#me <- no knowledge of plumbing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

evilminji · 4 months

Text

Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?

Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆

But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.

So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:

Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.

When will it ever end!

He's... he's honestly used it.

Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.

It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.

His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.

(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)

But THEN...

The Accident.

And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.

Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."

When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.

"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"

How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.

When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...

They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.

Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.

...

.....

He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.

He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.

But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.

His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.

It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.

But...

But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.

Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!

Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?

Breakfast blend? And a bagel..

N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?

......oh.

It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.

Tea.

He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.

He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.

The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.

They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)

Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.

The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.

The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*

*sighs in medical professional*

Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.

👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.

He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.

And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.

His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.

But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.

They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.

It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.

He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?

Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.

Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.

She's not WRONG... but hey D:<

Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.

She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.

Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....

Sam?

Oh FUCK ™.

By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.

>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.

Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!

Wtf!

Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?

Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?

"The Zone".

In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....

It stays untouched for MONTHS.

Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.

Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.

Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.

There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?

Anyone who tries to cause trouble?

Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.

Which off course!

Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.

After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.

@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #Tea Shop of Mysteries AU #alfred pennyworth

2K notes · View notes

kosagum · 3 months

Text

how to fix a toilet — gojo satoru · fluff · 1k words

summary: while moving in with gojo, you fall in love with him again, again, again.

you’re watching GOJO fix a toilet and you think you’ve never been so in love in your life.

of course, you have loved him. but you haven’t gotten to love him like this, standing over the open tank of a toilet with a hand running through his white hair and a pout on his lips as he, with no knowledge about plumbing or waterworks or even toilet repair, tries to fix one.

you should be unpacking in another room, but instead, you lean against the doorway to the bathroom and just…watch him. that is, until he speaks up.

“baby, can’t we call a plumber?” gojo whines, peering into the toilet tank with one hand sifting through the toolbox at his feet. you stifle a giggle behind his back when he picks up a wrench, eyeing it with a frown.

“nope.” you certainly could, but you want to keep him like this longer. “you said you’d fix the toilet if it broke, and it broke. that’s the only reason i agreed to move in with you.”

“the only reason?” gojo looks over his shoulder at you and gapes. “not because i’m your boyfriend?”

that makes you smile, but that’s not it, either.

you’d been all but living together before this; you’d find his socks in your dryer and your favorite snacks in his pantry, he had a spare toothbrush in the cup by your sink and you had one in his, and you both wore the clothes—his jackets, your coats and sweaters—hanging side by side in your closet.

gojo begged you to move in with him every day. and finally, when you realized you didn’t want to live in a home without his socks, his toothbrush, or his jackets, without him, you said yes.

really, there’s no one else you’d rather move in with.

you pretend to think, listing with your fingers as gojo’s gape gives in to a grin. “you’re also annoying, stubborn…”

“still your boyfriend,” he says, pointing the wrench at you with pride. annoying. despite yourself, your smile widens and doesn’t fade when he turns back to the toilet.

malfunction aside, the toilet is shiny and new, as is the bathroom and the rest of this house. the empty rooms are full of sunlight and wet paint and half-unpacked cardboard boxes holding your and gojo’s things. any surface not covered by a box is by housewarming gifts: cookbooks from geto, puzzle sets from ieiri, and a too-big bouquet from all of gojo’s students that you both ended up having to split between vases, leftover bottles, and whatever else could be used as a container.

but the bathroom is not so empty. a shower curtain from gojo’s old condo hangs over the bathtub, towels from your old apartment pile in a corner, and a cup for your toothbrush and his is on the counter by the sink. not a spare toothbrush—his toothbrush, right beside yours.

your eyes fall back on him, still here in the bathroom with you, trying to fix the toilet. and you think this must be love, too. sharing a space, the toilet and the toothbrush holder and everything else in it, and falling just a little more from that alone.

feeling your eyes on him, gojo glances back at you and, to your dismay, catches you staring. “sure you don’t have any other reasons?” he grins again, and you roll your eyes as he tilts his head at you with a laugh.

oh, you have plenty.

you won’t tell gojo all of them now while he’s in the middle of fixing the toilet. but from the eager look on his face, you think he already knows.

“well,” you start, toeing at the tiles beneath you. they alternate between cream and baby blue, your color of choice for the bathroom tiling and his. “i do love you. like this.”

gojo’s grin widens.

he definitely knows.

he sets the wrench down on the bathroom counter and sidles toward you, an eyebrow raised in equal parts amusement and affection. “you love me fixing our toilet?”

you snort as he gets closer, face now only inches away from yours. “i loved you fixing our toilet. which you still haven’t finished fixing, by the way.”

“tell me more about you loving me first.”

you finally laugh, and he tries—and fails—to bite back a grin at it. “seriously,” he says, nudging your foot with his. “tell me.”

you look up at gojo, and in every single one of the thoughts that come to mind is him.

his shoes are kicked off by yours in the foyer. your reading glasses and his sunglasses lie side by side on the counter. two sets of keys are thrown into the tray, matching mugs are stored in the kitchen cupboards, and your clothes are folded next to his in drawers and closets in the bedroom. on walls and tables all over the house sit pictures of you both in frames.

and here in the bathroom is gojo himself, trying to fix the toilet and making you laugh while doing it.

“i love you here,” you finally say, gesturing with an arm at it all.

and gojo grins even wider at you, wide enough for his cheeks to dip into his dimples, and then you’re sure of it: you’ve never been so in love in your life.

he scoops you up, and you laugh again and throw your arms around him as he laughs with you, spinning you around once, twice, before setting you down on the seat of the toilet. your shared toilet.

“i love you here, too,” he says, grinning as he kisses your nose. “and here—” your forehead, “and here—” your cheek, “and here—”

and as you laugh and try to push him away, only for him to cup your face with his hands and kiss you on the mouth, you fall again, again, again.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru imagine #gojo imagine

1K notes · View notes

aaasepticandplumbing · 2 years

Text

AAA Plumbing and Septic

URL:

Contact:

855-852-6141

Description:

AAA Plumbing and Septic has decades of Drain Field and Septic System Services. We believe that scheduled maintenance services such as Septic Tank Pumping, Hydro Jetting, and Septic Inspections can extend the life of your entire Septic System including the health of your Drain (Leach) Field.

Whether you are experiencing Septic System back-ups, leaking toilets, shower back-ups, odors, moisture in your drain field, or other issues, AAA Plumbing and Septic is here 24 hours a day 7 days a week. Expect professionalism, courtesy, and knowledgeable experts capable of responding 24 hours a day 7 days a week.

Keywords:

septic tank pumping

septic tank pumping near me

septic pumping near me

septic service near me

septic system service

septic tank service

cleaning a septic tank

septic companies near me

#URL:#https://aaasepticandplumbing.com #Contact:#855-852-6141 #Description:#AAA Plumbing and Septic has decades of Drain Field and Septic System Services. We believe that scheduled maintenance services such as Septi #Hydro Jetting #and Septic Inspections can extend the life of your entire Septic System including the health of your Drain (Leach) Field.#Whether you are experiencing Septic System back-ups #leaking toilets #shower back-ups #odors #moisture in your drain field #or other issues #AAA Plumbing and Septic is here 24 hours a day 7 days a week. Expect professionalism #courtesy #and knowledgeable experts capable of responding 24 hours a day 7 days a week.#Keywords:#septic tank pumping #septic tank pumping near me #septic pumping near me #septic service near me #septic system service #septic tank service #cleaning a septic tank #septic companies near me

1 note · View note

elvensaber · 2 years

Text

*On the phone with my mom, sitting on the bathroom floor, after disasterously and unsuccesfully trying to unclog my sink* Germ theory is so important. I’m so glad we figured that out. But sometimes the knowledge is such a burden

#funny #I'm in my plumbing era #Plumber AU #Florence Nightengale why have you cursed me with the knowledge of microbes

0 notes

olderthannetfic · 7 months

Note

Now I'm wondering how countries like Japan and China teach literacy.

Since kanji / hanzi don't really have that much in the way of phonetic elements, they kinda have to teach them by memorization and I don't think they have many reading comprehension problems over there.

(Although both countries do have supplementary phonetic writing systems in the form of bopomofo and pinyin for China, and the kanas for Japan)

FAVORITE SOAPBOX TOPIC UNLOCKED!

RELEASE THE KRAKEN!

It's a little closer to teaching vocabulary than spelling, but the same kinds of principles apply: You teach the building blocks, like the traditional radicals, which aren't so different from teaching Latin and Greek roots in an English class for English speakers.

And, as a matter of fact, lots of those radicals do predict pronunciation, just not in every single case. They can also be clues to meaning, but again, not absolutely consistently. Many characters have a sound-cueing radical on one side and a meaning-cueing radical on the other. It's just that only some are still useful in the modern day, while others are more like the English word 'plumbing' where knowledge of Roman lead pipes explains why this word comes from the one for lead, but the root probably wouldn't help a kid learn the word in the first place.

One similarity to teaching phonics would be teaching students to tell very complicated and similar characters apart: you want to help a student spot all the little building blocks of the character and then spot the ones that are different, not just glance at the whole character and get a general overall vibe. If you do a whole look-based approach, too many characters are too easy to mistake for one another.

Remembering a bajillion Chinese characters is hard if you're trying to memorize them in a year and not all of elementary school, but I think people who don't read them underestimate how many component parts there are and how approachable they can be if you start by learning fundamentals, not just memorizing a few individual characters as though they have no relation to anything else.

They're actually pretty systematic, just in the way that English spelling is with its overlapping systems and historical artifacts, not in the way that highly regular Spanish spelling is.

Having taken a lot of Japanese classes, I will say that Japanese as a foreign language textbooks often do a piss poor job of this and totally do teach kanji in a sight words-y way... But my Mandarin class started with important foundational concepts that served me well in Japanese later even if I bombed out of Chinese class at the time.

Can you tell how irritated I am by all the foreign language learners who think characters are sooooo hard when, really, it's just their crappy textbook? Haha.

They're moderately hard in the way that learning a full adult spectrum of vocabulary is hard, but people do that for foreign languages all the time. The countries that use characters do tend to make sets that are smaller for certain kinds of applications, same as we have things like simple English wikipedia, but a literate adult will always know lots more, whether it's from their career in engineering or their predilection for historical romance novels.

Uh... anyway, the answer is "Bit by bit in elementary school, just like in any other country".

679 notes · View notes

bamsara · 10 months

Note

How many followers are in the lamb’s cult? Taking into account all of the jobs needed filling, kids, their parents, elders, and those simply vibing there must be a lot.

There's quite a lot of members, wayyyy past the 20 something needed to break Narinder free from his chains and I'd even say past the 100 member limit in the game. Think of like, a little kingdom or village, basically (Which google is telling me is average of 150-200ish people so we can use that)

There's no way I'm gonna make a side character for every single one, but know that the cult is def much, much bigger and it keeps the Lamb super busy. It's also why there's a big need for improvements, like the plumbing for running water Lambert started, or how the kitchen is set up, the amount of land dedicated to farming, ect.

A large populace also means a lot of resource drain, so pretty much everyone has a job, though I made up some jobs I think would make sense so everyone isn't just 'farmer, lumberjack, miner, janitor, ect ect. So like, record keepers, hunters, nurses, blacksmith, tailor, carpenter specifically for house repairs, couriers, ect ect.

At some pint in the story Lambert is going to look into building a school house and appointing teachers to teach language and basic maths/knowledge because not every one in the flock is literate yet. It's a large, developed community but it's also got plenty more ahead

#trod au

570 notes · View notes

letmesniffurdaddysfeet · 7 months

Text

Weekend Lessons with daddy John PART 1

John, my mysterious neighbor, was a man shrouded in age and secrets. Though I never dared to inquire about his past, I estimated him to be around 65 years old. From the moment I moved in next door, he welcomed me with open arms and a warm smile. Despite our significant age difference - I was only 21 at the time - I found myself eagerly seeking out his company. John was a skilled handyman, passing on his knowledge of electricity, plumbing, and DIY projects to me with infinite patience. It may seem odd for a young adult like myself, but each week I looked forward more to spending an evening with John than going out for after-work drinks with my colleagues.

There was something about John that fascinated me - he wasn't particularly muscular or physically imposing, but there was a ruggedness to him that exuded masculinity. He embodied the classic image of a man's man - simple yet capable, full of practical knowledge that I had never learned before. But what captivated me most were his feet. Every Friday night, as we sat together watching a replay of a baseball game and sipping on cold beers, John would kick off his slippers and rest his large, mature feet on the coffee table in front of us.

It started innocently enough - just admiring the feet of a strong, masculine man. But as the weeks went by, my fascination turned into something else entirely. With each passing Friday night, it became harder and harder for me to resist the forbidden desires stirring inside of me. I tried to push them away, telling myself that it was wrong and dirty to feel this way towards someone much older than me.

But one fateful night, as I lay in bed alone with my thoughts, I gave in to my sinful desires and indulged in a forbidden act of self-pleasure while thinking about John's feet. The pleasure that consumed me was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, a heady mix of taboo and desire that left me both intoxicated and guilty.

From that night on, John's feet became an obsession for me. I couldn't resist stealing glances at them whenever we were together, imagining the feel of them against my lips and tongue. And each time I succumbed to these thoughts, the intensity of pleasure only grew stronger, driving me towards a dangerous edge that I could not escape from.

Despite my attempts to distance myself from these thoughts, they consumed me. I tried to distract myself with work, hobbies, and even dating other people, but nothing seemed to quell the burning desire I had for John's feet.

But one evening, I couldn't resist my insatiable desire… As we sat on the sofa, John's relaxed form radiating a familiar comfort, I chugged back another beer to calm my racing heart. Suddenly, his shoes were off and his toes were wriggling in front of me as he talked about the game. I couldn't help but feign interest in a coin that supposedly fell on the other side of the table. My hand brushed against his foot and I knelt down, pretending to search for the nonexistent coin in the thick carpet fibers as my face stealthily drew closer to his feet. The overpowering scent of masculinity hit me like a wave and my body reacted immediately, my pants stretching with the growing hardness between my legs. Every touch from his toes sent shivers through my body, pushing me deeper into a forbidden pleasure that consumed me completely.

My mind raced with a torrent of emotions and desires as I lingered there, my breath hot against John's coarse, calloused skin. I had never felt anything like this before - a mixture of exhilaration, shame, and unbridled lust coursing through my veins. I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn't help myself.

A surge of shame and self-loathing washes over me as I realize the gravity of my actions. I pray that my arousal is not too obvious , ready to feign ignorance and confess to not finding the coin. But when I meet John's gaze, a new expression crosses his face - an excited smile, his hand resting on his visibly erect penis. Did he understand the true intention behind my gesture? And did the sight of my face so close to his feet elicit the same response in him as it did in me? My mind spins with confusion and desire, rendering me speechless and creating a tense silence that begs to be broken… I struggle to find the right words, while secretly yearning to ask him if he desires to see me throw myself at his feet as well…

It was finally John who broke the silence, saying these words: ''Are you sure you looked carefully? It would be a shame not to reject a glance." He looked me straight in the eyes, without leaving his mischievous smile, wiggling his toes… my eyes rested on those feet and the spark of excitement in the John's eyes twinkled brighter. It was at that moment that I realized that this was a formal invitation, and I was not going to wait another second to respond.

John's voice cut through the tense silence like a knife, his words dripping with challenge and mischievous thrill ''Did you even bother to look closely? Don't tell me you missed it." His gaze locked onto mine, a sly grin playing on his lips as he wiggled his toes in anticipation…my eyes couldn't help but trail down to those feet, and I saw the unmistakable glimmer of mischief in John's eyes. It hit me like a bolt of lightning - this wasn't just an invitation, it was a dare. And I refused to waste another second before responding, the fire of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

#daddyfeet #malefeet #gayfeet

339 notes · View notes

bluecollarmcandtf · 9 months

Text

Hypno Handyman Inc.

So I got this idea about a week ago: what if I used some hypnosis to help my failing repair business. See, all of today's young men are afraid of getting their hands dirty, and it's been impossible to hire any of those pansies. So I thought, 'Why not hypnotize them instead?'

This is Tim and Jim. They're identical twins, but I made Jim shave his head so I could tell them apart. Wait, maybe that was Tim. I don't remember, but it doesn't matter anymore! What's important is that they've been thoroughly hypnotized. Just look at the dopey grins they always have on!

These brothers were once my neighbors, back when they were influencers or something. I'm not really sure what they did for work, but now they are actually contributing members of society. I did them some good, bringing them under my control. Now they actually enjoy all the long hours and hard menial labor.

"Go ahead and tell 'em what your doing, boys!"

"Sure, boss," Tim answers brightly, "Jim and I are just grabbing some tools for a job. Mrs. Jones has a leaky pipe again."

"This is the third time this month." Jim explains with a blank smile.

I chuckle and shake my head. Mrs. Jones, the retired widow, was almost definitely just calling so she could oggle these young men as they tinker with a problem she made up. She's definitely wasting my employees' time, but I don't mind as long as she keeps paying.

"Just remember your new mantra, boys," I check.

Their bodies stiffen as they robotically relay what I taught them, "We work for you. We are your handymen. We work hard, stay humble, and always respect our client and our boss."

"That's right," I beam with pride, "Go ahead and unbutton your uniforms, boys. If Mrs. Jones wants a show, you're gonna give her one."

"Yes, boss!" they declare, smiling as they loosen their shirts before packing their tools in the truck.

They used to have a real attitude problem: thought awfully highly of themselves since they were 'TickTock famous' or whatever. Obviously, that was the first thing I corrected in their personalities. Tim and Jim are now just the perfect humble and eager-to-please workers they should be. I don't think I've seen them drop those stupid smiles in weeks!

This here is Rodrigo. He used to be a model or something, which meant he had practically no skills or common sense to begin with. At least his simple mind was super easy to hypnotize. I tried programming a bunch of common knowledge about plumbing or mechanics in that head of his, but it never stuck. That's why I always have him doing the simple heavy lifting.

"What's up, Rigo! Working hard?"

"Yes, boss," he reports with a heavy breath, "I'm just hauling the fresh supplies into the garage."

"Glad, I can count on you, boy," I clap him on his shoulder, pleased to find his hard work soaking into his uniform, "It's hard work, but someone's gotta do it!"

"Yes, boss," he agrees, and turns his head to the floor as he gets back to it.

I doubt that boy ever had a hard day of work before he met me. He didn't have a shred of real muscle on him when I found him. The only thing his pretty arms could carry were a bunch of shopping bags from the mall.

He threw all that fancy attire away after I had him under trance. I think those clothes on his back are the only thing he owns now. It's not like any of my guys need something nice to wear. They're just my handymen, after all, and I intend to milk their hard-working asses for all their worth.

This last guy is my newest recruit. He came crawling to me when he got fired at his last job. His name is Cameron, and he's been quite a handful. Out of all the idiots I've hypnotized so far, he's been able to resist the most.

He's still thoroughly under my control, but I can't seem to control his thoughts like I can with the other guys. That's why I have him doing all the nastiest jobs. Hopefully it'll break that strong will of his!

"Hey, Cammy," I call.

"Don't call me that!" he snaps, "I'm not your damn puppet like those other freaks!"

His words have venom in them, but his body doesn't seem to agree. His head stays bowed in a mock of submission as he diligently searches the supply closet.

"What you lookin' for, Cammy?" I ask.

"The fucking plunger! You've got me on clogged toilet duty, remember?" he growled in frustration, "How long are you going to keep me doing this?"

"There's a lot of people who aren't willing to clean their shitters," I explain, "And you'll keep doing it as long as people will pay!"

I let out a sigh as Cameron continues to get more and more frustrated. Despite his radical glare, his body can't stop searching for that plunger.

"It's in the bathroom," I finally admit, "Go ahead and kiss each of our shitters while your in their."

Cameron's face twists in disgust as his body obediently marches past me, carrying him to our company restroom. He's clearly angry beyond words for being made to degrade himself once again. One day I'll get him to see me as a respectable employer just like the rest of the guys do. It's only a matter of time.

"Hey Cammy!" I call before he leaves, "Don't forget about tonight. You remember what we discussed yesterday, right?"

Despite all his internalized rage, his eyes glaze over as my hypnotic instructions kick in, "I'm on house duty. I will cook, serve, and clean up dinner for you and the rest of the men. I will be ready to give massages and showers to you and the rest of the men. I will not let myself relax until you and the rest of the men have no need of me. I will be on house duty every night forever, until you say otherwise."

"That's right," I smile in amusement, "Carry on!"

His vacant stare melts away, and he quickly adopts his trademark glare. His hands ball into fists like he's about to fight back, but he just turns and walks down the hallway. I chuckle at the idea of him in that empty bathroom, angrily kissing each of our toilet seats.

I put aside Cameron's defiance and relish just how far my repair business has gone. Not only am I making a ton more money than when it was just me, but I also have a whole flock of guys to keep me company. Even though they are all products of a weaker generation, I am well on my way towards turning each of them into real men like myself.

Already, I have Tim, Jim, and Rodrigo sipping beers and watching football with me after work everyday. I'll tell you that none of those boys enjoyed either of those things before they met me. Eventually, I'll have them genuinely laughing at all my jokes too!

Whether or not Malcolm comes around, is honestly unimportant. As long as he keeps up the disrespect, I'll keep him in the worst jobs and the longest hours.

I'm telling you, hypnotizing your employees is the way to go! So, let me know if you need any help getting your workers under your control. Or just let me know if you need a good old-fashioned handyman to fix something for you!

My boys will do anything as long as you fork over some cash...

#gay hypnosis #hypno story #gay mind control #mind control #hypnotized #male transformation #blue collar

326 notes · View notes

sleepymccoy · 5 months

Note

A ship manifesto is like an argument defending a ship or providing proof of why it's as good as canon. I think you'd write a good one if you wanted to!

Go on then, I take very little convincing (also thank you that's kind!)

Why you should consider shipping spones

So, genuinely, spirk is the more convincing ship if you like canon. I'm completely with the spirkies on that. They're endlessly supporting, interested in each other's opinion, and just so lovely

But that's kinda dull for me. Where's the grit? Where's the tension?

I do not believe spones should be canon, no show is ever gonna give them the time and complexity they need. That's why it's so much fun in fandom! The second these guys open their mouths they insult each other, both of them.

But like, they don't really insult each other personally much. McCoy insults Vulcan philosophy and Spock insults human ethics. McCoy insults Spock's alien features and Spock insults McCoy's vocation. Tit for tat, but within that is this constant simmering respect and admiration that they never talk about. And as soon as one is attacked by an outsider they leap to the others defence. Like, that's a wild dynamic! There's so much opportunity to make that fun to read by just adding a little bit of sexual desire

Like, why are you so obsessed with Spock's ears huh? You want to lick them? Grow up about it. And Spock's always needling McCoy, always talking about logic being the be all end all even when it's almost irrelevant, just to get a rise out of him! Schoolyard bully with a crush, both of them

It's a great dynamic. So much depth to plumb. And it's pretty hard to get them to get together!

Other fandoms I've been in tend to lean towards couples who are perfectly suited for each other and the world is conspiring to keep them apart. For spones, they're what's keeping them apart. It's like mixing oil and water, without some real attention from the author they'll fall apart. It's hard! It's a challenge! It's fun!

It's so fun, there's so many opportunities for tension with them and you can take tension to make sex or humour and both are so fun!

And the way they challenge each other. You think Spock is going to settle for anyone who doesn't offer him some personal or professional growth? He learns constantly with McCoy, often showing great exasperation, but he's learning and adding to his knowledge. And McCoy, he's had his little picket fence life and needs something completely different. And he needs a good fuck, I think these two would have absolutely spectacular sex

Anyway. Give it a go because it's fun!

Also I've realised all the gifs I pulled off the tumblr search function are from @aenslem so thank you for your service

#spones #this was a laugh #i have fun with this ship and i think everyone should give it a chance

92 notes · View notes

mywitchyblog · 21 days

Note

I'm a minor who is shifting, trying to shift. But some places I want to shift to seem like a really bad idea to shift to, and I want to script every bad thing out because I wanna explore the place and see the cool things but none of the bad things. But I know the bad things happen...any advice or recommendations? Sorry if this isn't detailed enough or a stupid question

(I'm 16, the place is game of thrones bc I wanna adventure with some people and do fun things with none of the unnecessary things that actually happened in the series)

Greetings Fellow Shifter,

It turns out I can help you with that, as i plan to shift to the worlds of House of the Dragon and Game of Thrones myself.

I’ve found that scripting certain elements is essential for a more enjoyable experience, so I’ve included a few things that I believe would be beneficial for your journey:

Modern Plumbing: Yes, this includes sinks, showers, toilets, and more—because let’s be real, these are essentials.

Cleanliness and Hygiene: People in this world are clean and maintain good hygiene (because we know it can get pretty grimy otherwise).

Warrior Skills: I’ve made myself an excellent, OP warrior. If anyone dares to challenge me, they’ll regret it.

Better Treatment of Women: Women are treated with respect and dignity, not as objects.

Safety During Sleep: Nothing can harm you while you’re sleeping.

Immunity to Poison, Drugs, and Alcohol: You cannot be poisoned, drugged, or unintentionally drunk.

Perfect Health: You are immune to illnesses and injuries, and you heal rapidly from any wounds.

Multilingual Abilities: You can understand and speak any language or dialect used in this world fluently.

Enhanced Intelligence: Your strategic thinking, memory, and problem-solving skills are top-notch, allowing you to navigate political intrigues and conflicts effortlessly.

Allies and Friendships: You automatically attract trustworthy and loyal friends and allies who support and protect you.

Wealth and Resources: You have access to significant wealth and resources, ensuring you can live comfortably and influence events when needed.

Royal Connections: You are connected to or respected by the ruling families, granting you a level of protection and influence.

Stealth and Invisibility: You can become invisible or move undetected when needed, perfect for avoiding dangerous situations or eavesdropping.

Knowledge of Future Events: You have a general sense of key events that might unfold, giving you an edge in planning your actions.

Enhanced Reflexes and Agility: Your physical reflexes and agility are heightened, making you unbeatable in combat and quick to react in any situation.

Protection from Magic: You are immune to harmful magical effects or curses.

Perfect Timing: You always arrive at the right place at the right time, ensuring you never miss an opportunity or fall into a trap.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #shifting #shifting community #shifting realities #shifters #reality shift #reality shifter #shifting antis dni

37 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 2 months

Text

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

Elain was up with the dawn, which normally wouldn’t have been such a big deal had Lucien not kept her up all night. He’d wanted to inform his closest circle that he was married, as he needed several witnesses to agree to sign their document before the ceremony that afternoon. Elain wondered if Lucien saw what she did—their silent disapproval, this frowns as they agreed, their pinched gazes even as they tried to offer Lucien their validation.

He risked their allegiance with his marriage and Elain suspected he simply didn’t care.

She wished she could remember all the major players in Lucien’s reign. She wasn’t a historian—what she knew was far more limited, much broader. Still, when Hybern’s eyes had fallen on her, she’d felt recognition in the back of her mind. Whether that was good or bad, she simply didn’t know.

And she never would.

Elain had stood in front of that mural for what felt like a lifetime, willing herself to just touch it. Go home.

She’d never even come close, though she couldn’t admit that to Lucien. Let him think it was a close call, if only to remind him she could leave him if she wanted to. It was crazy to stay in a place that didn’t have the right kind of indoor plumbing—water was pumped in and out, but there was no waste removal like home, and Elain didn’t love using the pots.

But the idea of going back to her lonely, confusing existence filled her with dread. And as she’d stood there, Elain had seen her future flash before her. Married back in the states, with Graysen and the two children she was certain he wanted. And while it wasn’t a miserable existence, she knew she’d spend the rest of her life wondering what might have been if she stayed with Lucien.

And Elain knew she’d never wondered what-if about Graysen. In the end, that realization had been the one that pushed her over the edge.

The kind of love she felt was rare. Elain didn’t want to lose it over some misplaced sense of propriety. Even if that meant being dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn so Lucien could parade her around, proud as a peacock, that he’d managed to secure a wife no one approved of. Unconcerned and undeterred, Lucien then took Elain outdoors to his massive lawn and declared with much delight that it was all hers.

“Do whatever you wish with it,” he said with a broad grin.

“This is all happening rather fast,” Elain told him as Lucien turned to look at her, hair blowing in the wind. He hadn’t tied it all back yet and Elain found she liked him best this way. Maybe it was how Lucien felt when the scarf came off her head, allowing him to see her unbound hair. No one else did—and they never would now that she was married.

“How is it done in your home?” Lucien questioned. He’d begun phrasing his interest in the future as just her home—like it was someplace past Brittania that she might visit, if she wished. Elain didn’t mind it.

“For you,” Lucien added when Elain didn’t respond, sliding an iron band onto her third finger. He turned her palm upward, tracing an invisible line to her wrist where the faint blue of her veins lay just beneath her fair skin. “Vena amoris. It connects to your heart.”

“Where I’m from, men get on their knees to ask a woman to be their wife,” Elain told him, heart hammering in her chest.

He wouldn’t.

He would.

Lucien slid to his knees like it was nothing, hands skimming the sides of her body as he went. Gold sunlight caught against the copper of his hair, adorning him as surely as any crown might.

“Do they beg?” he questioned, bunching the fabric of her dress between his fingers. “Marry me. Please.”

“What if I say no?” she questioned, wondering who the Emperor was right then, him or her.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Say yes.”

Elain smiled, reaching for his hands to tug him back to his feet. “Of course I will.”

“The men of your home must have the nerves of the gods to withstand the waiting,” he told her, a shaky smile spreading over his otherwise handsome features. “I didn’t like that.”

“It’s good for you,” she teased, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“I don’t see how,” Lucien grumbled, snaking an arm around her waist. “What else do they do in your home?”

Elain considered it before biting her bottom lip. “Nothing worth mentioning—”

“Tell me anyway.”

She sighed, knowing Lucien was going to go overboard. “Typically, when they ask, they present their potential wife with a ring which you already did.”

“Jewelry?” he asked, eyes sharpening.

“Just a ring, Lucien,” she insisted hastily, but he wasn’t listening to her, starry-eyed as he plotted.

“Just a ring,” he repeated, gaze sweeping toward the fountain. “We’ll be married this afternoon, and tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Rome as my wife and their Empress at our first game. Have you ever seen one?”

“No,” she admitted, stomach tumbling at the thought. Lucien’s excitement was palpable.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Lucien murmured, “You’re going to love it.”

Elain wasn’t so sure. She knew the coliseum hosted some of the most violent sporting events in the ancient world and Elain had never had the stomach for blood and carnage. This was important to him, but also to the city he lived in and the people she needed to support her. Elain vowed she would smile through it all, and clap for the victories that belonged to Rome, if only to endear herself.

Which gave her an idea. “Lucien?” she began, reaching for his hand. He looked between them, lacing her fingers with hers while rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. “What if we gave the citizens of Rome a gift?”

He cocked his head to the side. “What kind of gift?”

“Something generous,” she asked. “A day's wages?”

“A week,” Lucien countered, as if Elain was going to complain about it. “Courtesy of my new wife.”

With his free hand, Lucien tapped the tip of her nose affectionately. “Very shrewd of you.”

“I thought it would be nice not to be slaughtered in my sleep,” she replied with an easy grin.

“My new wife, champion of the people,” he murmured with obvious, unguarded affection. “Rome is lucky you stayed.”

Elain poked him in the side, finding nothing but hard muscle beneath the white of his chiton. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“No,” he replied, though they both knew that was a lie. Lucien had been away for three days, and Empires didn’t run themselves. He needed to get back to work before someone started suggesting he was the wrong choice and decided to do something about it.

And Elain needed to track down Arina, who wasn’t in her bedroom. No one would look at her when she asked where her friend had gone, which could only mean one thing.

Elain allowed Lucien to walk her back inside before practically running down the halls, skirts gathered in her hands as she passed important statesmen, servants and would-be philosophers, all of whom turned to look though they said very little to her face. She needed to memorize their names and get to know them, but that was a future problem for future Elain.

Elain made her way to the suite occupied by Eris Vanserra within the palace. He had his own estate in the city he could have spent time in and yet he’d remained here—for how long, Elain wondered?

Flinging open the doors, she expected to find the pair of them half naked in bed.

“Surprise,” Arina said as light from the hall flooded into the otherwise dark bedchamber. Arina was dressed and sitting in a nearby chair, legs folded beneath her. “Did you expect something different?”

“Some one different,” Elain replied pointedly, eyes drifting to the unmade bed that had clearly held two people in it. “You’re alive.”

“So are you,” Arina said, arching a pale brow. “Where did he take you?”

“Back to the mural,” Elain murmured softly, closing the door behind her. “I told him everything.”

She expected Arina’s anger, for her friend to rise to her feet and begin yelling. Elain thought she might have deserved it—after all, Lucien could have killed them both if he hadn’t believed her. However, Arina remained in her chair, hands folded in her lap.

“You didn’t go back.”

Elain bit the inside of her cheek. “What is there to go back to?”

Arina was too calm. “Your fiance. Your job. Air conditioning?”

“That last one is a good point,” Elain agreed solemnly. “It’s hot for June, right?”

Arina shrugged. “Not as hot as it would be back home. Global warming and what-not. I guess now is as good of a time as any to tell you I also decided to stay.”

“With Eris?” Elain questioned, trying to keep the judgment out of her voice. Heat crawled up Arina’s skin, warming her soft brown cheeks as she peered down at the floor.

“He’s a good man.”

“I never said he wasn’t,” Elain replied, taking a step toward her friend. “I’m just surprised that you want to stay for him…or any man, really.”

“You and me both,” Arina replied, wincing softly as she shifted in her chair. “But I’ve thought about home, and…I was miserable back there.”

Elain went to her, then, grabbing a purple pillow from a nearby chaise to kneel on the floor at Arina’s feet. Resting her head against her friend's shin, she nodded.

“So was I.”

“Sometimes I think I’m crazy,” Arina admitted, reaching for the scarf that hid Elains hair to tug at the fabric. “But everything moves slower here. People are alive, you know? And I’m tired. If Eris wants to support me while I torment him, why should I say no?”

Elain laughed. “Maybe he likes a little torture.”

Arina nodded. “He must if he likes me. We can worry about that later, though—for now, we need to figure the customs out here and quickly. Eris said Lucien intends to marry you.”

“This afternoon,” Elain said with more satisfaction than was maybe warranted.

“You know how Romans are. Some of them will be out for blood. We can’t give them anything to work with and no reason to doubt us. I don’t want to be sent to Capri.”

Elain couldn’t help the strangled laugh that escaped her. Capri had been where Emperor Tiberus lived due to his fear of the political machinations of Roman politicians and their penchant for assassination. Commodus had later used it to exile both his wife and sister. Elain doubted Lucien would have her exiled anywhere, though if he died, she would certainly be right behind him.

“We need to be careful,” Elain agreed, looking at her friend. They were already viewed with suspicion as outsiders and would be convenient scapegoats for anyone looking to whip up anti-Roman sentiment in a bid for power. “Lucien is giving the citizens of Rome a weeks worth of wages as a wedding gift.”

“That’s…that's a good idea. Was it yours?”

Elain beamed. “It was. Today, all we have to worry about is this wedding. Tomorrow we’ll go to the games and let people see us. If we have their support, killing us will be far more difficult.”

“Until the propaganda papers start circulating,” Arina grumbled.

“So give them nothing to talk about. We’ll be the perfect Roman wives,” Elain replied, her plan solidifying. “We’re charming. We’re smart. We can get enough patricians to like us.”

“Lets hope.”

It wasn’t entirely traditional. Elain had no household for Lucien to walk toward, and instead had a processional through the city, complete with the high red and gold banner of Rome itself, as he walked through the city toward his brother's estate. Eris had agreed to act as her father given her actual father wouldn’t be born for centuries, and she had no other family. Having him on one side, and Arina has her matron of honor on the other, made Elain feel a little less alone.

She was made to wait in a long, elaborately embroidered white tunic belted around her waist with a hercules knot. Pinned in her hair was the traditional orange veil hastily dyed the night before specifically for her, and on her feet a pair of matching orange shoes.

Elain’s thick hair had been secured within a yellow hair net which kept it off her neck before it had been parted and plaited six ways, and the whole thing secured with the hasta caelibaris—a ceremonial pin shaped to look like a spear of celibacy. Elain had resisted the urge to giggle over it given she hadn’t been celibate, even after arriving in Rome. Though, she doubted anyone was going to give her too much grief given she was marrying the man in question.

A wreath of roses had been placed atop her head, the thorns all carefully plucked before they’d been woven together. She felt rather pretty despite the strangeness of the customs and how nervous everyone was as they watched for any ill-omen that might curse the wedding. More than a few women had commented that Lucien had chosen a good day in June, and Juno herself seemed indifferent to the whole thing. Elain still made an offering before stepping outside just to be safe—there was something supernatural at work given she shouldn’t have been there at all. Perhaps it was the gods.

Crowds gathered both behind the procession and on the margins, curious as to who their new emperor had chosen and to see a wedding among the patricians play out. Weddings weren’t uncommon, and though they were often somewhat public, Lucien was making a loud spectacle. Food was free, a mimicry of the feast being prepared for those that would participate in her wedding celebration, which caused excitement that nearly became pandemonium when it was announced all citizens would receive a week's worth of wages as a gift from Elain herself.

Newly named Helena, Elain knew she’d find a likeness of her face on newly minted coins in the coming months. Lucien had informed her in a letter delivered by a rather lovely servant, that he wanted to have her portrait commissioned for one.

Elain stood beneath the shade of one of the massive stone pines, delighting in a cool breeze. It was hot, of course, but her nerves were making her far sweatier than the heat. Even as she saw him approach, dressed in white and gold in his own toga virilis, replete with a cape pinned around his shoulders. His red hair was neatly pulled off his beautiful face and adorned with a crown of golden laurel leaves marking him as more than just a mere groom but emperor too. He looked it, right then, eyes fixated wholly on her like twin burning stars. He was a mirage beneath the heat, shimmering along the edges of his form as he made his way with single-minded determination.

Elain kept herself still, trying to maintain an image somewhere between joyful and fearful which was the expectation for a Roman bride. It felt like the entire city was watching, picking everything about her apart to find fault or flaw they could talk about in the morning. Foolish as it was, she wanted them to love her.

I gave my whole life up for you.

Lucien made his way up the long, stone pine lined drive in the blink of an eye. He inclined his head when he saw her, unable to hide his wolfish grin.

“Ready?” Lucien murmured, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. Elain nodded nervously, looking up at him through her lashes. It wasn’t fake modesty—she was terrified right then. Was she making the right choice? Was she doing the right thing?

The wind picked up around her, ruffling the veil round her face not viciously, but like a fussy mother. Lucien’s smile widened.

“The gods favor us.”

Elain decided to take Lucien at his word, though it certainly felt like he was right. Everything went as it was supposed to—he spoke the words to Eris, her faux father, with smooth practice as Eris suppressed an eye roll. Everyone was dressed in clothes similar to her and Lucien in order to trick evil spirits looking to curse them with bad luck, and Elain tried to imagine the outrage it would cause on modern day internet forums.

No one spilled wine over the guests so Elain could be the only one in white. Had Nesta been there, though, Elain knew her elder sister would have marked everyone simply to be petty. There was cake and wine and more food than any of the guests could have consumed in a lifetime. Lucien’s entirely family had come—famed Roman General Helion, and the divorced wife of the former emperor, Amera.

Lucien’s mother was absurdly beautiful and incredibly kind, welcoming Elain with a wide smile and a hug that made her miss her own mother. Helion, too, looked far younger than she knew he was, aging seemingly in reverse. It was a good omen for her future with Lucien given he favored his father so heavily.

Jurian, his most loyal friend, was also there with his wife Vassa whom both Elain and Arina took an immediate liking to. Lucien and Jurian had just enough wine to make them boisterous without being embarrassing, and Elain caught herself watching them laugh as they exchanged jokes, strangely enchanted by the pair of them.

There were others—men who laughed as they swore they’d never marry, eyes straying toward another man they’d brought with them as a friend—though the heated glances made them seem more like lovers. Senators brought their wives, who were gracious and kind to Elain as they shared little bits of wisdom for making the most of a wedding night—and Senator Tarquin’s rather lovely bride, who slipped Elain a piece of parchment with a recipe for birth control.

“Just in case,” she’d murmured with a wink.

Amera offered to step in as Elain’s mother to allow the pair to play act the strangest part of the marriage ritual—the part where they play acted The Rape of Sabine Women. Elain knew of it vaguely—back when Rome was little more than a small kingdom and in need of women, Roman men had kidnapped women from nearby tribes who were raped and then made to be wives. Whether it was truth or mere legend was still debated, though the Roman’s clearly loved it.

Lucien grinned the entire time he tried to pull Elain from his mother, who put up a rather weak fight in the end. Around them, everyone laughed and jeered as Elain eventually fell into Lucien’s arms, elbowing him just hard enough to knock the wind from his gut when he held her against him.

“A kiss?” he murmured, ignoring the people around them.

She surged upward on tiptoes, kissing the man she’d thrown her whole life away for. “A kiss,” she agreed, tasting the wine on his mouth. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be too drunk to do your husbandly duty.”

“Never,” he swore, placing a hand over his heart. “I won’t disappoint you.”

The procession back through the city was far sillier. A perfect, starry sky greeted them when they stepped out into the cool air, hands clasped and smiles on their faces. As they passed the gathered crowds, people tossed walnuts which Lucien explained was a good omen for fertility. Elain couldn’t contain her amusement, giggling into his arm as they went.

“You don’t want children?” Lucien whispered as they went, careful to keep his voice quiet.

“I’ll explain it all later,” she promised, catching sight of the Emperor’s palace atop the hill. It seemed to glow in the moonlight, ethereal and unreal even in its construction. Elain knew if she asked Arina, her friend would say it was meant to project strength and stability or whatever, but it all felt like a dream to her. Even when Lucien lifted her into his arms, carrying her over the oil and fat coated threshold in a tradition that still survived nearly two thousand years later. He broke bread over her head while his friends and family cheered, and then it was all over. Taking her past a small chaise set out for their spirits to couple on, Lucien closed the door to their bedroom with glittering eyes.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” he admitted, brushing crumbs off Elain’s veil. “Really?” she asked, stepping closer so she could press her cheek against his chest.

“I kept expecting you to change your mind and beg me to take you back to the mural,” he admitted, holding out his hand so she could see the faint tremble.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lucien,” Elain swore, taking that hand to press a kiss to his palm. “Trust that, if you trust nothing else. I found my way to you once, and I’ll find it again and again—in every life.”

“Let's worry about this life,” Lucien murmured, leading her to the bed.

Elain only smiled.

LUCIEN:

“This feels wrong,” he said, staring down at Elain’s naked body. “Are you sure—”

“Just get it over with,” she snapped, head turned to the side so she didn’t have to watch.

Straddling her waist, Lucien hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Elain told him through clenched teeth. Her hair was a tangled mass around her beautiful face, lips stained red from his mouth, cheeks flushed from an evening of pleasure and, perhaps, a little too much wine. “Lucien, please.”

Lucien readjusted the dagger held in his sweaty fingers. “I didn’t imagine I would be maiming my wife the morning after I married her.”

Elains smile was grim. “Do you want children or not?”

He did. Oh, but how he did—not mentioning that it was the expectation placed upon her the moment Lucien made her his bride. Elain would need to have a least one healthy child in order to please both the city and the gods and prove their union was blessed.

A fact made more difficult when Elain, breathless and distractingly naked, had informed him she had a little piece of metal in her arm that would prevent her from having children for a decade. In order to circumvent that, it needed to be removed. Elain explained a physician would have done it for her back home and Lucien, ever practical, had decided it ought to be him.

He couldn’t explain her life to anyone, nor did he want rumors circulating about her. The problem now was that Lucien didn’t want to take that knife and wound her, even if she was asking him to. And Elain had said she couldn’t do it because she hated blood, leaving the pair at an impasse.

Elain looked up at him before pushing at his chest with her small hands. Ignoring the arousal that surged through him, Lucien fell theatrically to the side as Elain got out of bed, threw on a shift, and marched right out the door. It wasn’t quite morning—very few people would be up given the partying that had gone on well into the wee hours of the morning. Lucien didn’t bother putting on anything himself, partly because he expected her to return alone.

He hastily threw a blanket over his half hard cock as Arina strolled in with exasperation. “Give me the dagger.”

Lucien offered it up as Elain sat in a chair, arm outstretched. He couldn’t help but watch as Arina dragged the tip of the blade against Elain’s perfect skin, causing blood to rise up and slide toward her wrist. Elain hissed, head turned and eyes squeezed tight.

“Good thing you didn’t get an IUD,” Arina muttered, the words meaningless to him. “Then you’d be fucked.”

It seemed like it took forever. Lucien’s heart was in his throat watching, ignoring the fact that he had driven his own blade through a hundred men or more in his life. Something about watching his wife maimed, even if she was asking for it, made him want to vomit.

Arina pulled the little piece from Elain’s arm between long fingernails, grimacing the entire time. “Wash that really well,” Arina urged before dropping the bloody speck into Elain’s open palm.

“This seems like the worst place to have a child.”

“You’ll be first,” Elain called after, earning a dismissive wave of her hand before Arina was gone. Lucien stood, then, making his way toward Elain who was taking Arina’s advice. While she used a pitcher of water to rinse the blood from her skin, Lucien examined the little object with fascination.

“How does it work?”

She glanced over. “I’m not entirely sure. It uses hormones, I think, to block—”

“Hormones?”

Elain looked upward for a moment. “I forgot there is so much you don’t know. It’s hard to explain, but it basically…blocks…the things your body does to create life.”

“And you wanted that?”

Elain offered him a pretty smile. “I did, yes.”

The unspoken words between them were, of course, that now she did. Whether out of duty or love, Lucien didn’t dare ask. She’d grow into it, he decided. There was time to consider the possibilities, to see her delighted at the prospect of being a mother—of raising another potential Emperor, even.

“Are you going to escort us to the games today?” Elain asked once she’d wrapped a little bandage around her arm. Lucien nodded, not bothering to inform her that he would much prefer to keep her in bed for the next month uninterrupted. There was something primal about the desire which felt debasing. He should be above such things.

And yet he wasn’t. Lucien thought about her the entire time he bathed and dress, adorning his military dress uniform rather than another chiton, partly because he wanted to project power to his people.

And partly because he’d need it. He wanted his new wife to understand what it meant to be married to a man like him. He wanted her to be proud of him.

Lucien wanted everyone else to be afraid of him.

That last part was practical. There was hurt feelings among the snakes in his court who felt he’d betrayed his very station by marrying a woman who wasn’t born and raised in Rome. Lucien had heard their objections before ignoring them—tradition wasn’t the end all, be all after all. Not one among them adhered to tradition all the time.

Merely when it suited them best.

Now they wanted to complain because it was their families snubbed, ignoring he had no duty to them at all, nor did he care to elevate them to annoying heights. He’d made his decision and today he’d silence the dissenters and stir up pro-Roman sentiment among the ordinary people and the soldiers within his walls.

Lucien was itching to redistribute some of their ancestral lands to more loyal senators. And he would—so long as he had justification. Maybe he’d use his wife to inform him of the gossip at court so he could better make decisions. Lucien was fairly good at picking through it himself—he’d learned from a young age that if he spoke very little and maintained good eye contact, people would just keep talking and talking and talking. He’d been collecting secrets his entire life.

Elain was waiting for him, freshly bathed and dressed in pretty yellow that nearly skewed orange thanks to whoever had dyed it. She looked up at him from her spot in front of a mirror, carefully wrapping her stolla over her shoulder while leaving her neatly braided hair out.

“It’ll be hot today, even in the shade,” he warned, kissing her cheek. He wanted to do more, though that would have to wait.

“It’s always hot,” Elain replied with an easy smile. Was she happy? Truly? Lucien was trying so hard not to think about it because when he did, fear wormed its way and tainted his joy. He could face down a line of men pointing spears directly at his face, but he couldn’t ask his wife if she truly wanted to be with him.

What if she said no?

“It’ll cool,” he promised, taking her hand as she rose to her feet. “You look beautiful.” She beamed. “Are you going to war?” she questioned, pressing her palm to the heavy breastplate strapped against his chest.

“Something like that,” he replied. Lucien led her into the hall where they met up with his brother and Arina, both of whom were the center of the majority of the floating rumors. Lucien had been smart—though no one would have cared if he bedded Elain here, they would have begun to talk had he not married her. Arina was quickly being relegated in the minds of those that mattered as a mistress, and mistresses didn’t command the same respect a wife would.

Eris needed to either remove her from his bed or marry her. Judging by the look on Eris’s face, Lucien suspected it would be the latter. Deciding to discuss it later, far out of the ear shot of those around them, he nodded his head, indicating it was time to go.

Elain walked dutifully beside him, crowned with pretty green laurel leaves pinned neatly into either side of her head. She looked like a goddess, a thought he kept quiet even in his own head lest any of the gods decide to peer inside. They may have brought Elain to him, but Lucien knew that could just as easily take her away.

Beside her, Vassa had begun talking animatedly, unconcerned with Elain’s rank or status. Jurian, keeping just a step behind Lucien, took the opportunity to say, “They’ll call you mad for this.”

“Only if I lose,” he replied, stepping into the streets with a grin. “Which I won’t.”

“Careful, lest Minerva hear you and decide you need to be humbled.”

“I welcome her wisdom,” Lucien informed his friend, “though it is Mars who watches me today.”

Mars had been watching him for a long time, though truthfully, Lucien had always considered Minerva a more welcome patron. She was far cleverer than him, of course—but Lucien considered himself clever, too. You didn’t become Emperor without a little of her favor, after all.

The city was alive even in the early morning heat. Musicians and other entertainers had come out, drowning out the excited chatter as people filed toward the towering coliseum. It had been a good decade, if not more, since an Emperor had last hosted games for the people. Beron had been too busy lining his own pockets with the taxes he collected to care, and Lucien knew keeping the people fed and entertained was the easiest way to ensure their loyalty.

Passing the tax collectors, Lucien saw the line to collect Elain’s gift stretched down a whole city street, wrapping itself into the next as people waited with unabashed excitement. He intended to repeat the gift once his coins were minted, forever associating the generosity with Elain herself.

Forever known as Augusta Helena.

Lucien followed Elain up to their seats, shaded beneath a canopy already unfurled to keep those in the stands shaded, too. The noise was deafening, delighting him as Elain leaned forward over the rail, elbows resting against the stone so she could take it all in. Beside her, Arina did the same, wide-eyed with wonder.

He kept forgetting they’d never been, had never seen any of the glory of Rome. He’d kept them secluded, and thought they’d made their way into the city earlier in their stay, this wasn’t comparable to a little shopping at the market.

Lucien was allowed to make a speech, though he chose to keep it short. He welcomed Romans to the first day of his week-long celebration, thanked the gods for the glory bestowed upon them, and introduced his wife to a roaring crowd of people before he sat himself down and waved on the beginning of the spectacle.

Elain didn’t like blood—she’d told him so just that morning. Now, as the gladiators filed out, Lucien tried to imagine the entire thing through brand new eyes. What did they do in her home for fun, he wondered? Did they not have something similar she would have enjoyed? Elain’s light dusting of freckles were stark against the paleness of her face when the first man fell to the sand, throat cut inelegantly but efficiently. It wasn’t the most brutal of killings, but it was the first.

The crowd roared out their pleasure, screaming in a cacophony of noise for their preferred champion as blades clashed and the dirt beneath their feed muddied. It was merely a warm up—all the warriors were slaves captured from rebellions or outright wars and made to fight for the amusement of Lucien’s people. Whether they lived or died was of no consequence to him—they were too new for anyone to be terribly attached to.

They were waiting on a different gladiator—Lucien had seen the graffiti coming in, had noticed the posters of his shirtless form slapped against buildings. If he looked at the crowd, he’d see children holding little dolls sold just outside the stadium along with the banners that would wave through the air when he arrived.

Lucien was looking forward to the fight. And when famed Gladiator Rhysand stepped out, bare chested and adorned in his strange tattoos, the crowd erupted with excitement. The former Thracian General had started off as just another low-level slave fighting because that was the only way to stay alive.

Rhysand was a freed man, now. Not a citizen, but he had wealth and property and from what Lucien could discern, a rather nice existence for someone who should have been slaughtered on a battlefield. He didn’t entirely trust Rhysand—nor anyone who had once tried to overthrow Rome’s hold on their lands. In the back of his mind, he always assumed they’d try again if they were ever able, and just like Beron before him, he intended to keep a watchful eye on Rhysand’s comings and goings.

Convincing him to fight hadn’t been difficult thanks to Lucien’s promised quarry. On the other side of the arena, blonde hair shining beneath the sun stood the traitor Tamlin. Rhysand had asked to kill him when Jurian had gone on Lucien’s behalf to secure his presence in the arena. Tamlin the Betrayer—he’d sold them out to invading germanic tribes, promising them land and wealth if they sacked Rome but left once they’d taken what they wanted and executed all opposition that would allow Tamlin to rise to power.

Unlike Beron, who had exiled Tamlin, Lucien wasn’t so forgiving. They’d been friends. Lucien’s name hadn’t been on the list, though he doubted he’d have been spared should a hostile army sweep into the city. Nor did he think Tamlin would have mourned too terribly if he’d been collateral damage.

Tamlin’s father had been the cause of Rhysand’s capture, and it was rumored that Rhysand had been the one to kill him. Lucien hadn’t been part of the Thracian campaign and so he couldn’t say if it was true or not. There was no other reason Rhysand would want to kill Tamlin, a true born Roman citizen, if it wasn’t though.

It was interesting to watch the people of Rome rally behind Rhysand even as Tamlin came out adorned in Roman garb. Food was hurtled from the stands, landing at their feet as Rhysand threw up his hands and spun in a circle, yelling words lost to the roaring crowd. Tamlin didn’t bother, ever stoic even in defeat.

He’d been promised freedom if he survived and Rhysand knew it. Lucien glanced over at Elain, her eyes fixated on the warrior.

“What do you think?” Lucien asked, lips inches from her cheek.

“Where is he from?” she asked, and too late, Lucien wondered if she understood the markings on his body. Rhysand claimed they were for luck in battle, though Lucien very much doubted that was all they were.

“Thrace. He was royalty, or so they say.”

She only nodded, turning back to watch. Rhysand raised his curved blade over his head and the fight began with Rhysand taking the offensive and Tamlin the defensive. Tamlin held a heavy shield in one hand, sword in the other. Lucien had seen Rhysand break through a shield before, though never one held by a former Roman trained General. Truthfully, Tamlin should have been crucified, his remains left out for the vultures to feast upon until his bones were bleached by the sun.

But this was far more entertaining. Rhysand’s citizenship was on the line—though he didn’t know it. Lucien had decided if he won, he’d make Rhysand a citizen of Rome, no longer obligated to fight in the arena if he didn’t want to. He might have fought harder had he known what was truly at stake for him—but Lucien didn’t want this victory tainted.

He wanted to see Tamlin slaughtered out of hatred rather than self-preservation. And he wanted, more than that, for Tamlin to know it had been him who’d ordered it. Lucien forgot about his wife half recoiling beside him, disturbed by the brutality of what she was witnessing.

Down below, though, was a symphony of violence. Weapons clashed loud enough the clangs could be heard from where Lucien sat, jarring his teeth with a familiar phantom pain.

“Don’t turn away,” he ordered Elain when she gasped, eyes closing as she turned her face into his shoulder. “Watch.”

“I can’t.”

“You must,” he said, well aware eyes were on them. She couldn’t be seen as weak. Elain went back to watching, looking as if she wanted to vomit all over the floor. She could cry about it when they were alone again—but for now, she would watch.

Beside her, it seemed Arina did have the stomach for it. Her eyes were bright with interest as she leaned forward, tracking the movements of Rhysand so carefully that Lucien caught his brother glancing over, eyes pinched at the corners.

Maybe he ought to be worried if Rhysand became a citizen. Or perhaps he’d finally stop embarrassing Lucien and just make her his wife to prevent a future in which Arina found herself in a gladiator's bed.

Turning his attention back to the battle, Lucien witnessed Rhysand plant his sandaled foot flat against Tamlin’s back, kicking with such force that Tamlin’s sword flew from his hand as he was knocked to the ground. Panting, onyx hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, Rhysand made his way toward Tamlin.

The once respected General looked scared. That moment of fear, even if he didn’t beg, dishonored him. The crowd roared as Rhysand swung a powerful thigh over Tamlin’s body, using tattooed knees to pin his arms to the ground. Lucien wished he could hear what words Rhysand spoke, sword raised high over his head.

And then it was over. He drove his blade through Tamlin’s throat, drawing forth gushing blood. Rhysands swung again, removing Tamlin’s head from his body as the crowd leapt to their feet, stomping their feet and screaming so loud the gods could not ignore them. Lucien, too, was on his feet, clapping as Rhysand turned to him, head raised in his hands.

I did as you wanted, those violet eyes seemed to say.

Lucien merely nodded in return. Well done.

It took time to set up the next portion of the games. Lucien left Elain in the capable hands of his brother so he and Jurian could descend into the stinking underground of the coliseum. Jurian kept one hand on his sword as Lucien walked, a warning to anyone thinking they might try and get the better of him.

Rhysand was waiting, wiping sweat from his brow with a filthy rag. It merely spread the blood on his face around, making him look truly terrifying.

“My winnings?” Rhysand asked by way of greeting. His face was obscured by shadow, though somehow the blue of his eyes were as vivid as the burning torches hanging from the damp walls.

“Delivered to you this evening, as promised,” Lucien said, extending out a hand for Rhysand to clasp.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am. I’d see you made a citizen of Rome, if you wish.”

Rhysand hesitated. “A full citizen?”

“Full citizen,” Lucien agreed, hoping this gesture of goodwill would not backfire on him. “With your own estate and lands to oversee.”

Rhysand didn’t hesitate, offering a slick smile Lucien didn’t quite trust. “That’s very generous. I’m humbled by the offer.”

Lucien only nodded, gaze turning back to Jurian. “Leave it to me.”

Rhysand nodded, stepping past the pair of them to leave. No one stopped him—he was no longer bound to the chains and cells of this place as he’d once been. Jurian watched, brows bunched together.

“I don’t trust him,” Jurian finally said as Lucien tried not to breathe in the overwhelming stench of rotting blood and human misery.

“He’ll fit right in, then,” Lucien replied.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jurian reminded Lucien as several overseers began to walk toward him.

“I know I don’t. I want to,” he said with a grin. “Besides, the people will be speaking about it for years.”

“Assuming you aren’t killed.”

“Take care of my wife if I am.”

Those were the last words spoken between them. He knew Elain was going to be irate when he stepped out, but at least she wouldn’t look away. There was something familiar about the nerves racing through him. Lucien still remembered his first battle, brand new in his fathers unit, wondering if he’d survive. Lucien knew he would, now. This was how Roman men were tested, how they proved they were made of something strong. Something unbreakable.

He wanted Elain to see him—that was vanity. But he needed his city to see.

Stepping into the arena, Lucien threw his hands in the air with an easy grin. He didn’t dare look toward the seats he knew Elain occupied—he supposed he was cowardly for that. The roar of the crowd was deafening—and intoxicating. All he could feel was the steady gallop of his own heart and his desire to taste blood.

Across the arena, Lucien watched as Brannaghan was brought out. Dark eyed, pale, and filthier than he’d been when he’d first been rounded up, he was an outsider. A Briton who’d led an unsuccessful revolt and hadn’t had the guts to kill himself before iron cuffs were clapped around his wrists.

It was as fair of a fight as Brannaghan would ever get. His sword wasn’t rusted or broken and he was allowed the armor of his people. Of course, there were no trees in the arena, or woods for him to ambush Lucien in. It was a fair fight—and one they both knew he’d lose.

At least make it entertaining.

It wasn’t fun when the political prisoners gave up quickly, hoping for a clean death. Lucien would make him suffer if he fell to his knees, sword cast aside. The only honorable death was one fought well.

Brannaghan’s eyes glittered, body wrapped in crude leather. Lucien had heard the people of Brittania often painted their skin blue, a luxury that hadn’t been afforded here, though he wished it had. The more barbaric he looked, the wilder the crowd would be.

Lucien looked at the crowd, just as wild as they’d been for Rhysand. I am your Emperor! He wanted to shout it, though no one would hear. He’d wait until his victory was assured. Lucien turned his gaze to the man in front of him as the doors allowing exit closed. There was no way out—and Lucien would rather die than beg to be rescued. Only one of them would leave alive.

With the sun beating down on him and the smell of sweat and blood, Lucien raised his sword. He half wished he had Rhysand’s confidence to go shirtless in the arena, though courting disaster made it far more likely.

Lucien offered a taunting smile to the male, coming closer. “I heard you fucked your sister,” he said by way of greeting.

The man snarled in fury, running toward Lucien with his sword raised. Lucien could have driven his own right through Brannaghan’s undefended chest. Already, Lucien saw his weaknesses—this was not a man who was used to fighting up close. At least, not like the Romans did. He was an ambush fighter used to guerrilla tactics.

Lucien knew how to kill a man face to face. He was disciplined, had been trained from boyhood to cast his nerves aside and obey instinct rather than whatever urge demanded he run and hide. Lucien deflected easily, watching as the man stumbled a step before regaining his composure. The crowd cheered as the fight began in earnest. Lucien kept his sword in one hand, the other used to keep his balance. Overhead, Lucien could feel Elain’s eyes on him, could practically taste her displeasure in his mouth. If he didn’t die in the arena, he was going to die in his bedchamber.

What a way to go, he thought, blocking another blow with ease. There was another, and another—Brannaghan was tiring himself out, sweat dripping down his temple to splash on the sandy ground beneath them. Lucien wanted more even as his bones vibrated from the force of the strike. And when he pushed forward, deciding it was time to put on a show, Brannaghan simply could not contend with the superior training of a Roman soldier.

He didn’t quit, though. Even when Lucien kicked him to his knees, sandal flat against his chest, Brannaghan swung his sword. He managed to slice a thin, shallow line against Lucien’s exposed thigh though he hardly felt it at all. He only realized when the crowd jeered.

“Your downfall will be sung of,” Brannaghan spat.

Lucien grinned, driving his blade through Brannaghan’s chest. Fisting the man’s hair as he gasped for air, Lucien murmured, “Roma in aeternum viva.”Rome will last forever.

Lucien pushed him back, letting him fall to the ground as blood poured from the wound. He, himself, was also coated in blood though it was well worth it. Lucien raised his hands, delighted by the roar of the crowd and the warm victory racing through him. This was what he needed, he thought as the doors opened and he was welcomed in.

Lucien stepped into the gloom, eyes adjusting to the dark. He didn’t realize everyone was keeping back not because they were awed by his greatness, but because his wife was standing there with murder in her eyes.

“My turn,” she hissed when he came closer.

“My love,” Lucien replied, pulling her against him for a messy, bloody kiss. Elain tried to push him away, but Lucien wasn’t having it. Holding her face between his hands, Lucien pressed a second kiss to her forehead. “Spare me my dignity before you end me.”

“You should have told me,” she said, eyes glancing around dim, dank space. Lucien nodded, hand on her lower back as he began guiding her out. This was no place for someone as beautiful as Elain.

“You would have said no,” Lucien reminded her, refusing to remove his hand even when she began making her way up the stairs. Elain spun quickly, eyes flashing.

“Because it’s foolish. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” he reminded her. She needed to let it out—that was fine. Lucien didn’t mind her chastising simply because he loved the sound of her voice. Let her yell, so long as she was yelling at him.

“Lucien, I swear—”

“My love,” he tried again, reaching gently for her shoulders to turn her around on the stairs. He should have had himself changed from his armor, but Lucien wanted Elain back beneath the sunlight and far, far away from the threat of violence, the smell of death, or even just the filth that populated beneath the coliseum. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Are you actually sorry? Or are you saying that because you want me to stop being angry.”

Lucien blanched. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“What if he’d killed you?”

“He wouldn’t have,” Lucien replied.

Elain huffed in exasperation, gathering her skirts to continue going up the stairs while Lucien trailed after her. “Why are you angry with me now?”

“You could have died—”

“No,” he said, catching her to push her gently against one of the wooden beams, their mouths inches apart. “No, I could not have. I just got you—not even Plutonis himself would dare to try and take you from me.”

Elain didn’t try terribly hard to shove him away, though Lucien still put space between them. “I was scared.”

“Don’t be,” Luicen murmured, wishing he could scoop her up against him and put her in his bed. “Trust I’ll always return to you.”

“Don’t do that again.”

Lucien grinned. “Don’t make me lie to you—”

Elain shoved him ever so slightly, like a kitten trying to take down a lion. Not that he’d ever say so. Kittens still had claws and she could take one of his eyes out if she wanted. Lucien had no doubt Elain wouldn’t if he pushed her.

“I don’t want to see it.”

“I fight better knowing you’re watching,” he replied, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek. “Let me make it up to you with some food. The lions are coming soon. Don’t you want to watch the lions fight?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“This isn’t over.”

“Oh, how I pray you’re right.”

ARINA:

Arina had her meager things placed in a small bag and was nearly to the door when it swung open, the edge nearly catching her in the cheek. Eris paused, light from a nearby lantern illuminating his beautiful face.

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice lethal and soft.

“Back to my bedchamber—Eris open the door.”

He’d locked it, though, closing it behind him before positioning his larger body between herself and the only exit out. Arms crossed over his broad chest, Eris looked at her, lips pressed in a thin line.

“No.”

“Eris—”

“Must we do this every night?” he asked with just a hint of exasperation. “Must you force me to beg you to stay—”

“People are talking—”

“So let them!” Eris snapped, waving a hand in the air. He seemed so very Italian to her right then, annoyed and scowling as he was as he gesticulated with his hands. All he needed was a cigarette and he’d have been perfect. She’d have flipped him off as she rolled her eyes and he’d have yelled after her, something mildly offensive without angering his mother were Arina to tell.

But he wasn’t Italian—not yet, anyway.

“Eris—”

“Are you afraid, Arina?” he asked, advancing quietly.

She didn’t respond, unwilling to admit out loud that yes, she was deeply afraid that he was going to get everything he wanted and not make good on any of the promises he’d made to her. She’d held out this long, for all the good it did her. People just assumed anyway, and her reputation was damaged as if she had. It shouldn’t have mattered. Arina wasn’t a virgin even without sleeping in Eris’s bed.

But no one cared back home. They cared here. She’d staked her whole life on remaining here—with him. And now it felt like he was making a mockery of her.

“Are you in a hurry?” Eris questioned and christ, when had he gotten so close to her? “I can’t marry you until my fucking brother is done with his celebrations or we would be.”

“I’m starting to think you’re a liar,” she dismissed.

Eris’s brows shot upward. “What did you call me?”

She was stepping into dangerous territory, but it needed to be said before she lost her mind. “You keep saying you want me,” she half whispered, holding her ground even as he advanced close enough their faces were inches from each other. “I think you don’t want anyone else to want me, but you want to see if you could do better—”

He kissed her, fingers sliding in her hair to fist her hair roughly until her neck was arched back. He didn’t stop even when she whimpered, stepping her backward until her knees hit the bed. Whatever shred of dignity or control he’d been holding on to was gone, leaving behind only the base urges of a man Arina wasn’t sure she’d ever met.

She liked him, though. Liked the way his grip softened just enough not to hurt her but not so much he wasn’t keeping her in place. Unaware, she supposed, that this was exactly where she wanted to be.

With his free hand, Eris shamelessly groped her through her dress, palming her breasts until Arina gasped and pulled back just far enough he had to look at her.

“Don’t tell me no,” he warned her.

It annoyed her.

“Then go find your brother and have him sign the contract that makes me your wife,” she replied, shoving him back just far enough that she could breathe again. Releasing his grip entirely, Eris stalked to his desk and opened a drawer previously locked by releasing a latch just behind. She should have figured that out.

A moment later, Eris held a piece of parchment in hand like it was his most prized possession. There was triumph on his face as he brought it to her, eyes ablaze. “It’s been signed.”

She took it from him, fingers trembling. “Liar.”

“Call me a liar again, Arina.”

“Why wouldn’t you say something?”

Eris shrugged, taking the rolled up parchment back from her with nimble fingers. “You change your mind every other hour. Why would I say a word while you decide?”

“Undecided because you don’t seem concerned.”

Eris shrugged again. “Why would I be concerned? I know how this ends.”

“And how does it end, Consul?”

He liked that more than he wanted to admit. Desire flared over his features as he prowled forward once again. “You know how it ends.”

“You haven’t touched me.”

“I’m not a monster,” he replied, cupping her face in callused hands. “I hoped you’d come to me.”

“You should know better.”

“Come to me anyway,” Eris murmured, pulling her close again.

“I stayed for you,” she whispered, watching his eyes go wide. “Isn’t that enough?”

“It feels like too much,” he admitted, his mouth brushing her own. “I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“You don’t,” she confirmed, watching his lips curl into a smile.

“Is this how I can expect the rest of my life to go?” Eris asked, winding a lock of hair around her fingers. “Are you itent on tormenting me?”

“It does you good,” she said, though in truth being able to talk to him that way felt like safety. Eris would let her, trusted his feelings and hers enough that it didn’t bother him. And perhaps, deep down, Eris understood why she swung back and forth the way she did. Sometimes Arina thought she was insane to stay here when going home made the most sense.

Eris didn’t respond, kissing her instead as though his life depended upon it. Maybe it did. Maybe he needed to have her this way to prove himself. Or maybe he was simply a man who was tired of waiting and Arina was trying to subscribe too much thought behind his wandering hands. She, too, was tired of pretending she didn’t want him.

She wanted Eris in a way she’d never wanted any man. Desperately. Frantically. Like if he wasn’t inside her literally that second she might explode into a million pieces.

“You’re so beautiful,” Eris whispered before his mouth consumed her again. Arina was addicted to this despite how new it was. Here, though, secluded and alone, Eris gave in to whatever impulses he felt. His fingers found her hair, pulling it from the half twist so it tumbled over her shoulders. She, too, was moving outside of her own awareness as she pulled his chiton over his head. The most important thing to her was they didn’t stop kissing. She thought she might die if they did, though it made undressing him so much more difficult.

She considered, briefly, demanding he strip to nothing while she watched. Maybe she’d spread her legs out and touch herself to motivate him. Eris pushed her back to the bed, coming with her in a graceless heap that made her love him more. All the slick, smooth edges were worn off here and she felt like beneath his polished exterior lay this half-wild man that she was sworn to marry.

“Eris,” she whispered into his mouth, his name caught and swallowed but Eris’s own greedy lips. He groaned, pressing his hips against her own so she could feel his erection. Arina wanted to see it, too. Arina wanted to know if Eris was as good at other things as he was with his mouth.

“Take this off,” Eris all but begged, trying to find the hem of her gown twisted around her legs. Arina almost laughed, tugging the fabric over her head.

Eris leaned back, watching as Arina slowly pushed the straps of her dress down her shoulders. Eris whimpered, eyes made of molten flame.

“Is this what you want?” she asked, lifting her hips to shimmy out of the dress.

“Yes,” he all but panted. “Take all of it off.”

“You first,” she replied, eyes roaming his bare, toned chest. He worked out—she could see the defined muscles of his abs and shoulders and wanted to trace them with her tongue. When did he have the time—somehow, Eris seemed above that sort of thing.

And yet there he was, yanking the layers of his clothes off with those strong hands she’d been staring at ever since they’d first met. Arina was breathless and Eris was starting to realize he had an effect on her—maybe the same she was having on him. Eris took a breath and then stood, revealing himself fully.

“Oh, come on,” Arina whispered, earning an unrestrained grin from Eris.

“Is it how you imagined?”

“I don’t lay awake at night dreaming of your cock,” she lied., His cock was perfect, thick and large. He knew it, too. “This was supposed to be your shortcoming.”

Eris chuckled, crawling back up the bed where she was still wearing a matching set. “I have no shortcomings.”

She didn’t respond, delighted when Eris ripped off her shift and pushed apart her legs. It was clear he just wanted to look and Arina found she didn’t care at all.

“Fuck me,” Eris whispered.

To which Arina replied, “I’m trying.”

His eyes snapped to her face and just like that, he was kissing her again, hungry and desperate. She was naked, pressed against him skin to skin. Arina could feel the blunt head of his cock lodged against her thigh, and though she wiggled, trying to get him closer, Eris had no intention of letting himself touch her between her legs.

Not yet, anyway. Arina wasn’t used to someone who wanted to draw things out, to wring as much pleasure as they could from their partner. And though she knew she shouldn’t, Arina couldn’t help but compare Eris to every man she’d ever been with before. They’d have been fucking her by now. Warm affection rose through her—she wanted to give him something.

“Eris,” she panted, pushing at his chest. Eris, misunderstanding what she wanted, fell off her to his back with a breathless apology.

Straddling his chest. Eris’s eyes went wide, fingers skimming the sides of her body.

“What are you doing?” Eris breathed, perhaps expecting her to sink herself along his thick length. It was tempting, and yet not right then—not yet. Holding his gaze, Arina lowered her mouth to his chest and licked a path toward his navel. Eris inhaled sharply, fingers fisting the bed sheets beneath them.

“Arina,” he pleaded, realizing what she planned to do.

Lips hovering inches from his twitching cock, she murmured, “I can stop if you want.”

Eris’s exhale was rough, and yet no words escaped him.

“That’s what I thought,” she replied, just before tracing the vein running under his cock with her tongue.

Eris moaned, eyes wholly focused on her face. He was watching, eyes half lidded, fingers splayed over his stomach. Arina licked again, tongue teasing his slotted head. Eris’s hips bucked, hands reaching for her hair before pushing her toward his aching, swollen cock.

“Please,” was all he managed. Arina was so impressed he knew the word at all, let alone might beg her to taste him. Widening her jaw, Arina managed to take half before it was impossible to breathe and her gag reflex rose to the surface. It seemed bad form to vomit in his lap, so Arina pulled back, using her hand to make up the difference.

Eris didn’t seem to care, for what it was worth. “Fuck,” he groaned, fingers fisting in her hair. He set the pace, guiding her up and down his shaft while she focused on licking and sucking, enjoying herself far more than she’d ever done before. Maybe because it was him, and Arina liked everything about him, or maybe she simply enjoyed giving him something.

Clearly Eris wanted something similar because rather than coming down her throat, Eris pulled her off him with a ragged gasp.

“I’m going to finish if you keep that up,” he growled, holding her wrists over her head to keep her from escaping him.

“Isn’t that the point?” she taunted, pushing against his grip just to see what might happen. Eris’s hold tightened, mouth inches from her own.

Eris kissed her again, his free hand teasing her bare breast. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She shivered, delighted he was having as much fun as she was. She was more delighted still when Eris replicated her own action, tongue dragging down her stomach.

“When was the last time someone licked this pretty pussy?” he asked, fingers spreading her apart. There was no way she was admitting the truth to him.

Eris was smart—he guessed anyway, if that near feral smile was any indication. “Oh, baby,” he crooned, thumb rubbing over her clit. “Neglected, are you?” “Yes,” she panted, writhing beneath his warm breath curling over sensitive flesh.

Eris looked up with those dark, amber eyes. Teasing her with his fingers, he said the three words she was desperate to hear. “You’re not anymore.”

She would have done anything he asked of her after that. Eris could have told her to lick his feet and she probably would have. He didn’t, though. Eris didn’t ask anything at all, spreading her legs wide before pushing them toward her chest. And then he licked with the sure confidence of a man who not only knew he was good at this, but that liked doing it.

She could have wept.

She might still, because Eris wasn’t rushing the way she was used to. It took her a moment to relax, waiting for him to raise his head and ask her if she was close or close enough he could stop. Instead, she got a soft moan of approval when one of his fingers slid along her opening, teasing without fully penetrating.

“Don’t stop,” she begged him, lifting her body to give him better access. Eris’s hands slid beneath her ass, holding her off the bed, eyes half closed as he licked and sucked like his life depended on it. Release was building, molten in her stomach as it skated up her spine.

She’d wanted to last longer—Arina wanted to drag this out, just in case he changed his mind. Eris teased until she couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing his hair to shove him closer. He half laughed, like the whole thing amused him, but his tongue remained flat against her clit until she came loud enough the everyone in the palace almost certainly heard her cry out his name.

“Fuck me,” Eris breathed, looking up from between her legs, mouth glistening and red. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Arina nodded, her body still convulsing, arms still shaking and vision blurry. Eris helped once she flopped onto her stomach, grabbing her by the hips, one hand flat on her back to keep her face in the pillow.

“Very good,” he praised, knee pushing her legs further apart. “I want to feel my wife come on my cock.”

This was happening—she’d long forgotten that it was Eris behind her, rubbing the head of his cock through her slick folds. And when he slid himself into her, pushing so far that Arina forgot to breathe, it didn’t matter to her.

Of course it’s you. Who else would it be?

“Gods take me,” Eris groaned, digging his fingers hard enough into her hips she was certain he was going to leave bruises. She tried to respond, but the words stuck to her throat. He didn’t move for a second, letting her adjust to the stretch, to the fullness of having him share space with her.

The moment passed and Eris pulled himself out to the tip before slamming himself back into her. Arina’s cheek pressed unforgivably into the pillow. His pace was brutal and somehow perfect, made better when a ringing slap against her ass cheek pulled her off the bed.

“Do you like that?” Eris asked, reaching for her hair and wrapping it around his wrist. Arina arched her back, biting her lip so hard it hurt. “Tell me what you like.”

“Fuck me, Eris,” was all she could think to say in response. He slapped her ass again, interrupting the pleasure she was all but drowning in with a bite of pain. As it faded, more pleasure rode to take its place, muddling what was happening until her brain was confused and silent.

Pulling her back further with her hair, until she was practically balanced only on her knees, Eris bit his teeth gently against her shoulder. “I want to fuck every inch of you. Every hole. I want you to feel my cock every time you sit down, every time you swallow.”

Arina moaned in response, delighted by his filthy words. Did he know this was her exact fantasy? Was it his, too? Arina thought so, based on the way he moaned, pushing her back down and releasing her hair so he could continue fucking her. Arina was so close again, unable to remember a time she’d come twice if it wasn’t from her own hand.

Eris’s hand slid up the curve of her ass, rubbing until he found the tight hole. His thumb pushed, creating friction and pressure at exactly the right moment. Arina came, screaming into the pillow before she realized what was even happening. All she knew was she was drowning in pleasure, shipwrecked and run aground.

Eris came not a minute later, his thrusting erratic and messy. She barely registered it until his body covered her own, mouth pressing messy kisses against the side of her neck. She could have slept like that, his body weighing her down like a blanket.

“Was it good? Did you like it?”

She didn’t know how they twisted so she lay cradled against his chest, he flat on his back. All she knew was he was holding her, mouth to her cheek as he sucked air in and out of his nose.

“Yes,” she panted, kissing whatever bit of skin she could find. “It was perfect.”

But what she meant to say was, you were perfect.

#elucien #i am almost FREEEEEEE #i forgot how hard posting every single day is

35 notes · View notes

simspaghetti · 7 months

Note

Hello! May I ask how you have your NRASS settings for your decades challenge? And how you cater your game in the sims 3 with the challenge

Hello anon!

Thank you for this question, I wouldn't consider myself an expert on medieval-style gameplay at all lol there are definitely many more people in the community more knowledgable than me! But I've done my best to detail some resources along with my NRAAS settings below, I hope this helps! <3

In terms of how I cater my game for the challenge, I have a lot of historical replacements and cc which make things look more immersive,

If you want a few recommendations:

Zoe22's Off-Grid Plumbing, Buzzler's Scribbling Pad & Functional Washboard

All of Danjaley's stuff! They've been the GOAT in the sims 3 medieval community for a long time and have some great CC including lots of defaults, their CC finds blog is also a fantastic resource for other peoples stuff

JoojConverts also has some great medieval (and other historical periods) clothing & objects

Omedapixel has some essential historical defaults and other great medieval CC!

MsPoodle has some great historical defaults and medieval CC

This sims medieval total object conversion pack & this functional fireplace / cauldron conversion are really great bits of CC converted from TSM

Declaration of Dramas has some fab medieval CC along with a few medieval mods to enhance your gameplay, such as adding a whole religion system!

Ani's Sims has lots of mods which fit in really well with medieval-style gameplay, adding hunting, digging for treasure, blacksmiths, woodcutters and loads more!

Random Default Replacements: Clothesline / Fishing Rod / Music Tips Jar / Paintings / Baby Blanket

Arsil's no cellphones mod / No answer calls mod are really useful as cellphones are one thing which just break my immersion so much!

The carpool disabler is also pretty useful

Feyerin made a bunch of medieval-style careers to be used in conjunction with the NRAAS careers mod

The Merrye Makers on MTS have made a whole bunch of medieval CC and mods I really reccomend!

Technical Stuff: Sims medieval music, UI & CAS room

═══════════════════════════════════════════

I've listed my changed NRAAS settings below, they are mostly the same as the ones listed on my nraas settings page, I've only listed the ones which are different below - so be sure to check out my main settings page first!

Storyprogression:

Caste Options -> Teenagers

Pregnancy: Allow Participation -> True Romance: Allow Marriage -> True

General Options -> Options: Money

Options: Fees and Support -> Child support payment -> 0 Daily fee per household sim -> 0 Elder support payment -> 0 Social secuity per elder -> 0 Welfare per child -> 0

Options: Purchasing -> Purchase bicycles minimum -> 100 Purchase canes -> True Disallowed Cars -> (All 'modern looking' cars have been disabled, leaving a few CC options such as horse and carts, sleighs, bikes etc.)

Town Options ->

Pregnancy: Base number of children -> 5 Pregnancy: Maximum number of children -> 10 Pregnancy: Newborn last name -> Father Pregnancy: Rename Newborns -> True (I like to give them historically accurate names) Romance: Legacy Marriage Name -> False Romance: Marriage Name -> Husband Romance: Marriage Name: Same-Sex -> No Change (If a same-sex couple does get married, I like to view it as a 'secret marriage' between them, which is not officially on paper)

Woohooer

Try-For-Baby -> Species: Human

Allow Same Sex Try For Baby -> False

And that's pretty much everything! It's been a while since I've played the decades challenge tbh so I'm not that caught up with the medieval community, but I hope the resources I've listed above are helpful :)

#historical sims #sims 3 medieval #decades challenge #wcif #resources #replies #Simspaghetti Modpack List

75 notes · View notes

novelant · 7 months

Text

Everything and the Kitchen Sink pt1

Pairing: Phillip Graves x Fem! Reader

Summary: You meet Phillip at your local homeware store while figuring out how to fix your sink

Genre: Fluff

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: None

Reminder: This is purely fiction and will have no correlation to in game character or backstory

Masterist Here !!!

You had taken it upon yourself to repair the sink so you decided to visit your local homeware store to purchase the necessary tools. However, you were faced with the challenge of not having any knowledge about appliance tools. "What to do?" As you muttered to yourself in frustration, you noticed a man standing a few feet away. When he noticed your intense gaze, he turned around and greeted you. “Can I do something for you?” Your intense gaze focused on the materials in front of you. Biting your lip as you scan over every pipe and fitting to find the one you quickly scribbled down on the first piece of paper you saw before rushing out of your house. Noticing a man down the same aisle as you, you look over at him debating if you should ask him for help. He seemed to notice you before you did and his voice seemed to startle you. "Oh ... Umm yeah. My kitchen sink sprung a leak and I need to find the right things to fix it and I seem to be as useless as a white crayon." The man could not help but chuckle at your amusing analogy.

“You know, as much as I’d love to laugh at your comparison, I understand that it must be frustrating to be confused in an unfamiliar environment.” He gestured to the large array of products in front of you. “You definitely chose the most confusing part of the store to get lost in. I’m Phillip Graves, and I’d love to help you pick out the correct pieces for your leaky sink.” "Go ahead, laugh. I'm not wrong. I'm so confused here." I giggle. You introduce yourself and smile up at him. You hand him over the scrap piece of paper with the scribbles of what you need on it. "Seems I need a few things. Sink spraying water from a few places. Say I need a tailpiece, a swivel P- Trap, a housing and a drain elbow. And none of that makes sense let alone what it looks like." “Oh boy! Your sink has definitely sprung some issues.” The man eyed the paper closely, he was impressed by the detailed information you had provided about the problem. “What a surprise to see that a woman as gorgeous as you is taking on plumbing! Your paper indicates that you are pretty knowledgeable with your parts and their functions. I’d gladly help you find the pieces and answer any questions you have as we search.”

"Oh no don't get that idea, I took photos and compared them to a deconstructed photo of a sink online to make sure I was getting the right thing. Not that knowledgeable, I don't know how to fix the damned thing once I go back home." You follow Phillip down a couple aisles to make it to the plumbing section to find the correct items to fix your sink. "Ah, I see. You're quite the crafty planner, aren't you? You certainly came prepared for fixing your little plumbing issue and that shows how smart and resourceful you are." Phillip complimented you with a sweet smile. He continued guiding you to the aisle that held the parts on your list. "This one looks like the one you need for your tailpiece." He pointed to a black and chrome metal joint. "Oh thank you. I had to come prepared though. I can't really afford to hire a plumber right now." I smile weakly back at him. He picks out the tailpiece and you grab the drain elbow a couple of rows over from him. Standing back you scan the shelves to see if you can find the last two pieces left on your list. Phillip kept nodding as he understood your current financial situation; he had gone through something similar before. “Ah! Here’s the P-Trap piece, and lastly, we have the housing.” He picked out the last two pieces you needed from the shelves and collected them both.

“I think that’s all you need. Let me know if I can do anything more to help.” "Thank you Phillip I really appreciate your help." You thank him profusely. "Oh gosh. I've just realised I've taken you away from what you're doing here. Can I try and help you gather what you need as a thank you?" A sweet smile formed on his face at your offer. "That would be really sweet of you; let me think, I'll need a couple of wooden boards, a circular saw for a project, and some light-weight fabric." He scratched his head as he tried to remember what else he needed. "May I ask what for? Is it for home?" You're already heading in the direction of the fabric aisle knowing easily where that is. Your curiosity made him chuckle softly, he would gladly tell you what the fabric was for. "Actually, I'm creating a play castle for my young son. He's been asking for one for a while, so I figured it'd be more special if I built it myself."

Your features soften as he mentions it's for his son. "Oh Phillip, that's so cute and thoughtful of you. We're going to find the perfect fabric for this castle." Trailing over all the fabrics you stop at a dark blue one with gold stars on it. You haul the long roll of fabric out to show Phillip. "I'm not sure but this is pretty perfect to me." I say "obviously you can say no though." Phillip's eyes shone at the sight of the fabric. "Oh wow, this fabric is incredible. Its vibrant tones and vibrant colours really capture what I want to portray for this project. It matches with the overall aesthetic of the play castle." "Thank you for picking it out. I'm sure that my boy will adore it. He loves the stars and these are quite exquisite!" "I'm glad I could help you Phillip. It's the least I could've done after you helped me in my predicament." You could tell that he loves his son a lot.

"I don't mean to come across strong but if you need pillows or blankets made for the inside of this little fort then... I mean I sew." Phillip could not resist but to raise an eyebrow at your offer. "Oh? You sew too?" he asked with a smirk, he could not believe how many skills and talents you have. "Well, I suppose I would need some pillows and a couple of blankets to make the play castle feel cosy for my dear boy. Could you be able to craft those?" "Of course and saves you money on a professional seamstress as well... Well all of the money, you don't have to pay me of course." I measure out the fabric to a rough amount for the blankets and pillows. Cutting it and placing it in the basket with the plumbing materials for the sink. "That is very sweet of you, but I could never accept something like that without at least giving you a little something in return." To show you that he was willing to pay, he pulled out a twenty dollar bill and held it out for you. "At least take this. You can get yourself a nice drink or something for being such a great help." "Please I insist it's okay. I mean I won't take too long to complete anyway so it won't take much time at all." I push his hand back to refuse the twenty dollar bill.

"All I ask, if it's not too much, is your number so I can message you when they're complete." A soft blush formed on Phillip’s cheeks as he tried to conceal the growing smile that was growing in his heart. Your request warmed his heart and made him truly believe that this encounter was not an accident, as if fate itself was bringing the two of you closer. “You’ve done so much for me already that I’ll gladly accept. Please take my number.” You take out your phone and hand it to him to put in his number. Instantly messaging him that it's you. "I appreciate all your help Phillip but I have a leaky sink to go and try to fix. I'll message or call you when the cushions and blankets are finished." You smile before turning on your heel and heading to the cashier to pay. Before you took your leave, Phillip offered one last smile of affection and said, "Sounds like a plan. I hope you have great luck fixing your sink."

As you walked away, he could not help but smile in satisfaction. His son was going to be extremely delighted with this gift, but the prospect of having another interaction with you brought him just as much joy. You pay for the items then drive back to your flat to try and fix the sink. You put on a step by step YouTube video to explain how to fix it. As you're doing so you unscrew something that wasn't meant to be and water sprays in your face. Trying to quickly screw it back in. You grab a towel and start wiping at your face and hair. You debate calling Phillip as he mentioned he was handy at DIY. Your fingers hover over the dial buttons before hitting call and putting it on speaker phone so you can look at instructions online while on call. You hear a few rings before Phillip finally picks up the call. The sound of his voice instantly calms you down. “Hello…is everything alright?” His worry quickly spread through his tones. It was apparent that he was concerned for your wellbeing when he heard the water spraying behind your words. "Hi Phillip, sorry to call you like this but I am definitely as useless as a white crayon when it comes to fixing this sink. I've just drenched myself." Phillip could not conceal his amusement at your remarks. At least you had retained your sense of humour. He chuckled softly for a few seconds at the thought of you being drenched with water. “Aw, it’s perfectly okay. I’d be lying if I said I don’t find this a bit funny. Do you need my help? Or should I let you figure it out yourself?” "Some help would be nice but I'm probably taking time away from you being with your little boy and I couldn't do that. I mean you're more than welcome to bring him along. I'm sure he'll have fun watching his daddy fixing a sink." I laugh. Your offer to invite his son along to join the repairs made him laugh even harder. “I think you’ve forgotten how little he is. My son is only a year old, so he wouldn’t be very helpful except for maybe bringing me some parts.” The thought of his little one trying to carry plumbing tools filled him with amusement. "I'm sure it'll be fine. I can try and keep the little man entertained while you figure out where I've gone terribly wrong trying to fix this sink. Let me text over my address now so you can come over whenever." Your request was too much for him to refuse. The thought of spending yet more time with a beautiful woman like you was too difficult to resist.

Upon receiving your address, he quickly sent a response back that acknowledged your invitation. “I’ll swing by in a few minutes, just hold tight, and I promise to help you sort out this disaster of a sink.” "Thank you so much... Again. You're a lifesaver, see you both shortly." You tease about seeing his son. With that you hang up the phone and get changed into the clothes that are not soaked through. Deciding to leave your hair wet, not caring about it for the time being. Your teasing made him chuckle softly at the thought of having his little boy at your house with you in such compromising situations. The image was humorous to him, and even in his thoughts, he imagined you both having fun with his son. At the thought of the encounter, he quickly finished his tasks and raced to your home, eager to help and see your face again.

Time passed until you heard a knock at your door. Opening it you see Phillip. His son in one arm and the other carrying a tool box. Stepping aside you let them in. "Come in. It's like a bomb site here so watch your step. You can put your son down in the living room. I can get him occupied with some cartoons while we work if that's okay with you of course." The thought of you entertaining his little boy while he worked brought a soft smile to his face, his son would surely enjoy the cartoons you pick out for him. Phillip carefully put his son down in the living room, making sure to place him on a soft couch or chair. He then turned back around to smile at you. “Everything is fine; thank you for accommodating him. I can get started on it right away if you show me what you were trying to fix?” You grab your iPad and put on some cartoons. Hearing his squeals and babbles makes your heart swell. "Yes, so I was trying to fix the tailpipe and I must've loosened something instead of tightening it and yeah now we're here." Phillip chuckles as his son’s giggles echo throughout the living room. The sight of his little boy so delighted by being at your home made his heart melt. He listened to the tale of the tailpipe loosening while shaking his head in amusement. It sounded like you had tried your best with the sink. “I see. Luckily, the tailpipe should be easy to tighten back again. It’s just a simple issue. Do you mind if I work on it myself?” "Yes of course go ahead I'm just going to be just behind you watching though so I can see where I went wrong." Phillip looked over to make sure that his son was doing fine with the cartoons behind him. The thought of his son enjoying himself while in your presence caused him an unexpected amount of comfort.

With his son in good hands, he set his toolbox down and got to work. Phillip carefully worked on tightening the tailpipe as you watched over him. The job itself was rather simple, and he could not but admire your willingness to learn and watch him work. Phillip quickly made work on fixing the rest of your sink. You take the liberty of watching how to fix a sink and making sure his son was okay all at the same time. You hear his son getting slightly restless and you head into the living room to comfort him. You pick him up and hold him on your hip and start to bounce him while making your way back over to Philip. The bouncing of your hips did not go unnoticed by Phillip, for it was quite a sight to watch. While he concentrated on his task, the gentle rocking motions you made with your body made his blood rush a bit. He could smell your perfume as his nose twitched from the faint scent of your perfume. It was a charming scent that made him want to breathe even more deeply. "Hey, is everything going well there?" You ask, still comforting his son on your hip while he continues to watch the cartoons. “It’s going quite well.” Phillip responded to you without even looking up. The sight of you so lovingly carrying his son like that brought a smile to his face. He had never experienced this before in his life, so seeing this sight of you cuddling his son made him feel very comfortable. “I’ll be done in a few minutes, just need to tighten a couple more screws.” "Oh that's brilliant. Thank you so much again Phillip I have no idea what I would've done without your help.'

Phillip could not contain his amusement at your compliments. For what seemed like a simple repair, it seemed like a much bigger task to you. It was adorable to see how grateful you were for such a small task. The tightening of the screws was the final step in the repair, and after ensuring that the connections were secure, he turned to you and smiled. “We’re all done with the repairs here, so your sink should be in proper working order.” Phillip’s warm, inviting eyes filled with amusement and compassion. He still felt a sense of amazement seeing you hold his little boy in the same position his ex-wife once held him in long ago. He felt comfort in your presence; the scent of your perfume and your gentle aura was making his heart throb lightly. You thank him a thousand times more with a bright smile on your face. You could tell he was in awe of you holding his son but you didn't want to say anything to ruin his moment. The sight of you and his son seemed too perfect to him. From the way you carried his son on your hip to how you were so grateful for such a small task, everything about you was charming to him. The urge to pull you into an embrace was growing more intense with each second. He was starting to feel more attached to you after this small task was completed. With a gentle and caring tone, he looked over to ask you a question. “Could I ask you something?” "Hmm oh yeah of course." You respond to him. Philip's warm eyes met yours, and for a few seconds, he seemed to struggle with finding the right words to ask his question. It was clear that your beauty had him at a loss for words when he asked. "What would it take for you to let me take you out to dinner tonight?” "Dinner!" You sound shocked. You didn't mean to come across as shocked as you did. "Dinner would be amazing Phillip" The idea of you accepting to go to dinner with him made his heart leap with joy, as you seemed quite surprised by his sudden question. Your shocked exclamation only added to the charm of the moment, and he couldn't but smile softly at the joy he felt at your acceptance. "Wonderful, I'll pick you up in three hours. Does that sound fine to you?" "Three hours would be perfect." You smile at him again. You look down at the little man in your arms and give him a smile too, pinching his cheeks and booping his nose. Walking over to Phillip you hand his son back to him. Sad to let him go.

Philip was not used to seeing such warmth and compassion towards his son. With every second, the boy became more at ease with you, and Phillip was enjoying the sight of his son interacting positively with you. When you handed him his son back in his arms, he looked down at you and then his son with a slight blush. "He seems to like you." Philip noted his son's affection for you. "I think he does." You blush slightly. "I think I'll be seeing you in three hours then Phillip." "Until three hours then." Phillip smiled as he waved goodbye. He was still feeling all warmed up from your acceptance. The thought of going on a date with you had suddenly made him curious about your personality further. This night was going to be a pleasant one for sure. The only issue was that the three hours seemed like an eternity to him now.

Masterlist Here !!!

#Phillip Graves #Graves #Phillip Graves x reader #Phillip Graves x you #phillip graves x female reader #graves x female reader #Cod x you #cod x reader #Call of Duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii #Graves cod #Phillip Graves cod #Phillip Graves fluff #Graves fluff

78 notes · View notes

pianokantzart · 9 months

Text

By The Numbers (Pt. 2)

Luigi hoped to use one of his own special talents to give the Super Mario Bros. Plumbing company the leg-up it needed to succeed. But as usual, for all his good intentions, the younger of The Mario Brothers finds himself in over his head.

Part one: X Part three: X

Also available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52624285/chapters/133658035#workskin

______________

Once more, Luigi’s eyes darted around in search of his brother. In the half-second it took for him to remember he was alone, his mind clung to Mario's name and face, and held to it like it was the only thing that existed in the world. He remembered when he was smaller, shuddering at everything from leashed dogs, to rumbling thunder, to overzealous distant relatives. He would clutch at his brother’s hand and press close, and Mario would smile at him with a big grin, full of holes from all the baby teeth they worked together to knock free.

“I got ya’!” That was what he’d usually say, taking on the intonation of one of the many superheroes he loved to watch on TV, beaming with pride in his own bravery.

He grew braver as they grew older, while Luigi merely found new methods of holding himself together. The words “sensitive” turned into less forgiving words: sap, sissy, pushover, wuss, crybaby.

In fifth grade, he and his brother stumbled home from school covered in bruises for the first time. That was when their dad first taught them to throw a punch.

As obedient and attentive as Luigi was, Mario was far more eager to put the newfound knowledge into practice, and practice he did… over and over and over. If ever some inflated ego leapt upon Luigi’s meekness like a shark smelling blood in the water, Mario came out swinging. ___ Luigi barely kept his footing as he was thrust into a barely lit corridor deep within the subway, all but abandoned and perfectly empty in the early morning hours. His freedom was short lived. The moment he tried to retreat the ringleader took hold of him once more, one hand snatching his shirt collar as the other seized his sleeve. In a sleight of hand trick that, in any other circumstance, Luigi would have admired, the man pulled an ace of clubs from Luigi’s wrist cuff. “See?” Warren said, waving the card toward his three companions, “Told’ ya he cheated.” Warren. That was his name… the large man with the golden lapel pin; bad at poker, good at sleight of hand. Luigi had managed to overhear some of the muttered conversations while he was dragged away. The three others– who had thus far gone nameless– were uninvolved in last night’s gambling, but interested in helping Warren “settle the score.”

At once, the three were upon Luigi, tugging at his clothes in search of more hidden aces. “Wait! W-ait!” Luigi tried to argue, his voice hitching on every yank and shove, “The dealer would’ve noticed if I had played any extra caRDS-” A vicious tug on his vest broke off his sentence and one of his little golden buttons. Luigi bent down and tried to retrieve it from the ground, but before he could his left sleeve was gripped, yanked, and ripped along the length of the cuff, nearly dislocating Luigi's arm in the process “Ow! A-and even if he didn’t!” Luigi continued, trying in vain to guard his suit from further damage, “There were cameras on us the whole time! Surely someone would’ve noticed if– hey!” Luigi’s argument was halted when his hat was snatched from his head. He instinctively lurched to grab it back, but the two men on either side of him held tight to his shoulders while the third nameless thug turned the green cap inside out, gripped the inner lining, and began to rip it away, much to Luigi’s horror.

“No! Don’t! Not the hat! My Mom made that for me!” This sentiment caused all four confronters to erupt into gales of laughter, forgetting their fruitless search in order to mockingly yank at Luigi’s cheeks and ruffle his hair.

“Awe, his mom made that for him!” “Oh no! Did you hear that? Not his mom!” “Awe, is Mommy dearest going to chew you out?”

Luigi’s breath quickened. His cheeks turned red and hot as a tiny ember of anger flared up amidst his panic. Teeth grit, he redoubled his efforts to escape, yanking with all his might against his captors to the point that one of them was nearly knocked off his feet.

He was on the verge of wrenching a limb free when Warren, who had mostly stayed off to the side during the ordeal, charged him.

The plumber hardly had time to see the danger coming when a ham-sized fist slammed into his stomach, calloused knuckles blunted with golden rings knocking the fight clean out of him in one fierce, world-shattering blow.

‘Oh, he definitely has boxing experience’ drifted through Luigi’s mind in a moment of disconnect before the pain of the impact crumpled him to the ground, gagging and coughing, desperate to both reintroduce air to his lungs and keep dinner in his concussed stomach.

___

By ninth grade, their father was reconsidering the lessons he’d taught when Mario came home with a black eye and disciplinary note curled up in his raw fist. A classmate had shoved Luigi into a locker hard enough to send him to the ground in a mess of books and papers. Mario, predictably, leapt upon the bully like an angry cougar.

“Have you lost your mind? Did you think for even a second before doing anything?” Luigi heard his fathers frustrated voice through the thin wall of their home. Pressing his ear up against the wallpaper, he heard his brother respond, equal in tone and volume.

“I was just trying to protect him.” “Stop using him as an excuse! Luigi’s never gonna stand up for himself if you do all the standing up for him.” “He shouldn’t have to!” “Look at yourself, Mario! You're gonna get torn apart if you try to be his shield your entire life.” Things fell quiet for a moment. Their Dad was the first to break the silence, now speaking far more calmly as Luigi heard the disciplinary note crinkle in his hands.

“A week of out-of-school suspension won’t look good on any college application, but short-term it’s probably for the best. Luigi needs to learn to fight his own battles, and you need to learn to control yourself.” Stepping back from the wall, Luigi sat down and thought it over, letting the guilt swim deep inside his stomach as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He wanted to do better. He intended to do better. He imagined a week where he stood firm, bracing against stray shoves and kicks with raised fists and an unwavering glare, the way his brother did. Be a man for once.

He didn’t, of course. He spent the next seven days on high alert, keeping his head down and his mouth shut, careful to avoid any hallway where danger lurked, spending lunch hours helping teachers shelve books and clean erasers. When the bell rang he dove into the center of his throng of peers to stay carefully hidden from view until he made it to the little light post right outside of school grounds, where his brother stood waiting for him at the end of every day so they could walk home together.

"So, what happened today?" Mario asked, eager to keep a tally of whoever needed to face justice when he returned to school. Luigi shrugged. "Nothing," he said, quietly and truthfully, eyes fixed to the sky overhead.

___

“Did you hear what I said?” Luigi felt his hat returned to his head and shoved over eyes by the same large hand that knocked him to the ground. “What did you do with my money?”

“Put- … put it away.” Luigi wheezed, grasping to create some sort of response as he still reeled from pain and fear. The few words he could whisper out proved coherent enough for Warren.

“Should’ve figured. A guy as smart as you knows not to carry that much cash around, huh?”

Luigi let out an audible whimper. Scattered laughter rippled through the nameless three before Warren continued. “I’m sure you won’t mind accompanying us to the nearest ATM? Get me my cash back, plus a bit of interest for all the trouble you’ve caused. Sound fair?”

Luigi felt something ice cold and agonizingly sharp pressing up against the side of his neck. He couldn’t see it, his hat was still held firmly over his eyes, but he had a guess about what it was. Message received: this was not a discussion.

“Sounds f-fair.”

And with that, a half-dozen hands laid hold of him and yanked him to his feet. Once more he was dragged away, ushered hurriedly through the lighted subway tunnels and up the stairwell to the city streets above. For a moment, Luigi felt a glimmer of hope that he might encounter a police officer on patrol, or find some opportunity to break away from his captors in a crowded location, where they wouldn’t dare attack him so boldly or make good on that knife’s silent threat. But it was still early morning, and though it was the city that never slept there were small dingy back alleys that wasted away in uneasy slumber, where any desperate screams would be met with turned heads and shuttered windows.

___

By twelfth grade, Mario had better control of his impulses, no longer jumping fences, climbing scaffolding or starting fights, no matter how noble the reasons. If he or Luigi suffered a particularly cruel offense settling the score was reserved for outside of school property, where fewer and fewer had the gall to actually face Mario man-to-man. As much as he looked like a thirteen year old with a mustache, he hit like an oncoming train, and did not know when to back down.

Given his behavioral record and mediocre grades, Mario’s batting average had been his best hope for getting into college, but in truth he had no interest in it. A scholarship was beyond his grasp, and coming from a blue collar family he felt he belonged there, and was excited to take part.

He liked working with his hands. He like working with people, staying active and solving problems. He didn’t want to be the brains behind any operation, he wanted to be on site doing the heavy lifting. It was no mystery to anyone what trade most captured his interest. Mario was already tearing through instruction videos and old manuals about waterworks and pipe repair. It had reached a point that family and neighbors didn’t even need to call in a professional whenever the toilet got stopped up or the bathroom sink sprung a link. He seemed to have a real knack for plumbing, and every time, Luigi was there to hand him whatever tools he needed.

“There’s a new business that just opened up.” Uncle Arthur said one night at the dinner table. He slid two bright blue business cards across the table toward Mario and Luigi that sported a “Wrecking Crew” logo and a phone number. “They specialize in small-scale demolition, but they do construction too. They’re in dire need of workers, so I don’t think they'll think twice if you ask to apprentice under whatever plumbers they’ve got on hand. Keep at it, and after you two get licensed and rise in the ranks, you can make up to eighty grand annually.”

“Now hold on, we all know what Mario's big life goals are. What about this guy?” Uncle Tony chimed in, elbowing Luigi so hard he nearly choked on his lasagna.

When Luigi recovered from a coughing fit, he found all the eyes of the dinner table upon him. He coughed a little longer to buy himself time to think, embarrassed to admit hadn’t seriously considered it. Of course, it had crossed his mind now and again. It was all anyone talked about at school: graduation and plans for the future. But Luigi did not care what he did for a living, just so long as it paid a decent wage and gave decent hours, allowing him time to do his chores and tend to his hobbies. He was not a man of wild goals or lofty aspirations, he simply wanted to earn his keep, live his life, and be with his brother.

“That’s good money!” Luigi agreed, picking up the business card and looking it over, “I’m interested if Mario’s interested.”

“Interested!? Ha! Just wait Lu!” Mario exclaimed, talking with a mouth still half-full of salad in his excitement, “When we’re done, there won’t be a single slow drain or leaky pipe anywhere from Brooklyn to Queens!”

Luigi smiled wide. Mario’s adoration of what everyone else considered “mundane” was infectious. Where one saw a job, he always saw an opportunity to change the world for the better– to be a hero in what little ways he could. “I’ve got ya’!” Luigi exclaimed, reaching out for a fist bump that Mario eagerly returned, “Nobody stands a chance against The Super Mario Brothers!”

___

Behind a poorly lit gas station was an ATM machine, glowing gloomily just off from the alleyway that separated a derelict motel from a liquor store. Luigi was escorted into the presence of the screen’s eerie glow where bold white letters read PLEASE INSERT YOUR CARD across the smudged screen. He breathed a quivering sigh and tried to pull himself together, attempting to look on the bright side.

Easy come, easy go. For all he’d earned, it was only one night’s work. It was one very lucky night’s work, but he couldn’t expect that sort of good luck not to come with a retributive flash of bad luck to balance out the universe. Maybe he could keep just enough in his bank account to get his clothes fixed.

He reached into his vest for his debit card… … and his fingers slipped their way through a giant hole, where the seam at the bottom of the pocket had been ripped completely, no doubt the victim of the aggressive treatment his clothes received in the abandoned subway station.

He swallowed, and hoped with all his heart he misremembered. He checked his other vest pocket and his pants, growing more and more anxious as the men around him grew irritated.

“Looks like someone’s trying to buy himself some time.” Warren muttered with a tone in which Luigi could practically felt that blade being unsheathed.

“I’m not! My c-card! You… l must’ve dropped it!” He let out a stressed chuckle while keeping his eyes on the ATM screen.

PLEASE INSERT YOUR CARD

His hands went back through his empty pockets a second time as he felt the four closing in. The world spun and blurred as he tried to figure out his next move and calculate the odds. What could he say? What could he do? What was the likelihood Warren would make good on his threat? How many people had been killed for less? How many had he killed for less?

“Luigi!”

At first, Luigi thought the voice was nothing more than his imagination, but his captors perked up and turned to the source of the sound, so Luigi could not help but turn too.

His heart leapt and dropped in a conflicted dance of excitement and terror. There, standing on the darkened street corner, was a very angry looking Mario.

#my writing #Buckle in this one's chock full of headcanons and flashbacks #very much leaning in to the all-but-established canon that Luigi thinks about his brother a lot when in peril #fanfic #mario fanfic #super mario bros #super mario brothers #gambler luigi #Luigi #Mario

66 notes · View notes