would make it a tad easier to pass off one animal as another.

like i dont think cgi would replace a daemon actor entirely (to me thats like casting a human actor, and then using cgi to turn them into an entirely different person) but you would use cgi like how cgi is used today, like i know some cgi is used for costuming and stuff. so maybe a daemon has a sort of green screen type costume and thats how you get some species-changes, but like, their face and general shape is still their own.

on the same thread of movies/tv/shows etc, i do think on average there'd actually be less characters per show...like a show in our world would have four main characters, but a show in a world with daemons would have two--because the daemons are characters now too! so this might mean acting is even more competitive than it is today, since there's just less roles even if theres the same number of productions.

tho this varies based on how you present daemons in your world lol, in my 'ideal' sort of daemon-world they'd get as much sceentime as their human counterparts so you'd just have to cut down on total characters, but i write worlds where things are Not good for daemons lol.

along those lines i bet theres also daemon forms that are more vs less likely to get cast--i tend to go canine + feline are the most desired and thus like. "uplifted" forms so every hero has a lion etc, so if you wanna act but youre a sea slug you are going to struggle a LOT to be cast, bc productions would be like sorry we just need dogs <3 i think there would be a mammal bias and i wonder if there'd be anti-discrimination laws passed about this? i feel like that would be really contentious in-universe though, like a thing often argued about--people like, there are totally roles for snakes! (theyre only villian parts). or you can get cast with a fish daemon! (you will never get a main part and most of the time cant even get an extra part because its "too much work" to make the space fish-daemon accessible.) basically you can take this a lot of ways too!

if anyone else has ideas feel free to add on! or send me asks about unrelated daemon topics. i love talking about daemons :3

[everythingisarabbithole]

what if I started making videos

[power-handmaiden]

Chuck Tingle interview

OK, here is the FINAL 2024 Tingles My Butt post, which I've been pretty hyped for. I still kind of can't believe this. While I was figuring out how I'd move on from 2024, @drchucktingle generously offered to answer some questions of mine to commemorate the end of my tingler project! Here they are!

-Considering that your process for tinglers is just to write it out and not stress about proofreading and editing, was it weird for you to see someone decide to go back, examine, and contemplate every single tingler published in the past decade?

the whole dang project was really wonderful for me, for exactly the reason you have just said. tinglers are very STREAM OF CONSCIOUS and only edited with one quick pass so while i think this adds to their honesty and rawness it also means that my time with them is limited. really watching someone go back through them at this depth was like reading a diary that i have not opened for many years, and it jumps around through time in a very beautiful way. it was very moving

-I love tingler character names. I personally admire how many great ones you come up with. (I never know what to name my ttrpg characters.) You just come up with all these great names that seemingly spring from nowhere, how do you do it?

DANG great question cant believe i have not been asked this before but yes there is a type of name that shows up in the tingleverse that is unusual and has a certain feeling and cadence that is very specific. if i am trotting along with sweet barbara and there is a name of a product or a place or something that has this tone we will say ‘oh thats a tingleverse name.’ the reason i wanted to do this in the books was as a very subtle way of saying these stories exist on a timeline that is RIGHT next to ours, so in some ways it is exactly the same as our world but there are these little cultural differences with things like chocolate milk and spaghetti and then with the names. you will have buckaroos like justin and sarah trotting along next to buckaroos named corb torbins-quill or borto lart.

-So, as a reader, reading from 2014 to now, old tinglers and new tinglers feel different to me. I believe you when you say tinglers have always been sincere, but they feel MORE sincere than they used to be. Like, I feel like there was some self-consciousness and irony in some of the early tinglers that you've since let go of and embraced the Chuck Tingle voice more. I don't know, am I imagining this, or does this square with your tingler writing journey? If it does, what has that process been like for you?

i think you are absolutely correct. the intention with tinglers was always to be a place for me to express myself with complete sincerity, but the practical way of HOW to trot like this took a bit of an evolution to arrive at. in other words i knew the basics, but actually refining the best way to express yourself and perform your art takes time. maybe in the same way goin back and watching season one of a tv show can feel very different from season three, even though they are part of the same expression. 

similar thing happened with in my chuck PRESENTATION as well, where my main focus was to stay anonymous so the metaphors i used to talk about my life were still true but laid on much thicker. even my attire was a large gi so that you would not even be able to see my shape, which has obviously changed now because i wear suits these days. all of this was a process of starting in a place i knew was important to me and then peeling off the parts that were not helping the message or expression over time

-Is there anything you could tell us about the significance of Borson Reems? I feel like he's more than just another Buck Trungle/Chuck Tangle/etc but I'm not sure what exactly...

yes borson reems is god. not that i believe in GOD in the way that most buckaroos talk about god (i am agnostic) but within the tingleverse, borson reems is an avatar for the creator of that world. technically i am borson reems, because i am writing the books. the question is: are we all the gods of our own little worlds that we create? i do not know, but when i look around at my buds and the joy and love they bring to various timelines they sure seem like gods to me

-A lot of no-sex tinglers (especially ones that aren't romance-focused) vary in terms of plot and structure a lot more than erotic tinglers. Is your writing process for these stories any different?

same process actually, but the sex scenes in tinglers are about 1500 to 2000 words long, and total tingler length is 4000 words which means if you are not including that portion you are going to have to come up with some creative way to fill that space in the story and a new axis for story to turn on. so the variety comes from me getting creative and trying out different axis points

-In "Not Pounded By My Book "Pounded In The Butt By My Non-Fungible Tingler That Is Literally This NFT" Because Of The Current Catastrophic Environmental And Ethical Impact" there are references to an earlier draft of the story that was never released because you ended up disagreeing with the message. Are there any other tinglers that never got finished and/or published, if you'd be willing to talk about any of them?

oh this is a VERY good question. the story of the NFT tingler is that when buckaroos were first talkin on nfts online and nobody really knew what they were, my first thoughts were just ‘oh this is interesting what the heck is this?’ this is my way with most CURRENT EVENTS. and i thought ‘this would be an interesting tingler, i suppose maybe i should make the tingler an ACTUAL nft’. this was in VERY early days so i did not really even understand what an nft was (neither did 99 percent of buckaroos yet honestly). so i looked into it just enough to actually MAKE a nft tingler that was a real nft and put it out. lasted for about thirty seconds before buckaroos were messaging saying ‘oh this is bad chuck you should look into what this is’ and i DID look into it and thought’ oh yeah this is terrible nevermind’. i took down the original and thought ‘well THIS is what art is all about. this is where i thrive in a world of moving living art that is in communication with itself’. so i dove into the research and actually started to understand NFTS and then i repurposed the story into a strongly anti-nft tingler and put that on out instead.

as far as OTHER tinglers that kind of move and breathe and live like this, in communication with the audience, GAY T-REX LAW FIRM is another very good example. that one i wrote early on and i think it was kind of in the model of something like fifty shade of grey, where issues of kink and consent and communication are not really handled well. i think at the time it came out the story was okay, but as time went on it always kind of bothered me and finally i thought ‘i love art that exists in the REAL WORLD and changes and evolves, so lets rewrite that story and fix some of these mistakes.’ honestly it is something i wish more artists would be open to. its okay to let something hold strong against a changing timeline, but it is also okay to explore what its like to take the notes that time gives us

-This one is about Chuck Tingle that exists in deeper layers of the Tingleverse that operate on tingler logic: what does the location inside his/your butt look like?

probably a nice mid-century modern home up in laurel canyon neighborhood of los angeles. kind of quiet and small like a cabin but also very cozy, like the kind of place where you would put on a crosby stills nash and young record on vinyl and gaze out into the woods for a while then walk down the hill for dinner at a little cafe where you spot some actor from a 60s tv show also having dinner in the corner booth. this basically sounds like the start of a tingler and in that tingler i will say the actor would be a bigfoot.

-OK this one is very self-indulgent but if you could help settle this frequent point of discussion I have with my wife- where do the following fit in the Tingleverse bigfoot/dinosaur/unicorn/living object(/human/does not apply?) taxonomy?

-a ghost of a regular human

-a regular human vampire

-a human/fish mermaid

-a sentient winged horse

-a sentient centipede large enough to wrap around a mountain several times (she is handsome)

alright lets trot through these. a GHOST is not one of the four tingle types so you can have a ghost racecar or a ghost unicorn or a ghost bigfoot. ghosts are outside of the four types and do not have a classification

a VAMPIRE is also outside of the four types. so you can have a vampire bigfoot or, of course, a vampire night bus. does not strictly fall into any of the four main categories

MERMAIDS are technically a long lost species of unicorn I DONT MAKE THE RULES I JUST EXPLAIN THEM. this makes the MERMOPED tingler a little confusing but i had to pick a category and that one went into living object. now that i mention it possibly the only tingler that is technically a double category of unicorn/living object.

WINGED HORSE is easy, thats a pegasus which is a species of unicorn just like a mermaid

a SENTIENT CENTIPEDE LARGE ENOUGH TO WRAP AROUND A MOUNTAIN is an ancient creature, therefore dinosaur tingler

-My other self-indulgent question: do you have a favorite bug? (Or second-favorite if you count Mothman as a bug)

i love finding spiders in the house and giving them a pet because they are doing a good job livin their lives doin their thing. close second would be a pretty ladybug

-Any thoughts on what tinglers will be like in 2025? Do you expect to be writing a lot of political tinglers again, like post-2016?

honestly i really do not like writing specifically political tinglers anymore, and the amount that i write has gradually dropped over time (i think ALL tinglers are political but in a different way). so honestly i think i will write a few political tinglers but not many. my hypothesis on this is that my HORROR NOVELS are very very political and so maybe i get a lot of these ideas out of my system that way now. when it comes to tinglers i just wanna explore my OWN mind and heart and butt more

THANK YOU for these wonderful questions and thank you for your tingler-a-day project it was so moving and powerful. what a treat it was an honor to be a part of something so beautiful. THIS PROVES LOVE IS REAL

[jojo-schmo]

✿ Forgotten Land Roleswap AU ✿

✦ 3rd Anniversary ✦

I was hoping to get this Light Novel cover redraw finished by today, but I haven't been feeling well and ran out of time- but I still wanted to at least share this WIP and muse on how much things have grown during these three years, and how much this project has meant to me so far.

April 12, 2022 was the day I created posted the first doodles that would, unbeknownst to me at the time, germinate the idea that would transform into a passion project spanning multiple years. I had just finished Kirby and the Forgotten Land's story and slowly getting back into the Kirby fandom space for the first time in years. It had been a long time since a game made me feel as wonderful as Forgotten Land did. I've loved Bandana Waddle Dee since I first played Return to Dreamland on the Wii when I was a kid, and wished he had more opportunities to shine outside of directly supporting Kirby in the game. I also love "What If" and "Roleswap" AUs, so I considered what would happen if I swapped Bandana Dee and King Dedede's role in the game.

The posts didn't really get much traction at first, which was fine. But I kept going back to the idea after a few days and thinking about how to push it further. Instead of just swapping Bandee and Dedede, what if Dedede was Player 1 to increase the stakes of rescuing the kidnapped Waddle Dees? Dedede wouldn't have access to Mouthful Mode, so how would the gameplay work then? Instead of Kirby taking care of everything with his own Mouthful Mode, it could be more fun to have Meta Knight be Player 2 instead, and explore their teamwork dynamics and problem-solving methods together!

So I explored an alternative- Combo Mode! And developing and researching ideas for that lit a spark within me! I had to keep going after that!

Now I had to consider, if I'm already swapping around all the main characters, I'm starting to have an entirely new universe here! What's next to change up? For the heroes' companion, I felt like Elfilin wouldn't behave very differently in this AU than in canon, he would probably continue to be friendly and helpful and sweet. Which would be okay- but to make things more interesting for myself, what if I played around with the origin story of the missing pieces of Fecto Forgo and switched "Elfilis" and "Elfilin" around? That way there's new obstacles and possibilities there and maybe I can even surprise some people with the lore down the line!

Now I'd had my Dream Team shuffled around, a very different mysterious companion for them... And why stop there? Why not play with the Beast Council's roles too while I'm at it to make things even more interesting for myself to write?!

From the early days of this AU Project...

To my more recent work...

...Now here we are.

It'd been a long, long time since I enjoyed the creation process of anything for myself like this! I was coming out of some pretty hard times in the early 2020s, and in a lot of ways, this AU has been there alongside me during a years-long journey to get help for my mental health, to become more confident in who I am and what I can bring to the world around me, and to love myself. Now I'm the best version of myself I've ever been, and I can pour so much more into my art and writing, especially with this AU!! <3

AND MAN, does it feel good to see physical evidence of my art style's evolution side-by-side! Like comparing my first Light Novel cover redraw from 2022 with my current WIP!

Creating this AU has taught me so much about storytelling, the medium of comics, organization, and most of all, to enjoy the process and really push my personal limits in a positive way. I've met so many amazing people since starting this story, some of whom have inspired me in ways I never could've imagined. Some very key people have even helped me ponder different mediums to tell this story.... Some animatics... or maybe even more interactive storytelling...? I am slow cooking some fun ideas, dear reader....

This AU gave me the confidence to become more involved in the fandom space and find community among people who have taught me so much. I am so, so grateful for this project.

I know it's taken some time to get here. I still work full-time and now I'm pursuing a second bachelor's in hopes of a career change that will allow me more time to focus on creating someday. But for now, free time can be frustratingly limited for me. It's also taken this long because I've put a lot of thought into how to set up the metaphorical "dominos" in the forms of foreshadowing and world-building I want, to do my best to make the wait worth it for the future plot pay-offs and reveals I have planned!! I'm hoping to continue to pick up speed with updates as I increase my skill and solidify my master plan for this story... MUAHAHA....

I plan on seeing this project to the very very end, and I can't wait to continue this journey with you all. Especially with the announcement of Star-Crossed Worlds!!! I'm not too worried about it turning my AU lore upside-down quite yet since it's post-game content and my bigger lore drops are still a little bit away, so I have time to navigate that when it does drop :3

Thank you to everyone who has read, enjoyed, and supported this project in any way, whether it's a like, comment, reblog tag, dm, carrier pigeon, paper airplane- whatever!! <3 I love, appreciate, and am beyond grateful for every reader, supporter, and friend I've gained in the past three years!!

Cheers to a successful three years under my belt, and I look forward to the future!! By the end of this journey, I hope you will enjoy reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

🫧 Love, Jojo T. Schmo 🫧

★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★

♫ Laughing loud! Even if you're far apart, they're right by your side. Hearts full of love! Everyone is welcome to live in this new world. ♫

｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡

[ladamedusoif]

Laurels

(Acacius x F!Sex Worker Reader)

Pairing(s): Acacius x F!Reader; Acacius x Lucilla

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 13.5k

Summary: You met him as a young soldier, brought to the brothel you worked at to celebrate a victory. Now, almost two decades later, his return to Rome in triumph sparks memories of your time together - and the secrets you still hold.

Content Notes/Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MDNI - Sex worker F!Reader; no physical description of Reader except that she is curvy and has hair (but this can be taken as a wig, as was common in imperial Rome); spans events of Gladiator and parts of the sequel; canon-compliant but no spoilers for Gladiator II; we love and respect Lucilla in this house; Acacius is a lover boy; period-typical derogatory terms for sex workers; oral sex (M and F receiving); PiV sex; mutual masturbation; discussion of pregnancy; forbidden love; secret marriage; discussion of death and grief; implied character death; implied that Reader is more sexually experienced than Acacius when they meet; references to alcohol consumption; some uses of strong language

Author Note: I've been thinking about and sketching out this story since I first laid eyes on Acacius in those promotional pictures released during the summer, but wanted to wait until I'd had a chance to see Gladiator II three times before writing it up properly, to avoid any issues with characterisation. I hope you all enjoy it.

I've referred to him as Acacius throughout, as that's what Lucilla and everyone else calls him and because we have no goddamned idea what he's actually called. (I've used certain tags, though, to make sure people see this. Hopefully. Maybe.)

There are some Latin/Roman terms used throughout: lena is the madam or brothel keeper; cella is the part of a temple dedicated to a specific deity; meretrix is a Roman term for a prostitute; mercatus is a market or shopping area.

The cover image is entirely based on authentic Roman mosaics and interiors: top left is a 1st century CE mosaic; bottom right is a 4th century CE mosaic from Sicily of a sex worker with her client; and background is the interior decor of a bedroom in Pompeii.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Enormous thanks to @mescalpascal for beta reading this story.

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

The city has resonated to the sound of his name these past weeks. A hero of empire, of conquest; the perfect role model for Rome’s young boys, already being prepared from birth for war and glory. 

Or, more truthfully, for death. 

Today he returns to the city in glory, to be honoured with a triumph in recognition of his role in conquering the far-off lands of Northern Africa. The crowds are already thronging the streets, trying to secure their perfect vantage point to catch a glimpse of the victor en route to be crowned with laurels. 

No one notices an ordinary woman in middle age, simply but elegantly dressed in her best clothes for the occasion, discreetly slipping up the steps and onto the balcony of a tavern overlooking the triumphal route. No one pays a woman like that any mind, especially not on a day like today. 

You quietly secure your spot and slip down your veil, patting your hair to ensure the style is still in place. Why, exactly, did you go to such effort, knowing you’d be at such a distance from him? Knowing how many years it has been?

You take the cheap little metal effigy you’d purchased from a street hawker from your purse, gently rubbing your thumb over the crude rendering of his handsome face. 

You told him he would go far. You told him he would be feted like this, one day, all those years ago. You smiled as you imagined meeting him again, showing him the tiny metal version of himself. 

“See? I told you you’d be cast in bronze, didn’t I?”

A ripple of excitement courses through the crowd and it becomes apparent that the procession is near. They cheer and chant his name in unison. A mixture of excitement and fear grips you. Why had you done your hair just so, put on your best jewellery from your meagre selection?

Just in case. In case his dark eyes found yours, again, and bridged the years with a glance. 

The rumble of chariot wheels and horses’ hooves becomes more intense, the cheering of the crowd more frenzied. You grip the ledge of the balcony in nervous anticipation, the golden metal of your favourite ring glinting in the light. 

For a moment, it feels like being frozen in time. He is a god among men, the bright sun reflecting beautifully off the white and gold of his special, ceremonial armour as he receives the acclamations of the crowd. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell: that nervous wave and unsettled expression giving him away. This is not his natural environment, though you suspect he has had to get used to it since he assumed his command and since his marriage. 

You are unable to make a sound as his chariot approaches, overwhelmed by the sight of him, the sound of the crowd, the way he is received and acclaimed with more enthusiasm than any emperor you can remember. He is still beautiful . From here, you can see the streaks of grey that frame his handsome face now, making him even more distinguished than you remembered. His tanned skin only serves to make the white and gold armour gleam all the more. His beard, neatly trimmed, is more grey than dark these days, lending him an air of absolute authority. 

But you know that behind the guise of the conquering general, battle-scarred and triumphant, lies another man: strong but gentle, intelligent and kind, a man who likes to laugh and to joke and to love . 

She is a lucky woman, you muse. 

He’s almost directly in front of you now, and you can see in those soft, dark eyes the brave young man you knew so well, once upon a time. 

His gaze shifts. He finds you. 

His expression changes to one of surprise and… joy ?

The moment lasts barely a second before he has passed by in the relentless journey to his apotheosis. But you are left with his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer as your mind travels back through the years to the time you first met. 

“Acacius.”

***

War is shit. But it’s good for business when your business is your body. 

When you left your rural home for Rome as a teenager, accompanied by the man you were promised to, selling yourself was not part of the plan. But there’s little a girl can do, when her betrothed reveals himself to be a liar and a crook. He left you alone, without resource or recourse, when he was stabbed to death over an unpaid gambling debt. 

You had certainly landed on your feet, all things considered, and with the benefit of a few years’ hindsight. The lena who ran the place was kind and understanding, the other girls bright and friendly, for the most part, and the brothel itself marketed as a cut above the usual fare for the average legionary, brought to the imperial city after a stint killing Gauls or Goths or whoever the enemy was that week.

Besides, it was even fun , sometimes. You, with your curves and ample bosom, earned a reputation for kindness and understanding. Sometimes you wondered just how many nervous young men had learned how to please a woman from a night or two in your arms.

The night you met, the lena had gathered the free girls together in an excitable cluster, hissing about the arrival at the brothel of a group of young legionaries from various parts of the Empire.

“Some of them are absolutely gorgeous , girls! And they’ve had a recent victory - you know what that means.”

Catalina, who never lacked confidence, grinned. “It means big bonuses.”

The lena beamed. “Exactly. Big bonuses, big tippers… and who knows, maybe big in other ways?” The girls roared with laughter as she clapped her hands. “Alright, neaten up! Best behaviour, now. And as usual with the legions, you’re theirs for the night.”

You picked up a goblet of wine, and you and your fellow whores struck your usual enticing poses. 

“Heroes of Rome…my finest girls, for your delectation.” 

***

His eyes find yours through the slew of pairings, dark as pitch but warm as fire in the low light of the brothel’s main antechamber. He is, as your lena had suggested, gorgeous : young, beautifully handsome features, clean-shaven; the strong nose and fine jaw universally considered the epitome of male beauty, wavy dark hair curling around his brow in his neat, regulation haircut. 

And then he smiles at you. And you are lost, entirely, in the way his eyes sparkle and his open, kind face beams.

The beautiful boy would surely choose one of the more beautiful girls, as was always the way. But instead he strides through the melee, broad shoulders cutting a path with ease, and stands in front of you, a soft, nervous smile on his face. 

“Hello, soldier. Where are you from?”

His eyes are warm . He seems kind. You feel a wave of lust coursing through you: if he wants you, you thought, you might really enjoy this one.

“Hispania,” he answers. “But we were fighting tribes in Germania.”

His voice, like warm honey, sends a throb through your core. 

“And you have been rewarded with a trip to the imperial city! You must have been really brave.”

He chuckles, a half-smile on his handsome, tanned face. “I tried to be.”

His nerves are apparent in the way he carries himself, in the little glances he gives you, seeking approval. You take his hand, thumb stroking his palm gently.

“Do you want to let me reward you tonight, soldier?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Please.” He gives your hand a little squeeze. “But tell me your name, won’t you? I would like to know your name.”

You tell him with a smile. “And yours?”

His grin is warm and genuine. “Acacius.”

***

The yellow glow of the oil lamps illuminate the murals that decorate the walls of your chamber, and throw shadows from the fabrics draped over the low couch and bed. Acacius looks around, unsure where to sit, and you gesture to the couch.

“Wine, soldier?”

“Yes, wine. Please. Thank you.”

Goblets in hand, you join him and lean slightly towards him. It is impossible to miss the way Acacius’s eyes focus on your breasts, barely covered in the diaphanous folds of your pale, loose robe. 

“Do you like what you see?”

His gaze trails upwards to your eyes, and he nods: seriously, with absolute conviction. 

“Do you want to see more?” 

Another serious nod. You slip out of the dress for him, letting the thin, pleated fabric loosen around you until you are revealed, naked and soft, for his hungry eyes. 

One strong arm wraps around your waist while the other fondles handfuls of your tits. He holds you there, mouth finding your nipples, sucking and licking them until they are pert and pebbled and glossy with his saliva. 

In that instant, you close your eyes, daring to imagine that this was not a transaction but real : that the gorgeous young man worshipping at your bosom is your lover, all yours , helping himself to every inch of you before he takes you. 

 “What do you like , soldier? What do you want me to do to you?” You move to your knees before him, putting your hands on his strong, tanned thighs and lightly slipping your fingers under the hem of his short tunica .

He hesitates, breath hitching, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of you between his legs. This isn’t his first time, you suspect, but something tells you Acacius may not be as practiced as some of his comrades in the art of love. The thought of showing him, guiding him, sends a thrill through you. 

Your hands undo his undergarment and find his cock. He stammers, trying to find his words to respond. 

“Would you like my mouth, hmmm?”

He nods, eyes trained on you, mouth open as you lick your lips and wrap them around the head of his cock. You move slowly, expertly; one hand holding him in place while the other caresses his balls, the way you know men like. 

It’s not that you were forced into the profession, not like some of the girls sold into it - though Juno knows, you’d have preferred another line of work. But there, in the lamp-lit room with this big, handsome, polite young soldier falling apart at your skilled touch? It’s a fucking joy . 

He whines and gasps as you vary the speed and movement, tongue flicking over his tip before you swallow him back down again. Acacius’s broad hand holds the back of your head as you move faster, taking him deeper. You feel his balls tighten as he falls back on the low couch, moaning and grunting with pleasure. 

“I’m…oh fuck , I’m close, I’m….”

He comes in your mouth with a cry, head thrown back on the couch and beads of sweat glistening along his neck, broad chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath.

A discreet spit and wipe and you tuck your naked curves against his spent body, fingertips slipping under the collar of his tunic to trace the line of his shoulders, the hollow of his throat.

He blinks his ebony-dark eyes open, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” His exposed cock still glistens with your saliva and his come. “I didn’t mean to finish so quickly. I’m…I’m still dressed .” He grins, you giggle, and both of you burst out laughing. 

“No need to apologise, soldier. We have plenty of time, time enough to go again, surely. I’ll help.” You rise from the couch and gesture for him to follow you to the bed. 

“First things first - tunic off .”

You survey him now, naked, from your position on the bed. His body is taut and lean; too lean, perhaps, for his broad shoulders and long limbs. A few scars and bruises on his torso testify to his experiences in combat.

“Join me, won’t you?”

He settles close to your own naked form and his eyes move to your tits, pressed against the warm skin of his arm. You reach for his hand and bring the broad, calloused palm and fingertips to cup your breast.

You never forgot the fascination he seemed to have with your body. That first night, he traces the curve of your tits carefully with his fingers, playing a little with your nipples, pinching just enough to make you gasp, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh before caressing every bit of you in turn. The softness of your belly, the meat of your thick thighs and ass, the line of your hips, the flesh of your arms and neck. 

Perhaps, you think, it has been a long time since he’s been with someone. Properly, that is. Perhaps his previous encounters were a more rushed affair, skirts hitched up to fuck hastily against a wall or a tree. 

Now he can take his time with you. Wetness pools between your legs, anticipating him. You bring his hand to your pussy, guiding him to the little nub of pleasure hidden in your folds as you ride his fingers.

“You feel that?” He nods, transfixed by the way your hips roll against him, the way you pant and moan as you get closer and closer to your peak. “Find this sweet spot on a woman, and she’s all yours.”

He’s getting hard again, you notice, and starts to work you more quickly with his thick fingers. He looks to you for approval, warm eyes round and earnest, and you praise him with breathless words before coming undone on his hand.

“ Gods , that was very good, soldier.” A few strokes of your hand to his cock, and you know he’s ready. “Your turn, now.”

Acacius shifts his broad body on top of yours, using one knee to push you open a little further for him. As he breaches your pussy for the first time, he leans forward and kisses you: slow, soft, tongue slipping between your lips as you hitch your knees up and wrap your arms around his neck. 

The young Spaniard fucks you deep and slow, his plush lips brushing against yours as his kisses mingle with both of your grunts and moans of pleasure. Such a display of tenderness is unusual here, where most men have one thing and one thing only on their minds as soon as they enter your chamber. 

There have been plenty of young soldiers, plenty of officers, plenty of Rome’s heroes in your arms, in your mouth, in your cunt. Some handsome. Most not. Some respectful. Most rough.

Acacius is…different. You couldn’t explain it, not back then. Not yet. But you know in that instant, as he moves inside you and you look into his dark eyes, that there is something special about this man.

***

He comes to you every second or third night for the remainder of his furlough in the city, to the point that the lena begins to refer to Acacius as “your soldier”. You, privately, miss him on those nights that he does not visit. 

He brings you gifts: wine, flowers, little cakes and sweets wrapped in pretty cloth. “You’ll have spent all your coin,” you chide him as you sit together on the couch, drinking wine and feeding each other the treats. “What will you say, if someone asks about the money you earned on campaign?”

Acacius leans in and plots a course of kisses down your neck, culminating at the fastening of your robe on your shoulder. He unpins the brooch and watches the fabric fall with a smile.

“I will say that it was money very well spent.”

***

The lena ’s knock on your chamber door is unusually early that day - not yet noon, you estimate, as you hastily finish pinning your hair and stand to receive her.

She smiles wryly as she leans against the doorframe. “You have a visitor .”

“This early?”

“Might I remind you that I determine the opening times of this house? Yes, this early, but…he wants to take you out .” She throws up her hands in response to your confused expression. “I know, I know, but you’re paid for! Put on something respectable, I doubt he wants you to look like a whore in public.”

You dress suitably, and fix your cloak around you before emerging into the large antechamber normally reserved for meeting clients. This morning, it is silent and empty, save for a lone figure standing with his back to you in the centre of the airy room.

He was a little broader, now, than he’d been the last time you saw him, eight or nine months ago. His arms and legs had grown more muscular, his garments evidently more expensive than the simple woollen tunic and cloak he wore the first time you met.

“Acacius?” 

He wheels around and that familiar smile greets you like a beam of warm spring sunlight after the long winter. After a close embrace and a kiss, he stands back to take you in.

“How have you become more beautiful since the last time I saw you?”

You shake your head and laugh, cupping his face in your hands and rubbing your thumbs against the bristling scruff he now wears. “And you seem even more handsome and dashing, soldier. You look like the emperor now, too, with this beard.”

Acacius blushes bashfully. “Perhaps…in truth, it was my commander that inspired it, as he favours a beard too.” He smiles and winks conspiratorially. “But then maybe he wishes to resemble Aurelius, no?”

With a smile you lead him back into the main hall of the brothel and towards the door that opens onto the street. “The lena tells me you wish to take me with you into the city today.”

He offers a little bow in confirmation. “I do. I would like to walk with you, away from these four walls.” A glance over his shoulder in the direction of the lena sitting at her desk, whose all-seeing, eagle-eyed gaze bores into the two of you. He speaks a little louder, for her benefit. “And I have promised to bring you back.”

He gives you his hand, you open the door, and together you step into the bustle of the imperial city.

***

“Am I correct in thinking that isn’t a native Roman accent?”

You nod, looking at Acacius from under your lashes. “It is not. I am a country girl by birth, from a farm in the north.”

He smiles with satisfaction. “I have an ear for accents. Hard not to, when you fight for an empire as vast as ours. How did you end up here, then?”

It is as if he is speaking to a… normal woman, not a whore. You swallow hard, looking at the ground as you compose yourself to answer, not wanting to sully your relationship with this man with the painful memories of the past. 

“I…was promised to a man, and he brought me to Rome. But he lied, and he cheated, and he died over an unpaid debt, and I…”

Acacius holds you in his kind, concerned gaze as your words trail off. Enough , you muse to yourself, I have said enough . 

“And you…had to stand on your own two feet.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze that feels as comforting, somehow, as if it were his warm embrace.

In the mercatus adjoining the new forum, he buys little cups of wine and a jar of olives for you to share as you walk together through the packed marketplace and public squares. The tall column honouring the victories of the emperor Trajan casts its long shadow on the gleaming marble pavements below.

“Perhaps some day they will build a monument to you,” you suggest, a wry smile on your lips. “A great bronze, to the great warrior Acacius.”

He raises his eyebrows in astonishment and laughs. “A monument to an ordinary centurion? I don’t think so, somehow. Now, a statue of my commander , on the other hand, would be entirely more likely and more fitting.”

“You admire him, don’t you?”

Acacius sips his wine and nods. “He is the greatest of commanders and the bravest of men. Kind, too, away from the battlefield. I… I would die for that man.” He turns to you and grins, excited. “Have I told you that he is from Hispania, too? He tells me sometimes that we’re the finest fighters in the empire.”

You give an impressed little coo. “Have I seen this great man? Perhaps he was with the rest of you, that first night…the night we met.”

“He was not.” He takes an olive from the little clay jar, a wistful look on his face. “General Maximus has a family - a wife, a little boy - and such love he has for them as I’ve never seen. He is the emperor’s most loyal general, but in truth he would give anything to return home to them, for good.”

The two of you fall silent for a few moments, each lost in your own thoughts. You study his handsome features as you walk together: his strong, proud nose, now marked with a fresh, livid scar; his fine brow, knitted in thought; the line of his pink mouth, framed by his dark beard.

“Is that something you would like, too - a wife, a family?”

He nods and smiles as he meets your gaze. “It is something I would like very much indeed.”

***

You think of him, worry for him, miss him in the long months of campaigning in far-flung corners of the empire. Without realising, you have become part of an invisible sisterhood: yet another daughter of Rome who goes about her business and makes her living, but whose heart and mind march, always, with “her” soldier. For the first time, you really see the careworn women carrying offerings and lighting candles at the little street shrines or in the temples, muttering prayers to Juno for the safe return of a husband, a lover, a brother, a son. 

You try to listen daily for updates from the newsreaders in the public fora, steeling yourself for news of a defeat. Even your work provides opportunities to stay abreast of the progress of the northern legions, as you hone your small talk with clients to focus on questions of war. Though other men might have your body for a short time, your soul is always and only with him , longing for the day he’ll be in your arms again.

He’s gone longer, this time. In your lonelier moments you wonder if perhaps he has met someone else, someone with whom he can have the family life he dreams of. 

He is not yours , you remind yourself as you make up your face for another night’s work. He can never be yours .

A commotion coming from the direction of the entrance hall startles you: strong, confident footsteps on the marble floor; the lena ’s voice calling angrily after someone; and suddenly, a knock on your chamber door. 

“My sweet, beautiful lady.”

Acacius sweeps you into his strong arms before you have finished opening the door properly, pulling you tight to him and covering your face with kisses as you wrap your arms around his neck and giggle with joy and relief at the sight of him.

“Your soldier hasn’t paid, girl!”

The lena ’s irritation is obvious even from the other end of the hall, her arms folded and jaw set. You break Acacius’s embrace and reach for his hand to guide him into the room.

“He’ll pay, don’t worry,” you call out to her down the hallway. “He’s been away fighting for a long time and he deserves his reward, one can hardly blame the man for being impatient!” 

He’s waiting for you as soon as you close the door, cloak discarded and body poised to pin you against the wall as he holds your face in his hands and leans in for a long, slow kiss. He drops one hand and you feel your garment being lifted as his thick fingers make their way between your thighs.

“Gods, I missed you. I’m so sorry I was away for so long.” He sucks on the delicate skin of your neck as you whine with pleasure, his fingertips finding the little nub of your pussy, just like you taught him. “Did you miss me, my love?”

“Mmm, I… oh, Acacius !” First one, then two fingers slip inside you, and you struggle to form a coherent thought. “I missed you, so very much, so much.”

He fucks you with his fingers there against the wall, the sound of your wetness both lewd and erotic as it mingles with your pants and little moans. He’s still in uniform , you realise, wrapping your arm around his leather-clad torso as you pull him tighter to you. Gods, he really couldn’t wait to see you. 

“I need to have you here, now,” he hisses in your ear as you edge closer to your peak. “Need to be inside you, feel you again.”

He withdraws his hand and turns you to face the wall, bending your body forward a little and caressing your ass appreciatively. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, opening and stretching you as he slides smoothly into your cunt with a low groan.

“As good as you remember?” You turn to give him a sly look as he starts to fuck you, deep and hard.

“ Better ,” he hisses. A broad hand reaches for your breast while the other grips the meat of your hip, holding you in place. “Been thinking about this, about you …every day, every night …”

His beard bristles against your skin as he angles his lips against your neck and shoulder, sucking and kissing and nipping at you. He’ll leave marks, you know that, and you know you shouldn’t let him, not in your line of work. But instead you just twine your fingers through his dark curls and keep him there, revelling in the sensation as you start to fall apart for him. 

Acacius mutters praise and filth into your ear in equal measure: how beautiful you are, how good you feel, how tight your cunt is, how well you take him. The fastenings and metal ornaments of his uniform press into your flesh as he fucks you harder and faster against the wall.

You shouldn’t have let him leave marks on you. And you definitely shouldn’t let him finish inside you. But, more than anything else, you want him to make you his, really and truly, inside and out. As his rhythm starts to falter, a slight arch of your back and an extra tilt of your hips sends him even deeper and makes him come. His groans of ecstatic pleasure as he fills you with his seed are music to your ears.

***

You bathe together in the brothel’s small, steamy bathhouse, your fingers tracing the scars and bruises his strong, solid body had acquired since the last time you were together. Acacius hums with pleasure as you wash his hair and rub perfumed oil into his skin, pressing your lips gently to every mark and freckle.

“I love you, you know.” 

Strange, how this impressive warrior could become so vulnerable as he says the words: eyes wide, expression open and hopeful, as he reaches for your hand and kisses your palm with tender reverence.

“I love you, too.”

***

Dawn breaks over the city and the early morning light reaches through your small, high window. The night was sleepless and perfect: lovemaking punctuated by conversation, by fruits and wine, and culminating in your two bodies wrapped naked around each other in your bed.

Acacius kisses you awake, smiling as your eyes blink sleepily open.

“My love is tired, I think.”

You arch an eyebrow and smirk suggestively. “Gods, I wonder why ?”

As you cuddle against his broad chest, you spy a leather coin purse resting on the table beside the bed. The sight pierces your soft, loving cocoon like an arrow to the heart.

He pays for you. 

Before you can second-guess yourself, you speak. “You don’t have to pay any more. Unless you would rather continue to buy me…”

His expression shifts from confusion to concern. “What do you mean?”

“You pay for me, but you love me and I love you and…It was different before, but now I think our love shouldn’t be bought .”

Acacius smiles and pulls you to him, kissing your forehead. “I know, my love. And I agree, but… Don’t you think your lena would be suspicious, if I stopped paying?”

“She only gets a cut, either way.” A thought occurs to you. “Perhaps we just give her the cut she’d get anyway, for appearances’ sake? And I’ll tell her you gave the rest to me directly.”

He nods, reaching for you again and holding you close against him. 

“Perhaps you won’t need to worry about the lena at all, any more.”

It’s your turn to be confused as you pull back a little and look in his eyes. 

“I was going to ask you anyway, I’ve been thinking about this all the time I was away… I wonder, would you be - would you consider being - my wife?”

“I could pay off any debt you owe to the lena, to this place.” He hastens to reassure you, seeing the look of shock on your face. “And I have money enough to buy us a beautiful home, some land… I have been promoted again, since I saw you last, and now we have some time together until the next campaign, we…we could marry, be together. Husband and wife. What do you say?”

Your heart says yes. Yes. Forever and always, yes , thank Juno and all the gods that brought this beautiful man to you. 

But hearts don’t make the rules in Rome.

You kiss him gently, twine your fingers through his, caress the dark curls that frame his handsome face. “I would give anything to be your wife.”

He smiles sadly. “But?”

“We can’t . Even if I left this world behind for good, I still wouldn’t be allowed to marry, and -”

“I have known men whose wives were once meretrices , it’s not always so strict,” Acacius interjects.

“Were these men imperial officers with a bright future ahead of them?” you ask, as kindly as you can. “At best, I could be a mistress.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t have to be an officer forever. I don’t want to do this forever, to wage war forever. So I’ll give it up, find another occupation, use my savings…I just want you , my love.”

His thumb wipes away the tears glistening on your face as you fight the sob rising in your throat. “I want you too, I love you too, but…you are under oath, under contract, are you not? They would come after you if you broke it, I would rather die than see you hurt on my account.”

Those beautiful dark eyes are resigned now, full of pain and all too aware that there is no way for this dream to become a reality. Acacius puts his arms around you and holds you tight to his chest, silently kissing the top of your head.

When he leaves you a couple of hours later, to attend to business elsewhere in the city, you turn over and weep, sure that you will never see him again.

***

Catalina knocks on your chamber door a couple of days later, anxiously looking around her, as if afraid she might be seen.

“I don’t think there’s a rule against visiting each other in our rooms, you know.”

“Can’t be too careful, now, can we?” She lowers her voice and beckons for you to come closer. “I’ve been given a message for you. From your soldier boy.”

You move quickly to sit on the couch, afraid that your legs might give way. “He…he came to you ?”

Catalina laughs a little too loudly, and claps her hand to her mouth. “No, he did not - sent one of the other legionaries to me, just so he could get word to you. Well, not just that, we did have a good time, me and young Sextus…” A knowing smile spreads across her face.

“The message . What was the message?”

She snaps out of her reverie and sits beside you. “Tomorrow, noon. The big temple on the Capitoline, at Juno’s cella .”

You nod, taking in the information and already plotting your excuse for the lena . “Catalina, why didn’t he come directly to me?”

“Apparently he was afraid you wouldn’t see him. He’s got it bad for you, according to his pal.” She turns and pulls you into a warm hug, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Good luck. I’ll make an offering for you.”

***

He’s already there when you arrive, standing at the entrance to the main cella and dressed simply but beautifully in a tunic, belt, and dark green cloak that only serves to emphasise his strong, broad build. You cross the marble floor to join him and he immediately reaches for your hand.

“I am so glad to see you, my love.”

You smile and squeeze his hand. “But why here?”

“I wanted to talk to you, and I needed courage - so I have made some offerings to the goddess.” Acacius nods towards the doors that lead to the cella of Juno, where priests busied themselves with candles, incense, and laying worshippers’ offerings on the goddess’s altar. “I hope she looks favourably upon me.”

“And me,” you add, and he grins. “Come, tell me. What is it that is so important?”

He leads you away from the cella and guides you through the throngs of people making their way to the great temple until you reach a quieter spot under a small portico.

“I meant what I asked you. I want to marry you, more than anything. I know, too, that the rules of this empire won’t allow it.” He takes both of your hands in his. “But I wondered if we could make our own rules.”

“Our own rules?”

He reaches into the leather purse hanging from his belt, and produces a small gold ring set with a polished garnet stone. 

“If we cannot marry by law, then perhaps we might marry in spirit.” He places the ring in your palm, wrapping his hand around yours.

The bustle of the city fades far into the distance. In that moment, it is just you and him.

“You wish this, even though I cannot tend your home, be a real wife to you? In spite of my… work ?”

Acacius nods, hand still cupped around yours. “You will be a real wife, in all the ways that matter to me. And in time I will find a way for us to make a home together.” He looks into your eyes and smiles that hopeful smile you love so much. “And, perhaps, to raise our children there.”

“My work, Acacius. I would still be doing…what I do, at least until then. This does not concern you?”

He shakes his head. “It is a profession, it is not you, no matter what the law says. You do not mind that I fight and kill for a living, this is no different.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t mind, but you are fighting for Rome , for an empire, not…selling yourself.”

“It is a profession .” Acacius reassures you, kissing you on the cheek. “And it is not forever.” He holds up the ring to you again. 

Your smile and nod is his cue to slip the gold band onto your finger, leaning in for a deep kiss as he pulls you tight to him and whispers in your ear.

“I am yours .”

A passing temple worshipper tuts loudly at the public display of affection, and you giggle. 

“And by Juno, I am all yours.”

***

The wedding feast, such as it is, is wine and sweetmeats purchased from a street vendor and consumed, picnic-style, in a quiet, secluded grove of trees near the river. He spreads his cloak on the ground, helps you down, and lays out the food before toasting you with the cup of wine he pours from a wineskin.

“You deserve a far greater feast than this, beloved.”

“This is already far more than I could ever have hoped for, my love.” You lean in and kiss him gently. “I only wish I could be a wife to you in the eyes of the law, too.”

Acacius shakes his head and strokes your cheek. “You are all I need, just as you are. Hang the law; I will find a way for us to live as man and wife. I promise.”

The dappled sunlight catches the garnet of your ring and you hold your hand up, delighted.

“It pleases you?”

“Very, very much.” You rest your head on his shoulder, both content in the quiet. Such pleasure, you think, to be here, with him - your husband , in spirit if not in law - away from the brothel, from the noise and the lena ’s eagle eye.

His hand drifts gently down your bare arm and along the line of your thigh as his lips find yours again. At your ankle, his thick fingers slip under the hem of your dress, hitching it up as his palm caresses your calf, your knee, and starts to plot a course towards your pussy.

“In public , husband?”

Acacius sighs happily at the word, encouraging you to lie back on the cloak as he moves himself between your open thighs. “There’s no one around, wife .” The bristle of his beard scratches at your neck as he nips and sucks at you, fingers already parting the lips of your cunt. “Aren’t couples supposed to consummate their marriage?”

You chuckle and writhe under his broad body as he pushes one, then two fingers into you. “Arguably we consummated this some time ago, my love,” you hiss, reaching under his tunic to undo the undergarment and stroke his cock. He whines with pleasure and fucks you a little faster as his thumb traces tight circles over that most sensitive, intimate place, smiling as you buck against him. 

“What did you tell me, that first night? Find this sweet spot and she’ll be all mine?”

“All yours.” Gods , you’re close. “And I am…I am all yours.”

You come almost as soon as his thick cock pushes inside you, unable to contain the cries of pleasure. You give no thought or care to the possibility of being discovered here, of a passerby witnessing your lovemaking. 

Let them see , you muse, as he fucks you hard and deep, fondling your tits through the fabric of your garment. Let them see how he takes me, fills me; how a man makes love to his new wife.

***

He comes to you every night, then, maintaining the fiction of a transactional relationship by having you give the lena her dues directly. She raised an eyebrow sceptically when you first explained the situation, but money is money, and if she suspects anything she does not let on.

In your chamber, you can almost pretend you are a normal couple. You dine together, bathe together, talk together. As he recounts his experiences with his legion, you realise the extent of his unassuming heroism and his nobility. Unlike many of the other soldiers you have encountered in this work, Acacius has a real sense of the human cost of war, of the humanity involved, whether Roman or barbarian. 

“It is no wonder General Maximus has sought to promote you, my love,” you tell him one evening as you pour him another goblet of wine. “You are clearly a great leader, as well as a great fighter.”

“He has trained me well.” He sips his wine and looks bashfully at the floor. “He does not seek to waste good men like some of the other commanders; he knows the value of their lives. And we look up to him, admire him, for that.”

Your private connubial bliss must, of course, play second fiddle to the demands of the empire. One night, he arrives with a dejected air, explaining sorrowfully and apologetically that his legion is returning to the northern campaign immediately - far sooner than he had anticipated. 

“I thought we had more time, my love. I am so sorry.” 

You smile, shake your head, and kiss him. “We will have plenty of time to come.”

That night, the last night together before fate would make her intervention and change the course of your lives, Acacius is content simply to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to him as he sleeps.

***

The emperor is dead, and the city mourns. In the public squares and fora the newsreaders proclaim that Marcus Aurelius, philosopher-emperor, has died on campaign with the armies of the north, and succession passed to his heir, Commodus.

The armies of the north . Your thoughts turn, as they so often do, to Acacius. His commander was close to the old emperor, you remember, and the heir had a rather more difficult reputation. You walk back to the brothel and imagine your love, clad in the fur-trimmed woollen cloak worn on campaign in the north, willing your love and strength to him across the many miles.

Emperors come and emperors go, but life goes on. A months-long series of gladiatorial games is announced, to mark the death of Aurelius and the accession of his son. The lena cheers when she hears the news, knowing that the attendant surge in visitors to the city means a boost for her business. 

You keep abreast of political and military developments, as usual, via the more informed and talkative of your clients. Severus, a senior aide to one of Rome’s senators, is always happy to oblige.

“Quite the news from the north,” he says one evening, as you help him unwrap his heavy outer toga. 

“Is that so?” Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you steady yourself on the table before pouring him a goblet of wine. “Sit, tell me.”

“A traitor general , if you’ll credit it!” He sips the wine and shakes his head in astonishment. “Cursed the new emperor, took off and left his men. They think he went south, to his homeland. A Spaniard, you know.”

Your breath catches.

“Do you - do you know the name?”

Severus chews the inside of his cheek momentarily. “Marcus? No, that’s not it, it’s…Maximus. Maximus Decimus Meridius. One of Aurelius’s best men, they say, but off he went, revealed as a traitor.” 

He puts a hand on your thigh and leans in to kiss your neck, ignorant of the stunned, horrified look on your face as you try to process this information. He does not seem to notice or care that you barely react. You move into position on the bed unthinkingly, letting him strip you and bend you over so that he can fuck you the way he likes. 

You barely hear his grunts and moans, barely feel it when he pulls out and spills his come on your back. He says something to you before he leaves, but his words are a discordant buzz. Curled up on your bed, your mind races into the small hours until you drift into a fitful sleep.

***

The weeks pass, the games begin, and the blood of men and beasts stains the sandy ground of the Colosseum day after day. The new emperor, out for blood and driven mad with power, seems to want to undo the work of his father with each passing day, starting by crippling the senate.

Information about the fate of Maximus’s legions is scant and often contradictory. Some say that a new commander has been appointed and that the campaign continues, as usual. Others tell of a mutiny in the ranks, of infighting and chaos. Still more swear that the legions will come south and unite in Rome.

“He’ll come and find you, I know he will,” Catalina whispers to you as she passes in the hallway one morning. “Don’t give up. He’ll come.”

The not knowing is unbearable. You make daily offerings at the little shrines and altars in the streets, praying that you might, at least, discover Acacius’s fate for good or ill. 

As you pass a butcher’s shop, you overhear a familiar name, and stop in your tracks to listen as the butcher and his assistant regale their customers with the story of the great general who has become a gladiator.

***

“Where are you off to?”

The lena eyes you up and down in the entrance hall, arms folded across her chest.

“I’m going out for some air and to buy some little cakes, for tonight. We’ve got a while before today’s games are over, I want to take advantage of it.”

“Fair enough. Be back in plenty of time, mind, we want you all fresh and perfumed and powdered!”

You navigate the packed streets, stopping at the baker’s shop to buy a selection of the tiny fruit and honey cakes you like to have in your chamber, before turning back in the direction of the brothel. Your route is a little quieter and you know it by heart, making use of side streets and alleys to avoid the crowds.

You do not notice the hooded man standing in one of the doorways until he steps out in front of you. The parcel of cakes falls to the ground as you cry out with fright, and the man immediately kneels to retrieve it. His fingers caress the back of your hand, and in an instant, you know him.

“You came back to me, my love.”

Acacius lowers his hood slightly, eyes sparkling but alert to his surroundings, and takes your free hand in his, kissing it repeatedly. “Of course, my beloved. I have been trying to come home to you for a while, but given…” He pauses as he searches for the right word. “Given everything , it has taken a little longer than I’d hoped.”

He keeps his hood up as you open the door into the brothel, pulling you back to whisper in your ear. “I’d rather it not be known that I’m here, my love. Not tonight. Here, take this purse, tell the lena I’m a foreign visitor.”

You don’t ask for an explanation. He follows you inside, hanging back in the entrance hallway as you tell the lena that this gentleman approached you in the street and wanted to spend the night.

“He’s a quiet one.” She surveys Acacius suspiciously, and you pray she does not recognise his broad frame.

“He’s nervous, is all,” you suggest, as lightly as you can manage. “First time in the big city, he’s come from a long way off. Best make it a special night, eh?” 

She sighs, nods, and counts the coins as you lead the way to your chamber.

***

“I can explain everything, my love, or at least as much as I’m permitted to say.” Acacius takes off his cloak and settles on your couch, pulling you to him. You press your fingers to his lips.

“After. Explain after.”

The lamps and candles cast a soft glow on the contours of your body as you slip out of your dress and gently sit on his lap, tracing the lines of his features with your fingertips as you kiss his face, featherlight. 

“I hope I’m not too heavy for you, love.” 

He smiles and shakes his head, mouth a little ajar as he takes in the sight of you. “You are perfect.” He tilts his head and sucks on each of your nipples, holding you in place around the waist, as your hand slips under his tunic. A shift of your hips and you are straddling one leg, rocking your hips back and forth against his strong thigh, gasping at the sensation as your cunt grazes against the warm skin, soft hair, and firm muscle.

He watches you, enthralled, one hand resting on your ass and the other squeezing your tits. You hold his gaze, then, caught in the dark fire of his beautiful eyes as you reach your peak and come hard on him, head thrown back and body quivering with pleasure.

“Gods, you are extraordinary.” He helps you stand up and guides you to the bed, tucking a pillow under your head before he strips off and joins you. “My extraordinary woman, I have missed you so.”

His beard scratches against your skin as he kisses your body, moving from your tits down to your soft belly and generous thighs. His lips press against your mound, your pussy, tongue diving into the slick that’s pooled between your legs. 

“You taste spectacular,” he murmurs, shifting forward. He kisses you, deep and slow, so that you can taste yourself as he pushes his cock inside you.

“See?”

You giggle as he begins to fuck you, pulling in and out slowly and deliberately, making sure you feel every inch of him and he every inch of you. 

The worries and uncertainty fade as you make love, bodies moving in perfect harmony, mingled voices gasping and moaning with pleasure, and sweat glistening on your skin. 

After . Explain after.

***

“There are legions at Ostia.”

You pop one of the little cakes into his mouth and settle against his shoulder. Ostia . You like the way he pronounces it, the inflection of his accent.

“Legions?”

He looks at you cautiously. “Legions.” His face tells you he cannot say more, and you fill in the blanks for yourself.

His legion. Maximus’s legions?

“And you rode into the city on…business?”

He nods and reaches for the cup of lemon water on the bedside table. “Business, yes. In preparation for the games to come.”

“Can you stay tonight, or must you return to…?” You daren’t name the place.

“I can stay tonight, but must leave at first light.” He puts his arm around you and lowers his voice. “My love, there may be some trouble in the days to come. I will come for you as soon as I can, but…be warned. Be ready.”

He speaks with such grave sincerity that you immediately understand the stakes involved. “I will be ready, love.”

***

The commotion outside in the streets brings you and the rest of the girls into the main antechamber, wondering what on earth is going on to cause such tumult. There is no sign of the lena , though her ledger and pen have been left in their usual places on her little table. 

Althea runs a finger along the edge of the scroll and emits a low whistle. “You don’t think she’s done a runner, do you?”

Catalina shakes her head. “She wouldn’t leave the ledger behind. Or, for that matter” - she gestures to a little box discreetly tucked between a pillar and the wall - “her petty cash.”

The sound of the main door opening hushes the gathering, and the lena strides purposefully into the room.

“Suppose you’re all wondering what’s going on, hmmm? Well, ladies, looks like we’ve got another dead emperor. No-one seems to be mourning that lunatic, though, unlike his father…Anyway!” She throws up her hands and rolls her eyes in exasperation as she seats herself at the table. “Just another ordinary, quiet day in Rome.”

You and the other girls cluster around the lena , asking question upon question as you vie for information. With a roar, she silences you again.

“All’s I know is this - he died in the arena, and it was that Merciful Maximus or Maximus the Merciful or whatever in Hades’ name they call that gladiator who did it. Commodus challenged him to a duel, didn’t he?” She sucks her teeth. “Not the brightest, that one.”

“Maximus?” Your voice cuts through the gasps and mutterings of the other girls. “Maximus defeated the emperor?”

The legions. This is why they were at Ostia, to overthrow the emperor and restore the senate. You wonder if Acacius has already entered the city - indeed, if he was there to witness the fight.

“He did,” the lena sighs. “Fat lot of good it did him, he’s dead now, too. Right! Back to your chambers, we might get a few boys in festive mood now that Commodus is gone.”

Your stomach churns as you walk silently down the hallway and back to your room. If Maximus’s legions had massed at Ostia to march on the city, and were already on the move, who knew what fate awaited them now that the general was dead, leaving a power vacuum at the very top of Rome? Or perhaps, you reason with yourself, the senate will work quickly to restore order, and will not punish the legionaries who were ready to stage a coup. After all, it was the senate they were fighting for.

One way or another, tomorrow you will begin the search for Acacius.

***

Trade was as dead as the emperor that night, much to your relief. In the early hours, you lie awake and stare at the painted ceiling, thinking over and over about the places he might be and where you should start. Sleep, eventually, finds you.

You dream that he has come to you, that he is calling you by name, over and over, shaking you by the arm until you respond.

“Please, my love, wake up.”

No dream at all. He is there, real and whole, sitting on the side of your bed. His handsome face is marked with dirt and grime, hands and knees grubby, as if he has come fresh from a long journey on horseback. 

You sit up and reach for his hand. “Acacius…husband. You’re alive, you’re safe.”

He nods in response, until he buries his face in his hands and leans forward, head between his legs, and gives a devastated, feral roar the likes of which you’ve never heard before. You tentatively move beside him, fingers working to undo his cuirass so that you can rub his back through the thin fabric of his tunic. His big, strong body shakes with fury and hurt under your gentle caress. 

Neither of you speak for some time. You try to ground and console him with your touch, your closeness; and in time his rapid breathing slows and he raises his head to speak.

“I would have come sooner.” His voice is low and croaky, worn out by a day of shouting. “I would have come…I had to help them, had to get the boy away, get him safe.” He looks at his grimy hands, as if noticing them for the first time. “The road was dusty, I’m covered in the stuff. I’m sorry, I…”

You shake your head and nod at him to continue. Acacius sighs despondently. 

“I was in the arena today. Me, a few other officers, other centurions, all loyal to Maximus, the senate, the people. We wanted to be ready, to prepare for the others.”

He reaches for your hand, cupping it in both of his and kissing it with reverent care. 

“I…we…” His voice breaks a little. “He died , there on the arena floor. Murdered by his own emperor.” He steadies himself, a note of rage entering his tone. “He was a hero of Rome. A hero of Rome . And that was how his life ended. That was his reward.”

He looks at you, features set hard, eyes burning with anger. And then his face softens, expression crumples, and he cannot hold back the tears as he buries his face against your shoulder.

***

You wash him clean of that terrible day in the baths, anointing his cuts and bruises with balms, ointments, and kisses. 

He watches as you apply the mixtures carefully to his skin. “I did not know you were a doctor, sweet lady.”

“No doctor,” you smile. “Just some knowledge passed from my mother and aunts, about healing plants and balms. I like to keep a few with me, just in case.”

“Just in case?”

“In case I marry a soldier.”

When he is clean, you dress him in a plain tunic from the linen cupboard and take him to bed.

Acacius rests his head on your bosom as you stroke his hair, his strong arm draped across your body. After a time, he breaks the silence.

“How can I keep fighting, if this is the fate of a Roman hero?” He shakes his head a little. “And yet, I am bound by my oath to serve.”

You kiss his forehead and stroke his cheek, tracing the line of a scar. “What would he say to you now?”

He looks up at you with those pitch-dark eyes, permitting himself a little smile. “Apart from ‘how did you ever manage to get a woman as lovely as her to marry you ’?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Apart from that.”

“He would probably say that the dream of Rome is worth fighting for.”

“I think you have your answer, then.”

He does not seem entirely convinced as he sits up beside you and leans in for a kiss. “Perhaps.” Another kiss. “Or perhaps only love is worth fighting for.”

You lie down and pull him to you, happy to feel his solid weight on top of you again. “Aren’t you fighting for love, though, when you fight for Rome?”

“If only she weren’t such a cruel mistress.” He kisses your neck, tugging down the neck of your robe to expose your breast. “Gods, I need you, my love.”

With your help, he discards his own tunic and takes off your dress. He sits back on his heels for a moment, running his big hands up your bare legs as he looks into your eyes.

“I am all yours, Acacius.” You extend your hand to him, guiding him into position. “Let me help you forget it all, even if just for tonight.”

He moves forward on top of you, holding your gaze for a few moments as he caresses your face and strokes your hair. His kiss is tender but urgent, his hand reaching for your breast as he starts to grind against you. 

“All yours, my love,” you repeat, watching as he moves back down your body. “Take me as you wish, as you need.”

He tries to take in every part of you with his mouth, lips moving with desperate need and grazing over your tits, your soft belly, your hips. One, two thick fingers slip between your thighs, keen to remind you what you taught him that first night together. You writhe against him as his beard scrapes against the delicate skin and curls that cover your mound, unable to stop yourself guiding him between your legs.

”Mine. Mine .” Acacius mutters the word as he hooks his arms under your thighs and buries his face against your cunt, nose rubbing against you while his tongue parts your folds. It’s as if he wants to devour you, such is the urgency with which he sucks and laps and licks. He runs his fingers over your dripping core and drops his hand to his cock, using your wetness to stroke himself as he continues to eat you out. He laps greedily at you as you come, your slick still glistening all over his face as he shifts forward and enters you.

He holds you down as he fucks you hard, fingers twined through yours, sweat dripping from his beautiful body onto your tits. There’s a desperation to his lovemaking tonight, a desire to escape his grief by losing himself in you - in your cunt, your flesh. He comes with a roar, filling you with life as he tries to rid himself of the bloody memory of death.

***

He leaves in the early morning, following military orders to assemble at the Field of Mars in spite of his misgivings and wavering loyalty. You make love before he goes: slow, soft, congress in the dawn light. 

You watch him dress, sitting up naked in bed. “Be careful, my love.”

Acacius fastens his cloak and leans in for a final kiss. “You too, love. I will come for you as soon as I can.” Before he leaves the room, he nods towards a leather pouch resting on the table.

“That isn’t payment , in case you are wondering. It is my duty as your husband - some money, should you need it urgently while I am away.” He looks as though he would rather sacrifice himself in the arena than leave. “I love you.”

That was the last time you saw him, until he appeared, a decade and a half later, as a vision in white: the triumphant hero of empire.

***

The crowds have dispersed now, the city humming with excitement at the prospect of a series of games to celebrate the feats of Acacius and his army in Numidia. 

The terracotta oil lamps cast a warm, comforting glow around your small home, nestled in a side street in a decidedly unfashionable part of the city. The brothel is firmly in the past for you now, as you earn a living making medicinal balms and ointments, using recipes learned from your mother and aunts. You prepare your simple evening meal and eat it quietly, preoccupied all the while by Acacius. 

He had seen you today, you were sure of it. What did he remember of you, of your love, of the secret “marriage” of spirit the two of you had entered into? Had he recognised you at all? He had grown even more handsome with the passing of time. You were not sure the same could be said of your beauty.

The little metal figurine lies on the table before you, your fingertips tracing over the outline of the man you had loved so much. With a gentle sigh, you move to the corner of the room and retrieve a plain, well-worn wooden box from the chest that holds your most precious possessions. He fits in well here, this Acacius, nestled among carefully-folded fabric you have preserved like a relic all these years. 

What might have been, in another world. But you have your memories, and your relics, and the comfort of having seen him one more time, after all these years.

***

A day or so later, you are about to turn in for the night when you hear the distinctive sound of a horse coming to a halt just outside your home, swiftly followed by a firm knock. A knock on your door at this hour is not usual , but neither is it unexpected or unprecedented. People have, on occasion, come in urgent circumstances, desperately seeking this balm or that ointment. 

You reach for your mantle and open the door a little. “Tell me what the problem is and I’ll get you what you need, if I have it.”

The cloaked figure at your door chuckles, turns, and takes down their hood.

"So you really do live. I am not sure one of your fine balms could fix the problems I’m facing, dear lady.”

You steady yourself on the doorframe, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or touch him to make sure he’s really there. 

“Oh, gods… Acacius .” You shake your head and correct yourself quickly. “I mean, General Acacius, I… how ?”

“Acacius, please. I’ll always just be Acacius with you.” He crosses an arm over his chest in a gesture of honourable sincerity, those dark eyes warm and oh so familiar, even after a distance of nearly twenty years. “May I come in?”

You gesture towards the table at the centre of the room and close the door, still not quite believing that he is really here , in your little home. He is no longer wearing the dress uniform, you notice, spying a simpler tunic and belt under the cloak. 

“I have some wine, if you would like? Nothing like the fine stuff you’re used to now, of course, but…”

“Anything you have is perfect.” Acacius moves closer to you and reaches for your hand, pressing his lips to it and smiling with delighted recognition when he realises you still wear the ring he gave you. He seems reluctant to let go, caressing your hand in both of his as his eyes take you in from head to toe. “I am so happy to see you…I thought I would never see you again. I…”

Before he can finish his sentence, you throw your arms around him and pull his beautiful, broad frame to you in a tight embrace.

***

The conversation is light, at first - small talk, mostly about the triumph, about the campaign in Africa, the sheer weight of the special armour and cloak he had worn for the procession, his relief in seeing his wife, Lucilla.

You smile when he mentions her. “You are both very lucky indeed, I think. She’s much loved, very beautiful, kind… maybe now you are home we will see more of her in the city? She is missed by the people.”

Acacius purses his lips. “Her movements are…not always in her own hands, these days.”

You nod in understanding as silence settles over the two of you.

He sips his wine and takes a deep breath. “I came back for you, did you know that? All those years ago. I kept my word, my vow to you. But you were gone .”

He tells his side of the story simply, though at times he struggles to keep his emotions in check. After Maximus’s death, it was well over a year before Acacius saw Rome again. In the political turmoil that followed the demise of Commodus, young officers like him were deployed to various parts of the empire to secure the Roman presence - and, he suspected, to prove their loyalty to the litany of new emperors who followed in quick succession. 

“As soon as I got back to the city, first chance I got, I went to find you. And everything was different - a new lena in the place.” He shakes his head at the memory. “When I asked about you, she…well, she said you were gone.”

You press your fingertips against the surface of the table. “I had returned to the family farm, I meant to come back, but…”

Acacius nods. “She knew you had gone to your family, but she told me you were dead . Said the news was that you’d died, a few months after you left Rome.”

He tells how he refused to accept your death. He searched for you as best he could, trying to piece together the little he knew about your life before Rome, before the brothel, before him . Dead end after dead end eventually convinced him, against his instincts, that you were really gone.

”I mourned you as a…a husband . Grew my hair for the period of mourning, didn’t trim my beard…” He smiles sadly. “I even covered my head and burned that linen tunic you’d dressed me in, that last night we spent together, in lieu of a funeral pyre. It was all I had of you.”

You reach for his hand, noticing the scars and callouses that were not there the last time you held it so tenderly. “I am so sorry, my lo-” The words came as easily as they did that last morning together. You checked yourself. “I mean, Acacius .”

He squeezes your hand and continues. “I kept telling myself I had let you down. Had I been here I could have helped you, made sure you were safe, protected you.” A sombre look darkens his features. “When I saw you up there in the crowd, for an instant I wondered if I was seeing things, if you were an apparition…reminding me that I had failed you.”

“You could never fail me, Acacius. Never. Not then, not now.” 

You sip your wine as you prepare to tell him your side of the story.

“I left Rome a couple of months after you did, and went back north to my family. I had to go but I intended to return, because I knew you would keep your word.”

Silence, again, and you know exactly what he’s going to ask you.

“Why did you leave the city…why did you have to go?”

Another sip of wine.

“I was with child.”

***

When you were absolutely certain, about two months after he left, you packed your things and made the necessary arrangements. His money helped pay your way northwards and home - and paid off your outstanding debts to the lena .

“Don’t you have siblings who can look after your ailing mother?”, she’d said, already starting to count your coin. “Can’t be doing with losing good girls like you, these days.”

“Only my brother remains on the farm, and he cannot manage it and care for my mother at the same time.” It wasn’t a lie , not really. Your sisters were scattered, and since your father’s death the farm was your brother’s responsibility. And strictly speaking, he did have to care for your mother - even if she wasn’t ailing in the way you’d described to the lena to justify your sudden departure.

You looked carefully at every soldier you saw on the road north, hoping against hope that one of them might be yours . In a roadside tavern you even asked after Acacius, after you overheard a group of legionaries talking about Maximus, but to no avail. 

At home, you were circumspect about your situation in Rome - and about the circumstances of your pregnancy. Pressed repeatedly by your mother, you told her the father was a young officer who loved you very much.

“And where is this lover boy, now that he’s got a child on you?” She surveyed your swelling belly with a mixture of irritation and resignation.

“He returned to his legion and we have had no word since.” Another not-really-a-lie. 

Your mother rolled her eyes, but could not disguise the sympathy in her tone. “Tale as old as time.”

You did whatever work you could, within the limits imposed by your condition. And one day, as you rested for a few moments in the meadow, the sun glinting off your garnet ring as your hand lay protectively across your swollen stomach, you felt the child quicken in your womb.

In your lowest moments, you worried that your certainty about paternity was misplaced, given the nature of your work. With every fibre of your being, though, you knew that this child was his. It could be no one else’s.

You planned, originally, to give birth and raise the child to the point where they could be taken care of by another while you worked. At that stage, you assumed, you and your child would return to Rome - and to Acacius.

But fate dealt a very different hand

***

There’s shock and sadness and a kind of excitement, even, in Acacius’s eyes as he listens to you tell the story. Realisation dawns: he was a father .

His voice is hushed. “A boy or a girl?”

You squeeze his hand, as much for your own comfort as for his. “A boy. And your double, from the moment he came into this world - all dark eyes and curly hair and even strange little habits and gestures that I knew were yours . I…named him for you.”

“A son .” He seems awestruck. “I have a son . Gods, I wish I had known.”

“I am so sorry, Acacius, I wish I could have found a way to tell you, for you to know…but I had no idea where you were, how I could find you or reach you.” You swallow back the tears. “Truly, please forgive me.”

He shakes his head and leans a little closer to you. “You don’t need to apologise, there’s nothing to forgive.” He kisses the back of your hand again before wiping an errant tear from your cheek. 

You look at him - really look at him, really take him in properly after all this time apart. He wears his age beautifully, from the lines on his face to the silvery strands of hair that frame his brow. Acacius has acquired more scars in his years of soldiering - across the bridge of his fine nose, a more livid, longer mark to his right cheek. But his eyes, in spite of all the terrible things he has seen and all the blood he has spilled, are as warm and kind when they look at you as they were the first night you met. 

“I always meant to come back to the city,” you continue. “I thought we’d return once he was old enough, find you again, and somehow make a life together. And then my mother died, and I couldn’t leave my brother to tend the farm alone, and my… our boy was so happy there. You were rising through the ranks, too, and a woman and child would have been the last thing you needed.”

Acacius shakes his head, regretfully, and sips his wine. 

“Did you tell him? About me?”

“As soon as he was old enough, yes. I told him all about you.” You smile at the memory of that time and tell him about your little boy’s bright eyes and dark curls, the wide smile on his face as he dashed here and there on the farm, chasing chickens and helping his uncle plant seeds. Your brother whittled him a rudimentary wooden sword, so that he could fight imaginary battles in the fields and cry out, with all the force his little voice could muster: “I am Acacius, hero of Rome.”

“He’s near a man now, I suppose?” Acacius looks around the room, as if making sure he hasn’t missed the boy somehow. 

You close your eyes as another memory casts a long, dark cloud of grief and pain: a memory of fever sweeping the countryside, of the horror as your bright, clever boy fell ill overnight, of your desperate attempts to heal him. And that indelible image, the one that still wakes you at night, sometimes: your brother, tears rolling down his weathered farmer’s face, carrying the small body in its small shroud.

***

Acacius says nothing for a long time, just holds your hand on the table and stares at his cup of wine as he tries to comprehend what you have told him. He breaks his silence with just two words.

“How old?”

“He was seven.”

You rise from the table, gently squeezing his shoulder as you cross towards your wooden chest and take out the plain wooden box where you had placed the miniature Acacius a couple of nights before. Settling back beside him at the table, you remove the lid and show him the contents.

“Is this…” He smiles wryly at the little figurine, picking it up to examine it more closely.

“I told you, didn’t I? They would cast you in bronze some day, Or, if not bronze, whatever that is.”

Carefully, you take out the rest of the items you’d stored with such love since the day you lost your beloved boy. A small tunic. A pair of his sandals, still marked with dust from the farm. A wax tablet, inscribed with his rudimentary letters and numbers. 

Acacius handles his son’s belongings as though they are the most precious objects in the world. He turns a little figurine of a soldier, carved from bone, over and over in his palm.

“He loved that one best.” 

It is strangely comforting and intimate to sit with Acacius in this shared grief, watching him somehow try to know the little boy he never met through the few belongings he left behind in the world.

“Acacius…” He looks at you, eyes glistening with tears, and you fight the urge to embrace him again. “I think you should keep that. If you wish, of course, but -”

He nods, cupping the toy in his big hand before placing it with great care and tenderness in the leather pouch on his belt.

“I can carry him with me.”

***

Before he leaves you, you give him a jar of your very best healing ointment as a parting gift. 

“For your next campaign, to help with cuts and bruises.”

He kisses you on the cheek, smiling as he opens the jar and inhales the warm, fragrant aroma of the balm. “I hope to get some respite from the battlefield for a while.”

You grin. “I’m glad to hear it. And I am so glad that you have a wonderful wife to go home to.”

His travelling cloak once more around his broad shoulders, Acacius bids you farewell and holds you in a long, tight embrace and murmurs into your ear.

“I loved you so very much. Always remember that.”

***

More games. More bloodshed. You stay at home, away from the festivities and the crowds. 

Another late-evening knock to your door, and this time you decide not to answer. The games have brought a rowdy crowd to the city, and it’s impossible to know what awaits on the other side. 

They knock again, firmly, clearly. Not the knock of a drunk, you muse.

You open the door to a young man, dressed in the typical garb of a servant, and a woman of regal bearing, dressed in a simple hooded cloak. 

“May I come in?”

She leaves the servant outside and checks that the door is firmly shut before she takes down her hood, revealing her fine features and blonde curls as you gasp in recognition - and panic.

“Gods! I mean…my lady, I…”

Lucilla smiles that sweet smile so beloved of the ordinary citizens and reaches for your hand, attempting to steady your evident nerves. “Please, don’t be alarmed. I cannot stay long, but…may we sit?”

Dumbfounded, you gesture towards your simple wooden chairs, watching in astonishment as the daughter of Marcus Aurelius seats herself at your table. She nods towards the other chair, encouraging you to join her.

“I am very sorry for arriving like this so late in the evening, unannounced. I do hope I’m not putting you out.”

You shake your head quickly, panic and terror still written all over your face, and she chuckles gently. “Please, I meant it - you have nothing to fear from me. And yes, I know my husband came to see you.” 

“He…I mean, I…I mean, we …”

Lucilla places her elegant, pale hand on the back of yours by way of reassurance. “I know. He has often spoken of you to me - and of his sorrow at not being able to protect you. When he realised you still lived, well…I simply wanted to meet the woman who meant so much to Acacius. We have a lot in common, you and I.”

For a moment, you wonder if you are dreaming. Most women would rather ignore their husband’s past loves, let alone want to visit them. 

“You didn’t mind that he came to see me?”

She shakes her head, blue eyes meeting yours. “Not at all. In fact, I encouraged him to seek you out, after he saw you during the triumph.”

“I…I’m not sure I understand, my lady.”

“We’ve lived , you and I, haven’t we? When Acacius and I met, I had already lost so many people. My husband, my father, my brother…and the man who was my first great love.”

Lucilla looks away for a moment, emotion threatening her poise. She speaks haltingly, more quietly now. “And I lost my son, too. I was very sorry to hear about your boy.” 

In that instant you forget all etiquette and protocol and extend your hand to hers, to comfort and to share the burden of your common grief. No more a former prostitute and the daughter of a great emperor - here, at your rustic table, you are simply two women united by the experience of loss.

“So we do have much in common, it seems, my lady.”

“We do. And that’s without even mentioning Acacius.” She smiles at you conspiratorially, and laughter fills the small room. 

“It haunted him, not having been able to find you again. Not getting to say goodbye, to tell you how much you meant.” She pulls her cloak more tightly around herself and rises from the table. “I was able to bid farewell to my first great love. When we realised you were alive, well…I wanted my beloved Acacius to have that chance, too.”

Before she takes her leave, Lucilla embraces you, kissing each cheek. “Thank you for loving him so well, all those years ago.”

You nod, still not quite believing that this conversation is really happening. “And thank you , for loving him now. And for encouraging him to visit me. He…he married a very good woman.”

She pulls up her hood and moves to the door, pausing for a moment. “He has always had impeccable taste, it seems.”

A final smile and nod, and she is gone, helped onto her horse by her servant before they ride away into the night, and home to the waiting arms of a hero of Rome.

[ckret2]

Would Mabel being the reincarnation of Bill cause a rift between her and her family? I imagine that even though they know that Mabel and Bill are two different people it'd be kinda hard to get over the fact they ARE fundamentally the same being,especially for Ford.

Now, that's the problem. They AREN'T two different people. That's the whole point of this specific AU's take on reincarnation. It's not "Mabel happens to now possess the soul that was formerly used by some other guy" but rather "this is that guy after working on himself for thirteen years, she just didn't remember it until now."

"We know you're two different people" is the kind of thing her family might say to be reassuring. But in her ears it'd be like if she's on trial for murder and her family says "We love you because we know you're innocent," when actually she did totally commit that murder, and it was premeditated, and she didn't even have a sympathetic motive. Like it's nice of you guys to say that and I know you mean well, but if you only love me because you think I didn't do anything wrong, would you still love me if you understood the truth?

The biggest rift is on Mabel's end. She's holding back from letting them find out for as long as possible. It's not coming out until they put together the evidence themselves or she has a breakdown and confesses while in tears. And, naturally, when she's trying to keep that big a secret from them, she's gonna be withdrawn.

Like, there's a very high probability that Gideon finds out before any of the Pines do, that's how hard she's trying to keep it from her family.

When they DO start finding out?

Dipper's known Mabel almost fourteen years; he knew Bill two months. He's gonna get over it the fastest.

He's cracking annoying brother jokes before you know it. "I mean—you didn't manage to kill me in the womb, I don't think you're gonna do it now." "I forgive you for the sock puppet thing but now I REALLY wish I'd done more dumb stuff in your body while we were body swapped. As pre-revenge."

If anything, ultimately this turns out to be GREAT news for Dipper. He spent all last summer being pissed off that Bill had all the secrets of the universe and just wouldn't share them, to be a dick. WELL GUESS WHAT. NOW THEY'RE SHARING A BEDROOM. He's keeping her up until 3 a.m. asking about every conspiracy theory in history until Mabel lies "sorry, my memory of that one hasn't come back yet. Maybe my memories would return faster if I could GET SOME SLEEP..."

Stan's known Mabel off and on for fourteen years, and has gotten to know her really well over the past year; he knew Bill for—lemme check how long his death scene is—under two minutes.

Try to tell Stan that Mabel's Bill and his first reaction is "WELL THAT'S STUPID AND I DON'T BELIEVE IT." "But she can set fires with her brain." "Sometimes teenage girls do that! I saw it in a horror movie!" He's gonna process the news about the same way he'd process it if Mabel told him that she's some gender he's never heard of before: he's confused and too damn old to understand this complicated identity stuff, but he loves her even if he only understands half of what's going on, and he'll punch anybody who looks at her funny because of it.

Ford's only known Mabel since last summer; he's known Bill over 32 years.

This AU ain't a fic, so there's not a single set plotline, just a whole bunch of ideas that may or may not actually happen if I were ever to turn it into a story; and because of that there's a lot of ways things could go down with Ford, on a wild scale from hilarious to heartwarming to tragic, depending on what I think is interesting on any given day. But in many potential timelines, the first and most pressing question Ford's facing isn't "can I still love Mabel even if she was—is—Bill?"

It's "How do I kill Bill again?"

Because he knows Mabel the least and knows Bill the best, he has the best odds of looking past what everyone else sees as "haha that's just Mabel being Mabel!" and going "that's Bill fucking Cipher"; and because he hates Bill the most, he's the absolute last person Mabel would voluntarily tell about her exciting new personal discovery—meaning that he just has to draw his own conclusions. If he sees Bill looking at him through this little girl's eyes and clearly trying to convince Ford that he's not Bill he's gonna assume Bill's back from the dead and possessing his niece.

If Ford finds out, Mabel's not just afraid he won't love her anymore; she's also afraid he'll want her dead. If anything, him thinking she's possessed would be a good thing, because it'll buy her a little time while he's looking for a way to "extract" Bill to "save" Mabel, whereas if he knows the truth he'll know there's no Mabel to save.

Worst case scenario, she fears that, if he finds out, she's dead as soon as he can get his hands on her—unless she can find a way to defend herself.

Of course, this is Gravity Falls, where the power of love & family always wins, so in reality if he found out no that IS Mabel it'd stay his hand while he tries to figure out what's going on. His hatred for Bill is weaker than his love for his family. But she doesn't know that.

After all, Mabel's known Ford for 32 years, and for 30 of them he was on a suicidal vengeance quest to kill her; he's only been her grunkle since last summer.

[defilerwyrm]

I'm a trans man who wants phallo SO bad but the Fear Mongering people do makes me so scared. I have such a fear of surgery anyway and people say phallo is nearly 23hrs long, and it has more risks than heart surgery does, and idk if these are true bc I'm too scared to google it..But I want it so bad, but the stuff I hear scares me. Also people saying it doesn't have any sensation worries me. You said trans men can ask about it so I hope this is ok to do on anon!!! I'd appreciate a non fear filled reply so much thanks!!

23 hours!! Those poor surgeons, can you imagine!

Virtual hugs if you’re the hugging type, Anon, and a cool rock if you’re not.

Those things are definitely not true, not remotely. It’s a long surgery, but when I say it’s long that means it’s about 8 hours all told. It sounds like maybe someone heard it referred to as an “all-day” thing meaning a full WORK day, but instead assumed that that meant a full CALENDAR day. Or, you know, a transphobe made shit up to scare people.

It is most definitely not nearly as risky to your wellbeing as a surgery in which they saw open your sternum and cut open your actual beating heart. There is a fairly high chance of a minor complication that can result in the terrible ordeal of getting pee on your pants sometimes—a urethral fistula—and in most cases, they close up on their own anyway without needing another surgery to correct them. And in this case, “fairly high” means 40%, so it’s still less than half a chance that it’ll happen in the first place. At worst it’s annoying. Serious complications, the type that put you in danger, are extremely rare.

The sensation thing is also false, because they literally harvest a length of nerve from your donor site and hook it up to your existing bits specifically so you WILL have sensation! Sure, it takes a little while for the nerve to heal, but that’s just the reality of ANY surgery.

The nerve grows back in your donor site, too, by the way. While I was typing this up I discovered that one particular spot on my graft is ticklish.

Everyone has their own individual healing factor, but speaking for myself, I had full erotic sensation before the 3-month mark, and the orgasms have been incredible. The head and base are highly sensitive, and everything in between responds pretty damn nicely too, just less of a hit-the-ceiling level of sensitivity. And, you know, if you’ve handled an AMAB person’s penis much at all you’ll know that’s pretty much in keeping with how their dicks work too.

It is an in-patient surgery so if you have it, you’ll be staying in a hospital for a few days so they can keep an eye out for rare disasters. My stay was four or five days of snoring most of the day and periodically getting woken up to eat or answer some simple check-in questions, lift my arm for nurses to move stuff, etc, and then conking back out.

Being cathed sucks, but two weeks of frequent trips to the toilet to drain your bag is honestly nothing compared to a lifetime without (or with vastly reduced) bottom dysphoria. That’s the part that I hated. Everything else was your typical recovery: 10-15 days of sleeping 20 hours a day, then however many weeks of being tired, taking meds, and careful washing, gradually feeling more and more normal until you’re back up to full and ready to get back to business as usual.

Except with this one, you get to learn to pee standing up in the process. :D

(Protip: don’t try a public urinal until you’ve got it down pat at home. Not because of cis men, but because the learning process is messy, lol! The overwhelming majority of cis men in public restrooms want nothing to do with anyone else while they’re in there. The only place anyone’s gonna give your dick more than half a second’s accidental glance is in a gay bar. In 8+ years of using public men’s rooms I have yet to see one (1) penis that wasn’t mine!)

[comicaurora]

Out of curiosity, how far ahead are you on the comic? I mean, you must have it all planned and written out, but I imagine that you are drawing the future of Aurora even while we're reading it.

So is Arc 2 already illustrated and ready for upload while you're on like Arc 5 or something? I'm by no means undermining your need for a break; I'm shocked that you've been uploading continuously for over 4 years at this point. I'm just interested to know how long it takes a person to make something this great. And also if you change any details in the final edit?

Basically: what's the workflow like?

Also I think you low-key inspired me to pick up painting as a hobby. I'm ready to pour so much money into creating things that I know I'll hate. :)

God, arc 5? That's a very generous assessment of how fast I can draw!

Typically, when the comic is updating regularly, I keep a buffer of 10 to 20 completed pages. Right now, in the interest of taking a break, the buffer is 0 completed pages.

Chapter 1 of Arc 2 is completely storyboarded, meaning it's sketched out, the dialog is all mostly finalized barring last-minute rephrasements, etc. It can be read in its current form, it just looks unpretty. In fact, just for fun, here's a sneak peek!

In the next month I'll go through and finalize as many pages from this chapter as possible - which means locking down the panel borders, fleshing out the backgrounds, lining, shading, coloring, polish, etc. - which will be the process of building up a new buffer for when the comic starts back up again in January. During that time, I'll also be storyboarding Chapter 2 and as much of the following parts as I can manage.

I have the next several chapters and sub-arcs planned out in loose timelines - event A happens at location B leading to consequences C and D, stuff like that. Chapter 2, being the closest, is a little more fleshed-out, with a more detailed bullet-pointed timeline and various character ideas I've had that might or might not make it into the final version.

What exactly the chapter breakdown is going to look like is a little more complicated. Initially I'd planned for Chapter 1 to be low-stakes downtime and Chapter 2 to quickly kick off the high-octane adventure again, but when I started bullet-pointing out the stuff I wanted to do in Chapter 2, I ended up with a big pile of slower-paced character moments I thought were well worth exploring, so the runtimes might stretch a little.

Translating those brainstormed notes into storyboards and dialog is what I would classify as the "writing" part of this process. It happens at an erratic pace largely determined by the whims of whatever muse decides to get me in a headlock that day; sometimes I go weeks with no storyboarding progress, sometimes I hammer out fifteen pages in one day.

It's kinda like weaving, to me. The soon-to-be-arriving parts of the story are the most finalized, the most densely woven. A little ways beyond that, things get looser - some patterns may be locked down, but the actual work that'll hold it together hasn't been done yet. And in the far-flung future arcs, it's just the basic bones of the story and a pile of the threads I've planned to use. I know the shape of it, but in order for it to be fun and engaging for me to make it, I need to give myself room to be creative when I'm putting the whole thing together.

I actually have a file called the "Toolbox" that contains every random character or subplot idea I've had, and sometimes when I'm debating where to go with a chunk of story, I'll crack it open and scan through to see if anything jumps out begging to be used. Lotta fun stuff in there that may or may not ever see the light of day. Dropping stuff in the Toolbox is one of the most fun and freeing parts of the process for me!

[moonmaiden1996]

Hi 😊👋 Corazon and Sanji both are my favourites (not that they're both blondes but they share the same endless kindness 🥰). So yeah I'd love to read sth about Corazon ♥️. I'm not sure if he ever had sex or even an relationship but he has so much love to give. Maybe you could write sth about spending a night with Cora? Might be the first time for both as a couple. 👀

18+ with some spoilers

So, I’m in two minds about this. Corazon is 100% a virgin. His trauma runs far too deep. After watching his mother die and his brother kill their father, his entire existence became a mission: a duty to keep his brother’s monstrous tendencies in check and save as many people as he could. It’s hard to imagine he’d ever think of anything beyond that.

But then again, maybe he would. After all, they’re gods—why wouldn’t his brother use others for his own pleasure, as cruel as that is I am not sure how his brother could escape his brother inclinations. Personally, though, I think Corazon is desperate for connection and would avoid his brothers desires at all costs. There are moments when he catches himself watching a couple at the port, jealousy bubbling up inside him as he observes how in love they are, the way they look at each other, and how they laugh. Sometimes, he sees young families—a mother laughing, a father pushing a stroller while their baby coos up at them—and he aches for that life so intensely his mind begins to wander.

In those stolen moments, he imagines a faceless woman by his side, pushing a stroller, while Law runs ahead with a smile he’s almost too proud to permit. He thinks about it so hard, he once walked straight into a lamppost, much to the hilarity of the other executives.

But then comes a miracle. Left for dead, he’s saved by a passing merchant, and for the first time, he’s allowed to live a little, to fall in love. (I’ve seen Dressrosa—let me dream, okay?)

Falling in love isn’t easy for Corazon—or, let’s call him Rosinante. It takes time. Time to heal. Time to process. Time to trust. The fire that once made him a spy had dimmed, flickering weakly in the wind of his pain and loss. And yet, you—you, the sweet little woman who came into his life—were the spark that reignited that flame, making him blaze brighter than ever before.

At first, he’s hesitant. Very hesitant. He feels monstrous compared to you, towering over you with his broad, lanky frame and muscle-packed build. He’s terrified of hurting you. To him, you’re a beacon of light in his darkest days, and the thought of his brother finding you, hurting you, or—god forbid—coveting you, is his deepest fear.

It would take your gentle patience to help him through this. You’d speak to him of your burning desire but never force or badger him. You’d make it clear that you’re waiting for him, whenever he’s ready. And when he is ready, he’d want to be careful.

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he’d mumble against your skin during one of your passionate embraces—those moments where his kisses seared your skin and his hands wandered, peeling away clothes to reveal heated, blushing flesh.

“You won’t, my love,” you’d reassure him, kissing that sensitive spot on his neck that made him shiver.

“But…” His protests would falter as his eyes took in your soft, eager figure, flushed and inviting.

“Hush, my love. Let me,” you’d whisper.

And he would. He’d let you lead, following your every direction like a devoted worshipper. He’d marvel at you as you straddled him, your skin glowing in the soft light.

Now, let me tell you—this man is proportionate. He’s thick and long—not ridiculously long, but enough that you’d feel every inch of his size. You’d have to take your time, working your way down on him as he watches with a mix of awe and concern.

“Love… don’t push yourself,” he’d frown up at you, worry etched on his face.

“Hush…” you’d moan softly, taking your time, moving up and down his tip, your movements drawing gasps and shudders from him. He’d tremble beneath you, marveling at the sight of you taking him in.

This man would be sweating and rigid, utterly captivated as you slowly worked your way lower, stretching yourself to accommodate him. His long, elegant fingers, guided by your hand, would find that sensitive bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your moans would fill the room, spurring him on, until you finally took him fully. His hands would pull you closer as you reached your peak, a shattering orgasm ripping through you.

Corazon would be a mess, overwhelmed by the sensation of you fluttering around him. If he didn’t lose control then and there, it wouldn’t take much more to send him over the edge. But true to his gentlemanly nature, he’d restrain himself, making sure you’re satisfied before letting go. And oh, how he’d adore watching you ride him.

Afterward, as you cuddled up, he’d take meticulous care of you, ensuring you were cleaned up and comfortable. You’d marvel at how gracefully this man moved—well, until he faceplanted onto the floor, completely naked.

I adore this man. Corazon, Sanji and Shanks are my favs! I think I have a type for goodhearted men who could defiantly rock my world. Oh the day dreams I have about these three.

Buttt Corazon is undervalued in my opinion! I just want to shake Oda till he finds a way to bring him back. But this is all I have for now.

I hope you like this, I had great fun imagine this tall, blonde, gentle giant. Keep you asks coming! Anything and everything! Any character....go on I dare you...I double dare you!

[jedijenkins]

for a few years now ive toyed with the concept that jake's magical tattoo has so far been shown to be a way for him to literally share a part of his soul with another person, as it was used in the finale of s3 to help turn apep human. i have a lot of questions and thoughts about what that means for jacob to have part of his soul bound to apep once they sent him to the underworld but that's not the point of my post - in most fantasy stories, having the ability to give part of your soul to someone translates to sharing your very lifeforce with them. and in a lot of stories, that translates to the ability to heal someone/save them from death by giving them some of your lifeforce/soul to sustain them. (I imagine that maybe apep's soulbond with jake was severed when he immediately died afterwards but who knows)

so i've had the idea of jake being able to use that ability to heal/save people but it being something with repercussions/consequences - like being permanently bound to the person he saved and maybe losing some years off his own life as the price to pay for extending someone else's. not to mention, binding a part of your soul to another living person who stays alive afterwards (unlike apep) could include other things like potentially a telepathic and empathic bond (like vulcan bonds for example)

because of all of this, i have had a mental image in my head for the past few years of ezekiel taking a bullet for jake and jake holding his dying body in his arms. ezekiel, who has already died so many times before, calmly trying to tell jake its going to be okay before jake says fuck it and grabs ezekiel's hand in his and pours his very soul into him to keep him alive because he can't lose him again the emotional fallout as they now share both ink on their skin and a bond in their souls that makes it harder than ever to pretend around each other than it was before. the potential angst of ezekiel feeling violated and horrified by the idea of a telepathic/empathetic bond and jake feeling guilty for forcing something like that on ezekiel when all he wanted to do was save his life. jake trying so hard to hold back from crossing the border between their souls and minds because he doesn't want to cross ezekiel's boundaries anymore than he was already forced to, but at the same time leaving no barriers around his own mind in case ezekiel wants to look. jake knowing how important control over how people perceive him is to ezekiel, but also wanting to let ezekiel know that jake isnt going to hide anything from him. ezekiel struggling with his absolutely paralyzing fear of being truly known in entirety with no deceptions or omissions. ezekiel realizing that jake also spent his entire life hiding behinds masks to protect himself but once he came to the library he started to drop them all and truly open up.

ezekiel processing that jake has been opening up to him since the day they met in a way jake never did with anyone else, and what has ezekiel done in return? slammed so many walls down between them he might as well have been slapping jake in the face on a daily basis jake spending his whole life being so ostracized and alone and feeling forced to put up those masks to protect himself when all he ever wanted was for someone to read him like an open book and actually love what they see, so on some secret selfish level the idea of being so completely intimately understood is all jake has ever wanted but it was never meant to happen like this. ezekiel knowing once and for all without a doubt that all of jake's frustration and anger at him has been born from that feeling of an unfair double standard, the fact that every day jake opens himself up to ezekiel and every day ezekiel has refused to return the favor. as you can tell i'm going to eventually write this as a fic but i thought i'd tell you about the core ideas here since its been a while since ive just posted my ideas about this franchise to tumblr

[onebourbon-oneshot-onetear]

Lilla Solen- Eric Northman x witch!reader

Just another Eric oneshot. This could be a sequel to Familiar, but you don't have to read it. Although I'd be happy if you did...

I'm just now starting season 4 so if this isn't accurate to the show's timeline then I'll get there eventually :)

It had taken me weeks and weeks of trying, and failed spells, and damn near blowing my house up before I had even caught a glimpse of success. But a few weeks ago my plans had just started to come together and since then I’ve been working night and day until I’ve finally got it right. 

A few months ago I had been dragged into another one of Sookie Stackhouse’s overly complicated situations. Typically I liked to stay neutral in these things, but after Eric had asked, if not begged, for my help, I could hardly say no. It wasn’t until Eric and a so-called vampire king started drinking from Sookie and stepping outside that I actually realized just how much shit I was about to be dragged into. 

I’ve never had a heart attack, but the way my heart was pounding out of my chest as I watched Eric on the security cameras stepping into the sun for the first time in a thousand years, I really thought I was in the middle of one. Pam and I were both glued to the screen and we couldn’t take our eyes off the screen. Her because she thought her Maker was dying, and me because I couldn’t stop looking at the serene look on his face as he closed his eyes and faced the sun. Until he started burning, then I thought he was dying. 

The events following that day were, well hectic would be an understatement, and for the weeks that followed, the thing that stuck out to me the most was Eric’s face. I couldn’t imagine not being in the sun for a week let alone a thousand years. So, I made the inane decision to try and bottle up the sun. Well, not the actual sun, but a close enough replica. I wasn’t even sure I was a powerful enough witch to make this happen, but after hundreds of hours of pouring over spell books and journals, I had the basis to create the spell. 

It took another hundred hours until I got a breakthrough. Then another dozen before I almost set my kitchen on fire. Then a couple more dozen until I had finally gotten it, and was able to replicate it safely.  

The whole process was a killer, especially keeping it away from Eric. After he had been burned by the sun, I had given him some of my blood to help heal him. Now that we had a blood connection, he could sense every bit of panic that I was feeling, which often led to numerous nights where he sprinted over here just as I extinguished some flames. While he demanded answers, I just had to tell him that I was working on some witch stuff. Which wasn’t a lie. Now I just tell him beforehand when I’m working on some tricky spells so he doesn’t panic. 

I was finally at a point where I felt comfortable showing him my work. I texted him around noon telling him I had something to show him, and was just waiting for him to wake up and make his way over. The sun was about to set as I made some last minute adjustments to the kitchen, cleaning up little things here and there. I had always fiddled with things when I was nervous, so this was making me go into overdrive. Usually I wasn’t a self conscious person, but this was making me worried. Such a gift seemed almost intimate, and while there were feelings on my end towards Eric, we had never labeled it. I didn’t even know if he felt the same. 

I had known for a while that my feelings towards Eric weren’t just platonic. He was a good friend, and we had spent many nights in this kitchen or at Fangtasia just talking and reminiscing about our long lives. But Eric was a very closed off vampire, and never showed too much emotion. The closest I had ever gotten to knowing what Eric was thinking was when Pam made a small throwaway comment about how I was Eric’s “favorite little witch”. Granted, the woman loved drama so who knows if she was being serious or just stirring a pot. 

The familiar woosh of air at my back door and the associated knocking pattern told me Eric was here. Despite him being allowed inside whenever, he was usually a gentleman and knocked first. The few times he just barged in he had made me drop quite a few mugs and glasses. He felt bad enough that he started routinely knocking. 

I walked across the kitchen and opened the back door. He turned and threw me a dashing smile, his eyes looking me up and down slowly. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hi,” I answered, opening the door enough for him to come in. Eric always seemed to relax when he was here. He mentioned before the low light and herbs reminded him of home, and it always warmed my heart that I could give him that level of comfort. 

“You said you had something to show me?” He asked, tugging off his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his long sleeve shirt. 

My eyes trailed up his arms as I watched him roll his sleeves before shaking myself from the not-so-wholesome thoughts that had started to form in my head, mainly involving his hands and where he could put them. 

“Yes, please, come sit down,” I said, gesturing to the living room. Much like my kitchen, the living room was small and quaint. Outfitted in older furniture, warm colors, too many candles, and just as many drying flowers, it looked more like a room out of a storybook. Which, to be fair, was the vibe I was going for. “I’m sorry if I pulled you from something important.”

Eric sat down on my couch, folding his hands on his lap. “No, nothing is more important than you.” He grinned as the blush spread across my cheeks. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if he just liked seeing me blush, or if he actually meant what he said. 

“So, over the last couple of months I’ve been thinking,” I said, sitting on the floor opposite of Eric so I could use the coffee table. “When you drank from Sookie, and you stepped outside, you looked so peaceful, and so comfortable being able to see daylight. So I made you something.” 

I pulled out the enchanted jar and placed it in the middle of the coffee table. The jar was empty except for a few sparkles glimmering in the candlelight. Eric’s eyes crinkled in confusion as he looked between me and the jar. 

“You got me a mason jar?” He asked. 

I rolled my eyes, “No, Eric. Just watch.” I closed my eyes and lightly touched the glass of the jar. I whispered the incantation, the latin rolling off of my tongue. Behind my closed eyes I could see the orange glow from the jar, and my fingertips felt the jar getting warmer. 

I opened my eyes, the little ball of light inside the jar glowing as bright as a sun, giving off a beautiful light. I looked at Eric, who at first seemed tense, like he was expecting to burn, but after a few moments he closed his eyes and sank into the couch and the light. He had the same look on his face as he did that day outside of Fangtasia. 

I couldn’t fight the grin on my face even if I wanted to. The hours of burning my fingertips and frustration were worth it just to see the serenity on his face. I slid the jar to the side of the table so we weren’t blinded. At the sound of the glass sliding on the wood Eric opened his eyes and stared at me in awe. 

I stood from the floor and sat next to him on the couch, his blue eyes, brighter in the sunlight, never left my face. 

“How?” was all he could ask. 

I shrugged, “I created the spell. I used some different variations of magic, made sure the jar wouldn’t break, temperature control…It’s simple in theory but harder in practice.” I said. Eric’s staring was only broken by him glancing at the jar every few seconds. “It only lasts for about an hour before I have to say the incantation again, and only I can activate it, but other than that it’s all yours. It follows the cycle of the sun, so when it’s close to going out, it deepens into a sunset.” I finished, twisting my fingers together nervously. 

We sat in silence, him staring at the jar as I watched him. I just took a mental snapshot of the look on his face. He was a fairly hard man to read but I knew him well enough to see where his mind was going. He was figuring out how hard it was to do this, the time and effort it took for me to do this, and then the reason why I would do this. See, that’s where he got confused. That’s what he couldn’t understand. Why I would care enough to go through all the trouble. 

“Eric?” I quietly asked. He had reached out to the jar, running his finger up and down the warm glass. His eyes reflected the light coming off of it, drinking it in. 

“I don’t really know what to say,” He mumbled, dragging his eyes from the jar back to me. “Thank you, for starters.” 

I shrugged, “It’s not that big of a deal.” 

Eric moved closer to me, our knees now touching. “You have no idea how much it means to me,” he said. His mouth moved but no words came out until he finally mumbled, “I’m actually speechless.” 

Now my blush had overtaken my neck, cheeks, and ears. “You don’t have to say anything. Honestly, I just wanted you to be happy. This is well worth it,” I mumbled. 

Eric grinned, leaning forward and cupping my cheek. “Y/n, I honestly don’t know how to thank you. This means so much to me, you have no idea.” Eric glanced down at my lips and my blush only deepened. “What do you call it?” 

“Lilla Solen. It’s swedish, for-” 

“Little sun,” Eric finished. I nodded. 

“Yeah, I thought it was fitting.” 

“Y/n”, Eric whispered, running his thumb on my cheek. Eric had slowly started to lean forward until we were only a breath apart. 

“Eric,” I whispered back. My eyes closed as he gently pressed his lips to mine in a chaste kiss. He pulled away and I opened my eyes, a grin stretching across my face. I grabbed his collar and pulled him back in for another longer kiss. 

“It’s about time,” I whispered when we broke apart again a few minutes later. Eric chuckled, swiping his finger over my slightly swollen lips. 

“I’d say. Pam said if I didn’t kiss you soon she’d lock me in the basement,” He said, rolling his eyes. 

I laughed, knowing the woman was serious about that. “That reminds me,” I said, pulling a smaller jar out of my pocket, “I made one for her too. It just isn’t as powerful.” 

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,” Eric said, taking the jar and putting it next to his. Eric wrapped his arms around me and pulled me towards him until we were both leaning back on the couch, facing the jar. 

I was tense for a moment before I relaxed into his hold, snuggling into his chest. Eric ran his hands up and down my back tracing little shapes. This was all very new behavior that I could very much get used to. 

“I didn’t know you spoke Swedish,” Eric said. 

“I don’t, but I just looked up the translation. I figured if I’m creating something new, the name should be enjoyed by the person I’m making it for.” I answered. 

“How long have you felt this way,” He asked, quietly. 

I took a moment to think about the answer. “Quite a while now. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make things awkward between us. And I never knew how you felt.” 

“I should have told you sooner,” Eric said. 

“It’s alright. At least we know now.” 

Eric was silent for a moment, “You know, this really does give me an excuse to keep you around. To light this thing every night,” He said. I could hear the grin in his voice. I looked up and he was giving me his classic Eric smirk. 

“Did you really need an excuse to keep me around?” I asked. 

Eric’s grin got wider and he leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead. “No, I was gonna keep you around anyway,” He mumbled. 

I laughed and lay my head back down on his chest, basking in the glow of the jar, and in Eric’s embrace. Yeah, this was definitely worth it. 

[thottyimagines]

In Naruto who moves on quickly vs who’s stuck on their ex for a long ass time even after they break up?

Amazing, wonderful question.

Onwards and upwards:

Ino would, I think, be very pragmatic about things once she gets older. If they don't want her/can't want her/are incompatible, then that's that. She can process and move on expeditiously.

Hashirama would wildly pretend to be over a lost love, and many would believe him.

Sasuke can be very "fuck it, we ball" if the ended relationship is shallow enough.

Tenten continues to be normal and move on accordingly, especially when it's young love.

Deidara jumps from love to love and doesn't feel (a) sad for his loss or (b) like his newfound love is shallower for the novelty.

Kankuro is gifted in leaving his exes in the past.

Genma may be willing to give many a chance, but once his goodwill has run out, he's all done.

Rock Lee would always honor and cherish past loves in his heart, but he would use the lessons he's learned from them to empower him into being the best possible partner to his new lover very soon.

Mired in the past:

Kakashi, who visits the Memorial Stone daily to not only think of his lost comrades, but also of his lost love and how both are all his fault for hours on end on the daily.

Naruto could never, ever get over a lost love. This whole series, in a way, his him wildly chasing a lost love.

Kurenai and Asuma both have some sort of mutual pining situation going on that makes me feel that they are unlikely to move on, especially considering Kurenai's status in the new series.

Hinata bases so much of herself around caring for someone else, I can't imagine her realistically moving on.

Kiba can only get over someone once Akamaru stops searching for their scent. This can take...well, a lot of time. But once it's done, it's done.

Let's finish up Team 8: Shino can't move on, once he's let his walls down. It's so difficult to get there, he can't imagine doing it all over again.

Shikamaru is pragmatic enough to know if he has to love again (re: clan things), but he shan't put care into it.

Konan will honor a lost love in every gesture for the rest of her life, whether or not this lost love is also still alive and kicking.

The Sannin! Orochimaru, Tsunade, and Jiraiya all kind of live via references to and honoring of one another, no matter how far apart they are. They love and hate and love one another in such wildly toxic, intense measures that there could never be room for anyone else in the kind of space the others occupy. God, I'd love to make a long post on them one day.

[marmaladeinlemonade]

Event tickets in sky were never going to work anyway.

It's way too good to be true; a currency that cannot be transferred across events or into candles/hearts for the sole purpose of making event cosmetics easier to obtain, that is collected by participating in the event itself? Thats already fishy enough by tgc's standards.

Thatgamecompany has a habit of making short term solutions for long term problems because of the sheer amount of content they make yearly, leaving less room to optimize regular gameplay. ET has probably been the most apparent example of this. (MAAAAJOR YAP SESSION AHEAD!)

When event tickets were first released, I was ecstatic. I was already struggling to keep up with Days of Bloom and Mischief since I have taken many breaks from sky, but I couldn't begin to fathom how the prices may feel to a new player. I also hated picking and choosing between what items to buy simply because i didn't dedicate the past two weeks so candlerunning alone. Hopefully this new addition of ET would take off that load and i can enjoy the following events to it's fullest, and well, I did.

For the first year that is. These cosmetics that costed ET were damn near free for me. Yet, in the back of my head i always wondered what would happen the following year once these ET cosmetics came back, alongside the new ones that were to be released. Would they cost just as much ET as last year's items? Then collecting ET would only get more stressful and inflate its value. Would the past items go away? That is unfair to new players and pushes FOMO to get everything every year.

Maybe the total price could stay the same but older items depreciate each year as newer ones release, making the oldest ones the cheapest.

And to my great surprise as i look at beta logs for this year's days of summer, not a single item from the year before is under 90 candles! How could this possibly be fair to new players who are trying to enjoy sky for what it is and get items? I've seen some people argue that the player has the choice to not get all cosmetics, which is true, but I'd like to show you what thought process is implied with this system. Think:

"We know you don't fully know your way around sky's economy, or don't have the time to grind everyday, but for this year only these new items are free just by participating in the event! And if you don't, for any reason, the price of the items will be worth 3-6 hours of candlerunning on top of MORE cosmetics! But it's all up to you!"

This isn't to say us as a playerbase have zero autonomy, but i hope you can see how FOMO is enforced when you add a currency with zero value outside of an annual 2 week event that gives players a "now or never" mindset. This is great in the moment, it pushes people to participate! Yet, this ruthlessly punishes players who aren't available for any reason, even those who weren't aware of sky before joining.

Sky is still a new game. Event tickets were only introduced a year ago, but if tgc keeps going down this economic pattern then imagine the amount of cosmetics locked away from new players, or players who took breaks, because of this exponential increase in pricing!

This is a more subjective opinion- but let me be honest; these cosmetics are not worth their candle/heart prices.

I was lucky enough to get all the days of style and days of summer items from last year for ET and i barely wore them, i can only imagine ONE item from each event being rewearable. I didn't mind though because i knew the towel capes and silly glasses were nice starter items for moths, but it's not even moth friendly anymore?! In the past only items that were in high demand were priced outrageously like rhythm and lightseeker TS, and now I'm spending extra for a purple top hat that doesn't even match any of the other purples in this game☠️☠️ you're getting less bang for your buck with a 110 candle towel cape bro

And lastly, there are other issues I've seen in sky that i would say are parallel to this whole event ticket situation. The time gaps between seasons have grown significantly smaller, and each seasonal update has been saturated with glitches and disappointment. Season of the Nine-Colored Deer is another very apparent example of this for me. The castle and crescent lake is done beautifully and the quests are decent, but no one is returning to the area. The rest of the town is empty and awkward, and half the map is in a canyon where you spawn so it's already a good 2-3 minutes getting out of that area alone. The place is just rushed. Its inconvenient.

Ill be posting a poll right after this post, but me personally i would not mind having 3 seasons a year if it meant higher quality content and more breaks from events. More spirits that are well thought out, detailed seasonal quests that arent cleanups or scavenger hunts, less quantity but higher quality cosmetics and emotes, and elder appearances! It's clear that tgc has a more complex world design outside of Sky: cotl when we look at The Two Embers, but that the energy it takes to make it in game is placed elsewhere.

Thatgamecompany is pushing out more content than they ever have before and I think their work is starting to crumble under the weight.

If you made it here THANK YOU!!! you're a lifesaver, theres so much that i want to say and i really hope a lot of skids see this post so that we can get a cohesive discussion going❤️

[groovyfrog420]

SV Redeemed AU

INTRODUCTION / DISCLAIMER

First things first, these designs for Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla are FAR into the future. Quite literally end game phase of the story, the “they grow old together and live happily ever after”. There's a long way to get there, and while I will write some of my thoughts about their journey, I'm a shitty writer. There's no single thought-out plot, it's just bits and pieces of my thoughts in one place. 

I don't think I'd be making a tag or naming this AU anything specific. I'm still calling it an AU because there is a bit of canon divergence, but I don’t have a start-to-finish story. (EDIT: wellp that lasted long. new name is #False-Truth AU because I like the oxymoron. I still don't think I'll do much - maybe a few short comics, which you'll be able to find under that tag on my profile)

Keep in mind that these are just my own interpretations, if you imagine these cookies acting differently, that's ok! This is just my own made-up alternate version

LONG POST UNDER THE CUT - don't say I didn't warn ya

I’ve tried to divide it into sections, so if you are looking for just smth specific / only care about one of the characters, you can skip right to it!

Prepare for the ramblings. 

PURE VANILLA'S DESIGN 

more relaxed now - doesn’t need to keep up perfect appearances and the image of a hero, so he can lay back a bit more. (messier, less perfectly styled hair - more like his younger years. comfier clothes.) 

focusing on herbology - with less power now (why explained below) and trying to not overwork himself, he’s taken to different healing methods, as well as taking on gardening as a hobby

slightly more open eyes - (heavily elaborated on bellow) 

different staff - due to being able to use his own eyes more now, as well as staying more on the low, he’d decided to retire the famous staff. Since it’s a flower, it was planted somewhere and allowed to blossom and grow freely - fitting symbolism for a new beginning, I think. The lantern light glowing blue makes it easier on his eyes.

PV STORY BITS 

In this AU Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla retire together. I think PV would still like to teach, but would focus more on the medical and practical side of things, like herbs and healing practices. (He’ll leave telling tales about the past  to Shadow Milk, though he might throw in his own comments from time to time…) He mostly offers advice and shares every-day methods for protection of different kinds with those who ask, but may take on an apprentice or few to fully pass down his healing knowledge to. He uses magic sparingly now. 

This way with not focusing on a variety of subjects and many, many students, he’s able to rest more and doesn’t have to split himself between multiple worries. He can focus properly and give his students more individual attention, to make sure his knowledge will be retained for the future. 

Eyes

(don't jump me pls read the footnote) 

I've decided to take the closed/covered eyes motif PV has in a bit more symbolic way *. I want to interpret it as PV being blind (=ignorant) to the world around him, choosing to see the world and his own actions in an idealized light, and to look away from anything that doesn't fit that idea. Light sensitivity would be very ironic yet fitting - since his own powers are very light-based, by using them to help others he’d be blindinding/hurting himself in the process... 

Over time, he realizes how futile it is. Even if he turns his eyes away from the wrongdoing in the world, from his own mistakes and imperfections, they will still continue to happen. He begins to understand that he has to accept that neither he nor the world is perfect, to stop wallowing over the past and start fixing the present. To keep moving forward and keep working on himself, not hide his imperfections under literal and figurative wraps. 

With the help of Shadow Milk, he begins to open his eyes more and more and accept the real truth, no matter how imperfect it is. 

*I’m not sure how confirmed it was in canon that he’s blind (from what I’ve seen it was mostly implied, but still). I'm not erasing that - for the sake of this AU, I'd like to say that he has partial issues with sight (including the mentioned light sensitivity), but now he learns to accommodate them rather than ignore them and hurt himself more for the sake of others. No, he doesn't magically gain full sight now, but he's more comfortable, healthier, and more honest about the world around him with all of its imperfections. 

Burnout

I believe SM and PV complete each other so perfectly because they can help each other grow in areas where the other is lacking/struggling. With PV, I’d like to focus on burnout, false ideas, and how the pressure he’s constantly under has affected him. He was very much just a normal guy before receiving his Soul Jam. Years beyond a normal cookie’s lifespan of hard work and trying to be the perfect leader, to always ensure the happiness of all his people (whether that be as king or otherwise) are bound to take a toll on anyone. Obviously he'd never admit that, always putting everyone else before his own needs, and he’d likely run himself into the grave. That's where I think Shadow Milk would be helpful - he’d make him realize how unsustainable what he’s doing really is. He wasn’t built for handling immense power for all of eternity, he’s just a single cookie and whether he likes it or not, he can’t save everyone or make every single one of his people happy... Being selfish isn’t entirely wrong, sometimes might even be necessary. 

Onto the idea of false truth - Pure Vanilla has a very idealized view of a lot of things and people. He’s trying to see everyone in the best light, but he also holds a high standard for himself - that he must be the ideal, shining and caring hero and a beacon of perfection . Shadow Milk is likely to pick that image apart - probably not in the kindest way, saying that in trying to be perfectly selfless, PV is putting himself on the pedestal above everyone else while still being just a single cookie with limited capabilities. He’d likely call this image egoistical, and while PV would argue that he’s doing it for the good of others (he is helping after all, right?), Shadow Milk wouldn’t be entirely wrong - this way of thinking, that he’s the one who must take care of everyone else, is harmful for both him and the ones he’s trying to protect. 

Shadow Milk would show him that truth is relative, that “pure truth” doesn’t exist, for anyone could interpret it differently. That PV isn’t (and doesn't have to be) the perfect blameless hero. That his people aren’t as good or pure as he’d like to give them credit for, but neither are they helpless. 

Shadow Milk metaphorically and literally helps him open his eyes - he slowly learns to lay back, to accept the reality and “truth”, whatever it may be, and is no longer blinding and burning himself out by trying to help everyone at once. With a new mindset and outlook of the world, he can allow himself to retire, and leave a calmer, out-of-the-spotlight life. 

Retirement

Ok, controversial idea, but I think the ancients will have to one day retire and pass down their SoulJams. Yes, I played Cookie Odyssey, I know how important it is to them, but hear me out. As I said above (which is shown in the game btw, but correct me if I'm wrong), they were just normal cookies before taking on the roles of the Ancient Heros. Cookies with high achievements, yes, but still. They aren’t The Beasts, baked specifically for the purpose of handling the Soul Jams, and even then, The Beasts weren’t perfect. I’m not saying they’re bound to get corrupted like their predecessors did, but I am saying that this role is bound to take a toll on them. Not even just from the perspective of power, even just handling so many responsibilities with running their kingdoms is going to be extremely draining mentally. (Physically likely too, even if they’re said to stay “always young” thanks to the Soul Jams - many stories teach that you can’t mess with nature and that nothing lasts forever...)

I don’t know who they’d pass the Soul Jams along too - whether that’d be Gingerbrave and his friends, or a new batch of heroes, that is to be decided. The point is, they have served their purpose, they have (from the perspective of this AU) defeated Dark Enchantress, and deserve to now leave the rest of  their lives in peace.

SHADOW MILK'S DESIGN 

“mellowed out” a bit - continues to be eccentric and dramatic, but less manic

still unsettling - most level-headed cookies upon meeting him immediately get a feeling that there's something.. off about him, even if they can't put their finger on it. (I purposefully left some of his corrupted design elements or callbacks to them, like the marking over his eye, for that reason) 

vibrant, colorful, very extra in both behavior and looks, everything he does he does with drama and flourish 

quiets down when out of the eyes of the public, or alone with Pure Vanilla 

peacock elements - fitting for someone with such a vibrant personality. also the eye connection is perfect - if you look closely at the feather he's wearing, you might even notice a familiar symbol in its “eye”

a playful bard - (elaborated heavily bellow) - an identity allows him to enjoy his favorite activities, while also being a slight callback to his academic past 

SM STORY BITS

The bard 

While spending more time with Pure Vanilla, PV encouraged him to pursue his creative interests. Partly to have smth to get SM’s mind off of causing chaos, and partly because they let him indulge and express himself without causing any serious damage. Now he’s joined PV in retirement, though still not fully stepping down from the stage.

Being a bard allows Shadow Milk to indulge in everything he likes most: being the center of attention, dramatics, theatrics, mischief, a tasteful dose of lies and half-truths, but also, in a way, calling back to his past self: for while a lot of his stories are made-up tales, he can also share the history of Earthbread that he’s witnessed. Yes, he may do so through over-dramatic performances or behind caricatural characters, but every tale holds a grain of truth, does it not? Whether his audience chooses to believe him or not is their choice to make.

Referencing the fact that a big part of human history survived through word of mouth, and how storytellers play an important role in preserving it, I think it’s only fitting to make him a bard.

About visual choices

I made his redeemed design less chaotic and asymmetrical, but still vibrant and based mostly on his current color palette, rather than the one from Blueberry Academy. That's because while he may be rediscovering his interests from the past, he’s not the person he was before corruption and never will be again. Instead, he too is learning to rediscover the world in a new light, with a new identity. 

Visually I’ve tried to keep some elements from his current design, if slightly toned down: a wide collar, puffy sleeves, a flowy cape. Elements of his corruption are also still there: different colored sclera (= his one eye being black), the sharp teeth. He may have settled down and calmed down slightly, but he remains as playful as ever :)) 

He still causes local chaos once in a while or resorts to pranking unsuspecting cookies nearby (the slight charring at the bottom of PV’s robe is a result of one of such pranks getting out of hand), and PV has accepted that he'll never be a calm, put-together cookie he once might have been. However, SM's learned to not be a danger to others for the sake of the one he cares about the most, and that's enough for the both of them. 

And that's all for now! If you've managed to get this far, thank you SO much for your patience, I hope you've enjoyed my thoughts and brainworms <3

[koishiro]

𝑬𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 | 방탄소년단 📍

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Jungkook just wants to take care of you and if that means he needs to join you in the bath then so be it

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : Jungkook x fem!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : fluff/smut

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : Jungkook has a kink for dom reader, penetration, unprotected sex, cumming inside

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒍 : reader’s nickname is cat because I had too many puns to use im sorry- (it’s explained I promise :’))

main masterlist | kpop masterlist | upcoming anon asks

"Baths ready" I heard echo out of the bathroom.

"Thank you" I mumbled, getting up from the bed, slower this time.

The bath was aromatic, full of bubbles and looked so peaceful. I leaned against the door frame closing my eyes.

"Cat, are you going to be ok in there?" He questioned softly.

"I'm fine" I snapped back to reality. I was aware of my stubborn determination to be self sufficient, especially after having a panic attack.

"It's okay to need help" Again the soft tone of his voice irked at my independence.

"I'm fully capable of having a bath, what are you going to do? join me? It's ok, I've got this" I said trying and failing to unzip the back of my dress.

"If that's what it takes to know you’re okay? Then yes” If I hadn't just burnt out all my brains reserves of adrenalin having a panic attack, I'm positive my mind would have been running a thousand miles an hour, but for the first time in a long time, it wasn't. I was entirely focused on the basic things - like how relaxing the bath looked and how good it would feel to wash my face and hair. I still had some wits about me, as romantic as the concept of having a bath together was, and despite how my body was reacting to the idea, I wasn't necessarily in the right headspace for anything intimate; I tried to make that thought process clear.

"It can't be anything. But, yeah, I'd appreciate the company. I don't really want to be alone right now" I offered honestly, "but you can't look”

"I know" He sighed, "Not like this, this is not how I ever imagined it Y/n, I sincerely just want to make sure you're okay”

"Not like this...?" I repeated what he said. My brain and heart took a double take as I stared up at him. He'd thought about it, he'd thought about us. "Okay, I'm not looking” He turned around, embarrassed.

I slipped out of my clothes and slowly hopped into the bath. It was gigantic, so full of bubbles. The water sitting almost at my shoulders, I was able to easily sit sideways with my knees up to my chest.

"Okay, you can look”

"Aw you look so small” he noted, sitting next to the bath.

"I thought you were going to join me?"

"Ah, it's okay, I'll just keep you company, I really want to let you have space” He reached and scooped up a handful of bubbles, placing them on my head "Cat in a hat”

I took a hand full of bubbles and blew into it, spraying him with them, he laughed and sighed.

I turned to lie and stretch out in the bath, considering I had it all to myself, I thought it best to make the most of it. He leaned against the tub and played videos on his phone to keep us both amused, occasionally splashing me.

"You know you actually need to wash yourself in the bath?" he joked.

My eyes fluttered open and shut again, "’m just so tired, you said to relax" I twisted his words to fit my agenda.

"Come on, wake up!" he splashed my face.

"No, you wake up” I lazily splashed him back.

"We can't hide in here all day" Splash.

"You can't hide in here all day," I splashed him again "This is my home now”

"I thought Cats hated water” Splash.

"It's a myth, I'm a purrmaid now" I stretched out, enjoying my terrible pun and attempting to ignore the barrage of water attacks.

He splashed me just for the bad joke, he sat there looking a little angry and wet "That's it! Cat-tatonic, you can't stay in there forever” he got up and left the room.

"I can and I will!" I yelled after him.

I didn't feel bad about it at all. I lied back again, closing my eyes and enjoying the peace, trying desperately not to accidentally fall asleep.

He sauntered back a few minutes later wearing a towel. With all the photos and videos he'd sent me over the years I'd never actually seen him shirtless. I drank it in for a minute, his shoulders and arms were my favourite part, muscular with one full sleeve of tattoos.

"Hey, hey, hey, no looking” he laughed and I covered my face with my hands, clearly still looking. "Cat, this is kind of nerve wrecking, please?"

"Okay, okay, okay, just saying, I don't understand why. You’re hot so” I turned away from him, this was difficult, I could have stared for decades, etching his physique into my mind like stone.

"Now schooch over," he demanded, "If you're never getting out, I'm getting in”

I moved forward in the bath and he stepped in, sitting behind me, making the water rise and splash a little over the edge.

"OK, you were right, this is pretty relaxing. Well, pretty and relaxing”

I looked back and smiled at him, he always got to me with his sneaky compliments.

"Alright now, come here" he said, I backed up little so I was sitting between his legs but not fully against him, I felt a sudden cold on my head.

"What are you...?"

He was washing my hair, I was confused but okay with it.

"Since you're determined to just sit and do nothing, we'll be here for ever, so I'll do it” He started to massage the shampoo into my hair, It was a nice feeling, I'd only had hair dressers ever do this and it wasn't like they actually got in a bath with you. It felt so intimate and caring, his hands massaging my tired head. I was close to melting down the drain with the water at that point, I was so at peace. I certainly didn't expect him to randomly blast the conditioner out with the shower head set to cold.

I screamed and turned awkwardly in his lap "You bastard!"

He was just smiling that dumb fucking smile that he always used to get away with anything. I put my knees on his legs to gain purchase and grabbed his throat lightly. I suddenly noticed he was looking down, not at my face. In my attempt to be threatening, I was giving him a full view of my breasts, nipples perky as the cold water dripped down my body. Something about the way I'd grabbed him dominantly stirred something inside me, something I didn't know was there.

"If this is how I die I'm 100% fine with it" he gleamed.

"Ah, you pervert" I teased, dropping back down into the water and turning my back to him quickly. Deflecting my own thoughts yet still sitting between his legs again, choosing to be closer this time.

"hey, I did nothing”

"Sure”

He got a loofa and started scrubbing my back gently

"This is kinda weird right?" I said thinking aloud, my brain starting to work again.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Not at all, but I mean, we've sorta just met”

"We've been friends for eight years" He said defensively.

"Online though" I reminded him. "So have you bathed Taehyung?" I was referring to one of our mutual male friends.

"No, but he's never refused to get out of a bathtub before, I guess this is a new one” he laughed, "Arm up”

I raised my arm, he glided the loofa up and down, washing it, then proceeded down the side of my body, grazing my breast and hip.

"Other one”

Same thing again, one of his hands had snaked its way to resting on my waist, I wasn't sure why it was so intensely comfortable but also so present in my mind. All the physical touch in such a gentle caring manner was turning me on a lot more then I expected.

"Do you want to do the rest? Or do you want me to?" He questioned, it had become apparent the next parts would be very intimate. I slid back against him so my back was on his chest.

"Is it weird I'm enjoying this? this is so relaxing and..." I paused, changing my thought pattern "I can do it if you don't want to?"

"Not weird at all, I just don't want to make you uncomfortable. I'm so glad you’re feeling better" he pulled my waist towards him so I was fully pressed against him for a hug. He body felt good against mine, his arms felt strong wrapped around me. The bubbles, the water, all adding an extra layer of sensation. I knew he was being kind but it was impossible to not notice that he was absolutely turned on, I could feel him so hard against my back.

"Seems like your feeling pretty good yourself" I giggled.

"Hey, I really can't help it, it doesn't have to mean anything. I just, can't..." he paused for a moment to collect his words "I cant control what my body feels with you naked. Just ignore it, I promised I wouldn't do anything but help you”

"I think I understand the feeling” I sighed quietly to myself.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing... you missed a spot" I said handing him the loofa again.

He slowly washed my shoulders and collar bone, then skipped to my waist and stomach, he started mirroring what he was doing with his hand on one side, loofa in the other and occasionally swapping. It was slow and sensual, it felt like he was exploring my body. At a leisurely pace he moved to my legs and thighs, stopping just short of anything too intimate. I knew it wasn't intentional, but it felt like teasing and it was driving me wild, I could tell how wet I was even in the water. I was aware of my pulse in my pussy as he ran his hands up my inner thighs. I could feel his cock getting even harder, I wasn't sure that was possible when I had first lied back against him.

He moved his hands up to my breasts, finally. I wiggled my ass, just a little, back into him. I was testing the waters, feeling his cock twitch against me, his breathing got heavier and faster. He slowly caressed my breasts, at first appearing to wash them but after a minute had past and his hands still lingered, I was sure he was just enjoying them.

"I don't mind at all" I said, wanting to give him some confirmation that I was enjoying the attention to detail, I leant my head back against his chest and closed my eyes to enjoy the sensation. He let the loofa go and slid his hands around, slowly squeezing and massaging my chest. Letting his fingers glide over my nipples, which were getting harder at his touch. He intermittently pinched each one, I moaned a little, not intending to, but rather unable to controll it. His hands started to take turns at exploring more of my body.

"You're really beautiful and soft, you feel amazing" he sighed in my ear.

In a lot of ways I wanted it to stop but I also couldn't seem to say no. I was so heavily conflicted between my attraction and fear of the level of intensity. I'd always been scared of Jungkook in that way, I always felt like I'd die of thirst without his attention, but I also felt like I'd drown in the emotion attached to it. He had, and probably always would be 'The one', as stupid as that sounded. He wasn't the guy I imagined fucking without strings attached, he was so much more to me. He came with the dream of the life after, the simple life; full of laughter and light. We'd spent eight years talking online everyday, never tiring, never losing interest. He even kept calling me Cat, part of my online tag, after telling him my name years later. He was always a passing ship in the night, one of us always in a relationship, the unobtainable and that felt so safe. However, right now, we were both alone, together. Everything about him felt so right, his hands on my body, his presence, the way we fit together so well, just lying on him watching TV or even now, in the bath, it just felt so much like I was a part of him and he was a part of me.

I tensed up and he felt it, he stopped touching me instantly.

"Y/n, are you ok?" He didn't say Cat, he used my actual name not the nickname he always called me.

"I just..." I turned in the water, sitting up and slipping my legs over his to face him, "Can we do this?"

"Only if you want to?" He looked at me puzzled.

"I mean, with you? can it be casual? Isn't it always going to be more?"

"Cat, it can mean whatever you want it to, or I can stop right now if you want and I'll go get dressed. You know how I've always felt about you, but also, I respect you. It can just be fun, if that's all you want at the moment. I've never been able to do this kind of thing without the connection, but I already have that with you and nothing will ruin that. All I can think in this moment is that fucking you would feel right, for once Cat, don't overthink”

I stared at him intensely. Was he just saying what I wanted to hear? Am I going to hurt him? am I going to hurt us? This is the type of thing that's going to invoke a few days worth of reckless behaviour from me and I was well aware of my patterns.

"I really want to," I admitted "my body is screaming at me to, but, I don't want to hurt you” I was watching his face intently for any sign that this could be wrong.

"I rather be hurt 1000 times than never feel you," he put his hands back on my hips starting to pull me down onto his lap. "I need to know what it feels like to be inside you, I need to watch your perfect body bounce, I need to see your face as you feel me inch by inch, I don't care about myself right now. I need to know what it feels like to make you cum”

Fuck, he knew how to talk when he wanted to. He knew what was in my head and he knew how I felt. He also knew I wasn't going to back down now. I hated that he knew me. I couldn't help myself, I managed to lie to myself in that moment, maybe it could just be fun, maybe it wouldn't have an effect on the dynamic of our friendship.

We'd talked a lot about sex with the distance keeping us safe, some nights spent exchanging fantasies, messages and videos. I knew everything about what he wanted, the magic words that would tip the scales for him, and he knew everything about how my body worked and what I might do. We both knew I was far more experienced, him only having a few sexual partners in the past worried me, but not enough to stop me. The logical part of my brain had shut down. I needed to be the dominant one here, I needed to show him. He could talk smoother then I ever could, but I could use my body.

"Cat we don't have to- " I cut him off and grabbed his throat, I enjoyed that feeling earlier, I wanted to try it again. I pulled myself to him and kissed him deeply, his hand raised to mine in shock but he relented and kissed me back. I kneeled over him and used my other hand to stroke his hard cock under the water. His hands slid across my body, I'm not sure he knew what to do with my sudden assault on his senses. I felt him moan into my kiss as I moved my hand up and down the length of his shaft, taking my time to rub slowly around his head, feeling it twitch in response. I released my grip off his neck and used my hand to move his hands to my ass which was hovering over him, he seemed to follow the motions amazingly. I continued to stroke his cock, surprised that it was larger then I expected.

I climbed further onto him sliding the head of his cock gently up and down, from my entrance to my clit, as I kept up the motion of sliding my hand up and down his shaft. He was starting to put pressure on my hips, begging to get inside me each time I slid up and down on him. The wetness of my cunt so different to the water of the bath. I teased him with each movement as I used his dick as a toy for my own stimulation, I wanted him to force me down onto it, he seemed to yield finally, grabbing my hips properly and pulling me onto him, inch by inch. I'd been turned on for the entire bath, I felt so swollen and as he forced his way in we both gasped, breaking the passionate kiss, locked into inhaling each others breath. By the time he was fully sheathed inside of me I was almost shaking, he fit so well, I wasn't going to last long at all. I kissed him again, biting his lip and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

I started riding him like my life depended on it, like every groan he made brought me closer to an edge I was ready to fall off a thousand times. I grinded harder against him, wanting to be so full I would never need to be fucked again, and it worked so well, up and down, him enjoying my bubble covered breasts as they bounced in his face. I felt the familiar build up of my orgasm coming on as I rode harder and faster. I gripped him tighter as my pussy clenched around his cock, unable to keep my mouth shut I let out a very audible moan of pleasure, I leant back enjoying the after shocks of my orgasm.

He seemed to be enjoying the expression on my face before he got a serious look, grabbing my hips harder then before and using my body. Jungkook was stronger than I expected, I wasn't doing any of the work anymore, just enjoying feeling him lift me and pull me back down onto him as the water splashed around us and his face started to tense.

I slid my hand back under water to rub my clit, if he was coming, I'd be damned if I wasn't going to come again with him. It wasn't hard for me to get close again, he was so focused, grunting and fucking me hard, I was loving the view, the way his arms and body tensed, the focus on his face, the way he threw his head back, moving me like I weighed nothing, grinding his hips up to mine.

I knew what would get him there, from every fantasy he'd sent me and I knew he'd fucking love it and hate it.

"You have to pull out, I'm not on birth control” I teased at him, he agreed and started going harder then before, I could feel him twitching inside me, I knew I was going to cum when he did. I wrapped my arms around him and started fucking him back again, our hips meeting. He was starting to shake, he stopped suddenly.

"I'm going to cum, I have to stop" He gasped, I knew what we both wanted to hear. I grabbed his throat again and held onto his back as tight as I could, continuing to grind against him as deeply as I could.

"Don't you fucking dare, I'm not letting go, you're going to fill me or we'll never do this again”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up with a touch of fear and excitement as he gave in, finally thrusting back knowing that I needed his seed, it only took a moment and I felt him explode inside me, shooting layer after layer of warm cum into me. My body fucking loved it, exploding into an orgasm that just kept clenching for what felt like minutes around his cock as it pulsed.

I let my grip loosen as I let my head fall against his, having an exhausted giggle, he smiled and laughed with me, wrapping his arms around my body and occasionally thrusting to see my face as we recovered our breath.

"You can't do that or I'm going to need to cum again" I breathed, trying to lift myself off him, he held me down.

"Do it” he whispered with an evil grin, I started to grind on him softly, it wasn't going to take much. He leant me back and watched me, finally using his fingers to rub my clit, as my breasts bounced freely and he met each of my thrusts again, he was watching me so intimately but I couldn't keep my eyes open. It was happening again, I gasped and held his arms tightly as I shuddered with another orgasm. He seemed so pleased with himself, kissing me again softy down my neck.

"You're mine," he whispered, moving my hair from my face.

That surprised me, but more in a way that I enjoyed. We both got out of the bath and wrapped ourselves in towels.

The bathroom was completely flooded, I giggled and bent to pick up my wet clothes. I felt his hand lift my towel at the back as I did, still bent over I looked back at him confused.

"Just admiring my work" he smiled that damn smile again, it always amazed me how confident men got after you fulfilled a fantasy. I moved into a presenting pose and let him enjoy the view of his cum dripping from my pussy for a moment, he slicked his finger up and down my slit.

"hey, no touching unless your prepared to finish the job again”

He kept going, sliding his fingers back and forth over my clit before sliding his fingers inside of me, pushing his dripping cum back in. This man was determined to make sure I couldn't think for a week.

But that's when we heard a knock at the door.

─────────. ♡ .───────────

a/n: I doubt I’m going to make a pt 2… :)

𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

[disarmd]

would you mind sharing a little bit of what you have written so far? or it’s too soon? i’m so exited for the sadness 🤲🏻

anyway don’t worry i don’t want to disturb your process

i'd be glad to, nonnie, thanks for asking!

In Abidance, Part Two (1.1k words), follows Part One, Oscar/Mark and Oscar&Lando currently. Content warnings for non con sex slaves chastity belt verse, as well as self-injury and suicidal ideation. Happy to answer any questions about content.

Part One

Lando visited more now that the weather was better, but not often. He was busy with his chicken racing, and though he’d invited Oscar to come watch or help or just hold a chicken, Oscar didn’t have means of making his way over and he was reluctant to ask if Lando could send for a carriage. He didn’t want Daniel to find out and then stop Lando from coming at all. 

He wrote sometimes. Not actual letters to Lando, who had never taken to reading, but the mimicry of it. The letters he would have written to Lando, had that been a thing he could do. He didn’t have parchment, but he snuck a box of old books when Mark was clearing out his den, and, after reading them all thrice, wrote by hand opposite the printed text. 

Dear Lando, Today I pretended to be you. I thought of the easy way you could make anyone like you, even when they wanted to be mad, and I pretended I was wearing your face instead of my own. It didn’t work, because of course I don’t have your face, but I might keep trying anyway. I wish – and then Oscar ran out of words and pressed the pages shut without waiting for the ink to dry. 

–

The grand stairwell was almost as wide as Oscar was tall and built of wood with contrasting grain. Oscar sat on the step and imagined he was an ant, shrunk down so small that he was the same width as the grain. Slowly, carefully – because if he lost his place he had to start from the beginning – he traced his way across the width of the stair, following the grain. Sometimes it spun round on itself where the tree had knotted. Sometimes the grain faded into another one, which meant that lap was done. 

It took Oscar many days to complete each stair. If he felt he was going too quickly, he’d stop playing for the day. Best was when the grain had a complicated sort of waver but still managed to be traceable all the way from side to side. He kept count in his head of how many grains down the step he was, but if he lost count, he started from the bottom again. The grain would have been very interesting to something as small as an ant. It would seem to something so tiny that there was a lot to look at and think about. 

He was still nearer to the top than the bottom, having just completed three half-laps, where the grain terminated midway in a furled knot. The little brain tickle of going round and round, imagining his ant-self spinning like a top. His back ached from being so bent over. He straightened, large again. The staircase back to being functional instead of a game. 

He was still nearer to the top than the bottom but he was getting close to the middle and after that every step would just take him closer to the end of the game. And then what would he do? 

The magnitude of it felt staggering, the sudden rush of vertigo: he was sat on the stair but it was also dropped down to the bottom, and it was just imagination until it wasn’t. The dizziness overwhelmed. He tumbled down the staircase. 

He processed on a delay, time slowing in a way that fragmented events. He was falling a little, but maybe he could stop. He was falling or he was sliding. He might be able to halt his momentum, but he didn’t, and then he hit the floor. Nothing hurt, which didn’t seem right. He pulled his legs in, one at a time, and then his arms. The pain came on a delay, but it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t bad enough to freeze him in place, but still it was a long, long time before he could convince himself to move. Not until he heard footsteps and had to scamper away to his room before he got caught. 

–

He couldn’t play any more after that. Impossible to think of the stairs without also thinking of falling. Even when he was just walking on them as intended, his brain was seized on the idea. He imagined himself falling from the very top: the distance being greater, the landing being more awful. He kept turning around his actual fall. He would have said he’d slipped, of course, but even in the privacy of his own mind, he didn’t know if that was true. It was strange not to be certain. Made it hard to feel safe, even when he was all by himself. 

–

Mark and his children went away for the entire summer. The house staffed minimally, Oscar could go anywhere he wanted with little risk of being seen. 

There was a nice pond, landscaped borders, blooming lilypads, and Oscar folded boats out of ripped pages from salvaged books and watched them sail around. He made different models to see if they sailed differently, and imagined the pond transformed into a regatta. He stood watching under the drumming heat of August sun, the breezeless air doing nothing to propel the boats, until the day was done and his skin had burned almost purple. 

He’d made a few special boats that he was saving for when Lando came, but it was difficult for him to get away since his chicken racing scheme had taken off. The burn took a long time to heal, and he was still peeling when Lando rode in. Lando said he’d bring a salve next time, and Oscar said thanks even though he knew it would be pointless by the time Lando returned. 

But instead, Lando, again, the next day. Twice in a row, which had never happened before. The house was empty, so Lando came inside and rubbed salve over Oscar’s sunburn and then, “Just in case,” the whole rest of his back, which made him uncomfortably sticky, but still Oscar said yes when Lando asked if he wanted his legs done as well. Lando didn’t say anything about the scars on his ankles, even though Oscar was sure he’d noticed because he went back for extra salve. 

It was nice, so Oscar didn’t know why he felt so wretched that night. Even the sunburn seemed to hurt worse, which didn’t make sense. Twice in a row should have set him up for a month. It shouldn’t have been such a disappointment – or indeed a disappointment at all – when Lando didn’t show up the next day.