#one of the gold corners isn't mirrored

[justheblueberry]

the process of binding a study in scarlette:

SO. i had a Vision for this fic, right from the start. so many new things i wanted to do and almost no idea how to do it. but let's start from the beginning, shall we?

i usually don't do anywhere NEAR this amount of brainstorming and designing but the fic has so many motifs and details that i knew i wanted to fit in, so i had to draw it all out and piece everything together.

here are a few of my behind-the-scenes brainstorming notes:

this was the very first brainstorm i did, it was basically me flinging a bunch of cool book stuff i saw other people doing at the wall and seeing what stuck in my brain.

this was an idea for a cover which incorporated symbols for each of the chapters inside the branches, but i just wasn't fond of the execution of the draft. so i scrapped it, eventually settling on the silhouette cover for the final.

i had big dreams! and not much experience to back it up with ! so after finishing the typeset, i put it aside for a bit and did a couple other binds first.

this was my second brainstorm, i started to figure out the direction i wanted the illustrations to go in, no longer aimlessly tossing vibes around!

i did a lot of waffling about different versions of the back cover design. here's a couple that i scrapped!

over the summer, i decided to finally stop procrastinating and printed out the typeset (after making a few revisions to it). it's a Chonk. i pressed it some, which helped, but it definitely still had a lot of swell.

sewing with red thread.

endpapers cut, glued, and a glow in the dark paint test.

built a press...up til this point i'd just been stacking a bunch of thick books on top of my binds, but for this one i needed a lying press to sand my edges, so i finally caved. who needs tools? my edge painted book needs tools :(

sanding edges with power sander

so. this was my first time doing anything with edges, so i did a little test on a book i already had; it was a bit of a process trying to work out how much i should dilute it, and it took a bit of trial and error. doing the bottom edge first was the right call ^^;; it's the flakiest out of all the edges on the final bind. i'm really happy with the fore edge though, i got a really even and nice coat on it.

rounding, gluing and (an attempt at) backing

so. it was the day before i was moving. i had run out of time to procrastinate any more. the rounding was quite rushed and i barely backed it at all. there was also the fact that i don't have backing boards and was winging it with absolute unfounded confidence. it still turned out okay though so i got away with it!

dug out a 5 yen coin from who knows where for the bookmark. didn't have pliers with me yet so i had to close the crimp with a metal water bottle and arm strength. who needs tools right

endbands. i love sewing endbands, but man, for chonk fics it gets Long. i think they each took like 2-4 hours to do. i briefly considered learning double core endbands for this bind but decided against it as i barely just got a handle on regular ones. discovery: my ambitions have limits!

this was my finalized cover design. i had planned to do it all with htv, but last minute decided to do the silhouette as a linocut instead. i'd never done one before but i had the materials and the fearlessness that only a beginner (who does not know the limits of fear) can have; i think it turned out good :>

the final stretch!!!! it was at this point, when i realized that the size i'd carved the linocut at would be too wide for the half binding case i had planned. improvisation time. i decided to switch from a regular case binding to a three piece bradel. i have only done case bindings and stab bindings at this point...and with only mild panic and stubborn hubris to fuel me, i went for it. i had already attached an oxford hollow and cut my boards, but it probably wouldn't make too much of a difference! fuck around and find out!

cutting the cloth and adhering the htv. the summary on the back was HELL to weed, and some of the letters ended up crooked. i should've just printed it letterpress, but i was running out of patience.

i followed DAS bookbinding's tutorial on youtube of his in-boards three piece bradel and the part where i had to tuck in the spine cloth in between the hollow was definitely the trickiest, but it went okay in the end!

after attaching the boards and gluing down the endpapers i was finally done!!!! after months and months of the unfinished textblock guilting me from the corner of my room, it's finally finished! fancy pics coming soon!

i learned SO MUCH from this bind, sanding edges, painting edges, linocuts, multiple colors of htv, oxford hollows, and a whole new style of binding....yeah. it was a ride! thanks for reading to the end!

[misaerabl]

The Other Side of the Ring

CAITVI X READER

𝝑𝑒 reader as cait's mistress

CW: actress caitlyn, caitlyn and vi are married, you're caits mistress, older cait and vi, infidelity, power dynamics, voyeurism, consensual but very complicated relationships, not proofread SUMMARY: You’ve been Caitlyn’s mistress for a while now, and things have been going smoothly—until her wife, Vi, walks in. You scramble to cover up, ready for the fallout… but instead of being mad, Vi wants you to continue

part 1 - part 2 (smau)

The elevator hums softly as it climbs. Gold-lit interior. Mirror walls. Polished floors. Your reflection stares back at you, lips rouged, dress clinging like sin itself, a coat draped over to feign decency.

The silence is thick with guilt and anticipation—though by now, the guilt barely registers.

You've done this before.

Same time.

Same hotel.

Same keycard slipped into your purse with a text that never says her name. Just: Room 1907. Use the back elevator.

She never texts twice.

She doesn’t need to.

You check your lipstick in the mirror, fix the slight smudge at the corner of your mouth with a practiced finger. Your heart should be pounding—but it isn't. It’s steady. Familiar.

You’ve learned how to breathe in stolen moments.

Ding.

The doors slide open to the private floor. Her floor.

The hallway is quiet, lights low and warm. Room 1907 is at the end. You walk slowly, each step echoing against plush carpet, pulse rising just a little. Not from fear. From want. From knowing what’s behind that door.

You don’t knock.

The door’s already cracked open.

Your hand brushes it, pushes it inward, and she’s there.

Caitlyn.

Hair swept back like she’s just taken off her earrings. White silk shirt unbuttoned halfway. Black pants hugging her hips. A half-full glass of whiskey in one hand, gaze heavy with recognition in the other.

She says nothing.

She doesn’t have to.

She closes the door behind you with her foot, and the lock clicks into place.

“You came,” she says, voice low and threaded with something between relief and regret.

You slip the coat off your shoulders. “You asked.”

Caitlyn sets the glass down. Crosses the space between you with slow, deliberate steps. Her fingers skim your cheek, trace the edge of your jaw.

“You wore the dress I like.”

“You never asked me to stop wearing it.”

Her lips twitch, just barely. “I never will.”

And then she kisses you—quiet at first, like a secret. Like the beginning of something wrong that already went too far.

You let her.

Because if you’re the sin she keeps crawling back to...

You might as well be unforgettable.

Caitlyn kisses you like she’s starved. Not for sex—no, she could have that with anyone. She kisses you like she’s starving for the illusion of control, for the moments where she doesn’t have to be the polished, perfect wife.

Your lips break with a slick gasp as she spins you around, back pressing to the door she just locked. Her mouth is already on your neck, teeth grazing skin that’s too soft, too exposed. You tilt your chin up to give her more.

“I thought you were at a premiere,” you whisper, fingers in her hair. “Playing the doting wife.”

“I left early,” Caitlyn murmurs against your pulse. “She didn’t notice.”

You hum, but there’s venom under it. “Maybe she did. Maybe that’s why you’re shaking.”

Her fingers tighten on your hips.

“Don’t,” she says—low, sharp, almost pleading. “Don’t talk about her right now.”

You smirk against her jaw, knowing that line is your power. The thing that makes her unravel, every time.

“Then make me forget.”

That’s all it takes.

Your coat drops to the floor with a heavy thud, and she’s all over you—hands dragging your dress up, lips bruising yours, fingers trembling as they find the zipper behind your back. She doesn’t take her time. She never does when it’s like this.

Once you’re stripped bare, she takes a step back to look at you, breath heaving, eyes dark like thunderclouds.

“You’re too fucking beautiful,” she mutters, voice nearly cracking. “It makes me hate you.”

You walk her backward toward the bed with a lazy kind of grace, eyes locked on hers. “You don’t hate me.”

Caitlyn sits on the edge. You straddle her lap without hesitation, your legs on either side of her expensive slacks, bodies flush.

She kisses you again, deeper, messier—lipstick smearing, tongues fighting for space. Her hands slide along your thighs, then slip between them, fingers finding you already wet and wanting.

Her breath stutters.

You roll your hips against her palm, biting her lip until she groans into your mouth.

“You do this on purpose,” she gasps. “You come here knowing exactly what I need.”

You nod, lips brushing hers. “Because you never take it like you want it at home.”

She freezes for half a second, then slams you back onto the bed like you just challenged her pride.

Clothes peel away. Buttons snap. Her shirt’s barely off her shoulders before her mouth is back on your chest—biting, sucking, leaving marks where only you will see them.

“You want me to ruin you?” she mutters into your skin.

“I want you to remember who you ruin me for.”

That sets her off.

Caitlyn kisses her way down your body with deliberate, burning hunger. No hesitation. No sweetness. Just teeth on your hipbone, tongue sliding through slick heat, lips dragging across sensitive skin until you’re writhing beneath her, moaning into the crook of your arm to keep the neighbors from hearing.

She fucks you with her mouth like she’s angry. Like you’re her confession and her punishment all at once.

You come once and she doesn’t stop.

The second time is more of a sob. You fist the sheets. Her name, her real name—not a stage name, not a lie—spills from your lips like it’s been buried in your throat all week.

Caitlyn climbs back up your body, flushed and breathless, hand stroking your thigh like she owns you now.

You wrap your arms around her neck and drag her into another kiss, tasting yourself on her lips.

Then you pull away and whisper, “When are you going to stop pretending this is just sex?”

And she does what she always does.

She looks away.

You know she’s about to lie again—but she doesn’t get the chance.

Click.

The door unlocks.

The doorknob turns.

And both of you freeze—half-naked, tangled, breathless—as the hotel room door opens.

Soft click. A long pause.

You don’t move. Neither does Caitlyn. Her body is half over yours, her lips still swollen, her fingers still ghosting over your thigh.

You think—maybe she’ll think Cait left something here. Maybe she won’t look. Maybe—

“Cait?”

Vi’s voice cuts through the silence.

You scramble, grabbing for the sheets, pulling them over your chest like that can cover up the guilt soaking the room. Caitlyn’s hand is already gone from your skin. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even turn.

Vi walks in.

She looks tired. Still in her suit—tie loosened, jacket over one shoulder. There’s a beat where her eyes land on the pile of Caitlyn’s clothes. Then yours. Then Caitlyn herself, naked from the waist up, still between your legs.

And you. Flushed. Breathless. Marked.

The silence is strangling.

You open your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to run—but Vi just… laughs.

Not cruelly. Not even bitter.

A low, amused chuckle, like this was always going to happen.

“Well, damn,” she says. “Guess I was right.”

Caitlyn finally looks up. “Vi…”

Vi tosses her jacket to the chair by the window and steps further into the room.

“No,” she says calmly. “Don’t start lying now. I’m not here to scream, or throw shit, or cry. Just—keep going.”

You blink. “What?”

Vi shrugs. “I mean, clearly I walked in late. Don’t stop on my account.”

Caitlyn sits up. “Vi, this isn’t—”

“Isn’t what?” Vi cuts her off, voice still soft but firm. “Isn’t something you’ve been doing behind my back for months? Isn’t the same number I saw come up on your phone at 3 a.m.? Isn’t the reason you flinch when I kiss you too long?”

You don’t dare speak. You don’t even move.

Caitlyn’s mouth opens, then closes.

And Vi looks at you, really looks, for the first time.

Her eyes drag over your body—disheveled, wrapped in sheets, marked with Caitlyn’s lipstick and teeth. Her gaze lingers. There’s no disgust there. Not even jealousy.

Only… curiosity.

“You’re not what I expected,” Vi murmurs.

You swallow hard. “I didn’t mean for this to happen—”

Vi steps closer. “Maybe not. But you didn’t stop it either.”

Silence, heavy. Then she smirks—just a little.

“And neither did I.”

You glance between them, heart thudding in your throat.

“What are you saying?” Caitlyn finally whispers.

Vi slides her hands into her pockets. “I’m saying… maybe I don’t mind sharing, if it means I don’t lose you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

And then—her eyes flick to you again, dark with something unspoken.

“You up for that, pretty girl?” Vi asks, voice low. “Or do you only like fucking other people’s wives?”

The air shifts.

Caitlyn’s breath catches.

And you?

You don’t know if you’re about to fall… or fly.

[callikari]

──────── 💼 WE HUG NOW, LACY

。i have a feeling u got everything u wanted, and ur not wasting time stuck here like me.

... 沉在允 x fem!reader 🥂 angst 。 jake is an idol, reader isn't .. 4200 wc (·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) emotional neglect , implied cheating , no comfort , mentions of social media

【 more like this 🌙 】

• part 2 | ceilings

you used to love tour season.

it was the time he was his most alive—posting little updates from different cities, rambling in excitement over every performance, voice cracking from rehearsals, face glowing under stage lights. and you? you were always there, in the background. the one he texted after every stage. the one he called when the hotel room got too quiet.

you’d wrap yourself up in his voice like a blanket, whispering goodnights across time zones, promising to wait just a little longer.

“i miss you,” he would say.

but somewhere along the way, that stopped.

and you can’t remember when the shift happened—when the texts started getting shorter, when the replies took hours, then days. when your name stopped showing up in the small ways it used to: no more blurry selfies captioned “missing someone.” no more late-night facetime calls where he asked about your day before venting about his.

he became busy. too busy.

and you told yourself it was okay. he was on a world tour, after all. things were hectic. he had a million things pulling at him from all directions—staff, rehearsals, fans. you were just… one of them.

but it didn’t stop the ache. the coldness that crept in when your messages were left on read. when your good mornings went unanswered. when his instagram stories showed him laughing with people you didn’t know, in places you’d never been invited to.

and then came her.

lacy.

that wasn’t her real name, of course. but it was the only one your brain allowed you to give her—the only way to put a label on the ghost haunting the corners of jake’s life.

a new member of le sserafim. a recent addition. pretty, popular, and everywhere he was.

you first saw them together in a fan edit.

at first, it was just the usual nonsense. stan twitter being delulu again. “they looked at each other for 0.2 seconds!!! they’re definitely dating!!!”

you rolled your eyes, laughed it off.

but then the videos kept coming. then pictures. then interviews, where their names were brought up together just a little too often. jake smiling when hers was mentioned. her giggling at something he whispered during an awards show.

you wanted to trust him. god, you wanted to.

but the silence kept growing. and so did the disappointment.

you tried asking him about it once.

he was in paris. you were sitting in your apartment, curled up in the hoodie he left behind last winter.

“have you been… hanging out with someone new?” you asked, careful, quiet.

there was a pause. static on the other end.

“you mean the new le sserafim member?” he chuckled, and you flinched at how easily he said her name. “we’re labelmates, babe. we see each other all the time. nothing’s going on.”

“okay,” you whispered.

he didn’t say i love you that night.

you started seeing her everywhere after that. maybe she was always there and you were just now noticing. in the background of tour vlogs. tagged in stories. always two steps behind jake. always smiling.

and the worst part?

she was beautiful.

no, not just beautiful—she was unreal. effortless. the kind of girl who floats through a room and makes people stop mid-sentence. skin like porcelain. eyes that held galaxies. every photo of her looked like it had been dipped in gold.

you hated how she made you feel. how every scroll through your feed left you questioning your worth. how you started avoiding mirrors. how you downloaded and deleted every editing app on your phone just to blur out the imperfections you used to never notice.

she became the person you couldn’t stop thinking about.

not jake. her.

how could he look at you, and then look at her?

it was raining the night you found out.

you were on your way home from work, drenched, exhausted, heart heavy. you hadn’t heard from jake in two days. your last text—“call me when you can? miss you.”—was still unread.

you stopped by a corner café, phone in one hand, umbrella dripping rainwater onto your shoes.

and then you saw it.

a blurry photo on some gossip page. not even a dispatch post. just grainy enough to make you hope it was fake.

“rumors spark as jake of enhypen is spotted leaving a parisian hotel with le sserafim’s newest member. insiders say the two have been ‘close’ for months.”

your heart dropped.

you stared at the image—him in a black cap, hand on the small of her back. her leaning into him, soft smile, like she belonged there.

like you never did.

you didn’t cry. not at first. just sat there, blinking at the screen, watching as the rain painted streaks across the glass window.

your phone buzzed.

it was jake.

finally.

you answered, voice already cracking.

“hey,” he said, breathless like he’d just been running. “you okay?”

you didn’t know how to respond. your throat felt tight. your hands shook.

“you’re with her,” you said.

silence.

then a sigh. “look… i was going to tell you. i swear, i just didn’t know how—”

click.

you hung up.

days passed.

then weeks.

he tried to call. once. then twice. you never answered. there was nothing left to say.

your room still smelled like him. your playlists still had songs he sent you. your hoodie still held his warmth.

but you were done waiting.

done shrinking yourself to fit into the corners of his life.

because lacy might be everything you weren’t—perfect, polished, adored—but she didn’t have you.

your loyalty. your patience. your quiet love that wrapped around jake even when he didn’t deserve it.

you weren’t lacy.

and for the first time in a long time, you were okay with that.

维维安的 taglist : @ash-engen @cheruphic @jungwonbropls @chrrific @ijustreallylike2read

© callikari — all rights reserved

[kabsey]

(A small and slightly self-indulgent sequel to this.)

A shaft of bright sun from the balcony warmed Lucanis's back and coaxed him out of the strange dream he'd been having, a dream of demons and gods. He lingered on the hazy edge, savoring the soft plushness of the mattress and pillow beneath him. Canting his hips, he stretched his legs out. When the toes of one foot brushed the warm solidity of someone else's calf, his eyes popped open.

He couldn't see much; half of his face was still mashed into the pillow, and locks of his hair obscured the vision of his free eye. But the shape inches from his nose was unmistakably a pale, freckled elbow. He watched it shift as Rook rolled over to face him and tucked one hand under her pillow. She reached out with the other, and gentle fingers tugged free the hair caught in his beard and under his chin and smoothed it behind his ear.

"Thank you for keeping your panic internal," she said. Her lips twitched toward a smile. "If you'd started screaming, Viago probably would have stabbed first and asked questions later."

"You're welcome." His words came out muffled by the pillow.

"You don't actually have to panic, you know," Rook added.

He rolled from his stomach onto his side and mirrored her posture. "You just said Viago would stab me."

"He wouldn't stab you," she insisted. "You're not who he's annoyed at."

"He seemed pretty annoyed last night."

Rook waved her hand. "He's just embarrassed you heard us squabbling. Usually only Teia has that privilege."

The sunlight that fell over his shoulder turned her eyes to honey-brown and caught highlights of gold in her hair. He matched her earlier gesture and tucked a few strands behind her ear and then let his fingertips trace the lines the pillowcase had creased into her face.

"I've never woken up in someone else's bed before," he confessed.

Her smile was soft. "I've never let anyone wake up in my bed before."

His heartbeat tripped a bit at that, but he covered it with a smile of his own. "That was unnecessarily ominous."

Rook laughed. "We're Crows. Isn't that what we do?"

"No. I am never anything but appropriately ominous."

"Is that right?" Her hand came up to his, cradling it between her warm palm and her soft cheek. "I could have Emmrich ask your targets."

"Please don't. That would probably be bad for business."

She hummed in agreement. "Probably." Then she turned her face just enough to brush her lips against his skin. "We should probably get up and get back to the Lighthouse."

He hummed as well. "Probably."

Neither of them moved, and before he could talk himself out of it, Lucanis shifted forward and pressed his lips to hers for the first time. It was simple and soft and as sweet as he could have hoped. When he pulled back, he knew the sight of her pinked cheeks and the look of pleased tenderness in her eyes would never leave him.

"Was that okay?" he murmured.

"Yes." Rook grinned. "You have standing permission."

He didn't lean in again, but he let his thumb come to rest at the corner of her mouth. "Good to know."

[orcasoul]

The Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter Summary: You begin to adjust to your new life in Rome, while becoming closer to Marcus.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, slow burn, protective Marcus Acacius.

Word Count: 7,001

Chapter 6 A Home From Home

For the hundredth time today, you are astounded. Every inch of the villas walls are painted and some are decorated with images of florals, animals and people. Tall, shiny pillars stand proud in a large hallway, lush orange curtains drape across wide arches, statues and vases of various sizes sit in niches along the walls, the ceilings display detailed recessed panels and boarders of patterns you couldn't have ever imagined. Sunlight streams in through a large rectangular opening in the ceiling and directly beneath it is a very shallow pool of water. White and gold rimmed tiles cover the floor and the smell of lavender and roses hang in the air. All of this for one man! It's unfathomable. The servants lead you down a spacious corridor lined with potted plants, stopping outside two large double doors.

"This is your bed chamber, My Lady," one of the girls says as she opens the doors for you. Blinking back your shock, you slowly enter, feeling somewhat unworthy to step foot into such opulence. This one room is three times the size of your hut back in your village. The same meticulous decor adorns the walls and ceiling, the largest and most luxurious looking bed - with an abundance of cushions, you might add - surrounded by semi transparent veils rests against the far wall. A large Oak wardrobe and a standing mirror are situated to the right of the bed, a soft Lectus is in the far right corner and a vanity table on the other side. To the left of the bed is a smaller doorway and between the door and bed, a curtained balcony leads outside. There must be some mistake. This can't be intended for you. You didn't realise you were clutching your bag so tightly to your chest until the other servant spoke. "I can take that if you wish," she said, holding out her hand.

"Thank you," you smiled shyly, passing it to her. She places it on the Lectus while the other girl opens the smaller door in your room. "This is your private room for bathing." Peeking around the door you see another room, (smaller but still bigger than your hut) with another Lectus, a large brazier and a large oval shaped basin built into the floor with the sides raised about a foot from ground level and steps surrounding it. Steam rises from the water, flower petals swirling on the surface. "All of this is for me?" you ask in disbelief. "It is, My Lady. The Generals' orders were clear. Would you like us to help you undress?" "Oh, um... no thank you," you say, maybe a bit too quickly, embarrassment flushing your cheeks. Both girls are now looking at you like you've grown another head. Were they expecting to undress and bathe you?

Maybe that's another norm here? To be bathed by your servants. Does that mean Marcus allows them to bath him?? Surely not! They suddenly look like they don't know what to do with themselves, but there's no chance you're going to allow them to see you naked, even if it is the norm here. "I'd prefer to bathe alone, please," you insist and after a doubtful glance at each other, they nod and leave the room. Peeling off your clothes, you waste no time slipping into the hot water, making sure to keep your bandaged shoulder dry. An involuntary moan passes your lips as you lean back against the edge, the hot temperature and swirling oils caressing every muscle, releasing the tension of a weeks worth of travelling.

If this isn't heaven on earth, you don't know what is. The best you could have hoped for up until now was a bucket of cold water and a rag, and in the summer months, a visit to the river to fully bathe. After washing your hair and body with the sweet smelling soaps provided, you lay back down and close your eyes. You're not ready for this to end yet... A light tap on the door causes you to startle. "My Lady, dinner will be ready soon. We must prepare you." How long have you been in here?! It feels like you'd closed your eyes only five minutes ago but now you notice that the water has cooled slightly. Reaching for a towel folded on the steps, you quickly stand and wrap it around yourself. "I'm coming," you call out to them, squeezing the excess water from your hair. When you enter the bedroom, you see the servants waiting for you, one of the girls (the brunette) holding a long, flowing pale green gown.

"It's beautiful," you gush, tracing your fingers along the delicate fabric. "Please allow us to assist you," the other girl, (the blonde one) says. "It will be difficult to do this without help." Despite your initial embarrassment, you agree to let them dress you, after all, you wouldn't even know where to begin with these strange fashions and they seem to know what they are doing. Once dressed, the girls turn their attention to your hair, which is turning out to be the most time consuming. They work in silence, but said silence is beginning to make you feel uncomfortable, so you decide to fill it. "Could you tell me your names again?" you ask politely. So much was happening upon your arrival that you didn't think to ask them sooner. "I'm Cassia" the blonde answered. "I'm Flavia," the brunette followed after her. "Thank you both for your help," you smile at them in the mirrors' reflection "It's our pleasure, My Lady," Cassia responds promptly.

There's that term again: 'My Lady'. You don't understand why they just don't use your name. "Please, just call me Alia." Both girls stopped what they were doing to meet your gaze in the mirror, clearly caught off guard by your request. "It wouldn't be proper, My Lady-" "I'm not a Lady," you interject, quickly, but not unkindly. "I have no station or class here. I'm not even a citizen yet," you shrug your shoulders. "I would much prefer for you both to call me by my name." "But the General would not allow it," Flavia objected. A small smirk raised the corner of your mouth, your tone becoming slightly mischievous. "He doesn't have to know. Maybe we could compromise? You may refer to me as 'My Lady' in the Generals' presence, but when it's just us I would really appreciate it if you'd call me Alia." Both girls exchanged glances again, then Cassia spoke, "As you wish... Alia." The girls continue with their task and this time the silence is much less strained.

*****

After inspecting the care and attention paid to his villa in his absence, Marcus excused himself to his bed chamber, eager to bathe and rest before dinner. It's been almost six months since he'd been home, and although a part of him felt that this is wrong (that he should be with his troops), he couldn't deny the relief he also felt at his homecoming. This is his sanctuary, his escape from blood, brutality and death. Well, a physical escape, at least. The horrors of war, the lives he's taken will forever be ingrained on his soul, along with their blood on his hands. It's just a reality he'll always have to endure, but at least his body can rest, even if his mind can't. And right now, his mind is on you. He can't even begin to fathom how you must be feeling after today. Not only is this a huge culture shock for you, but you're now going to have a lot to learn, and you'll have to learn it fast if you're going to thrive here. But at least you won't be alone in this. He'll help any way he can.

Marcus steps out onto his balcony, the whitewashed stone illuminated by the moon. Looking at the moon now, he's reminded of that night he watched it from that filthy cage. He was certain he would die in Germania; certain he'd never get to stand on this very balcony and observe the moon's pearlessent sheen again. Yet, here he is, and it's all thanks to you. It all feels so long ago and so recent at the same time. He thinks about the changes since then; how you've both gone from distrusting one another, to tolerating one another, to... dare he say friends? A warmth spreads through his chest at the thought of calling you a friend and, regardless of how you view him, that's how he sees you now: as his friend. That simple truth makes him smile, both inside and out, and as your friend, he'll do his very best to make the transition as easy as possible for you, starting with your comfort. You'll no longer have to scrape by every day. By the gods, you'll never suffer another day in your life if he has anything to say about it. A knock on his door, draws him from his thoughts. "Come in," he calls out. Silas opens the door. "Dinner will be served, momentarily, Dominus." "Thank you, Silas. Please inform Alia." "Yes, Sir," Silas bows and leaves the room

*****

The Triclinium (living/dining room) is awash with the most delicious aromas that Marcus hasn't smelled in months. Two plates of venison, seasoned root vegetables and potatoes are set at both end of the table along with two smaller plates of figs, pomegranates and fruit tarts. Being home really does have it perks, he thinks to himself as he savours the rich bodied wine he sips from his goblet. Marcus stands by your chair, awaiting your arrival. Moments later the doors open and his hand stops mid air, the sip he was about to take well and truly forgotten, along with the rest of the room. Marcus' breath caught in his chest as you slowly entered, convinced for a moment that venus had suddenly graced him with her presence. A soft green gown with a low v neckline framed your delicate figure, along with a cream coloured Palla draped over one shoulder, secured at your waist with a floral designed belt.

Your hair, which up until now was mostly kept in a simple braid, partly hung in loose waves around your face and shoulders, while the back had been placed up in a loose bun with ribbons interwoven throughout. You look simply stunning! As you come to a stop in front of Marcus, he notices the shy smile you'd entered with shift into a look of uncertainty. That's when he realised that he'd just been standing stock still, staring unabashedly. Before he could attempt to hide his error, you spoke, voice tinged with hesitancy. "Is- is this too much?" you glance down at your clothing, pulling your shoulders into yourself, much like you did the very first time you'd both met. Seeing you shrink in on yourself again, twisted something deep inside marcus' gut. "No, not at all!" Marcus exclaimed, shaking his head. 'You look beau-" his mouth snapped shut as his brain realised what was about to slip past his lips.

Your eyes briefly met his before you lowered them, your cheeks flushing pink. "Um..." he cleared his throat, "it suits you," he finished. "Thank you," you smile softly. "Please, sit..." Marcus pulls out your chair, noticing a flicker of surprise cross your face before thanking him and taking a seat. Once Marcus is seated, a servant appears to fill your cup and refill his own. The feast before you has your stomach grumbling. Now that the shock and awe of todays events have settled, you realise just how hungry you are. "Did you manage to get some rest?" Marcus asked. "A bit," you reply. "And do you like your room?" You can't help but gush now, "Like it?! It's incredible, Marcus! But don't you think it's wasted on someone like me. I mean, I'm hardly deserving of so grand a gesture."

"You deserve it and more," Marcus says with a tone of finality. You can't say you agree but you're not about to argue with him in his own house, so you nod agreeably. "You must be quite hungry by now." Marcus turns your attention to your food. "I'm famished," you acknowledge with a slight chuckle. As you both begin to eat you can't stop the sigh that escapes you at the rich flavour of the meat and the freshness of the vegetables. It's been far too long since you'd had a truly decent and enjoyable meal, always having to make do with scraps and leftovers in your old life. This is just sublime. You didn't even notice your eyes had rolled closed in your head until a low chuckle caused them to snap open. "Good?" Marcus asked, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Mhmm..." you nod, vehemently, mouth still full. After finishing the main course you'd both moved onto dessert. Figs, pomegranates and fruit tart have now become your favourite foods, and you warn Marcus he might have to fight you for them in future, to which he joked, "I'm not going to fight you over fruits. I value my life too much." The lighthearted atmosphere in the room later shifted to a more serious air as Marcus surmised, "I imagine today has been somewhat... overwhelming for you." You huff. "That's an understatement." Marcus just watched you, silently waiting for you to continue. "This house..." you look around you, "this whole city, it's..." you struggle to find the words. "It feels unreal... like I'm in a dream. I didn't know people lived like this. I didn't know it was even possible. I can see now how Rome has been able to conquer so much of the world... No one stands a chance."

There's an ominous undertone in that last sentence. Marcus knows it's true. A power like Rome can never be contained. And while such power can bring great suffering, it can also bring stability and unity to an otherwise dark world. It's just regrettable that you can't have the good without the bad in those circumstances. "Well, you don't have to worry about anything anymore," Marcus offered. "You're safe here. While you're under my roof no one will mistreat you. You have my word." Marcus' soft features have now solidified into determination as he levels you with a 'do you hear me look'. Your chest filled with warmth at Marcus' concern for your wellbeing. No one has shown you such tenderness in years. It's nice but at the same time it unsettles you. The thought of putting your faith in another person is daunting and it goes against every ounce of self preservation you have. But you will try, you want to try. "Thank you," you smile, feeling the tingle of tears behind your eyes, and for the first time in a long time, hope.

*****

Later that night with the villa settled and the long and exhausting day drawing to a close, you take a much needed moment to just... breathe, to truly reflect on your new reality and the new, unmapped path ahead of you. Sitting at the foot of the bed, one hand runs over the silk texture of your sheets, while your other holds your fathers' knife, which you'd made sure to pack in your bag. You turn it slowly, eyes tracing the carvings along the hilt. Familiarity - even if it's this small - is what you need right now. Braziers bathe the room in a rich amber glow, while the distance buzz of Cicadas drift on the light breeze coming in through the open balcony door. You'd dreamt of this for weeks; to finally reach the sanctuary of Rome and try to find some semblance of peace. Every time you'd envisioned this moment it filled you with comfort.

So why, now that you're finally here, do you feel a crushing weight in the pit of your stomach, the hope you'd begun to feel only a couple of hours ago dimming like a cooling ember. And it only worsens when your thoughts drift to your parents, to Farro. You'd been so eager on leaving your old life behind that it hadn't occurred to you that you'd be leaving them behind aswell. You'll always carry them in your heart but knowing that you're so far away from the land you once shared with them cuts deep. You couldn't stay in the village, you know that, and they wouldn't have wanted you too, but that doesn't make this ache any easier to bare. It feels like you've abandoned them. Looking around the opulence of the room, it dawns on you that you don't belong here any more than you belonged with your tribe. It seems there's no place for you anywhere in this world. With such a heavy realisation, come your tears.

You reach beside you where the fur blanket Marcus gave you lays folded up. Maybe it was your subconscious compelling you to do so, you're not sure, but you wrap it around your body - despite the warmth of the mediterranean air. Just the fact it's from Marcus gives you a sense of comfort. Between the stress from the long journey and the mental and emotional storm swirling through you, you're suddenly exhausted, in every way you can be. Laying down (on the softest pillow imaginable) you pull the blanket up to your chin and close your eyes, drifting off into a deep and much earned sleep.

*****

You wake to a clinking sound in your room. It takes a moment for you to remember where you are as you blink away the daze of sleep. Turning your head in the direction of the sound you see Cassia placing a tray on your dresser. "Good day, My - um... Alia," she smiles, with a tip of her head. "You've missed breakfast and lunch. Dominus sent this platter of food for you." Still slightly groggy, you sit up, rubbing your eyes. "What time is it?" "A little after 2pm." Your heavy lids shoot up when you realise you've slept half the day away. "Oh, forgive me. I overslept," you say, sheepishly. "It's alright. Dominus wanted to let you rest after your journey. I trust you slept well?" You nod, "Yes, thank you." Cassia brought over the tray, consisting of bread, cheese and grapes and set it down on your lap. "I'll return in half an hour to help you dress. Dominus requests your presence in the Triclinium in an hours' time. He has arranged for a Medicus to attend you." Cassia bowed once more and left your room.

*****

"Lady Alia, Dominus," Cassia announced as she opened the doors to the Triclinium. Inwardly, you cringed at the title but a deal is a deal, you guess. "Thank you, Cassia," Marcus replied. "Please, come..." he extended his hand to beckon you. "This is Ennius. He's here to assess your shoulder." The short, kindly looking old man nods his head respectfully and you smile, somewhat shyly in return. "I'll leave you to it," Marcus said, then left the room. While the Medicus inspected the healing scar tissue, you kept your eyes locked on the furthest wall, unable to bring yourself to look at the consequences of your sins. This mark will forever be a reminder of the life you took. Since you hadn't regained full motion of your shoulder yet the Medicus instructed you to do morning and nightly exercises for the next few weeks. Thanking him for his help, you walk him to the door, surprised to see Marcus waiting patiently on a Lectus in the Atrium.

"All well?" Marcus asked, standing up. "Yes General, a picture of health." A quiet, relieved sigh left Marcus' lips. His own diagnosis was what he'd expected; three to four months of physiotherapy along with additional daily exercise to stop the muscle from seizing. And now with your clean bill of health, he can feel the worry he had for you draining away. "Thank you for attending us today." "Its my great honour, General," the Medicus replied respectfully, bowed and left. Marcus turned to you, his air of formality easing and a soft smile on his lips. "Are you well rested?" "Yes, thank you," you smile in return. "How did you find your first night here?" Marcus asked. How can you answer that without sounding ungrateful of Marcus' hospitality? You're glad to be here, but you hadn't expected to feel regret simultaneously. Leaving everything you knew behind isn't as easy as you'd anticipated.

With what felt like a forced smile, you answer, "It was a very comfortable night." "Good," Marcus' gaze softened even more, seemingly pleased with your answer. "Come, walk with me." Marcus held out his elbow, and you couldn't help but notice the width of his arms compared to your own. Something about the stark difference in size struck you, but surprisingly not in an intimidating way. Once, you were afraid of what he could do to you, but now you feel with certainty that he would never purposely hurt you. As you slip your arm through his, the warmth of his tanned skin and the firmness of his muscle has you momentarily entranced. Faint and more recent scars criss cross his forearm, and you wish you could know the story behind each one. "Where are we going?" you ask. "I'm giving you a tour of the villa. We didn't have time yesterday."

As Marcus led you through the spacious villa, explaining the names and purposes of each room, you once again marvelled at the beauty of the architecture, art and sculptures that make up this grand estate. But your favourite part of the tour was the Hortus (garden). Never had you seen such an array of colours! It seems every species of flower imaginable bloom here, some you recognised such as Lillies, Roses of varying shades of pink and red, Poppies and Crocus, but many you haven't before. You'd quickly learned the names as Marcus answered question after question, appearing entertained by your inquisitiveness. Iris, with the deepest hue of purple, Long stems of multicoloured Gladioli, Narcissus that looked like it had been kissed by the sun itself and your favourite; Myrtle. It's vibrant white, curved petals and tufts of white and yellow staymens reminded you of stars bursting to life.

The amalgamation of fragrances waft on the breeze, the air simply intoxicating. You continue strolling through the extensive garden, taking in the Ivy covered columns bordering it. Niches along the outer walls hold small statues and vases. Another fountain - smaller than the one in the courtyard - with dancing women carved into the marble, sits in the centre of the garden and low bushes in curved formations surround it and line the pathways. A few Cypress trees cast shadows over parts of the lawn and beautiful marble benches are dotted throughout. Birds warble from the trees, flitting from branch to branch and bees and dragonflies drift through the garden, indulging themselves on the flowers' sweet nectar. This entire garden is the very embodiment of life. If ever you have envisioned paradise, this is it.

"This place is... magnificent," you gushed as you and Marcus take a seat on one of the benches. "I wonder how you can ever bare to leave it?" Marcus gives a halfhearted smile. "It's not by choice. Unfortunately duty overrides choice." "Mmm..." you nod in understanding. "You're so fortunate, Marcus. I can only dream of one day having a home like this," you sigh, dreamily. "This is your home..." Marcus stated, sounding slightly confused. Your head snapped his way. "W-what?" Now you both share the same bewildered look, him regarding you like you've just said something absurd. "I- I don't understand," you stutter, "you brought me here to help me get a fresh start." "Yes...?" Marcus confirmed, one eyebrow raised in question. "I never expected you to take me into your home indefinitely. That would be such an imposition." Marcus' brows pinch together.

"Where did you think you were going to go?" "Well, I..." you rub the back of your neck, uncertainty creeping in. "I intend to look for employment somewhere and use the money to have my own home." Marcus' frown softened, looking at you like he was about to deliver very bad news. "I'm sorry, I should have been more clear with you," he began, hesitantly. "It was always the intention to give you a home here. When you asked about life in Rome and I mentioned employment, I didn't mean you would have to work. It's not common for a woman to work. Her father provides for her until she weds and then the responsibility becomes her husbands'." Your heart sinks in despair as the reality of you situation sets in. In just a short conversation all the plans you'd had for your future have been dashed.

"But I have neither! I have to work, Marcus!" The alarm in your voice caused Marcus to sigh and close his eyes. He'd thought it was obvious that this would be your new home. The fearful expression clouding your eyes made Marcus' heart constrict. "I'm sorry, Alia," he paused and looked you dead in the eyes. "It's very unlikely you'll ever be considered employable." "Why?!" Marcus shifted uncomfortably, hoping what he's about to say won't offend you. The last thing he wants is to hurt your feelings but you have to know where you stand. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but first of all you have no concept of life here, no skills to offer. Forgive me for asking but are you literate?" You sigh, defeatedly and shake your head. "That puts you at a huge disadvantage," Marcus adds. "Second, you're a foreigner and many employers would frown upon that." "So you're saying it's hopeless?"

The sight of your glistening eyes makes Marcus' heart ache for you, his entire being vibrating with the need to reach out and comfort you. It takes all of his willpower to stop himself. Marcus answers you with a sympathetic smile. "But there must be something I can do," you stress. "Marcus, I appreciate everything you've done for me but I can't stay here. This is your home and I refuse to be any more of a burden than I already am. You have no obligations to me other than the deal we made. There must be somewhere for someone like me, some kind of job I can do." Only two possibilities exist for someone of your station- or lack of it - and neither of them are an option as far as Marcus is concerned. He doesn't want to crush you any more tan he has but you're just not getting it. He shakes his head and exhales, "There are two options; one being the poorhouse..." Marcus' face turns grim, loathed to mention the the other, but he must. "The second is the pleasure house. And that's not happening."

Marcus can see the colour drain from your cheeks at the mere mention of that. "No, no that's not," you quickly agree. "So you see, you don't really have much of a choice." "But Marcus..." you groan, burying your face in your hands and leaning your elbows on your lap, "This isn't fair on you. You're not my father or husband, so why should you have to keep me? It's not right." "Alia..." you peer up at Marcus, looking defeated. "I'm not doing this out of obligation or pity. I'm doing it because I want to help you, because I care. And don't ever refer to yourself as a burden again." You release a humourless chuckle. "You should have ditched me on the way. I can't say I would have blamed you. Now you're stuck with me. Oh, I know..!" you perk up, "I could earn my place here. I could work in the kitchen or -" "No!" Marcus shook his head, emphatically. "Don't you think you've spent enough time in servitude?"

"I..." Whatever you were about to say dies on your tongue and Marcus can see the fight draining from you, replaced with a reluctant acceptance of your situation. He continues with sincerity, "Life has dealt you an unbelievably cruel hand, Alia. Please, allow me to show you kindness. Let me take care of you." After a moment of contemplative silence, you give Marcus a tired smile and nod. "I don't know what to say, Marcus, but... thank you." A warmth suddenly envelops the back of Marcus' hand, a soft brushing sensation across his knuckles. Looking down, he sees his much larger hand enclosed around yours on your lap and your other hand resting atop his. When did this happen? When did his hand find yours? And more importantly, how did he not even notice it happening? Clearing his throat, he gently slid his hand from yours, willing his quickening pulse to ease. Burying his discomfort, he says, "I don't want you to worry anymore, okay? Everything will be alright, I promise."

"I believe you," you whisper sadly, wiping a tear from under your eye. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go and lie down for a while. I feel a headache coming." Marcus rises with you as you stand. "Of course," he soothes. "I'll send Flavia for you when dinner is ready." "Thank you," you murmur before walking away. Marcus watches you as you walk back into the villa. He can't imagine how overwhelmed you must be right now and this is only the beginning. There's so much you'll have to learn, to adjust too, and it's clear to him now that it involves so much more than just life in Rome. It seems a lifetime of abuse and neglect has left you unable to fully accept basic human kindness. The injustice of the treatment placed upon you fills Marcus with a silent anger; the kind that buries it's roots deep into your soul, forever lurking just beneath the surface. If he could, he would leave for Germania this very minute and take great pleasure in burning your village and everyone who've wronged you to ashes.

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation as he left the Curia Julia (senate house). The meeting with the Emperors and the senate has mentally drained him. These pompous men - Emperors included - speak so casually of war, yet have never faced the reality of the battlefield, never watched the life fade from the eyes of a brother in arms, never smelled the iron tang of so many wasted lives as it seeps into the ground, never heard the weeping of mothers and wives in the aftermath. All they see is a romanticized version of it. After briefing them on all that had happened under his watch and the plans going forward under the command of his Praetorian, and the expected time of his recovery, the subject then shifted to you. He'd explained how you were mistreated and how you'd helped him escape and the promise of citizenship he'd made you.

While a part of him felt it wasn't his place to reveal certain sensitive details, he knew that if he omitted anything now and it later came to light, it could damage your image and forever tarnish you and himself as deceitful, so he told them everything; that they accused your mother of witchcraft and by extension of her bloodline, you too, that they'd murdered your parents and enslaved you and that you'd killed your chief while you were both escaping. There were some raised eyebrows and critical judgements as he'd expected, but after taking it upon himself to vouch for you, a lot of their reservations appeared to have been put at ease and he was able to begin the necessary procedures for your paperwork. Now all he wants is to get back home and be as far away as possible from these two insufferable boys and the showboating of those politicians.

Arriving at the villa, Marcus gave his horse to the stable hand, and headed straight for the Hortus. In the few days since arriving, he'd noticed you particularly favoured the Hortus, spending as much time here as possible. He found you laying on your back in the grass, eyes closed, arm tucked under your head like a pillow and long wavy hair unfurled around you like it's your crowning glory. Coming to a stop right beside you, Marcus grinned, "Now, how did I know I'd find you here?" Using your hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight, you squinted up at him, a lazy smile on your face. "How could I not be here?" you shrug, playfully. "This place is... perfection." The last word left your lips in such a dreamy sigh that Marcus couldn't help but laugh. In all the weeks he's known you, he's never seen you so relaxed, so unguarded.

Knowing that he's able to give you such peace fills him with connectedness and a deep satisfaction. After everything you've endured, you deserve the very best that life can offer, that he can offer. "Come, lay beside me," you pat the ground next to you. Marcus just stared down at you, brow ticked up in question. "Uh... why?" he asked, somewhere in between intrigue and amusement. "Haven't you ever just laid in the sun, just for the sake of it?" Marcus shrugged, nonchalantly, "Not really." "Well, there's a first time for everything." You pat the ground again and the goofy grin you're giving him makes him powerless to resist. How can he say no to you when you're looking at him like that? With a slight huff, he lowers himself onto the grass. His leg no longer hurts but the muscle is still quite stiff. But of course the more he uses it, the more it will aid his recovery.

He's still sitting up when he feels you tap his arm. "Lay down...," you say in an almost singsong tone. With a playful roll of his eyes Marcus lays beside you, copying your pose of laying his head on his arm. "So... now what," he asks, lightheartedly. "Now, close your eyes, breathe slowly and just... feel." Marcus does as he's told, secretly enjoying playing along, even if it seems pointless. This is a new side of you; calm, untroubled and Marcus likes it. You continue in a gentle lilt, "Feel the heat of the sun on your face, listen to the birds and the wind, feel the grass beneath your fingers and just... let go of everything." Marcus complies and to his surprise he can feel the tension of the morning ebbing away, his body sinking further into repose. Damn it, this is good. He can't even remember the last time he felt this peaceful.

Instead of tormented screams - which he hears all too often, even off the battlefield - all he can hear now is the sweet chirp of birds and the plants swaying in the afternoon breeze. He won't admit it out loud but you're definitely onto something here. "Excuse me, Dominus?" Marcus hadn't realised he was half asleep until he heard Silas' voice. "What is it, Silas?" he asked, sitting up. "The Medicus has arrived." "Oh, of course. I shall be right there." Silas answered with a respectful nod and made his way back inside the villa. "I Completely forgot he was coming this afternoon," Marcus said. "It's your fault, he teased you, "distracting me with... this," he waved a hand at the world. You shrug, eyes still closed but face a little smug.

"Worth it though, am I right? I'll bet you haven't felt this relaxed in a long time." "You're not wrong there," Marcus chuckled. You prop up onto your elbows, your tone now sounding more serious. "Marcus, is something wrong? Why is the Medicus here?" Your brow scrunched and the worry in your voice struck a chord deep within Marcus, your concern for him making his fondness for you grow. "Everything's fine," he reassured, getting to his feet. "He's here to begin my exercise regime." Your face instantly softened in response. "Ah, good luck," you smiled. "If you need anything, I won't be too far away." "Okay," you sigh, resuming your position in the grass.

*****

Marcus was glad to get that first session over with. He'll definitely be feeling that tomorrow, if the burn in his hamstring is anything to go by. Pouring a cup of wine, he slowly lowered himself onto a Lectus in the Triclinium. Gods, he's starting to feel his age now. Before he had a chance to really relax, Flavia entered the room, carrying a letter. "Dominus, this letter arrived earlier." "Thank you," Marcus said, taking the letter. Flavia left the room. Looking at the seal, Marcus sighed. It's the Emperors' seal. He knew what this was without having to open it; an invitation, just like he receives this time every year, requesting - well, demanding - his attendance for the week long celebrations of Caracalla's birthday. Unrolling the parchment, Marcus' eyes quickly scanned the formal invite to the banquets and Gladitorial games that will be held in Caracalla's honour, the usual entertainment as he'd expected. But what he didn't expect was for the invite (or summons) to the banquets to extend to you.

A pit of unease formed in his stomach immediately. Why would you be invited to an elite gathering? It's not that he feels you're not worthy enough to be there, but he knows everyone will look down on you. A person of low station attending an upper class banquet is rare, so for a non citizen to obtain an invite from the Emperors' themselves is completely unheard of. What exactly are they playing at? Marcus crumples the letter into a ball, throwing it in frustration. A lot of people in Rome are still, no doubt, very curious about you, so if the Emperors think they can parade you around like some exotic curiosity or use you for their own amusement, they can think again. Marcus can feel his anger flaring, his instinct to protect you returning. You're about to walk into the lion's den and you don't even know it. He'll just have to keep a close eye on you at all times. As long as he's there, you'll be okay, he'll make sure of it. Now he just has to find a way to tell you while masking his growing concern.

*****

Dinner was a quiet affair tonight. Something seemed to be weighing on Marcus, despite his attempt to hide it. In the quiet moments between conversations his mind appeared to drift elsewhere. "You've been quiet tonight," you observe. "Is something bothering you?" Whatever was just consuming his thoughts had been cast aside as he came back to himself, offering you a reassuring smile. "No, nothing's bothering me, but I do need to discuss something with you." "Oh...?" You place your fork down to give Marcus your full attention. You can see a slight hesitancy behind his smile. "I have received an invitation from the Emperors in regards to Caracalla's birthday celebrations. It will be a week long celebration with banquets and games at the Colosseum." Your eyebrows raise and you can't help but laugh. "Who celebrates their birthday for an entire week?!" Marcus huffs a laugh, "Emperors, apparantly." You nod, not sure why he's telling you this or why it's an issue for him.

"Well, I hope you have a good time. You've been cooped up here with me for the past week. A change of scenery will do you good and you deserve some recreation." Marcus' smile faltered, ever so slightly but you'd noticed it. "The invite was for both of us," he said, cautiously. Now it's your smile that falters. "Both of us? But... why? Why would I be invited?" Marcus purses hips lips in thought. "I'm not sure. Anyone can attend the games but the banquets are always restricted to those of... higher stations." There was an air of discomfort to Marcus' voice as he said that, but you know he meant no offence. He's simply stating the truth. "Then I don't understand. Why would they or anyone want someone like... me there?" Marcus could feel himself prickling ever so slightly, hearing the way you speak of yourself so disparagingly. As far as he's concerned you have more worth than all of these fools put together, but he decided to bite his tongue on the matter... at least for now.

"I imagine that everyone still wants to meet the one who saved Romes' General," Marcus said casually, trying to make light of the situation. "It's not everyday Rome has a new hero, and a woman none the less." "But I don't know the first thing about how to behave in front of all these people," you fret, voice rising as you begin to worry about all the ways you could - and probably will - mess up. "What if I say the wrong thing or offend someone unintentionally? What if I embarrass you? What if-" "Alia," Marcus interrupted, his voice firm but gentle, "you need not worry about anything. I already told you I'm a patient teacher and I'll teach you everything you need to know beforehand. And I'll be with you the whole time." Shaking your head, you look down, wearily. "Marcus, I can't go. I don't belong there."

Marcus sighs, looking at you apologetically. "I'm afraid you have no choice. To refuse the invite would be a direct insult to the Emperors." You slowly lift you head up, dread gripping your stomach, but the way Marcus is looking at you now - a mixture of understanding and confidence - slowly soothes the worst of your anxieties. "Everything will be okay," he promised, "trust me." You force a smile his way and nod. Even though you are still apprehensive about this turn of events, you find yourself believing Marcus' words. He's strong and capable and if he says it'll be okay, it'll be okay.

Series Masterlist Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch7 Ch8 - coming soon

@bbyanarchist @myownwholewildworldwhole @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29 @abbyanarchist @suzyface @missadangel @evyiione @longlivekingminnn @heramj @javiismyhsbnd @kxthxrinx0310 @inept-the-magnificent @liciafonseca @marrowfrog00 @moompie @anoverwhelmingdin

[robolvrr]

Tf1 D-16 and Tf1 Megatron with a femme cybertronian reader that was his idol (and crush) in Iacon? Readers like let’s just say a queen in Iacon👍 Thank you!

phoenix, sing your song! ✧⁠*๑ 🎤

d-16/megatron x femme!cybertronian idol.

gladly! took some liberties. mild suggestive under the cut.

d-16

"heh heh. does dee have a crush?"

"wh— you know what pax. i'm not even gonna entertain that question with a response."

"lotta words for 'yes i wanna smooch on phoenix's tailpipes' -- whoof, OW!"

you know how d-16 worships his idols. which there aren't many but entertainment culture is actually very encouraged in iacon. except for the cogged, this is simply as it's stated -- enrichment. for the cogless? it's escapism and a source of motivation.

there's sentinel prime, of course. and megatronus, though the whole mining barracks knows that. however... there is also you. phoenix, sweetest vocals this side of the planet.

jazz was actually the one who got him into your music. orion isn't the only mech that frequently sneaks up to indulge in city life. he's just the one that usually gets caught and brags about it.

jazz managed to drag him to the farthest, farthest corner of an open venue for one of your shows. had to climb buildings and balance on a ledge just to view from above the concert space and the thousand of mechs crowded below. you're cogged and while he really doesn't pay too much mind to them outside of when the race occurs, he thinks you're... very, very pleasant to look like.

you got ruby plating and your chrome is sparkling.

there's lightning gold accents trim at your door-panel wings and your eyes look a lot like his. hazy, orange and bright with an energy he wants to cup in his servos.

entire time you sing your spark out he's sitting still. (actually, he's vibrating.) jazz has a lazy smile on his dermas and asks him if he wants to score some merch once the guards clear out.

after that evening? he shuffles his megatronus posters and stickers around his humble locker and plasters your face there in the space near his mirror. almost looks like you're smiling at him.

at first he tried his best to learn more about you. jazz jokes that he's accidentally created some superfan monster.

like, did you know that you were actually originally an bellhop? he can't imagine you fluttering after mechs with their luggage, but once upon a time you did.

there was a club in the hotel you worked in - angellite.

past bio and autobiodatas tell about how you worked your way up through the ranks before finally scoring a spot to getting to a microphone.

the rest? history.

so you're pretty, talented, pretty, hardworking -- did he mention pretty too?

jazz doesn't always accompany but d-16 starts to sneak out frequently when he isn't buried in work to any and every event he can.

meet and greet? you can bet he used all his rations to bribe a mech to bribe another mech to bribe the announcer to get his questions up to you.

there isn't an action, though he takes the "prime gossip" catalogues not as seriously, he isn't aware of regarding you.

"this one's out to the brave miners who keep this city living. half proceeds will be going to better recharge and work conditions and equipment. i love you iacon!"

that show had caused a lot of drama. he thought your unmoving support and genuine want to connect with all of your fans for the better of the city to be super inspiring.

there's rumors of you visiting the mines, shortly before the iacon 5000. he will call a million cycles off if it meant getting to see you, not yearning through pictures and recordings and miles of distance.

hums your songs under his breath when he works.

orion does not shut up about it. he enjoys your music too but mostly is happy d-16 is happy. though he does joke that he clearly has a type.

megatron

"no more hiding. no more deceit. stand with me, or fall with everything!"

you recall the fall of iacon with stunned melancholy. there isn't the time of forever to process what went down that fatal day.

the support meet in the mining sectors had been cancelled after the race. you were just as inspired by the rowdy pair that had flung themselves into the danger of an event that was never built for them to participate.

it hurt, to hear they had passed away. sentinel had given a grand speech and his condolences even while on the surface.

he had his loyal femme reach out personally. airachnid coldly informed that the death of the miners had momentarily halted the energon collection.

you were rigid when she suggested you perform. a modest showing of mourning, personally scribed to the miners and their fellow workers.

"this should motivate them", she had whispered. ""it's what they would have wanted."

what a nuke in your lap to find out quickly that had been a lie. all of it had. and you felt sick.

had any of your income, any of your efforts, even gone to your largest supporters? had you just been showboated around to be a. shiny little dream? keep the common mech in wanting?

before you could even figure out how to react, a silver mech towered over many and ripped the very thorn from your side clean in half.

his coolant sprayed all over. you had never seen a mech... die before. and sentinel was far from just that. he may have been a false one, but he was a prime.

you fixed your optics and zoomed in. megatron, the beast has yelled. megatron is my name.

then the buildings started to crash. the city crumbled as chaos threatened to envelop it. you had damaged your pedes and tangled your legs in rubble but even your own pain is not loud enough to pierce through the frightened masses. you're scared and angry and confused.

when the dust settles, you can't even vent yourself to comfort. larger arms yank your mangled chassis free and suddenly you're flying, shrieking as dozens follow. you watch iacon get smaller and smaller and when you finally stop twitching, weakly gaze at the head of formation.

a oiled tank, bursting through rock like pit on wheels.

your processors offline after that. you just recall floating, smoky oil and rage.

d-16

"the queen of iacon. that sounds nice."

i like to think that miners in particular rarely have the time to blow off too much steam. seriously. the captains and proctors make sure they work every klik of their shifts.

during recharge? well, that's a different story. the barracks are intimate but most don't actually worry about being a prude.

d-16 is constantly stressed. orion is on his hip nearly all the time so he enjoys slipping away to the shower stalls in his lonesome after grueling mining and just.. sit.

when he sits, his processors wander.

lately? they like to circle around you. you're not like sentinel prime or megatronus. you are tangible. he gets closer and closer to your radiance the more bold he gets.

his crush is wholesome and if not somewhat obsessive. like a hyperfixation. he doesn't mean to stare at your figures but you're just so cute.

your voice is a powerhouse too. he has wondered after quiet, whiny moments if your praise is just as poetic.

loves, loves your frame. it's flawless. jealousy doesn't grip his spark like it occasionally does weaving through the crowded city during daylight. he has to dunk his head in hot oil when he thinks about that lethargic grin and your helm speckled in rock and dust at his side.

has made one, deleted ahem... tribute video to you.

megatron

"go on. sing, songbird."

you were taken insurrection day by one of the seekers nearly torn apart.

much of your memory bank was corrupted. at least, that is what the doctor told you.

you aren't very trusting of his words. his attention is an extension of his master's, which leaves little time for you to plan escapes or hide from the inevitable.

megatron has been emptied, carved up and resurrected as a troubled, stubborn force of nature. he clearly is able to sift positive bonds aside as the sticky, hot upset he's toiled with overpowers them all.

however, you and him? never ended in bad terms. and that is the problem.

you're alarmed to learn he was the very miner that was pronounced dead to all of iacon. he speaks low and measured and you try your best to read him, because he's on the precipice of snapping what seems to be all the time.

the base of the newly birthed decepticons is quiet. you don't belong. the brand on your chassis doesn't belong.

he's still clinging to you. behind the heavy-duty doors of his berth, he tosses and turns in his rest, plagued with his actions.

his servos barely pleasure. though you sit heavy on his glossa as he lets those weapons of destruction give him a moments peace.

megatron isn't as manipulative and conniving as he comes to be later down the road. he still visits you though and you begin to feel guilty.

if you plan on being affectionate to gain your freedom it's a mistake.

suddenly, you're thrust into his arms. he scratches your paint. he's saying nasty, awful prayers in your audials and squeezing every saccharine lilt hungry.

"keep going... keep. hn. singing."

robolvrr 2024.

[jetblack4realz]

protector - haymitch abernathy

the gown

masterlist

even though haymitch left, you're never alone.

warnings: sexualizing, allusions to sa and gross people, spoilers to sotr, age gap of like 3 years

word count: 2.1k

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

the door clicked shut behind haymitch with a finality that sent ice through your veins, the lock automatic behind him.

you didn't know what to do.

you said you'd wait, so you would. but as the seconds ticked on, your anxiety increased, and so did the noise of the room.

footsteps outside your door, the soft tick of the clock by the bed, a slight buzzing of the mirror of the vanity. you eyed it carefully, watching the reflection flicker just slightly, and you stepped back with a gasp.

you shouldn't have been surprised.

you really weren't.

you just tapped it, watching it blur and refocus again with a huff. it was warm, not from sunlight, but from whatever machinery that sat within it causing the buzzing and the watching,

you secured a throw blanket over the length of it, sighing as you finally came to sit at the edge of the bed.

the blankets were pulled tighter than when you'd made it that morning, the sheets too crisp and pillows fluffed to an unnatural perkiness you were sure haymitch hadn't spent the time achieving.

as you looked around the rest of the room, you noticed the sandals you'd worn on the train turned inwards in the closet instead of by the door where you'd kicked them off. and your suitcase sitting next to it zipped closed.

you hadn't zipped it.

you knew you hadn't because haymitch had made fun of you for it.

"can't even bother yourself with zipping it shut?" he teased with a smile as he sipped on a glass of whiskey he'd retrieved from the mini bar inside the room.

you shrugged, smiling. "it's staying shut, isn't it?"

he raised his glass to you. "fair point, darlin'."

someone had been in your room.

who all had access to your room?

your mind strayed back to what your grandmother had told you. how snow had spoken to her. how he'd paid a visit to the victor's village of district 4. how she wouldn't have been surprised if he went to 12 too.

what did he say to her?

who knew what he said to her?

and what was he going to say to haymitch?

a knock sounded at the door.

3 times. crisp. not loud. measured. no words followed.

no footsteps announced the knock and no footsteps sounded afterwards.

slowly, you rose and approached the door, leaning up to peer through the peep hole.

no one.

you waited a few beats before finally pulling the door open.

on the floor was a silver tray, a glass of white wine sat in the corner and a small ceramic vase held a singular white rose.

and in the center was a dish with four perfectly placed blue gumdrops.

the image of haymitch flinching at the sight of a gumdrop display outside the large candy store on main street filled your mind, and you flinched too. grabbing the tray quickly, you tossed it carelessly onto the vanity and shut the door tightly again, locking the door with a shaking hand before turning your attention back to the gleaming tray.

snow's rose. white wine. gumdrops.

your breath was uneven and your mind was racing.

rose. white wine. gumdrops.

rose, wine, gumdrops.

rose wine gumdrops.

rosewinegumdrops

a second knock sounded, but not at the door.

it was at the small elevator that sat next to the fireplace, a little bell ringing - room service announcing a delivery.

the silver doors opened to spit out a small parcel, black and wrapped in a velvet bow, onto the table that sat beneath it.

you didn't move. barely breathed. simply stared at it for what felt like forever.

and then you approached it, moving it from the table to the bed before slipping the bow off with still trembling hands and slowly lifting the top off.

inside was a gown - capitol-made, black, backless, high slit, thin as spider silk, shining more like oil than fabric. beneath it, a slim gold necklace.

no. not a necklace.

a collar.

you knew what it meant, but even if you didn't there was a note next to it that told you.

be ready by 4pm. he looks forward to seeing you.

you dropped it back into the box, a whimper escaping your throat as you wiped your hands on your thighs and began pacing the perimeter of the room.

how long had it been since haymitch left?

one look at the clock told you he'd already been gone an hour and a half, and you only had another thirty minutes until 4pm.

obviously, things were not going well for haymitch.

maybe it'd be better for everyone if you just went. just got it over with. were done with it. maybe snow would leave him and mags alone if you just went.

mags.

what had he said to her?

you raced to the bedside phone, bringing the small thing to your ear and dialing the number you'd had memorized since you were five and trying to see if she was home so you could spend the night.

almost immediately, a click sounded announcing the phone had been answered, and you started speaking: "gigi? gigi, i don't know what to do, i need to know what-"

"sorry, this number is no longer in service. please try again later."

you dropped the phone back onto the stand, staring at it as your breathing picked up.

your eyes moved to the dress still waiting for you on the bed, the golden collar sitting adjacent to it and denting the covers.

what other choice did you have?

what if haymitch wasn't coming back?

what if snow had already hurt everyone back home and this was your only chance to save mags' life?

you took a step forward, hand lifting slowly as you gripped the corner of the skimpy gown, thumb running over the silky, watery fabric. at least it would be comfortable.

the door burst open.

you jerked up, heart stopping.

haymitch stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes scanning the room like he expected bodies.

his gaze locked on the gumdrops. the rose. the note. the gown.

and then on you, hand on the gown with a heartbreaking look of resignation on your features.

his face collapsed.

"you stayed," he whispered.

you met his eyes, letting out a breath even as tears stung the back of your eyes. "i didn't know what else to do."

neither of you moved for several moments before he finally shut the door behind him, the lock clicking tight. and then he crossed the room in two strides, dumping the contents of the tray into the trash can next to the vanity. he turned to you.

"did you eat any?"

"no."

"good," he answered before moving to you. one hand moved to cradle your face, his other on your arm, slowly sliding down to push the dress out of your hand and lace your fingers together instead.

"you're late," you told him. "by about two knocks and one collar."

"sorry," he mumbled, thumb running over your cheek. "ran longer than i expected."

"did he tell you? did he say he wants me to go to that address?" you asked. "that's what the note says. what the dress is for. what i'm supposed to do."

"you're not doing anything."

"what did he say?" you asked, louder, angrier this time as you pulled away from him. "what did he tell you, haymitch?"

he didn't say anything for too long, and his silence was louder than if he screamed. eventually, he met your eyes, his jaw clenched.

"enough to know you're not safe. not even with me."

the president's mansion was exactly as haymitch remembered. cold. marble. dark, even when bathed in whites and creams.

he was offered wine, but he refused.

"i thought you weren't one for turning down a good drink," the president hummed, eying the boy as he sipped his own glass.

"i'm not really a drinker," haymitch answered, sitting back in his chair.

"oh, i doubt that," snow said, but he waved away the avox with the wine anyways. he didn't bother with any more pleasantries. "she's a lovely girl. radiant. charming. vulnerable. the capitol responds well to vulnerability, haymitch, as you well know."

haymitch gripped the arms of his chair like if he held on tight enough he'd stay sane enough to not kill the man. "you're not going to hurt her."

"hurt her?" snow echoed, shaking his head with a smile. "now, why would i hurt such a valuable asset?"

"i know what you want to do with her, but you won't. if you do, i will make sure the entire nation, everyone who admires you, follows you, adores you, everyone you care about and care about you in return knows what you do. i'll make sure they watch as i ruin your image."

snow clicked his tongue, his smile still sitting amused on his lips as he stared at the younger man. "there is no one i care about, mr. abernathy. and those who admire me do so blindly, just as they've done for forty years. it's what makes me free." he leaned forward. "mags understands this. she left her granddaughter with us to prove their loyalty. i suggest you learn from her example."

haymitch clenched his jaw. "she was never invited to the capitol. that's why she's not here."

"exactly. why would i allow her here, sitting in between you two whispering rebellion in your ears?" he laughed. "no, i needed the lovers alone, and desperate."

he reached to the side, holding a crisp black folder between two fingers and sliding it on the desk towards haymitch. he didn't wait for the 12 boy to open it, doing it himself, and letting him read through the front sheet.

a client's profile.

grazzidei's full name.

his address. his age.

the request he wrote in with snow.

his likes, dislikes, the games he likes to play, the styles he enjoys.

haymitch felt something rot inside of him. "i won't let you do this to her."

"i'm not," snow said, brows raised like the suggestion surprised him. "you are. mags is. every time you bring her here, every time the cameras are on you both, every time you make her look desirable and every time she plays along it encourages our clients' jealousy. and our sponsors have quite the envy, you'll find. everything in the capitol is competition, and you, dear haymitch, have created one."

haymitch shook his head, and snow sat back with a grin.

"do you think this will end in a wedding? a happily ever after? it ends in a collar. that's the cost of rebellion."

haymitch stood and moved to the door, only stopping at the sound of the president's voice once more.

"one more thing, mr. abernathy. i hope you're not still bitter about the death of your mother and brother. or the girl. what was her name? lenore?"

he didn't answer.

"i always thought it a bit poetic, letting her choke, when birds like her so love to sing."

his fists clenched so tight his nails left dents in his skin before he finally left the room, peacekeepers finding his side and leading him to the dark van that spent the better part of an hour driving around the city before finally allowing him back to his hotel room. his veins were electric with fear that you'd left, that you'd gotten impatient and decided to play hero - it was too likely. it was too close to call time.

you sat at the edge of the bed, the gown between you and haymitch like a snake you both were afraid to touch.

"what did gigi do?"

"she thought she could protect you from 4. thought that letting the attention be on us would just help our plan. thought that attention and entertainment was what snow wanted, which in some ways, it was. just not with both of us."

"he wanted me."

"wrapped in a bow," haymitch sighed, stepping forward to wrap an arm over your shoulders and press a kiss to the top of your head.

you looked at your hands, pulling at your fingers. "i should've just gone instead of sitting here like a coward."

"don't say that."

"it's true. i'm risking everything by not going."

"well, you're not. you're not doing that."

"then, what do i do, h?"

he hesitated, hand running over your arm as he thought. he sighed. "you survive. and you don't put on that damn dress."

[love-quinn]

—PEACE OF MIND

summary — when carmen finds out that you're putting yourself in danger to come in to your waitressing job at the bear, he admittedly gets pissed. he's not super proud of his reaction, but the two of you manage to work something out to ease his worries.

warnings — swearing, mentions of customers being assholes, the implication that if reader isn't being fed at the restaurant she doesn't eat due to money reasons, very brief mentions/implications of the possibility of reader being attacked at night

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader, not established relationship

pronouns — she/her, reader is HEAVILY implied to be female, also there's technically no pronouns in this one but i consider this to be the same waitress reader as my last one which does have pronouns

word count — 1.9k

note — this can 10000% be read as a standalone but i do have another carmy x waitress fic here that i think takes place kinda in the same universe if you wanna check that one out?? i hope u enjoy <333

If you were somebody who wasn’t a fan of the cold, then Chicago wasn’t the city for you. It’s one of your least favourite parts of living in Illinois, having to wear four layers to bed if you don't want to freeze in your sleep. Your apartment doesn’t have proper heating because proper heating is for rich people, apparently. You barely make enough to afford rent as it is. 

You’re doing fine. You make rent and utilities, you eat lunch and dinner at the restaurant most days. You’re not swimming in gold coins by no means, but you’re fine. That’s the reason you show up early to every single shift, if you’re being honest, you’re guaranteed at least a sandwich. 

The fact that it makes you look like a dedicated employee doesn’t hurt either.

Even when you have to trek from the train platform after getting off the L. You’re not the first person punching in the code to the service entrance that afternoon, but the kitchen is free of yelling. Sydney’s at the end of the line, it’s her shift for Family, and she flashes you a smile as you shove your duffel into your locker.

It’s not raining outside but the air is so cold and damp outside, and you dab your face with a towel. The kitchen is so much warmer than outside that for a moment it’s uncomfortable. Sydney watches you out of the corner of her eye as she sautes a collection of vegetables. “Are you alright? Is it wet out there?”

You shake your head, grabbing your apron and using the mirror you hung up on the back of your door to fix your appearance. “Just cold, sorry. I’ll be fine. You get in okay?”

Sydney nods, holding out a spoon for you, hand cupped to prevent anything from landing on the floor. You don’t question it, opening your mouth and accepting the sauce while trying to minimise the contact between your mouth and the spoon as much as possible. “Fuck, that’s good. Is there sesame oil in there?”

You didn’t know a whole lot about food if you were honest, there’s a reason that you’re not a member of the kitchen staff. But Sydney’s been teaching you slowly but surely how to recognise different flavours, which ones go best together, which ones don’t.

Her eyes light up. “Yes! You like it?”

You shut your locker, moving to stand right behind her. Your chin lands on her shoulder, watching the way she rotates her medley of ingredients. You and Sydney have started becoming actual friends rather than just work friends, the two of you went out to dinner last Sunday, miraculously neither of you had to work. “Love it, need any help?”

“No, you’re all good. Go find Richie, I’m sure he needs help with whatever shit he’s doing.”

You leave her alone with a squeeze on the elbow, heading out into the dining room to find Richie. Richie isn’t out there but you do find Carmen pulling the chairs off the tables. You don’t bother talking, you and Carmen both appreciate the quiet in a workplace as loud as the restaurant. The second you put the first chair down Carmen is flinching. “You’re early,” he says, trying not to show his irritation.

He’d left the kitchen to feel productive while being alone, but he doesn’t want to yell at you. You deal with that enough. Yelling in the kitchen is natural, it’s fucking loud in there. If he doesn’t yell, he doesn’t get heard. People aren’t moving fast enough, people aren’t using proper technique, they’re running out of ingredients, things are being moved. If Carmen didn’t yell in the kitchen it would probably burn down somehow.

You deal with all that and you have to keep a smile on your face. You get yelled at for mistakes that other people make, and you never yell back. You take it all and yeah, sometimes you need to step out into the kitchen with tears in your eyes, but you cop it all and you go back out there.

You don’t need Carmy yelling at you as well.

You shrug casually, smoothing the tablecloth. “I am a slave to the public transit system.” It’s less embarrassing than admitting you’re trying to save money by eating at work whenever you can. 

Carmen stops at that. He doesn’t know why that’s surprising to him. He’s always here before you and he’s always here after you leave. He assumed he’d never seen your car in the parking lot because of that, but apparently, it’s because you don’t have one. “You took the train here?”

It’s early afternoon and people are turning their headlights on already. The closest train station is a fair walk away and it’s freezing out there. 

You nod, not taking much notice of the change in tone. “Yeah, I usually do.”

Carmen’s abandoned the table he’s dressing to turn around and look at you. It’s almost completely dark outside, it’s the middle of winter. “You walk to work?”

You look up at him. “Yeah, Carm.” You’re really hoping he’ll drop it, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on the way you avoid looking at him. 

“That’s so fucking dumb,” he doesn’t mean to snap, but the mood in the room is frozen now. “It’s like two degrees out there, why the fuck would you do that?” You regret coming out to help him. Usually, this stuff is already done by the time you show up to work, early as usual. 

You put down the last chair at the table you’re working on and brush off your apron. “It’s not like I have any other choice, Carmen,” you’re trying to keep your voice even. The dining room is empty, it’s still, and it feels much more awkward than having the conversation anywhere else would’ve felt. “I don’t really have many other options.” 

You look around the dining room and decide that leaving Carmen to finish setup isn’t an awful fate. 

“Yes, you do!” He doesn’t drop it. His fists are clenched at his side to stop him from flinging his arms up in frustration. “You have so many other options! Why did you pick the fucking stupid one?” You can handle being yelled at. It’s a part of the job. It happens to you every single day without fail. You can handle it.

That doesn’t mean that you have to take it from Carmen, though.

“Stop it,” you don’t raise your voice at him, but you’re not quiet either.

“I just don’t fucking get it,” he huffs. Once he’s started he can’t make himself stop. 

You sigh, loudly. “Yeah, I’m not asking you to, Carmen. Okay, but don’t treat me like garbage because I can’t afford a car.”

That’s the final straw in the conversation with him, and you turn to go back into the kitchen. Maybe Richie will be playing Angry Birds on his phone in the office and he’ll let you watch. Carmen’s frown deepens. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who gives a shit that you can’t afford a car?” He dodges the table he was working on and rushes to follow you. He’s a lot less graceful than you always are with it and that’s without the tray of drinks. “Do you see that shit out there?” He stands in front of you now, pointing a heavy, tattooed arm out at the front window. “It’s fucking Chicago. You can’t be walking here in twenty fucking degrees, honey! Do you not get that? Look at you! If someone pulls a knife on you out there what the fuck are you gonna do?”

You’re frozen in front of him now. He’s throwing so much at you that you don’t know what to say. 

He’s going back to setting up now, but as he turns he blows out a breath. “Get that through your fucking head, yeah?”

That’s the part that frustrates you the most. He does this all the time, he presents you with ten different problems and no solutions. You don’t need Carmen to tell you how to live your life when you’re struggling as it is. “How else do you want me to get to work? It’s either that or you find a new fucking waitress, okay? So can we let it go? What the fuck do you want me to do about it, Carmen? ”

Carmen doesn’t want to let it go. You take the train in the fucking pouring rain and walk every night only to be yelled at by a bunch of assholes over steak. 

“I want you to not walk through Chicago in the middle of the night!” He’s exasperated. “Yesterday you left after eleven, do you know how fucking dangerous that is? Fucking… Fuck?” It comes out as a question. “Why the fuck have you been leaving me here at night to go walk home alone? What the fuck do you think I’m here for?”

You’re getting upset by the yelling, and now that he’s said everything he needs to say he can see that he’s making you visibly panicked. “I don’t know what you want from me!” You let out finally, words exhaling from your chest with force. “Just tell me what you want or stop fucking yelling at me!”

He says your name quietly, letting out a frustrated huff. “Fucking- Okay. Okay.” He runs a hand through his hair and has to bend at the waist, leaning on the table you just fixed up, head buried in his arms. He takes a quick three second breather, trying to force down the ugly bubble of anger that’s rising familiarly to the surface, ready to spill out of his mouth. “If we are at the restaurant together and it’s the middle of the night, and I have a car…” he pauses, trying to give you time to follow along after previously overwhelming you. “... and you don’t.” You blink over at him. “Why the fuck would you not ask me to drive you home?”

“Because you’re my boss?” The answer comes easily, and it almost startles him how quickly you respond. “What? Why are you asking me this?”

Carmen knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t offer the same courtesy to Marcus or Fak or god forbid Richie. Sydney or Tina? If they asked, sure. But he would never stand in front of them in the dining room to yell at them for not asking. He likes to think it’s because he knows you’re different. You don’t yell back, you don’t antagonise him, you don’t push like they do. You handle it, and you’re gentle and you’re soft and for some fucking reason the idea of anything happening to you makes him feel like he has just been mugged in the street. 

“Just,” he waves a hand in front of his face. He can hear Sydney calling out, probably something important knowing her. “Please, honey, promise me that you’ll let me at least drive you to the fucking train station? Okay? For my own peace of mind. How far away from the station do you live?”

You tell him and he’s immediately groaning. “No, alright. I’m driving you home.” He sounds frustrated, not mad at you, but less than pleased. You don’t take it to heart. “Now please, go back inside the kitchen and fucking eat something, you’re giving me an irregular heartbeat.”

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Can't get the whole "Do you think you'd kill for me one day ?" "Yes, of course I will my darling" out of my head, but make it the Papas x their most devoted ghouls. Basically murder ghouls offering very morbid gifts to the Papas. They like it.

TW for morally grey characters - both Papas and ghouls - blood, kind of body horror, I guess ? I think it is. It might be a bit disturbing, so. Read with caution.

Earth bringing a beautiful bottle to Primo's office one day, something definitely meant for rituals, a masterpiece of carefuly crafted glass, full of a dark red liquid. Too dark to be wine. He simply sets it on a shelf, under the First's cautious eyes, and in an instant, Primo knows.

"Won't it...coagulate, or...I don't know, dry, rot ?" he asks from behind his desk, setting his glasses down in front of him. Earth smiles, adjusting the bottle so that the light catches it just right.

"I made sure it won't."

Primo smiles when the ghoul takes his hand and presses a kiss to the ring he's wearing.

"Take care not to drink it, your body wouldn't like it much."

Primo cocks an eyebrow.

"You gift me a full bottle of blood - human, i presume - and I'm not even allowed to drink it ? How very tragic."

Earth's chuckle rumbles in his chest.

"You can only wish to be a vampire, but, do not act like this isn't a power trip for you. Having someone's blood displayed in your office. Being able to admire its unique color."

Primo's smile widens.

Secondo looking up from his work, carefully setting the ancient book he's restauring on the side when Alpha leans against the doorframe, hands behind his back.

Once he's sure he has the former Papa's full attention, Alpha steps in, setting something on the desk, between Secondo's hand.

It's a paperweight, the kind he loves, heavy half globe of glass, in which is trapped a curiosity ; Secondo has a growing collection of those.

It's the first time, though, that an eye is staring blindly at him from within its transparent confine. A beautiful shade of brown, that eye, rich and deep, with flecks of gold ; Secondo leans closer to examine it.

"Fascinating," he comments, "you know me too well."

Alpha grins, rounding the desk to stand behind Secondo's chair, massaging his tense shoulders as he whispers against his ear.

"Took me a while to find the color I wanted, I know you have a thing for that kind of brown eyes."

Secondo hums, turning the paperweight this way and that, letting light bounce off it, projecting rainbows on the wall. It will definitely have a special place on his desk, so that Secondo will be able to gaze at it whenever he wishes to.

Alpha kisses the corner of his mouth, almost reverently, and Secondo puts the paperweight down, letting his eyes flutter shut.

Omega helping Terzo dress one morning, but just as the former Papa is about to move away, his ghoul tugs on his sleeve, shoving something in his hand.

What the rosary is made of is, Terzo immediately knows. The beads, the inverted cross, they're an ivory white that is quite impossible to mistake for anything other than it is.

By the way Omega hooks his chin on Terzo's shoulder, arms wrapping around his middle, the former Papa has no doubt it's important for him, that gift.

"It's lovely, my dear ghoul. Did you make it yourself ?"

Terzo really means it. The piece of jewlery is delicate and elegant, something he'll wear with pride.

"I did. I'm glad you like it."

A pause. Terzo takes a moment to bask in Omega kissing up his neck, before he slips the rosary around it.

"Should I ask who's bones I'm wearing ?"

Omega chuckles, face now burried in his hair.

"You know better. All that matters is that you look fantastic, wearing someone's bone."

Terzo does, so he simply smiles, admiring how the necklace rests on his chest in the mirror, sinking into Omega's embrace.

Dew, wordlessly slipping a bracelet around Copia's wrist after practice. He looks down, surprised, as the ghoul lingers, hovering at his side.

A thin chain, trinkets dangling from it, mostly tiny coins with infernal symbols engraved on them and....oh. Teeth. Well, they sure look healthy.

Copia takes to examinate them, tests the point of a canine, pleased to find it still sharp, humming under his breath.

"That's quite the work you've put in, Dew, thank you. It's beautiful."

The fire ghoul takes Copia's hand, turning it until he can kiss the inside of his wrist.

"I figured you'd like it. They're perfect, aren't they ?"

Copia takes another teeth between his two fingers, holding it up for further inspection, smiling at how flawless it is.

"They sure are. Wish I had that kind of dental care, eh."

Dew snorts, tail gently squeezing Copia's hips, who let himself be pulled in the ghoul's side.

[thehorrorgirlstyles]

Be my Queen

King!Loki x Commoner!reader

Warnings: Royal AU, Mentions of death, Swearing, 18+ content, blood, violence, mature themes, sexual themes & words, dark themes

Note: I am not an expert with Royal titles, I tried as closely to follow what I know, but there could be some mistakes such as status.

Summary: Loki has taken a liken to you, wanting you to be his queen....his mother has other plans in mind.

____________________________________________________________

"Mother, MOTHER!" you yell out, running towards her. The guards drag her limp body away from you, she leaves a trail of blood behind. "PLEASE MOTHER!" You cry out as they disappear around the corner. You keep running, trying to reach her, but she's gone and you can't seem to keep up. You can't feel your body as tears stream down your face. You continue to run, but you end up back where you started. Blackness surrounds you as you drift off losing consciousness. Your eyes close and you feel yourself falling, hitting the floor with a "thump!".

_______________________________________

You wake up in a cold sweat, breathing deeply. This has been the third time you've had this nightmare this week. The recurring dream of your mother haunts you, but you know that it isn't true. It's just a nightmare. She passed away in her sleep due to a disease, your own father told you when you were eight asking, "Where mommy has gone?". So why do you keep having this nightmare you wonder?

You get out of bed and head to the bathroom. You have no time to think about the dream as you have more important things to do today. Loki's ceremony where he will be announced King happens in a few days. As the daughter of the Royal Advisor and executive officer, it is your job to help the servants and ladies-in-waiting with making sure everything is ready when the day comes. The kingdom has been over crowded as of late as the commoners and people of the kingdom are excited to see Loki become king. It is believed that he will be a great ruler as he is kind and compassionate to those of less status. You especially are happy to see Loki become King, he deserves it.

When you get out of the shower, you sit down at your vanity and brush your hair. Looking into the mirror you realize what this means for Loki and you. He will have to take a Queen and you have little to no status. You only reside in the palace because your dad is their right hand man. Queen Frigga has been like a mother figure to you as your family grew up serving the royal family and has provided your family with the honor of residing in her kingdom of Asgard, her saying that it will be easier to call on you if you live in their quarters. When your mother passed, Frigga told you that you would take her place and become her lady-in-waiting as soon as you turned 18, which happens to be the same day as Loki's ceremony.

As you and Loki grew up together, you developed feelings. You have been seeing Loki since you guys were 16. You don't know how you'll be able to see him grow old with someone else, but you know he'll have to. You finish up getting ready when you hear a knock sound on your door. You tighten your robe around yourself, walking towards the noise.

"Yes?" you answer the door looking out to see Emma, a servant.

"Hello m'lady Prince Loki asked me to give these to you" She comes in and hangs 2 dresses on your closets doors. One is green, the other gold, both covered in diamonds each stunningly gorgeous.

"He said to choose which one you like best to wear today as well as the jewelry I laid out on your bed" She points to the Emerald earrings and diamond necklace.

"You can find him in the enchanted garden when you're done and I'll be back later to clean up your room" She walks out closing your door.

You look at the dresses deciding on which one to wear. Loki has been gifting you presents for quite some time. While you enjoy them you also feel like it's too much. You should be helping the servants, instead your playing dress up, living a life that only someone of royal status should.

__________________________

"Y/n" Loki looks at you with a small smile on his face.

You walk into the garden coming face to face with Loki.

"I see you chose the green my favorite color...You look beautiful in anything you wear my love, but you look breath taken right now" He grabs your hand, pulling you in closer. He wraps his arm over your waist, kissing you passionately.

After a minute, you back away and put your hand on his chest, "Loki, I-I..."

He looks into your eyes with concern, "What is it darling, are you alright?"

"Loki why I appreciate the grand gestures and the big fancy dresses, you can't keep doing this".

"Doing what, I don't understand..do you not like the dress, I can have another made for you my dear" he pushes a strand of your hair out of your face, his arm still holding your waist.

"No its not that...its jus-...its just that your going to be king soon and I'm no one Loki" "Your going to have to take a Queen and I am simply your servant...a commoner at best.. I'm only here because of my father"

"Y/n my love for you is stronger than any title, if being King means that I lose you.. then I shall simply stay a Prince" "However, since I can chose who will be my Queen, when I become King, I chose to take you as mine"

You look at him in shock, "bu-But Loki I'm not a Princess, it's goes against the rules".

"It doesn't matter darling, I will have the highest authority, what I say shall go and if anyone dares to say something I will deal with it myself" "Titles don't mean anything to me, in my eyes you are so much more, you have always been since I first laid my eyes on you back when we were only little beings"

A tear slips from your eyes and he wipes it away. You kiss him deeply and he roughly grabs your hips pulling you in closely. Everyday you crave his touch, you will never get enough of him. He pulls you towards the stone wall in the garden. Your back hits the wall and he hikes your leg up. You wrap it around his hip as you grind against each other.

"God, I can't wait to make you my Queen" he groans out, grabbing your neck and deepening the kiss. He's rough with his movement like he hasn't touched you in days. Your dress prevents you from actually doing anything right now, your corset feeling like its knocking the breath out of you. It is probably a good thing since you are in a public place where anyone could walk by. The garden mostly being inclosed by large glass windows and a few stone walls.

"Fuck" he slams his hand by your head, against the stone. "Shall we go to my bed chambers right now?, I need to take you Y/n.. you are making me a madman" He moves towards your neck, biting and sucking, making you moan out.

"While that sounds like a lovely idea my Lord, we both have duties to attend to and I think we have lost track of time" you giggle out, wrapping your hands around his neck.

"I don't mind losing myself in you" He goes back to your waist, pulling you in closely, meeting your mouth. You kiss him back, both moaning into it.

You hear someone clear their throat. You both quickly back away from each other. Your face reddens as you realize it's his mother that interrupted you.

Loki pulls his shirt down and tugs on his collar, sorting out his suit. He clears his throat, "uh- Mother what seems to be the matter?"

Frigga looks between the both of you. You can't tell, but there seems to be something behind her eyes that doesn't look happy. Even though she smiles and walks further into the garden to meet you, "Son, Princess Amor is here to meet with you, she is in the foyer with Duke William".

Loki goes to complain, but is stoped by Frigga, "It is advise that you see to her, now" She gives her son a warning look. Frigga has been trying to set her son up with a Princess over the last few weeks.

He sighs and looks to you, "I'll be back as soon as I can" he gives you a sympathetic look and kisses the top of your head, walking out the garden.

Frigga watches him leaves and looks to you, "Dear, walk with me will you?"

"Of course Frigga" you give her a small smile and go to start walking.

She stops you, "Its your majesty". You look at her, she's never once made you call her that, it has always been Frigga since you were little, but you nod and she smiles at you.

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

You guys walk to the end of the palace outside to where the dungeon is kept, she opens the door to the basement and you look at her.

"Why are we going down here?"

"Why my dear, I simply wish to show you a part of the plaace you haven't seen before is all" She smiles, but it doesn't meet her eyes. You can't help but feel that something is wrong, but you follow her down the stairs.

It's cold and dark, the stairs seeming to go on forever. You finally reach the bottom and see a bunch of rooms some with prison bars. You guys walk to the end of the hall. On the way you peep into one of the rooms and see blood smeared on the walls, chains hanging from the ceiling.

You can't help but ask, "What exactly do you use this place for?"

She turns around and motions you to continue following her. You reach the end of the hall and enter the biggest room of the dungeon. Inside is more chains and a large table in the middle that looks like a guillotine.

"To answer your question, this area of the palace is used for anyone that crosses the kingdom, such as traitors or thieves"

"So like a prison, where they serve out their time...pay back their debt?" You ask looking around the room.

"Yes exactly..except they don't serve out their time.. you seen we have other rules around here that we have to enforce in order to keep the peasant in control, an eye for a eye if you will".

You stop your movements and look at her, "You kill them!?"... "But Loki would never dare to do such a thing".

She laughs, "Yes I see my son is a little too weak to carry out these things, which is why I carry out the orders".

"You command the guards to kill...but why Frigga?.. they're still people, people with families and children".

"IT'S QUEEN FRIGGA TO YOU AND YOU WILL ADRESS ME A SUCH!" she yells at you. You jump back in shock. "They should have thought about that before crossing me..GUARDS SEIZE HER!"

You look up and see five men come rushing in, they grab you roughly. You try to get away from them, but their hands dig into your skin, making you cry out, "Wh-What are you doing?" You look to Frigga. Why is she doing this to you?

"You see dear my son is deeply in love with you and I can't have that, it makes him weak, and you are no one..a nobody, he needs to marry someone of royal status... a Princess" "I let you both have your fun, but now he will be crowned King in a few days".

"B-But I don't understand you practically raised me, my family has been apart of yours for so long.. I looked at you like you were my own mother!"

"I know dear and I'm sorry for that, your father has been quite loyal to us and I to have looked at you as my daughter, but the fact is that you aren't.. and I need my son to marry someone that will be an asset to our kingdom.. you are simply not that, its nothing personal dear".

The guards move you towards the table, strapping you to it with ropes. You squirm as you try to get free, but it's no use the ropes burn against your skin. "He'll never forgive you for this..Loki will never look at you the same!" You cry out.

"He won't know it was me.. neither will your father, he will still be serving us as if you never existed" She laughs in your face, "Just like he did with your mom"

"What?" You look at her, "My mom died of disease".

"Is that what he told you?" .. "I had her taken away and killed, she was a pest, my husband couldn't seem to take his eyes off her, so I got rid of her and him".

It wasn't a dream? It was real? The guards really did drag her away and you saw it happen..

More tears stream down your face. Frigga comes up to you and pets your hair, "Shhhh sweetie its okay it will be over soon, I am truly sorry it had to come to this.. I would have had you just marry off to someone else, but you're ruined. I know Loki ruined you and no one wants a whore of a woman who has slept with another man".

"Please, don't do this.. Please Frigga I beg of you!" You cry out in a last attempt to save your life.

"Shh we wasted enough time, soon Loki will come looking for her and we need to get rid of her body, hurry up and pull the lever!" She shouts to the guards.

"Can't we have a little fun with her first, I mean she is just stunning" You hear a guard say.

"You can have fun with her after you kill her, she won't fight you back because she'll be dead, less hard on you." Frigga replies sounding annoyed.

You look at them in disgust, how could this woman you once thought of a mom do this to you?

"Oh but I like the chase, I like when they fight back, screaming out for someone to come to the rescue, but no one hears them" He smirks at you and touches your face. You whimper and flinch away from his touch.

"If you make it quick, then I'll grant you the permission".

The guards smiles at Frigga's response and gets on top of you, he rips the dress, your corset showing, while only a piece of fabric remains on your arms. You try to fight back against him, "STOP, PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP, HELP ME!" You scream out.

He chuckles at your cries, "It's a shame that we have to kill you afterwards, such a waste of a pretty face".

Suddenly a man barges into the room, "MY QUEEN!" he looks to Frigga, frightened.

"What is it!"

"THE PRINCE, HES COMING, A GUARD TOLD HIM WHAT YOU WHERE PLANNING!"

Frigga face pales, "HURRY UP GET OFF THE GIRL, KILL HER NOW!"

The guard gets off of you immediately and while you're thankful he couldn't progress any further, you are also now scared for death faces you.

Frigga decides that the guards are taking too long of a time, as you see her push one out of her way and walk towards the lever. You screams out for help. When your prayers are answered.

"STOP THIS ISNTANT!" Loki opens the door.

Frigga's hand pauses in front of the lever. Tears continue to stream down your face.

"BACK AWAY FROM HER!" Loki rushes to your side and begins undoing the ropes which hold you down. You look at him and see a look that you've never seen before. He is beyond angry.

"Loki I-" Frigga begins.

"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME!" he raises his voice, not even looking at his mother.

He finally gets you free and helps you off the table. Your dress or what's left of it falls off your body due to the rip. Loki looks at you in disbelif. He pulls you to him and holds your sobbing body as you shake with fear. He shushes you, continuing to hold you as you cry. He looks and sees all the bruises that litter your body. He snaps his head to the guards around him and then he finally looks to his mother.

"How could you do this?" he says barely above a whisper. "I will never forgive you for this, you are no mother to me and you are certainly not a Queen".

"Loki, I was only trying to save Asgard's future..Your future" Frigga pleads with him. You look and see tears forming in her eyes. How ironic you think.

Loki looks to the guards ignoring his mother, "Who touched her?". No one replies. "WHO FUCKING TOUCHED HER!" The guards flinch with fear.

"It was him, he tried t-to ra- me" You point to the guard that was on top of you. Loki looks at you and pulls you back into him.

"I want you to get on that table and pull the lever" he looks at the guard.

"What- But- but- I- she" the guard quivers in fear.

"Stay right here darling and close your eyes" Loki kisses the top of your head and lets you go. He walks over to the guard and you hear him punch him.

"Please, it was a mistake, I didn't mean to touch your lady my Lord" you hear him grunt out. Loki grabs the guard by his collar and throws him under the guillotine.. You hear the guard scream out as the blade cuts into his neck. Loki wipes the blood off his face that splattered on him, "Anyone else?" he looks around the room and back to you.

You finally open your eyes meeting his, your eyes fall to the lifeless body on the floor, but Loki moves to block your view. You quietly shake your head.

"Alright then, what shall I do with the use of you" .. "How about we start with you mother" Frigga looks up, scared when she sees the look in her son's eyes.

"Guards lock her away in one of the dungeon rooms, until I figure out what to do with her, maybe I'll let sweet Y/n decide, since it was her life you so blindly casted aside".

"Son-" Loki cuts her pleads off, "GUARDS!"

The guards look between each other not knowing who's orders to follow.

"I AM YOUR KING YOU WILL OBEY ME!" Loki yells out. The guards rush to grab Frigga, dragging her away. The image reminds you of your mother, funny you think, what goes around, comes around.

As soon as they're gone Loki rushes to your side. You see the pain in his eyes as he stares at you. "I am so very deeply sorry my darling, I should have known my mother would go behind my back like this" .. "I promise you I won't let any harm come to you ever again, we will rule together, you will be my Queen, Asgard's Queen, you deserve it more than any Princess, Y/n".

"As long as I am with you Loki, I don't care if I am Queen or a commoner". He holds on to you tightly with the promise of never letting go.

_______________________________________________________

Timeskip: 5 years later

"My Queen what color do you wish for the baby's room?"

"Hmmm I believe a dark shade of green would go nicely" You smile at Emma and rub your growing belly. "It's Loki's favorite Color".

Note: This was a longer one, as always hoped you enjoyed! :)

[softlypaintedseafoam]

🍓ー thank you for your patronage at the strawberry witch’s bakery! here’s your order!

requested by: a lovely anon 🍓-> sir crocodile + strawberry cobbler (anniversary)

"Something wrong with your gift, dearest?"

Objectively ー no, no there isn't. There's nothing wrong with the 50 million berry earrings you're holding. They're perfect; gold-encrusted rubies and pearls that shine beautifully in the candle light. You purse your lips, fighting against the persistent urge for the corners of them to curve upward.

Crocodile doesn't have that problem. All too smug, as if he won the jackpot. "I'm happy we reached this compromise," his grin is wide, shoulders relaxed and violet twinkling. "It's like you said last year," he raises his glass of wine, nodding as he continues singing like a canary. "One meaningful gift selected with love is better than a dozen."

Despite your best efforts, you snort and Crocodile's grin widens. "I'm laughing but this isn't funny, Crocodile," there's no bite or bark in your tone. Nor does he take the amused glint in your eye seriously. "You know what I meant when I said that."

"Oh?" He leans forward, clearly enjoying himself. "Is this not a meaningful gift? I'm hurt," he's happy, far too happy with this sequence of events. How long has he been planning this? Probably as far back as your birthday last year; it wouldn't surprise you if that had been the case.

You love your husband, truly. That never stops the guilt from festering under the surface of your skin whenever a special occasion rolls around and he drowns you in extravagance. He never spares any expense, presents grander and grander each passing year.

Take your birthday, for instance.

Four pieces of huanghuali wood carved into a jewelry box, the frame of a mirror, a desk and an elaborate chair.

A blue diamond from the mines of Alabasta followed by seven sterling silver swan carvings merely because you offhandedly mentioned you found them beautiful. You're sure that if you even vaguely glanced at a building with interest, Crocodile would find a way to present it to you that day.

"They're lovely, honest," you insisted, fiddling with an equally grandiose bracelet on your wrist. "I just feel bad accepting so many and they're all so expensive. One meaningful gift with love is better than a dozen!" It was the beginning to a harmonious compromise; less of Crocodile's money thrown at your feet and there'd be no change in how much you adored your presents. Something tells me I'm fighting a losing battle, you sigh. "The earrings really are beautiful," you relent, fingering the the smooth gems fondly.

Your husband smirks into his wine, "you never said the amount I spent needed to decrease, did you?"

[tricksh0t]

★ broken merchandise

☾ petyr baelish x male reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ gang i know we don't like baelish but this is for plot rather than gooning activity (update, changed the picture bc he looked a little too nice)

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 1169 words

cw: dubcon, mentions of violence, handjob, manipulation, dom baelish, reader is a prostitute, use of the name whore

Lord Petyr Baelish watches your heaving chest and the death stare set on your face as he rounds you, checking every inch of your body. He examines you calmly, not threatened by the muscles that could make a good dent on his body, just as it had been done to you earlier.

You're in your small clothes, but you're not actually angry at the violation of your privacy. You're a whore, paid to showcase and use your body, this time is no different.

No, you're angry because you'd been hurt by a client.

"Bruises, yellow and forming on your rear, your ankle, your hips, and," Littlefinger clicks his tongue, "your face."

Your face isn't the most important thing about you, but it is the first thing guests see before they begin the unwrapping of their "gift". First impressions lie in the smile, the healthy roundness of your cheeks and the allure of your eyes.

You feel the sting of the cut on your lip when you run your tongue over it, the bruise on your cheek when you bite it from the inside of your mouth, and you're acutely aware of the bruise under your eye from when last you saw yourself in a mirror.

You'd been wronged, your body had been wronged, and your dignity had been wronged.

"Quell that anger before you have the need to use it." Littlefinger says, cupping your jaw as he does so to examine your face. The fat of your cheeks spill over his fingers. He turns your head this way and that, looking for another cut, bruise or something else.

"What will you do to the client?" You ask, because you need to know, even though it is hard to speak with his hand on your jaw.

"He hurt my merchandise." He said, looking down at you in some dark way. It's possession. "He'll receive a ban from this establishment."

The way he swipes his thumb over your cheek gives a facade of endearment, but it is only that, a facade. He cares not for you, but for the gold you bring.

You scoff, then pull away and crudely wipe the blood from the corner of your lip, though it stings as you do so. "Just this one?"

"He is a lord." Baelish said, like it was obvious. "He has a great amount of money, and he can potentially contribute greatly to the rest of my establishments. You were his favorite, remember? Getting banned at this establishment will teach him a lesson."

"A favorite." You repeat with scorn. "A favorite, that's what I was?"

"Let me remind you, he asked to try it. You agreed." His anger rose with yours, but Baelish kept it hidden under the surface, only present in the rare emotion of his eyes and his snarl. "It is on your hands that he–"

"He didn't stop." You cut him off, a mistake.

"It is on your hands." He repeated with finality. "What are your muscles for, if not for fighting? You do not fight, let me remind you that too. Your muscles are for show and allure. You're not a fighter, you're a whore. You take, you do not argue."

"Pleasure and pain do not mix–"

He pushes you back, harshly. You end up against his desk, bracing yourself against the edge so as to not fall or sit on the wood.

In a rush, his hand lowers your underwear and wraps around your cock.

It's what he was doing when he hurt you.

"But you said yes."

You push against him, but he pushes you back against the desk. His hand reaches your jaw again, holding you there.

You're not cornered, but, "I made you, I gave you life." Baelish says, working his hand up and down your cock in the way only an expert knows to do. He pays attention to your cock and the veins of your shaft, but he doesn't daddle on them, either, and he stares you down all the way through it.

Petyr Baelish gave you life. He gives you shelter, food and drink and status and reputation that feed your gold pouch. The wrestler on the bed, Ser Strong, The Aspect of the Warrior, that's who you are; but only because he made you so.

"I can just as easily take it away."

And it's true. He can kick you to the streets, and with his influence, make sure you do not get a place in any other brothel in King's Landing.

You're no fighter, even. He'd affirmed it later, with spit and scorn, and Baelish knew how to slice a a man's throat. He could take your life that way too.

"Yes." You say, because you must.

He doesn't even say "good", but his eyes speak it, in the way he looks down at you.

He's still working you.

You have to fight your own instincts not to use your muscles for once and punch him. It'd cost you everything if you did.

You close your eyes, and, "Oh, fuck."

It's genuine, unlike so many other times in your life as a whore, because Baelish is good at this. He must know a whole lot about the pleasuring of both man and woman, as a brothel owner, as a strategist. He must know your inner workings.

He's showing you that there's still pleasure in this, that that lord was a one off time, that this motion of his hand doesn't mean you'd soon be hurt.

"That's it." He whispers.

It all feels a lot more caring now, his hand sliding down your jaw to wrap around your throat. It doesn't trigger your fear, somehow. It's not tight, it's just there.

There, like a necklace, a form of possession.

Your hands lay on his arms, holding both of them, clutching at his sleeves like a lifeline.

"You're worth your weight in gold." He affirms, "My Aspect of the Warrior. You're good at what you do. You were born for it. That's why I need you, and I need you sane, calm and willing. You understand?"

"Yeah." You groan out.

He continues to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, his thumb drawing lines over your adam's apple.

You know Baelish possesses a silver tongue. You know lying is second nature for him, but you find yourself believing him anyway. Perhaps you are not worth your weight in gold, or the loss that'd result from turning that lord away entirely, but you are certainly worth something to him, whether as much as he tells you or not.

You don't play it up like you usually do, yet you're still groaning and moaning, breaths heavy and shaky.

His hand feels so good around your cock that it makes you forget it all.

Before long, you're spilling into his hand and almost onto his expensive coat, but only almost.

"Find Ross. She'll care for you."

Petyr's head dips down under your chin, and his lips meet your throat. He could bite, but he kisses.

"Yes, sire."

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This fairly new 2023 home in Camden, ME is definitely one-of-a-kind. I have to question why the owners are selling after so short a time. The 7bds, 6ba, $2.2m home certainly has a vibe. Look at this one.

Huge columns and chandeliers frame the entrance hall. The columns look like upside down Greek columns.

More chandeliers and right next to the stairs there's a bar.

Very convenient. As soon as the guests come in they can have a drink right away.

There is a gold walkway above the main room. There's also a fish tank recessed in the wall.

In this corner is a living room area. The walls are lined with the same gold as the upper walkway, plus tile.

Next to the living room there's a dining area.

A wall with windows separates the kitchen from the main entrance.

Oh, there's the other side of the fish tank. Look at the fish art on the wall. Wow, look at the bright blue counters. I don't care much for the way it goes with the tile.

They must really love that tile. It even lines the open shelving. The floor tile clashes, too.

There's also a lot of open shelving on the bottom.

Here's a 1st fl. bedroom with an attached gold headboard.

More of that tile in the en-suite. A clear panel on the tub. Nope. Interesting choice of an electric green counter on the sink.

The 2nd fl. has a wide walkway.

The primary bedroom is large enough for a sitting area and it has sliders to a balcony.

It also has an oversized gold headboard.

Mural panel outside the bedroom. This home has a very specific style.

The terrace.

The primary en-suite also has the bright lime green counter and clear tub.

It appears that all of the bedrooms have the gold headboard and same bathrooms.

Down the stairs to the lower level there's a room with a small desk.

There is also a hall and on one side there's a rec room that mirrors the living room upstairs.

And, the laundry room is down here, too.

Deck on the back of the house.

Small yard and a shed.

0.70 Acre lot isn't very big, and it looks like they cleared just enough trees to build the house.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/23-Greenfield-Dr-Camden-ME-04843/221260627_zpid/

[thef1diary]

Don’t Date Him | P. Gasly

Summary: When you finally try to let go of the silly little crush on Pierre, he makes every effort to keep you from doing so.

Warnings: none just fluff

Word count: 2.4k

Pairing: pierre x fem!reader

It starts with recognizing that you'll never be anything more than a friend to Pierre. You knew each other for eight years now. All those years ago, you were new to Monaco, you had made the decision to pursue post secondary education in a new country. You are originally from France, which meant that you easily fit in the Monégasque culture. Since it is a small country, you and Pierre happened to find yourself in the same place multiple times.

Now, you were one of his closest friend. But that's all you'd be. Just a friend.

You don't remember the day you actually started liking him, but you do remember when you realized it. You usually tag along with Pierre when he goes to the gym, claiming that you'd only go if he'd accompany you. That day, you also accompanied him. Pierre and his trainer would be working out while you would do your own workout.

You don't remember when you started liking it when he would take off his shirt, or when he'd take a break to drink water and a small amount would dribble down the corner of his mouth.

That day, you had your headphones on, listening to music from your carefully crafted playlist with all your favourite songs. You were alternating dumbbells in your hands, doing bicep curls. You watched yourself in the mirror since your form wasn't the best, perhaps it was because you moved on to the next heavier weight which was slightly challenging.

You saw Pierre in the reflection, walking up towards you so you moved one side of the headphones so you could hear him. Pierre walked up behind you and placed one hand around your waist while the other was underneath your hand that was holding the weight. You sucked in a breath when his hand made contact with your bare stomach as you took off your zipper hoodie and now only in a sports bra.

"Relax your shoulders" he muttered. Releasing a shaky breath, you listened to him. You moved your hand that was holding the weight and saw how his hand followed it but never held it.

He didn't move his hand away from your body, instead as you were working out, he pulled you closer so you could feel the front of his body. Those mixed feelings made you very confused but you didn't have the courage to ask him about it.

Since you didn't get any other indication from him that he liked you, you had decided to move on from him. Pretend like you never felt anything for him which was a lot harder to do. You definitely started avoiding him more often and made it seem unintentional. You two hung out often, very often which meant that you needed to change that habit if you were going to get over your crush. You still attended races, but it was the summer break now and for a moment you wanted to delay your plan. You knew he'd make more plans since he isn't busy with the races, but you felt bad knowing that you'd have to deny him.

Charles invited you and Pierre to his yacht which you agreed to because you knew that there would be other people. You didn't trust yourself to be around Pierre alone. This crush is very stupid and what makes it worse is that it's one sided.

You were looking forward to the party, knowing that some other drivers and their partners would also be there. You decided to wear a white bikini with a white button up shirt that you decided to leave open. Taking a tote bag and filling it with essentials you need if you were going for a swim later. You accessorized with gold jewelry that stood out on your slightly tanned skin.

You made your way on to the yacht and saw Charles first. He walked up to you and hugged you, enveloping you between his arms. You two always hugged like that, it was honestly very comforting. Charles was like a brother to you, and you knew you could count on him because he made that clear from the first time you two met. However, you never told him about your crush on his best friend. That's exactly why; Charles and Pierre were very close so if Charles knew, then he would tell Pierre.

You talked to him for a bit then you felt a pair of arms hug you from behind, picking you up. You instantly knew who it was and you cursed yourself for recognizing him so easily. "Pierre! Put me down" you exclaimed but couldn't stop laughing as well.

He listened and spun you around and put an arm around your shoulder, side hugging you. You didn't pay any attention to that, instead you noticed what he was wearing. All white linen. Shorts and a button up shirt that was completely unbuttoned so his tanned chest was on display. You also noticed how his chain with the crucifix was also shining in the sun. He was wearing sunglasses so you couldn't see his coloured eyes.

He poked you in the arm and that's when you realized he was waiting for you to answer his question. "What?"

"I'm getting a beer, want one?" He asked again, looking at you with an amused face.

"Yeah, sure"

He nodded then moved his glasses down and gave you a wink before walking away. You didn't know what that was for. Before contemplating his actions, you were approached by Carmen. "He's an idiot"

She commented as she saw you watch Pierre but then you turned your head to face her. "What?"

"You like him, don't you?" She asked. "I don't know, maybe but there's no point because he doesn't see me like that" you admitted and it sounded so stupid once you said it out loud. It sounds like a stupid school girl crush. You are more mature than that.

"That's why he's stupid" Carmen stated which made you chuckle. "Yeah, I guess he is. But yours isn't as smart either" you jerked your head in George's direction who was having a beer chugging contest with Charles. Carmen shook her head with a smile on her face "he might not be the brightest but I still love him"

You pushed her away in a playful manner "yeah yeah I know".

Pierre came back towards you and handed you the beer, "what are we talking about here?"

You shook your head "nothing" but you saw Carmen looking at you with a smirk before she walked away.

You faced Pierre and he instantly sparked up another conversation. "Wanna go skydiving?"

You laughed at his excitement to go, he's been talking about it for a while now. "When?"

"Tomorrow? Me, you, and Charles?" He asked but you frowned, "I actually have plans tomorrow, but you two should go"

"You have plans with people other than me?" He asked and placed a hand on his heart. You smacked his arm "not funny".

"But seriously, cancel your plans. Let's go, we're gonna have so much fun" he tried convincing you and usually it would work but now you weren't going to give in. "Pierre, I'm not going to cancel my date for you" you saw his eyes widen and you realized your mistake. You didn't want to tell him about the date because he'd ask you so many questions.

"You have a date?" He asked and slightly winced when you nodded. "Who is it? And why didn't you tell me"

"That's why. You ask too many questions" You started to walk away but he pulled you back. "But.." he wanted to say something but couldn't get the words out. You listened, maybe just maybe he'd tell you what you always wanted to hear.

But he didn't say anything so you walked away.

—

The next day arrived quickly and you were getting dressed for your date. You met the guy on a dating app which is not something you normally do but when you started texting, you were actually interested in him. But he wasn't like Pierre. You cursed when you caught yourself comparing him to Pierre.

This was the time for you to move on. You did feel slightly guilty for using this guy to help you move on from Pierre, but you knew that if you didn't then you'd only think about him.

It was a dinner date at a well known, fancy restaurant which meant that you'd have to wear a dress. You didn't own many dresses, in fact it was Pierre and Charles who insisted on buying dresses while you resided in Monaco due to the nightlife there.

You decided on a light blue satin ruched corset dress with a slit down the side. You didn't want to show off too much skin but this one seemed elegant for the first date, especially a dinner date. You were putting on a pearl necklace when you heard a knock on the door. You checked your phone first, not seeing a message from the guy yet.

You opened the door and saw Pierre on the other side. He seemed out of breath and frantically looked around before making eye contact with you.

"Pierre, what are you doing here?"

He didn't answer your question, instead he invited himself inside.

"Hey, weren't you supposed to go skydiving with Charles today?" You questioned, trying to lighten the mood since he seemed stressed out or something of the sort.

"I didn't go"

"Why not?"

"Told him that I was sick" Pierre looked up at you since he was now sitting down on the couch.

You looked at him from the top to bottom and raised an eyebrow. "Liar"

"You don't think I'm sick?"

"You don't look sick" you pressed your palm on his forehead then cheek but he held it there once you tried to pull back.

"Now come on, I have a date to get to. I need to get ready" he let go of your hand and you turned around to go to your bedroom.

"You're wearing that?" You turned around to face him but he was holding his hands up in surrender, "I didn't mean that. You look amazing but do you remember where you bought that dress?"

You shook your head and waited to him to tell you. "Remember when we were at the mall and you immediately went inside this one store as soon as you saw this dress" he told you as he walked towards you. You didn't think Pierre would remember it.

"Then when you tried it on and showed it to me-"

"You liked it and said that blue looks good on me" you completed his sentence and he nodded.

"You know, when I said I was sick, it wasn’t entirely a lie" Pierre stated. "I'm sick of seeing you distance yourself from me"

"Pierre" you placed your hand on his chest when he was getting too close, you could smell his cologne.

"No, no, let me say this because if I don't now, I might lose everything I never realized I needed and wanted"

"I guess it's true that when you start to lose something, you realise it's worth. And one of the greatest things that has ever occurred to me is you. I was an idiot for being so oblivious to this and your feelings. I was afraid that if I told you, I'd lose you as a friend, but now I noticed that you're pulling away from me because you think I only want to be friends with you"

"I don't understand, Pierre. Are you saying what I think you are?" Your hand was still on his chest and you only noticed when he placed his hand on yours, then pulled you closer.

"I've been in love with you for years now. You're all I think about. Your smile; especially that dimple, your laugh, your godawful sense of humour that never fails to make me laugh. The way you cheer for me when I get a good result but also the times you're there to comfort me when I don't do as well as I could've. You're there to listen to me, even if it's at three in the morning for you and you have work the next day. I don't know why I've never told you. I guess I never realized that you reciprocated those feelings" Pierre poured his heart out into his speech and tears started welling up in your eyes.

"If you haven't succeeded in your plan of moving on from me, and still happen to have a little bit of love for me in here" he pointed to your heart, "then please don't go on that date. Don't date him"

"How did you-"

"George"

"Dammit, Carmen. They tell each other everything" you remember telling Carmen the details on a phone call the night after the yacht party because she couldn’t resist not knowing.

You were quiet for a moment. "This would end very badly if you did actually move on" Pierre commented and you hit his chest.

"I just need a moment to believe all of this. This isn't an elaborate prank right?"

"No. I would never do that to you"

"Good"

Pierre groaned, "come on now, I'm desperate to hear those three words from your mouth"

"I want pizza?" You laughed while he placed his head in the crook of your neck.

Your little bubble popped when you heard a knock on the door, indicating that your date was here. You were about to move away from Pierre when you felt him tighten his hold around your waist and he started kissing your neck. "Don't go" he muttered in your ear.

You held his face and made him make direct eye contact with you. "I love you Pierre"

You saw how his eyes brightened and the smile on his face when you spoke those words.

Then, for the first time, Pierre pressed his lips on yours. The kiss was full of longing need but also the love that you two never got to express until now. The man at the door was long forgotten and perhaps you wouldn't feel too bad about it since it was only the first date.

Before the kiss could turn into anything more, you pulled away. "You know, I did dress up for tonight"

Pierre's hands roamed over your hips while he lightly kissed your cheek "and you're very beautiful"

Pierre looked up at you, "let me take you out before I make you my girlfriend"

"What makes you think I'll say yes?"

"Are you not going to?"

"Ask me at dinner" you winked and kissed him on the cheek before you left the bedroom.

Pierre shook his head with a smile on his face "I am so in love with her"

[flowersforthosewhoneeds]

The Mortal the Cosmos Stole

Part 8 of "I wish i was her"

<3

Ash still lingered in the air, curling like ghosts over the scorched ground. The remnants of the battle glowed faintly fragments of broken spells and scorched runes fading into the wind.

Thor stood nearby, silent, watching his brother.

Doctor Strange had retreated a few feet back, exhausted, fingers twitching with residual power. His cloak wrapped around him protectively, its folds curling like it was nervous.

But Loki hadn’t moved.

He stood where the Celestials disappeared, eyes locked on the spot where the vision of you had flickered, for the briefest, cruelest moment. His shoulders rose and fell in slow, ragged breaths.

His fists bled from clenching so tightly.

You were gone.

And not just missing hidden. Cloaked beyond all detection. Not even his seiðr, with all its cunning and chaos, could reach you now.

"Brother," Thor said softly, approaching like one might a wild animal. "We will find her. You have my word."

Loki’s jaw clenched. “Your word is nothing.”

Thor flinched.

"You saw what they did," Loki went on, his voice a low, haunted whisper. "They didn’t take her to kill her. They took her to erase her."

Strange stepped forward. "Then we don’t give them the chance. I’ll search the Sanctum’s deepest archives—dimensional folds, forbidden magic, cosmic threads. Something must have left a trace."

Loki didn’t respond. He turned slowly, looking toward the horizon empty, dull, and gray.

“She’s not just gone,” he said. “She’s nowhere.”

..

The world you were in pulsed like a heartbeat slow, ancient, and distant.

You floated in a realm of shimmering gold, threads of starlight tangled around you, holding you in place.

You couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t cry.

You could only feel.

Loki’s magic, like a breeze on your skin. His anger. His fear. His grief.

You reached for it, but the threads pulled tighter.

And in your chest, you whispered the last thing you remembered: “Goodbye…”

....

Loki returned to his chambers but did not sleep. He stood in front of a mirror that refused to show his reflection.

Instead, it showed the last memory F.R.I.D.A.Y. managed to save the image of you, bleeding, weak, voice trembling as you whispered into the comms:

"Mission accomplished, sir… Goodbye."

Then the final footage: you in the dark, broken but singing softly to yourself.

"I'm in a getaway car… I left you in a motel bar… Put the money in a bag and I stole the keys… That was the last time you ever saw me..."

Loki struck the mirror. It shattered. Magic splintered across the room.

...

He stopped attending missions.

He stopped speaking.

Not to Thor. Not to anyone.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep.

He sat in the corner of the palace library, pouring through ancient books, forbidden scrolls, rituals not meant to be touched even by gods.

Thor found him once, surrounded by pages of forgotten magic, eyes sunken and hands ink-stained.

"Brother… this isn't you."

Loki looked up, and for a moment, Thor wasn’t sure it was him.

"This is me," Loki said. “Without her.”

<3

Somewhere far from time and space, the Celestials gathered again.

"She resists," one said. "The mortal should have broken by now."

“She is still connected to the Trickster,” another murmured. “Even apart, their fates thread together.”

“Then sever the thread.”

But something someone stopped them.

Another Celestial, cloaked in a dying star’s glow, stepped forward.

“No,” it said. “Let it play out. The God of Mischief will either burn the realms… or reveal the truth of her soul.”

And with a flick of its hand, the realm around you shifted againharsher. Colder.

More testing.

That night, the wind howled across Asgard.

And in a hidden corner of the palace, Loki stood alone, hands trembling over a spell he had never dared attempt before one that would cost him everything, if it meant finding you.

One final whisper escaped his lips:

“Wherever you are… don’t let go.”

And he cast it.

Reality shuddered.

A pulse surged through the realms.

And far away, in the golden void, you felt your fingers twitch..

and you knew he was looking for you.

you knew he was never going to let you go.

................................

Taglist:

@tinytroublemaker !! ( i hope you guys like this chapter!)

[jollybirdtheorist-new-art-blog]

First Spinjitzu Master (FSM) Au Headcannons

I am finally out of the depression corner (bc I chewed through the bars of my prison) and I'm gonna spoon feed y'all's some of my hcs. 🙌Rejoice! (Also these are still prototype hcs so don't try to kill me if I change them in the future)

° The FSM has a name and its Aurum (which translates to gold) he was one of the few first deities to spawn from the primordial known as Terrarios (which translates to earth. Terrarios is a *dead* entity whom went kablooey inorder to create the kindred of khaos.)

Background info tidbit for my au: the kindred of khaos are essentially terrarios children/heirs whom created and rule upon the 17 realms along with a few *minor mirror realms. Aurum (FSM) is one of first few 3 whom popped out of terrarios.

Despite the kindred of khaos being *born* from the same entity they aren't really siblings. They are more like subordinates if anything. They acknowledge each other's existence but each one prefers to stay in their own lane (which is why they're never really mentioned in the cloud kingdoms records or the history of ninjago.)

As much as I'd love to rant about the other kindred this is a post about the FSM so he should get the spotlight for now (•́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀)

° Aurum isn't mentioned by name because... He just never mentioned it to his son's, I dunno whether that was coincidence or his version of a lighthearted prank but he never told his kids his name and because others referred to him as 'master' or the 'creator of Spinjitzu' they just nicknamed him as "the first Spinjitzu master" and called it a day.

° Aurum is surprisingly pretty laid back. He usually just chills in his little pocket dimension where he tinkers creating new and absurd creatures to sprinkle onto ninjago. He also invented weed-

°Aurum usually spent his retirement inventing new creatures until Zane Somehow ended up in some empty abyss after jumping the overlord which resulted in the FSM having to fish him out of his beard.

°of course the situation baffled Aurum so he questioned the boi after materializing a few teacups out of thin air because bro looked like a Chihuahua on caffeine.

° Aurum didn't really know much about board games bc he retired from earth a few millennia ago until Zane introduced him to chess with a board he made from some of the clay he snatched from the fsm's workshop (the reason Zane made a chess set was because he was stuck with aurum for a while till they could come up with a strategy to bring him back from the grave. Which was difficult cause zanes soul was weird as fuck compared to other mortals and funny enough it wasn't because he was a nindroid)

°after the board game fiasco,Zane introducing Aurum to casino games (minus the money gambling) & and a few competitive rounds Aurum was like : "I like this Kid" and told him he was welcome to come back to his domain anytime before sending him back to earth in the form of an electrical surge into Borg industries where he accidentally ended up indwelling some forgotten nindroid prototype as his new body (not bad but random& unexpected).