#which would be a little after the second war? possibly.

[deathweaved]

i don't think koltira is really old. by elf standards he was probably young. but he's still older than most other dks 100%

[wonder-worker]

"The newly widowed Elizabeth (Woodville) was exceptionally vulnerable. Several of the trustees responsible for her jointure refused to hand over the manors that were meant to sustain her in her widowhood. Moreover, her brother-in-law, Edward Grey, had seized estates that her son Thomas should have inherited from his paternal grandfather, while her mother-in-law’s new young husband, Sir John Bourchier, had prevailed on Lady Ferrers to settle her principal properties on them jointly for life, ensuring that Thomas would have to wait far longer for this inheritance too. Rivers and Scales were pardoned in July 1461 and swiftly moved into the Yorkist establishment, which perhaps explains the success of the chancery suits Elizabeth launched to regain her jointure. Her son’s inheritance proved harder to recover. By 1463, Rivers was often in (Edward IV's) company and on his council, but Elizabeth needed someone with much stronger influence over the King. She turned to a distant kinsman, William, Lord Hastings, the King’s chamberlain. Hastings drove a very hard bargain for his aid but it was probably amid these negotiations that the King’s desire for Elizabeth was kindled."

— J.L. Laynesmith, "Elizabeth Woodville: the Knight's Widow", Later Plantagenet and Wars of the Roses Consorts: Power, Influence, and Dynasty

[rosiereveries]

Regency!John Price who inherited his brothers duke title, because his brother died without an heir. John was the second oldest son, and he never thought about being the successor to the title, so he chose a military career.

He was a captain who fought wars and won them, not some lord who fancied balls and dressed in fancy clothing. But now he doesn’t have a choice. John comes back home after he has been badly injured in the battle, he was shot in his leg, and he had to use a wheelchair for quite some time.

When he comes home, to the new house and staff who pities him, he doesn’t feel like a man he once was. At the first ball he must attend he can see everyone eyes on him as he stumbles with his cane. He absolutely hates it. So, he makes a plane, he has to quickly marry some girl, make an heir and go live to the countryside where everyone will leave him alone.

You were on the other hand the youngest daughter of noble family. You weren’t rich, but your sisters and brothers married well, so you could keep good family reputation. Now it was your turn to marry, and as you were introduced to the society you quickly came to the realization, that you will probably end as a wife of some old man, who could be your grandfather.

So, when your cousin Johnny mentions, that his loyal friend and mentor John Price is looking for a wife you are interested. He tells you that John is a duke now and that he wants to get married as soon as possible. From Johnnys stories you know that John is a good man, who will hopefully respect you and treat you well.

You don’t get to meet your husband till the day of the wedding. The whole engagement is short and feels very official. He writes you a letter with things that you should know about your new home and your mother and sisters help you prepare for the married life.

When you finally see your future husband standing in the church, you’re quite surprised. He is very handsome, older than you, probably in his late 30s, but you’re sure that if he waited a little, he could find a better wife that you will be. John on the other hand is smitten by you, he also doesn’t understand why you would choose to marry him.

After the ceremony you immediately leave the town. He is very quiet the whole ride to his mansion and even thought you have many questions you stay quiet too. You arrive late in the night, exhausted from the long travel, but the only thing that concerns you is the wedding night. You heard a lot of horrible stories told by maids about their first nights with their husbands. The only thing that John does is that he shows you your room, tells you which butler to call if you have any troubles and he is gone. You’re left in the huge mansion alone and confused.

The breakfast takes place in the dining room. You sit at the table so far from John that you would have to shout to get his attention. He ignores you most of the time. At first you don’t mind it, you finally have some sort of freedom, you explore the land, the house and you find a huge library with many books you want to read.

But after some time, you start to crave his attention. The maids don’t want to be your friends, they think that it is highly inappropriate, you as a couple don’t attend any balls and there is no noble lady in the near distance you could visit and be friends with.

So, you start to write a diary, you write about how you feel and how would you like your husband to actually acknowledge you. Sometimes you also mention that you find him very attractive and the romance novels that you found in the library don’t help your imagination.

One time you forget your diary in the library and John accidentally picks it up. He thinks its some book that he hasn’t read yet. When he realizes that it is your handwriting, he knows that he should put it down, it is not right to invade your privacy. But then he sees his name there and he must know what you write about him.

He reads the whole paragraphs about how your meetings in the dinning room leaves you all flustered and how you crave his attention. He didn’t think that a young girl like you could find him attractive, and he wanted to be a good husband and leave you as much freedom as you could want. He didn’t want to pressure you into any kind of intimate relationship even though he was pressured by the rest of his family to have an heir. John leaves your diary where he found it, without any evidence that he read it.

The next morning, he invites you to eat breakfast with him in the garden. It is far more intimate, and you finally have a conversation with him. He asks you questions about your hobbies, your family and if you like it here.

It finally feels like he is courting you and you leave every encounter with him with rosy cheeks and butterflies in your stomach. He invites you on walks where he holds your hand as you tell him about your day or about the new book you just left. You spend the whole days together learning about each other.  

John tells you stories about the war, the battles he fought. His leg heals up perfectly and now, that he is healthy again, he takes you with him when he goes riding. When you ask him if he likes the hight society he tells you the truth. He tells you how much he despises the formal event and the balls and suddenly it all makes sense to you.

You finally understand why he wanted to marry so quickly and why you live alone in the middle of nowhere. You tell him that you loved the dancing and the beautiful gown you could wear at balls but now you don’t mind the quiet life. Now you have him and that is all that matters.  

One evening he makes a ball just for you. He invites a musician to play, he buys you an expensive gown and you pretend that you are at some formal event. It’s just the two of you dancing, laughing and drinking expensive champaign he bought for the ball. You dance the whole night and after he walks you to your bedroom he kisses you. It is a soft kiss, just your lips barely touching, but it starts a fire in you, and you want more.

When John realizes that you’re not pulling away he deepens the kiss. He knows that you have no experiences, and he wants to show you that he will treat you well. He spends the night with you, showing you in many ways how much he loves you.

And when you finally fall asleep, he thinks how lucky he is to find a wife like you. When you wake up and you see your husband sleeping in your bad you are very grateful that you accidentally left your diary in the library open on the page that mentioned how hot he was. Such a shame you didn’t come up with the plan a little earlier.

Masterlist

[gay-dorito-dust]

Is it okay if I request Deadpool and Wolverine having an s/o that likes to bite them affectionately and like they keep doing doing it trying to leave a mark on them?

Headcanon or story is fine ❤️

Wade Wilson/ deadpool

‘Do I taste delicious bbg? I must seeing as how you’re eagerly coming back for seconds just to get your teeth into me.’ Wade would tease as he watched you bite onto his shoulder, no thoughts behind your eyes, only chomp.

‘I’m trying to see if I can leave a mark.’ You tell him, biting down a little harder on his shoulder but not enough to cause him any discomfort.

‘And In public too? *gasp* You naughty minx, I didn’t think you were like that but then again I guess voyerism has always been something I wanted to try.’ - Wade.

‘No’ - you

Wade doesn’t mind you biting him, bite him as much as you want but don’t be surprised if he were to say that he got the bite marks from something far more intimate. He’s just built like that but you love him regardless for it, he made life fun in a chaotic way.

He’d even might attempt to bite you back, make it your couple thing to bite each other affectionately and hard enough to leave a make but not enough to cause the other pain.

So when you bit his hand, he’ll bit your arm, which then leads to an all out biting war between the two of you to see who can bite the other the most. You could just be chilling on the sofa together and somehow bite each other simultaneously. This happens one too many times to count on one hand and even after the marks have gone away, it was just an excuse for you and Wade to bite each other as much as possible all over again.

So please by all means bite him as much as you want he’s not going to stop you, he’s enjoying it too much that he may or may not find himself developing a biting related kink sooner or later because of you.

‘Do I look pretty with your bite marks, claiming me as yours and yours alone?’ - Wade, battering his eyes.

‘The prettiest’ - you slapping his ass and giving him another bite on his bicep.

The fucker would moan when you do, loudly too so I hope your bit easily embarrassed.

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine

‘Ow! What the-‘ Logan sees you latching onto his bicep with your mouth, teeth digging into his skin, ‘-are you a fucking cannibal now? What’re you doing?’ He’d ask and you’d shrug.

‘Marking you?’ You questioned, still biting him.

‘Why?’ He’d ask.

You shrug again. ‘Your bicep look too nice so I had to bite it.’

Logan swore you were going to give him grey hairs with your shenanigans, but he just lets you do your thing. So half of the time you look like a fish on a fishing hook with the way you latch onto his bicep with no intentions of letting go anytime soon.

Even if people were to ask who gave him that many bite marks, he’d just raise his arm and reveal you hanging off of it and just point at you with a deadpan expression. ‘My nippy little shit of a partner did.’ He’d say in response.

He doesn’t mind a couple of bites but a fuck tone then he’ll probably tell you to tone it down with the biting, just until the current marks fade away.

‘I look like I got attacked by a fucking piranha.’ - Logan as he points at you. ‘Enough biting from you.’

You didn’t like that as much and would get all pouty because the whole point of you biting him was so that the marks would stay! This was torture! Logan tends to ruin the fun but that doesn’t stop you from biting him unexpectedly but there is moments where he does catch you in the act and you bolt away as fast as you can.

However in the end you’re the one coming out of the room with a couple of fresh bite marks yourself across your neck as Logan smirks to himself with pride. You did push your luck and Logan wasn’t one to let you get away with it without…a punishment or two…

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Burn Out

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: you try to juggle hunting with school, but one day you just can’t do it anymore.

“Hey kid, we need you in the war room.”

The knock on your door followed by Sam’s voice had your head shooting up from its position on your notebook.

“What?” You mumbled under your breath, before you got your bearings. “Oh no…”

You looked down at the notebook in front of you—under the drool, there was a half-finished history report. It was due tomorrow, and you hadn’t been able to get started on it until an hour ago, because you and your brothers had been on a hunt. How could you have fallen asleep on it? You had to get this done!

“Y/N?” Sam knocked again. “Can you hear me?”

“I—yeah!” You closed your notebook—hunting was more important; people’s lives were more important. You could finish the report later. “I’m coming.”

…

“I think we should call it a night,” Dean said. You stole a glance at your watch as you put down the lore book that you weren’t even halfway through—it was almost 2 a.m.

“Good idea,” Sam agreed, slamming his own book shut and heading for his room.

“Go and get some sleep,” Dean told you, reaching over your shoulder and closing your book for you. “We can finish this tomorrow.”

You weren’t sure how that was possible, since tomorrow was a school day, but you didn’t argue with Dean. You stumbled back to your bedroom, heading not for your bed, but for your report.

…

You never did make it to your bed. You were pretty sure that you dozed a few times—or at least blinked really long—but you still ended up finishing your report in time.

As soon as it was done, you got yourself ready for school, taking a quick shower and hoping it was enough to make you look refreshed.

Your next stop was the kitchen; you were hoping you had enough time for some breakfast before Dean took you to school. Only, Dean wasn’t in the kitchen like he normally was. Curious, you checked the library, the war room, the shooting gallery, and finally the garage—not only were Sam and Dean not there, but neither was the Impala.

There were only a few options; a last-second hunt (except they would’ve told you they were going), the local library for more books (which hadn’t been necessary lately with all of the books in the bunker library), the grocery store (except the kitchen was fairly well stocked), or a diner for an excuse to get out of the bunker. You figured the last option was most likely—none of the others made sense, and the guys had to be stir-crazy after all the research. They must have wanted to let you sleep in, which meant they must also have forgotten you had school.

“It’s ok,” you mumbled to yourself. “I can still make it.” You’d have to skip breakfast, but if you ran you might still make it to class on time even without the Impala.

It was going to be a long day.

…

You didn’t make it in time, but you were fast enough to just get a tardy instead of an absence.

“Glad you could join us,” the teacher greeted as he gestured towards a seat—in the front.

You didn’t respond as you collapsed into the seat, reaching into your backpack to pull out your report when your phone buzzed.

Dean: Where r u?

So he had forgotten about school. He was probably too sleep-deprived to remember what day it was; you could relate to that. You were just typing out a response when you noticed a shadow over your desk.

“I’ll take your report,” your teacher stated, holding his hand out. “And your phone.”

“But I was just—“

“Your phone, please.”

You handed your phone and your report over without another word, hoping Dean would remember where you were on his own—the last thing you wanted was to freak him out.

“Now, if we’re done with distractions, we need to get started.”

…

You tried to get your phone back at the end of class, but your teacher assured you that—

“You’ll get it at the end of the day. Just stop by the office before you go home.”

—which was bad enough, but when he followed it up with—

“Oh, and I think you should take this back.” He held out your report.

“Wha—why?” You asked, your heart sinking.

“It was supposed to be three pages, not two. If you get it back to me tomorrow with three pages, I won’t have to dock as many points. I think it’s your best option.”

“Um—ok.” You took the report, hoping that you’d actually get the chance to get that third page by tomorrow.

“Just a page more,” your teacher said. “Maybe expound a little more on the individual paragraphs and you’ll be good. And try not to stay up too late doing it,” he added. “I’m guessing things have been pretty busy with you lately—you never used to forget stuff like this. Are you—“

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “I just…I have to get to class.”

You turned on your heel, and your teacher didn’t try to stop you. You knew he was just concerned about you, but in your life you couldn’t afford to have people be curious about you. It never turned out well.

And you just couldn’t take anything else going wrong.

…

You’d forgotten to bring your lunch or any money to buy some from the cafeteria, so you hid out in the bathroom for most of your lunch hour. You got told off by three separate teachers for dozing in class, and there was a pop quiz in the last period over reading that you hadn’t had time to do.

When the final bell rang, you couldn’t get out of your seat fast enough. You made a beeline for the office, hoping that your phone hadn’t been blown up with messages—hoping that Dean wasn’t freaking out.

You didn’t get a chance to find out; you’d forgotten to charge your phone last night, so by the time you picked it up from the secretary, it was dead.

“It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine,” you muttered to yourself over and over on the walk home. You would get home, your brothers would be fine, you’d take a little nap…

You opened the door to the bunker, but you didn’t make it halfway down the stairs before.

“Sam! She’s here!”

Dean caught you at the bottom of the stairs, his hands going to your shoulders, which he gripped tightly.

“What is wrong with you?! Where were you? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“Dean, I—“

Dean wasn’t listening.

“You can’t just disappear like that! Sam and I have been going insane! Of all the stupid, irresponsible things to do—“ Dean cut himself off, waving an angry hand in front of his face as if waving off the rant. He didn’t even notice the way your face was scrunching up, or the tears that were beginning to track down your cheeks. “You know what, forget about that. Forget about how you scared the crap out of us, and people are dying out there because we had to stop researching the hunt to look for you. Forget about how you made us think you coulda been dead. Where. Were. You?!” Dean’s grip was back on your shoulders, and he was shaking you. His face was tight with rage, his form towering over your own.

“I-I—“ your voice squeaked and broke, but Dean was still stiff with rage and waiting for your answer, so you tried again. Your voice was as tiny as you felt right now as you finally managed to choke out. “I was at school.” You didn’t notice the way Dean’s face changed—the anger melting from it as realization hit him like a train—because your eyes were too full of tears. “They—I—“ you wanted to tell him they took your phone, you wanted to tell him that you tried to find him before you left, you wanted to tell him you were doing your best…but you couldn’t. You couldn’t find it in you to give any excuses that could make him yell at you like that again. “I’m sorry, I…I’ll go help Sam with research.”

You ran past Dean, heading for the library.

“Dang it,” Dean mumbled under his breath, smacking the wall with his fist as he huffed. “So stupid, I’m so stupid!” He took a long moment to breathe, not wanting to look angry when he saw you again.

He had enough of a mess to fix already.

…

No one was in the library when you got there, so you went right to pulling books off the shelves.

After the first few books, you spotted one on a higher shelf. You were just reaching for it when you heard—

“Y/N!”

You turned around to see Sam heading right for you. You were already stumbling out an apology before he even reached you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I thought you—“ you were blubbering, having not stopped crying since your encounter with Dean. Sam noticed immediately and his approach slowed as his hands rose innocently.

“Whoa, hey, it’s ok, you’re ok.” Sam continued to step forwards, but that just made you feel cornered against the bookshelf, and you started to panic as you couldn’t make yourself stop crying.

“I’m sorry Sammy, I was at school, I’m gonna help you now, I’m sorry I’m sorry—“

You didn’t notice the books slipping from your hands until they clattered to the floor. Your hands were starting to shake, and your knees were shaking so hard that you had to slowly lower yourself in a crouching position on the floor before you fell. You tucked your head into your knees, finally letting out all the stress of the past weeks as you sobbed.

“Hey hey hey…” Sam knelt down next to you and grabbed onto your shoulders. “It’s ok, just take some deep breaths. You’re ok.”

You could hardly breathe between sobs, but you tried your best to listen to your big brother’s instructions.

“Kid?” Your head lifted just a little when you heard Dean’s voice. He joined Sam next to you. “Slow down, sweetheart. Breathe.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you whimpered, taking deep breaths between words. “They took my phone and I didn’t know what—“

“It’s ok, don’t explain,” Dean insisted. “Just keep taking deep breaths for me, ok?”

“Ok.” You sniffled, grabbing on to Dean’s offered hand and breathing slowly until your sobs subsided.

“Good, good.” Dean sat back on his heels, running a hand over his face. “I should’ve slowed it down, I should’ve known we were burning you out.”

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled. “I thought maybe you would figure it out—I can help you now—“

“No, no” Sam interrupted. “This isn’t your fault, don’t apologize. And the research can wait—I think you should get some sleep.”

“And food,” Dean added. “Did you eat today?”

You rubbed your sleeve over your face, trying to stop your tears.

“You don’t have to baby me,” you said finally. “I-I can still help you guys.”

“Not today,” Sam countered. “And maybe not for a little while. We’ve been burning you out too much.”

“Look,” Dean added before you could argue. “Sometimes we can forget that you’re still just a kid, and you still have kid stuff to worry about—like school. That’s on us, not you. This isn’t your fault; we need to do better. And that starts with making sure you take care of yourself. So go get some food, and get some sleep. Everything else can wait, ok?”

You hesitated. “Ok.” You let your brothers help you to your feet, and then you couldn’t help yourself—you pulled Dean in for a hug, burying your head in his jacket. You felt his body shake a little as he chuckled.

“You’re ok kid,” he said, rubbing your back. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s ok,” you said, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Ok.” Dean was smiling as you pulled away. “Now get going.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[kamaluhkhan]

anti-curse

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader

summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.

warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3

when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.

given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.

archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.

so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner. 

“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”

the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.

that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.

you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank. 

if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it. 

you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations. 

“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”

the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”

"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined." 

percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”

leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.

you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.

“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”

“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.

“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”

“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.

"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.

"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.

"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."

"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.

"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"

you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."

"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."

"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.

"that's...that's different."

"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"

you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.

"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.

"then what did you mean?"

percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”

“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”

percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition. 

“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.

“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes. 

her conclusion makes you freeze.

demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were. 

what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.

you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.

you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?

either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.

without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze. 

“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.

[myownwholewildworld]

The Road to Rome

main masterlist | ao3

pairing: marcus acacius x war prisoner!f!reader. summary: Gaul, 52 BC. Julius Caesar and his bloodthirsty army have won the final battle of the Gallic Wars atop Mont Auxois, after sieging the oppidum of Alesia for more than a month. with the war coming to a bitter end, you, the daughter of the defeated Vercingetorix of the Arverni, are taken hostage. General Acacius is tasked with bringing you to Rome, letting you believe you’ll only be an entertainment to the masses. little do you know, that’s not the case at all… author's note: well... here's my submission for @almostfoxglove angst challenge! the lovely moodboard was made by freya, and this beautiful song served as inspo too - i've included as many elements as possible from both! i know it's a beast of a oneshot, so i apologise in advance. i just couldn't stop writing. hope y'all like it, likes, comments and reblogs appreciated! <3 tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. historical accuracies and some inaccuracies. appearances of historical figures. slow burn angst (bear with me pls). enemies to lovers. explicit smut. one bed trope. sleepy shenanigans. as for the rest… creator chose not to use archive warnings, just know there’s no happy ending here. no descriptions of reader other than a female who can be carried by marcus (he's a strong boy). no age gap. wordcount: 28.1k divider by @\saradika-graphics

A chance encounter in the woods of Mont Drouot had changed the course of your life forever. Your curiosity for General Acacius had sealed your fate.

Eyeing him from the cover provided by the trees, you had aimed your arrow at him. Ever so watchful, you had listened to the nature surrounding you, alert to any signs that he might be accompanied by one of his men. Alone he had trudged forward, until his back stiffened and came to a halt.

His vacant eyes—brown like those of Baco, the Gaulish boar-God—had shot to yours through the dense vegetation. Under his intense gaze you felt paralysed for an eternal second, your skin bristling with anticipation. His head had tilted, as if he was amused with your attempt to put an end to the war the Romans had waged on Gaul.

Steeling yourself, you had briefly looked down to the arrow’s point, slotting it in position. But the moment you glanced up, Acacius was gone, vanished like an anima haunting the realm of the living.

That had been your first mistake — not killing the Roman General right there and then. His death would not have stopped Julius Caesar from showering death upon your tribesmen, but it might have had set him back enough for your people to reconvene.

Your second mistake had happened soon after the first. Another fortuitous meeting, one where you had been at his mercy. You had fallen down a hole dug up in the side of the mountain, set by the Romans in the hope of some easy food. Acacius had found you with a twisted ankle, trying to crawl your way out of the pit. He had dropped a rope, which you tied around your waist, and lifted you up. The moment you set foot on the cushioned ground, you feared the worst, but he let you go without a word nor warning.

Your third mistake had been seeking him out in the battle that unfolded on Mont Auxois, near the Gallic oppidum of Alesia. The culmination of an eight-year long feud between Julius Caesar and your father, Vercingetorix of the Arverni. Had you refrained from your compulsion, you would have died a warrior’s death alongside your comrades.

But Acacius had intervened in the nick of time, right when one of the Roman legionnaires was about to behead you as you stood mighty and proud.

“Don’t. She’ll be useful,” he had said, tone gravelly with apathy.

Those words still rang in your ears. How badly you wished he hadn’t stepped in — for the alternative was way worse than death itself.

And now here you were, tied to a wooden post outside of the Roman camp. Men eyed you from a distance — some lewd gazes, others with a disgusted look. In return, you straightened your back, bestowing haughtiness upon your posture. It didn’t matter how desperate your situation was, you would affront your future with the arrogance they all deserved.

You paid them no mind, undeserving they were of your attention. Instead, you blindly patted the dirt around the post, grabbing a flat stone. Cupping it between your hands, you twisted it around until its sharpest edge met the rope and slowly worked at it to free yourself.

One of the Romans walked by your side, followed by another. He stared at you with disdain, with a superiority you knew was lacking. Your hands stopped, worried they would see what you were trying to do.

“Gaulish bitch,” he sneered, teeth bare. “You’re nothing more than a stray dog and as such should be put down. Your brutish people deserved what they got, crushed by the Roman yoke. You’ll yield or you’ll die.”

When he sniffled and hollowed his cheeks, you knew what was to come. You turned your face the moment he spat in your direction, his nauseating saliva skidding down the skin on your right cheek. Slowly you veered your head his way, eyes devoid of emotion, while a smile crept up on your mouth.

Fast as thunder, you swung your bound feet under him, causing him to fall to the boggy ground in the blink of an eye. He snarled like the animal he was, hands deep in the mud that he unburied to reach for your ankle. Before he could, you kicked him in the face with your bare heel.

Your heart was pounding so wildly, the adrenaline rushing through your veins like wildfire consuming a forest, anticipating their every move. You glanced up at the other man, his fist coming down quickly towards your face. You swiftly dodged the blow, his hand hitting the wooden post. The second man started howling in pain, all caused by his own doing.

You couldn’t help but cackle loudly.

“Is this what you mean by the Roman yoke? You pathetic, little men,” you mocked them, fearless. “Is this all you got?”

As they stood up, your heart came to a standstill. Not because of terror, but because all your senses had sharpened. You were overly aware of everything around you, of them too. Your fingers resumed their doing, slashing the rope that tethered your hands to the wooden post.

You would never fold, never let them see the anger that brewed inside you. Your family had taught you better and you would never tarnish their memory by succumbing to two trivial men. No matter the outcome.

“What is going on here?” his voice stopped the commotion before it escalated any further.

A voice you could recognise anywhere, even though the first time you actually ever heard it was on the battlefield, barking orders like the General he was.

Slowly you looked up at General Acacius, eyes squinting with defiance. He towered above you, but his attention was directed at the two men. His arms folded at chest level, a cocked brow staring them down. He exuded imposingness, as if he was highborn. There was something about his posture, the way he carried himself, that made you swallow hard to dissolve the lump in your throat.

“Are you deaf?” he insisted when the two apes didn’t respond.

“General, the prisoner was provoking us for no particular reason,” the one who tripped with your feet lied.

Another laugh escaped your lips, face tilted up to the cloudy sky. The fucking audacity these men had was ridiculous. Being born in a society where men and women were equal, you almost found amusing their piteous attempts at belittling you.

“Oh, fuck me. Do you truly believe I would talk to any of you of my own accord? It’s like talking to pigs,” you sneered, rolling your eyes.

The two men began talking loudly and rapidly, pointing at you while their angry tone grew and grew. You understood Latin, but when they screamed like pigs in the slaughter, they stopped making any sense.

“Silence,” Acacius ordered, one steady hand extended in front of him with the palm facing downwards. “This is not how we treat our prisoners, not under my command. I was watching you both as you approached her, do not take me for a fool,” he kept on berating them.

They took a step back, brows knitting together and eyes averted with shame. It was obvious that Acacius was way above them and were embarrassed to be caught in a lie.

“Be gone now. I don’t want you anywhere close to her,” he barked, the extended hand now pointing to the forest’s boundary. “You will be standing guard tonight, the whole night.”

Then they both glanced at you, pupils blown with anger. As they walked away, you gifted them with a haughty smirk. One of them turned around—ready to hit you, you presumed—but the second man held him back and pushed him towards the trees.

When you canted your head, grin still painted on your lips, you realised Acacius was studying you intensely, as if he was trying to dive into the windows to your soul. The smile was quickly replaced with a pout and a frown when he crouched down in front of you, elbows resting on his knees.

“Men do not like it when a woman is confrontational. You would do well if you toned it down,” he offered his unrequited advice calmly, the drawl of his voice weirdly… soothing.

“Fragile men, you mean,” you corrected him, straightening your posture and lifting your chin up.

Unexpectedly, Acacius cracked a tiny smile, one corner of his mouth slightly curving.

“Yes, fragile men. There are many of them around here, so be careful,” he conceded, the half-smile lingering.

“Many of you, you mean,” you pushed the limits because you didn’t know any better.

Acacius let out a chuckle, shaking his head. It transformed his features, softening the deep wrinkles that scored his sun-kissed skin. His head had tilted to one side, his warm brown eyes locked in on yours — and then you felt it again, your body taut, your skin bristling. The intensity of his gaze almost felt like a thunder hitting you right in the centre of your chest, leaving you gasping for air.

Suddenly, his hand reached for your face, and you tried to lean back away from his touch, for your head to hit the wooden post behind. You scowled, uncertain of what he was about to do, but that didn’t stop him.

With his thumb ghosting your cheek, his eyes searched for yours — an unspoken permission. Acacius took your silence as an affirmation, and then his thumb brushed your skin, cleaning the spit off your cheek.

The delicate gesture took you aback, unsure of why he would show you such care. The contact of his thumb on your skin was thrilling, a strange sensation crawling up your spine all the way up to the nape of your neck. Your skin bristled even more to the point of pain, as if you had been thrown in an icy lake, and your breaths quickened.

You didn’t like this — the power his body emanated; the power he had on you.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” you spat out, erasing the remnants of softness from his face in an instant, the blanket of war cascading down his expression.

Whatever gentleness you had thought to see in his orbs, was gone now.

“I am awaiting Caesar’s verdict. There are other prisoners—”

“Others? Who?” you pressed, your heart racing now at the possibility of not being the only survivor.

“A few men. Including Vercingetorix of the Arverni,” his words dragged, his eyes watching you closely.

You couldn’t stop the way your body stiffened at the discovery of your father being alive. Your pupils had widened, and your heartrate had spiked even more.

“Vercingetorix?” you asked, wanting confirmation that your mind was not playing games on you.

Acacius nodded slowly, his brows slightly touching each other, eyes squinting.

“Do you know him personally?”

“No,” you replied quickly. Too quickly.

Your heart would not stop pumping, so hard you could feel your heartbeat on your temples now. You tried taming your expression, forcing yourself to calm down and pretend that the news of Vercingetorix’s capture didn’t faze you at all.

“You’ve got the same eyes,” Marcus thought out loud, scratching his stubble absentmindedly.

“No, we don’t,” you blurted out, your throat squeezing.

The man was like a hound with a chewed bone. You could see he was not going to let it go so easily — he knew you were lying. His eyes squinted and then clicked his fingers, the cracking sound momentarily distracting as you focused on his hands.

Big as paws, so broad he could easily wrap them around…

Focus.

“Why didn’t you kill me when I fell in your hunting trap?” you attempted to divert his attention from the issue at hand. “Or are you a really shitty hunter, letting your prey go so easily?”

Marcus’ brow furrowed even deeper, and you wondered if he would bite the bait. You couldn’t have him asking any more questions or he would find out the truth.

Or were you too late for that? You could only imagine what the Romans would do if they discovered you were Vercingetorix’s daughter. They would use you in despicable ways to get your father to bend to their will. As fierce as your father was, he had a tender spot for you. If he knew you had survived and been taken hostage, Vercingetorix would try to strike a deal to cut you lose.

But it would be in vain — Rome was thirsty for blood.

“You could say my hunting days are long gone. I don’t enjoy the thrill of the chase anymore,” he bluntly responded, towering above you as he stood up. “Get some rest if you can.”

“Easier said than done when I have to watch my back at all times,” you sneered, rolling your eyes.

Because if you fell asleep, your guard would be down. And you didn’t trust those two men — you knew, saw in their eyes, that they would come back for payback.

Acacius gifted you with a stern look, all the previous softness and nonchalance forgotten. This was the General you had gotten a glimpse of in the battlefield. One, you suspected, that knew more about you than you wanted. One that wouldn’t stop until he uncovered the truth of your ancestry.

Without any other word, General Acacius turned around and disappeared behind the bright red flap of a tent.

You couldn’t just wait around to see what would happen. You had to break free, or they would kill you. Or worse, use you as leverage.

With renewed strength and determination, you resumed the slicing of the rope that bound you to the post.

“How sure are you of your suspicions, Acacius?”

He had debated whether to speak of his conjecture or not. Nothing should hold him back from sharing an inkling with his old friend. If he was right, then they could get Vercingetorix to finally surrender the last enclaves of the Gauls — the bastard had not spoken one word since his capture. The war would be over, and he could return home.

So, if this was the right thing to do, why was he now doubting himself?

Your blown pupils still haunted him, the way you whispered “no, we don’t” in a hush when questioned about the shade of your eyes. As soon as your expression faltered, Marcus knew he was onto something. And he hated himself for it — for not being in a position of freedom where he could just pretend he hadn’t heard the fleeting panic in your voice.

Marcus wished he could lie to Julius Caesar; say he might have misinterpreted the signals. But he couldn’t — he was indebted to the man in front of him. Marcus owed Julius his life and loyalty for taking him under his wing and giving him the chance to make a name for himself when no one believed in a puny farmer boy from the countryside.

Thanks to his friend and his own hard work, Marcus had climbed up the military ladder, having been decorated with the title of General ten years ago. Marcus had many victories under his belt, having proved his worth with sweat, tears and blood.

“I am positive she is Vercingetorix’s daughter, Caesar,” he ended up answering, straightening his back. “I went to pay him a visit. The moment I described her, his expression flinched. It’s her.”

“You have questioned the man yourself?” Caesar asked with a smirk, lazily resting on the chaise lounge. He nodded in reply. “Hope you’ve beaten him good.”

Acacius was not one to resort to unnecessary violence if he could avoid it. There was enough blood on his hands as it was, didn’t need another notch on his conscience. So, when he visited the Gaulish chief, Marcus only used carefully delivered words to disarm his enemy. It had worked, because even if Vercingetorix hadn’t said a word, his reaction was all confirmation he needed.

He didn’t reply, standing tall in front of Caesar with his hands laced on his back, waiting to be discharged so he could call it a night and get some rest.

“We’ll use her as leverage,” his friend thought out loud.

Dread sank to the bottom of his stomach. Caesar could be… awfully creative sometimes.

His thirst for power, for notoriety, was very well known among the political sphere that surrounded Rome. Caesar had amassed gold and immense power over the last six years on Gaulish land. Julius had told Marcus in the past that this seemed to worry his allies in the First Triumvirate. With Crassus’ death last year, it was only Caesar and Pompeius Magnus who kept the political alliance intact.

But Marcus knew Julius wanted more — he’d heard his friend spoke of future plans that could hinder the Roman Republic. Those talks strayed far from what Marcus thought Caesar stood for, but they were more recurrent now, bordering on coup ideology.

Where Marcus would stand when, or if, that time came… He wasn’t so sure. He’d supported Caesar in so many of his quests and conquests, it would feel like a betrayal to the only man who believed in him.

Perhaps it’ll never come to that, he always reminded himself.

“Leverage? How so?” Marcus forced his voice to sound flat, uninspired, when, in reality, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his tummy.

“Glad you asked, Acacius,” Caesar’s smirk only reinforced his fear. “Since Crassus’ death last year, I fear my alliance with Pompeius Magnus might suffer. Although I trust my sister Julia will keep him bound and loyal, I need to ensure more allies and reinforce the ones I already have,” his friend explained, sitting up on the chaise lounge. “You are to bring the hostage to Rome. We’ll marry her off to General Marcus Antonius’ brother, Gaius.”

Dread mutated within him, rage taking over.

If there ever was a man to walk this earth whom Marcus despised, that was Gaius Antonius. One year younger than his notorious brother, the man was as despicable as one could get. A drunk philanderer, Gaius could always be found in one of two places: in a private house drinking himself to death and gambling, or in a brothel satiating his lust. The man’s manners were lacking, his ill fame well-deserved. Always so confrontational, looking for a fight to entertain himself.

Everything Marcus hated culminating in one singular person. The times they had run into each other, Gaius had always been so condescending that Marcus had to rein in the need to gut him right there and then. Antonius’ younger brother had mocked him for his humble origins, telling Marcus it didn’t matter how hard he tried, he’d always be a farmer.

So delivering a woman—any woman—to that shitbag of a man… it didn’t sit well with him at all. It would be a life sentence for you — because if you didn’t die at Gaius’ hands, you might as well wish for a quick death.

And what was worst, Caesar knew all of this, but still asked anyway.

A true friend wouldn’t, Marcus ruminated but drowned such treacherous thought.

“That would take weeks, General. With all due respect, I’ve got other responsibilities that—” Marcus started his plea, hoping to be released from such a mission.

“You’re the only man I trust, Acacius. I wouldn’t ask otherwise,” Caesar cut him off, standing up in front of him. One of his friend’s hands landed on his shoulder, gently squeezing. “I confide this assignment to you because I know you’ll get it done. Your word, Acacius?”

Marcus was between a rock and a hard place. Fear gripped him tight, his throat running dry with unspent poison pooling on his tongue.

He didn’t want to do it. But there was no way out.

“My word, Caesar,” he husked, slightly bowing his head down.

The agreement that would seal his fate.

“Why the long face, Acacius?” Antonius taunted him as he bit into the meat gripped between his fingers, the bloody juices running down his wrist and forearm. “You’ll get enough gold to retire after your mission, Caesar always pays.”

Payment was not an incentive for Marcus. He’d never wished for fortune nor recognition. He had enough money to live comfortably, a modest home where he could wind down and recover from the consequences of war. He didn’t fight for money — he fought for conviction, for the glory of Rome, for what he thought was right.

Or, at least, that was what originally had him enrol in the legion. After over two decades of bloodshed, Marcus had had his eyes open, his stance not as clear anymore. War had changed him, for better or worse. He didn’t regret his achievements, but the lives he had to saw to get where he now was.

His young self had been blind to the crude reality of war, eager to prove himself a worthy warrior. Now, with a few souls on his back and dirty hands, Marcus saw the events of his life under a different light.

“Not all of us are motivated by coin,” Marcus grunted, leaving the empty goblet on the makeshift table. “Some of us are happy with what we’ve got.”

“That’s the old you speaking, Acacius,” Antonius cackled, palming the wooden table. “You’re so righteous sometimes, it pains me.”

Marcus didn’t reply, chewing his dried bread until his jaw hurt, a dull ache shooting up to his cheeks.

It didn’t feel that way sometimes — righteousness seemed to evade him now. Because if he was certain of his own morality, he wouldn’t go through with the mission Caesar had bestowed upon him. He wouldn’t deliver you like cattle to the slaughter. Your destiny—your defeat, watching your people perish at the mercy of a Roman sword—seemed punishment enough.

But he truly didn’t see this panning out any other way. In the grand scheme of things, Marcus was just another pawn in an intricate plan he was not apprised of. Despite his station, he still had to follow orders. Disobeying them—or worse, interfering—would have him dead before dawn cracked in the horizon.

Getting killed over a stranger—an enemy—seemed ludicrous. Everything he had worked so hard for, for naught. There was no room for kindness in the midst of war.

“If you’ll excuse me, General, I shall retire to my tent,” Marcus excused himself, getting up off the bench. “Vale (farewell), Antonius.”

Marcus made his way through the camp, fires lit with legionnaires around them, sharing old wives’ tales and anecdotes from battles, their yearnings and hopes for the future. For being late, the encampment was still very much alive, the quiet chatter filtering through the smoke-dense air.

Trudging on, his tired muscles begged him for a break. War was relentless, hard on the body and the mind. But no matter how fatigued he was, Marcus couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. Although the war appeared to have come to an end, the thought of being on his enemy’s backyard was still present on his foremind.

As he walked past the post you were tied to, something caught his attention. Frowning, Marcus came to a halt, head slightly tilted with suspicion — a tingling sensation on his neck alerting of something out of place.

No, not something. Someone. Because when he looked in your direction, you were not there.

Marcus approached the empty spot and kneeled, finding that the ropes that kept you bound had been severed. His hand palmed the poorly lit ground, finding a sharp stone.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, standing up and flagging down a passing archer. “Give me that.”

The moment you saw Marcus distractedly saunter towards you, a rush of energy bloomed within you. It was now or never.

No one was coming to rescue you, because there was no one left to pick up the dusty sword of freedom. Waiting was pointless, so you had to take matters into your own hands.

When the last thread of the rope that bound you was cut loose, you crawled through the mud and ran for your life towards the forest. Barefoot, tired and thirsty, lungs burning now, you kept on running without looking back. Branches brushed against your skin, slicing your face, arms and legs. Spikey stones stabbed your soles, but that didn’t stop you either.

“Halt!”

The steadfast command almost made you obey the order. But doing so would mean going back to being a hostage at the mercy of men who had higher praise for sheep than women. Death was the least of your worries — and you would not suffer at the hands of cruel tyrants.

A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed that General Acacius was catching up with you, fast as a wolf stalking its prey. Despite the ache, the agony, you pushed forward, dodging trees and bushes in an attempt to lose him. These were your woods, the land you had grown up on, and as such you knew them like the palm of your hand. A few more minutes and you would reach a low cliff overlooking the river Oze. Just as you had done in your youth, you would jump in and let the current take you as far away as possible.

“Stop, dammit! Don’t make me shoot you an arrow!”

The warning in his now breathless voice made you look back again, realising that Acacius had a bow with him.

Panic started bubbling in your chest, adrenaline taking over your bloodstream like lava. Strained lungs and with your heart pounding in your throat, you focused on the path ahead, your feet rushing under you like thunder.

The whistling hiss of an arrow flew by your ear, kissing your cheek and drawing blood.

But that didn’t stop you, running as fast as your feet would take you. Focused on the path ahead, ignoring Acacius’ warnings, you glimpsed a clearing in the trees. Your freedom was close, just a few yards away the small cliff greeted you like your own personal salvation. So close, you could almost see the darkness spilling over the precipice.

You were going to make it — freedom tasting sweet on your tongue, despite the blood dripping onto your lips from the cut on your cheek.

As you leaped towards the abyss, another buzzing sound flew towards you. This time the arrow found its target, sinking in the back of your right shoulder as you plunged into the void underneath screaming in agony.

Dark water swallowed your body as you plummeted to the riverbed. The current was strong and unforgiving due to the latest torrential rains, battering you around and slamming your body against the hard edges of the rocky bottom. Your back hit a boulder rather harshly, your lungs vacating the little oxygen they held into the stream.

This was how you were going to die after all — not on the battlefield, not at your enemy’s mercy, but taken by the goddess Nantosuelta herself. The blurry lines of your vision began collapsing as your mind drifted away, eyes shutting and limbs limp floating around you.

Something surrounded your waist like a vine, but instead of pushing you further down, it pulled you up until your head breached the surface. The cold air kissed your face, and you coughed to clear your airways, water spilling over your lips in spurts.

“Hold onto me!” General Acacius shouted at you, gripping you closer to his broad frame.

You blinked, confused at first. Then it hit you: the Roman General had jumped after you, dragging you out of the bottom of the river. He was trying to save you from drowning, even if that meant dying with you.

Still feeling dizzy, muscles unresponsive, you managed to drape one arm around his neck whilst Acacius battled with the current. It was only ten minutes, but to you it felt like an eternity — you both went under a couple of times, but Acacius never let you go, his arm hugging you tight like a vice.

Finally, General Acacius hauled you out. You both fell to your knees as soon as you reached the shore. Having gulped down at least a pint of water, you heaved and retched until the burning sensation travelling up your throat was unbearable.

Then you dropped to one side, curled up on the river’s edge. Exhaustion coursed through your body from head to toes while your breathing calmed down. Acacius was besides you, sitting back on his heels with a bewildered look.

“Why… did you… save me?” you managed to slur some words together.

His expression softened, running a hand down his tired face.

“I don’t know,” he husked out. “I couldn’t let you die.”

His features folded as soon as he spoke the last words, avoiding your eyes. He couldn’t let you die this way, you assumed he meant, implying he was willing to let you die a different way.

“You’re bleeding,” he changed subjects, pointing to the arrowhead sticking out just above your clavicle.

“I wonder whose fault that is,” you sneered, sitting up on the ground.

The reality was you didn’t feel the pain. Your body had gone into overdrive, focusing your remaining energy on keeping you alive.

“I told you I’d shoot, and you didn’t listen,” Acacius grunted, dragging his knees towards you. “Let me see.”

Not having the mental capacity to retort back, you let him inspect the wound, his wet fingers carefully caressing the bloody skin around the wooden shaft.

“It’s gone through cleanly. I’m going to snap the arrowhead so you don’t hurt yourself. Ready?” He didn’t give you much time to process his words, because soon enough he did exactly as he told you.

Through gritted teeth, you hissed in pain, jaw clenching so hard you might break a tooth.

“You bastard,” you sneered, but your animosity didn’t make him flinch.

In any case, he was closer than he was before. His wet silvery curls dripped onto your tilted face as you looked up at him with anger lighting your eyes.

“I need to remove the shaft too but can’t do it here, you’ll bleed out. I need to stitch you up as soon as it’s out,” Acacius spoke calmly, ignoring the fury simmering in your face.

The walk back to the Roman camp was excruciating. Pain shot from your shoulder in all directions, but you pushed through it. Acacius had a tight grip around your waist as you hugged his shoulders to stand up, keeping you close to him, his hand laced with yours.

Luckily, no one was there to see your rather pathetic entrance. You only crossed paths with a couple of legionnaires who nodded in acknowledgement to Acacius, and soon after that he directed you to a tent.

Once inside, you stood in the middle of it awkwardly. The red textile walls were bright, but the rest of the decoration was spartan. A bed that would barely fit two people, a wooden trunk with a lit candle as a nightstand, a wonky dresser, two chairs and a couple of chests. There was a small cauldron in the middle of the room which had red embers in it, its warmth spilling into the space.

What caught your attention was that there were no personal effects in sight. This could perfectly be the sleeping quarters of a low rank soldier, and you wondered if Acacius had mistaken his tent for someone else’s.

“Take a seat,” he pointed towards one the chairs.

You were so knackered, you happily obliged, letting yourself fall onto the chair. You were drenched, your leather garments soaked and heavy, but still didn’t feel the snappy cold bite your skin.

Your gaze tracked Acacius as he ambled towards one of the chests. But you quickly looked away when he undid the knots that kept his chestplate in place. The clink of metal told you he was getting rid of the top part of his armour.

Despite your efforts, curiosity won. In the corner of your eye, you saw his bare back — his back muscles undulating under his damp skin, shoulders flexing as he pulled the linen shirt over his head. His waist was sculpted, slightly thinner than his chest. Two pronounced dimples on his lower back distracted you from the battle scars dotted around his frame.

Enemy or not, the man was a treat. You’d have to be blind to say otherwise.

Unfortunately for you, Acacius didn’t turn around — just opened the chest, rummaged through it and fished a fresh linen shirt that quickly covered his body. The damp skirt remained though, and you guessed the General was not as comfortable with you in the tent.

Acacius veered towards the dresser, going through the contents of the first drawer and leaving different items on top. When he turned around to face you, he was holding a bottle of wine that he extended towards you.

You blinked at him blankly.

“Removing the shaft is going to hurt like hell. The alcohol will numb your senses and if you’re lucky enough, you might not feel too much pain,” Acacius explained while you grabbed the bottle, cocking a mighty brow.

“So, you want me drunk. Here, alone with you,” your words dragged, hinting at your distrust. “It’s only fair if you get drunk too.”

Acacius huffed and puffed, sitting beside you on the empty chair, and stole the bottle from your grasp, the cork stopper flying.

“So untrusting. If I hurt you while patching you up, then don’t complain,” he grunted before bringing the bottle to his lips.

You were momentarily mesmerised by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. His neck was thick and chiselled, stubble covering his jaw. You wondered if it would be prickly to the touch, your fingers testing the girth of his neck.

To suffocate him, obviously — nothing else.

“I’ll take my chances,” you retorted, shrugging. The slight movement of your shoulders made you grimace. “Pass me that.”

Minutes went by as you and Acacius shared the wine, taking turns on emptying the bottle. He didn’t say a word, and you guessed he wasn’t a big talker. You were comfortable with silence, but a doubt nagged at you.

There had to be a reason for his rescuing. Why would he risk his life to save yours otherwise? If he thought you were nothing, no one of relevance, he should have let you drown. But he hadn’t, and you doubted it had been out of pure altruism. Acacius didn’t know you at all except for the few exchanges you had had in the past. You were even — you hadn’t killed him in the woods, and in return he had dug you out of the hole you fell into.

“Has Caesar come to a decision about me?” you blurted out, the only explanation for you to be here right now, alive.

Acacius gave you a long look, his hand quick to rob you of the alcohol. His eyes remained locked with yours as he drank. The void in his orbs was pretty telling, but you needed confirmation from him — confirmation that you had said too much when he mentioned your father. That you fucked up.

“I spoke to your father,” Acacius drawled, studying your expression. There was no point in denying what was obvious, so you didn’t interrupt. “He didn’t sell you out, but it was pretty obvious I was onto something when I started talking about you.”

“Have you tortured him?” you voiced your worry, brows pinching.

The General slouched back, almost as if he was offended by your question. You had seen the aftermath of their grilling — broken fingers, dislocated jaws, bent-backwards knees. It wasn’t wrong of you to assume the worst of him.

“No,” he responded flatly, drinking again and passing the bottle. “Caesar has decided a new future for you. You are to be brought to Rome. You’ll come with me.”

Your heart literally stopped beating. If it wasn’t for the wine already working its magic, you might have stood up and emptied the bottle on his face. But you didn’t — instead, you glanced at him, lips pressed contemptuously.

“And what will I be doing there, dare I ask? Are you going to throw me in a cage and parade me around town like an animal so your citizens can look at a savage eye to eye?” you sneered, grabbing the bottle to quench your rage.

If you hadn’t closed your eyes, you might have seen the guilt flashing on his eyes. But you didn’t, too focused on drowning your mind so you wouldn’t think about what the future laid ahead.

“Your father will be going too,” he offered as consolation.

Your eyes did spark up at him, the idea of seeing your father one last time somewhat calming.

“Will he be coming with us?” you ventured, your hopes too quick to rise.

“No, he’s a bigger risk. A small entourage will accompany him,” he answered, fingers curling in your direction in a silent plea to give him the wine.

“Oh,” you didn’t hide your disappointment.

You handed him the alcohol and his fingers lingered around yours for a second. Perhaps it was the wine, but you caught sadness in the way his eyes watched you. Pity, probably, conscious of what your life might look like in a few weeks’ time.

“We’ll be going alone. I trust that the thought of your father’s wellbeing will deter you from trying to escape. Otherwise, I’d have to chain you and it’s not something I’d like to do,” Acacius grumbled, voice slightly slurred.

So your father’s life depended on you — on obediently following this man to your enslavement. Life was fucking cruel, but you would never be the reason for your father’s death, of that much you were sure. There wasn’t much of a decision to make there.

“Alright,” you mumbled back, straightening your back. “When are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow at the crack of dawn,” Acacius tilted his head towards you, a downcast expression eagerly studying yours.

Silence fell like a blanket again, each of you immersed in your own thoughts. When the bottle finally ran out, Acacius got up and walked towards the dresser, collecting the items he’d placed on top of it. His stance was not as firm anymore — shoulders relaxed, feet slightly wobbly thanks to the alcohol flushing his system.

“Are you ready?” he asked, dragging his chair towards you once he sat back down.

You nodded, stiffening your posture. You prayed the wine worked its miracle.

Marcus could tell how drained you were by the end of it. His hand had not been the most stable, considering the amount of grape juice he had chucked down. He regretted drinking so much, but was able to stitch you up in the end. Not his best work, but it would do, keeping the wound close to avoid infection.

Your head tipped, and Marcus was quick enough to hold your forehead so you wouldn’t fall forward. He wasn’t sure if you were drowsy because of the alcohol, the pain or because your body finally left its alertness state, or a combination of it all. What he did know though was that you needed some rest.

He wasn’t as heartless as you thought — couldn’t bring himself up to drag you outside and tie you to the wooden post again. Not when he suspected the two men would come back for payback.

Without many more options, Acacius scooped you up from the chair, careful not to wake you, and laid you down on his bed. You immediately sighed with relief when your frame sank in the straw mattress, engulfing you in its warmth. You nuzzled his pillow, inhaling deeply before your pinched brow smoothed out.

You looked so different when you slept. Your hair covering your face, long eyelashes kissing your cheeks and your mouth slightly agape, taking in soft breaths. Younger too, although Marcus believed you both were around the same age. Perhaps you were older than him, considering how weathered his golden skin had become under the scorching sun for years.

He hated himself for omitting the truth, for not telling you what would be of you once in Rome. Marcus let you believe that you would be a slave, an entertainment to the crowds, but your reality would be much more darker than that. He didn’t know you, but could safely bet that you would strongly object to being married off as a war trophy. Anyone would.

Were you married? He scanned your fingers from the distance but saw no wedding band. Perhaps it wasn’t common in your culture to wear one.

Marcus frowned — despite having lived on this land for over a lustrum, he didn’t really know much about its inhabitants and your customs. Though he wasn’t here to make allies, but to destroy the life you and your ancestors had built.

He’d never thought of it that way, always pushing such logic aside so he could do his job. As Caesar would say, “Veni, vidi, vici.” It was fucking cruel, an injustice really, but his hands were as tied as yours.

Eventually Marcus drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep, almost falling from the chair twice before he hauled over one of the chests to prop his legs up.

He’d close his eyes for a second, just to recharge for a bit, then would stand guard the rest of the night to assure your safety — and captivity.

“Acacius,” something tugged at the linen of his shirt, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. “It’s dawn.”

The words seemed to come from far away, not registering on his mind. He hmphed and shut his eyes again, knackered from a restless night. Five more minutes, that was all he needed.

“Oi, hey!”

A slap on his shoulder startled him awake, sitting up on the chair instantly as he quickly scanned the room — a throbbing headache haunting him.

Then he saw you, sat on his bed with your feet dangling from the edge, an inquisitory glance shot his way.

“Fuck,” he groaned, realising he’d fallen asleep for longer than intended. “Shouldn’t have drunk so much,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m no better,” you hushed, watching him intently. “But the wound seems to be healing alright.”

Marcus straightened up, pulling his chair closer, hand reaching for your shoulder in unspoken permission. You slid down the neck of your leather garment, showing him the injury. His fingertips teased around the laceration, and under his touch you shivered.

He quickly removed his hand; afraid his caress was doing more harm than good.

“Sorry. It’s a bit inflamed but otherwise seems fine.”

You nodded in mute reply.

At the same time both of you stood up — so close, you bumped into each other. Marcus almost kicked you off your feet and you tumbled back. Before you fell back onto the bed, Marcus grabbed your forearm and pulled, crashing you against his chest.

The sudden proximity brought with it your scent — earthy cinnamon with a floral hint, sweet and musky. Marcus couldn’t control the need to inhale, to take you in for a brief instant. He hadn’t let himself be close to anyone in a very long while, not when war was at the forefront of his mind. Simply didn’t have the time, always busy with battles, training or strategizing for what was next.

Your closeness briefly reminded him of a life he once yearned for. To settle down, to marry, to have a family — his kids waiting for his arrival, hugging his legs while he patted their heads in loving reassurance. But when the opportunity of proving himself worthy knocked at his door, he seized it and parked his other desires, incapable of seeing a way to reconcile those two very different lives.

Why had your mere presence suddenly unearthed those thoughts? He was only curious about you, knew perfectly what his role was — your captor, the one in charge of delivering you like cargo to another man, one he despised.

Marcus forced himself take a step back, avoiding your inquisitive gaze, letting go of your forearm and turning around in haste.

“We’ll only bring what’s necessary,” he husked out, busy with stuffing the saddlebags.

“Uhm, okay…”

Your lower back hurt. Your thighs far stretched over the horse’s back, a stinging pain pooling on your crotch. Your ass was sore due to the gentle yet constant bouncing.

You had been riding for three days. The ascent on horseback to the height of the Alps was draining. Cold, icy air bit your skin, the leather skins Acacius had secured not enough to keep the freezing temperatures away. Last night a blizzard almost wiped you out off the face of the Earth. The temperatures had dropped so much, you couldn’t help yourself but curl up against Acacius at night in an attempt to keep your body as warm as possible. He’d huffed in reply, but didn’t push you away.

Today you had only stopped at dusk after Acacius spent at least an hour finding the right spot — away from prying eyes, from a possible ambush. He did well on keeping clear of crowded paths, so well you had not seen another soul in the last seventy-two hours.

If you had a small hope of someone rescuing you, it was now dwindling. And even if that happened, you couldn’t just leave your father to his fate. So despite how many times that delusional scene played in your mind, you knew you just couldn’t act on it. You had surrendered to your destiny, whatever it was.

“We’ll set up camp here for the night,” Acacius gritted out, the first words he had spoken to you since dawn reddened the sky this morning.

He’d been given you the silence treatment since your departure three days ago, got even worse since last night. As much as you tried to discern the reason for his taciturnity, your mind ended up going back to the moment he held you close to his chest. To how your body pressed against his as both of you tried to get some rest.

Had he also felt the rushing of blood pumping on his eardrums? Had he also gotten goosebumps? Had his breath also hitched in the back of his throat?

Did he or was it only you? You’d never know. The man had become an icy wall — one you couldn’t penetrate, no matter how much you poked at it. You talked and talked to fill the silence, and his only answers were “hmm” to show disagreement and “mhm” to say yes. At one point you grew tired of his muteness and gave up altogether.

It was almost as if Acacius was unhappy to be there, as if you dragged him there when it was all the way around.

“You know, you could’ve just asked somebody else to take me to Rome. It’s not like I forced you to be here. Rather the opposite,” you gritted out, huffing and puffing while grabbing one end of the flat tent to start building it.

As expected, he just ignored you, helping out from the other end of the tent as you worked together to erect it. Grabbing a rock, you hammered the last iron spike to the ground, testing the tension of the rope.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he gritted out, crouching to go through one of the saddlebags and handed you a piece of dried meat.

You squatted down too and accepted the offering, chewing away and mildly wincing, the saltiness upsetting your tastebuds.

“A Roman General didn’t have a choice,” you repeated after him, cocking a brow. “That sounds ridiculous. I don’t have a choice, pretty sure you do.”

“I still follow orders. And when Caesar asks, you can’t say no to,” the inflexion on the word made you look his way, slightly tilting your head to one side with curiosity.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I can’t.”

You hmphed, shaking your head with certain disdain. You knew little of Roman politics, but as far as you could tell, both Acacius and Caesar had the same rank. One submissively accepting orders from the other without rebuttal didn’t make sense.

“You’re his lapdog,” you didn’t say it to mock him, it was just an observation based on facts. “With no freewill, no choice. Sounds like we are both hostages to the same oppressor.”

“It’s not as simple,” Acacius sighed. “The current political climate in the Republic is… complicated.”

“So, Caesar is in the middle of a political storm back home, but he’s here giving us hell for no reason whatsoever other than showing his power to his rivals. Bet he’s got better things to do then.” When Acacius didn’t reply, you pressed, “Don’t you have better things to do than warmongering? A business to look after back home? A family, perhaps?”

The last question slipped. You were not prodding, didn’t care about what his marital status was, if he had a woman waiting for his safe return. No, nothing like that.

So if you truly didn’t, why did you look at him expectant?

He briefly glanced at you, his attention shifting to the wineskin he just pulled out of the saddlebag and then to the two horses tied up nearby. His avoidance made you frown. Had you hit a nerve of some sort?

“I don’t. This is all I know, all I ever wanted,” Acacius muttered before leaning his head back to aim the trickle of wine into his mouth.

The way he carefully delivered the words… there was a lie hidden between them. You didn’t know though which one of the two statements was the deceitful one. Or both, perhaps.

“If you say so,” you shrugged, conscious that you wouldn’t get him to talk any more than what you already had.

You shared the dried meat and the wine in silence. The biting cold sent shivers all over your body, skin bristled and teeth chattering by the time you were done eating. With no fire going to keep you warm, you were dying to retreat back to the tent.

“Should call it a night,” you mumbled, grabbing your saddlebag to bring it in with you.

Acacius grunted his accord, standing up. “I’ll check on the horses and I’ll be right back.”

He turned around as you scurried away, the temperature inside the tent as freezing as it was out there. It was going to be a rough night, especially since it seemed to be colder than last. You shuffled around, putting on more layers and rearranging the different animal skins until you were cozily beneath them. Your jaw tightened and let go of a grunt, a cloud of mist forming around your lips. Still you shuddered uncontrollably, a futile attempt to rise your body temperature.

A few minutes later, Acacius entered the tent, and you were no closer to falling asleep. In fact, you were so cold, you were wide awake. In the gloom of night, you barely made out his silhouette as he prepared to lie down beside you. The General quietly buried himself under a pile of skins.

Not a word was crossed, the dead tranquillity of the night broken by your chattering teeth.

“Stop that,” Acacius grumbled, half asleep, swatting you gently. “You’re too loud.”

“It’s not like I can fucking stop it, can I?” you gritted out, frustrated with his ease to drift away. “It’s freezing, dammit.”

The General rumbled and huffed, dragging his body towards you. He lifted the skins off himself, did the same thing with yours and joined you under the blankets, throwing them all over you both. The added weight of the skins, heavy and warm, was most welcomed, but it was Acacius’ body what made your temperature underneath the covers spike up.

The man was a damn furnace.

Driven by self-preservation, your hands found his forearm and clamped around them.

Acacius hissed.

“Your fingers are like icicles,” he complained, but didn’t move away.

“If you think my hands are freezing, wait to feel my feet,” and with no remorse, you brushed his shin with the sole of one foot. Your engaged muscles started to soften, his warmth pouring into you.

“Shit,” Acacius mumbled, his jaw tightening in the darkness, but again remained still. “You may well be at risk of frostbite.”

You grunted in agreement, unknowingly seeking him as you curled up against his side. His body temperature would be enough to keep the both of you warm through the night. You began to relax, your jaw now slack and teeth quiet. Slowly you fell into a peaceful slumber, the first night you actually got some much-needed rest.

When one of your eyes fluttered open, you were unsure of how many hours had gone by. It was still pitch-black outside, only the chirping of crickets breaking the quietness around you. The breaking of dawn still a few hours away, enough to paint a smile on your face at the realisation that you could sleep some more.

You nuzzled Acacius’ chest with your nose, inhaling deeply as your eyes slowly shut.

It was then that you noticed that you were almost on top of him: your cheek gently pressed against his sternum, your arm hugging his waist, your leg resting across his with your knee right on…

Your eyes shot open, quickly looking down, your senses flaring alive.

Your knee crammed right on his groin, softly pressing on his manhood as if that was where it belonged. He was hard. Asleep still, but his cock was wide awake. You could feel him pulse against your kneecap.

Your heart picked up a pace while a hot wave washed over you, slick starting to pool between your thighs and your nipples puckering against his ribs. A normal reaction, you told yourself, considering the position you were in.

One you shouldn’t be in. Conscious of your own bodily response, you sneakily tried to remove your knee from his growing bulge, biting down your bottom lip as your fingers sank in his right hip. But Acacius didn’t let you, his hand wrapping around the back of your knee and pressing it harder on his erection, a raspy grunt hitching somewhere in his throat.

You whimpered inaudibly; afraid he would fully wake. With his hand firmly holding your leg against him, there was no point fighting this need growing within you. His sleepy coercion was enough agreement.

With half-lidded eyes, lips flat in a pout, you began to gently rub your knee against the linen covering his cock, feeling it coming alive with every brush. His broad hand was still grasping around your knee, almost guiding you, showing you how to make him harder.

Acacius groaned above you, and you quickly glanced up at him — his brows pinched, but otherwise still asleep. You pouted in frustration, a thick slick trapped between your pussy lips. Damn you for getting horny right now, it was his fault really.

Gripping his hip, you pressed your body against his, to the point where your hot cunt was rubbing against the side of his thigh. Inevitably but carefully, you humped his thick thigh, your clit catching in your undergarment causing a delicious friction that sent a thunder up your spine.

This felt too good to be sinful. Your clit was writhing, pulsing for release, as you kept on buffing your pussy on him, while your knee kneaded his now throbbing bulge. Your breasts were sensitive, perked up nipples tracing invisible lines on his ribs. Your only regret was that both of you were still clothed — you needed the skin on skin to get off, to let go. Needed to feel him in all his glory, palm him attentively until he would come on your hand…

Acacius suddenly squirmed and you swiftly stopped everything, feigning to be asleep when his eyes opened.

Marcus stirred awake, his heartbeat so loud in his eardrums he could barely hear anything else other than the rush of blood. It took him a few seconds to catch on with his own body, to feel his throbbing cock fighting against its enclosure.

He was hard, the morning glory making its presence known. Only then did he realise the actual reason his dick was begging for release: he had grabbed your leg, fingers curled behind your knee, and had pressed it into his bulge until his cock was ready to unload.

Marcus froze in place, ashamed of himself, of using you in such wicked manner. But his stiffened erection clouded his mind, his judgement — he needed to move away from you before he came in his pants like a teenager.

Carefully he undraped your arm from across his waist and lifted your knee up, scooting to one side until he was out from underneath the skins. The cold air bit his bristling skin, a remarkable contrast with the heat on his groin. He looked back at you — peacefully surrendered to your slumber, expression sweet and relaxed, blissfully unaware of how close he’d been to spill.

He ran a hand down his face while the other rearranged his uncomfortable cock. For a moment he fisted himself, digits wrapping around his achy balls, before he decided to walk outside of the tent to get his shit together.

The road to Rome was going to be excruciatingly long, of that much he was sure.

The journey through the Alps took the good part of a week. Its rocky cliffs and treacherous paths needed to be treaded carefully. Acacius relied on you when going up the north face of the mountains, but on the descent he had more experience. You both worked together through the issues that arose, on calming down the horses whenever they got spooked.

It’d been a draining experience, but with the Alps on your back, you could breathe again. Temperatures had slightly gone up, so the last two nights had been more forgiving. Meaning, the physical gap between Acacius and you when you laid together at night had grown again.

You blamed it on the solitude — for the last ten days, Acacius was the only person you had spoken to, the only person you had seen. Perhaps it wasn’t long, but considering how closeknit your tribe was, this had been the longest you had gone without having your people around.

And, truth be told, he’d not been intrinsically bad with you. Yes, he’d hunt you down in the forest and brought you back to camp so you could be the next freak on display for the Roman mob, but from what you gathered, he was being bossed around by Caesar. You wondered what kind of relationship the two had — did Acacius feel indebted to the other man? Was that why he was doing Caesar’s dirty bidding?

You had dismounted your stallion and were guiding him to the nearest river, where Acacius’ stud was drinking. You left them alone as you walked back the few yards to where the General was setting up a small pyre for a fire.

“Is that wise?” you questioned, the spot you were in rather open.

“We are almost fifty milia passuum (Roman miles) west of Mediolanum (Milan). This land is ours, has been for more almost two centuries now. We have nothing to worry about here,” he explained matter-of-factly, unsheathing his sword and kneeling.

You watched him intently as he grabbed a quartz stone nearby, tested its weight and shape on his hand. Acacius began striking the steel of his gladius against the sharp edge of the rock with quick, powerful and deliberate downward motions. Sparks flourished, short-lived at first, dying off before landing on the dry tinder.

“Come over here,” he gave you a nod, then pointed to the pyre with his chin when you crouched down in front of him. “The moment a spark falls into the tinder, blow some light puffs of air onto the bundle.”

You shook your head in agreement and bowed down, ready to do your part. Acacius gave the steel a sharp hit, and a big spark ignited, falling like a feather into the wood. You blew air gently onto the red spot, and the fire slowly turned the wood to embers.

“Where are you from?” you asked with certain curiosity, hands extended in front of you to warm them up.

Acacius’ posture stiffened almost unnoticeably as he mindlessly nudged some of the glowing coal with the tip of his sword, eyes transfixed on the flames.

“My family come from the city of Barium (Bari) in the south. They worked the land,” he shared, scratching his beard. “I left home when I was just a lad, only returned a few times a year to help out with the farming.”

“How does the son of farmers end up being a renowned General at the head of a Roman legion?” you pressed with interest, a part of you wanting to get to know him, to see the real man behind the General.

“With blood, sweat and tears,” he retorted snappily, brows knitting together as if he had taken offense in your words.

You frowned, mildly confused by his reaction.

“What have I said to upset you?”

Your inquiry took him aback, and you assumed he thought he’d not been so obvious. But you were quick to pick up on people’s subtleties.

“Nothing,” you instantly cocked a brow. Acacius sighed, “I’m not ashamed of being the son of farmers. My parents were extremely hardworking people. But classism in Rome…” he shrugged, “…is ever so present. Some people are not being able to see past that. To them, I’ll always be a terrone. I guess I’m always on the defensive when the topic surfaces.”

“Terrone?” you asked, befuddled.

Acacius gave you a stern nod.

“It’s a derogatory term some people use to refer to those who work the land, typically in the south of the Republic. Like Barium, where I originally come from,” his dark gaze drifted up, locking with yours while red sparks danced between the two of you.

The intensity in his brown eyes held you down for an instant. He was sharing a piece of him with you, a vulnerability he didn’t show often. You could tell Acacius was battling with himself, divided between trusting you and knowing he shouldn’t.

You felt the urge to put his mind at ease, to somehow let him know you wouldn’t betray this shred of confidence. The Gods knew you didn’t owe this man anything — in any case, quite the opposite. But something about him, about his demeanour… Acacius wasn’t bad, not like the others.

Acacius was just a pawn who had become knight for the greater good, who lately had found himself with more blood on his hands than what his guilt-ridden conscience could handle.

You saw that hint in battle, his blows more defensive than offensive…

In how he’d spared your life before he knew who you were.

In how he cleaned the spit off your cheek, offered a joke or two to lighten the mood.

In how he stitched you up and let you use his bed while his back suffered on a chair.

In how he’d kept you warm throughout the harshest of nights.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” you hushed, eyes averted for a brief moment before you glanced up at him through your long eyelashes. “I am genuinely curious. It’s not every day that someone breaks the chains of society.”

Even in your culture, roles were profoundly embedded in society. Families born into guilds usually carried on with the legacy of those who preceded them. Rome wouldn’t be too different.

“Since a young age I knew I wanted to become a soldier. It always appealed to me, helping the Republic keep our people safe. The training makes you or breaks you, a lot of people drop out because of it. The sons of recognised Generals are trained since birth, and those who aren’t are in clear disadvantage. I used the long days in the farm as my training,” he spoke softly, eyes distant as he got lost in his own memories. “A few years into it, I met Gaius Julius Caesar. Took me under his wing, his family too, especially when my parents died and our farm burnt down, and I was orphaned. But I still had to work very hard to prove I was worthy. That every achievement was solely down to me, and not to the people I was associated with.”

You were so invested, you could almost picture a younger Acacius in front of you, warring against the tethers of society, making a name for himself. There was something really evocating, inspiring even, about his story of overcoming. And to lose his family in the blink of an eye, just like that, it had to be the hardest blow of all.

Had the fire not been between you, you’d reach for him and squeeze his forearm. But you didn’t, probably for the best.

“Is that why you feel… obligated to follow Caesar’s command?” you ventured, hugging your shoulders and rubbing the exposed skin.

“As I said before, it’s complicated. He’s the Proconsul, I’m not. The political climate in Rome is tense. The Senate and the Consuls fear a power grab. With the war with the Gauls coming to an end, Caesar believes that the Senate will rob him of his title and mandate him to disband his army,” he explained. “And if anybody knows Caesar as I do, he won’t surrender his power so easily.”

So conquering your land, massacring your people, was just a move from Caesar to seize more power. A pissing contest with the Senate. A game to that fucking bastard.

Was it a game to Acacius too?

“And where are you in this mess?” you couldn’t stop the question from leaving your tongue.

The General took in a deep breath, his shoulders sinking in his frame, while he poked at the fire with the sword.

“I have a job to do. I volunteered to come the moment Caesar put his proposition forward,” he shrugged, visibly uncomfortable with your prodding.

“Did you also volunteer to take me to Rome?” you lolled your head, eyes squinting.

“No,” Acacius grimaced. “Caesar asked me to.”

“Asked you? Or ordered you?”

“What’s the difference?”

“So loyalty doesn’t beget loyalty. Sounds like you’re just a pawn on his board. Dispensable,” you didn’t mean to offend, just state facts. “It seems to be a one-way relationship that does not really benefit you.”

“We should rest,” he said abruptly, standing to his feet and stomping out the fire. “Tomorrow we’ll head towards the Apuan alps so we can get to Florentia (Florence). It’s a newly founded garrison town. We should be able to find an inn there to spend the night and getting some proper warm food before heading towards Rome.”

You didn’t press, knowing that you’d given him enough food for thought. Not that you were going to change the outcome with your discourse, but at least you could make him see that being blindly loyal to someone would only mean his eventual demise.

But were you not blindly loyal to your people, your father? Wasn’t loyalty what brought you here?

Well. Fuck.

The word alps was triggering. Just when you thought you were done with rocky mountains…

“How long is this whole trip going to take?”

“To Florentia, I estimate six days. From there to Rome, it should be mostly flat, but still a stretch. Another five days, I wager,” he responded while veering around, heading towards the horses as he did every single night before going to bed. “Go get some sleep.”

“Your wish is my command, General,” you mumbled mockingly, getting up and sauntering towards the tent.

Six days? Six fucking days? Sure. More like fucking ten.

Acacius had been overly positive with his estimate. Although the Apuan alps were not as treacherous as the alps shielding the Republic from the neighbouring nations, it had been one hell of an expedition.

You’d even been attacked by a pack of hungry wolves. Acacius’ horse had been injured, then the man himself had taken a bite on his wrist that almost tore his thumb apart in his attempt to rescue his stud. It had been, by far, the most stressful days since you departed from your land over two weeks ago.

But now with the gates just a few yards away, the memory started to fade. The stone path beneath your stallion’s hooves announced your arrival to the guards posted on the front. The palisade was mainly of wood, but they had begun to replace sections of it with rock. The compound was surrounded by a moat, the drawbridge shut.

“Quis es (who are you)?” the sentinel shouted from his position on the palisade.

“Salve,” Acacius stopped in front of you, extending his arm with the palm down in greeting, “I am General Acacius, transporting a hostage to Rome under Caesar’s orders. I seek refuge in your garrison, some provisions and some rest, so we shall leave in the morrow to resume our travels.”

“Ordo (written order)?”

Acacius nodded, one hand rummaging through the saddlebag until he extracted a carefully rolled papyrus scroll.

“Lower the drawbridge, let General Acacius in,” the guard announced.

The hinges of the gate creaked horribly until the wooden plank bluntly kissed the ground. Acacius moved forward and you followed quietly, feeling a thousand eyes on you. A few miles back, Acacius had insisted on tying your hands to the saddle just for show, otherwise the legionnaires wouldn’t let you in.

The same sentinel had come down the palisade and Acacius handed over the papyrus. The man, with a weathered face and a nose more crooked than Acacius, unrolled the parchment and read it a few times. Once he was satisfied, he handed back the papyrus to Acacius and pointed forward.

“If you follow this path, you’ll find the inn,” then the guard gestured to another man, who quickly appeared in front of you and grabbed the reins of your horse. “The hostage will be held in the carcer (prison).”

Your widened eyes shot to Acacius in a panic. No way in hell he was going to let you sleep in a cell, right? Surrounded by enemies who would show you no mercy.

Your sights locked, Acacius’ darkened orbs squinting before he pulled from the reins of his monture until he and his horse shielded you, towering in front of the guard who had come forward to take you away.

“The hostage will be with me at all times. I am not to lose sight of her,” he almost barked at the sentinels, who quickly withdrew. “Those are my orders.”

A rush of relief coursed through your veins, your heartbeat calming down. When the guards returned to their positions, Acacius looked over his shoulder right at you and gave you a nod as if to ask, “are you alright?”

You ducked your head in reply before Acacius led the way to the inn.

The inn was a small sun-dried brick building with two levels, with a small stable on its side. It wasn’t too big, but the noise coming from the inside meant that it was probably packed. Acacius approached the stable lad and when he dismounted, you did the same. Both of you untied the saddlebags of your respective mounts.

“Here,” Acacius said to the boy, handing him two denarii. The boy’s bright eyes widened, looking at the coins in disbelief and then at him again, his cheeks sunk in his face. “Take good care of our horses. Mine’s injured, the wound needs to be taken care of regularly. Feed them, let them drink, give them a good brush. Alright?”

“Yes, of course, sir!” the lad almost screamed too enthusiastically, then grabbed the reins of both studs and disappeared inside the stable.

“That was a lot of money,” you noted as you both walked towards the door, your hands still tied.

“Did you see how thin he was? He didn’t look older than ten,” Acacius shrugged as he pushed open the doors and walked inside with you on his heels.

Your stomach twisted for a second — had he gone hungry in his childhood too? Had Acacius seen himself in that emaciated lad? Your heart shrunk a bit at the thought of a little Acacius begging for food on the streets before he decided to take charge of his future.

You couldn’t tell now if that had been his reality in the past — his shoulders broad, muscular arms and chiselled back. He’d done well for himself, even if it had been at the expense of others.

Shaking your head to come out of the trance, your hearing got hit with loud chatter. Wooden floor, adobe on the walls, and the furniture made of oak. The place was brimming with life, and Acacius had to slither through the crowd to reach the counter. He caught the attention of an older woman and exchanged some words you couldn’t hear at all. The Romans were fucking savages, so loud it was irritating.

“Come on,” Acacius whispered in your ear as he placed his hands on your shoulders and guided you through the crowd to the back of the inn.

There he opened a door, moved to a side to let you in first, and you walked up the creaky stairs. A minute later, a set of keys clinked on his hand and opened a smaller door. The inside of the room was rudimentary but had all the necessities. A chest of drawers, a fireplace that was already running, an empty wooden bathtub, a couple of chairs and a bed.

One bed. For one person.

You turned around to look at Acacius while he closed the door behind you.

“There’s only one bed,” you pointed out, brows pinching.

“I know. It’s the only available room they had left.”

“The only available room? So… we are supposed to share this one room? The both of us? One single bed?” You didn’t want to sound astonished, but you definitely were.

Acacius scoffed, taking a few steps forward to throw the saddlebag onto the bed.

“It’s not ideal. But we’ll have to make do.”

Perhaps you were unhappy with the situation, but you could tell he was not very excited about the prospect either.

Your sight moved to the bed again, dreading the night. Not because you thought it’d be uncomfortable, but because the night when you almost came humping his thigh was still too fresh in your mind. You were not sure you could spend another one like that, too horny to nod off.

“I’ve asked the owner to prepare you a hot bath. They’ll bring up boiled water in a few minutes,” he grunted, going through the saddlebag to grab some items.

“And you?”

“The River Arno is nearby,” he answered bluntly.

“It’s freezing outside,” you complained, although the idea of a hot bath did sound very appealing after your travels.

“I’ll be fine,” he dismissed your concerns, veering around to face you. “I’ll wait for the maids to bring over the water and then I’ll lock the door.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. You hadn’t even attempted to escape in two weeks, and you were so deep in Roman territory now, it was safer to remain by his side than trying to get back to your land.

“You heard what I told the sentinels. If they see me without you, they’ll question where you are,” he was quick to explain.

“I suppose that makes sense,” you grumbled, watching him approach you.

Acacius extended his hands toward you, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrists, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was hot yet gentle. He was standing so close to you, you could smell him — sweaty and dirty, but so masculine you felt a pulse between your thighs.

You had to focus on taming your body’s reaction, pressing your knees together to contain the slick pooling in your pussy. Surely this could only be attributed to the fact that it had been a long time since you laid with a man.

Pouting as he undid the rope binding you, your eyes fixed on how his fingers untwirled the jute. Once freed, Acacius’ thumbs stroked the dents on your skin, smoothing them out, your hands gently resting on his palms as he soothed the redness away.

Your heart pounded against your chest so loud you wondered if he could hear it. With your mouth slightly parted, you looked up at him, your gazes crossing and locking. And for a moment, the whole world disappeared around you. You could only see his weathered features, the bushy beard and moustache framing those lips after weeks in the wilderness… And his eyes, darkened and lustful.

His orbs drifted down to your waiting mouth, heartrate spiking madly now. You were sure he was going to kiss you, the hunger and flickering desire in his irises told you as much.

Then a firm knock on the door snatched the moment away.

“We bring the water, General,” a soft female voice announced.

The icy water of the Arno should have put out the fire burning within him. But when he emerged from the river, he was still… hard.

It felt wrong, extremely wrong. You were his captive; a war prisoner being delivered to another man to do with you as he pleased. And despite how much Marcus hated Antonius’ brother, his hands were tied. He’d given his word to Caesar — a bow he could not break, not without fatal consequences for the both of you. Disobeying Caesar’s orders would be classed as treason. And traitors were not tolerated in the Republic.

Desiring you was so fucking wrong. Especially when he’d lied to you about your future in Rome, about what would be expected of you. His omission of the truth had rooted in your brain, brewing for so long now, he just couldn’t come up and tell you the truth. Perhaps it was better this way, so you would be at ease for as long as possible.

Brushing his hair back with his fingers, Acacius sighed heavily before bending down to grab his belonging off the ground. He put on a fresh subligaculum and then a simple linen tunic.

When he returned to the inn, he found two bowls with a steaming stew of meat and vegetables, some bread, a jug full of wine and two empty cups on a tray. He took it off the floor and knocked on the door, unsure if you would be clothed.

“Come in,” you shouted from the other end of the door.

Marcus unlocked the door and went in, turning around to put on the latch. When he veered to face you, you had some linen clothing on, the almost translucent fabric still clinging to your wet skin. Your legs were naked from the mid-thighs down, your bare feet tapping the wooden floor as you finished braiding your hair while sitting on a chair by the fire.

He couldn’t help himself but taking the sight of you in. You looked gorgeous with the glowing of the fire reflecting on your skin, a natural beauty with a fiery aura dancing around you. It wasn’t only that though — what he had seen of you as a person, Marcus liked too. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

A sudden throb invaded his groin when he realised your nipples were poking through the linen, the outline of your breasts shaped by the fabric stuck to your skin. Reining in the need to do something—anything—Marcus just stared at your silhouette.

“How was the dunking?”

Marcus shot his eyes to yours, afraid he’d been caught undressing you in his mind, devouring you. You had tilted your head to one side, studying him.

He steeled his posture, shook his head and put the tray down on the dresser.

“Good,” he grunted, an uncomfortable hardness taking over his cock. “Your bath?”

“Amazing,” you sighed with a smirk. “Is that food?”

Marcus nodded, passing you a bowl before he grabbed his and sat down on the other chair.

You ate in silence for the good part of half an hour. When you both were done, Marcus took the empty plates and goblets away, stacking them on top of the dresser. It was pitch-black outside, silent. Everyone had already left the inn.

“Right,” he mumbled. “You take the bed; I’ll make do with some skins by the fire.”

He was already by the saddlebags, grabbing all the animal skins to fashion a bed on the floor.

“Are you serious?” you groaned, standing up from the chair. “We can share the bed, Acacius. It’s not like we’ve been sleeping apart…”

When he turned to face you, you briefly bit down your bottom lip, your teeth sinking in the plushness the way he wanted his to dig in your lip. His resolution faltered when you clasped your fingers around his wrist and pulled, guiding him to the bed.

“Are you sure? It’s very small. We won’t fit,” he reasoned.

“It— We will fit,” you rasped, sitting on the bed.

He knew this was a bad idea, a really bad one at that, but his brain was numb. So he followed you.

You stirred in your sleep. Miraculously, you had managed to drift away even with Acacius hugging you tight from behind, ignoring the way your body screamed at you for not doing anything about it.

Your brows momentarily pinched in confusion when you sensed that there was no one behind you now, no arms draped over your frame pushing your back into his chest. You patted behind you to find an empty and cold spot.

Mildly disoriented, you sat up on the bed, rubbed your eyes and waited for your vision to adapt to the darkness, since the fire had already died out. Looking around, you found Acacius lying on the floor on top of some skins, facing towards the cold fireplace.

Was this man stupid? Had he waited for you to fall asleep to then go sleep on the fucking floor? He was more stubborn than you were. The sight made you mad, so much so you snatched the pillow your head had been resting on and threw it at him with force.

The moment the feathery pillow hit him, Acacius sat up very quickly, turning around with a bewildered expression.

“I thought we were under attack, dammit!” he growled at you.

“You are!” you screamed, grabbing the other pillow and tossing it at him.

This time, he dodged it. Infuriated, you gathered the bedlinen and pulled until it untucked from underneath the mattress, and you stood up with everything bunched up on your arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” Acacius husked out, visibly confused.

So stupid.

“Well, apparently we are sleeping on the floor now because someone thinks the bed is not good enough,” you grumbled, unceremoniously dropping everything in front of him.

“The bed is good enough, but I just couldn’t…” Acacius trailed off, and you looked at him with a cocked brow as you sat down in front of him. “I couldn’t fall asleep, didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Why?” you inquired, folding your arms below your breasts.

He cleared his throat, his eyes betraying him the moment they landed on your boobs.

Then you realised. Was he hard? Had sleep evaded him because he was too worried it would happen again? That he would unconsciously rub you against him? Because if that was the case… well, you had no complains.

“Never mind,” he muttered, jaw tight.

“I do mind,” because why fight what both of you wanted?

You shuffled around, kneeling and sitting back on your heels. Your hand landed on his powerful thigh, his muscles flexing under your touch. Your fingers slid up his inner thigh, dangerously close to his bulge.

“Careful there,” Acacius croaked, his fingers curling around your wrist to stop your advances.

Batting your eyelashes with a knowing grin, you moved your palm further up to where his leg joined his hip, your knuckles brushing the tent on his tunic. You leaned in, mouth hovering over his.

“Let’s stop pretending anymore, shall we?” you whispered, the plumpness of your lips caressing his as you spoke.

Before Acacius could reject you, your tongue prodded at his mouth, swiping his bottom lip. When he groaned, he gave you an opening — the moment his lips parted, you dove in. Your tongue finally met his, fighting one another as you breathed him in.

Acacius let go of your wrist, his hand flying to the back of your neck, holding you close as he plunged in, tasting you. You pushed your knuckles into his growing bulge and the General’s chest rumbled with satisfaction. That was your cue to spread your palm over his groin and knead it slowly.

He was big, girthy and hot. Your fingertips traced the shape of his cock over the textile, then cupped his balls and squeezed gently.

“Fuck,” Acacius moaned, and your pussy reacted with primal need.

You were drenched, the dampness your thighs harboured for him just grew. Your cunt ached for his touch, for the moment you’d been dreaming about for so long now.

Acacius must have read your mind, because his hands gripped your hips and manhandled you until you were sat on his lap, straddling him. He pushed you down, your clothed cunt stroking him — the outline of his throbbing cock softly pressing against your slit.

Draping your arms around his neck, you kissed him again, your hips swaying back and forth on top of him, causing much needed friction. Acacius palmed your ass, his fingers grabbing the flesh as he guided your moves.

“Undress,” he pleaded, raggedly breathing now.

With no shame, only desire, you leaned back a bit, grabbed the hem of your linen dress, and pulled the whole garment over your head. That was the only piece of clothing you had on, so when you casted it away, you were completely naked on top of him.

“Not even a loincloth on?” Acacius managed to sputter out, tipping his head forward until his face rested between your boobs, kissing your sternum. “And you were asking why I couldn’t sleep…”

You snickered, palm on the back of his head to press him onto your chest, fingers raking through his greying curls.

When Acacius kissed one of your taut nipples, your head tipped back, a moan bubbling up your throat as he worked your button expertly. At the same time, he pushed your hips back down, your bare pussy leaking and leaving a slick spot right on the linen covering his erection.

Scrubbing your pussy against him, your thudding clit catching on the fabric and his tongue working wonders on your nub, you didn’t think you’d last — a thunderous feeling shooting up your spine right from your core. Thighs trembling, you rode him dryly, imprisoning his head with your arms and ramming his face against your bosom.

Until you came. A moan filled your mouth and spilled over your lips, resonating between the adobe walls, as the fire in your drooling pussy reached its highest temperature. Warmth spread in all directions, your energy faltering as your hips stuttered. Acacius took the lead right then by grabbing a handful of your ass cheeks and sliding you back and forth on his lap until you were shivering above him.

“Did that feel good, hm?” he pecked your nipple before looking up at you.

His brown eyes had softened, enticing and indecent. You gave him a mindless nod, still feeling the throbbing of your pussy, as one of his hands left your buttock and navigated over the swell of your globe, reaching down.

His middle finger slipped easily along your glossy seam, from your gushing hole to your clit. Acacius petted it gently, pressing tight yet lazy circles as his palm cupped your cunt.

The fire within you was rising again.

“Acacius,” you groaned, your heart pulsing in your clit under his attention.

“Marcus,” he offered in a hush, lapping at the tip of your breast. “My name is Marcus. I want to hear you say it when you come again, sweetheart.”

The revelation was an intimate surprise, considering that Romans always referred to themselves by their cognomen, sometimes by their nomen and very rarely by their praenomen. But you didn’t dwell for long, his lone finger teasing your slick slit with a calmness you didn’t feel.

You pushed your ass back, your back arching and your face resting on the crook of his neck, when that same lonely digit traced the outline of your opening, taunting your faltering resolution as your mind went numb.

“You’re so wet, mel. So ready, so eager…” Marcus grunted, the first phalange going in and robbing you of a heavy sigh. “So tight and warm, welcoming even… You want this so badly, don’t you?” he asked for your reassurance and when you obliged with a shy nod, his finger buried down to the knuckle. “Oh, baby, so needy,” he tutted at you.

Wiggling your hips involuntarily, you forced his finger in and out of your leaking entrance, commending him to get on with it already. The General took the hint and began to finger you rather unhurriedly. The pad of his finger pressed on your inner wall as it slid in and out, picking up a pace.

By the time he inserted a second finger, you were already panting and squirming, throbbing for release. Marcus built up the pace gradually, until the palm of his hand was audibly slapping your perineum, and the squelching noises of your pussy filled the room.

There it was again: the spike in your heartrate, the maddening pulse in your clit and a tongue of lava seeping through his fingers, pooling on his covered cock.

“Marcus, fuck, I—” you hiccupped, nuzzling his jugular.

Acacius kissed your foreheard, a gentle gesture contrasting the relentless rhythm of his hand. “I know, corculum, I know. It’s too much for this sweet pussy of yours, isn’t it? Let go for me.”

At his command, you did, wailing his name with wanton abandonment while your pussy quivered around his meaty fingers, squeezing them in a tight grip as he curled them, pulling another orgasm from you.

Mind fuzzy, you kissed his pulse point, your fingers grabbing a fistful of the linen covering his chest, scrunching the fabric. Unclenching one hand, you flattened it on his tummy, pushing it down until you cupped his manhood over the tunic.

“Fuck me, Marcus,” you pleaded, tone tinged with longing whilst giving him a gentle squeeze.

Acacius growled at your not-so-subtle request, eager to get started. He helped you off his lap, standing up to remove the tunic, his subligaculum quickly following.

And there he was, towering above you, fully naked for the first time. He had several scars dotted around the map of his skin, gifts from the battlefield. But that wasn’t what caught your attention the most.

You gazed up at him in awe — his muscles sculpted, hugging him tight. Strong arms, veiny forearms, broad hands. Chiselled pectorals, a tense tummy although no marked abs, and then… a hairy trail running down from his belly button in a pronounced V line.

You followed the path of pleasure with your hungry eyes until they landed on his erection. He was as girthy as you had imagined, a good size, a throbbing vein feeding his cock on the underside. Some thick curls framed his dick, drawing your attention to the heavy balls underneath. And then the tip, angrily flushed and leaky with a pearl of precum topping it.

Your mouth watered at the sight in front of you. Still kneeling, pussy bewilderingly aching now, you leaned in for a kiss as one daring hand peeled his skin back completely to marvel at him in all his glory. Your lips pressed against his red mushroom head, fingers curled around his shaft with devotion.

You wanted to suck him off. The little taste on your mouth had you salivating, needy for something to keep you quiet. His musky scent had the world swirling around you, almost as if you were drunk.

Before you could part your lips to house him in your warmth, Marcus extended his left hand to you, palm up, the one that was still wrapped in a bloody linen cloth to protect the wound on his thumb.

With a little pout and some resignation, you took it careful not to inflict pain, springing to your feet. He didn’t speak, and neither did you, when he laced his fingers with yours and tugged at your hand. Marcus approached one of the chairs with you in tow, sat down and manspread. You were quick to understand, climbing onto his lap like the floor was lava.

“You are so beautiful, feel so good,” he muttered, lapping at the flesh of your boob while his hands settled on your hips. “And I know you’re going to feel even better riding me, sweetheart. Look even more gorgeous.”

Your cunt gushed at his words, rearing to come. When he aligned his tip with your entrance, you whimpered in need, the intimate kiss on your core driving you mad.

“Impale yourself. Show me how much you want this, mel,” he almost begged, voice throaty.

You didn’t need any further persuasion. Grabbing his pulsing shaft, you held him in place whilst sinking slowly. His cockhead slid in easily and the next few inches quickly followed. His dick stretched your walls apart, blessing you with a delightful burning as you buried his cock in your pussy down to the hilt.

You moaned to the heavens once he was fully seated. You felt so full, he was staggeringly omnipresent inside you. All your senses flared alive, so much it was almost overwhelming.

Marcus had tipped his head back — his jaw almost dislocating as he groaned, fingers digging at your hips, leaving his imprint behind. You blinked rapidly to clear your eyes from their glossiness, raked your fingers through his hair and tugged at it so he would open his eyes and look at you.

The moment your sights locked in, a strange warmth spread through your chest. Despite your dire situation, you felt safe with him, at ease. Regardless of what the future held for you, at least you would have this memento to think back to. This brief crack in time, when nothing nor no one else mattered.

“You’re handsome, Marcus. And very gifted,” you giggled, trying to put behind those thoughts now.

You cradled his face and kissed him exaggeratedly slow, your hips leisurely moving back and forth. Soon enough, you were riding him with all your might, the slapping of skin on skin ricocheting in a sinful cacophony. Up and down, back and forth — your hips didn’t miss a spot in your pussy left untouched by Marcus’ cock. You were so wild, you had to grip the arms of the chair until your knuckles ran white.

Acacius held your breasts throughout, pinching your nipples from time to time, latching onto them when your untamed rhythm allowed. Chasing the highest of highs, you felt the climax building up — a pulsating fire growing in your lower belly, your pussy trembling around his girth, swallowing him whole while your juices soaked him.

“I’m so close, s-s-s-o… fucking… close…” you mewled, your brows knitting together in concentration.

Marcus jumped into action to help you get there. His right hand darted between your bodies, middle and ring fingers flicking your throbbing clit as you rode him. Then your nub caught between his fingers — the pressure, the friction and the gentle fondling tipping you over the edge of your orgasm.

That was the last straw for your nervous system. You started coming, wailing his name as your whole body quaked above and around him. Your glistening cunt clamped down around him like a vice, squeezing him so tight you thought you would harm him. Your breathing quickened to the point of burning as you crashed down from your climax.

Quietly, you glanced down at him. Marcus’ jaw was so tight, you feared he might break a tooth. His cock was throbbing so hard, you knew he was close to release but didn’t want to come yet. You bowed down for a kiss, and the General eagerly reciprocated, his dick still cozily warm and hard inside you.

Some tears had escaped your eyes, wetting your cheeks, due to the intensity of it all. Marcus brushed them away before cupping your ass cheeks and standing up. He held you, pressed against his chest, and you draped your legs around his waist, so the intimate contact of your sexes would not break.

He walked a few steps, and then unceremoniously dropped you on the bed. The wooden plank beneath the feathery mattress squeaked loudly, but you could only focus on him. On his darkened eyes feasting on you.

The cold air nipped at your bare, sweaty body, your nipples perking up. You covered them with your palms, spreading your legs to welcome him again.

That was all confirmation Marcus needed from you — he grabbed your ankles and pulled, your ass on the edge of the mattress, and he dove in your pussy in one energetic thrust. Wrapping your legs around him again, you let him set the pace this time.

Acacius sank his knees on either side of you and blanketed your frame, your chests flush, only your hands in between as you cupped your breasts. He dug his elbows around your head and pumped into you with sharp, deep strokes at first. Every time he slid out and back in, you gasped, eyes shutting in ecstasy. Then the pace picked up and Marcus began railing you like a man possessed on the worn mattress.

He was in so deep, you could feel him nudging your cervix. First painful, but then a welcome kiss every time his thick tip stroked the very centre of your being. Marcus pumped in and out of your spent pussy in quick succession, resting his sweaty forehead on yours, his dampened curls caressing your skin.

It was too much. The feelings, the overstimulation, the constant hammering… For a brief second, you looked down and saw his cock plunging in and out, your cunt sheathing him like he belonged… like he owned.

“I don’t think I can come again,” you stammered, your whole body shaking under him. “Marcus… by the Gods I swear…” you sobbed, tears brimming again.

“Of course you can, mel. You will,” the resolution in his hoarse voice left no room for doubt.

The General bit your chin, the sensitive spot on your neck, then your earlobe, all the while fucking into you with renewed vigour. He was everywhere there was to be, a hand slithering down your belly to pet your unattended clit again.

You fell apart even when you thought you couldn’t give him one more. You came again, for the fourth time tonight. Creaming around his hard cock, you cried his name, a lewd melody ringing in his ears. If you had looked down, you would have seen the white rings of your pleasure pooling at the base of his manhood, but you were too focused on taming your beating heart.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful when you come, so blissed out,” Marcus pecked your wet cheek. “Where?”

For a heartbeat the question didn’t register in your mushy brain, so fucked out into oblivion your limbs felt like putty. His shaft pulsed extremely hard inside you, announcing his imminent orgasm. So he repeated again, this time more aggressively, “Where?”

“Mouth. My mouth,” you barely husked out. “I want to taste you. Fully taste you.”

Before he spilled inside you, Marcus pulled out rather harshly, standing up. You sat up on the bed, still feeling dizzy from your climax, and palmed the back of his thighs to push him towards you.

His cock was soaked, the thick curls all dampened and dripping with your shared arousal. Parting your lips, you welcomed his tip in the warmth of your mouth, just as you had desired not that long ago. You suckled on his palpitating cockhead while he stroked himself. Swat his hand away so you could push his length all the way down in your throat.

He tasted so manly, so musky, your head spiralled out of control as you sloppily slurp around his girth. Saliva, your slick coating him, and precum pooled in your hollowed cheeks until it all overflowed, dripping off the corners of your mouth.

A guttural groan and a hard pulse later, Marcus finally came. His white, warm seed hit the back of your throat in thick ropes, his taste bewildering as he emptied his nuts in your mouth. You milked him dry until the last drop spurted out his slit, and then you kept on going.

In a trance, you sucked him off until his cock softened on your tongue. And only then, you let go of him, gulping down his spent like it was a secret treasure. A trophy.

You fluttered your damp eyelashes to get rid of the tears and glanced up at him shyly.

His warm palm cradled your cheek, and you nuzzled against it, satisfied and content. His right thumb swiped your tears away again before he settled down on the bed, dragging you to rest on his chest.

Neither of you said a word — there was no need to speak after that.

But did he fuck you again?

Yes, he did. Two more times. Until both of you were utterly spent and couldn’t thread two thoughts together.

Every night that followed, Marcus spent hugging you and fucking you into oblivion. The dreadful cold nights out in the wilderness again were still relentless, but now they were warmer as long as he had your naked body pressed against his.

It was wrong of him to take advantage of you this way. In the moments of weakness after you blissfully fell asleep, he’d question himself. Told himself he was a monster for letting you believe that your life in Rome was going to be somewhat untroubling.

But he was now so down deep in the lie, he couldn’t tell you the truth. Marcus feared you’d curse him to death, that you’d try to escape once you learnt what was expected of you. How you’d question his true intentions if you knew of his rivalry with Gaius Antonius.

He’d even question himself on that too. Was he losing himself in you every night as a “fuck you” to Gaius? Because he’d had you before the other man did?

Or did he indulge in the pleasure you offered because… he actually liked you? Did he chase another high and did he chase the warmth growing in his heart every time you came apart with him, for him?

Guilt ate at his conscience. He was a damned man either way. Marcus couldn’t have you even if he really wanted to take you home with him. He was under oath, he’d promised you to the man he hated most. Going back on such promise would mean treason. And Rome did not tolerate traitors. Caesar would not tolerate traitors. And Marcus well knew what the punishment for such treachery was.

Death.

The word lingered in his mind as he unknowingly embraced your sleepy form tighter. Despite how much he wished and hoped for a different outcome, the truth was his hands were tied before he knew you.

A pawn. That was what you had called him. He truly was a dispensable tool. It didn’t matter how far back his history went with Caesar, how hard he’d worked for his station, how many unthinkable acts he’d committed for the glory of Rome.

The truth was… he was no one. Especially if he bit and betrayed the hand that fed him.

But… were you worth the risk? He would never know. Such leap of faith for someone he’d just met a month ago was too reckless.

And besides, you probably didn’t feel that way, just wanting to enjoy your last few days of freedom. He could ask you, Marcus thought, but what was the point of meddling with a perfectly working symbiosis? Why destroy the last remnants of peace you both could have?

Needless to say, sleep evaded him for the rest of the night, his intrusive thoughts haunting him till dawn.

You stirred awake not long after, turning around in his embrace, your face buried in his chest. After pressing a soft kiss on his skin, your eyelashes fluttered, revealing your bright orbs to him. A warm smile promptly took over your lips.

“Good morning,” you whispered, your lips pecking his chin. “Did you sleep well?”

“Morning, beautiful,” he muttered, mouth brushing your forehead. “Yes, I did. You?” he lied through his teeth.

“Like a log,” you smirked at him, and then stretched your back with an exaggerated yawn.

“Tonight we’ll arrive in Rome,” he hated to bring up the subject, especially now when doubt still nagged at him. “But since it’s quite early and it will only take us a couple of hours on horseback, I was thinking… that maybe I could show you something?”

Your worried look quickly transformed into excitement. You threw off the pile of animal skins and blankets that kept you both warm and jumped to your feet, dressing yourself.

“Is that a surprise, Acacius?” you taunted him, the tip of your tongue peeking through your teeth.

“Perhaps,” he couldn’t help but grin, your easy demeanour casting away his worries. “Let’s break our fast first and then I’ll show you.”

Soon after that, you were both sharing some wine, cheese and bread that Marcus had bought yesterday when you stopped in Vetus Urbs (Viterbo) for provisions. The birds were chirping nearby, a light breeze weaving through and rustling the leaves of trees. Just a few yards away, the vast Lago di Bracciano (Lake Bracciano) extended to the horizon, with calm and blue waters.

He could tell you were eager to get started with the day, because you finished your food quickly and then scooted over to his side. He checked the wound in your shoulder, the one he himself had inflicted. It still gnawed at him, being responsible for causing you harm. As if to erase his wrongdoing, Marcus bowed down and brushed your now healed lesion with his lips.

You sighed in contentment, ready for your turn.

Marcus let you grab his left hand. For the past few days, every day after breakfast, you would reciprocate and unravel the cloth covering his hand, inspecting the wound. It hadn’t festered thanks to your diligent efforts to help him keep it clean. The torn flesh around the injury was healing nicely, although it would leave a scar behind. Not that he minded, another one added to the collection. One to remember your little trip together.

You poured some wine on the wound, then some water from the lake. But when you were about to wrap it with clean linen, Marcus shook his head.

“We are going in the water, don’t want to get it wet,” he explained, standing up to his feet.

“In the water?” you barked, bunching up your eyebrows. “Are you mad? Do you know how cold it is?”

“I know. But it will be worth it, trust me,” he winked at you, a sly smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

Under your attentive watch, he removed all his clothes, folding the items neatly and putting them down on a rock. The cold air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t mind — if anything, Marcus welcomed the bitter cold. Considering how hot he’d burnt last night with you in his arms, he needed to cool down a bit.

Marcus rotated on his heels, gazing you up. Still clothed.

“Are you not coming then? I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You huffed and puffed, your lips pouting as you removed your garments. “It better be.”

Intertwining his fingers with yours, he tugged at you, slamming your bare body against his chest. You felt too good in his arms, soft and warm despite your cold bristling skin. Marcus leaned in for a gentle kiss, almost a puritanical peck, before walking towards the water. He tiptoed on the edge, testing the temperature, and then plunged in. His head disappeared momentarily under the water, and then resurfaced for a gasp of air.

You were on the shore, hugging your shoulders, so beautiful you looked like Venus herself. That was probably a heresy, but Marcus didn’t care — you had no comparison in his eyes. Your body was a place of worship, but the caring personality behind the façade was a sacred temple.

So, why was he secretly planning on desecrating his house of worship, you? He was a heartless, selfish bastard.

“Come,” he offered you his hand, which you swiftly accepted, joining him in the water.

You shivered, teeth chattering, and shot him an untrusting glare. “Okay, so here I am. What’s the surprise?”

He laughed at your eagerness to get out of the water, shook his head too.

“So impatient, mel. We have to get there yet,” he pushed you further into the water, following. “You see that dent in the rock over there? It leads to an underwater cave.”

“Diving? Nuh-uh, you’re trying to kill me!” you shouted in jest, a playful glimmer in your eyes.

“Just follow me, will you?”

With that said, Marcus swam towards the rock that was inaccessible from the shore. He made sure you were right behind him, and when you got to where he was, he grabbed your hand and dove.

The dive only lasted a minute or two, soon reappearing in the underwater cave. It wasn’t too big, around fifty square meters. Stalagmites hung from the ceiling, droplets eroding the rock underneath. It was peacefully quiet, only the gurgling of water breaking the silence. A crack in the ceiling allowed a lonely sunray to illuminate the cave.  The walls of the cave were covered with colourful seashells and starfish, this little paradise brimming with life despite how isolated it was from the outside world.

Marcus climbed out of the water and helped you up onto the slimy rock.

“Careful, don’t slip,” he warned, holding you by your waist.

“Good heavens, it’s steaming in here!” you exclaimed, the thick humid air almost making it impossible to breathe properly.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” he hugged you to his side, pointing at the two bubbling pools, one deep and one shallow, in the middle of the cave. “It’s a geyser. This lake formed on top of a volcano, which has been inactive for centuries now, but the warmth and lava below ground has created several hot springs around the lake.”

“Marcus, this is beautiful, thank you for taking me here,” you turned around in his half embrace to kiss him, paced and sweet. “Let’s go!”

Marcus almost had a heart attack when he saw you slipping on the edge of the rock, but in the last second you managed to keep your balance before graciously jumping into the water.

When your head emerged, he was able to breathe again. You looked so carefree, enjoying and living in the moment, it tugged at his heart.

“This is fucking amazing, the water’s so hot. Come join me, please!” you splashed the water, a small wave coming at him, wetting his feet.

Marcus happily obliged and dove in immediately after.

For two hours, you swam around or perched yourselves on the rocky shore, relishing this precious moment. And when the subtle dance of your bodies became too apparent, you joined each other’s company on the shallow pool, only a few inches of water lapping at you both. Marcus took you in his arms, nestling you down on the smooth rocks, while he coaxed your thighs apart for him, exposing your core to his attention. Soon enough he was rutting into you, not maddingly but lovingly, showing you how much he wanted this moment to last. How much he wished you both could stay here forever, far away from responsibilities and honour.

You draped your legs around his waist, taking him in as deep as possible, sheathing him tightly. Your hiccups soon turned into full-blown moans, shattering around him, clenching and gushing, while he fucked you through your orgasm. With the last remnant of decency, Marcus managed to pull out of you, his load messily landing on your lower belly.

You giggled, giddy and satisfied, before you both were at it again, working together towards another climax, both of your moans and groans echoing in this tranquil oasis.

When you both were totally spent, you just laid there to gather some strength and return to the real world. It was obvious neither of you wanted to leave, this quiet retreat would be your secret. The places your minds would escape to when your bodies couldn’t.

Grudgingly, you dove together and reappeared on the other side, swimming back to shore.

In silence but both smiling, you walked out of the water.

In the dead quiet of the cave, Marcus had made up his mind. He had to say something, explain to you what was going to happen, and how much he regretted not being able to do something about it. You deserved the truth, even though it meant breaking the trust between you. Even if it meant letting you go now. Perhaps you’d forgive him, perhaps you’d understand that he had no say in the matter. Perhaps...you’d see he truly cared for you.

When you were both fully clothed, Marcus turned around to face you, anxiety spiking in his heart and mind to unknown levels, throat closing up with fear.

“Listen, mel, I need to tell you som…”

“General Acacius, how great it is to see you,” a grave masculine voice suddenly interrupted him.

With his heart crammed into his throat, Marcus veered around.

Gaius Antonius was standing right in front of him atop a brown horse, one of his men right behind him, with a nasty smile showing his crooked teeth.

The shift in the atmosphere was palpable. Since that man and his guard had interrupted, Marcus had gone quiet. It was pretty obvious from his body language that Acacius didn’t stand the man in front of him. His shoulders had squared, neck tense and jaw very clenched. It almost looked like Marcus was going to punch the man with no warning, but thought better of it.

Even after they left, the General didn’t dare look in your direction. It didn’t matter how much you tried to get him to talk back, he just didn’t.

So riding quietly besides him gave you plenty of time to sink in your thoughts and dwell in the little words the two men had exchanged.

“I’m looking forward to get a taste of my gift,” the Roman you came to know as Gaius Antonius had said, his cruel eyes flickering to yours briefly.

Something in his dead orbs sent an unpleasant shiver down your back. His features were not easy to look at and his physique was too imposing, bald, tall and extremely built — he reminded you of the one-eyed monsters the old druidesses of your tribe would talk about to scare the kids away from real danger.

You had felt very uncomfortable in his presence, to the point where you had hidden behind Acacius so Antonius would stop gazing you up.

His words still rang in your ears, a dark omen settling in the pit of your stomach. Why had he looked at you directly when he had said “my gift”? Now that the fear was almost forgotten, you just remembered he had also winked at you before licking his lips obscenely.

Your heart jolted in your chest, belly churning at the thought taking form in your head.

No, it can’t be. Marcus wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t bring you to be entertainment for a specific man, not a pastime for a crowd.

Marcus would have told you if that was the case — you two had shared enough time together, built rapport. In the last few weeks, you’d also seen a side of him that was very appealing to you, a version of him you wouldn’t mind getting to know better. His kind, playful side, the one that cared for you and your wellbeing. The one, you thought, that perhaps felt for you the same way you did for him.

With how close you two had become, Marcus wouldn’t betray you like that, wouldn’t sell you out to another man as if you were a plaything he could discard. He’d said you were going to be paraded around like a savage animal so the townspeople would see an untamed wildling for the first time. And as vile as it sounded, it wasn’t the worst-case scenario for someone like you, so even though it wasn’t great, you’d accepted the idea.

No, he didn’t say that. I did. And he didn’t confirm nor deny it. You’d been too drunk to see it then.

Your eyes widened with horror as your heart climbed up your throat, a landslide of panic coursing through your veins.

“Marcus—” you muttered with a trembling voice, even your hands holding the reins were shaking.

“We’re here,” he cut you off, still avoiding your sight.

Your eyes darted down the path, a huge gate with columns framing it right in front. It was tall, with men posted to either side of the arch, wearing full, bright armour and helmets.

A frightening feeling of doom, of plain claustrophobia, took hold of your soul. It was as if walls were closing in around you, confining you to a tiny space. Deep breaths were not helping either, if anything they made everything worse.

“Marcus, please, listen—”

“We’ll talk after leaving the horses in the stables. They are really tired and mine needs his wound to be looked after,” again, he interrupted you.

A burning sensation went up your neck, and you could feel the tears threatening to spill. Holding onto the last remnant of hope, you pushed all the emotions down — you still trusted Marcus, despite how distant he felt right now.

Ten minutes later, you both dismounted the stallions, removed the saddles and the bridles. It was dark and it reeked of nature, but you were too anxious to wait any longer.

As Marcus attempted to turn around and leave, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled from him to stop him in his tracks.

“You said we could talk now. Please,” you almost begged, your low tone almost breaking in the last word.

With a heavy sigh, Marcus faced you. His eyes, bright before, were now of an opaque brown shade. If regret had a colour, it would be exactly the same as his irises. His lips were furrowed into a pout, his brows pinching with loud concern.

And when your eyes finally locked, you knew. You knew you were not overthinking the situation — it was exactly like it seemed.

“No,” you husked out, letting go of his wrist as if his skin burnt yours, your hand flying to your face to cover your mouth. “No. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” he gritted out, averting his eyes with visible remorse.

Was the bastard really pleading ignorance? Was he such a coward, he wouldn’t tell you himself? After everything you’d gone through and shared? After so many long, cold nights spent in his embrace? Did any of that mean anything to him?

Apparently not.

“Why am I here? I’m not here to be a hostage kept in a cage, am I?” your voice was barely audible as you tried your best to contain the angry tears.

“No,” Marcus paused after his whisper. “You’re here to be married off to Marcus Antonius’ brother, Gaius. You’re a gift to the Antonius family, to keep Caesar’s allies happy.”

The explanation fell on you like icy water. Even your heart had stopped beating, your lungs vacating all oxygen within them in a painful exhale.

This couldn’t be happening. Acacius couldn’t be this heartless and cruel. Had he been faking all along just to gain your trust, to make you feel comfortable in his presence? How could he kiss you, make love to you every night, knowing that to him you were just cargo?

And then, the prospect of bedding that man… Vile rose up your throat — you were sure you wouldn’t be able to stomach it. He looked like a brute, cruel and dominant. And although you had a strong spirit, even the best soldiers ended up succumbing to the crushing force of bestiality.

“Did you know?” you begged of him, hugging yourself. “Did you know the plan all along?”

Finally, his expression folded — his cloudy eyes were bright with unspent tears, lips pressing into a sad pout. He moved towards you, hands extended to hug you, but you quickly retreated. You couldn’t have his hands on you, you needed to focus.

“I did,” he replied, dropping his hands when he read your body language. “I did, and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, I was going to… But…”

“But what?!” you screamed, the dam holding your tears breaking. A trickle of droplets cascaded down your cheeks, shouting again, “but what, Marcus?!”

“But I was afraid you’d leave. I’ve grown fond of you, I really have. I didn’t want to lose you, at least not yet. This morning, before Gaius arrived, I was going to tell you, give you a way out…” Marcus combed his unruly curls back with his fingers, obviously desperate for you to understand.

“Were you?” you mocked him with a sneery laugh, sweeping the tears off your cheeks. “Sure you were. So why didn’t you when they left, huh?”

“We were being followed, mel. They never left,” he reasoned. “That’s why I didn’t talk to you. Gaius and his henchman were watching us. I didn’t want him to think that… there is something between us.”

“There was,” you immediately corrected him, despite the instant hurt showing in his eyes. “There was something between us, Acacius. Not anymore.”

It broke you saying such a thing, especially when his words had filtered through, making you consider his truth. But even if he wasn’t lying, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were still here, delivered to a man who would destroy you and your soul.

“You have every right to feel that way, I understand, but please—”

“No, I’m done listening to your lies. You’re a coward, Acacius. A fucking pawn. The day you realise how dispensable you are to your fucking precious Caesar, you’ll have no one by your side. He’ll discard you just like you’re discarding me now, when you become an inconvenience,” you snarled at him, your pain speaking for you.

You wanted him to hurt more than you were right now. If his downcast features were any indication, he probably was. But he deserved every fucking word you threw at him. He’d betrayed you like no one else had before. You thought he was different, that he was good.

How wrong you were.

“I know, mel. I do know. But please let me explain—”

“General Acacius,” a deep voice interrupted your argument, both of you straightening your backs as if nothing of importance was happening.

Three guards had entered the stables and were right behind you. One of them grabbed your elbow rather harshly, almost tripping you over.

“The hostage needs to be readied to formally meet Antonius. We are taking her now,” the same man spoke.

A myriad of emotions ran through Marcus’ face, a full range of regret, grief and sadness. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he truly cared for you. That this was breaking his heart as much as it was crumbling yours. You felt stupid for holding to a shard of hope, but you forced yourself to let go of the illusion.

General Acacius was like any other man — evil, greedy, heartless.

“Hope the gold is worth the pain,” you whispered, almost mouthed the words so only he could listen. “Take me away from here,” you told the guards.

When they hastily turned you around to drag you out of the stables, you didn’t look back, didn’t put up a fight either.

Only when you were thrown in an unknown, empty room, you allowed yourself to cry your eyes out and bang the walls of your enclosure, damning the man who brought you here.

He’d been witnessing your spiral into hell for weeks now. How the light abandoned your eyes, dull and devoid of any emotion. How your skin was coloured with fresh bruises every day, the ones around your neck more visible than others. He knew for a fact that Gaius would put a chain around your throat, the atrocious man bragging about it in front of him every chance he got.

How you would avert your eyes, evading his every time he tried to make visual contact with you. As if he was dead to you, rightfully so.

And with every encounter, his resolution faltered, and his heart chipped some more. Marcus blamed himself — for lying to you, for not being brave enough, for not setting you free when he had the chance, for not fighting for you, for not stopping the guards from taking you away from him. He saw in you all the failures he’d done, all the pain he’d caused. And it was eating him alive.

How badly he wished to travel back in time, to prevent all this from happening. But he couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t mend the harm his inaction had brought about.

Marcus couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand by, seeing your soul slowly die. He was a fucking coward, you were right — too afraid to lose his station because all the effort and sacrifices would have been for naught.

But at what cost? He couldn’t lose you, although deep down he knew he already had. What a sick bastard he was.

“General Acacius,” Marcus Antonius greeted him. “Caesar sends his congratulations, the gold for your successful will be delivered to you tonight.”

He’d been focused on you for so long, the chatter of the hall had dropped to background noise. The room in the Antonius household was packed as people feasted and drank, celebrating the return of Marcus Antonius’ legion.

Marcus gave the General a stern nod, bringing the wine cup up to his lips to avoid talking. His throat felt dry with shame. No amount of coin was worth your suffering.

Antonius lingered; some small talk being exchanged although Marcus barely paid any attention to the man. When the other General tired of his unresponsiveness, he moved on to speak to his brother.

His chest burnt at the sight of Gaius. Marcus hated himself but despised Gaius even more so. How could have he delivered you to him despite knowing how brutal he would be with you?

“Go get me some more wine from the cellar, slave,” Gaius snapped at you.

You swiftly left his side, turning the corner into a corridor.

This was his chance.

Marcus slithered through the crowd like a snake ready to bite, leaving his empty cup behind. When he reached the hallway you had disappeared into, Marcus checked over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows.

A staircase at the end of the corridor spiralled down into the underground, and he walked down the steps, pushed the heavy door and entered the cellar.

The room was lighted by some lit torches on the wall, the sweet scent of wine filling the room. As his eyes adapted to the almost darkness, Marcus scanned the place.

A quiet sob betrayed your presence. Sauntering, he found you in a corner, bloodshot eyes welling up as you hugged yourself.

He stood there, right in front of you, like a scarecrow. Frozen with guilt, unable to decide what to do, what to say, to soothe you. But when you looked up to him through your damp eyelashes, you made the decision for him.

You lurched forward into his chest, and Marcus instantly wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close while you cried your sorrows in the crook of his neck. His heart was pounding so wildly, he feared he might drop dead at any second. Finally, Marcus found his hoarse voice, whispering soothing words while stroking your hair.

The fact that you went to him so eagerly, so uninhibited, broke his heart some more, the edges cracking and collapsing into itself. He didn’t deserve to hold you, to calm you, when he was the only reason you had been suffering unimaginably for this long.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, throat clamping down, tears threatening to fall. “I am truly sorry for being a coward, for not choosing you when I could. I was so afraid of the repercussions, of losing everything I worked so hard for…”

Marcus forced in a deep breath, the tears falling free at last. You were still sobbing, now more audibly so, and when you unglued your face from his neck to look up at him, Marcus’ breath hitched somewhere in the back of his throat. The state of you, up close, was… gut wrenching. Bruises, some fresh lacerations, but what gnawed at him the most was how lifeless you looked, so drained of purpose, of wit.

“I know it means nothing now, but I love you. From the moment I set eyes on you in that forest for the first time. And it’s taken me a shamefully long time to realise that,” because one didn’t know what they had, until they lost that one person who brightened their dark days. “You should have shot me an arrow, kill me on the spot, and you wouldn’t have suffered this much because of me.”

It felt like an empty, meaningless confession. No number of words could mend the havoc of his doing, the wounds of your heart. Only actions could.

“I know I have no right to ask, I lost that privilege the moment I lied to you. But… if you were to take me back, I’d take you away tonight, now. Damn, even if you don’t take me back, just say the word… I’d make sure you’d leave here tonight,” he husked out, heart in a fist.

You didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity. Your eyes studied his face, weighing your options. And he hoped you’d take up his offer, regardless of your feelings for him. Marcus would risk everything to right the wrong he’d caused.

“You lied to me. You let them take me away,” you sobbed, furrowing your eyebrows. “You just stood there… have been standing there in front of me for weeks… and you did nothing…”

It wasn’t accusatory, you were just stating the facts. Ones he couldn’t and wouldn’t fight you back on, because you were right.

“I did. I don’t have any excuse to offer for my behaviour other than I’m just a stupid coward.”

“You are…” you trailed off, but didn’t lean back away from him, staying still in his embrace. “But you’re here now,” you swept away the tears, some determination returning to your eyes. “You were too scared, and I was too proud. While I don’t condone you lying to me, I can see why you would. Your hands were tied as much as mine. And with Gaius and his henchman following us all the way from Bracciano to Rome… there truly wasn’t a way out there where both of us left unscathed.”

Marcus’ heart had stopped pumping blood the moment you started talking. He could honestly not believe his ears. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, not after how badly he’d handled everything. It just felt damn wrong.

“While it might take some time for me to forgive, if I ever fully can do so, I do understand the situation you were in,” your bottom lip trembled, your words choking out.

“Oh, mel,” with tears in his eyes, Marcus dropped his hands from your shoulders. “I don’t want you to forgive me, I deserve every ounce of resentment. I deserve your hate.”

“I don’t hate you, Marcus. I love you and that’s what’s made everything way worse,” a feeble, tiny smile curled your lips whilst your delicate fingers wrap around his wrist. “And if you do love me back as you say… take me away from here, please. I can’t take it anymore. He will… he will break me for good if I stay.”

His heart jolted. He truly wasn’t deserving of you, of your love. Not after everything he’d done — or didn’t do. Closing the gap, Marcus hugged you again, pressing a soft kiss on the crown of your hair, allowing himself to inhale your sweet scent.

“I’m getting you out of here tonight.”

Marcus had kept his promise. He’d broken you free of the Antonius’ household that same night through an underground tunnel that connected the cellar to a nearby temple. The religious servants that worshipped Mars had left for the night, so escaping had been relatively easy.

Leaving Rome, however, had been a totally different matter. It was obvious that Gaius had noticed your absence, because the next morning a small entourage of legionnaires accompanied your captor to Marcus’ home. Luckily, Marcus had seen it coming and instead of going home with you, you both stalked out his place from an empty house nearby.

You had to wait till nightfall to flee, grabbing some indispensable belongings and also Marcus’ gladius, bow and arrows. Going northwards to your homeland was out of the question, given that Gaius and his brother would expect exactly that. So with a heavy heart, you accepted that you’d never return to the place you were born. Instead, Marcus had suggested to travel southwards to his hometown, Barium.

It had taken you five days to get there, feet swollen and exhausted from so much walking. Circumventing the town, you had reached Marcus’ family home. The farm had been abandoned, vines growing on the burnt façade of the small two storey farmhouse. The fences were destroyed, thick and lush vegetation taking over the farmland surrounding the building.

When you first landed eyes on the dilapidated house, Marcus’ face had torn with sadness. He didn’t speak as he approached cautiously and neither did you, giving him time to process. It had to be really hard seeing his childhood home crumbled down to its foundations, a pool of happy memories long forgotten coming back.

He showed you around, the inside of his home as bad as it looked on the outside. It was obvious people had taken the last possessions of his family, leaving behind the things that were not salvageable after the fire. The walls were still black with soot and ash, some parts of the ceiling had collapsed, the thick wooden beams becoming dust the moment you touched them.

The house was destroyed, the land barren. And Marcus stood there — steadfast, impassible. Or, at least, trying to contain the emotions running wild through his tired features.

Despite his betrayal, his lies… you felt for him. The first few days in that cell after the guards had taken you away left you with too much time in your hands. Time to overthink, to analyse, to worry yourself to death. In the end, you had come to realise that, although he could have done things differently, you understood why he couldn’t bring himself to be honest with you.

Because truth be told… you didn’t know what you’d done had the roles been reversed. If the battle after the siege of Alesia had ended in your favour, if you had taken Acacius hostage and brought him to your father… Would you have disobeyed your father’s orders of executing him? Would you have gone up in arms against your own people for someone you didn’t truly know?

Probably not. Definitely not.

So, you could only make peace with what had happened. Never forget but perhaps work towards forgiveness. Because, whether you liked it or not, you loved him. Despite how much you tried to flatly refuse that notion, you did. You fell for him, for the little details, the unspoken care, his easy demeanour. His gentleness. His heart, a bit rough around the edges, but the perfect fit to yours.

It was almost derisory. A trick of fate placed him in your path, an imminent collision of stars. Unavoidable. Final. As if Cathubodua Herself had put Marcus in your path for a reason.

“This was my room,” Marcus’ low whisper brought you back to the mundane plane.

It was a small, rectangular room. A broken window let the light in, shining on the tiny dust particles floating around. A bed with wooden posts, a wardrobe, and a chest. There was rubble everywhere, but otherwise pretty much intact.

Acacius walked through the debris and knelt in front of the chest. Taking in a deep breath, he lifted the heavy lid. You peeked above his shoulder, getting a glimpse of his past.

He chuckled; a sad gurgling noise stuck in his chest.

“My mother loved Saturnalia. It’s a festivity we celebrate in December to honour Saturn. Every year she’d made a sigillarium for me. She had a theme going on, they were always shaped as soldiers from the Roman army,” he took a terracotta figurine out, his thumb caressing the piece with reverence. “A centurion, a tribune, a legate… On my last birthday here, with them, she gifted me this.”

Marcus raised to his feet, handing over the figurine he was holding close to his heart. You took it with extreme care, afraid it would break between your fingers. The perfectly preserved sigillarium was that of a General with a black armour, a golden Medusa on the center of the breastplate. Just like the one Marcus wore in battle.

“Excuse the terrible paint job, I was never born to be an artist,” he joked, but you could see the anguish in his brown, tearful eyes. “I was so obsessed with becoming a General one day, I even wrote my name on the sole of its foot.”

You turned the piece around to inspect it and there it was, his name scrawled by a young hand.

“It’s beautiful,” you muttered, heart up in your throat. “Sounds like your mother was an amazing, loving woman.”

And he’d lost her. His father too. How alienating that had to be for a young lad with no other family.

“She… was,” Marcus barely husked out, briefly overtaken by grief. “It’s been a long time since I thought about all of this.”

You put the figurine back in the chest and laced your arms around his waist, hugging him close. He soon enveloped you too, his good hand landing on the back of your head.

Time went by, neither of you too sure for how long you both stood there. Until the hug naturally came to an end and Marcus kissed your forehead.

“Right. Enough reminiscing. Let me clean this room up a bit, we’ll spend the night here and decide what we’ll do in the morning.”

“I can help—”

“No,” he cut you off instantly. “You’re hurt, mel. You need to rest and recover.”

Gaius had put you through hell, the bruising map of your skin changing colour every single day. However, the worst wounds were not the ones visible to the naked eye, but the fragments of soul you’d lost.

And despite the pain, the emotional toll you’d taken, you were not going to let it get to you. Raised to be strong, to overcome challenges, you wouldn’t give up on yourself so easily. Not while there was a reason to keep going. In the last few months, you had lost nothing and everything. But you were ready to get it all back.

Before you could retort, Marcus guided you to a chair and got to work. Hours passed while you talked and shared snippets of your past lives, of family and friends, of childhood memories, while Acacius cleared the room. It was weird how easy it was to talk to him, how the conversation flowed naturally, never running out of topics to discuss.

“Yes, blood baths,” you said, the topic at hand having devolved rapidly into some darker matters. “Literal blood baths.”

“And you just… what? Soak in it for a while?” his confusion was so evident, you laughed.

“Yes, Marcus. It’s believed it invigorates you before a battle.”

“And whose blood is that?”

“Usually animals. Wild boars and the like,” you omitted the fact that some did use human blood, but you were not sure that his righteous mind could take that information and be normal about it.

“Usually?”

Well, he did pick up on it. You just shrugged and couldn’t help but cackle when he paled a bit at the realisation.

“I’ll stop asking questions now,” he shook his head as he laid the animal skins on the bare mattress, the room finally clean.

“For your own good, yeah, might as well.”

“Let’s eat something. Something that doesn’t bleed, preferably,” he jested, offering you a hand to stand up from the chair.

After picking up some vegetables and fruits from around the farmland, Marcus and you reconvened to show each other your findings. Some fruit trees had survived the fire as well as bushes. There wasn’t much though, considering how cold it was outside, but you would make do with what you had.

You dropped a makeshift basket on top of the chest and stepped aside for Marcus to see.

“I see you’ve gone for the berries and nuts,” he said, picking up a chestnut. “These are so sweet, here, try.”

He cracked it open and passed it on. You nibbled it, surprised of how sweet it actually tasted. The ones you had had before were bitterer, drier.

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing,” you ate the rest of it, almost licking your fingertips. “Look how plump these cherries look, I’ve been dying to try them since I picked them!”

Your hand darted forward, grabbing a handful of dark purple cherries — they looked so juicy and shiny. As you brought them to your mouth, Marcus’ fingers wrapped around your wrist, his eyes slightly widened with a sudden fear you didn’t comprehend.

“The bush you picked these from, did it have lilac bell-shaped flowers?”

“Yes?”

“Do not eat those,” he stole them from your hand, throwing them back into the basket. “That’s deadly nightshade. It’s very poisonous. A few of those berries and you wouldn’t live to tell the tale.”

“Oh,” you stuttered, your heart pumping wildly as you swiped your hand on your clothing. “I didn’t know.”

“Let’s go wash our hands in the stream nearby, then we’ll eat. Need to make sure there are no traces of those berries on your palms, okay?” he gently put a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft again.

Perhaps it wasn’t a feast fit for kings, but it was definitely tasty. Marcus had found some pomegranates, figs and pears, and along with the chestnuts, cranberries and almonds you’d found, you both were full.

Night had fallen with a thick blanket, the stars bright and clear in the sky with a full moon illuminating the farmland around the house. Despite how desolate it all looked, it was tranquil and beautiful. You could see yourself living off the land, growing old, so far apart from humanity no one would bother you.

As you laid in bed with Marcus, you wondered what he would think of that. All his life he’d worked hard to escape this very destiny, and by whims of fate, he’d ended up exactly where he’d started.

“I like it here,” you ventured as he covered you both with the warm animal skins.

Marcus stirred under you, finding a comfortable position, but it was obvious your statement had unsettled him a bit.

“It’s not too bad,” he replied, nuzzling your hair. “I suppose that when you’re a child, everything looks worse than what it actually is. I never realised how much I missed this place until we set foot here this morning. I did have everything I wanted and needed. I wonder what my life would have looked like if I stayed, if I’d have been able to…”

He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. If he would have been able to save his parents, to put out the fire before it engulfed everything. Your heart squeezed a little — it was hard not to develop feelings for a man like him. Even when he’d let a beast take control of you. At least, he had rectified that.

“It’s never good to dwell in the what ifs, because you’ll only hurt yourself with scenarios that might or might have not happened,” you offered him some words of wisdom, kissing his jawline while your thumb traced invisible circles on his sternum. “Besides, if you had never become a General, you wouldn’t have met me.”

“And wouldn’t that have been a good thing?” he blurted out with his eyes glued to the ceiling, his guilt showing again.

A side of you agreed with him. But, at the same time, deep down you knew it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. The Romans would have won anyway, your people starved out after a month-long siege. Someone else would have taken Marcus’ place, someone who would have felt no remorse in delivering you to a beast and disposing of you, without giving you a second thought.

“We will never know,” you nuzzled the crook of his neck, his warmth seeping into your body. “And that’s the point I’m trying to make. It doesn’t matter. I believe in fate, in Cathubodua. She knows the outcome of every warrior in battle. Everything that has happened to me, to my people, was destined to be.” It didn’t make it easier though.

Marcus let go of a heavy sigh, his lips brushing your forehead with a gentleness that tugged at your heart. Because as divided as you were, as messy as this all was, your love for him was undeniable. Perhaps it was fated. Perhaps you had to suffer before you could live the life you wanted with the man you loved.

“Your goddess is definitely capricious. But I guess it makes sense,” his hand rubbed your shoulders, soothing your bristled skin.

“She gives the toughest battles to Her strongest warriors,” you joked, because that was what your father used to say.

“Well, She isn’t wrong about that. You’re the strongest person I know, that’s for sure,” he rasped, your sights locking in.

When he leaned in for a kiss, you met him halfway. The dance of tongues quickly mutated into something more intimate, more passionate. Every time you playfully retreated, he’d come and find you, dragging your tongue into his mouth. Marcus propped his elbow against the mattress so half his frame would blanket you while you just melted under his touch.

His free hand played with the hem of your shirt, unsure of what to do. The fact that he just didn’t assume what you wanted reassured you that he was, indeed, a good man. With your palm against the back of his hand, you slithered both under your garment, and when his fingers finally cupped one of your breasts, you let go.

“Are… are you sure? I don’t want— I don’t want you to think— I don’t want to hurt you. I’m happy with just holding you tonight, knowing that you’re here with me,” he confessed with a trembling voice that warmed your heart.

“I’m sure, Marcus,” you peppered kisses on his lips, his chin, his neck — anywhere your mouth would reach. “I’ve missed you.”

With a feeble smile, Marcus leaned down again, your lips fitting perfectly as his thumb swiped your nipple gently. The fondling on your breast became more pleasant with every stroke and once your taut button was all worked up, Marcus proceeded to pay the same attention to your other boob.

In no time you were breathing heavily under him, wanting to get rid of the barriers between your bodies. You fought with his shirt, and sensing your desperation, Marcus helped you get rid of it and everything else, until you both were bare in front of each other.

Marcus was kneeling on top of you, his thick thighs to either side of yours. He looked so mighty, so perfect, it was hard to ignore how handsome he was. Built like a god, you’d worship him in his temple every single day if you could. And while you devoured the sight in front of you, his weeping cock ready to take you, his eyes lingered elsewhere.

You were so lost in the moment, you’d forgotten the map of bruises dotted around your whole body. But Marcus hadn’t — you could see his irises darkening with every bruise he discovered, every mark on your skin. For the last few days, you’d done your best at covering them, but now it was unavoidable.

Gaius had done a number on you, he’d been relentlessly brutal. Every night you’d fear his mood. When he’d get you out of the crate he’d thrown you in, you knew there would be hell to pay, even though you had nothing to do with it. The month spent with him had been your darkest time, his imprints on your skin ones you wished away every night.

“I’m so sorry,” Marcus ran a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose. “You didn’t deserve this. I should have acted sooner. Damn, I should have told you when we were at Lake Bracciano, give you the opp—”

“Marcus,” you called, gently removing his hand from his face so he would look at you. “What’s done is done. Let’s not think about the what ifs now, alright? I’m here now, wanting you inside me, erasing the imprint of…” you choked for a second, unable to put it into words. “Creating new memories. Can you do that, please?”

“I swear to the Gods that I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, mel,” Marcus leaned forward again, his chest flush with yours as his fingers caressed your neck. “I love you.”

Even though it was the second time you had heard those three words strung together, this time around it felt… warm and hopeful, not desperate and hopeless.

Your hand landed on the back of his neck to push him down, your mouths crashing again.

Marcus painted a love map on your skin, his lips pressing kisses on every bruise he could find, awakening the side of you that had been dormant since the moment you left his side in the stables. Soon enough his kisses travelled south, too far down. When he settled flat between your thighs, nipping below your belly button, one of your hands darted to his head, grabbing a fistful of his curls.

“It’s okay, cor meum (my heart). Let me make you feel good, please,” he cooed, and you couldn’t resist.

Freeing his hair, Marcus slithered further down until his mouth kissed your inner thighs. A little shy, you tried hiding your core, but his insistent pecks along with his broad shoulders coaxing your legs apart melted away your last defences.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled, his warm breath fanning your glistening skin. “You are so wet already, sweetheart, and I haven’t even touched this sweet dripping nook yet.”

Before you could say anything, he lapped at your entire slit in one stroke, leaving you gasping for air and moaning his name. Marcus didn’t stop there, urged on by your little whimpers as the tip of his tongue found your hooded clit. He twirled and swirled and latched onto it, your clit throbbing in no time as Marcus ate you out expertly.

Drunk with lust, he nuzzled the tip of his nose on your nub, almost sending you over the edge when he inhaled sharply, feasting on your womanly scent. His mouth soon found your leaking hole and stroked it softly, outlining the circle of your entrance with the tip of his tongue. The moment he dipped it in, you mewled uncontrollably, grabbing onto the animal skins for dear life.

Marcus fucked you with his tongue until the tense coil inside you snapped, a million stars bursting behind your eyelids. Holding onto his hair now, you pressed his face into your pussy, screaming and shaking as you shamelessly came on his mouth. He drank your release eagerly, lapping you clean.

A last kiss on your stimulated kiss, then on your mound, and Marcus finally emerged from in between your legs with a triumphant smile, his moustache and stubble soaked with your cream.

“You taste so good, want to try?” you almost missed his question, your heart beating so hard it was deafening, but you managed to nod.

Marcus climbed up your body and bowed down for a kiss, which you eagerly reciprocated. He tasted sweet — no, you did.

“I need to be inside you, sweetheart. I can’t hold it much longer,” Marcus said almost between gritted teeth.

Gazing down, you saw his throbbing cock resting heavily on your mound. The head was glistening with precum, dripping onto your skin, leaving a beautiful pearl behind. Your cunt gushed at the prospect of housing him, needing him as much as he did you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist and with your heels dug in his buttocks, you pushed him into you. Understanding the unspoken invitation, Marcus aligned his seeping cock with your slick hole and slowly dove in, your walls parting, sheathing him as you were meant to be.

Fully seated now, Marcus kissed the tip of your nose to then rest his forehead against yours. You felt so full, so blissed, there wasn’t room in your mind for anything else. His weight on top of you provided an extra layer of warmth and protecting, his forearms framing your head.

Neither of you spoke, but when Marcus pulled out and back in, you both moaned in unison. His pace was cautious, loving, gentle. His hips waved as he softly fucked into you, drinking your moans in a messy kiss. But it wasn’t long until his slow rhythm devolved into something more urgent, more primal.

Marcus thrusted in more harshly now, the tip of his cock dragging along your anterior wall, hitting the right spot every time. He was pumping into you so hard now, that your whole body swayed under him, no matter how strong you held onto his shoulders. The slap of skin meeting skin and your shared arousal gurgling every time he hammered into you sent you into overdrive.

You climbed to the top of your pleasure, Marcus helping you get there quickly. With one last push, you finally came crashing down, your pussy juicing around his girth while your inner walls hugged him tight, clenching and pulsing wildly, commending him to follow you into a blissful orgasm.

“You’re too damn tight, holding onto me like that,” Marcus grumbled, fighting against his own climax now. “Mel, please let go, I can’t—”

You shook your head no, digging your heels into his ass cheeks again so he would continue to fuck into you, chasing his own climax. Finding relief within you. You squeezed your walls around him, wanting to milk him.

“Shit, are you sur—?”

“Marcus,” you cut him off, eyes hazy with desire, mind numb. “Come inside. Fill me up, warm me up.”

With a strangled moan, Marcus’ head fell in the crook of your neck whilst he rutted into you like a man possessed. His cock pulsed inside you, and you consciously clutched around him at the same time you raked your fingers through his sweaty curls.

Until he finally spilt inside you, his warm seed coating your walls with his pearly white. And when you thought he was done, Marcus surprised you with yet another spurt, his spent filling you up to the brim.

Marcus crumbled on top of you, his softening cock still snug inside your pussy, his whole body weight crushing you. But instead of suffocating, it felt calming, soothing. For a long while you both stayed there — you drawing invisible lines on his back, and him kissing every bruise until you both fell asleep on his tiny childhood bed.

Hooves. A clip-clop sound in the distance, slowly approaching. The wind carried a command, “They’re here, find them.”

At first, Marcus thought it a dream. But soon he realised it was no product of his imagination at all. The voices were very real, threatening the peace of his home. Even though he knew who they were, he still needed confirmation.

Getting up from bed, careful not to wake you yet, Marcus peeked through the window. His fear materialised the second he recognised Gaius and three of his goons. They were on foot, although Marcus was sure of what he heard, therefore suspected they had left their horses hidden away somewhere nearby.

You both had to leave. Now. There wasn’t much time to do anything about it — chances were not good when you were doubled in number, and you were still recovering from your injuries. He could take some lives with his, but would prefer not to get to swordfight if he could avoid it.

Lurching forth, Marcus tapped your shoulder with urgency, his thumb brushing your cheek as your eyelashes fluttered open.

“Mhm?” you mumbled, sleepy, as you rubbed your eye with the side of your hand.

“They’ve found us. Gaius is here, mel. We need to leave,” he urged you, helping you up when your orbs finally popped open with alarm. “Listen to me. We’re going to be fine. Their horses must be on the back, tied by the river. We get there, being as stealthy as possible, and we leave.”

“Marcus,” you exhaled, panicky, as you stood up.

He could see the memories flooding your mind, your eyes blurry with pain. His heart cried for you, for the harsh times he’d put you through. But you were right, there was no time to dwell on the past, he couldn’t change it. But he could protect you now, learn from his mistakes.

“Grab the bow and arrow,” he hurried towards the pile of armour, putting it on as fast as he could.

You gave him a hand, tightening the leather strips to secure the breastplate in place, and then took the weapons, while Marcus seized his gladius. Right behind you, Marcus guided you through the rubble to get to the back of the house. The voices were closer now, prominent as they talked to each other, clearing the rooms they’d already checked out.

The backdoor connecting the kitchen with the backyard was blocked with debris, so Marcus helped you up the window. When your feet landed on the ground, he perched himself on the windowsill.

“Acacius!” Gaius’ guttural groan made him turn before he jumped off the window.

The man’s features were distorted by rage, spit flying off his mouth when he repeated his name again. The sight of him made his blood boil, his primal instinct asking him to make him pay for what he’d done to you. But he couldn’t risk your safety again. Perhaps one day he could act on it.

With his heart pumping hard, Marcus veered around and jumped off the window. Your widened eyes told him you’d heard your captor’s voice now. The horror they emanated just made his chest swell with regret.

The men were too close, he doubted you both could lose them in a chase. Had he reacted sooner, perhaps you could have escaped the house before they set foot in it. But now, with them on your heels, chances were slim.

If he wanted to give you a fighting chance, to delay these men, he knew what he had to do. And, surprisingly, the decision was easy to make, as easy as breathing really. It was the least he could do for you and if he made it out alive, then he’d make sure to find you afterwards. But the reality was, he knew he wouldn’t survive fighting four men on his own.

“No matter what, you run. You run for those trees and don’t look back,” he desperately asked of you. “You hear me? You keep running.”

“Marcus—”

“You keep running,” he punctuated every word. “Promise me.”

“I… I promise,” you muttered, squeezing his hand in yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now run. I’ll be right behind you,” he pushed your shoulders.

As soon as your feet rushed beneath you, Marcus stopped a few metres behind you. Swirling around on his heels, gladius on hand and standing his ground, Marcus faced the men giving you chase.

If this was how he died, it was a noble way to go.

Running on pure adrenaline, you ran as fast as your feet could take you. Your heart was thudding in your chest, climbing up your throat, your lungs burning. Everything hurt, this strenuous effort not aiding your healing at all.

“Marcus—”

When you turned around, just a few feet away from the forest’s boundary, you realised he was nowhere to be seen. You scanned your surroundings nervously but couldn’t locate him. He said he’d be right behind you, so where the fuck was he?

Coming to a complete halt, you looked in the distance and your heart plummeted to the depths of your stomach. Marcus had stayed behind to win you time. To sacrifice himself for your freedom.

“No, no, no, no,” you chanted as your heartbeat rang anxiously in your eardrums.

Desperation took over you, not being able to come to terms with what was happening. You wouldn’t let him do this, not if you could avoid it. Dying for you was not the way to mend your wounds, it would only make them deeper and more painful.

No, you were not letting him do this.

Retracing your steps, you ran back towards them. As you approached the fight, closing in the distance, you saw three bodies peppered around on the ground, unresponsive and bloody. From the distance you couldn’t tell who they were, but when your frightened eyes landed on the two figures exchanging blows, you knew they were Marcus and Gaius.

When you were only fifty meters away, a bunch of branches crunched beneath your feet. The noise, which should have gone unnoticed, alerted Marcus of your presence. His focus redirected at you for a second, eyes wide with fear for your safety, opening his flank to Gaius.

“Marcus, no!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, trying to alert him of Gaius’ next blow.

You shouted too late. Gaius struck Marcus to the floor, your lover’s sword jangling when it landed far from his hand.

Time stilled, everything happening at very slow motion.

Gaius towered behind Marcus, grabbing his hair to have him on his knees.

You stopped right in your tracks, pulling the bow above your head.

Marcus’ eyes locked in with yours, a silent plea for you to keep running, to stay away from this, all while Gaius placed a sword right in front of his neck.

You slotted in the arrow, aim clear, your target Gaius’ forehead.

Gaius laughed.

You let go of the shaft, the arrow flying fast towards them.

And just in the nick of time, before the arrowhead met Gaius’ head, your captor sliced Marcus’ throat.

“NO!” you wailed, dropping to your knees, fingers digging in the ground while your heart got obliterated right in front of you.

The arrow kissed Gaius’ forehead, then he tumbled back and fell backwards, the sound of his bodyweight not being half as satisfying as it should have been. When Gaius’ fingers let go of Marcus’ head, Acacius dropped to his side, a river of red staining his armour.

As fast as you could, you rose to your feet and skidded through the mud when you got to Marcus’ side.

He was still bleeding but was long gone. Life had abandoned his brown orbs, now dull and opaque. Marcus was still warm as you cradled his battered body close to your chest. For the first few minutes while you held him, you felt nothing. But when his body began to turn cold in your embrace, reality set in.

He was dead. The man who brought you here, the man who lied to you, the man who saw his own weakness and decided to change, the man you loved, the man who sacrificed himself so you could escape.

Perhaps the outcome would have been different had you not alerted him of your presence. What if he hadn’t heard you? What if he hadn’t been distracted? What if he had won Gaius, had you obeyed his orders? What if his death was your fault after all?

“It’s never good to dwell in the what ifs, because you’ll only hurt yourself with scenarios that might or might have not happened,” you had told him not long ago.

There was no point to overanalyse everything that had happened. What was done, was done.

Still hugging him, you cried your sorrows and regrets until the day bled into nightfall. When your eyes finally ran dry, you dragged Marcus’ dead body inside. You managed to lay him on his back on his childhood bed, and took the time to clean the blood off his skin. Sutured the gash on his neck too, changed his clothes for fresh ones, and checked Marcus’ belongings.

He still had some coins in his saddlebag. You found two denarii, which you grabbed before returning to his deathbed. Carefully, you placed the coins over his shut eyes — you knew some of the Roman rites, having seen them being performed after battles. It was payment for the ferryman who would carry Marcus’ soul over to the Underworld.

Then you snatched the sigillarium he’d shown you last night—the one his mother gifted him of a General with his name carved in the sole of its boot—and placed it on his chest. You hoped his parents were right there waiting for him, welcoming him with open arms.

You knelt by his side, keeping vigil, while your thumb gently stroked the back of his hand.

Your future was uncertain but clear at the same time. You were deep down in enemy’s territory, with no way of getting back to your homeland. Alone, with no friends and Marcus dead. Your father would probably be paying now for your escape, for Gaius’ and his men’s deaths.

There weren’t many more options at hand.

So you stood up, sauntering towards the baskets with the remaining fruit from last night. The purple berries were still there, and Marcus’ clear words suddenly came back to you.

“A few of those berries and you wouldn’t live to tell the tale.”

It was apparent now why you would have picked them. Destiny knew.

With no doubt left stalking you now, you picked ten of them and one by one brought them to your lips. Slowly you chewed them, the rich sweetness of their flavour a welcome taste on your tongue. It was true what they said, that death was sweet.

You returned to the bed where Marcus was lying and climbed on it, you curled up against his side and kissed his cheek one last time. Taking a few deep breaths, you let yourself fall in an eternal slumber.

Perhaps you’d meet him in that underground cave, perhaps he’d be waiting for you.

Perhaps this was how it was all supposed to end, what was fated from the beginning. What was truly meant to be — a lovers’ struggle, a lovers’ tragedy.

A lovers’ end.

[corroded-hellfire]

I can 100% imagine that while reader put headphones in her tummy when she was pregnant with Eliza or the new pregnancy, she would make the baby listen to Billy Joel and when she's distracted or if she fell sleep, Eddie would change it to any of his favorite metal bands 😂

I love this idea so much! It’s very them, lol. I set this while reader is pregnant with Eliza 🩷

Words: 1.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

It’s became a running joke between you and your husband by your third trimester. The first time it happened, you had still been in the first initial throes of pregnancy, the exhaustion wreaking havoc on your system every day. It wasn’t uncommon for Eddie to come home and see you curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Sometimes you’d be in bed or even soaking in the bath, but the couch seemed to become your late afternoon snooze location. 

One day when Eddie came home and saw you bundled up beneath your favorite purple blanket, he smiled and headed towards the kitchen. But he froze halfway through the living room. What was that sound?

Eddie turned, eyes searching high and low for whatever could be creating the low murmuring sound that filled his ears. He took a few steps closer to the couch and realized it was coming from you. 

Carefully, as not to disturb you, Eddie lifted the blanket and let out a small chuckle when he saw the headphones planted securely on your tummy. They were connected to your portable CD player, and as Eddie crouched down to be on the same level as your stomach, he tried to peek into the little window to see if he could tell what CD was inside. No luck, though.

Instead, Eddie moved as slowly and silently as possible to pull the headphones off your barely-there bump. He held them up to his ears to hear what you’re playing for your baby.

Brando, "The King and I", and "The Catcher in the Rye"

Eisenhower, Vaccine, England's got a new queen

Marciano, Liberace, Santayana, goodbye

“Oh, my sweet baby,” Eddie whispered. “What is she making you listen to? No, no. I will not let your mother subject you to Billy Joel. Wait right here. Well—you don’t have a choice, really.”

Eddie gently set down the headphones and pushed himself up from his crouched position. He took a few steps over to the stereo tucked in the corner of the room and rifled through his collection of CDs.

“Ah. Here we go.”

He plucked one and came back over to you, leaned down again, and quickly and quietly switched out your CD for a Metallica one. It took a moment to load, but then he pressed play and held the headphones up so he could hear.

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

And nothing else matters

“Much better.”

Eddie smiled to himself as he slipped the headphones back on your tummy and headed upstairs to get cleaned up.

Not even ten minutes later, you walked into your bedroom just as your husband was coming out of the adjoining bathroom. 

“Hey, baby,” he greeted. Then he saw the unimpressed look on your face. “What?”

“Why did I fall asleep to the smooth voice of Billy Joel, only to wake up to the depressing Nothing Else Matters?”

“Hey, when I came home, We Didn’t Start the Fire was playing. Not exactly the most cheerful song.”

“Keep your mitts off my headphones. Or it’s war, baby.”

And it became war. 

Sometimes you would grab your CD player and headphones right before Eddie came home, just for him to find you subjecting your child to your music. The only time he wouldn’t take the bait was if he was exhausted from work. Which meant, most times he had the energy to grab a metal CD and replace it with whatever pop one you had in.

Occasionally, this led to physical struggles, which involved a lot of laughing and rolling around on the floor with one another. The first few times that Ryan and Luke heard you squealing from the roughhousing, they’d come in to check on you. After the fourth time, they knew the sound meant another music battle was going on. 

When you got your energy back in the second trimester, it became harder for Eddie to switch out the music because you weren’t randomly falling asleep as much. Which meant he needed a new plan of attack. Sometimes after you’d fall asleep in your bed at night, Eddie would tiptoe over to grab your portable CD player and headphones, pop a Metallica disc in, then put the headphones on your belly. If you didn’t roll over and knock them off or yank the cord, you’d most likely wake up in the morning after the CD finished.

It leads you to now, where you’re sitting on your bed on a Saturday afternoon, the windows open and letting in the warm summer breeze and the pleasant birdsongs. Eddie has his head in your lap, one hand on your pronounced bump. 

“Was that another kick?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a wince. 

The baby was now reaching the point where she’d be awake all night, moving around and not allowing you to get any sleep. It was getting uncomfortable, and you were hoping having Eddie here, rubbing your stomach would lull her to sleep. No dice so far.

“Here, can you hand me my headphones?” you ask, nodding towards your nightstand. “Maybe music will help.”

“And what music, may I ask, are you intending to play for our little sweet pea?” Eddie raises his eyebrows at you.

“I’ve had luck with Piano Man before,” you tell him.

“Don’t you think we should try—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Metal music makes her rowdy.”

“That’s my girl.” Eddie grins.

“Be a proud papa later. Right now, help your wife get some rest.”

“Wait…” Eddie hops off the bed and disappears out the bedroom door. He comes back a minute later brandishing a CD case.

“Have you tried this?” he asks.

You hold your hand out and bring the case closer once your husband hands it to you.

“The Phantom of the Opera? Huh. No, I haven’t. There are some good songs that could be used as lullabies in here.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Eddie says as he crawls back on the bed with you. “Here, I’ll set it up for you.”

You watch as Eddie opens the case and pops the CD into the player, a fond smile on your face the whole time.

“So, we’ll call this a truce right now?” you ask.

“I suppose so,” Eddie says, handing you the headphone. “Guess you and I have to be a team against this hyper baby girl.”

“Right. When she pops out, we can try to sway her with our music,” you add.

“Deal.” 

Eddie holds out his hand and you shake it with a chuckle.

You situate the headphones on your stomach just as Eddie presses play.

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation

Darkness stirs and wakes imagination

Silently the senses abandon their defenses

Your husband curls up next to you and slowly rubs his hand up and down your belly. It only takes a few minutes before the movement in your womb slows down. You breathe a sigh of relief and rest your head against Eddie’s. 

“Better?” he whispers.

“Mhmm,” you hum, letting your tired eyes fall shut. 

A soft song is whispered near your ear and it takes you a moment to realize it’s Eddie singing Piano Man.

“Thought this song was a no?” you ask, voice already halfway fallen into sleep.

“Yeah, for the baby,” Eddie says. “But it’s too late for you. Your taste is solidified. So, I might as well give in.”

Eddie’s teasing tone makes you chuckle. He presses a kiss to the side of your head before picking up the tune again. 

Sing us a song. You're the piano man

Sing us a song tonight

Well, we're all in the mood for a melody

And you've got us feeling alright

[klaus-littlestwolf]

an you please write some yandere Daemon hc's

Yan!Daemon T. HC’s

(I also received a request for Daemon and Rhaenyra’s sister HC’s so I’m going to combine them for this one-sorry it’s so short but I just wanted to write a short Daemon one tonight)

Honestly I’m kind of sorry I’m never in more Daemon moods rather than Aemond. Aemond is my Babygirl and my fav Targaryen of all time and ofc my fav little war criminal but I love Daemon and I’ve been asked if I would be willing to write for him more so if you have any specific Daemon requests that you think I would pull off well go ahead and send them🤷🏼‍♀️

~Daemon adored you the moment he laid eyes on you

•He was the first person besides the Maester to hold you. Your mother was sleeping soundly after the difficult birth and as the Maester was bringing Y/n to the King, Daemon cut him off and insisted he would do it himself

•He took his time getting to the small council where the King waited to see his second child, he was content just playing with you as you kept snatching his thumb and trying to suck on it, squeezing tightly which he was impressed by-already a tough Targaryen, he couldn’t wait to see the strong Dragon Rider you would become

•It wasn’t often that Daemon held babies but you were the cutest little thing he had ever laid eyes on and it was difficult to release you.

‘It is a girl brother.’ He announced as he walked in, all men now staring at the vicious Targaryen man that was wild enough to mount Caraxes, as he cradled a small babe who held his fingers tightly without making a single sound.

‘She is beautiful.’ Viserys stated as his younger brother handed him his daughter, grinning like an idiot at the sweet little girl.

‘Another girl. I am sensing a pattern my King.’ The Lannister teased and before the King could comment, Dark Sister was at the idiots throat and he dared not even swallow to avoid being nicked by the Valyrian Steel blade.

‘That is enough brother. You have taught him his lesson. Come now, let us go and find Rhaenyra, she will want to meet her little sister.’ Viserys stood but Daemon cut him off.

‘Actually I believe I should go to the pits, she will need an egg in her cradle tonight. I will choose the most beautiful one possible, brother.’ He nodded and Daemon was off to get his niece her first gift though if he had it his way he would teach his niece to fly right beside him on Caraxes, cradled like their mother had done for them.

~Y/n looked up to her uncle and loved him very dearly all her life

•He was the first one to comfort her when her second egg did not hatch when she was given it at 6, she was heart broken but her Uncle made her feel better

‘Of course you will have a dragon, it will just take time. You will mount your own dragon like a true rider, you’ve nothing to worry about my darling.’ Daemon kissed the girls head before leaving her to her studies as soon as her tears had dried up.

~Daemons affection for her grew as she got older and once she was 17 years old he knew he needed to make her his

•The men fighting for your hand were boys, children who could never care for his precious niece like she deserved and so Daemon took her for himself

•He stole you away in the night and married you, finding the fact that your Uncle loved you as you did him to be something you could not live with married to another man

•Your father lost his mind, he tried to annul the marriage but it had been consummated already and you refused to leave Daemon, getting angry at your father for hitting your husband (though you hadn’t seen the smirk Daemon wore at the idea of having you all to himself)

•You fought with your father viciously once you both returned to the Red Keep and though it went on for almost an hour, eventually your father dropped the subject-not wanting to risk losing his second child over a marriage that he didn’t approve of

~Daemon and his Niece!wife ended up on Dragonstone with Rhaenyra and her sons

•His first two daughters lived on Driftmark with their grandmother and visited often, both loving their cousin/step mother dearly and begging for more common visits however it didn’t happen much once Daemon first filled you up with a baby

•Daemon had never been happier than the day that you went into labor-unlike most men he insisted on being in the room and holding onto your hand tightly (allowing you to squeeze his hand as firmly as you needed)-refusing to let what happened to Laena Ever happen again and telling the Maester months before the delivery that if he so much as even considered cutting his wife open as an option in any way that he would cut him open from balls to brains and find them a new Maester that knew what he was doing

•You gave Daemon his first son the first time you gave him a child and he was over the moon! Once the Maester handed him his son he didn’t want to ever let him go, pacing with the baby boy-Daemion- until he began crying and Daemon realized he was keeping his son from his very first meal as his wife looked over at him truly exasperated

•Once you finally fell asleep as your son had been cleaned and fed Daemon took him down the hall-the King had come when you wrote and asked for his presence since you were so close to giving birth

‘Brother…would you like to meet your first nephew?’ Daemon asked, peeking into the library where his brother waited upon hearing your screams of pain, everyone else having joined him.

‘A boy! Yes! Wonderful brother!’ He grinned, holding out his arms and taking his brothers first son into his hold.

‘What has she named him?’ Rhaenyra inquired, moving to see the silver haired angel along with Jace and Luke, as well as Helaena and Aemond who moved to peek at the boy as well.

‘Daemion. He is in perfect health, and my wife is doing splendidly, even after breaking 2 of my fingers.’ He joked, though he knew it was true as he looked down and still couldn’t move his last 2 fingers on his left hand.

‘May I have the pleasure, Uncle?’ Rhaenyra asked, unable to look away from the perfect little Angel that she called a nephew.

‘Of course Rhaenyra.’

•Rhaenyra loved Daemion more than she thought possible, Aemond, Aegon and Helaena also loving their elder sisters son and her next 3 sons and daughter as well-Y/n having been very good to them in their childhoods in ways that their mother was not, all looking to her for comfort in their youth-it was her in the end that kept the family from killing each other more often than not

~Once the King died, Rhaenyra was promptly settled as Queen thanks to her younger sister-though it was completely unintentional

•Aemond set out to find Aegon as their mother told him to, however both brothers rode for Dragonstone not an hour later with Vhagar and Sunfyre

•Rhaenyra hadn’t realized how much her younger brothers loved her sister until they landed outside of the courtyard, everyone coming outside in question of the impromptu appearance, and she knew in that moment that if it wasn’t for her sisters kind heart in raising those boys when Alicent didn’t that the idea of her being Queen may have just been a fantasy

‘My sweet boys!’ Y/n smiled, raising her arms and hugging the both of them to her firmly, Aemond and Aegon hugging the girl back as they always did (Y/n ignored Daemons jealous growl at the interaction-he hated the fact that he knew his nephews had “Mommy Issues” and they were much too in love with his wife in his opinion-Both boys just avoided the subject since they knew he was right, keeping it very well hidden from her all their lives)

‘Hello Sister!’ Aegon smiled, kissing her cheek.

‘What brings you both here like this…what has happened?’ She worried, looking to Aemond to explain as she picked up her daughter, holding her tightly as she was now worried at the looks on her brothers faces.

‘We wished to avoid a war all together. Father is dead…and our Mother is determined to see Aegon ascend the throne. Grandfather insisted that you should all bow to the new King or he would send Vhagar to burn Dragonstone to the ground…I could never in my life have come to hurt you or your children sister, nor could Aegon.’ They all knew that there was no love lost between Rhaenyra, her sons, and her brothers but everyone knew that both brothers and Helaena loved Y/n passionately.

‘Helaena could not get the twins and fly with us quickly enough however she is waiting for you all with excitement.’ Aegon told her, pulling something from his bag and stepping closer to their eldest sister, unwrapping the object and presenting Rhaenyra the crown of “Jaehaerys the Conciliator”. ‘My Queen.’ He spoke softly, clearly not enjoying it but kneeling in front of her, Y/n taking the crown and setting it onto her sisters head as everyone around them knelt before their new Queen, Y/n joining them quickly.

~Daemon and Y/n moved back to Kings Landing with Rhaenyra and her family

•Daemon ended up on Rhaenyra’s council along with his wife who forced him to work with Aemond in controlling the Queens army

•Rhaenys made a wonderful Hand of the Queen as the last hand ended up in the Black Cells for the rest of his life

•Daemon was content with his wife in the Red Keep as his days were not full of commanding the Army and impregnating his wife who ended up giving him 5 sons and 3 daughters all together-Caraxes providing almost all of Daemons children with dragons with both Silverwing who Y/n ended up mounting and Syrax-also providing Aemond and Alys’ sons with dragons of their own a few years later as well (Daemon having introduced the two in order to keep Aemond away from his wife who he seemed to become more and more obsessed with the more babies she gave Daemon)

~Daemons obsession and marriage to his young niece seemed to have given almost everyone everything they wanted-at least it gave Damon everything he wanted and that’s all that mattered to him in the end

Daemon T. Masterlist

[vexwerewolf]

I’m suddenly getting swathes of Lancer hate across my feed… Has something happened in the fandom? “Union is ______ how could they paint them as even remotely good. They allow _____, and I hate the devs they are ______. The whole thing is just 40k with communist veneer”.

Like am I taking crazy pills…? I thought that all of the problems were literally like right there on the tin “we are a utopia in progress! We will obtain it by any means possible even if it means being everything we say we are not/fighting against. As the player you decide what is right. How much will you ignore for someone else’s idea of utopia?” Like doesn’t it mean all the tools to actually change are there and that is the HOPE aspect of all of this?

(Sorry if this in incoherent grammar is a weak point and I pulled something in my back simply standing up. Now I am sad and crook backed in spasmodic pain)

This isn't an argument I feel super enthusiastic about stepping into, because it gets the most annoying sort of people in your mentions eager to maliciously misrepresent what you say.

However, yeah, there are some pretty terrible readings of Union floating around. I'd invoke "media literacy" because think that a lot of this comes from people not really holistically engaging with the fictional future history of Lancer, but also from a sort of dogmatic purism that requires future societies to be flawless, else they're irredeemable.

It is important to note that ThirdComm is the direct descendant of two highly imperfect societies. FirstComm was formed as a response to the Three Great Traumas of discovering the Massif Vaults (and thus that they were the inheritors of a fallen world), the wars over the Massif Vaults, and the discovery of the lost colonies, all of which collectively showed humanity how close it had come to total extinction.

FirstComm decided that it had a responsibility to ensure that humanity never risked extinction again. It manifested this by trying to colonize every habitable planet it could find, pumping out ship after ship to seed the cosmos with as much human life as it possibly could. This led to problems when it encountered civilizations like the Karrakin Federation and the Aun, who had been carrying humanity's torch just fine by themselves, thank you very much.

SecComm was an Anthrochauvinist fascist state. The book defines it thusly:

We can see a lot of Anthrochauvinist historical romanticism in the mech naming schemes of Harrison Armory, SSC and IPS-N - the fact that Harrison Armory names its mechs after great military leaders of pre-Fall Earth history, IPS-N does the same with naval figures, and SSC uses the names of Earth animals. Even the GMS Everest is named for a mountain on Earth. It's very Cradle-centric.

Anthrochauvinism was, to be clear, largely just an excuse for colonialism and hegemony. Atrocities could easily be justified under by stating that whoever they're being committed against were a threat to the Continuance of Humanity - a term that SecComm got to define.

It's also at this point that we have to zoom in from broad sociopolitical points to address one very specific piece of history: the New Prosperity Agreement. This was signed to prevent the outbreak of a Second Union-Karrakin War, and mandated that the Karrakin Houses would maintain privileged levels of autonomy within Union, and that they would be granted colonial rights to the entire Dawnline Shore. This agreement, struck in 3007u, basically defines much of the current political situation today.

ThirdComm was a final and inevitable reaction to the atrocities, abuses and excesses of SecComm. The unspeakable horrors of Hercynia were the spark, but I need to stress how little Hercynia actually mattered in the larger Revolution - at the start of NRfaW, it's explicitly stated that almost nobody in the galaxy even knows where it is, let alone what happened there. The Revolution was a generalized response to SecComm's tyranny, with no single rallying cry.

The Revolution might also have failed entirely, but for a critical error by Harrison Armory: pissing off the Karrakin Trade Baronies. After getting kicked off Cradle, the Anthrochauvinist Party organised a fleet at Ras Shamra to try and retake Cradle. Simultaneously, however, they were attempting to secure protectorate agreements to steal worlds in the Dawnline Shore out from under the KTB. Putting these two together and making five, the KTB assumed that the fleet was pointed at Karrakis, and started the First Interest War.

The First Interest War initially favoured the KTB. They smashed the fleet above Ras Shamra and simultaneously conquered the moon of Creighton in the Dawnline Shore. However, they underestimated just how ruthless Harrison I was - he "retook" Creighton by relativistic bombardment, and then conquered four of the 12 worlds of the Dawnline Shore with mechanised chassis, a technology the KTB had not adopted and had no counter for.

To prevent further loss of life, Union was eventually forced to broker a peace agreement that saw Harrison I handing himself over to Union justice in return for Harrison Armory's continued sovereignty, and the KTB joining Union as a full member state.

So, with that historical context out of the way, let me get to the second part of this absurd essay I'm writing.

Third Committee Union isn't a civilization that arose from whole cloth. It's shaped by five thousand years of Union history, six thousand years of post-Fall history, and six thousand years of pre-Fall history before that. It is, ultimately, an extremely well-thought-out and well-worldbuilt fictional polity, in that all of its imperfections come from traceable root causes in its history.

Why does ThirdComm permit the abuses of the KTB? Because to stop them, it would likely have to go to war, and such a war would butcher billions. Worse, to do so, it would probably have to ally with Harrison Armory and make horrific concessions.

Why does ThirdComm permit the expansionism and cryptochauvinism of the Armory? Because to stop them, it would likely have to go to war, and such a war would butcher billions. Worse, to do so, it would probably have to ally with the KTB and make horrific concessions.

Nobody in CentComm likes that Harrison Armory are empire-building expansionists. Nobody in CentComm likes that the KTB has a hereditary nobility and enforces blockades against planets that rebel against it. The problem is that ThirdComm is, in historical terms, still relatively new. They've been around five hundred years, and compared to the 1600 years that SecComm was around and the 2800 years FirstComm existed for, that's not very much.

ThirdComm is attempting to decouple itself from the Cradle-first politics of its predecessor, and to amend the many, many atrocities committed in the name of Humanity. It is not easy to do any of these things. SecComm was defined almost entirely by the fact that if it didn't like what you were doing, it would send in the military as a first response. Every time ThirdComm chooses to do the same, its legitimacy erodes, because the mission of ThirdComm is to prove that diverse, vibrant and compassionate human civilization can exist without devolving into war and bloodshed. ThirdComm always tries diplomacy as a first response because if it doesn't, millions of people could die.

[yaoyaobae]

Its been awhile and i have another OC to share LOL gotta draw brain rots instead of keeping them in your head forever ☺️💖

Name: Aurore Dormir

School: Royal Sword Academy

Pastime: Escaping school to wander in the nearby forest, spending time alone

Hobbies: Sightseeing, Gardening, Fencing.

Family: Father, Mother , *Brother ( silver, please refer to the last note regarding my own theory)

Aurore is a third year student at RSA, currently house warden of the sleeping beauty inspired dorm.

Aurore is also the next king of the Kingdom of Heroes, which naturally made him the center of attention in RSA.

Unlike Malleus whose powerful aura pushes people away from him, Aurore draws people towards him as they feel a sense of security around him.

He was only recently enrolled into school during his second year as his family brought him back from isolation for training, far away from the world’s eyes.

At first glance, Aurore may seem like the ideal dream prince: Kind, Polite, Courageous, Strong and Smart as he is consistent in securing top grades across his cohort. But deep down, he isn’t exactly the perfect prince most of his peers think he is.

Aurore is actually afraid of strangers and overwhelming attention ( he was raised in isolation so meeting humans are.. yeah) He is skilled at hiding his weakness but starts blanking out if there are too many people crowding around him.

As a result, he finds happiness in spending time alone in places where no one recognises him. He usually takes a short stroll around Sage Island’s various forests when his caretakers aren’t looking.

Strangely, Aurore mentions that his enjoyment from lonely strolls only existed because he would suddenly find himself in unknown places as a child…as if something or someone was calling him. But he became mentally stronger as he got older and knows how to guard himself during his impromptu walks.

Bonus personal theory/lore:

Hi! So if you have been following me since i started creating twst ocs, you would be familiar with a certain comic i drew for an Aurora Oc ( its not exactly Aurore because i didn’t flesh him out) . But to sum up my theory for that comic:

There was once a powerful kingdom that clashed with briar valley, humans and fae did not get along as well back then.

Somewhere in between the war, both of the queen’s sons were cursed by a powerful magician and separated at birth. The queen initially wanted to send her two sons far away from the castle, but only managed to send one tucked away in a casket that drifted on a hidden river which led to a forest.

The war ended a few days later, with both fae and humans forming a truce. The queen fell into depression after realising that her second son probably did not make it and blamed herself for not keeping him a little longer had she known he would have been safe and alive in her arms.

Time heals wounds, and with some reassurance from the King the Queen got back up on her feet stronger for the sake of her people. Of course, sometimes the servants would catch a glimpse of the lonely Queen staring into the far forests wondering if she will ever see those small pair of Aurora coloured eyes again.

Because the Queen conceived her two sons alone away from the servants, only she and the King were aware of their other missing son. The three fairy advisors who had protected them from the very start told the Queen that if word of two cursed princes were to spread, the kingdom would be doomed to fall . The Queen had no choice but to accept this decision, and so they entrusted their only son to the three fairies in case the curse within him acts up. Hence Aurore was raised in isolation away from the world’s attention and only enrolled in his second year to prevent the curse from possibly manifesting.

In this story I created Silver is the missing prince in question who drifted far into the forest and eventually picked up by Lilia. His only proof of his royal status is a ring with an aurora coloured gem (Book 7 mention).

Regarding the curse: Silver was cursed to feel drowsy all the time while Aurore was cursed to follow a voice in his head which leads him to sleepwalk into dangerous places alone. Silver’s hair colour reminds me of the spindle/needle, so in a way he contains the sleeping curse. Like Aurora, Aurore is drawn into strange places by a voice and eventually to the spindle. Hence these two will always feel an unfamiliar sense of closeness to each other.

“Yao why do you think Silver would have a brother? Much less the RSA guy inspired by Aurora? Doesn’t Silver already have Aurora’s traits?”

In general this is just my own fun theory to think about, but my reasons are because i think it would be interesting if Silver canonically had living family member(s) from a royal family( that ring kinda tells all). It would also put him in place wondering if he should return to his biological human family or stay with his Briar Valley family as he feels a stronger bond with them. With the way TWST tackles issues about fae/human like Sebek from example, i would love to see Silver’s resolve for his found family.

In my old comic, the Aurora OC actually dislikes Fae because of the war. He especially hates Lilia because he believed the war criminal took his own brother away and is promoting peace despite his past.

I feel Aurore would dislike Lilia but eventually learns to see the war from both sides as humans aren’t all that great either, he is still a naive prince with much to learn about the world. So while Silver does have Aurora’s trait, Aurore may have some of King Stefan’s from Maleficent/OG film. TWST tends to combine diff character traits anyways🌝👍

Anyways I adore these two so much and am looking forward to Silver’s past in the future updates! Thank you for reading about Aurore, till next time 💖

[booksooks]

knight!sylus

starts w him being knighted by your father. right. but his eyes are on you the entire time. cannot look away, and neither can you. yall have known each other since childhood. and now he's taking an oath to protect you for the rest of his life with all he has, and he's delighted. there's now no real reason for you two to be apart, and he proves it by shadowing you to every council meeting, every court appearance, and every night of revelry. (and if he happens to scare away potential suitors every time… you're not ungrateful.)

and so the next few years go on like that, your father peacefully transitions power to you so that you're now the ruler of your kingdom, loyal knight still by your side. and so duh, there's a coronation ball that doubles as a ball for you to find a spouse. because your father is insisting, and who are you to deny the request of the man who raised you? so you host the celebration, switching between taking turns around the room in the arms of someone entirely boring, or sitting in your personal box to watch the laundry list of potential suitors spinning below. and it's not until several hours later, when you're sure that you've danced with everyone and your head is killing you that sylus gently pulls you away, reassuring you that no one will notice you being gone for a few. yall sneak down to the empty kitchen and steal a few nibbles. it's peaceful, something you haven't been able to say all night. and it's not until you start thinking about going back that sylus puts a hand on your waist and asks you to wait for him, even as he steps closer. and because you trust him, because you know sylus would never, ever hurt you, when he brings his head down to hover just above your lips, you're not nervous. but he hesitates, because what if, this one time, he's wrong about you? what if he's completely misread, and you're 2 seconds away from shoving him back and excommunicating him from the kingdom?

but he's not wrong (thank god) because you're sliding your hands through his hair and pulling him closer, not wanting to delay this anymore. and really, it all unravels from there in the best way possible. the night ends, everyone goes home feeling like their time was a little bit wasted because why would you invite them out to have a chance at your hand in marriage when you knew you were in love with your personal knight? but their opinions don't matter. your father approves of the union, and the wedding is everything you've ever wanted. sylus surprisingly doesn't choose to take the title of king, instead preferring to be able to protect you at all times. sure, he'll give his opinion when he thinks it's wanted, but he doesn't crave the power that comes with being king. you are enough.

something something something timeskip, despite your best efforts the neighboring kingdom declares war on you. but not in the traditional sense, no, they poison your food, set traps for traveling parties, and even send assassins after you. and sylus, ever worried for your life but still respectful, lets you stay. you dont want to show fear or to give up, so he stands by you throughout the long ordeal.

it isnt until there's an almost successful attempt on your life (that wouldn't have been 'almost' successful had sylus not been sleeping in bed with you) that he convinces you to go on the run. your cities have all been decimated, fields have been razed to the ground, so there's really no point in defending yourselves anymore. you pack up that night, leaving the dead body of a would-be murderer on the floor in front of your bed. you're not used to the cold nights, but the water by the lake is soothing as you curl up next to sylus, your husband, under a tent for the night. it takes a few weeks for you to get adjusted, which makes you jealous of sylus who seems to know every edible and poisonous plant on the planet. you're grateful, of course, but you can't help but feel useless when it takes much longer for you to adjust to living in the wilderness.

an idea occurs to you after the fifth time of your hair, once perfectly cared for and shiny, now dull and tangled, gets caught in branches as you and sylus traipse through the woods. you bring the idea up to your husband that night, quiet in front of the bonfire as he cooks dinner for you both. the idea of cutting your hair is shocking to him, because wouldn't you want to keep a part of your old life? (he questions himself, not realizing he is all you need to remind yourself of who you once were.) but he agrees easily, and takes the knife you brought to start cutting your hair with the utmost reverence in the world. he treats your hair with every ounce of respect he can muster, as if you were still the country's leader (you still are, to him, strong and fearless and kind), and does his best to make you look good. it's choppy, sure, but you still look like you, and theres nothing sylus could be more grateful for. he loves you. yes, he's said it countless times, not one to let you forget the fact, but he truly loves you. with everything he has. and you can tell, it's so obvious with every gentle sweep against your neck to get rid of hair clippings, and in the way he presses a soft kiss just below your ear. he loves you. you love him. you don't have your fancy clothes, your castle, your kingdom, or your people, but you have each other, and you know that's enough, and that sylus feels the same.

idea by @twink-fuery ily gamer /p ty for feeding the sylus flames w me

[scarletcomalies]

soul bounds disentwined

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

Part II, Part III

Word count: 5,546

Warnings: A little angsty, I guess? And ofc Reader having a crush on Billy's mom not knowing if it's reciprocated.

A/N: This is inspired in Halsey's music video "Colors", if you have watched it, you can see where this is gonna go...

A/N: For plot purposes, let’s suppose Infinity War and subsequent events never happened, and instead, after the Civil War, Wanda decided to quit her life as a superhero.

Wanda Maximoff hired you, a photographer who urgently needed a fresh start, to capture the dishes that would be featured in her second cookbook. Her son, Billy Maximoff, interfered with what you two could have developed. He had feelings for you, and well, you had feelings for his mother.

According to Forbes (2023), Wanda Maximoff secured the third position among the wealthiest chefs worldwide. She is a living proof that we are all capable of rewriting our own story, even after a lifetime shaped by external influences.

Simone Carlisle (Culinary Arts Teacher): Ah, Wanda Maximoff… (pauses) let me tell you, no one prepares you for that feeling, where you find out that you contributed your seed to the plants of successes that one of your students planted in the garden of her life.

Wanda Maximoff (Chef, restaurant chain owner, and television presenter): For as long as I can remember, my decisions were a cycle of revenge and redemption... don't get me wrong, I don't regret beating the shit out of some idiots (laughs), but, with the busy life I led, the only moment I could pause my life was while I was hiding in Scotland with my ex-boyfriend Vision. I had no one expecting anything from me, no one telling me what to do, where to go, it was like a puppy without an owner.

Vision (Avenger, Wanda Maximoff’s ex-partner): Dear, was it a journey. First, I remember that she watched YouTube videos to learn guitar. As soon as she woke up, she grabbed the instrument, and she wasn't satisfied until her fingers got numb. In a very short time, she caught the hang of it, and played for the first time in a small bar. No one knew who she was, and if they did, they probably didn't care. She was just a talented player keeping them entertained. Afterwards, band members fought over who would give her their contact first to join them. I thought that would be the beginning of a very successful music career, because from what I've read, international artists started that way.

Wanda Maximoff: I said, “Vision, I’m never doing this again”.

Vision: She kept practicing, playing in the solitude of her room, of course. It was a hobby-kind-of-passion, not the type of passion she would like to dedicate most of her life to. She went through many of those to realize that her main passion was under her nose all along.

Wanda Maximoff: The courage to join in culinary classes arose from desperation (chuckles), I used to prepare recipes at home, and I needed someone else's approval… it couldn't come from someone who didn't even eat in the first place! And so the beginning of my trayectory was paved by this amazing teacher, Simone Carlisle.

Simone Carlisle: The shy girl who during the intensive course kept her head down, sitting on the back corner, nervously playing with her rings while ignoring whispers and glances from other students, is now in a big framed picture, placed in the most visible spot so that everyone who enters my academy knows that I taught this legend. She made my small business a huge deal now (laughs).

Wanda Maximoff: I never imagined that I would have my own cookbook, television program, or chain of restaurants, let alone all three at the same time! At first, I was content with cooking in a restaurant and earning a decent living, but later, I thought about the possibility of creating a YouTube channel, which subsequently permitted me to finance the publication of my book. Building on the success of my book, the opportunity of my show emerged, which in turn allowed me to open my first restaurant, and ultimately expand it into a chain of restaurants. What I want to convey is that you must trust that the love for what you do is a powerful tool. Success is subjective, so pursue your own concept of it.

Amy Lee (Evanescence’s lead singer and songwriter): It was a hard day of work. I didn’t feel like cooking but I was looking for the homiest, most comforting food possible, and Wanda Maximoff made it a reality with her restaurant located just a few blocks near me. I told my bandmate, Emma, about this amazing food restaurant, she replied, "Oh, the owner has a YouTube channel and a show, you should watch it so that you don't overcook the spaghetti" (laughs). It has been a great help to me ever since, for those are creative but accessible recipes. Plus, it’s a nice touch that she uses her magic to manipulate ingredients and utensils, while making you laugh with her witty jokes. The best way to put it is; she makes you feel like it's a close and sweet friend who is teaching you. Her human and warm approach felt and still feels like a pat on the back.

Wanda Maximoff: My favorite singer since adolescence, Amy Lee, has said something about me that fills me with happiness every time I remember it. She helped me cope, I helped her cook. We're even now.

Vision: You see, Wanda's powers went from being a source of fear in the world to being the main reason why said fear stopped as well. An impressive understanding in her abilities, still doesn't make her an expert, as she can't prevent unexpected situations.

Wanda Maximoff: I was six months pregnant. In the blink of an eye… literally.

The latest legacy of the Maximoff family, twins Billy and Tommy, were effortlessly admitted to the New York University. The dean was left speechless, for their admission exam grades exceeded expectations.

Tony Stark (Avenger, Stark Industries): With Wanda, our initial connection was through business, the Avengers, you know? It wasn't until she asked me if I could offer her kids an internship at Stark Industries that we developed a closer bond, and man, were those kids geniuses!

Wanda Maximoff: Those kids... one day, they'll outgrow me (laughs). They were so eager to rush through life stages, and I thought, "You don't realize I would give everything to relive those joyful years," but I know better than to project my own frustrations on my sons.

Virginia "Pepper" Potts (Stark Industries): One day, I said goodbye to two fourteen-year-old boys. The next day, Happy informed me that some tall adults with raspy voices, claiming to be Billy and Tommy, wanted to come in. I immediately phoned Wanda, and she casually responded, "Oh, yeah, they can do that," as if maturing into college students overnight was a typical Tuesday occurrence for any teenager.

Thomas Maximoff, (Student at New York University, son of Wanda Maximoff): What can I say? (chuckles) school didn't present any intellectual challenges for us, and, yes, they do admit child prodigies for... PhDs even! But, we wanted to blend in, to share the same age as our classmates.

Wanda Maximoff: I always considered it a priority to spend time with my boys, so I put a lot of my work on hold, including my second cookbook project. Now that they're focusing on college and their internship, I've had too much time, and by that I mean too much time to finish that unfinished work.

Wanda Maximoff had completed her second cookbook, in response to numerous requests from her loyal fans. Another book that promised to aid all those who seeked a different, quick, and above all, delicious meal at any time of the day. There was no doubt that it would become a global bestseller, just like her previous one.

All that was left were the illustrative photographs for the book, and the studio where you worked at was in charge of this task.

You meticulously made the first dish she cooked appear as exquisite as in real life. You employed several tools like lighting, background elements, and cutlery placement, but you never altered the food in any way, it didn't even cross your mind to do so. This didn't sit well with your boss, but it certainly pleased the redhead.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) (Photographer): I remember my boss suggested that I add components to the food to make it look more appealing. I responded that that was the equivalent of encouraging unattainable stereotypes of beauty... in food (chuckles).

Wanda Maximoff: By offering unrealistic references, people would be discouraged to notice that their result was not the same as mine, not knowing that those references have hours of strategy to make it look 'aesthetic'. I prefer to show it as it is (pauses) I think that's why I liked this girl, I didn't have to say a word and she understood everything.

Your boss was the typical man who didn't let newcomers like you progress. Although you had been working in the studio for about six months, he never allowed you to touch a camera, which was contradictory because that was the job you applied for.

You did the work he didn't want to do, like transporting, positioning and removing the equipment, and setting up the scenery. That idiot just did the angles and clicked the top right button, and then took all the credit and praise. It annoyed you, yes, but unlike him, you didn't need praise from anyone to fill your ego, you just wanted to be acknowledged for your own efforts and not to be another person’s side kick.

In the meantime, it was enough satisfaction to know that none of the praise he gets would be possible without you, and he knew it…

… and Wanda knew it.

"What do you think, Miss Maximoff?" Your boss showed Wanda the array of photographs he took of the latest dish. He proudly displayed them, awaiting for a compliment from the redhead.

"Wow, (Y/N), placing the sautéed potatoes in a separate bowl instead of alongside the food within the same dish... you were right, it gives them their own protagonism and importance as a side dish," was the first thing she said, eliciting a small blush from you. "Great work!"

"Thank you, Miss Maximoff," after hearing her words, you experimented a feeling that was somewhat unfamiliar to you. It made you feel visible, truly seen and acknowledged in a workplace that often overlooked such things. And the fact that it came from her, made it all even more so profound.

"It's just Wanda," she corrected you, as if her previous actions weren't enough, she gave you the green light to address her in a more intimate manner. Along with that, your boss was already frustrated enough at not being the center of attention for two and a half hours. It was all a dream!

"(Y/N), we're done here, remove the equipment and take it to my car. I'll be waiting for you for just five minutes," your boss ordered you. Not even a ‘please’, nothing. In his gaze was evident that desperate attempt to look intimidating, which only made him look like a tantruming child. However, when his gaze turned to the older woman, he held an incredible admiration and appreciation, almost as if they were two different people in the same body. "Miss Maximoff, it was a pleasure working with you, truly an honor. We could continue next week...”

"Do you have equipment of your own, (Y/N)?" She interrupted him in mid-sentence, and you hesitated briefly.

"Uh... yes, of course, Miss... I mean, Wanda," you replied.

You worked as a freelance photographer in your spare time, capturing people or events here and there. It was something relatively stable, but it could not be your main income, so you felt the need to work on a studio.

"Perfect... I'll be contacting only you so we can work on the rest of the illustrations for the book," she stated.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N): I couldn't believe what I heard! The first thing I did was begging to whatever force there is that this wasn't a dream. It was overwhelming, the feeling of fear and ecstasy… Wanda wanted ME to work with her.

She recognized something in you within three and a half hours that others failed to see in six months. This was it. This was the big break you had been waiting for, the opportunity to show your skills and make your mark.

That being said, you never saw your boss, or stepped foot in that studio after that.

In the days that followed, you poured your heart and soul into preparing for the upcoming shoots.

You studied Wanda's previous cookbooks, familiarizing yourself with her style, her preferences. You even watched her program and her interviews, initially with the excuse of seeing those mesmerizing eyes and delighting yourself with her beauty, but you actually learned a lot of cooking techniques that you were excited to cook when it was such an annoying task for you to do.

When the day of the shoot finally arrived, you were ready. You set up your equipment with a confidence you had never felt before. You positioned the reflectors so that the natural light would bounce where you needed it, and set the scene to make the food appealing and motivating. Wanda watched you work, her eyes filled with admiration and respect.

You smiled at her as you turned on your camera, “So, what do you do with all this food after I photograph it?” You questioned curiously.

"I pack it, multiply it with my powers, and give it to the homeless," she explained. "It's something I often do, in fact, but I prefer to keep good deeds a secret, and not brag about it," she added. “I would appreciate it if you don’t say anything.”

"I figured that about you," you smiled sympathetically.

"You figured?"

“You have always used your skills to help," you elaborated, and noticed she slightly scrunched her nose, as a way of disagreeing. "Yes, even when you were working for Hydra, Tony Stark was destroying territories left and right, and you were seeking justice, doing what you felt was right," you added, noticing how her face showed an expression of realization. "And now, you focus on helping people who struggle with thinking of a simple but good meal in the midst of a hectic routine, and not so much on showing off how good you are at cooking exotic dishes. So yes, I assumed you would also help those who can't even afford a meal, too.”

Wanda's gaze was lost in the white marble of her kitchen floor, and you knew you gave her a new perspective on the wrongs she had done in her past. She meant well all along, and ultimately, that's what mattered. She was a great person in the present, and that's what mattered.

"So, you're the photographer in question," a tall, curly-haired guy stepped into the kitchen doorway, interrupting the train of thought of the woman in front of you.

You laughed at the expression on her face as reality hit her again.

"Oh, yes. Sweetheart, this is (Y/N)," she introduced you to who you already knew was her son. "And (Y/N), this is my son Billy."

"Nice to meet you, Billy," you replied, approaching him to offer your hand to shake.

"The pleasure is all mine," he emphasized the last words, as he accepted your hand. "My mom didn't mention that you were so beautiful."

Wanda cleared her throat, and proceeded to look at him with surprise in her eyes. In a I-can’t-believe-you-said-that way.

You couldn't help but laugh again at how expressive she was without noticing it.

But in their perspective, from how you looked the other direction and chuckled softly, you seemed to snicker at Billy's flattery, which couldn't be further from the truth. He was corny and predictable, but most importantly, he was not Wanda Maximoff.

"Oh, forgive him, he still doesn't know how to control those sky-high hormones," Wanda said, grabbing Billy's shoulders from behind to guide him out of the kitchen.

You noticed that she was already shorter than her son by a few centimetres. This was nostalgic for any mother, but how must Wanda have felt watching it happen overnight? You were curious.

"No problem," you replied, and headed for the counter to begin photographing.

Billy entered the kitchen again, standing next to you, but not close enough to invade your space, which you thanked internally.

"Do you mind if I watch you work, (Y/N)?" Billy requested, and you smiled politely.

"Billy! Don't you have an internship to go to?" Wanda interfered before you could answer.

"Pepper and Tony organized a party at the tower," he replied victoriously.

"College homework?"

"Piece of cake. I finished it an hour ago."

“How about you enjoy your free time and go bowling with your brother?”

“He’s busy playing Fortnite online,” he shrugged.

Wanda rolled her eyes, "Behave yourself. That's the only condition."

"It's okay, Wanda," you reassured her. Each stage in a child's life is gradual, and parents usually have many years to learn about what each stage entails. It was understandable that Wanda didn't know what to do now that her children were suddenly old enough to drink and get into adult trouble.

"So, (Y/N), how long ago did you start this whole photography gig?" The taller guy spoke up, once you took your first picture.

"I've been doing it since I was thirteen," you replied, still capturing the image in before you at different angles. "Dedicating myself to this? As soon as I turned eighteen. I had a decent portfolio."

"I don't doubt it," he agreed.

You gave him a slight thankful smile, and walked over to Wanda, who was setting up the second dish to be photographed.

"What do you think?"You asked her, and it wasn't until she turned to look at the camera that you noticed that this is the closest you've ever been to her. You could smell her fragrance and hear her breathing. Your mind was screaming at you to move away, for you had no right to display such trust yet, on the contrary, your body needed to be as close as possible... to feel her.

You had never touched her, not even when she greeted you this afternoon. She simply opened her door and let you enter.

"Excellent. The blueberries next to the gluten-free blueberry pancakes are wet,” she commented. “Did you do it to provide a sense of freshness?" She inquired, looking into your eyes this time, and... the charm of her green eyes was incomparable.

Throughout life, you've seen different shades of green, but hers were unique. They seemed to have a whole story to tell, as if she gave them that power. Her eyes glowed with an emerald hue that mesmerized anyone who met her gaze, and you were no exception.

“Exactly, that’s what I did,” you confirmed, and you felt your cheeks burning, which you immediately hid by looking down and walking back to the counter.

The only interactions you had with Wanda were to get her to approve your photographs, since her son didn’t allow you both a second to talk. He didn’t cease to ask you all sorts of questions, and to keep the conversation going, you responded with brief 'and you?'s so that he still felt heard and had the space to reveal details about himself.

It was all natural for you. Your work was also based on creating a liveliness in the environment where you performed, plus you got more genuine reactions from people if you made them laugh and feel comfortable. However, you always ended up talking with whoever was willing to, even if you were not there to capture them.

In fact, you were enjoying the conversation with such a charismatic guy. At first, it felt overwhelming, but just by letting the topics flow, you ended up laughing and feeling more at ease with him. In any case, you would be meeting him more than once in the eight weeks that remained before the project was completed.

Once you had finished photographing the ten dishes for the week, you turned off your camera and put it back in its case.

You were too happy with the results. This was all done by you alone, and you would be recognized for it. Never again would your boss's name appear under the pictures that were all your doing. The moment Wanda sends your photographs to the publisher, your name would appear in the book credits, and so a new story would begin.

And Wanda... oh, Wanda made it so clear that she loved your work, and paid so much attention to detail. Not only did she praise you, but she made it a point to let you know that she had indeed noticed the details that to the average eye would go unnoticed. You didn't know if you were really developing a crush, or if it was just the fact that she was an older woman that satisfied that need for attention that you rarely got... or it could be both.

When you were working on your own, you didn't feel exhausted and drained despite the long working hours, unlike when you were in the studio. You were very grateful that Wanda had given you another opportunity like that, and you were confident that it could become a regular thing.

"Wow, seeing all these dishes without having eaten lunch has really made me hungry," you laughed, proceeding to remove the reflectors from the kitchen’s window. The sky was still clear. You started at a perfect timing to take advantage of natural light.

"You haven't eaten? Look at the time! I thought you had eaten before you came!" She exclaimed. The redhead actually looked concerned. "Do you have any idea of the damage you're doing to your body? You need energy for this kind of work."

"Hey, I wanted to make a joke and you ruined it with your lecture," you protested.

Wanda sighed, and shook her head disapprovingly, which made your heart crumble a little.

“I… I’ll get some food on the way home,” you corrected yourself.

"How about you stay for dinner? I was going to make it, Tommy won't be long before he comes back to the real world and notices he's hungry," she offered kindly.

"Oh! Or I can take you out for dinner somewhere nice!" Billy proposed, smiling at you with anticipation.

To be brutally honest, you wanted to throw yourself at him and choke him so no other words would come out of his mouth. You knew Billy was just a guy with a silly crush, excited to show you how interested he was in you. He wasn't trying to do any harm. But, hell, wasn't it enough for him to be the center of your attention all afternoon?

"I'm really looking forward to trying something made by your mom," you declined in the politest way possible. "Many people would kill for that honor!"

Wanda let out a laugh, and her expression also seemed to change as she heard your decision to stay.

But, oh, Billy, Billy, Billy... as persevering as his mother.

"Awww! Next week she'll cook you something, right mom?" he insisted, and even though the redhead tried hard to keep her smile, her eyes changed.

"Sure, I'll cook whatever you want," Wanda sighed. "Go with Billy, and continue your conversation... alone," the way she said that last word was as if she had felt like the third wheel all afternoon, as if she was a hindrance to whatever was starting between you and Billy.

"You owe me," you said to Wanda, letting her know implicitly that you were looking forward to your meeting next week, not this dinner with Billy.

Billy led you to the garage of his house, and opened the passenger door of a black car. You thanked him politely and got in, allowing him to close the door for you. The car was completely spotless, and had a new car smell, but not because it was new, maybe because that was the fragrance he asked for at the car wash. For yours, you always opted for lavender… which made you wonder, what fragance did Wanda like for her car?

"Any preferences?" Billy asked once he hoped in the driver’s seat, pointing towards the car radio. It was noticeable he was doing his best to make this comfortable for you.

"A little bit of everything, how about rock like... Evanescence?" you proposed.

"Ah, my mom loves them," he commented, and your eyes lit up at that statement.

"You're kidding..."

"Yeah, since her teenage years," he confirmed. "Evanescence, In This Moment, Epica, Lacuna Coil..." he listed, trying to remember them all.

You made a mental note to put on that music on your next meeting with Wanda. It wouldn't be hard, as you loved all the bands he mentioned, which was wonderful.

You couldn't wait to show her the latest bands, ask her her favorite songs, and have a topic of conversation that would allow you to bound...

"So, ready?" he spoke, noticing that you were lost in thought.

"Yeah, sure," you nodded, putting on your seatbelt.

The dinner was... better than you expected. In fact, it was amazing.

You didn't really have anything in common with Billy, but the way you both listened to each other, and always found a middle ground despite going your separate ways, made the experience with him extremely pleasant.

The only difference was that, as you each went home, he thought about seeing you again, and you thought about seeing his mother again.

And so, after a week, you found yourself in front of the door of Wanda's house, with your camera hanging from your neck, your equipment already waiting on the pavement next to your parked car, and as a bonus, a speaker you brought along to play music while you worked.

Alone, at last...

When the door opened, you found the redhead wearing a casual outfit consisting of dark blue jeans and a black half-tucked in blouse. Oh, and her face, how you missed that face.

"Hey..." You greeted her, with palpable enthusiasm.

"Hi," she replied, and noticed the speaker in your hand, arching her eyebrow. "I found out last week that you and I have a lot of bands in common."

Wanda let out a gasp of surprise, "Oh, please do come in!"

You laughed briefly, and as you were about to enter your equipment to take it towards the kitchen, Wanda snapped her fingers, and it disappeared.

"Wanda, what the hell?" You exclaimed, looking at her with your widened eyes, had she just disappeared all your belongings?

"Relax, they're in the kitchen."

"That skill of yours would’ve come in handy last week too," you commented, walking into her house.

"It was fun watching you run in and out," she shrugged. "But today you earned it, because of the music."

"I see, I have to earn it?!" You exclaimed, feigning indignation. Really, she could have pulverized your expensive equipment in front of you, and you'd still thank her.

Once both of you entered the kitchen, your reflectors were already in the same position as always. And on the other side, the ten dishes were already hot and ready to be photographed.

"And what would I possibly have to do next week to earn that help from you?" you asked, resuming the topic you had discussed earlier.

"Mmmm..." she muttered, in a way that almost made you weak in the knees. She watched you from head to toe making you feel exposed to her as if she had ripped your clothes to shreds and left you standing there, naked and at her mercy. But you were still completely covered. "... I think you've earned it,” your reaction alone was enough reward to her.

“Thanks, I guess,” you cleared your throat.

You picked up the speaker, and turned it on, placing it in a place in the kitchen where it would not interfere. Your hands were shaking, and you could have sworn that Wanda was watching you with amusement, while you avoided her gaze at all costs.

You grabbed your phone, and played the playlist you had prepared for this moment. "A Star-Crossed Wasteland" by In This Moment was the first to come on.

"Oh, I love that song like you have no idea," Wanda exclaimed, closing her eyes and frowning as she passionately listened to that intro. "That album, in general..."

"It's in my top three," you commented.

"Hell yeah! Now we're talking!" She exclaimed, raising her hand offering you a high-five.

"I'm not that old school," you shook your head, chuckling.

Wanda rolled her eyes, and took your wrist, giving herself a high five with your hand.

"Good girl," she praised you, and you swallowed dryly. At the words, and at the fact that this was the first time you'd ever touched her. "What's your top three?" she asked, acting so nonchalantly after flustering the hell out of you.

“Tell me yours first,” you proposed. You couldn’t even think of your favorite three albums of one of your favorite bands.

"Black Widow, GODMODE, and A Star-Crossed Wasteland, she answered, almost without thinking. It amused you to imagine she'd spent her whole life for someone to ask her that question. "And yours?"

"Black Widow is my favorite, too," you agreed. "Blood, and A Star-Crossed Wasteland."

"Oh, two in common and in the same position," she pointed out, smiling. "If the new album hadn't been so good, it would agree with Blood, too…”

For the rest of the evening, the focus was on your favorite bands, as they played in the background.

You finished faster than last week, as Wanda was willing to use her powers for you to just arrange the background and take the pictures, instead of searching in every corner of the kitchen - you only had to ask, and it appeared.

“Alright, we're done...” she concluded, excited. “Now, let me pack this food and put it in the fridge,” and with a snap of her fingers, it was already packed and subsequently perfectly placed inside the fridge.

“Impressive,” you exclaimed, not ceasing to show your admiration, just like every time she used her powers. If you didn't look so cute, Wanda would have grown irritated at you a long time ago.

“Now, I owe you a dinner,” she said. She never told you, but she was so eager to finish quickly because that way, when her sons returned from the internship, you and her would have spent a significant time together.

The food Wanda made for you was... you didn’t even believe that the accurate word to describe it even existed.

The sensations you experimented had you mindlessly closing your eyes, trying to memorize this magnificent meal, absorbing it all in. You had tried a lot of different restaurants and foods, but none like this, oh they wished they were even close to what you tasted.

This was more than just eating. It was a demonstration of peak exquisite cuisine. This was about more than just sating hunger. It was about the delight of tasting food prepared with passion.

And... just as Wanda was leading you out of the door, you noticed that it opened, and you met who you knew was Tommy.

"Oh, finally I have the pleasure to meet the famous (Y/N)," was the first thing he said. So Wanda... "Billy hasn't shut up about you."

You forced a smile, "That's... nice," you hesitated. "I have a feeling he's going to be a great friend, and I hope you are too."

Tommy noted the intent of your response but decided to reply, "Of course," with a small chuckle. "In fact, you should come play tennis with us next Saturday."

"Oh, I don't know how to..."

"I'll teach you," Wanda quickly interjected, and that hope in her eyes made your decision easier in an instant.

"Well... will you send me the address?" I asked.

"Rest assured."

When you said goodbye to Wanda and Tommy, Billy was climbing the steps to the doorway, and he smiled broadly at you.

"Hi, (Y/N)!" He exclaimed happily. "Have you eaten yet? If not, we can go eat something and catch up."

Oh, how kind he was...

"Thank you, your mom and I already had dinner."

It was Saturday, and you were walking around the room in your apartment. Your best friend, Kate, was already starting to get dizzy.

"Kate! It's a country club!" You exclaimed, for probably the twentieth time. "People there probably eat pizza with silverware, and know the use of all ten thousand kinds of forks. I won't fit in..."

"It's just a tennis game! I'd understand if it was golf, but tennis?! You'll be fine!" She groaned.

"I look ridiculous..." you shook your head, looking at yourself in the mirror. "I mean, what is this cap? And why all white? Am I getting baptized or something?"

"Hey! Do you want to fit in? This is the outfit," she countered. "You look hot, surely Wanda will drool over you when she sees those legs," she cheered you up

"Surely it will be Billy," you sighed, disappointed.

"Wanda too, from what you've told me..."

"No, this is one of the situations where I'm misinterpreting a hint of validation from an older, beautiful woman," you quickly denied. "And as always, my best friend is encouraging my delusions."

"Really? Name one situation."

"That Italian woman who I photographed with her family for several Christmas sessions?"

"Ha! She looked at you funny."

"Yeah, that's why she turned down my invitation to dinner when I finally found the courage, saying I knew she had a husband and kids."

"Uhm... she refused just because she had a husband and kids, not because she didn't like you!" She quickly justified, and you couldn't help but laugh, forgetting for a moment the nerves that were eating at you.

[ailoda]

updated: 01.02.25

ᯓ ✈︎ fluff

Love of My Life (❤): the dagger squad meets hangman's best-kept secret. (@moondancediner)

I'll Carry You (❤): Hangman and his wife attend a naval ball. When her shoes give her blisters, Hangman ensures that she gets back to the car comfortably. (@tip-top-cloud-surfer)

Heart of Texas (❤✘): while in Texas for your best friends bachelorette trip, the last thing you expect to find is the green eyed cowboy in the bar. Or to find him again months later. (@sunnysidevans)

Easy Skies (❤): feeling cuddly so you end up cuddling Jake for the first time in the early stages of your relationships. How this would lead to them napping together? Nothing but praises and love affirmations between them. Soft kisses. Readers first kiss with Jake. (@thewulf)

Tugging on the bottom of someone’s shirt. (❤) (@spideystevie)

The Orange (❤): you and Jake share an orange. He’s in love with you. (@violentdelightsandviolentends)

↪︎ For Eternity (❤): you and Jake share an orange. He's never loved you more. (part two)

"Can... can you hold me? please?" (❤) (@spideystevie)

Teacher's Pet (❤): you need to come up with a lesson plan to teach your eighth graders about aerodynamics, only, you barely understand a word of it yourself. Luckily for you, your boyfriend has a pretty decent knowledge of the subject. (@honkytonk-hangman)

Take Care of Business (❤): the last time you met Lieutenant Jake Seresin, the war was still ongoing and you’d been in a floundering engagement. Back then you’d seen the possibility for more in his eyes, and now? Well, now you could explore it. (@honkytonk-hangman)

When Jake Met Polly (❤): Jake likes to flirt with his Air Traffic Controller. (@honkytonk-hangman)

8 o'clock (❤): "stop looking at me like that...like you’ve seen me naked.” (@roosterbruiser)

Hangman's Mystery (❤): Jake takes you to meet the crew after claims of him hiding you from them. You’re extremely shy and aren’t a fan of lots of people, making Jake be more protective of you. For once, Rooster knows more about Jake’s life than the others do. (@0mg-bird)

Nothing But A Gentleman (❤): Jake is obsessed with you. you eat it up. you’re obsessed with his obsession. but also with him. (@simpforrooster)

Wedding Day (❤): Hangman falls in love with his wife all over again when he sees her in her wedding dress for the first time. (@tip-top-cloud-surfer)

Call Me Daddy (❤): when your daughter mistaken Jake for her father, you're more than embarrassed. That until she tells you why she called him that. (@eternalsams)

Turbulence (❤): Jake would never get over how ironic it was. You, the wife of a naval pilot, scared of a little turbulence. (@mydarlingrose)

Careful Hands, Precious Cargo (❤): when Jake cups your face. (@winchesterandpie)

Drunk Confessions (❤): you take care of a drunk Hangman. (@spideystevie)

"Stay As Long As You Want" (❤) (@spideystevie)

In Sickness... (❤✧): Jake feels his pulse jump and his stomach fly when he talks to or about you. Obviously, this must mean he’s gravely ill. (@honkytonk-hangman)

↪︎ ...And In Health (❤): a year after Jake has come to terms with his sickness, he might just have the opportunity to find the cure. (part two)

Always Second Choice (❤✧): but you're always Jake's first choice. (@lulunothulu)

Sunkissing (❤): eight and a half months Dagger had been at sea, which is honestly one of the shorter deployments Jake had been on, certainly not one he’d have usually complained about, except that this time, for the first time, Jake had somewhere else he wanted to be aside from in his jet. (@honkytonk-hangman)

Same Boat (❤): based on Same Boat by Lizzy McAlpine. (@winchesterandpie)

Flygirl (❤): Whiskey is the Dagger Squad’s favorite bartender, and Hangman’s best friend... when he decides to take her flying long repressed feelings bubble to the surface. (@vivalas-vega)

Safety Net (❤): “you are such a nerd.” (@selencgraphy)

new! It's All About You (❤✘): 4 times Jake thought about marrying you and the 1 time he did. (@bussyslayer333)

[b4ssbr3aker]

One of the reasons I hopped on the BassBreaker/GertVi train is because of that one interaction they have in 2x09. I’ll assume a lot of people looked at that as an overall message on “how war leads to bring meaningless death towards the innocent” (something along those lines) and Vi coming to the realisation that the people of Zaun who had nothing to do with the sequence of events over the past 3 months (at least) have ended up in detriment the most of this war in comparison to the Pilties which to an extent makes sense.

But also I paid close attention to the look in Vi’s eyes when she realised it was Gert:

Along with the way she held her hand tight til she was literally dragged away by another soldier a solid 10 seconds after she passed as she mourned for her.

To me, Gert wasn’t just a stranger and/or acquaintance to Vi. It isn’t necessarily how one would mourn over a complete stranger. To me, this is someone she knew personally. These two had to have had some history and an emotional connection was involved.

What solidified it to me was that not even a few minutes later, once Vi saw Loris, she had a similar reaction to his passing and mourned for him in a very similar way. We as the audience at this point were aware that these two were friends and Loris was there to support her every step of the way whenever she had arguments with Caitlyn and when she was going on a downward spiral mentally during act 2. He made sure she was looked after and cared for her and she had a lot of respect for him and probably held him to a high regard. And while the show didn’t do the best job showing this, there were enough context clues to conclude that Loris probably reminded Vi of Vander to a degree. These two had history, these two had a connection.

The possibility that Gert and Vi, in my opinion, had some sort of history, some sort of connection, that was never shown to the audience, along with that from the very little amount of screentime Gert had we saw so little yet so much of her, with many unanswered questions and had the ability to capture the hearts of a significant amount of audience members, at the very least intrigued me.

Call me delusional or reading too much into the wrong things but this is something that has constantly stood out to me ever since I saw it on my screen for the first time and I’ll most likely continue to ponder on what could’ve been.

Gert and Vi my beloved.

[imperator-kahlo]

OK what even is happening with the Crows

I’ve just been trawling through the wiki and World of Thedas for a few hours trying to figure out what we (a) know, (b) can guess, (c) can speculate wildly about the inner workings of the Crows during the Dragon age.

(I am by no means an expert on the lore so please let me know where I have wildly missed the mark).

I'm definitely not trying to propose any kind of fanon consensus, where's the fun in that?! Just trying to figure out a timeline that makes sense to me. Possibly also toying around with a pre-canon Rookanis fic.

Loooong and probably insanely disorganised text post under the cut. I should have been in bed hours ago but I am hyperfixating on this and will not sleep until I hit post.

Spoilers, so many spoilers below: Veilguard, Tevinter Nights, The Silent Grove, Origins, Awakenings, the entire franchise basically.

So, a speculative timeline. Events in black are fairly or very well supported by the lore; events in blue are inconsistent/uncertain in the lore; events in purple are guesses that I can sort of back up; events in red are me throwing a dartboard at the wall.

Note: The wiki puts the events of "Eight Little Talons" in 9:44 Dragon, but I can't find any source for that. I would have guessed a little later, but let's roll with 9:44.

Also, I'm pretty unclear on the guildmaster/grandmaster distinction. I'm just going to say 'head of house' for whoever is in charge of a Crow house, or Talon if they're head of one of the eight Talon Houses.

Blessed Age

8:70 Blessed - Caterina born (she's described as well into her 70s during Eight Little Talons and as around 80 in the data-mined character descriptions for Veilguard, so give or take a couple years this seems right).

9:00 to 9:29 Dragon: House Arainai Shenanigans

9:00 Dragon - Antivan civil war, beginning of the "much maligned" Three Queens era (Codex, History of Kirkwall - Chapter 4). Unclear exactly what happens or over what period of time, but seems like the Crows would be in the thick of things.

9:05 - 9:10 - Caterina maybe reaches Talon status (not First, though). Around 8:98 Blessed would be the absolute earliest she could get there given Teia's holds the record (youngest Talon at 28). But I think Teia was at least three or four years younger than any previous Talon so I'd put it somewhere around here, if not a few years later.

9:12 Dragon - Zevran, aged 7, is purchased from a Rialto brothel by House Arainai. The House is led by First Talon Talav Arainai and described as rolling in coin after the "Three Brides" contract - they purchase 17 other slaves that year, including Taliesen (World of Thedas, vol 2, p. 96). I think based purely on vibes that House Arainai is fairly secure in First Talon position and has been there at least a couple years, probably longer.

9:15ish Dragon - Teia born (she's described as 28 in the data-mined descriptions, but she's already a Talon in 'Eight Little Talons', which says she was the youngest ever to reach the rank at age 28. I'm assuming she got there a year or two before the events of the story. See 9:17.

9:16 Dragon - whoops, sometime over the last four years it all went to shit for Talav Arainai! The House dropped to Second Talon, and he was executed in 9:16 after trying to take back the seat of First. Isadora Arainai takes over, and the House hangs on as Second Talon... for now. Rinna joins House Arainai and immediately works well with Zevran and Taliesen under the mentorship of Eoman Arainai (World of Thedas, vol 2, p. 96). This would be the earliest that Caterina could reach First Talon, but I'm not sure I'd put it this early. I think the latest she could possible reach First would be 9:25ish based on my guesses about House Velardo (see below).

9:17 Dragon - Lucanis born (described as 36 in the data-mined character descriptions. I know I threw out those descriptions for Teia, but I think we can be pretty certain Lucanis is mid thirties).

9:17 Dragon - Teia born. I was going back through Eight Little Talons and my initial read was wrong. Teia is 28 during the events of the story.

9:24 Dragon - House Arainai, having the sort of shitty luck they absolutely deserve, falls entirely out of the rank of Talons when Second Talon Isadora dies. They wallow amongst the cuchillos (minor houses) for a few years (World of Thedas, vol 2, p. 96).

9:22 - 9:27 - House Velardo attempts to usurp First Talon from House Dellamorte? The resulting war kills all of Caterina's children and grandchildren, save Lucanis and Illario. My reasoning here is this: Lucanis says he and Illario would have ended up with Caterina to train, but being orphaned sent them to her younger than anticipated. Zevran was purchased at age 7, so we know Crow training, at least for House Arainai slaves, begins very young. Perhaps the non-slave children of influential house leaders start later, but I would guess not much. So I'm assuming they end up with Caterina sometime between ages 5 and 10?

9:25 Dragon - King Maric is thought lost at sea, but is in reality being held by Third Talon Claudio Valisti in a Crow prison on behalf of a Tevinter Magister, Aurielion Titus.

Side note: I had the same reaction to finding out the Crows have a super-fun torture prison as I did to finding out Weisshaupt has dungeons. Just... why? That feels like mission creep? Does the assassin skill set at all overlap with the prison guard skill set?

9:26 - 9:28 - Eoman takes over as head of House Arainai. He eliminates House Ferragani, which was Eighth Talon, thus clearing the way for Arainai to claw its way back into power. Unfortunately, he needs the support of Third Talon Claudio Valisti to take over the position. Valisti wants Rinna Arainai dead (cult / royal bastard reasons) and Eoman tricks Zevran and Taliesen, her lovers, into doing it. This was a very stupid decision (WoT vol 2, p. 96).

9:30 to 9:43 Dragon: Zevran's Revenge

9:30 Dragon - Zevran, depressed and angry about Rinna's death, bids for the contract on the Warden's life. House Arainai is said to have accepted this contract because they believed Loghain to be the best person to defeat the blight (WoT vol 2, p. 96).

Side note: This sort of, if you squint, reconciles the contract on the Warden's life in 9:30 with the memento found in Veilguard that says the Crows had treaties with the Wardens to fight the "next blight". But also they tried to kill the Warden-Commander in Awakenings, too. I guess one could argue a new blight was unlikely so soon but like. Come on, guys. Is your word to the Wardens worth anything or not?

9:31 - 9:34 - If Zevran survived, he comes back from Ferelden with a spring in his step and murder in his heart (and possibly a Warden on his arm) and wreaks absolute havoc on House Arainai. Eoman is first to go, then like half a dozen more of their top people. The House loses Eighth Talon and falls once more into obscurity. The Crows call Zevran (or an unnamed assassin if Zevran is dead) the "Black Shadow" and speculate that he has allies among the cuchillos (WoT vol 2, p. 96).

9:34 - 9:43 - Where the fuck is Zevran?

9:37 Dragon - Corypheus is freed (Legacy DLC). The Venatori will start to be a thing in the next few years, so Lucanis is going to pick up his nickname between now and, say 9:50 Dragon. I'd put it between 9:45 and 9:49 because of vibes (and because he talks about not immediately specialising in mages. Crows get started very young, but I dunno. I see him starting on mages in his mid twenties because, again, vibes.)

9:38 - 9:40 - Events of The Silent Grove (comic - I haven't read it in a while but I'm throwing it in here for complete-ish-ness). Alistair, Varric and Isabela break into the Crow archive and Velabanchel prison (which side note is a totally heinous operation). Isabela kills Claudio Valisti (Third Talon passes to Ezio Valisti). This, for me, raises the question again: Where the fuck is Zevran (sob). Valisti was implicated in Rinna's death, so either Zevran never found out or he couldn't get to Valisti while he was cleaning house.

9:44 Dragon - Ongoing: We're Entering Our Freedom-Fighter Era

9:44 Dragon - The events of 'Eight Little Talons'. Briefly: Caterina calls all the Talons together to plan for the imminent invasion of the Antaam, but a whole bunch of murder happens. Turns out that Fourth Talon Emil Kortez made deal with the Antaam and was trying to wipe out the Crows' leadership. He was killed by the survivors and Viago suggests--correctly, I think--that Caterina will wipe out the whole house.

The following Talons are killed but it seems like their houses will probably retain their status, with somebody else taking over as Talon:

Dante Balazar, Second

Lera Valisti, Third

Giuli Arainai, Eighth (having only just managed to lift that fucking house back up to Talonship, shame lol)

In addition to Caterina, Viago, and Teia, Sixth Talon Nero Bolivar survives, but he um, isn't much help. I would guess that Caterina, in a pretty strong alliance with Viago and Teia and with all the other Talons being new, might fuck his shit up and try to get someone more solid in before the Antaam invade?

9:44 - ongoing - WHERE THE FUCK IS ZEVRAN???? He can't have taken control of any of the eight Talon houses, because he's not at the summit in 'Eight Little Talons'-- and however much he damaged House Arainai, they've clawed back some power by 9:44. Is there a breakaway faction of cuchillo houses that Caterina won't even dignify with an acknowledgment? Is he not interested in any kind of Crow power and is just fucking shit up for them - we can assume House Valisti has had a lock on Third Talon since at least 9:28 (Claudio or Ezio Valisti pop up periodically in this position), and my guess is House de Riva have held Fifth a decent period of time, but as far as I can tell we know nothing about Second, Fourth, Sixth and Seventh Talon Houses in this period. So maybe Zev is toppling houses left, right and centre? Seems like that sort of instability might have changed Caterina's approach in 'Eight Little Talons', though...

9:51 - Lucanis imprisoned in the Ossuary.

9:51 - Antaam invasion of Antiva, starting with Treviso. The Antaam rebellion begins in 9:44 and is ongoing; the failure of Kortez in 9:44 delayed the invasion somewhat. I wouldn't have thought it would delay it this much, but I'm pretty sure that it happened while Lucanis was imprisoned, right? So since we free him in 9:52 after a year in the Ossuary, the invasion must have been delayed until 9:51? Maybe very late 9:50?

"Conclusions"

(I haven't read the comics in a bit and I know there's some Crow stuff that goes down in there beyond the Silent Grove... but as best I recall its just Teia and Viago running into Varric and Harding, and some stuff setting up Solas and the Antaam. Please let me know if I'm mistaken!)

I think it's safe to say the Crows are in chaos for pretty much the entire first half of the Dragon age: Arainai are causing chaos from 9:16 to 9:25, then they pass the torch to Velardo, whose war against House Dellamorte must have lasted a few years if it wiped out almost all of Caterina's family. Zevran is on a murder spree at least between 9:31 and 9:34, and possibly (much) longer depending on your headcanon.

After, at very best, a decade's peace, 9:44 sees the plot to wipe out the Crow leadership, which fails but does kill half the Talons and lead to the elimination of at least one, maybe two of the Talon Houses. Half a decade after that the Antaam invades.

I've been completely on board with the critiques of Veilguard's portrayal of the Crows, but I think writing it all out like this has helped me reconcile things a little bit? This is a deeply chaotic network of feuding families, and no single Talon is going to have the secure political power to make sweeping changes. Which isn't to say the child abuse that was definitely still occuring in Houses Dellamorte and de Riva during Rook and Lucanis' childhoods is just fine. But it makes more sense to me now that Houses Dellamorte, de Riva and Cantori could have wildly different ideas about slavery and torture prisons than, say Houses Arainai and Valisti--and have extremely limited power to shift the culture of competing Houses. Even the First Talon's position is deeply precarious.

Whew. Good night!

(Just realised as I was tagging that I haven't slotted The Wigmaker Job in anywhere. I thiiiiink Viago mentions in 'Eight Little Talons' that Lucanis is currently in Tevinter for a job, maybe a sly reference to Wigmaker? But I cannot possibly get sucked in any deeper, my dog is losing her entire mind at me STILL being at the computer.)

***

Waking up and editing to add: At some point in her time as a Talon (probably First but I guess maybe not?), Caterina wiped out another house so completely that Teia doesn't even recognise the name, Gaspari, when Viago mentions it in 'Eight Little Talons'. Given House Velardo was the one that made a play for First Talon, this is a whole 'nother big intra-Crows conflict that slots in somewhere on this timeline. Caterina is ruthless, y'all.

***

Editing again a few days later to report that I was flicking through WoT and spotted a WHOLE-ASS ENTRY on Claudio Valisti that I’d managed to miss. I was… not happy. I’m begging you BioWare, no more information. I cannot reconcile it.

Anyway. World of Thedas, vol 2, p 44, has Claudio Valisti taking over from his father as Eighth Talon in 9:34, quickly getting the house to Sixth Talon and appearing to be going places. This appears to contradict p. 96 of the same, which has a Third Talon Claudio Valisti helping House Arainai in 9:28, as described above.

I thought very carefully about tearing the page out, burning it, and forgetting I ever knew this particular piece of lore.

Instead I have decided fuck it, we have a father-son pair here. Senior helped out Arainai in 9:28. His house later fell to Eighth (in my incredibly unwieldy and underdeveloped headcanon this is partly because helping Arainai really pissed off Caterina). Claudio Senior dies in 9:34, Claudio Junior inherits. By the time Junior dies to Isabela in 9:38-40 he’s got the house properly back on track, so the loss of a leader doesn’t destabilise them too badly.

Ezio Valisti is Third Talon in 9:41, according to the Winter Palace announcer in Inquisition, and the house still holds the third seat in 9:44.

(Also edited Teia’s birth year from 9:15 to 9:17; I misread Eight Little Talons. She’s 28 during the events of the story.)