#so dont come at me about it

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

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

Fate is determined to give them to her

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

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

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Oh god, oh god, oh god—Elain could barely breathe as she made her way across the inn barefoot and leaving a trail of water behind her. She shouldn’t have done that. She shouldn’t have kissed him, shouldn’t have let him touch her, should have told him no when he demanded she get into the bath. Elain knew better.

And yet she wanted him so badly it made her teeth ache. She knew he was just behind her, taking his time because he was the Emperor and supremely confident she would stay with him. It was all so, so bad because part of her wanted to. Every minute spent in his company weakened her resolve, even when she knew that he couldn’t give her anything Graysen wasn’t already offering.

She’d be his wife, broodmare, and otherwise trapped in his palace while he worked and she watched history pass her by, unable to even study it.

Elain had just closed the wooden door behind her when Lucien’s hand hit it, keeping it from latching completely. His eyes flashed a warning, scar stark against his otherwise perfect face. I know how you got that, she wanted to say. I know exactly how you felt—and I know that the man who gave it to you died of infection on the battlefield rather than a clean kill from your blade. 

Lucien shook his head back and forth, a towel hanging for dear life around his hips. 

“You need to go,” she said as he made his way toward her. Please. I can’t stay away. 

Brushing the wet mass of hair to one shoulder, Lucien murmured, “You know I can’t do that.”

“Lucien—”

“You know what I want,” he added, kissing just beneath her jaw. She could feel his fingers skim over her shoulders, still clad in the scratchy robe left out for them. 

“I can’t give you that,” she lied, because Elain was beginning to suspect she could give it to him underneath some heavy negotiating. 

“Then give me tonight,” he said, still standing behind her. What’s the harm, she swore he added. The harm, of course, was her crumbling resolve and the fact that Elain genuinely liked this man. Loved him, even, if it was possible to love someone you barely knew. It had taken her months and months to even consider the possibility with Gray—and longer even after his own confession while she tumbled the idea through her mind. 

But this felt natural, like an extension of herself. 

And that frightened Elain. 

Elain turned just in time for Lucien to capture his mouth with his own, hand cupping her face. She leaned into him, feeling the hardness of his cock jutting against her hip. Lucien tasted smoky, like woodfire and autumn weather—something a candle company would desperately try and bottle if they could. Elain couldn’t stop herself, not caring when he pulled open the flaps of her robe only to push them off her body so the fabric pooled at her feet. His body was warm, she suspected just naturally, and the feel of the hard muscles of his chest pressed against the softness of her own body made Elain’s knees tremble.

She wanted him. 

Elain offered no resistance when Lucien began walking her over the wood, nor did she fight him when he gently pressed her to the soft mattress. He followed behind, one powerful knee pushing her legs open so he could settle between them. There was no danger of pregnancy thanks to the little implant in her shoulder or Elain might have protested a little harder. Instead, Elain dragged her jagged nails along the skin of Lucien’s back. She could feel faint scars, which caused her to pull away in an attempt to look around his broad shoulders.

“What is this?” she breathed, rolling him off her so Lucien lay on his stomach, his golden skin wholly exposed. Elain tried to keep her eyes on his back and not his firm ass, but…well. She was only human, afterall, and Lucien had a perfect body. 

“The result of a life spent in the military,” he replied in that rumbling, husky voice. Elain had a vague memory of this—in his writings, he’d detailed being captured over the course of a few paragraphs. Nothing in depth, and yet Elain could see he’d suffered in enemy hands. 

“They whipped you.”

“They whipped me,” he repeated, looking over at her with a guarded expression. Running her fingers along the faded pink tissues, stark against the brown of his skin, Elain murmured, “They shouldn’t have done that.”

A smile split his face. “No,” he agreed, mocking solemnity. “Does it bother you?”

“The cruelty bothers me,” she murmured, thinking all of Rome was so casually cruel in ways she couldn’t even put into words. 

Lucien slowly rolled onto his back, revealing smaller scars nicked across his otherwise beautiful skin. The life he’d lived, with evidence of his military service and the illnesses he’d survived, were all there. 

She intended to climb into his lap. Elain was resolved, at least, to her present course of action. Lucien, though, had different ideas. When he saw her rise up on her knees a wicked look slid over his features and before she could blink, he’d pushed her back to the bed so her feet were where pillows ought to go and he was pushing apart her legs so he could stare between them.

“Lucien—”

“Let me,” he breathed, scrunching his large, muscular body between her pussy and the wall behind them. Elain tried to scoot away to give him more space, but Lucien merely dragged her back with ease, undeterred by the uncomfortable position he found himself in. 

It had been years since a man had wanted to do this for her—and longer still since he’d wanted to without her having to ask and plan it ahead of time. Graysen found the whole thing debasing and uncomfortable though he would agree after a lot of negotiating in which he always came out better. 

Elain hadn’t planned to ask Lucien—he’d already used his hand and she’d come, that seemed like enough. She would have been satisfied with it. Not this man, who occupied the highest seat of power in their current time. Elain understood that Lucien didn’t have to do anything at all. He could have ordered a dozen women to their knees and they likely would have complied gladly. 

And yet there he was on his knees, spreading her apart with a dazed look on his face. 

He didn’t wait for permission, nor did he give her any indication he was going to start. Elain had reclined back, staring up at the stone ceiling overhead as her mind raced and when she felt him take that first taste, she yelped softly, unprepared for the electric heat that would race through her.

Lucien merely groaned in response, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips to keep her from escaping him. Not that she wanted to go anywhere. All Elain’s resolve evaporated right then, for whatever it said about her—what had once felt like iron will was now fluid like water. Who cared what happened next?

Not Elain—not when his tongue was wet and warm against her clit, licking in lazy, slow circles. He wasn’t in a hurry, which was a shame—she half was. Elain both wanted to prolong the pleasure and finish, and when she tried to roll her hips against his mouth, Lucien pushed her back to the bed with a steady hand.

Not yet, he seemed to say. Relax.

Elain’s anxiety began to ebb as Lucien made it clear he was enjoying himself. Every time she looked down she found him watching, gauging her reaction to see if what he was doing was working or if she liked it at all. And his hips…he was half fucking the sheets even as he licked, fingers teasing her opening without ever actually penetrating.

Elain was desperate, fisting the blankets in an attempt to keep herself from floating away. She was trying to hold herself back, but Lucien sped himself up, licking in the same spot over and over until Elain was panting his name.

“Please,” she whispered, well aware she was speaking English and he wouldn’t understand. He seemed to understand the gist, working his tongue faster as he pulled her closer until she was all but sitting on his face. 

Elain could scarcely breath, lost to the touch until finally—finally—she broke apart in pieces. Just like the bath before, Elain felt unmoored, adrift as wave after wave of pleasure charged electric through her veins. This time, though, panic didn’t supersede the pleasure, maybe because Elain was resolved to enjoy her evening with this man. 

By the time the black spots decorating Elain’s vision cleared, Lucien was over her, both hands running up and down her trembling thighs. Their eyes met and without saying a word, she offered him the permission he was seeking. 

His was an anomaly in this place, she decided, and for one sickening moment, she wished she could bring him back with her. She could introduce him to the modern world and…and what? Lucien had achieved something few men ever would and it seemed cruel to strip him of it so he could live a life of mediocrity with her. Still, as she brushed his long hair from his face, she wished she could.

She imagined him agreeing to go with a lightness in her stomach that frightened her. A whole life flashed before her eyes just before he notched the head of his cock against her still quivering pussy. Lucien looked down one last time, waiting for her to pull back. Elain wondered what would happen if she did.

He’d stop, she decided. Lucien waited the span of a breath for her to tell him no, pushing in only when she raked her nails lightly over his bicep.

All the remaining air punched from Elain’s lungs. She knew he was large—she’d had her hand wrapped around the thickness of him back in the bath. But to know it and to physically feel it as he bottomed out in one fluid stroke was a whole different thing. Lucien moaned, dropping his head between his shoulders as his eyes rolled upward. 

A stream of softly spoken latin curses punctuated the silence before his lips formed the first english word ever spoken by a Roman Emperor— “Please,” he whispered in her language, the vowels too rounded, the constants taking on a strange w-like sound.

“Did I use that right?” he asked her when she didn’t respond.

“It’s a plea,” she told him so he understood.

“Then I did,” he replied, clearly satisfied before punctuating his words with a rather rough thrust of his cock. Elain arched her back involuntarily, sighing softly. She could die like this, she decided. She wanted to. 

Lucien pressed himself against her, arms wrapping around her so he could hold her close. For a moment there was nothing but their shared breathing and the sound of skin meeting skin over and over. 

“Don’t leave me,” Lucien murmured into Elain’s hair when the silence was too much. She couldn’t say anything in return because Elain refused to make that promise, so she kissed him instead. The taste of herself mingled against his own masculine smell was enough to make Elain feel utterly undone—unmoored and untethered from the very world itself. 

Lucien kissed her back, whimpering softly when her teeth sank into his bottom lip. Elain couldn’t explain it, but she wanted to taste blood, too and when it flooded her mouth in a mix of copper and salt, she felt her entire body respond.

She was going to come like this. Again. Elain didn’t think she’d ever come more than once in a twenty-four hour period and in the span of an hour, she’d have come three times. Lucien had to know, his thrusting becoming more punctuated and desperate while his breathing became ragged. 

Elain came, just as she had in the water, mere seconds before he did. It was as if he held it just long enough to ensure he didn’t beat her.

With his head thrown back, eyes closed to the pleasure, Elain tried to commit the sight of him to memory. She knew she’d spend the rest of her life wishing to come back to this night. 

Lucien collapsed against her, face buried in her neck.

“Again?” she asked, not wanting to end the evening. 

“Let a man take a breath.” Elain could hear the smile in his voice. Running her fingers up and down his spine, Elain pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Take your time.”

He didn’t need much

LUCIEN:

Morning came all too soon. Lucien didn’t recall falling asleep, though he supposed they must have when Elain had begged for mercy sometime in the early morning hours. He’d intended to give her a few minutes and perhaps get himself up for some water, and the next thing he knew the sun was streaming through the window and it was time for them to go.

Elain knew it, too. When he blinked open his eyes, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed already dressed in pretty lavender, her eyes on her hands in her lap. Lucien swallowed the urge to beg her to stay. 

She didn’t belong.

One night hadn’t been enough to convince her of it, either. He could have simply refused, of course. Could have told her he was taking her home and informed her that he’d already drawn up all the necessary paperwork to make her his wife. 

What good was a wife that resented him? That was always trying to escape him? He doubted she’d welcome him warmly back to bed if he did that. He belonged to her—Lucien believed that fervently—but she did not belong to him.

And he had to let her go.

They ate quietly, making a few jokes over their fellow patrons before they were back on the road. He could still taste her in his throat, could still feel her clenched tight around his cock. It was all made especially worse given how she was nestled between his thighs and every jostle and bump of the horse drew them a little closer.

His estate came into view far too soon. What had begun as a slow drip of dread was now a torrential downpour. Elain slid from the saddle while Lucien stumbled after her, body shaking with fear. This wasn’t real, he decided as they made their way up the rolling, lush lawn. Statues of the gods silently watched as he trudged toward the entrance, ignoring the flurry of panic from servants that hadn’t expected him there.

“I won’t be staying,” he said to no one in particular. Once Elain was gone, Lucien doubted he’d ever come back to this place. It already felt heavy and haunted by the ghost of the woman before him, her fingers reaching for his as he led her back to his private bathing room.

She exhaled when she saw the mural of Chronos. Lucien’s heart stopped as he took it in, trying to remember why he’d commissioned this in the first place. As they crept forward, ignoring the steam wafting from the water, Lucien recalled that he’d given the artist free reign to do as he liked. Now it felt ominous—like a warning. 

He didn’t realize she’d outstretched her hand as Lucien stared at each tiny piece of tile, put together to create the larger image of the bearded man in vivid color. Fingers nearly skimming the steam gathered along the wall, Elain had been mere seconds from escaping him. Lucien panicked, snatching her wrist before he could think better of it as his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her hard into his chest.

Elain gasped softly.

“Sorry,” Lucien breathed, his terror running a river through him. “I…” 

He didn’t know what he was going to say. I don’t want to lose you. I’m in love with you. He swallowed the urge to say both and instead released her hand so he could stretch out his own fingers. It was a different sort of fear that gripped him, though in the end it didn’t matter. Lucien pressed his palm flat against the wall as nothing happened. However Elain had come—whatever power allowed her to do so—was not extended to him. He would remain here. 

Lucien had to let her go. It was over. He’d tried his best but they were still here and Elain was staring at that mural glassy eyed with excitement. She wanted to leave. 

He had to let her go.

That revelation didn’t stop him from turning her around to kiss her. It was a desperate last attempt to convince her to say without saying the words he knew he ought to say. A better man would have told her the truth, if only to clear his own conscience and spare himself a lifetime of guilt. And Lucien knew if she stayed, he’d always wonder if he’d guilted her into it.

Better to let her go and live with his regrets. 

Cupping her face, Lucien pressed his forehead against hers. “I will miss you.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. Lucien let her go before he could talk himself out of it, and strode from the room without a look back. Jupiter above, but he wanted to look at her one last time, just to see if she was looking, too.

On his way out, Lucien instructed a servant not to bother her, but allow her to remain for as long as she liked. He couldn’t stay, though. Lucien knew he’d break down if he walked back into the bathhouse and found her gone. He needed to go back to Rome, besides, before some enterprising Senator got ideas of grandeur and had the coins to back up those plans. 

Dealing with the Empire would take his mind off Elain, if nothing else.

Lucien wasted time, though—just in case. He wasted it resetting his supplies and picking out a horse for the journey, and even had several swords brought to him to pick through even when he knew he liked the one he had just fine. 

Elain didn’t rejoin him. She was gone. Somehow he just knew it—the world felt different to him, the air heavier, the sun less bright. It was heartbreak like Jesminda all over again. Elain wasn’t dead, but she might as well have been. For him, she was. It was that thought that set Lucien to moving, reigns in his hands as he walked at a plodding pace with his horse. He planned to sleep on the road rather than back in the inn from the night before.

Seeing the bed, remade and cleaned after a perfect night with the perfect woman felt like too much to bare. 

There was nothing else to think about, so Lucien tried to think of nothing at all. He stared at the beauty of his home, drinking in the rolling hills dotted with swaying flowers that danced and sang everytime the wind rolled in. Thick clouds kept the worst of the sun from beating too heavily against his skin, though the threat of rain had Lucien reconsidering his plan to stay at the inn. 

When appreciating the beauty of the world couldn’t keep him focused, Lucien returned to some of the things Elain had told him about the future. He tried to figure out cars, turning the word over in his mind, his lips forming around the vowels as he spoke it aloud, mostly for his own amusement than anything else. A carriage that seemingly moved of its own accord, powered by the bodies of creatures dead thousands of years before he had even been thought of. 

By the time he’d bored himself of the future, the sun had begun setting in the distance and Lucien needed to make camp for the night. He chose an area just off the road so his horse could graze and otherwise rest while he set up a good fire and the tent he’d been carrying, among other things, on his back. He felt like a soldier conscripted in the army again, cooking his food over an open flame and sleeping in the grass again. 

It was nicer when he wasn’t surrounded by hundreds of other sweaty, exhausted men, too. There was just him, his horse, and the rapidly purpling sky overhead. Ignoring his crackling fire, Lucien laid back in the grass to stare upward at familiar constellations. Was Elain seeing them too, wherever she was? Was she thinking about him? 

Lucien could almost hear her voice. Lucien, she’d say in that sweet, exasperated way of hers. He liked the way she accented his name, making everything softer, rounder. Loo-Shen—like his name was something exotic, something ethereal. 

Something special.

Lucien sighed, closing his eyes. He should eat something before falling asleep, if only to keep his strength up for the walk into the city tomorrow. The problem was the taunting wind blowing around him—he swore he heard Elain’s voice. Lucien tried to block it out, which only made it louder.

Sitting up, he looked over his shoulder. There, coming just over a hill, was a stumbling figure in a lavender dress. He blinked—and when that didn’t banish the specter, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

But no.

“Elain?” he called, certain he was losing his mind. 

“Lucien!”

She was running, he realized, and she was alone. Fuck.

Lucien was on his feet in an instant, making his way toward her breathlessly. Even with all the evidence to the contrary, he was certain he was going to reach her to find she’d evaporated into the mist and this had all been a dream.

Elain half collapsed against him, solid and warm and real. Her arms were around his neck as Lucien, half dazed, pressed his mouth against her scalp.

“You were supposed to go home,” he told her foolishly. 

“I know,” she said, pulling away with the wettest pair of eyes he’d ever seen. “I know—I tried. Lucien, I tried to but…” He couldn’t move, rooted in place. Say it, he wanted to beg. 

“I’m in love with you,” she whispered. Lucien couldn’t help the soft groan of relief that escaped him. Holding her face in his hand, he could only nod, swallowing hard to keep himself from giving in to emotion. 

“I don’t know what happens—”

“We should rest,” he said, because he knew what happened next. He’d marry her, make her Empress of Rome, and figure everything else out after. That seemed the most important thing, at least toward keeping her with him. 

It was only halfway back to camp that he realized he hadn’t said the words back to Elain. Halting so abruptly that she tripped over the hem of her dress, he blurted out, “I love you, too.”

A strange laugh escaped her—had he not seen the smile, Lucien would have thought it was a sob. Her eyes were still wet and as he stood there, hands gripping the tops of her arms, several tears slid down her cheek.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m happy and I’m sad,” Elain admitted, wiping them hastily with the back of her hand. “The thought of leaving Arina…of leaving you…but staying means I lose my life back home. My sisters. My dad…my friends—my job. And I’m sad about that, too.”

Lucien’s mind raced. “I can give you some of that back,” he offered, though truthfully he didn’t know how. His patricians would never accept his wife if she worked the way the common people did. And even if they would, Lucien had nothing to offer that made sense. “You’ll be Empress.”

Elain nodded, though something like a scoff punctuated the air between them. In her world, her terms, it wasn’t enough.

It made him curious all over about her world, her life, that he could offer her power and prestige and it felt like she was losing something. 

“I know,” she whispered, wiping her face on her sleeve again. “It’ll just be an adjustment.”

“Your sisters could always…” Lucien didn’t know what he was talking about. He wasn’t going to let her go back to that wall for her sisters, even if she swore she’d return. 

Elain shook her head. “It’s better this way, I think.They don’t need to know, and even if they did, they wouldn’t understand.”

Lucien barely understood. He hoped he never had to hear about that former life ever again, if he was truthful. Everything Elain had ever described sounded stressful and loud and worst of all, deeply disorganized. He wanted to see Elain happy within the gardens of his home, wanted his people to love her, and most importantly, wanted her to forget about where she came from.

Eris would be delighted when Lucien returned with strict instructions to keep Arina in Rome no matter the costs. Even if he had to chain her to the walls…even if she had to be married to a man she hated.

Though, he suspected his brother would graciously step up. Elain would get to keep her friend which would make her happy.

“Come sit with me,” Lucien murmured, nodding toward his little campsite. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” she whispered. She had no pack—she must have run out before anyone could help her. She was tough—he doubted many of the ladies back in Rome could have managed such a thing by themselves.

“And then what?”

“Then we go home.”

ARINA:

Snooping through Eris’s things was likely to get her banished to another jail cell somewhere far below the city. Somewhere infested with rats, certainly—and without the nice, warm bed she’d been languishing in for the last day. Elain still hadn’t returned, though Arina had discovered she’d only been asleep for a day. 

Still, it made her uneasy. Eris had sworn not to say anything to his brother—or anyone else for that matter—but that didn’t mean he would. Men lied all the time. If there was any constant across the shifting societies and changing worlds, it was that. For all she knew, Eris was about to burn the first witch in history and it would be her.

Though…realistically he probably wasn’t. She’d woken that morning to his cock utterly rigid and nestled against her spine. He’d extricated himself thinking she was asleep, unaware that as he’d carefully rolled himself out of bed, she’d been wondering if she should touch it or not.

She needed Elain—Arina didn’t know the social rules for women in ancient Rome. She knew columns, sculpture, stonework, and art. Some of that spoke to society, of course, but not the intricacies of if it was acceptable to stroke a man off who’d saved your life.

Perhaps men were simply men no matter where they were. She doubted he’d tell her no, though he could also brand her a whore and who knew what would happen if he did that? What Arina needed was leverage, and in order to get leverage, she needed to rifle through Eris’s things. 

It was all so boring.

Even his correspondence was boring. It was like reading Cicero all over again, except she wasn’t drunk or doing shots with Elain every time Cicero complained about some mythical golden age that had never existed. There was no poetry to his words—everything was perfunctory and to the point. 

Whatever secrets the Senator held, he didn’t keep them so readily available. It didn’t help that he happened to stroll in, casual in a blue embroidered chiton and his usual sandals. His eyes flicked from her to the desk before his lips set with disapproval.

“If you want to know something, you could just ask.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why are you here?”

“I thought you’d like to know Elain has returned with my brother. In tact,” he added, guessing her line of thought. 

“I’ll go see her,” Arina said, striding for the door. Eris threw his arm out, catching her before she could push past him.

“I wouldn’t,” he murmured, smelling of sunshine. “The doors were locked behind them.”

“Why?”

He merely arched a brow. Oh. Oh. Elain you idiot—

“This isn’t a great time,” she grumbled, frustrated she couldn’t even talk to her friend because she was too busy getting railed by the Emperor of Rome. He’d likely have her pregnant by the end of the month and then Elain would be waxing poetic about the beauty of an all natural birth in a place where no one understood germ theory. 

What was worse was her own indecision centered around the man currently keeping her in his bedroom. Never, in her entire life, had Arina ever made a decision based on a man. She always prioritized herself first even if that meant destroying a relationship she cared about. Now, though…now Eris was factoring in her choice to remain in the past. 

She’d tried to imagine going back. Sometimes it felt like a relief—she’d have bottled water again, and sunscreen, and all the conveniences she’d grown up with.

But she’d never see that look of disapproval on his face again. And she’d never feel his mouth against hers, hands in her hair while he kissed her with desperation. And Arina knew her mouth tasted bad because toothpaste was a fever dream in this place. Arina also knew if she angled her face just a little more, he’d kiss her again without hesitation.

“He’s going to marry her,” Eris informed Arina, pulling her from her thoughts. “Likely before the games begin.”

“Cristo Santo,” Arina swore softly. “She won’t say yes.”

“You didn’t see her,” Eris said casually as Arina stepped just out of his vicinity. “Or him, for that matter.”

“Spare me,” she mumbled, half turning to look toward the window. “So Elain marries the Roman Emperor and I just—”

“Marry me.”

Arina was certain she hadn’t heard that right. Frozen, she listened to the sound of leather softly smacking marble. He didn’t touch her which was smart—he was likely to lose a hand that way. He did stand in front of her, though, so she had to look at him. 

“Are you asking or are you telling me?” she questioned, knowing damn well Eris wasn’t asking her. He wasn’t going to get on one knee and beg the way men might in her own time period. There would be no rings, no declarations. He likely had a contract written up just waiting for his brother's signature. 

Il culo. 

Eris hesitated for just a moment. “Do you want me to ask?”

“Would you?”

He shrugged. “Not if you’re going to tell me no.”

Arina threw her hands up, exasperated. “Well it’s not a request if I can’t say no.”

“I’m not asking you,” Eris retorted hotly. “You were the one who wanted it formed as a question. I am telling you to marry me.”

“Or what?”

His face reddened with anger or embarrassment—Arina couldn’t be sure. “You’ll marry a different man you like even less and who will treat you much worse than I ever would.”

“I could leave—”

“You swore you’d stay,” Eris hissed, reminding her of the promise she’d made just the night before.

“Well, I lied!” she replied, stepping away from him in a pathetic attempt to clear her head. Eris merely followed behind, his frustration apparent. 

“I’m trying,” he hissed, running a hand through his neatly combed hair. “You make it impossible to do so. Tell me how men in your home take a wife and I’ll do it—”

“It can take years,” she said, spinning so quickly that Eris yielded a step to avoid knocking their faces together. “Do you even understand the concept of dating? Courting? Whatever it’s called here? Getting to know someone before you just demand they marry you.”

“I know enough,” Eris replied, his eyes alight again. “How much time does it take to know if you want a woman or not?”

“Two years?” Arina suggested.

Eris scoffed, turning his head as though the whole thing disturbed him. “Years?”

“Yeah, years while you get to know someone—”

“I don’t need years. I knew when I found you in the archive,” Eris informed her, watching as she began to pace back and forth. She knew how this went—she knew she stayed. If Elain stayed, Arina would, too. That didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him.

Eris ought to know that the rest of his life would be far more difficult for having her in it. Did love even factor into it? Elain would know. Surely humanity felt love even in this place, even if they didn’t marry for those reasons.

“You don’t know me at all.”

“I know enough,” Eris repeated, his mind clearly made up. “I know everything I need to know.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she contradicted, heart thudding in her throat. Eris advanced, his patience clearly coming to an end. 

“I know I want you,” he said, and when she raised her hand to hit him, Eris caught her wrist easily. “See? Look at how well I know you.”

“You’ll get me, realize I’m not half as interesting as you imagined, and take a mistress. And I will not be humiliated by you.”

“Would you like me to ink it on paper?” Eris asked in that lethally soft voice. “You could take me to court. I’m sure my brother would assist you—he’d find the entire thing amusing.”

“I could just leave you,” Arina reminded him. “I don’t need a reason.”

“You could,” he agreed, creeping closer. “I won’t dispute it.”

“Liar,” she whispered, pressing her palm flat against his chest. “You’ll lock me up.”

“Or,” he murmured as he reached for a long lock of her hair, “you’ll find you like being married to me, too.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“Let me have it,” he murmured, lowering his face toward hers. “That’s the only thing I’m asking you for.”

“You’ll regret this,” she told him blithely, wanting to escape the intensity radiating from him. Eris caught her before she could walk away, spinning her back into his chest so he could kiss her. She let him, melting into his embrace. It was the easiest thing in the world. 

“I won’t,” he murmured when they broke apart. 

And though she hated herself for it, Arina believed him.

[ashleyloob]

every time I see non Asians go by Asian names online I get whiplash bc I'm like o shit another one of me!! then I find out they are a white weeb from Arkansas going by Haru that can't name more than 3 countries in Asia

[verflares]

(click for higher quality!) draconified link concept ive been chipping away at this past week ..... here's my funny little compendium concept for him:

"A heroic spirit has taken the form of this bestial dragon. Unlike it's kin, this creature exhibits an extremely aggressive disposition. It appears highly territorial, and will relentlessly chase down those who disturb its skywide patrols - of which it seems to be endlessly searching for either a long-time vassal or foe. Unfortunately, it seems the spirit within has long since forgotten exactly who it was looking for…"

[kendyroy]

thinking about how this movie could’ve ended like any other superhero movie where they go their separate ways before teasing some future threat

but instead it ended with wade calling out logan’s name romcom-style, and them living a happy domestic life together with their newly adopted dog

[pigswithwings]

to care for you i must take you apart

[delicourse]

i miss them a little if im gonna be honest

[windfalling]

1.02 // 1.06 // 1.08 The Stranger vs. Sol on recognizing and differentiating Osha and Mae

[ceilidho]

soap developing an unhealthy attachment to his therapist post his brush with death after being shot at point blank range. he was reluctant to see a therapist at first because he didn't like what it said about him that he was being more or less strong armed into seeing a shrink (like no one trusts him anymore; they don't think his head's on straight since being shot), but as time goes on, he grows to cherish the relationship he's cultivated with his therapist because,

well,

she understands him. she listens to him. where everyone else seems to want him to just hurry up and get better (the nightmares, the mid-sentence brain fog, the erratic mood swings, the silent brooding when he can't find the words, aphasia on the tip of his tongue, the constant, constant headaches and auditory hallucinations that he can't seem to kick), she doesn't put any pressure on him to heal right away. she works with him and his medical team; gives him the space to process what happened to him, and has a seemingly bottomless wealth of patience for him.

he can talk for hours in her presence. it's a shame their time together is limited to an hour and a half every week. the dulcet sound of her voice is such a comfort to him. it's a shame she politely but firmly rejects his advances when he finally asks her out, tells him that it wouldn't even be appropriate for them to be friends outside of his sessions. that it would in some way hinder his healing journey. which pisses him off because Soap has progressed in leaps and bounds since those early days when he used to stumble over his words sitting on the couch across from her, head in his hands when the language felt beyond his grasp, a fine tremor still running through his hands that he's since managed to contain,

and

his head is throbbing again. a sharp pain above his eye that pulsates like a drum in his head and -

he thinks about her constantly. in and out of sessions. she's a frequent topic of conversation when the brass finally lets him back out in the field, Makarov finally dealt with (resting six feet deep in an unmarked grave). he ignores the looks oscillating between concern and worry that Price gives him. ignores the way Ghost barks at him to quit bothering the bird in the tight skirt and fuck someone that won't get him discharged. ignores the way Gaz pulls him to the side to ask if maybe he needs to see another therapist, y'know, mate...get some distance.

they act like this is something new. an abberation and not his very nature. like he hasn't always been the type to lock onto a scent like a hunting dog. a sniper by training. he sits and he watches and he waits; waits for the right moment that he alone knows.

it comes to him on an inauspicious day, when he's leaving the training facilities and spots his sweet thing rummaging around in the boot of her car, her ass beckoning him forward like a siren's call. now, now, now, the little itch in his head says, the voice that knows when the time is right. it's a sense acquired through conscious and unconscious observation, letting it all filter into his frontal cortex until he knows without knowing that the parking lot is empty apart from the two of them and the men at the base gates half a mile away.

it would take nothing for him to come up behind her and push her into the boot. nothing to wrestle the purse from her hands and slam the trunk shut. nothing to drive off base with a flick of his fingers to the guards that hardly ever bother to question him before he leaves (though they know what car he actually drives), made complacent by familiarity.

and he knows that it's wrong, knows that there's a line that he shouldn't cross, that choices have consequences, but,

his mouth salivates when her hips twitch, the urge to take settling over him. surely they'd forgive him one indiscretion.

[recapitulation]

meal ideas!

low energy ("do not ask me to do any prep work at all, so help me god")

mozzerella cheese wrapped in pepperoni ("pizza tacos"!)

hummus and pretzels or naan (putting the naan in the microwave for like 10 seconds...heavenly)

canned chili (with shredded cheese and sour cream if you have it! boom done!)

instant miso soup (warm and lovely! put tofu in it for protein!)

cheese and cured meat, olives, canned fish, crackers, dried fruit, or whatever easy "charcuterie" type items you like

alternate bites of apple and spoonfulls of peanut butter (mixing honey or chocolate chips to the peanut butter is my favorite)

a "deconstructed sandwich": bites of lunch meat, pickles, cheese, cherry tomato, etc (I love roast beef and white cheddar for this)

yogurt and granola or fruit

put frozen potstickers + frozen edamame in the steamer/rice cooker, chill elsewhere with a timer set, then boom

tortilla chips + canned refried beans + cherry tomatoes + cilantro + jarred salsa con queso (or warm shredded cheese on top of the chips in the microwave for 30 seconds)

bagel + cream cheese + lox

microwave scrambled eggs (add things like green onion, soy sauce, or anything else you like!)

cottage cheese and fruit (mixed together or just on the side)

bowl of shredded rotisserie chicken + buffalo sauce + a bit of mayo + green onion (use a kitchen scissors to cut them right in!)

medium energy ("I'll boil water but don't ask me to chop shit")

boiled eggs and fresh veggies (put a little salt on top of the eggs!)

buttered noodles (my go-to nausea meal, it has never failed me. ideas of things to add: frozen peas, imitation crab, roasted garlic)

baked potato with toppings (I like cheese, bacon, broccoli, green onion, and sour cream)

quesadilla (add some canned beans, cilantro, or avocado!)

pot roast (requires a lot of time but not a lot of actual work. I love it with peas!)

cuban sandwich (bread, swiss, pickle, mustard, ham... my favorite thing to panini-ify by far)

pan-fried tofu with scallion sauce (this sauce goes well with everything and tofu is no exception)

pancakes or waffles! (I love mine with jam)

ham, pickle, and cream cheese roll-ups

fried eggs (with toast and lots of butter...so comforting)

fruit smoothie (bananas, frozen strawberries, yogurt...or whatever!)

I hate salad but could write essays on this copycat olive garden salad (throw it in a bowl! chopping required if you use onion)

spaghetti (controversial maybe but angel hair > spaghetti noodles)

pasta salad (olives broccoli fresh mozerella... those little mini pepperonis... yeah)

stir-fried thai garlic shrimp (I like using the mini frozen salad shrimps, it's easy! use jarred minced garlic to avoid chopping!)

tuna mayo onigiri

slow cooker ribs

buffalo chicken wrap (or any number of other wrap options! shred pre-cooked rotisserie chicken to make it easier)

if your local grocery store sells pre-cooked gyro strips, that can turn into an easy wrap with store-bought pita & tzatziki with tomatoes and onions!

couscous and chickpeas

tortellini + pasta sauce + spinach

high energy ("I don't mind chopping some things up!")

stuffed shells with spinach

chicken and roasted garlic (oh my god.....one of my all time favorites)

beef tacos (I like mine with cilantro and onion, and when I'm feeling especially high energy I love a tomatillo salsa)

chicken alfredo

tom kha gai (a thai soup and my absolute favorite! you just need access to galangal)

lasagna! (freezes well and then boom! low energy meal for later)

pad thai! (not as hard as you'd think, as long as you have access to tamarind paste!)

potstickers! (this is a lovely group activity if you want to cook with housemates!)

rice and beans

bang bang shrimp (ogughfhgfuh I love it. you can also do bang bang tofu!)

minestrone soup (so many nice veggies!)

fried rice (put whatever you have on hand in there! broccoli, peas, carrot, and beef is my favorite combo)

broccoli cheddar soup

spring rolls and peanut sauce

skewers (such as beef, onion, zucchini, bell pepper... you don't need a grill, oven works!)

roasted turkey with garlic parmesean asparagus

pork chop with mashed potatoes

panang curry

chicken gnocchi soup (use store bought gnocchi or make your own if you have a high energy day!)

bibimbap (super customizable depending on what veggies you like best)

butter chicken

plus! things that have helped me meal plan:

whenever you think of a meal you'd like to make, take 3 seconds to google search it, take a screenshot of the image results, and put it in a "food ideas" folder. instant visual menu!

the concept of "meal prepping" makes me recoil but I've learned that it can simply mean preparing shredded chicken, boiled eggs, or some other simple protein that you can customize throughout the week. shredded chicken can turn into wraps, salads, pasta dishes, etc... you don't have to meal prep yourself into the same meal all week!

when I have difficulty working up an appetite, I'll scroll through my favorite restaurant menus! there might be some foods I can't make at home, but many times they're very simple to recreate because the ingredients are literally listed!

[isjasz]

[Day 360]

COUGH I am so (not) sorry this is also roleswapverse. We talked about having a plotline take place in a fancy event at some point (potentially: at Docfather's casino)(which probably is invite only, so Ariana and Pearl Moon as a reporter were invited ;3), and then I blacked out and this appeared on my screen,

Edit: AND Pearl and Ariana brought their partners to the event, I just realized there was missing context HELPEPWP. This is Scar in the drawing, and Pearl and Gem are in another wip!

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[gordon-freeman-phd]

me (on the chair) and my super soldier friends, im 6 foot 2 btw

[cowardlykrow]

“Not my circus, not my monkeys”… Except those are his monkeys and they are the circus

[doctorsiren]

Part 1

next ->

[deep-space-lines]

okay but like. I just had the weirdest thought about that ‘don’t look I’m naked’ comic. Which is that that’s essentially the same thing Adam and Eve did after they ate the fruit of knowledge of good&evil. So I feel like the theological implications of that could kneecap Gabe if he doesn’t think V1 is a being with free will.

yeah ok. i dunno man. is this anything

((side note. this isn’t necessarily meant to be in-character or story-accurate or take place at any particular point in time, just a way to explore some Thoughts. i was also imagining more that V1’s words aren't actually spoken, more like Gabriel’s more articulate interpretation of whatever garbled mechanical noise V1 is using to communicate. I think an angel could do that.))

and then they fucked nasty the end

[lucabyte]

deeply frustrating to eavesdrop on, i'd imagine