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orcasoul · 2 months ago

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The Lesser of Two Evils

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

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

Word Count: 7,001

Chapter 6 A Home From Home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

*****

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x ofc #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fluff #marcus acacius angst #general marcus acacius #gladiator 2 movie #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal characters

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evilgwrl · 6 months ago

Text

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Thirteen

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Allusions to panic attacks, excessive gore, fluff with Simon at the end <3

Taglist: @waves-against-a-cliff @echo9821 @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan @dlishus05

Masterlist

I HATE THIS CHAPTER LIKE USUAL BUT I HOPE U ALL ENJOY IT

All you could feel was burning.

Your lungs were aflame, sucked into your ribs with every gruelling indent. Your thighs were worn down, almost skinned to the bone, oozing wounds of blood and puss pooling at your knees as you heaved, scraping past thorned bushes.

The trees felt alive, clawing at you with pointed wooden talons, the prickle of sharpened sticks tearing at exposed flesh. Swollen feet met tar, the eldritch smell of a metallic tang consumed you, rotting away in every sense as you panted.

Your skin was like leather, worn down and bleak as your body collided against the abandoned roads, the slaughtered sound of the walking dead nearing with every passing frame. The sight of them was familiar, only mangled now.

You weren’t sure what had happened.

All you remember is how it started.

The day was darker than usual, consumed by an epiphany of greying clouds. The rumble of thunder stalked your every move as you committed to your daily rounds, your heart smouldered by the grief that had caught up to you.

They had all smiled at you as they welcomed you with breakfast. Why did Gaz seem different? Was he ill? You shook it off with a smile.

Why did you shake it off with a smile?

Your stomach was hot now, a building sensation of nausea washing over you as you tended to your garden. You locked eyes with Soap, his own staring back with a darkened hue of blue, any surrounding white slowly turning into a bleak red. Was he tired? You would lecture him about sleeping earlier later.

You felt caged in as you entered the house once more, kicking off your over-worked shoes with a grunt as you headed for the sink, desperate to scrub off the caking dirt that stuck to your fingers.

Gaz was sweating now, droplets of milky residue working down his forehead as he coughed, spluttering into the palms of his hands. His skin turned a ghastlier shade by the time you faced him, his hands shaking before the rest of him followed suit, his body convulsing as it clattered onto the floor.

Your voice was mousy as you called out, your limbs plastered together as you overwatched Ghost press two fingers to his neck, chasing a pulse that wouldn’t come.

The timber that held the house felt weaker now, almost rotten, as it clattered under your feet. It was crumbly, squeaking under you with every step as you heaved in what felt like mould.

Where was your gun?

You could hear Soap calling out to you, his voice nasally, almost inaudible as he choked on his accent before it turned to blood, his uvula dangling at the back of his throat with every metallic form of discharge from his lungs.

You were in your bathroom now, the tap running with what seemed like extra force as the drain clogged, murky water soon flooding the kitchen as you pounded at the door, rattling with the rusted knob. Your feet were drenched as you kicked in the wilted timber, the frame clattering under you as you climbed through the formed hole you had made, a wooden shard catching onto your forearm with a drag, a pained wince leaving your mouth as you clutched onto the wound.

Everything felt blurred, almost like you were stuck in slow-mo. You could feel Price’s shoulder under your fingers, his skin cold. Why was his neck bleeding? Your touch was soggy now, a familiar squelch sounding from under you as greying eyes met yours.

His grip was strong, holding you onto the breaking floorboards with every snarl, your skin tearing as you were pulled along wilted frames, the oak crumbling under your shoes as you cried. Price’s hands were at your stomach, clawing at the breaking skin with rotting claws.

You could hear your blood thumping as you kicked at his drooping frame, the bones in his legs tumbling into his ligaments as he clattered to the floor. You were dragging yourself to the door now, the grumble of corroding mouths swarming you as you trailed a bloodied path to your frame.

How did you make it to the forest?

The grass mocked you as you watched it die, the blades sphacelating with every step you took. Your hands were on your abdomen, clutching onto the open wound as blood spluttered, your grip pushing against the seeping organs that writhed against you.

Your vision had turned orange now, any welcoming colours forgotten as you pushed against a shrub with your shoulder. The sweet berries you used to eat now turned poisonous as you mewled into the air.

Your throat was closing in now, curling against your oesophagus as your hands pushed into your mouth, pressing into the back of it as you gagged, forcing bile across the ground as you heaved.

Why did you stop clutching your stomach?

You were on the road again. Your trail had gotten stronger as you skinned your knee against the blackened pavement. You felt your eyes close, fluttering to an abnormal silence as your lids ceased any light.

Everything was static now. Why couldn’t you open your eyes? Greedy hands pulled at your flesh, a searing pain moulting into your chest as festering digits tore at your insides, digging through your organs with a tug before holding them to degraded teeth.

You could feel them at your neck, tapping against your skin with uncertainty. Your mouth was parted open, the skin from your lips torn as you attempted to scream only to be consumed by one’s hand.

They were pushing down your throat now, scraping along sensitive walls. Your lungs were drowning, your nose heaving as you attempted to breathe before infested fingers held them closed.

Your eyes were open now, looking down in desperation. There was a strange indent against your chest, tugging and pulling at the veins that penetrated beneath the surface. You could see fingers now poking from inside you, rotting talons digging through the flesh before they pierced the exterior.

How were you still alive?

Greedy hands ripped at your ribcage, snapping your bones like measly twigs. It was red-hot pain everywhere. Your brain stopped thinking, overwritten by the intense agony that writhed through you.

You weren’t breathing. Your lungs were empty. They were mouthing something to you now, their lips consumed by gore. Why can’t you speak? Why can’t you hear? Hands were by your head, pressing along your scalp tenderly as bloodied fingers dyed your hair. Your eyes were wide, begging for sanity.

Your body was emptied now, the residue of beating organs trailed along the road. Your heart was spluttering inside someone’s stomach. Fingers toyed at your scalp, dragging along your forehead with a permanent indent.

You mourned the last of you, your brain repeating the words ‘you’re dead’ in a constant stream. Or was that your own voice? The faces around you were a blur now, their bodies melting into the tar as a swarm crowded you. Your eyes blurred as you took in the faces around you.

They were all you.

Your body was writhing against the sheets, a strum of sobs tearing through you as your teeth tucked into your lips, drawing blood. Simon was fast, his hands resting against the side of your head as he guided you back to reality.

Your voice cracked as you screamed out, shoving him away as you sucked in a breath.

“Sweet’art, you were having a nightmare, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

“S-Simon?”

Your voice was hoarse, stripped from all moisture as you pressed against your stomach, looking down at your perfectly fine frame.

“I’m sorry,” you mewled, finding your voice as you swiped the sweat against your forehead. The Lieutenant was harder to see in the dark, but you could make out the softness in his eyes.

“Don’t have to apologise. I get them too.”

Your brows raised momentarily before you smiled at him, holding your hand out as he grasped onto it. He paused for a moment before he held it to his chest. He was warm.

It was subtle but you could feel it. He could feel it too.

“When they used to get bad, I used to search for my heart and feel the beat. Reminded me that I was okay.”

“I can feel it,” you whispered, trailing your hand up his chest before it met with the apple of his cheek.

“I can feel you too.”

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aceecee · 3 days ago

Text

Apartment 08 - Prologue

Synopsis: The tenant in apartment 08 always remained a mystery to the residents. Rumours about the individual living there always floated around.

A member of the mafia syndicate.

Leader of the mafia syndicate.

The ghost they were all sure haunted the building.

And so many more. Until a select few of the residents get up and close with the tenant herself.

MC x Reader x Love Interests

Set in our modern time. No evols.

Masterlist

Settled into the heart of the city, resides an apartment building. Vastly different from the numerous skyscrapers around it, the building isn’t tall - housing only twelve apartments and nine floors - it maintains the old vintage look. The building is nearly two hundred years old, the red bricks used to build it have become washed out over time but the owners like it that way. This doesn’t take away from its beauty. The outside is covered in beautiful plants, vines are left to grow naturally and flowers bloom on the grounds.

The current owner is a seventy year old woman named Lottie. Her ancestors had been exploited for their labour and had built it. Her grandfather worked hard to gain the deed to it and succeeded. Promising to never show the sickening greed its previous owner had, rules had been set for whoever would own it. One such is to keep the rent at an attainable price and to never sell out to the big corporations. Luckily a decade ago, the building had been granted a historical landmark status which made this easy for poor old Lottie. Fighting those vultures had been easy when she was younger but she no longer had it in her now..

It’s these attributes that make the building very sought after, many wanted to live in it even offering to pay ten times the rent. But Lottie researched each tenant well. A tenant's job, age, sex, none of it mattered to her. She cared for who the person was. Each current individual residing on the floor was handpicked by her. So, if you find yourself before her, never show greed.

When one enters through the dark oak doors at the entrance, they are greeted by the lobby. You’ll be walking on shining hardwood floors, the janitor takes his job seriously. Even more so since Lottie lets his entire family live here. Unlike most buildings that have bright white lights that give you a headache, the lighting in here is warm, like the sun embracing you with its rays on a nice hot day. There’s a gorgeous chandelier right in the middle of the room. If you walk a few steps inside, you’ll find the reception desk where two twins by the name of Luke and Kieran will greet you. Lottie had adopted them when they were children. You might be a little confused at the masks they wear but it's none of your business so move on. Lottie will warn you that they can be a little mischievous with a soft smile on her face. Regardless, the twins take their job very seriously and will always be there in times of crisis.

Next to the reception desk, you’ll find cubes mounted to the wall. The labels on them starting from 01 to 012. This is where any mail or parcels get delivered to. You might gape in shock at what you see next. The beauty of the grand spiral staircase is indescribable. There’s a deep red rug fitted into the stairs, which are made of marble themselves. The railings are gold. The staircase spans up to the highest floor but we’ll get to those soon. To the side of the staircase are elevators, a recent addition that Lottie felt was necessary. The tenants thank her for it. The elevators are disguised to fit into the wood of the walls, only the outline of them can be seen but the buttons make it easier.

Also in the lobby is a gym and a laundry room. Not much to say about them so…

If you choose to take the elevator, you’ll be greeted with the option of nine floors. The option are as follows:

G - the garage

L - that’s the lobby, you’re already here silly!

F1 - apartment’s 01-02 are on this floor

F2 - apartment’s 03-04 are on this floor

F3 - apartment’s 05-06 are on this floor

F4 - apartment’s 07-08 are on this floor

F5 - apartment’s 09-10 are on this floor

P1 - penthouse one

P2 - penthouse two

If Lottie has agreed to you being a tenant, then congrats! That must mean you gave her a good impression. Here, let us tell you about the other residents.

Apartment 01 houses our janitor, Miles. He lives there with his wife and three-year old son. Not much to say about them but they are very nice people. Miles’ wife, Karla, will show up to your door with a dish in hand from time to time. She likes cooking for people, just let her know your dietary requirements.

Apartment 02 houses Lottie herself and the twins. Many thought she would take one of the penthouses for herself but Lottie doesn’t like the colour of the walls in there.

Apartment 03 has a nice old couple living there. Samson is a little snappy at times but he means well. He once beat up a man that was stalking the girl next door. Him and his cane are a very dangerous duo so don’t make him angry. But if you do then bake him some chocolate chip cookies and all will be forgotten. His husband, Pierre, loves to gossip. If Samson is quiet then Pierre is loud, they are such opposites that you might question how they’ve lasted this long. But then you see the way they look at each other and the question fades away.

Apartment 04 has a young college student living there, Anjali. She’s a bit of a hopeless romantic but to her misfortune, she ends up meeting terrible men and women. It’s okay, Samson is always there to beat them up for her.

Apartment 05 has a handsome police officer. His name is Xavier. He’s very illusive, often away at work but when you do see him, he’s always sleeping. It’s common to find him knocked out in weird places so either put a blanket on him or drag him to his apartment.

Apartment 06 houses a pair of adopted siblings. The older one is a man named Caleb. He’s a pilot so he’s gone a lot. You’ll find him at the gym downstairs a lot, make sure to say hi, he’s very friendly. His sister, Mara, is actually Xavier’s colleague. Well, work partner is more fitting. Just like her brother, she’s very welcoming. She has the best snacks so if you befriend her, she’ll share them with you.

Apartment 07 has a cardiologist living in it. Zayne is a kid genius, already Chief in his department while most people his age haven’t even become residents. You’re more likely to meet him in the hospital as a patient then as a tenant. Just kidding, if you work very early or come back very late then it’s more likely you’ll meet him. He has a bit of a sweet tooth, if you want to exploit it.

Apartment 08 houses our mystery. No one knows who lives there. No one has seen the individual, many thought it was vacant but Lottie herself confirmed it. When asked about it, she didn’t answer. She believes it's not her place and who are we to argue with her on that. The insane rumours circulating can all be attributed to Mara, who had come up with theories as to why no one has seen them. None of them are true in case you were wondering.

Apartment 09 has a newly wed couple in it. Lisa is currently working as a Librarian, at a bookstore she owns. She used to go to a very prestigious school when she was younger. Her love for knowledge is why she works, her library is popular, you’ll find a lot of rare books in there. None for sale but she’ll be happy for you to come in and read them. Her wife, Jean, is a captain in the military. Jean is away on business a lot but the two make it work.

Room 10 is currently vacant. It has been for a while. Rumor has it that a girl used to live in there until she was brutally murdered and now her ghost haunts the building. Probably not true.

Penthouse 01 has a man named Rafayel in there. He’s… eccentric. You might recognise his name, his paintings are well sought after. It’s common for him to spend days holed up in his penthouse, working on his art. Don’t disturb him when this happens. He might seem harmless but don’t believe that.

Penthouse 02 is the top floor. It’s occupied by a man named Sylus. He owns the giant conglomerate, Onychinus. I’m sure you’re confused as to why Lottie let a man who goes against what she stands for live in her building. Truth is no one really knows why. He’s the one who’s lived in this building the longest. Some say it was him who introduced the twins to Lottie, maybe that's why she allowed him to stay.

The mystery in Apartment 08 still remains. Maybe it’ll be answered one day.

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a-major-love · 8 months ago

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Night Fever

Pairing - Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader

Summary - Of all people you could have met that fateful night, it had to be him.

Word Count - 1k+

Warnings - MDNI, fem pronouns, mentions of smoking & alcohol, no use of y/n

A/N - I always imagined dancing with Michael was incredibly fun but also probably intimidating. Enjoy!

1977

Spotlights pierced through the haze of smoke filtering the air, beaming down on the partygoers. Sweat rolled off their skin, mingling with the overpowering stench of perfume and cigarettes. The men and women’s eyes twinkled at you, sparkling from pressed glitter. Their bright, painted lips mouthed along to the stream of ABBA lyrics filling the crowded space. The music pouring from the speakers vibrated under your feet. Studio 54 was lively, and terrifying all at once.

“Friday nights are always the busiest,” your friend – Alicia – mentioned from beside you. Her stark black hair was pulled into a tight bun, revealing her teal colored eyeshadow. The sequined dress she wore hung off her bronzed shoulders, flecks of glitter dotted her skin.

You glanced down at the denim jumpsuit you wore, with a thick belt secured around the waist. Somehow, despite the pumps digging into the soles of your feet, you felt mildly underdressed. You scanned the crowd, biting your lip as your eyes swept over the other dancers.

“Let’s go, birthday girl,” Alicia said, nudging you towards the center of the room.

You giggled. “I’m just trying to appreciate the atmosphere.”

“Well, you can go appreciate it out on the dancefloor.”

She grasped onto your forearm, pushing through the cluster of hot bodies that brushed against you two. You could feel the men’s gazes pass over you, their heavy eyes glancing over your form before looking away. Glasses with golden liquid, and pierced olives swung around you as the people got lost in the music.

You finally approached the middle of the dance floor, where a bright, glowing disco ball hung above your heads. Alicia broke out into a grin, her pearly white teeth pointed to the ceiling. Her dangled hearings whipped around her face as she began swaying to the music.

It was initially her idea, at first, to celebrate your birthday at Studio 54. All you knew about the nightclub was that the entrance fee was too expensive, and the line never seemed to ease up. As much as you adored Alicia, you couldn’t find a good reason to stand outside all night – in New York during the spring – hoping to make it inside before the place closed. If there’s one thing you understood about spring in New York, it was how cold the nights could be.

So, how in the hell she pulled this off, you were sure she would take to her grave.

You laughed, watching her bounce around, throwing her head back. Acting as if a plethora of eyes weren’t on her. You swayed your hips, letting your eyes close as the sweet sounding harmonies of the Bee Gees washed over you. It felt as if everybody on the dance floor was in sync, breathing and moving in time with each other.

Sharing one heart, one pulse to the music.

Your body moved and rocked, becoming bewitched by the entrancing tune.

“Excuse me-

You suddenly bumped into someone, startling both you and the stranger.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said, whipping around to face them. A pair of oak, brown eyes crinkled at you as the strange man chuckled to himself.

“It’s alright,” he assured, adjusting his blazer. “You’re not a bad dancer, you know.”

You playfully grinned at him, “Have you been watching me dance?”

“I – uh didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered.

You scanned the man, taking in his wide doe eyes and large afro currently dusted with glossy confetti. A gold pendant rested between the dip of his chest, a sliver of deep brown skin peaking through the few undone buttons.

Somewhere, in the back corners of your mind, familiarity tugged at your brain.

“Have we met before?” you inquired, furrowing your brows.

“No, we haven’t,” he answered, perhaps a little too quickly.

You opened your mouth to reply, when he stuck his hand out.

“Is it alright if we danced together?” he asked.

Heat creeped up your face, as you took his inviting hand – his skin was silky smooth and warm in your grasp. He softly smiled at you, as he tugged your form closer to him. Swiftly, he twirled you around, giggling at your reaction as you nearly stumbled from the sudden movement. You caught yourself in time, taking both his hands as you grooved to the deep bass coming from the speakers.

His eyes remained trained on you, as if analyzing every motion and gesture you made. The music enveloped you two, as the dance floor fell away, along with the people surrounding it. The club was nothing but a blur of color, as the hot white lights radiated down on you two. The music pulsed through your skin, reverberating against your ribcage. The sweet, lingering scent of nicotine floated through the air. It was as if the dancefloor came alive from under your feet suddenly, a pulsating heartbeat belonging to the untamable beast known as music. His hands never left yours, as he pulled you into his side, before going into a spin.

You watched, in fascination. “You’re not a bad dancer yourself.”

He bashfully smiled. “Well, I’ve been dancing for most of my life.”

“Do you do it for a career, or something?” “...You could say that.”

He twirled you again, interrupting whatever train of thought you were processing.

The night went on endlessly it seemed, as if time had temporarily stopped. Yet, the crowd of Studio 54 never broke off. A stream of guests revolved in and out of the space, some dressed in dripping jewels that outshined the hanging disco ball or extravagant outfits that felt expensive to even look at. It felt as if you were in a lion's mouth, a wet, breathing cage waiting to clamp down on you.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around your frame.

“Let’s get going, my feet are killing me,” Alicia groaned, already tugging you away.

“Wait!” The man called out, feeling your hand loosen in his grip. Alicia squinted at him, trying to make out his features through the alcohol induced brain fog.

“You look a little familiar...” she muttered.

“I’ll meet you outside,” you explained, nudging your friend back. Alicia glanced over at you, glossy lips pouting at your urgency. She finally caved, rolling her eyes as she knowingly nodded and began to maneuver her way through the crowd.

You turned to face him. “I had a really great time, uh-

“Michael,” he introduced, squeezing your hand.

Had he been holding it the entire time?

“Well, it was really fun dancing with you, Michael.”

His eyes flickered between yours, as if weighing something in his mind. Michael eventually sighed, reluctantly loosening his grip and letting your hand fall to your side.

“I hope we get to do it again, sometime,” he said. With wistful smile growing on his lips.

You returned the smile, clenching your hand from the sudden loss of warmth. Without another word, you turned and made your way to the exit.

The bumping music followed you out the double doors and onto the bustling street of New York City’s nightlife. A breeze brushed against your bare arms, biting at your skin. Alicia was leaning against a car, impatiently tapping her foot. Her eyes finally landed on you, wearing a strange expression you couldn’t quite place.

“Girl, I have several questions,” she started, opening the car door for you.

You snorted. “Ask me when it’s not past midnight.”

She sidled into the passenger seat, as you started up the engine. The bright, white lights of Studio 54 reflected off the hood of your car.

You could still feel his presence, even during the drive home.

#michael jackson #michael jackson x reader #king of pop #the jacksons era #studio 54 #1970s #one shot

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nayziiz · 10 months ago

Text

Forever | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (she her)

Author's note: Very short, but very soft.

Masterlist

The sun began to set, casting a warm golden tint over the sprawling vineyard that stretched out like a lush, green ocean. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming roses and lavender, mingling with the rich aroma of oak barrels from the nearby winery. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, strung between the towering olive trees, creating a canopy of stars that shimmered against the dusky sky.

Guests mingled and laughed, their voices a pleasant hum that blended with the gentle strumming of a guitar from the live band positioned near the rustic, wooden dance floor. The band, dressed in casual, bohemian attire, played a melodic tune that invited everyone to sway and move to its rhythm, including the bridal pair, Pierre and Kika. Elegant tables draped in crisp white linens were scattered around, each adorned with delicate floral centrepieces and flickering candles. A long, beautifully decorated table stood at the heart of the venue, laden with an array of gourmet dishes and fine wines, reflecting the celebratory spirit of the occasion.

Charles stood at the edge of the dance floor, a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes fixed on the centre of the activity. There, illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the lights, was his partner, dancing with carefree abandon. The music seemed to flow through her, her movements fluid and graceful, her laughter a bright, contagious melody that added to the joy of the evening. She wore a flowing, navy dress with a slight glitter to it that caught the light with every twirl, the fabric rippling like water. Her hair, adorned with a wreath of wildflowers, cascaded down her back in loose waves. There was a radiance about her, a pure, unfiltered joy that made her stand out to him among the other guests. Her smile, wide and genuine, was the kind that made anyone who saw it smile too, spreading happiness like ripples in a pond.

Charles watched her, his heart swelling with love and pride. She moved effortlessly from dance partner to dance partner, drawing everyone into her orbit, making them feel like they were the only person in the world at that moment. Her energy was infectious, her spirit indomitable. It was moments like these that reminded him why he had fallen in love with her – her ability to find joy in the simplest of things and to share that joy with everyone around her, even at their friends’ wedding.

He took a sip of his champagne, savouring the crisp, bubbly liquid as he continued to observe her. She caught his eye and her face lit up even more, if that was possible. She beckoned him with a playful wave, her eyes sparkling with mischief and love. Charles couldn’t help but grin back, feeling the warmth of her gaze wash over him. He set down his glass and made his way towards her, weaving through the clusters of guests. As he reached her, she took his hand and pulled him into the dance, her laughter ringing out like music to his ears. He spun her around, the world narrowing to just the two of them amidst the joyful chaos of the wedding celebration.

They moved together, in perfect harmony, their steps synchronised like a practised dance. Charles held her close, feeling the beat of her heart against his chest, matching his own. The world faded away, and for a moment, it was just the two of them under the canopy of stars and fairy lights.

“How long is forever?” he wondered aloud, his voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of laughter and music.

“Huh?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. She had been so lost in the moment, twirling in his arms, that his sudden question caught her off guard.

“How long do you think forever is?” he repeated, his gaze drifting towards a newlywed couple dancing nearby. “They promised to love each other forever, so how long is forever?”

His eyes, filled with curiosity and a hint of vulnerability, returned to hers. She chuckled softly, shaking her head as she studied his face.

“Are you having some existential crisis, baby?” she teased. There was a playful glint in her eyes, but she could see that his question was genuine, not just a passing thought.

“I'm just curious,” he said, a slight shrug accompanying his words. He looked down, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of her hand.

“I think forever is everything and more,” she began, her voice thoughtful and tender. “It's not just a timeframe, but all the small moments in between. The laughter, the tears, the joy, the sadness, the anger, the patience, the kindness, the forgiveness. It's how even when you're both long gone, your story will still be told and sung, swept away in the wind, etched in the Milky Way, so no one could ever forget it.”

He listened intently, her words resonating deep within him.

“Mmh,” he murmured, letting the weight of her words settle in his heart.

“What? Is that too philosophical for you?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice. He shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I think that's exactly what forever is for us,” he replied, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. “You know I'd love you forever and a day.”

“And I'd love you forever and a day, too, baby,” she whispered, her eyes shining with love. She leaned in, their foreheads touching, and in that intimate space, the promise of forever felt as real and as tangible as the stars twinkling above them.

As the song came to an end, she rested her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. Charles kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes, letting the moment etch itself into his memory. It was a beautiful evening, a perfect celebration of love, and as he held her in his arms, he knew that this was just the beginning of their lifelong dance together.

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rahuratna · 4 months ago

Text

Synopsis:

"Welcome, Visitor, to Jujutsu Guild Academy, tucked discreetly away in the rolling foothills of the Byre Veld Mountains. Our team of expert sorcerers, now misfits and outcasts from society, gather here to train their talented students, as well as use their exceptional skills to solve cases brought to them by those who know the true nature of the Guild ... much like yourself. We invite you to place your case at their disposal. We guarantee that you won't be disappointed."

Genre: Fantasy AU, mystery, suspense, horror, humour, detective agency

Content warnings: dark themes, murder, violence.

Rating: T

Dividers by: @sister-lucifer

Part 1

“Balance is paramount in the world of sorcery, and yet, not easily understood or visualised. The Magical Clade system, developed in the planetary turn of 214, embraces the diverse nature of magic in all forms. Bitura and Matura; the predictable and the unexplored, the two known aspects of sorcery existing side by side in a tenuously held set of universal scales, cannot be wholly characterised by our existing body of knowledge.

Let us then examine their five known components, the arcane origins of which have, thus far, been the subject of much theorising. Human, planetary, chaotic, contractual and natural, different facets of a world we have only just begun to comprehend … “

~ An Introduction to Arcane Clades, A. Zahari.

At the top of a hill in a small vineyard, near the age-smoothed arc of the stairs that lead to an imposing set of oak doors, an elderly man hesitates.

Jirou has arrived against the will of many in his village, seeking the kind of help he knows won’t be available to him elsewhere. He looks up, at the white-painted walls of the former winery, now converted for the purposes of the sorcerers who call this their base of operations.

It seems … peaceful. Idyllic, even. He can see why this place would be a retreat from the bustle and whispered condemnation of society. Now, if only he could muster the courage to –

The doors swing open, and he takes a step back. A man appears in the cool, dark entrance. He wears a short-sleeved white shirt, ideal for the balmy weather, and smart black trousers and boots. His neatly parted hair and the manner by which he adjusts his glasses mark him as one of the officials who probably run the day-to-day operations of this place.

“Good day to you. How may I assist?”

The tone is polite, clipped, professional. Jirou clutches at his straw hat, rotating it nervously within his stiff grasp. He clears his throat.

“Ah … um. Forgive me for intruding. I’m here to see … well, here for help. For my village. I’m from Setsana, just east of the river.”

The bespectacled man glances him over in frank assessment before stepping quietly back through the door and gesturing to him to follow.

“This way.”

“Eh?”

“You want to meet with the sorcerer’s guild, yes?”

“Well … yes, but I thought – “

Jirou sees a glimmer of humour in the eyes of the dark-haired official.

“You may call me Ijichi. What is your name?”

“Jirou.”

“Well, Jirou of Setsana, this agency does not screen their clientele based on location or status. You are clearly here for some assistance, and you’ve asked for it. Now the sorcerers will hear your case.”

Scurrying up the steps and into the cool foyer, Jirou glanced warily around. It was not quite what he had been expecting. The interior had indeed been re-purposed. The terracotta-tiled floor had been preserved, rustic and slightly dusty underfoot. Comfortable rugs had been placed around the airy space. Eclectic, somewhat mismatched antique furniture added a certain charm to the room.

A large hearth stood dormant against one wall, the exquisite grey river stone banded with wooden shelves. Large glass doors opened onto a walled garden on one side, a small courtyard with a carved fountain placed centrally. A wash of cool, fragrant air entered through here, beckoning languidly as Jirou followed Ijichi out and into an adjoining annex.

Clearing his throat, the farmhand addressed Ijichi again.

“Who is it that I’ll be seeing, exactly?”

“Magister Higuruma. He hears all cases and determines what action can be undertaken.”

Ijichi paused, turning slightly, his eyes kind.

“Don’t be put off by his … manner. He simply wants to get to the heart of the matter. Just answer clearly and truthfully. Try to stick to the facts. Wait here for a minute, please.”

Leaving Jirou stewing in the hallway, Ijichi disappeared behind another door. The faint noise of voices, the rustle of paper and a cough could be heard from within. Jirou contemplated turning around and leaving hurriedly. Not running away, no. A tactical retreat. What if this Higuruma was –

The door clicked open and Ijichi reappeared, all too soon.

“You may go in and state your case.”

And thus, Jirou’s fate was sealed.

Higuruma Hiromi was seated behind a large desk, scattered with papers in what could possibly be described as ordered chaos. Jirou entered with the air of a man braving the den of a vicious mountain lion. Higuruma certainly gave off the according aura.

Dark hair, combed back, but slightly dishevelled from the number of times he’d run his fingers through it. The sardonic set of his mouth, the aquiline nose, and above it all, the deep-set, unsettlingly attentive gaze that traced over one’s form, taking in every detail. Higuruma wore a well-tailored waistcoat, gold embroidery over the sable material, his white shirtsleeves rolled back. That faint trace of disorder spilled over here too, visible in the rumpled collar, the ink-stained hands, the dark smudges beneath his eyes that spoke of inadequate sleep, the symptom of an intellect that raced over the landscape of the mundane, gathering a horde of minutiae in its wake.

“Jirou of Setsana?”

“Yes, sir.”

Higuruma waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the seat before his desk and Jirou hurried forward to comply. On the table was a map of the area, marked with a varied array of ink colours and symbols. Jirou was also surprised to see a farmer’s almanack beside the map. He hadn’t ever expected to see such a humble, worn document on the table of such a sorcerer. The sight steadied him, somewhat.

“Thank you for taking the time to hear my case.”

He received only a nod in reply. Higuruma laced his fingers over the desktop and leaned forward, the only signal that Jirou should continue.

“Ah. Um. Our village has been experiencing … some strange things lately. Animals put out to pasture turning up dead. Lights in the forest. Sometimes … well, that’s beside the point, but I feel uneasy. Like something’s coming up from the earth to swallow us all.”

In any other setting, Jirou would never have given voice to such sentiments. Speaking to a sorcerer, however, erased those misgivings. Who knew what mysteries of the arcane Higuruma had already experienced?

The sorcerer in question unlaced his fingers, tracing them over the faded ink trees on the map, denoting the forest near the village.

“Some questions.”

“Pardon?”

“I need to ask some questions.”

“Oh … oh, of course! My apologies if I’ve not given enough – “

Higuruma cut him off, eyes steady, penetrating.

“When did these animal killings begin?”

“Six months ago … I think.”

“You are uncertain?”

“No, I – There were wolves. We found corpses of wolves. Before that. But obviously we didn’t – “

“You didn’t question when the natural predator turned up dead?”

Jirou shrugged helplessly.

“Sometimes bears come down from the mountain.”

“Hmm. And what kind of animals, besides the wolves, were killed?”

“Horses. Sheep. Cattle. Some chickens. Mainly the cows, though.”

“Who found the beasts dead?”

“Different people. I found a horse in a ditch once.”

“How did the horse appear to you?”

“Slaughtered.”

“I need more detail.”

Jirou shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Higuruma’s questions were coming thick and fast, and the elderly man was accustomed to preparing his thoughts before answering.

“Ah. Disembowelled. It’s … entrails had been removed.”

“And they were lying next to the animal?”

“Oh, no. We couldn’t find them anywhere.”

Higuruma raised an eyebrow, pausing slightly for the first time.

“Nothing?”

“No. It was like … the animal had been hollowed out. Like something had reached in and … scooped everything out.”

Abruptly, the sorcerer leaned back in his seat.

“These lights in the forest. Tell me more.”

“Oh, those are strange indeed. We’ve tried to find a pattern as to when they appear, but … they seem to come at odd times. It’s not firelight. Too bright. Almost white. Dancing. It’s definitely magery of some kind.”

“Above the trees?”

“Among them. Between them. Sometimes the trunks of the trees block the light, so we know that it’s moving.”

“And this … feeling you say you have?”

“Oh, that … “

Jirou gave a sheepish chuckle.

“I think with everything going on, I simply … You know. The imaginings of an old – “

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No.”

Higuruma’s abrupt manner took some getting accustomed to. He raised his quill, pointing it at the farmhand like he was preparing to throw it, to pin him and his problem down to a board for analysis.

“Sorcery isn’t about vague incantations and undetermined outcomes. Everything about sorcery is calculated, precise. It relies on universal laws that we haven’t even begun to comprehend, and so, it seems distant or even esoteric. We try to categorise the arcane, place them into neat little pockets to aid our understanding, but that will only take us so far. Your feelings, your dreams, are all likely symptoms of the same problems that plague your village. It’s a pattern we’ve seen many times.”

Jirou gulped heavily.

“We?”

“Our guild.”

Throughout the brief, intense questioning, Higuruma had never written anything down. Now, he dipped his quill, scraping carefully around the edges of the well, and jotted something down on a scrap of parchment. He folded the note and handed it over to Jirou.

“Give this to ijichi when you leave. Permission from the authorities pending, expect our guild members to arrive within three days.”

If Jirou of Setsana had stayed for a few minutes longer, he might have been party to the sudden descent of chaos into the calm that had once reigned over Higuruma’s study. A large tapestry hanging across the left wall shifted slightly, as though in a stray breeze. One of the greyhounds stitched into the rich fabric of the hunting scene moved, the thread of the embroidered eyes snapping subtly back and forth until its gaze faced ahead once again.

Higuruma sighed heavily.

“Do you really think you’re being subtle?”

The hound peered at him. It looked slightly nervous.

“Gojo, I know you’re listening.”

The hound’s goggling took a turn for the worse, the eyes now comically bulging from the tapestry.

“Is it really this hard for you to behave like an adult?”

The hound’s mouth opened wide and new embroidery emerged from its gaping jaws, spelling out the word “YES”.

“For the love of – “

Higuruma raised a finger, shadowy flame erupting across the tip, and the tapestry suddenly folded inwards, then disgorged three occupants, two of whom stumbled right into Higuruma’s desk, the papers on top shifting across the surface of the map he had been studying. Clicking his tongue, the sorcerer folded his arms.

Bright-eyed, cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment, Itadori Yuuji reached up and ruffled his pink hair.

“Good morning, Higuruma – “

“It was his idea.”

Straight to the point as always, Kugisaki Nobara showed not an ounce of shame, her finger pointing firmly in the direction of the tapestry’s third occupant, who had stepped out with stylish flair.

Gojo Satoru, Special Grade Sorcerer, gave a bow that included a flowery, if very irritating, flourish. He straightened and eyed Higuruma cheerfully over his shaded glasses, pale hair gleaming like mage-fire in the dim light of the study. As much as Gojo played into the role of fanciful and flamboyant genius, that undercurrent of monstrous power was always present, one that those close to him had learned to bear with. His apprentices, for some reason, always seemed immune to it.

“You know, I couldn’t help but overhear – “

He received a disbelieving snort in return.

“Try another tack. I never know why you can’t just sit in on interviews instead of – “

Gojo wagged a finger.

“Oh, come on. I mean, look at me. How do you think a simple farmer would take to seeing someone like me staring at him while he tried to give testimony?”

As always, Gojo was attired as if he’d stepped right out of the pages of a racy bodice-ripper. His ruffled collar, unbuttoned fashionably low, high-waisted trousers and the long overcoat he wore over it all enhanced the roguishly handsome look only he was capable of pulling off without seeming horrendously pretentious.

Higuruma stared back, unimpressed, before pushing away the papers that had drifted over the map. Yuuji and Nobara crowded around his desk, eyes eager. He turned his attention to them.

“Assuming you two have heard Jirou’s case, what do you think the approach should be?”

Yuuji hummed thoughtfully.

“I think … maybe scout the area? Check out those woods. Look for traces of unknown sorcery.”

Nobara elbowed him aside, not to be outdone.

“And talk to the villagers. Look, I grew up in a village like this, and let me tell you, everyone’s just dying to let you know their neighbour’s business.”

Higuruma nodded.

“Good, but we’re missing something vital.”

Gojo’s hand shot into the air.

“Oooh, pick me, Magister!”

“Come, you two. Think.”

Ignoring Gojo’s pleading look, Higuruma waited patiently. Yuuji’s face had taken on a serious cast, his eyes fixed on the map.

“Uhhh … what about the animals? There must be something about the way they��ve been killed … “

“Precisely. The fact that their entrails were removed tells us something.”

Nobara’s eyes narrowed.

“Some village soothsayers read entrails. To tell people’s fortunes and that kind of thing.”

“Except, in this case, no trace of the entrails was found. You’re certainly right about soothsayers, but they need fresh kills, and for the entrails to be present in the corpse of the animal.”

“So … “

“So you’re going to help with the investigation. With my permission, of course.”

Higuruma finally met Gojo’s gaze and shook his head in silent communication. Gojo gave a small smile in return.

“No need to tell me. You need me for that … other issue. So, who’s it going to be?”

“I’ve already sent a note out with Ijichi. He should be here - ”

A knock sounded on the study door, three sharp taps in quick succession. Yuuji glanced up at the clock and grinned.

“It’s ten o’ clock on the dot. That’s gotta be - ”

If Jirou of Setsana hadn’t hurried home, he might have also witnessed the arrival of the man who would lead the investigation at his village. Brisk, measured pace carrying him across the gravel of the courtyard, Nanami Kento arrived shortly before the stroke of ten.

Formerly a member of the merchant guild, Nanami was always properly attired in formal sorcerer’s robes, a plain, pristine, royal blue waistcoat, trousers and sensible leather walking boots beneath. A yellow patterned cravat formed a slight contrast to the sobriety of his appearance.

To ordinary folk, Nanami looked particularly unremarkable. Like Gojo and Higuruma, however, there was something about him that the trained eye wouldn’t miss; a martial air to his bearing, a certain predatory awareness in his cool glance, a grace in his long stride that spoke of great strength and agility.

Passing through the foyer, he greeted Ijichi, whose communication he had received a short while ago. At the door to Higuruma’s study, he paused, hearing the voices from within. Gojo’s dulcet tones were unmistakeable. Sighing, he checked his pocket watch.

One minute to the hour.

One more minute without Gojo.

He waited, enjoying the brief silence.

At the chime of the clock within the study, he knocked and entered.

“Nanamin!”

“Right on time.”

Nobara tugged at the blonde sorcerer’s sleeve impatiently.

“Come over here. They found some animals with their guts scooped out.”

“Excuse me?”

Yuuji joined Nobara, lifting Nanami’s carry case out of his hand and ushering him towards the table.

“The new case that just came in!”

“We’re going together to investigate.”

“There’s a small village – “

“And they have these flashing lights in the forest – “

“And this old guy has a bad feeling – “

“And Higuruma doesn’t think it’s his arthritis or indigestion – “

“And he thinks bears come down from the mountain? You ever heard of anything like that?”

Raising his hands in long-suffering protest, Nanami finally gained some silence from the two apprentices. Gojo was lounging against Higuruma’s desk with a smile he wasn’t sure he liked.

“I’m out of this one, Nanami. Higuruma needs me elsewhere.”

Nodding Nanami turned his attention to the Magister who had been watching the scene humourlessly over steepled fingers.

“I assume you’ll brief me?”

“Of course. Give me two hours and I’ll have clearance from the USCRC.”

The Utilitarian Sorcery Centre for Regulation and Control was Higuruma’s old stomping ground, the legal wranglings that took place in its ancient auditoriums setting precedents for the dozens of new permutations of sorcery that came up every year. His exit from the same institution in disgrace, and his subsequent fall from grace in the public eye, was common knowledge at the guild.

There were many, however, who understood Higuruma’s decisions better than others, those from within the system who spoke on his behalf and facilitated his establishment in a fully private sense within the Jujutsu Guild Academy. He still maintained those contacts, allowing him full access to the legal records and accelerated permissions to conduct private investigations on behalf of the guild.

Nanami had never enquired as to the nature of Higuruma’s contacts. Nobody did.

Poring over the map on the table as the Magister pointed out the features of relevance, a crease began to form between Nanami’s brows.

“Animals without entrails … Hmm. That’s definitely cause for concern.”

Yuuji peered into his face curiously.

“What do you think it means, Nanamin?”

Shaking his head, Nanami adjusted the shaded glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“It’s too early for me to say. Speculation can be as dangerous as sprinting across a rickety bridge in cases like these. I can say that this probably involves the Matura aspect of sorcery, possibly some form of natural magic, or perhaps, something conceived to look that way.”

Gojo’s crystalline blue glance was also tracing with that characteristic gleam of sharp clarity over the map.

“I think, considering some of the other cases coming our way, that this would be a great opportunity to let the apprentices get their teeth in.”

He clapped his hands cheerfully while Yuuji and Nobara began to look worryingly excited. Gojo tended to have that effect on them.

“What do you say, kids? Tramping through the countryside, scraping cow dung crusts off your heels, breathing in the scent of fermented straw floors and making friends with fleas and other friendly vermin of all kinds.”

He let out a happy sigh.

“I’d love to go myself, but I’ll make this sacrifice for you, and only you, dearest Nanami.”

“How terribly kind of you,” came the dry rejoinder.

Turning to the apprentices, Nanami cocked an eyebrow.

“He does have a point, though. Go to Ieiri and assemble some evidence kits. Tell her to be on standby for receiving samples from us for analysis over the next few days. And then get yourselves prepared. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir!”

Receiving two sharp salutes, the two over-enthusiastic youngsters scampered out of the study, their voices carrying back along the hallway.

When they were out of earshot, Gojo exchanged glances with Higuruma before reaching into his pocket and handing over a small vial to Nanami. Seeing the contents, the sorcerer met Gojo’s stare with a steady, measured glance.

“And what’s this in aid of?”

“Oh, just a little something. In case things get dangerous.”

“You think it’ll come to that?”

Higuruma stood, gathering his coat and heading for the door. “Take it, Nanami. I have a feeling that we’re going to need all the help we can get if the intelligence we’ve received so far is accurate.”

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