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gilbirda · 1 year

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DPxDC cheat sheet

So. I'm not a nitpicking person. I understand that mistakes can be made and typos are a thing and sometimes we are just not the kind of person that can make words work for a variety of reasons (dyslexia, for example).

This is not for that people.

This is for everyone who stumbled into this fandom by mistake and had learned things via osmosis and don't have the energy/time to check the source material for the "correct" thing.

Y'all are valid.

This is a cheat sheet of correct terms and fandom things that are not correct that I've seen in fics.

Disclaimer: while experimenting with canon is fun, this is just to lay down the rules of what's what so it can be the springboard of y'all's beautiful creations.

Given that some people just can't behave online: "If you don't have anything constructive to say, don't say anything." Did I say something wrong? You have resources better than this? You want to make a nitpick? Cool! More info to the mix — But come at me in a hurtful and insulting way and I'm blocking you on the spot.

[Will add more when I think more/have suggestions]

DP SIDE - Post "A Glitch in Time" Canon

Sam is Jewish

Sam is ultra-recyclo-vegetarian aka "doesn't eat anything with a face". Is not a real thing.

It's "Amity Park" not "Amity Ville".

Wes is fanon, same as Kyle. Info on Wes here

It's "Casper High", not "Caspar High".

Mr. Lancer doesn't have a canon name. Common fanon ones are William or Edward.

Ghost obsessions are canon. In AGIT, it's explained that ghosts have a purpose or drive. Danny's purpose is "protection" of both humans and ghosts.

Ghost cores are fanon-ish (there is a mention that Danny's ice powers come from his "core" temperature and is never addressed again, of course) (Episode is "Urban Jungle"). Then in the videogame there are different "types" of ghost powers and something about their cores? Very confusing.

Ghost speak is fanon. However, in AGIT, it's revealed that there's an ghost alphabet, and it's ancient form is based on sanskrit and tamil alphabets. Codex of Ghost alphabet.

Ghost Hunger is canon! In AGIT it's revealed that ghosts feed on emotions and thoughts to stay sapient. If they don't, they become feral with time. Halfas feed from their human side, remaining stable.

Danny is the bridge between the spirit world and living world - canon!

Danny beats the Ghost King Pariah Dark in combat, but faints and that fight is never addressed in the series again. Ghost King!Danny is fanon-ish so go ham with interpreting that. (Episode is "Reign Storm")

Tucker is the reincarnation?? (never stated in canon, but he does look alike) of a pharaoh named "Duul Aman" (Duulaman is also accepted as spelling). Said pharaoh never appears in the series as a ghost, just a picture. Who does appear is his (evil) right hand man, Hotep-Ra, who tries to manipulate Tucker (Episode is "King Tuck"). That Tucker gets cool magic from this event is fanon. But cool.

Sam gets possessed by Undergrowth via a vine straight into her spine (gross). Undergrowth calls her "his daughter" and she tries to lure Danny into "joining her to take over the world". (Episode is "Urban Jungle"). That Sam gets cool plant powers from this event is fanon. But cool.

The Fenton parents are never physically abusive - just comedically neglectful in the way parents are depicted in early 2000s cartoons. Incompetent, misguided, dumb... but they are shown to love their kids. The even accept Danny the 2 canon times they find out about him (Episodes "Reality Trip" and "Phantom Planet").

Jazz is never shown as "mature" in the sense that she had to parent Danny and be the responsible adult. She is comedically the "annoying and meddling older sister" from early 2000s cartoons. She wants to be considered an adult. She couldn't see Youngblood, who is a child ghost that cannot be seen by adults, and Danny had to push her into acting childish to make her see him.

Axiom labs is bought by Vlad's company "Vlad.co" not "DALV.co". DALV.co was the fake company that paid for Maddie and Danny to fly to a conference but stranded them in a forest where Vlad's cabin coincidentally was. (Episode "Maternal Instincts")

Dan is not older Danny. He is not even called "Dan" in canon, just "Dark Danny". He is Danny's ghost half, who killed his human half, ate/merged with Vlad's ghost side and then tried to kill Vlad's human side. Was losing his humanity what made him evil? Was it merging with the Bad Guy(tm) of the series? 🤷‍♀️ Take it as you will. (Episode is "The Ultimate Enemy")

Freakshow is NOT a clown. He is the ringmaster of a goth circus (called Circus Gothica). Danny's headcanoned fear of clowns can be traced back to the "circus" and clown-related imagery surrounding Freakshow's performances, but not directly BY Freakshow. (Episodes "Control Freaks" and "Reality Trip")

DC SIDE

Damian (not Damien or Demian) is never confirmed his religion. Fanon has accepted he is Muslim.

Bruce is from a Jewish family (Martha Wayne was Jewish), but he considers himself an atheist. Same with Kate Kane (Batwoman).

It's "Selina" Kyle, not "Selena" or "Salina".

It's "Talia" Al Ghul, not "Thalia".

It's "Jason", not "Jayson".

Damian is vegetarian, not vegan. It means he doesn't eat meat, but eats animal produces like eggs, milk, etc. He went vegetarian after rescuing Batcow from a slaughterhouse, he didn't arrive at the manor already being vegetarian.

Duke is NOT adopted. Bruce is fostering him temporarily and is more of a mentor to him than a father. Duke considers the others his siblings, though. EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT DUKE: Part 1 | Part 2

Dick was not adopted as a kid, Dick was Bruce's ward. That term is not used anymore, though. Adoption happened later in Dick's adulthood.

It's Gotham, not "Gothem".

Cassandra IS adopted. Legally.

Cassandra's nickname is "Cass", not "Cassie". Cassie is the nickname of another character also named Cassandra (Cassandra Sandsmark, Wondergirl)

"Little Wing" is a canon nickname for Jason from Dick.

"Baby bird" or "Baby bat" are fanon-ish(?). Little Wing, Dickie, Dickie-bird... Canon! Jaylad is not canon, but Jaybird is canon! A GREAT post with receipts about all nicknames. ("Replacement" isn't canon btw).

Stephanie Brown was the 4th Robin. She is not adopted, and was part of the batfamily because she was dating Tim. She is still considered batfamily even if they are not dating anymore.

In Hush, when Jason comes back to Gotham, Jason puts a knife on Tim's throat, but barely leaves a cut. Tim's throat wasn't injured during the Titans Tower attack.

Cass is selectively mute because she wasn't taught any language beyond what she needed to predict people's movements. She doesn't know sign language. She doesn't know how to read and write (more recent comics show her reading a bit). But she could learn, with difficulty. Very in depth analysis of Cass' disability.

Jason's "Pit Madness" is fanon. Canon offers Ra's saying "the Pit alters the mind - could happen for a few days or for years, you never know" or something like that, and that's it. There is reason to believe that the Lazarus Pit can cloud judgement for a while but there is no voice in the back of the head or the Pit taking over.

Tim never expressed special interest in photography or in it as a hobby. Nor he is a coffee addict more than the other bats, who pull all nighters on the reg. He is actually addicted to energy drinks.

There are 2 main Conner/Kon-El/Superboy I portrayed in fics: Young Justice cartoon one (grumpy, same age as Dick, kind of an asshole, has daddy issues, wears black shirt and jeans, has a space motorcycle and a pet wolf) and 90s comics one (leather jacket, piercings, punny guy, same age as Tim, has a #nohomo relationship with Tim, kind of a himbo).

There are a few Ghost superheroes - Greta Hayes (Secret), she was in Tim's run as Young Justice's leader; and Boston Brand (Deadman), who is a member of Justice League Dark (with Constantine and Zatanna and Swamp Thing!). So the DC heroes are familiar with ghosts and ghost powers.

It's "rogues" gallery, not "rouge". Rouge means "red" in french.

Clark is never abusive to Conner, he just doesn't know what to do with him and chooses to ignore the problem; which, yeah, is mean, but not to the levels that fanon has taken it. And this is in the Young Justice cartoons, not across all depictions. In comics, they consider each other family and that's why Conner took a kryptonian name (Kon-El - of house of El, Kal's family)

The whole "No metas in Gotham" is not true. Batman understands that Gotham is very Fucked Up and that if you add metahumans and heroes with powers trying to do good to the mix it could make things worse. Outsiders don't understand Gotham and if they get jokerized or mind controlled, it will get ugly real quick. That's why Signal is cool beans! Duke is a gothamite through and through.

While is interesting that no one in the Batfam knows about Tim's missing spleen, is very probable that Alfred knows - post about this

Constantine is more powerful than it looks like. A post about interesting abilities.

Damian has a metal spine. Yeah I don't know how it works either. They used it as way for Talia to control Damian for a bit :(

Interesting links:

What's fanon in DP

Fan project for Ghost Speak, written and spoken form, and a ghost speak generator - post AGIT canon

Transcripts of all the Danny Phantom episodes

The whole DP series + the complementary comics + A Glitch in Time comic (if you are able to buy the AGIT comic please do 🙇‍♀️)

How to pronounce Ra's Al Ghul

BatPham ship names (updated regularly).

What are the canon ages of the Batfam?

In depth guide to everything Batman in one place (be prepared to go down the rabbit hole)

Fanon vs Canon Batfam edition

Superfam family tree

Interactive map of Gotham (Gotham Knights videogame)

Timeline of events (Batfam adoption order and ages when those events happen)

Map of Gotham (made based on various sources, with annotations (check the reblogs for more info))

The Titans Tower attack: Fanon vs Canon

This person has dedicated a lot of time to research receipts of Comic stuff so check out their masterlist

---

Suggestions are welcome! Please be kind with each other and remember to have fun with this fandom!

#dpxdc cheat sheet #cheat sheet #dp #danny phantom #dc #batman dc #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp crossovers

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pantmonger · 2 months

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As we edge ever closer to the end of this edition...

I've once again updated my Dungeons And Dragons combat cheat sheet!

Never again forget what things you could be doing while fightin!

(New version removes a lot of short hand, and clarifies a couple of elements) Link to ko-fi and the free printable friendly version here

#Dungeons and Dragons #Cheat Sheet

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bridenore · 28 days

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Author rec : The_Sinking_Ship

The_Sinking_Ship is one of my favorite authors. Here are a few recs, listed in alphabetical order.

Chasing Dragons by @the-sinking-ship [98k]

Draco can think of only one way to outclass his pleat-front-khaki-wearing politician ex, and that’s by making headlines with an obvious upgrade. And who better to upstage the cheating bastard than the Saviour of the World, Harry Potter himself? Sure, Potter is a little rough around the edges in ripped jeans, a rumpled tartan shirt, and a permanent scowl. Draco reckons a haircut and a shave wouldn’t hurt, either. But Potter is also in need of a Healer willing to keep his secrets, and Draco is just the man for the job. It’s a perfectly reasonable exchange. They need only attend a couple parties arm-in-arm, smile nicely for the paparazzi, and tolerate each other long enough to convince everyone they’re smitten. In return, Draco will keep Potter alive and in one piece. But it isn’t long before Draco realises he might be in over his head, because Potter is ten tonnes of trouble packed into a leather jacket, and seems keen on hurtling himself towards death on the back of a flying motorbike. And that says nothing of Potter’s penchant for fire-breathing beasts and things that bite. Ah well, at least they’ll have some fun while it lasts. After all, Draco always did like a bit of danger.

Criminal by @the-sinking-ship [83k]

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less. Now, Draco is stuck in England under Auror Potter’s guard with no friends, no distractions, and no escape. How the hell will he pass the time? And since when did Potter get so bloody fit?

Dwelling on Dreams by @the-sinking-ship [135k]

Draco thought he could avoid Potter for the duration of his brief return to England. He’d stick to his schedule and be back home in Paris, where he belonged, in a few short months. No trouble at all. He had plenty to occupy him, what with the opening of the London branch of his successful apothecary, his innovative research, drinks with Pansy, a backlog of unread potions periodicals. Except Head Auror Potter is everywhere — in Draco's chair, at his door, in his dreams. All six feet of motorbike-riding, combat-boot-wearing, sex-hair-sporting Saviour of the World packed into one unfairly fetching uniform. Potter won’t leave Draco the bloody hell alone, won’t let him breathe, let him forget, let him sleep. Because no matter how fast Draco Malfoy runs, Harry Potter is always hot on his heels.

Finely Drawn Lines by @the-sinking-ship [61k]

Draco doesn’t consider himself an artist (though the dozens of sketchbooks lining his shelves might suggest differently). Yet ever since Potter returned to Hogwarts, accepting a teaching position alongside Draco, his drawings have taken on a rather singular focus. From the curl of his lips to the exact number of lines that form at the corners of his eyes when he laughs, Draco has catalogued every shade of one Harry James Potter between the pages of his sketchbook. So long as Potter remains none the wiser, Draco will have no trouble controlling his crush. But when Potter comes to him with a dangerous proposition, Draco fears things are about to get so much more complicated.

Never Mind the Bollocks by @the-sinking-ship [118k]

If someone told Harry six months ago that by autumn he would be single, living on whisky and toast, and dancing the night away with Draco Malfoy, he would have told them to get their head checked. And yet, here he was.

Nights With You by @the-sinking-ship [58k]

Draco is mortified when moments prior to departing for the most anticipated destination wedding of the year, he is cruelly dumped. But when he learns that Harry Potter has, at long last, split with his horrible boyfriend, Draco is certain his luck has changed. Never a man to squander an opportunity for revenge (and what would probably be a spectacular shag), Draco vows to make Potter his for the weekend. Now all Draco has to do is convince him.

On Target by @the-sinking-ship [13k]

A charity dunk tank, some sorry excuses for friends, a Slytherin with freakishly good aim, a (mostly) empty locker room, and one very small towel. Because, apparently, everyone is dying to get Harry Potter wet.

Sugar Sweet by @the-sinking-ship [5k]

Draco thinks everyone forgot his birthday. (They didn’t.)

Things We Do by @the-sinking-ship [16k]

Drinking, dancing, and the sorts of decisions made after one too many shots of vodka.

'Tis a Far Better Thing by @the-sinking-ship [37k]

'Tis a far, far better thing doing stuff for other people — or however the Muggle saying goes — because Potter is in need of professional help, and Draco is just the man to give it to him. A Drarry Clueless AU.

The Unspeakable by @the-sinking-ship [24k]

Healer Draco Malfoy took the job at the International Department of Mysteries for the paycheck and the prestige. But what he got was Unspeakable Harry Potter and the most fascinating curse he’d ever seen.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #author rec

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terresdebrume · 2 years

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Ressources for DND Newbies

Image formats will be in the For DND Newbies tag.

All PDF formats are downloadable from google drive.

If you find these useful, please share them with your friends and don't hesitate to let me know if there are things that could use some clarifying. Have fun!

Content lists

Note: the Spell Cards section is under construction. Resources not yet made will be in red.

Dungeons & Dragons for Newbies

Volume 1, per page:

An illustrated recap of the dice used to play DND.

Defines: ability scores, modifiers, HP, AC, DC, Proficiency, Saving Throws and Death saves.

Defines: flanking, advantage, disadvantage, melee range, critical hit/fail (+ nat20 & nat1), area of effect and ranged spell attack.

Definitions of: initiative, combat rounds, movement, action, bonus action, reaction, attack of opportunity.

Volume 2: Level 1 cheat sheets

Artificer, Barbarian, Bard, Blood Hunter, Cleric, Druid, Fighter, Monk, Paladin, Ranger, Rogue, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard.

Recaps how to calculate HP, weapons attack, spell attack & spell DC.

Explains spell slots, sums up proficiencies for the class, and has the text for the main feature on the second page.

Volume 3: Summary of all conditions in the game.

Blinded, Charmed, Deafened, Exhaustion, Frightened, Grappled, Incapacitated, Invisible, Paralyzed, Petrified, Poisoned, Prone, Restrained.

Spell cards

From the basic rules

Artificers

Bard

Clerics

Druids

Paladin

Ranger

Sorcerer

Warlock

Wizard

From the Player's Handbook

Artificers

Bard

Clerics

Druids

Paladin

Ranger

Sorcerer

Warlock

Wizard

From Xanathar's Guide to Everything

Artificers

Bard

Clerics

Druids

Paladin

Ranger

Sorcerer

Warlock

Wizard

#DND #Dungeons and Dragons #For DND newbies #30n #40n #70n #80n #90n #100n #200n #300n #400n #500n #600n

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bradshawsbaby · 1 year

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Si Vis Amari Ama

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairings: Rooster (Roman Name: Gallus) x Female Reader (Roman Name: Sabina), featuring Hangman (Roman Name: Carnifex) x Phoenix

Summary: A girl whose freedom was stolen to pay her father’s debts. A gladiator enslaved for the entertainment of Rome. A love they never thought possible.

Warnings: This series is 18+ for mature content. Slavery in the ancient world, physical abuse and injury, gladiatorial combat and brutality, use of coarse language, eventual sexual content—and yes, despite all this, romance and fluff.

A Roman Guide to the Daggers: Please reference this guide as a cheat sheet for the Latinized names of the Dagger Squad, as well as a small glossary of Roman terminology used throughout the story.

Shout Outs: Thank you to @ryebecca and @luminousnotmatter for allowing me to inundate them with my thoughts and ramblings, and for being such wonderful supporters of this story! Special shout out to Rebecca for giving me the idea for the title. It’s attributed to the Roman philosopher Seneca, and translates to, “If you wish to be loved, love.”

Story Playlist: None of my stories would be complete without a playlist! As always, this one is a work in progress, so feel free to send in recommendations and suggestions!

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

I. Twin Flames

II. Healing Hands

III. A Gladiator’s Oath

IV. Kissed by Fire

V. Revelations

VI. Rising Stakes

VII. A Banquet to Remember

VIII. Let the Games Begin

MORE TO COME!

#si vis amari ama ⚔️#Ancient Rome AU #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #hannix #hangman x phoenix #top gun #top gun: maverick #miles teller #series masterlist

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icarustypicalfall · 4 months

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HIGH INFIDELITY

MASTERPOST • AO3 • PART 1

summary: You loomed over the empty grave, in the cemetery of perished love, and wondered if the fate of yours hath to end here.

warnings: guilt, post cheating, angst, Alejandro is a calm man (surprisingly),greek myths?

note: sorry for the delay (101 days??!! help) i recall posting the first part way ago. I just ending writing this part today, tysm for voting for the end, i couldn't bring myself to chose, and i see this ending to be perfect. If you want a p3, tell me! TYSM for everything mes loulous <3

“And I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted.”

"What have I done... What have I done?" you repeated frantically, collapsing onto the bed sheets and clutching your head in despair.

The piercing headache had finally subsided, leaving behind a whirlpool of guilt and remorse. Your mind was overwhelmed with thoughts that you could hardly bear. A sense of disgust filled you to the brim, as if Alejandro's final words had created an unbridgeable chasm between the two of you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you lay there, utterly hopeless.

Dressed in black, you attended the funeral of your faith and devotion. The long-term promises you both made to each other were now buried alongside the vows whispered in each other's ears. You stood by the empty grave, in the cemetery of love that had turned to dust, wondering if this was the tragic fate of your once beautiful relationship.

A sense of sin compelled you to kneel before Eros and Aphrodite, pleading for forgiveness and vowing to rectify your past mistakes.

Perhaps you had been wrong all along, or perhaps your relationship was destined to be a tragedy, penned by the foolish Sophocles.

You cried until there were no more tears left to shed, until all your sorrow had been lamented. You didn't bother to check the time, but judging from the faint noise and the dark grey sky, you assumed it was well past noon.

You pushed open the bedroom door with utmost silence, tiptoeing down the hallway towards the kitchen. Deep down, you wished to be a small mouse, a tiny creature that could hide in corners and scurry under kitchen sinks, feasting on the crumbs left behind by giants —humans. Oh, the sweet life you would lead, albeit short-lived, until Alejandro, the cat, finally caught you in the act and put an end to your existence.

Your head throbbed with pain, a result of the excessive crying and the alcohol you had consumed on an empty stomach. You swallowed two pills, finding no appetite for food.

A strange sensation of guilt gnawed at your insides, choking you with every breath. Standing behind the couch, you gazed at your husband, if you can still cal him yours. He laid there, still asleep, with three empty beer bottles carelessly strewn across the coffee table. Alejandro was still in his combat attire, boots off. Your heart broke at the sight of his socks, the ones you had lovingly knitted for him years ago.

You reminisced about the day you had presented him with the warm socks. He had hugged you tightly, showering your cheeks with kisses, spilling his gratitude against your lips.

Again, your heart ached, the bittersweet memories lingering in your mind. How you wished you could push them away, banish those haunting thoughts! But they persisted, tormenting your very existence, staining your once innocent soul with foolish acts of sin.

Alejandro stirred, and you flinched, fearing that he might awaken. You longed for his hearth gaze, the warmth that used to envelop you in your darkest days. But now, that gaze had turned into a mirror of the devil, a hollow void filled with hatred and betrayal.

He was still handsome, even more muscular than when you last saw him three months ago. Your hand twitched, almost yearning to run through his dark curls and caress his cheeks, pledging your undying devotion.

But he was not one to grant second chances.

As if by instinct, his eyes fluttered open, and he fixed his gaze upon you. A cold glare pierced through your soul, promising a war that you knew you could never win against this military veteran. He dismissed your outstretched hand, your entire existence, ignoring you completely. Slowly, he rose from the couch and walked past you. Every fibre of your being trembled with a mix of anger and adrenaline.

"Alejandro...?" you uttered, more as a plea than a question. The demanding tone dissipated, leaving only worry and the overwhelming weight of guilt. It was a meaty morsel to chew on, while the bones were tossed to the dogs.

He came to a halt, lifting his head to face you. His expression changed, a neutral gaze that held more fear than anything else. You had barely secured a place in the colonel's heart, and now, by the way he looked at you, it seemed that you had lost that place forever.

"What is it, amor?" he spat out the endearment as if it were an insult, dripping with sarcasm and venom. Crossing his arms, he waited, his silence more punishing than any shout. How you wished he would just yell.

You stood there in silence, tears welling up in your eyes and your lips trembling. Alejandro's heart clenched, but he knew better than to forgive you. Letting out a sigh, he slowly turned away from you. His warm breath brushed against your face, and you looked up, guilt stifling the words on your lips.

"Why?... Why did you do that, amor?" he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of disappointment and sadness. His hands cupped your cheeks, gently caressing the soft flesh adorned with tear-stained pearls. He continued to scold you, his tone resembling that of a parent reprimanding a child. But you were no child, and your transgressions could never be compared to the mistakes of a young one.

"Why did you do it?" he repeated, his hands slowly retreating from your face. He walked away, leaving you alone in the room, with nothing to prevent you from the haunting thoughts. Your body felt cold, and you collapsed against the wall, your weak knees giving way as you sank to the floor.

...

Instead of divorce papers, a sorrowful Rudy arrived at your door, informing you that your husband was MIA - Missing In Action. You never heard from him again.

The pain of knowing that he was out in the world, alone and utterly abandoned, was enough to drain peace from your soul. You regretted your actions, praying every day for his return, promising complete devotion. You extinguished the greed within you, longing for him to come back, just to feel safe and sane again. To have him return home.

Now, standing by the lake, you hadn't taken a single sip. But who could you blame? You had already drunk your fill from the lakes of others, and now, the salty taste on your tongue left you eternally parched.

#𓆩♡𓆪 faith writes #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #writblr #cod angst #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro cod #alejandro vargas #alejandro x reader #alejandro vargas x female reader #alejandro vargas x you #Alejandro Vargas angst #cod fic #cod #mw2 fanfic #cod mw #please boost #i just 😭😭😭😭

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2af-afterdark · 7 months

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WHB: Getting Started Masterlist

Adoration

Nightmare Pass

Likeability

Character Cheat Sheet

Combat Example

Materials

Secret Shop

Solomon's Tears

Ultimates

Other's guides

Character and Skill Costs (fbj723)

#2af » playing games #what in hell is bad #whb gameplay #going to be adding to this over time but this is just a starting point

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makethatelevenrings · 1 year

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Angel by the Wing - SEVEN

Chapter Warnings: drunk idiot at the bar grabs the reader once but that’s it, mentions of domestic abuse

A/N: I have two more finals to go and they’re both essays. It’s the end of the semester/seasonal/clinical sad girl hours. This fic is consuming my brain. I will get to other requests soon but for now, enjoy our three sluts.

Series Masterlist

“Polynomials suck,” Amelia Benjamin declared as she slapped down her pencil on the counter. You chuckled at her declaration and pushed a bottle of Coke towards her. You were counting inventory at the bar while Penny and Gary worked in the back organizing the kitchen.

“When am I ever going to use this stuff?!” she moaned and buried her head in her hands. Rolling your eyes at her melodramatic display, you patted her hand and then ruffled her hair.

“If it makes you feel any better, I had to learn that stuff too. And look, I never use it.”

She let out a triumphant battle cry and dove back into her work, leaving you to grab the two chipped glasses you found. You pushed your way into the kitchen and deposited them in a trash can before leaning up against the counter next to where a very flustered, very stressed Chelsea stood staring at a mixology cheat sheet.

“Are you nervous?” She jumped at your question and swore under her breath before shooting you a dirty look.

“What if I accidentally poison someone?” she blurted out, nervously playing with one of her braids. That elicited a laugh out of you and you shook your head in amusement.

“Chels, there’s no way you will be able to accidentally poison someone unless you go and get the Raid in the supply closet and serve it as beer. You’re going to be fine.”

You pulled her into a side hug, rubbing her arm as she rested her head against your shoulder. It was Chelsea’s first night behind the bar after a few weeks of memorizing drinks and practicing on you and Penny. The two of you had to stumble home to Penny’s place one night after a few of Chelsea’s cocktail tests and you woke up on the couch to Theo lathering your face with kisses. At least Amelia was kind enough to make the two of you breakfast while you combated your hangovers together.

“Listen. I’m going to be with you the whole night.” Penny had to get her boat serviced so it was your night to open and close. You were going to be glued to Chelsea’s side.

“Any difficult orders or questions or anyone giving you problems gets sent straight to me, okay? If you feel uncomfortable or annoyed for any reason, you come get me. And don’t be afraid to use the bell. Twice for a round. Four times to alert the officers. Okay?”

“Okay.” Chelsea inhaled a deep breath and then let it slowly leak out of her. “I’ve got this.”

When the doors to the bar were opened and the sign shone brightly onto the street, beckoning in tourists and sailors alike, you were confident in Chelsea’s abilities. She was a quick study and a bubbly personality. Even if she took a bit longer to get drinks out, the bar was usually packed with regulars who would understand.

Under the banner you had hung up earlier that day, the one Penny had gleefully approved and helped you mount, you mixed drinks, chatted up customers, and started tabs. The words emblazoned across the fabric stated “home of the worst old fashioned that one guy on yelp had” and damn, if you weren’t proud of your investment in that sign.

“Can I get an old fashioned? Or will I keel over and have to be carried out?” A familiar voice quipped. You glanced up to find two grinning faces and you practically threw yourself over the counter to wrap your arms around the woman’s shoulders. Phoenix laughed from behind her wife’s back as you practically pulled Sofia into a stranglehold.

“You bitch! You didn’t tell me you were back home!” Sofia had been gone for the past month visiting her parents in Monterrey. That meant Natasha had been moping for the past four fucking weeks.

“I wanted to surprise my best friend. Is that a crime?” Sofia gasped against your tight hug.

“Ugh, I missed you so much!”

“Yeah, not as much as I did. Let go of my wife before you suffocate her,” Phoenix joked. You released Sofia and settled back behind the bar.

“Okay, we need to get brunch and catch up soon, but I gotta get back to work. It’s Chelsea’s first night behind the bar and I want to make sure she knows I’m always available. Go order a drink from her, please? And make the others order too. It’ll help that it’s a friendly face.”

“You got it. Now, c’mon! I wanna go torture Jake!” Sofia declared as she grabbed her wife’s hand and tugged her towards the pool tables. You smiled at the sight of the pair. They were truly a couple that you admired, having toughed it out through thick and thin.

The bar started to get busier as people got off work. Chelsea maintained a cool composure and you bumped your hip against hers as you passed her on your way to grab a bottle from the top shelf for a customer.

“You’re doing great!” you shouted over the music. ABBA blasted over the speakers and you bobbed your head to the music. Glancing up, you saw Hangman leaning against the wall across the bar and chatting animatedly with Javy. He wasn’t standing with the others like usual and you wondered if something was wrong, but you didn’t have time to worry about that right now.

Looking over at the pool table, Rooster was playing with Bob against Phoenix and Sofia. That poor man. Those two women were pool sharks.

“Hey.” A soft touch on your arm pulled your attention away and you met Chelsea’s wide brown eyes. Instantly, you were on alert.

“What’s up?”

She jerked her chin towards two guys leaning up against the bar. Tourists, by the looks of it. Tourists who had already pregamed before coming here.

“He’s saying that his mojito isn’t right. I’ve made it for him three times now.”

The guy’s eyes were firmly fixed on the back of Chelsea’s jean shorts and you quickly turned, placing her on the other side of you. She relaxed just a fraction when she saw your reaction and offered you a silent thanks. You nodded her towards the kitchen.

“Go take your break. You’re doing amazing and I’m super proud of you.”

“Thank you.” She squeezed your hand in one more thanks and then disappeared behind the swinging door of the kitchen. You sauntered up to the counter where the guy and his friend sat. He offered you a leering smirk that you assumed was supposed to be charming. Instead of swooning, you merely wiped your hands on a towel and tossed it over your shoulder.

“Can I help you boys with something?” You planted your palms on the counter, ignoring the sticky sensation that came with the inevitable spills of liquor and tears in a bar. His eyes drifted down to the front of your shirt, but you made no move to cover up.

“I ordered a mojito and that sweet little thing you got working here doesn’t know how to make one. I was just giving her an opportunity to learn.”

You spied one of the discarded drinks on the counter and picked it up. Studying the contents, you deemed it acceptable and took a sip.

“Tastes perfect. I don’t understand what the complaint is here.”

He leaned his forearms on the counter and let his gaze linger on the name tag affixed to the front of your shirt. A slow grin crawled up his flushed cheeks and you scoffed.

“The problem is that you girls are too pretty to be working back here.”

An elated laugh escaped you and he brightened, but you merely stepped back and grabbed the rope attached to the bell. Swinging it twice, the ring of the bell clanged through the bar and cheers erupted. You offered him a brilliant smile and tapped the sign twice.

His face fell. Oh, if there was a favorite part of your job, this might be it.

“If you didn’t like paying for one drink, how about paying for a whole round?”

His palm struck the counter with a sharp crack and you didn’t even flinch. If he wanted to throw a tantrum, he could go ahead and try it. Your hand itched to ring the bell again, but you gave him a chance to redeem himself, even in the slightest.

“You fucking bitch,” he seethed. Nope. No redemption here. “Bring me your fucking manager.”

“You got her, sweetheart. Hi, I’m the manager. What seems to be the problem today?”

Based on the coil of his muscles and the rage in his eyes, you knew what was coming before it happened. He lunged over the bar just as you grabbed the faucet spout and blasted him in the face with a jet of lukewarm water. He spluttered and fell back against his friend, giving you a chance to grab the rope again.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

Four.

You snatched his card off of his tab sheet, wrote down his name to ensure he was entered on the removed list, and waved his card in his face.

“You might be needing this!” You tossed the card at his buddy, but this asshole just wouldn’t let up. He grabbed your wrist and pulled your forward, your diaphragm colliding against the wood of the bar, knocking the breath out of you. Grabbing the discarded mojito, you threw the liquid in his face and stumbled back as he released you.

“You have gotta be a special brand of fucking stupid,” you snarled.

Any retort was silenced by the two hands clapping down on his shoulders. Bradley and Jake stood on either side of the motherfucker, a silent, tight rage emblazoned on their handsome faces.

“You really shouldn’t fuck around at a Navy bar,” Bradley commented. Although he sounded casual, his voice was deeper than normal.

“Want him gone, sweetheart?” Jake asked. His burning gaze was fixed on you. You nodded in response and the two men lifted the guy like he weighed nothing and hauled him out of the bar. The sea of people parted at the sight of a guy being thrown overboard. Coyote and Fanboy followed behind with the guy’s buddy in between them.

You exhaled deeply and pressed your fists against the counter, taking a moment to compose yourself. Pushing off of the counter, you plastered a grin on your face and moved on to take the next customer’s order.

Although you tried to relax, your hands trembled throughout the rest of the night. Any chance you had a moment to breathe, the memory of him grabbing you clenched around your thoughts like a vice. You pushed on, intent on just getting through the night. When the patrons filtered out and the jukebox fell silent, you found yourself enveloped in the aching loneliness and fear that lingered on the vestiges of your mind.

“Go home, Chels,” you said softly. You passed her the tips she had made for the night. “You did good.”

“Thank you.” You knew she was talking about more than just guiding her through tonight. She pulled you into a quick hug and then darted to the back room to grab her purse. You waited until you heard the door shut behind her before you let your head fall onto your forearm.

You couldn’t go home tonight. You couldn’t let yourself be alone.

Making your mind up, you finished closing and then drove home with the local rock station playing low in the background. Just as a way to quiet some of the noise in your head. Pulling into the familiar parking lot, you locked your car and then fingered the key that rested on your keychain. He had given it to you a few months back to water his plants while he was gone and you had used it once before for this very reason, but something still made you hesitate.

There. That cold, creeping sensation up your neck and down your spine. Fear. It drove you to push on. Your feet led you to the front door of his apartment and you slid the key into the lock, feeling it give and turn and then suddenly you were there, in his place.

The light at the end of the hall flipped on and Jake appeared in the hall, sleep mussed and tired. He took one look at you and frowned.

“Hey.” Sleep coated his voice and it made the all too present ache in your chest intensify. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you murmured. “My, uh, my AC is broken so I figured I would crash on your couch.”

The lie came easy, but his ability to see right through you came easier. Jake eased the door shut behind you and locked it before he twined his arms around your waist and pulled you into him. His lips met the crown of your head and your eyes fell shut in relief as all the tension leaked out of you.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“Thank you.” His hand ran down your arm and then encircled your wrist. The same wrist that had been grabbed and yanked around. Jake lifted it up, inspecting your skin for any sign of lasting damage. You waited with bated breath as he lowered his head to the inside of your wrist and laid a gentle kiss along your veins.

“I got some clothes you can wear.” He led you into his room and laid out one of his old Naval Academy shirts and some sweats that would definitely be too big on you. Jake left his room to let you get dressed, something that made you smile when you thought about how often he had seen you naked and writhing under him, yet he was always a gentleman when he wasn’t fucking you within an inch of your life.

“Jake?” you called when you were done. He reappeared in the hall with a mug of steaming tea in his hands. You accepted it gratefully, cradling it between your hands and letting the warmth seep into your soul.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “You have work in a few hours and I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” One of his hands came up to cup your chin and he raised your head so your eyes met his. “Nothing to apologize for. I gave you that key for a reason. Okay? You’re not bothering me. Truth is, I wasn’t sleeping much anyway.”

“Okay.” You took a sip of the tea and inhaled the soft, flowery touch of chamomile and honey. His hands settled on your hips as he studied you. You lowered the mug and blinked up at him.

“I figure you don’t want to talk about it,” he murmured. You nodded and a small, sad smile lifted at the edges of his lips.

“I should have beat the shit out of him,” he finally said. “My dad was like that. In public, he was this great army guy and then he’d get home, drunk off his ass, and he’d hit my mom and…shit, I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear this.”

“I do.” You didn’t mean to sound so urgent, but this was the first time Jake had ever told you about his family aside from the basics. Warmth suffused his blue eyes and then he leaned forwards, nuzzling his nose against your temple.

“She left the bastard. Eventually. Did a damn find job raising me and my sister, if I do say so myself. Lives in Minnesota now with two dogs and three cats. I should get her to come down here one day. Enjoy the warm weather.”

“Bring her by the bar,” you suggested. “I’d love to meet the woman who somehow raised the most arrogant man in the world.”

He chuckled, his breath washing over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps across your arms.

“That’d be nice. I’d like for you to meet her.”

“Yeah?” You tried to keep the hopeful tone out of your voice, but the surprise on your face betrayed you. Jake grinned and ducked his head, stealing a kiss from you. Minty toothpaste collided with the chamomile resting on your tongue and you savored the touch of him.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he whispered once he broke away. “Now, c’mon. Bed time for you, ma’am.”

That night, with Jake curled around you, his large frame guarding you from any of the evils of the world, you should feel content. You should feel at peace. But there was something itching under the surface of your skin. There was some piece of your mind that was elsewhere, savoring the last rays of the setting sun with the taste of ice cream and sea salt on your lips and a warm body next to you.

You were so fucked.

Tag List: @mizzzpink @xoxabs88xox @dreaminglandsworld @khaylin27 @loveforaugust @phoenixssugarbaby @atarmychick007 @mak-32 @itsmytimetoodream

#abtw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #hangster x reader #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #rooster x reader #rooster imagine

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silaslich · 1 month

Text

Where There is Light, a Shadow Appears

Ghoap Hogwarts Professor AU

Part 2/10 - Honest Truths & Chance Encounters

Part 1 - here

Wc - 5.1k

No warnings

Taglist - @siriuswritingandart 🖤

It’s to the sound of screams, that John awakes.

The air in the room is stagnant and heavy.

It’s his own screams that have pulled him from his nightmare, a common reoccurrence since the incident - and sometimes even before that.

His chest heaves, sweat drips from his forehead and runs down his spine, his sheets are soaked through. He’s gasping for breath, trying to settle his aching lungs, his eyes scan the darkness but there is nothing there.

There never was.

He had placed wards around his room soon after he’d arrived, a common courtesy, to save anyone within earshot from losing sleep the way he does.

A silencing charm had been the first of many measures he put in place when unpacking what little things he had brought with him, John knows that his mind isn’t what it once was, he needn’t take the chance of finding letters slid underneath the crack of his door telling him to stop the noise past curfew.

John rubs his eyes, pressing his fingers into the sockets, cursing the pressure that sits behind his bad eye - rooted deep in his skull. It’s as if something is burrowed there, buried deep in the tissue, he can feel it pulse, but any diagnostic spell he casts brings up nothing of the sort. Only angry-smoky swirls of black and green, weaving around his mind, he doesn’t understand it.

Einar must sense John’s distress, he hoots quietly from his perch, fluttering his feathers in the darkness, the wizard can’t see him but he appreciates the birds concern.

Last night, Price had stared at John with a knowing look in his eyes, the pair illuminated by the full moon overhead, nestled within a blanket of stars. He might have retired early on into John’s career as an Auror, but Price always kept in touch with the Ministry, for other matters entirely, but on the condition that he was kept up to date about his team and their wellbeing.

He knew of John’s potential; his strengths lay in brewing up powerful potions used for both offence and defence, as well as healing and emergency first aid, but there was so much more then that below the surface. John was a fighter, as selfless as anyone could possibly be, and as much trouble as that landed him in, Price admired it. The way he would lay down his own life in the line of duty, to save countless others, it was the sign of a natural born Auror.

The proficiency in John’s wand-work and one-on-one combat was remarkable, an underdog of sorts, a bookworm with an interest in cauldrons and a childhood dream of becoming an Auror. Price had laughed.

He saw many just like him come in and out of the programme, some not even lasting a day, but with every challenge thrown at him - John flourished.

Right up until the day of the incident. John threw himself into the path of a curse meant for another, ending his career, disfiguring himself physically and mentally - forever, it seemed.

While he was honoured for his bravery and selflessness, John still felt cheated.

Price can tell it hurts. While he can’t empathise with John, he can help him through the grieving process, and he can at least try to understand what this must all be like for his friend. For everything to change so suddenly, to leave everything he’s ever known and move into a completely different field altogether - it’s daunting, it’s scary.

He understands, and Price vows to be with John every step of the way, he feels he owes it to his friend after everything he has sacrificed in the name of wizard kind’s safety.

John feels his eyes sting, too safe in the comfort of his old captain, he sets his jaw and tries to gather his racing thoughts. “Should we head up?” The young wizard queries, “m’shattered from the train”, while it isn’t entirely a lie - it’s at least something to change the subject.

Price scans John’s face a final time before nodding, releasing his hand that’s clasped to John’s shoulder. “Of course mate” he smiles softly, “oh- nearly forgot”, Price pulls out his wand and with a quick flick there’s a bright pop of light, as quick as the light appears - it’s gone again, leaving a large bottle of Firewhiskey clasped in Price’s hand. He hands it over to John, smiling toothily as the younger wizard inspects the bottle, it’s the expensive sort.

John smiles, the gift is lovely, it’s thoughtful - it appears Price still knows him well after all this time. “Think we should break this open when we’re inside” John eyes Price, gauging his reaction, the older man smiles wildly.

“I won’t tell the headmistress if you won’t”.

John doesn’t bother trying to get back to sleep, his nightmare has left him too unsettled and unnerved - images of the human-like beast still burned into the darkness when he closes his eyes.

Instead, he starts his day, cleaning and dressing himself before he sets about sorting out all of his paperwork that’s stuffed into his satchel. While he’d gone over all of it on the train he still doesn’t feel ready enough, he’s knowledgable enough for this job, probably more so then he needs to be - but John worries he won’t fit in.

He’s unserious at the best of times, he can’t stand the thought of having to take charge over a room full of teenagers, even when he was a student himself he never focused as hard as he should have. He was lucky enough that his chosen classes happened to be the ones that he exceeded in, it took little effort for him to pass with flying colours, he worries that his students won’t take him seriously enough that he can take them through the academic year and get them all up to scratch for their exams.

John has always been good at faking it until he makes it; he’s always had to plan and adapt, through both school and his Auror career. It’s a big part of life really, assessing new situations and acting accordingly, choices that in some cases, can mean life or death. He wants this to be the same.

Until he gets into the swing of things, he’ll just pretend, despite the nerves and negative thoughts, he’ll teach his classes and do exactly what he has been brought here to do.

He’s here to teach potions. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Nothing else is expected of him. It’s a simple enough task, he needs to recite what he knows in a way his students can follow and learn, and at the end of the day - he’s somewhere safe, with people he knows will keep him safe.

It’s time that he lets the past go, whats happened has happened and he can’t change it, so he needs to move forward with this new chapter in his life. Despite the way it stings and even if he thinks he’s not good enough, it’s time to move on.

A few hours later, and it’s a more appropriate time for breakfast. John easily navigates his way to the Great Hall, everything is steeped in nostalgia, it sends goosebumps rippling across his skin.

He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed Hogwarts, the day he left he’d vowed that his days there were behind him - how times have changed.

The gleaming suits of armour stand to attention as he walks by and the portraits natter absentmindedly amongst themselves, it’s all just background noise.

The set up of the Great Hall seems a tad overkill, especially considering that not all of the professors are back for the start of term yet. Some clearly try to hold on as long as possible before returning, due to their families and other commitments, John doesn’t share this problem.

The four house tables are as they usually are, but It’s only a few sections of each table that are adorned in silver plates and huge bowls; filled to the brim with everything from bacon and sausages to fruits and porridge. There is everything that anyone could possibly want, this is something else John finds he’s missed.

Price is sitting at the furthest end of the Gryffindor table, shoving a forkful of black pudding into his mouth as he thumbs idly through a copy of The Daily Prophet. Another thing John has missed, the domestication of life, no more hiding and running, no fear for resting or eating - worried something is lurking around the next corner. Nothing is hiding here, preying in the shadows and waiting for Price to look up from his paper so it can pounce.

John hurries over and sits across from the older wizard, returning the smile he earns as he begins piling food onto his plate. “Morning” Price offers up, rolling his eyes when he looks up to find John is unable to reply, his mouth too full of toast. Price closes his paper and sets it to the side, leaning against his elbows on the table and looking pointedly at John as he eats his breakfast, John feels his gaze and meets it - confused.

He swallows down his bacon and clears his throat, suddenly uneasy. Price purses his lips, looking from his plate to his hands, his fingers fidgeting with one another. “Did you sleep well?” Price asks, finally, still seeming sheepish. John thinks for only a split second before he answers, “not really” he replies, honestly. “I think I just need more time to settle, firewhiskey didn’t help as much as I hoped it would” he says, chewing the inside of his cheek, “I haven’t slept well since the incident-“ he has to swallow, “I’m not sure if it’s connected but I keep having these strange- sort of dreams” the words are a jumble from his lips, falling quicker then he can catch them.

Price won’t judge him, he knows this, but he still hates the thought of becoming too vulnerable. It’s different when you’re fighting fit and at the peak of your career, some self reflection is normal - it’s healthy. But talking about his thoughts and feelings when he feels like he could barely cast a counter-curse if he tried to, it’s a new low John has not yet met - not until now.

The older wizard nods in acknowledgment, still fidgeting with his fingers, he brings up his hands to rest his interlocked fingers against his lips, still thinking deeply. John watches, carefully, he can see the way Price’s eyes linger for too long on his scar again - his throat burns.

Price clears his throat, refocusing John’s attention, “John” he tests, still seeming tedious about the topic he’s trying his best to address. The younger wizard feels dread bleed down his spine, the fork that’s gripped in his palm is slick with his sweat and he tries his best to not let his mind jump to the worst case scenarios.

I’m sorry son, this just isn’t working. You’re just not ready for this. We’re going to have to let you go.

His mind is racing again, and once it goes, John struggles to get it to stop. It’s irrational, he knows this, and that’s why it’s so frustrating. Watching the ball get away from him, and he’s physically unable to run toward it and catch it.

The sound of Price clearing his throat breaks John out of his own head, gaining back his focus. “I wasn’t completely honest with you when I offered you this position”, the admission comes as a surprise, in John’s head, Price has never hidden anything from him. Price is a clean-cut, say it how it is kind of man, there’s no mincing of words or beating around a metaphorical bush - his dread turns to intrigue.

John cocks his head, setting his fork down onto his plate and mimicking Price in the way he leans on the points of his elbows. Price starts up again, “as soon as I heard about what happened to you I knew that I wanted you to teach here, I thought it would be a great stepping stone” he says, “I didn’t know the extent of your injuries so I thought that even if it was on a temporary basis that you could come here to recuperate, I realise now that isn’t the case” Price wets his lips before he continues on, “I want you to do well here and I want you to make this role your own, in whatever way you see fit, I know that when we originally exchanged letters about the position that you were worried you wouldn’t be suited to a teaching position - but I can assure you that isn’t true”. John hangs off of Price’s every word, his chest swelling with pride, it instils a confidence in him that he thought didn’t exist anymore. Price seems to falter, just slightly, “what I’m trying to say here John is that I really think this is what you were meant to do, you were great leader and a great mentor out there - you can still be that great here too” Price smiles, trying his best to hide it, watching as John’s grin widens.

But what has this got to do with Price being dishonest about something?

John opens his mouth to speak but is quickly shut down, “but” Price quickly blurts out, “that being said, there is still one major thing that I haven’t told you” John cuts in, “what could possibly be so bad that you’re so-“

“Simon is here, in the school, he’s our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor”

Price’s words cut through John like shards of ice. Out of everything he could have possibly said, John would have rather been told that there’s a right of passage to becoming a teacher here, meaning he must fight an Acromantula and win if he wants to stay. He can’t digest the words, Price must be kidding, this has all got to be one big elaborate joke at his expense - but Price isn’t laughing.

Yet, John is. It’s punched out of him in a way that hurts, it makes his chest ache with the effort of it. He’s laughing because this can’t be real, after everything else that has been going wrong in his life lately, he has to exist in the same vicinity as a man he would gladly never lay eyes on again for as long as he lives.

Price wears a look of concern, watching as John’s amused expression morphs into one of pain, he quickly clutches at his head, pressing his fingers against his bad eye. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ jokin’” John whispers, more to himself than to Price, but Price answers, whispering too. “I think it’s best that the two of you talk, sooner rather then later” Price notes John’s grimace, “it’s a good opportunity to break the tension before the start of term”.

While it makes logical sense, John has never seen himself as a logical man, he’s more of a suck it and see kind of man. You’ll never know if you never try. He’s always jumped in head first with things and thought of the consequences after, and up until recently it has always worked in his favour - so he doubts he’ll change anytime soon.

John stares at the half-eaten food that’s starting to go cold on his plate, he finds that he’s just not hungry anymore.

He had wandered aimlessly for hours after breakfast. Retracing steps from his adolescence, it all felt so strange, he’s seeing everything from a new perspective - he’d grown significantly after leaving Hogwarts.

While yes, the years had passed, not much had changed, not really. The portraits on the walls still greeted him as he traipsed by, telling him he looked familiar, the staircases still moved at the most inconvenient times and the elves still popped up in the most random places - usually scrubbing the floors or polishing the many suits of armour that stood around the castle.

It’s unproductive, John knows, but he’s still trying to wrap his head around what Price had told him.

Simon is here. He teaches here.

John never knew, but in fairness, he had never asked. He’d like to say it’s because he doesn’t care, but in actuality, it’s because he cares too much.

He’s always cared too much when it comes to Simon Riley, he’d lie once more and say that he doesn’t understand why, but they both know why. They’ve always known.

Thinking back to when he last saw him, John realises just how long it’s been, it’s two whole years since they last saw one another. While it isn’t a long stretch of time by any means, a lot has changed for the both of them in that time.

John sulks around the hallways, still not really knowing how he should feel, he feels betrayed by Price but at the same time - it was going to come to a head at some point between him and Simon, sooner or later.

They have too many shared connections not to bump into one another eventually, John supposed it was better that it would be on his terms rather than just a chance encounter in the street.

At some point, John reaches the kitchens, having descended the spiral staircase towards a lower part of the school. He had originally been aiming for his old common room, but found himself distracted by the smell of something baked and sweet.

There’s too many times to recount when he had snuck his way into the kitchens. The term ‘snuck’ being used very lightly; the so known ‘head elf’, Posie, was particularly fond of him. For reasons unknown, perhaps it was because he was kind, most wizarding families were - at least the ones that didn’t have their own house elves.

The wizarding families that still owned house elves were often of old blood, purists who believed that muggle-wizard relationships were utterly blasphemous, the topic of half-bloods and ‘mudbloods’ being seen just the same.

John came from an old wizarding family, but one that held absolutely no social status, they had no interest in that sort of thing and also saw nothing wrong with the idea of muggles and wizards coexisting and starting families. It was an outdated way of thinking in their eyes, their family name went back for hundreds of generations, as far back as Hogwarts itself being created.

It meant that John treated Posie and the other elves like they were actual living creatures rather than something unworthy of basic wizard decency. It wasn’t overtly rare at Hogwarts in John’s time for most of the students to be kind and gratuitous, it had been on the up and up over the years, but Posie still had a liking for John that couldn’t really be explained.

She catches sight of him in the kitchens, having to crane her neck up even more than she did when he was a teenager, he’d gotten so much taller since leaving Hogwarts. Posie practically jumps for joy, she pulls him by the hand towards the rows of tables, they mimic the ones in the Great Hall. She presses all different kinds of pastries into his hands, forcing him to try a bite of every single one, filling up his pockets with tarts and scones when he insists he needs to leave before he’s too sick and heavy to move. She’s as spritely in her older age as she had been ten years ago, chatting John’s ear off about what he’d been up to since he’d left, telling him how much she’d missed him and how often she’d thought of him and hoped he was doing well.

It warms John’s heart, knowing that the elf hadn’t completely forgotten about him after all this time, he hadn’t forgotten about her either.

“Well, you look worse for wear” Price’s sly grin only annoys John even more, he reeks of vinegar and his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin as he sits across from his old captain, again, at the far end of the Gryffindor table.

He hadn’t spared the Hufflepuff barrels a second thought, he obviously wasn’t going to go in, it didn’t feel right considering he was a professor, even if the students were still yet to arrive. Yet, it seemed he still got a little closer then he should have, almost jumping six-feet in the air when a sudden jet of vinegar from the barrel hits him right between the eyes - soaking him completely through.

John grimaces, “I’d almost forgotten how funny you were” he says sarcastically, his eyes scanning around the room. Price raises a brow, “he’s not here you know” he speaks between forkfuls of cottage pie, “he had some things to attend to, won’t be back for a few more days”.

It’s as if an invisible weight is lifted from John’s shoulders. He wasn’t scared of seeing Simon, it would be a lie if he said he wasn’t dreading it, but he wasn’t scared. He just didn’t want to be caught off guard, he wants to know exactly what to say - but he can’t even begin to think of how he’d start that conversation.

He has a feeling Simon won’t be the most forthcoming either.

John scoffs, “what makes you think that’s who’m looking for” it’s a rhetorical question, one he doesn’t intend Price to answer, yet he does anyway. Price laughs, “your heads been on a swivel ever since this morning, your poker face is shit mate” as Price continues to laugh, the only thing John can think to do is mimic him - completely caught out by his old captain.

“Away a bile yer heid” the Scot spits his words but the venom is misplaced, aimed back at himself for being so transparent, he’ll have to get a grapple on that before Simon returns.

John wonders what’s pulled him away from Hogwarts in the first place. Perhaps he’s married now; maybe he even has a child, the possibilities are endless - and each new one John thinks up makes him feel more sick than the last.

Price and himself eat the rest of their meal in peace. It’s casual conversation for the rest of dinner; they talk about the upcoming school year as they leave the Great Hall, and they discuss this years Quidditch World Cup as they ascend the staircase that leads to the staff common area.

With each passing hour that bleeds from the late afternoon into the early evening, the bottle of firewhiskey drains closer and closer to the bottom.

The conversation has turned, and from there it begins to plummet.

“It really hurts y’know” John says, out of the blue. Price thumbs his glass, watching as the amber liquid sloshes and licks up the side of his glass, “your head?” He asks.

John tightens his lips, “no” he kisses his teeth with a wet shmack-ing sound, “ma head hurts but that’s no what a’mean” his accent begins to thicken as the alcohol thumps through his bloodstream - slow and lazy. John gestures his arms around the room, “this hurts” he starts, “should b’out there killin’ tha bastards tha did this” he snorts, “cannae even do tha” he grits his teeth and Price can hear it from where he sits across the other side of the coffee table.

Price sighs, “they’ll get them John” he says, “I’ll make sure of it - trust me on that one”, Price knocks back the rest of his drink, wincing at the sting of it against his throat. John scoffs, “trust” he repeats, “don’t know the meanin’ of the word do I” he mumbles to himself as he stirs his whiskey with his finger. “Don’t say that” Price’s words are curt, quickly bitten out, John doesn’t bat an eyelid. “S’true though” John slurs, “looket wha happened to Si” he wipes his nose with the backs of his fingers, the booze is making his mind slip.

The older wizard bristles, “don’t start that John”, he’s serious. Yet, John is ignorant to it, the words just keep on spilling. “S’ma fault he had to leave” a laugh falls from his lips, it’s a solemn one, masking the real pain that his words brings to the surface, “ma fault he’s stuck teachin’ ‘ere” John’s chest hiccups.

“That’s enough now!”

Price has raised his voice and it cracks the veneer that the booze has built up around John’s rationality. His eyes are wide and wet when he meets Price’s hard glare, whether or not the words are true, Price doesn’t want them speaking out into the open - because it means they mean something.

John watches as Price sighs, his thumb and pointer finger clutching the bridge of his nose, he refocuses his eyes on John before he opens his mouth to speak. “You did all that you could with what you had” Price reiterates, “if not for you John, then Simon may not be alive today” the words feel like a dagger to the gut, John isn’t ready to hear it all. The event itself is still so fuzzy, it was a blur of blood and teeth, the telltale sounds of agony as John tried his best to fully heal Simon before he was too late - to no avail.

Price is suddenly closer, and the wetness behind John’s eyes threatens to breach, “Simon appreciates everything you did John, no one could have done any better”, John shakes his head, forcing the dull throbbing-pain to creep back up on him.

He could have done better, he should have done better.

Sleep escapes John that night. He’s partly grateful for it, because he knows what waits for him in the darkness of slumber - the beast. As exhausted as he is, it’s hardly worth it in his eyes, he can brew up something to mask the fatigue, something to simulate sleep; but he can’t brew something to fix his shattered mind.

Not a cure at least. Draught of Peace could right him, but it would fade eventually, it wouldn’t last long enough for him to deem it worth while. It would just mask everything, it’d coat the surface but deep down he would still feel everything just the same.

The booze makes his limbs feel heavy, but his mind always seems heavier. He blinks slowly, seeing nothing in the darkness, he can hear Einar preening his feathers and he can hear rain beating against the windows. John tries to focus on those things, to keep himself awake, he can still relax, he just can’t fall asleep. He’s frightened, because he doesn’t understand, the incident and the nightmares must be connected - it’s too coincidental, but how?

John has never seen a creature in real life like the one in his nightmares. So he can’t understand why it seems so familiar to him, like he’s looked into those eyes before.

It’s too vivid, it’s too clear for him to not know what it means, when he closes his eyes even now, he can see it as clear as day.

As he lays in bed, trying to focus on the way the raindrops batter against the window, he hears a loud thud outside of his door, like it’s coming from the corridor. It makes him jump, he sits bolt upright in bed, quickly switching on the light that sits on his bedside table.

A few seconds pass by, and John listens carefully, his eyes wide and darting as he watches the crack beneath his door - looking for any kind of movement.

Another thud. He summons his wand into his hand, and despite the silencing charm on his chambers, he stays deathly quiet as he stalks towards his door. Another thud, heavy footsteps it sounds like, the beyond ancient floorboards of the school allow no one to sneak around.

John thinks himself stupid, it’ll just be a professor, or someone else wondering around the school. It’s probably Roach, a resident ghost, although he was mute and had never said a word throughout his whole living and dead existence, he made up for it with every other kind of noise he was able to make.

Just as John peels himself away from his door to go back to bed, a deep guttural growl bleeds through the crack under his door. It makes his blood run cold, the saliva in his mouth dries up instantly and his heart begins to race a mile a minute.

He’s heard that growl before.

John groans, suddenly clutching for his head, a deep shooting pain lodging itself behind his bad eye. Something inside of him cracks, whatever is causing the pain is connected to the nightmares and the strange beast he keeps seeing.

Without thinking, he swings open his door, wand in hand and poised to strike. Sweat gleams over his bare chest, he’s wearing nothing other then his ratty-plaid pajama bottoms, his chest heaves and his lips are bitten back into a sneer - not feeling at all ready to deal with whatever awaits him on the other side of the door.

He’s right to feel that way.

Simon stands alone in the darkness, illuminated by the soft amber light of the lamps that line the corridor walls. He looks oddly disheveled, sort of out of place. His clothes are askew and there’s mud on his hands, his hair is tousled and wet with what looks like sweat and - blood?

John is taken aback, he flushes with embarrassment, looking like a jumpy idiot, even an ex-Auror shouldn’t react quite as extreme as that. But he doesn’t know what to say or do, he lowers his wand and straightens his posture, eyes fixed on Simon’s face - it’s been so so long.

Simon’s face is devoid of any emotion. Even his eyes don’t shift or move upon seeing Johnny, nor does he react to having an Auror pointing a wand in his face, fully capable of blasting his head off if he had mis-identified him.

Simon simply stands still, and when his eyes do move, it’s only to look Johnny up and down entirely. From his bare feet to his wide-heaving chest, right up to his now mismatching eyes. His gaze lingers on the scar, on the mark of his curse, but still - Simon’s expression doesn’t change at all.

It’s only seconds that pass but it feels like hours to John. He stands stock still, processing the man that’s standing in front of him, a man he once called his friend.

Were they even friends anymore?

John watches as Simon moves forward, heading straight for the door that sits beside John’s room. He watches him unlock the door and step inside, without a single word.

John is left alone in the dimly lit corridor, his heart thumping against his sternum, wand gripped tightly in his hand.

What the fuck is going on?

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #alternative universe #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #cod modern warfare #cod mw ghost #cod mw soap #cod mw2 #hogwarts professor au #hogwarts au #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #ghoap fanfic #ghoap au #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ghoap fic #ghoap #lichwrites

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polarisdelphi · 5 months

Text

Continuing my Arthurian concepts, Lancelot of the Lake (I wanted it to be Lancelot du Lac, but alas, it looked really bad on his sheet, with the fancy font and all). As I did with Arthur, we have Lancelot and his sword - again, I just have a thing for designing fancy swords :')

His whole concept is blue, because you know... Of the Lake. Child of Avalon. It had to be blue hahaha every detail on his sword/armour is to look like plants, fountains and water.

I also wanted his sword to have that ~clashing~ of fluid like fountain shapes and rectangular, harsh line shapes because even if he is water, he is also constant in his loyalty, beliefs and is someone you can rely on.

(oh I told you guys I have some hot takes regarding Lancelot, Guinevere and all that... 'TIS LOTTIE TIME NOW)

Also did the whole ~testing Photoshop layers thing~ again and, lo and behold, we have some vitral looking version of Lancelot. It can also be him during one of the rituals in Avalon, who knows ;)

More ramblings on my version of Lancelot, what I thought during his design, who he is to me as a character and why he has that insufferable smug smile, under the cut below hahahaha

(fangirling? yes, fangirling over arthurian legend, yee been warned)

First things first: YES, Ioan Gruffud.

I fell in love with Lancelot because of him in the 2005 King Arthur movie and that is FOREVER the vision I have of Lancelot, this man has SINGLE-HANDEDLY made me believe he is a loyal friend and a little shit at the same time and there is NO room for another Lancelot in my mind.

I fucking love him so much

The 2005 movie is one of my favourite versions (I was 13 when I first watched it, he was my teenage crush, I'll love it to death) - but it does leave a lot of the characters out to create a whole other story on its own. I love it, but there's so much more on Arthurian Legend we can work on!

My Lancelot, then: yes, prince of Benoic. Taken by Avalon, raised by the Lady of the Lake, ruthless in combat. Best Knight of the Round Table, could even be better than Arthur (some say), and fiercely loyal to his companions and commander.

One hell of a womanizer, though. This man can't see a good looking woman - or even man, for that matter - without starting to flirt and say some things that would make even the gods flush. Everyone laughs while Galahad wants to die every single time Lancelot's flirty mode is ON.

Pretty useful when they have more stealthy missions that require lying, deception and cheating - be it men or women, Lancelot's charm will NEVER fail.

(other more "brutish" Knights, so to speak, say it's his Avalon ✨ pixie charm ✨ - and really, the man doesn't disagree)

Even if he is very loyal to his friends, brothers in arms, and his beloved Arthur, he can't be like that in romances, though. Lancelot's love is a quick flame that burns down an entire forest in the blink of an eye and it's put out quickly with a heavy rain the day after, while Arthur's love is a lingering fire on a winter night, keeping his lovers warm and away from harm as long as it has wood or coal to burn.

That's why I chose to give Lancelot a more reliable look with all the rectangular shapes, constant stripes and more of a "bulky" look compared to Arthur (Arthur has more of a slim-strong constitution). But he also has some sharp points, because of how dangerous he is, and the ever flowing shapes of the water of Avalon - like his very flowy dark blue cape.

He's always covered in blood too. He is the best Knight, he has no problems when it comes to killing, and he doesn't have Arthur's moral compass. If he has to be ruthless, he will be.

(told ya this man lives rent free in my head)

And that's very important to his character, in my opinion. Lancelot is a pagan, he doesn't mind bloodshed, and he certainly has no issues with giving in to lust and earthly pleasures. There is no Heaven to judge him, and no Hell to burn him. He is fatally human. Not trying to be better and to go on a moral high horse when his hands are covered in blood and his only talent is death - just surviving his times as he can.

HENCE - and brace yourselves for hot take time! - why he loves Guinevere, but he's in NO WAY a better man than Arthur. He would stop his flirting and womanizing shenanigans for her, but WHY would she give up someone so absurdly upstanding and unreal like Arthur for him? And he doesn't want her to. She deserves better than him. He loves being around her, his heart aches, but how many hearts hasn't he broken? It's kind of a poetic justice sort of thing in his view.

And he wouldn't sleep with her, not when she loves Arthur and Arthur loves her so fucking much. He might be a little shit, yes, sassy, bitter, hedonistic and even annoying at times - but he is loyal. He doesn't love easy, and when he does, he loves hard. And he loves Arthur too much to do the one thing that would destroy the man he would give his life for.

He's a bastard, but he does have standards. A bastard with feelings :)

Jokes aside, this is, again, MY take on Lancelot. MY Lancelot, is all fun and games, will argue religion with every single catholic/christian he meets on his way, will get covered in blood during battle, will kill with no remorse, will drink with no remorse, will indulge in sex and break hearts with no remorse.

But he will give his life for his friends - he will sacrifice everything for those he loves, and his loyalty can never be bought - for in the end of the day, if he's lying on the grass choking in his own blood, he knows those are the ones who would come to his aid. He knows Arthur would rather die for him than watch him die - even if Lancelot thinks this would be the utmost stupid-est and unfairest thing to ever do.

The world deserves and needs an Arthur in it - not a Lancelot.

In my Arthurian Legend, this is his character, this is who he is. A lot more darkness and existential dread, pleasures and adrenaline rushes in battle to cover up how flawed he thinks he is - even if bards sing of his heroic feats, his reputation is that of a hero and women everywhere swoon upon hearing his name, painting him as a knight in shining armour.

He's not - he's a womanizer in a blood stained armour, pledging his killing skills to someone who has a better, idealistic view of the world and higher moral standards than him.

If you read all of this, thank you for coming to my TED Talk, and do know I suffered immensily not making him a dual-wielding killing powerhouse.

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razumairon · 6 months

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La Squadra Esecuzioni playing Dungeons & Dragons, a meme

(English translation under the pictures)

As previously stated, this is NOT an headcanon. It's just... a mixture of a meme and a tag yourself. So please, don't come at each other's throat or something equally awful, thank you🫶🏻

- Forever DM

- Mostly because he hates the party doing anything except for what he wants them to do

- He also hates DMing because the party always takes the only path he didn't plan and takes two sessions to buy a dagger at the smith, but no one ever wants to DM so he has to do it

- Or, worse, have Prosciutto as DM

- His DCs are 56 high or more when he doesn't want the party to take certain routes

- Spoiler, it happens almost all the time

- He sometimes let Prosciutto DM

- He DMs canon campaigns because he doesn't want to take the effort to make up his own setting

- Sometimes he DMs original one shots

- Melone made him hate the bard

- Rule lawyer

- He knows even the Monster Manual by heart

- He intervenes to correct both the DM and the players about rules but nobody asked him to most of the times

- He is hated for that

- Very focused on builds, he lets them to lead him in his choice for the character options

- He tried all the classes and knows them all by heart

- No one wants him as DM because he doesn't allow anything that isn't explicitly written in the rules

- And also because he allows mutilations on the PCs when they make a critical fail in combat or the enemies strike a critical hit

- Sadly Risotto is sometimes too energy drained to DM so players have to deal with him as DM

- He DMs canon campaigns ONLY

- However he has interesting ideas for his characters

- A pity his roleplay is shit because he never changes expression or voice tone

- He bullies people who use D&DBeyond

- He constantly forget the rules

- He always makes his character's backstory shared with Prosciutto's character one

- Sometimes Prosciutto doesn't want to be paired with him so he has to find someone else

- He never played a character with an independent background

- He owns 57 pencils, 49 rubbers, 35 miniatures, 26 dice sets and always offers to print other people's character sheets

- Of course he's always willing to lend his stuff

- He's the eternal exploited one because Formaggio sponges even his chair

- He's secretly a dice hoarder but he'd never admit that

- He actually doesn't like playing D&D that much but he enjoys the company

- His characters all have social anxiety

- And they're all discriminated races

- Caster main

- He's terribly unlucky with dice rolls

- He once rolled a double 1 with Advantage

- Powerplayer, metaplayer and every worst kind of -player

- Cheater

- He always gets caught cheating and his character usually dies horribly... if Prosciutto is the DM. Otherwise, Risotto thanks him for passing that ability check that twelve people were able to fail

- However, he always pays attention to the session and takes notes... that he never shares

- He either plays a wizard to mock other characters' low intelligence or he plays a fighter to mock their low strength and prowess in battle, No in between

- He endlessly recycles the same characters

- His character is always rival with Formaggio's one for some reason

- He fights with Formaggio to play the fighter

- Despite everything he has the best strategies

- He cares little for roleplay, he's more into builds

- His characteristic points are never lower than 15

- Constantly late for session

- He never has what is needed for the session and "borrows" anything from Pesci

- He stole half of La Squadra's dice sets and lost every single one of them

- He and Ghiaccio fought really hard because of that

- And in fact now the only one lending him anything is Pesci

- He uses the smartphone during session

- He never took notes and never remembers shit

- "Wasn't this asshole the miniboss?" (they defeated the boss 8 sessions earlier)

- He is a terrible tactician but he comes up with crazy plans that somehow work in the end

- Extremely lucky with dice rolls

- His characters' names come from the IKEA catalogue but he regularly forgets them

- Pesci doesn't know the rules but Formaggio doesn't even know which game they're playing

- Fighter main

- The story is slow to proceed because of him doing offgame jokes all the time

- He brings amazing snacks though, he even cooks when he feels like it

- Bard main

- His PC is an excuse to flirt with friends

- Where Prosciutto played every class, he played every race

- Everybody hates the bard because of him

- He prefers roleplay to builds

- And, in fact, his PCs are all weaklings because he chooses builds because "it seemed cool by name and concept" but never actually read what they do or how they work

- His character is always the first one to run out of HP in combat

- Mostly because he's been able to make the DM hate his character during the campaign

- He's the only one encouraging Formaggio's crazy plans

- All his dice sets are glittered

- He never used the canon character sheets, only fanon redesigns

- He decorates them with markers when he's bored during session

- He's the one who is most into the campaign

- He draws other players' characters and funny scenes from the campaign

- Barbarian main

- He fucked up some campaigns because he charged the NPCs that glared at him

- He shares his notes only with Melone

- He goes nuts if something disturbs the session like the ringtone of the phone or a door slamming violently

- He sometimes encourages Formaggio's crazy plans

- He hates the stereotype of the stupid barbarian and tried hard to avoid that in his characters

- He never played a caster because he can't choose among so many spells

- He bullies the ranger because he thinks it's too situational

- He makes good builds

- The fact that Melone is totally unable to make decent builds drives him nuts

- But he can't resist helping Melone's character when they get in trouble

- Trouble that was caused by Melone's character themselves, by the way

- He always plays the same alignment

- He fights with Illuso's fighter because the both want to do the tank

- He played the paladin once but he became an Oathbreaker at level 1 because he cursed his own deity

#jojo's bizarre adventures #jjba #jjba vento aureo #jjba golden wind #vento aureo #golden wind #la squadra esecuzioni #la squadra #jjba risotto nero #jjba prosciutto #jjba pesci #jjba illuso #jjba formaggio #jjba ghiaccio #jjba melone #I should stop make D&D crossovers maybe #Bucci Gang may come #who knows #I swear I'm fine

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hyperfixated-gvf · 1 year

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Double Trouble

On the twelfth day of Tropemas, hyperfixated-gvf gave to me:

A Danny x Reader x Josh Tropemas ending!

Christmas Song Pairing: “I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm" by Dean Martin

Trope: Cuddle For Warmth

~~~

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Reader x Josh Kiszka

Warnings: Language, smut, threesome, Josh x Danny content

Words: 4.8k

Author's Note: Well, we stuck to the schedule much better than we did last year, so I count it a win. I feel like I cheated Danny gals out of a solo fic, so I have a second version of cuddle for warmth that I might one day release, who knows. There also might be a little treat for any of my other Sam/Danny pairing lovers out there -- stay tuned.

Most of all, I know there has been a few Josh x Danny x Reader fics written recently, and you should all definitely go check out @streamingcolors-gvf and @tripthelightfandomtastic because they both have some things. I swear this was one of the first fics I wrote for Tropemas and am not in any way trying to ride the waves of their glory (I would drown, their content is too good and almost intimidated me out of posting this but 🤷‍♀️) so I hope you all enjoy the last (official) Tropemas fic!

Cheers to another successful year of Tropemas! 🥂

18+ / MINORS DNI

~~~

“I told you guys this motel was sketchy as fuck,” you said into total darkness, the already-spotty lamp having shorted out and left you with nothing but the howl of the wind outside that was whistling in from some crack in the window. Not that the boys had really any say in where you’d had to pull off for the night. It was more just to share your misery, since it loves company and all that.

But that wind — you could feel it in your bones. The old heating unit underneath the shitty caulking job stood no chance at combating the chill of the room, and the fact that the sheets on this pull-out couch bed were threadbare and withheld no fucking body heat at all had you shivering in your pajamas. If there were ever a time you wished you’d listened to your friends when they told you that nice, fluffy, matching PJ sets were the best, it was now. But you ran hot when you slept – not that it mattered when it was -15 degrees outside and a balmy 5 inside.

“I wonder if Jake and Sam have it any better,” Josh said softly from the bed. When flipping coins, you’d unfortunately come up with tails, meaning that the master suite would not be yours for the night when you were forced to pull the van into a horror-movie motel to avoid killing all five of you on black ice. You were so close to the cabin the boys had booked, too – so close – but the ice storm had rolled in just as the sun went down, and you, along with several other drivers, apparently, had to make due with the rooms available at Cockroach Central.

Jake and Sam in the single Queen, and you, Josh, and Danny in this crappy ‘Queen sized with a pull out couch’ icebox.

“I doubt it,” Danny sighed, voice deep with interrupted sleep.

You weren’t surprised that he’d found the ability to sleep, even with the ice hitting the windowpane and your breath crystallizing in the air; he always had that ability, Danny. But as another gust of icy wind shook the windows, and you felt the subsequent cool air permeate your already-cold cocoon, you let out a barely audible whimper-groan.

You didn’t think it was loud enough for the boys to hear, but apparently you were underestimating how small the room was. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

The next noise that came out of your mouth was frustrated, and it wasn’t directed at Josh for asking, but you’d taken the last shift driving and you were exhausted, except now it didn’t seem as if you’d be getting any sleep at all. “I’m freezing,” you admitted, and you heard immediate shuffling from the bed.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Danny asked from above. “Come over here and get warm, dummy.”

But you hesitated. You knew that the boys would give you the shirt off their back if you asked for it, but you didn’t want them to sacrifice their own comfort and sleep for you – it was one night, after all, and they had been cooped up in the van just as long as you had. “I mean…is there even room up there?” you asked, still sorely tempted to join them, despite your pause. “I don’t want to kick you guys out of bed.”

“We’ll make it work,” came Josh’s voice next. “We grew up shoving as many people in a bed as we could, Y/N, come on.”

And, well, twist your arm. You pushed your thin blankets off and scurried over to the bigger bed, which had a mattress that retained heat and two other bodies to contribute to the task of keeping you warm.

“Oh my god,” you groaned blissfully, teeth still chattering as you settled into the space between them that they made, citing ‘maximum warmth’ when you’d told them you’d be fine taking the edge. “If I’d known you guys were living space heaters, we’d have been sharing a bed from the start.”

Josh’s hand crept over your hip from where he’d instantly wound himself around you under the blankets. The cuddling wasn’t new — Josh was a tactile person on his worst days, and a cuddle buddy was a cuddle buddy. But the way he was vigorously rubbing his hand up and down your body was ruffling your sleep shirt, Danny, on just the other side of you, was going to be pressed against exposed skin if he didn’t stop soon. “Shit, Y/N– even your pajamas are cold.”

“I know,” you sighed, smacking your lips together in contentment. If you’d been a cat, it would’ve been a purr as you began to feel your feet again. “I’ve been shivering in them since we got here.”

Not to be left out, Danny crossed one big hand over Josh’s arm to feel for himself, and your breath stuttered a bit. It wasn’t as if you were immune to their talent and good spirits, and you had eyes — you knew your friends were an attractive bunch. But you never let your fantasies run too amuck; you were an avid sleep talker, and you’d never recover if something slipped out while your dreams took you places you dared not think about during the day.

Places like here, plastered against both Josh and Danny while they warmed you up. Perhaps not in the way you wanted in your limited fantasies, but you were nevertheless in bed with them, their hands all over your body. You hummed at the contact, shifting your shoulders to shake some of the energy they brought with their touch off.

“Why’d you wait so long to tell us you were cold?” Danny asked, lips so close to your ear he barely had to murmur for you to hear. That distance was soon made even scarcer, as Danny tugged Josh closer on your other side so that you were all three a mess of tangled limbs, cuddling to keep every ounce of warmth between you.

You shrugged with the space you did have, and tried to turn on your side towards Danny, your ass already becoming numb. You were a side sleeper, anyways, so you’d end up in that position regardless. The two men adjusted with you, Josh pushing forward to melt against your back while Danny pushed back and let you get comfortable before assuming his position again, nearly brushing your nose with his.

At this point, you were glad the lights had shorted out, because at least there was a chance Danny didn’t notice either your blush or your surprise that he’d rebounded back in so close. You had no choice but to ball up your hands and let them rest against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths from the front, and Josh’s from your back.

“Um…I told you. I didn’t know if there would be enough space.”

Josh chuckled against the back of your neck, making you shiver – but this time, not from the cold. “Well, here’s your proof. There’s always room for you, Y/N.”

“Good to know,” you squeaked, growing embarrassed at how much just the simple pressure of their bodies against yours was making you wet. You knew you couldn’t blame yourself – it’d been a few days since you were alone enough to get yourself off, and this was the first time you’d been in an actual bed since you’d left for this spontaneous cabin getaway with the boys. And when you were in a bed, your body demanded orgasms; it was something of a Pavlovian response at this point.

Now you’d be tired and horny in the morning, but at least you wouldn’t be cold. Although you were beginning to question which was worse.

Danny’s lips quirked up, and you squeezed your eyes shut. He’d most certainly heard the change in pitch of your voice, and you felt a chuckle rumble shake his chest and escape as a breath through his nose. “That was cute,” he breathed. “Is there something the matter?”

Josh’s hips shifted back, and his lips were at your ear, next. “He’s right. I can feel your heartbeat from your back, Y/N. What’s going on?” His words had turned sultry in a matter of seconds, and your face burned, feeling a little foolish for thinking that they wouldn’t be able to feel what they were doing to you in their proximity.

Although, the response other than a serious ribbing from the both of them was unexpected. You’d have expected them to make fun of you, not do…whatever this was. Unless this was their way of teasing you (not in the good way). “Fuck you guys,” you mumbled. It was a cruel joke either way, and you were beginning to wish that you’d just layered up and stayed in that stupid pull-out bed.

Danny caught your chin with the knuckle of his pointer finger, and tipped your face up to his. “Oh yeah? Is that what you want?”

Every function screeched to a halt, and you couldn’t find the words to answer.

They were serious? This wasn’t a joke? They wanted to fuck you – together, in the same bed – just because they’d felt your heartrate pick up a bit and your breathing become uneven?

Josh rolled his hips into you again, and you were suddenly made aware that he was hard in his flannel pants. Hard and warm against your ass, in such a good way that you couldn’t help but press back into him. You were rewarded with a small groan and the feeling of his fingers tightening on your hips. “Shit, Y/N. Don’t do that unless you’re gonna answer Danny.”

“I…yes?”

“Yes? Like, a question? Or, ‘yes,’ for sure?”

The situation was evolving very quickly, but you must have been hornier than you imagined you’d be, because it was difficult to find reasons to decline their generous offer. “For sure,” you said, tucking your lip between your teeth as you waited on baited breath to find out what that answer would bring.

Like racehorses let out of the gate, the response was whip-quick, and you gasped as that lip you’d held captive was dragged from its place by Danny’s mouth, and Josh groaned, “Oh thank god,” before tugging your hips back into his erection. “You’ve got us wrapped around your finger, Y/N, you had to have known what your little noises would do to us.”

“Little noises?” you gasped out, hand reaching up to tangle in Danny’s wild curls as he began to nip across your jaw. “You mean…normal ones?”

Danny pulled back, and his absence was missed, but the sight of him shucking his shirt off was a welcome one. “Caught,” he said with a smirk. “It’s just you. You drive us crazy, no matter what you do or where you do it.”

The sentiment was cheesy at best, but you chose to disregard that fact in favor of letting Josh drag your own shirt off your body, too. “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently, fingers crawling over your bare skin, stopped only by the sports bra you wore, “we’ve been thirsting over you, sweet thing. I’ve thought about this beautiful body of yours so many times. In the still of the night,” he whispered, slipping under the flimsy material covering your breasts, “when I can’t help myself. Like right now.”

You let a small noise slip out as he softly rubbed his thumb over your nipple. It wasn’t enough for them, though, and Danny quickly nudged Josh’s hand. “Let us see you. Josh wasn’t the only one thinking dirty, filthy thoughts when it came to you,” Danny said, laid back down so that the blankets were once again keeping the rising heat in.

Your sports bra came off, and you wriggled out of your pants, as well, knowing that they would be one of the next items on the list, and then you were naked. Naked, and Danny was naked, too, and when you settled back in, you realized that Josh’s cock was now hard and hot and leaking against your ass, meaning that he rounded the company out, and it was officially a threesome.

Josh backed up, though, so that Danny could put you on your back and trail kisses down your throat until he reached your breasts. You mewled when he took your nipple into his mouth, and it seemed that broke Josh, as he put a hand on the base of his dick and squeezed. Your noises must have actually done it for him. “Mmmm, Danny,” you sighed, foot sliding up the mattress in pleasure. Danny shifted so that he was straddling your thigh, and he ground down once, his cock twitching against your skin.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured against your skin. “Are you soft everywhere, I wonder?”

His words were the only warning you got before his fingers slipped between your lips and spread your wetness across your pussy. “Oh, yeah,” he groaned. “Soft and so fucking wet. Josh, feel how wet our girl is.”

Josh didn’t need any more prompting, and he joined Danny between your thighs, his fingers side-by-side with Danny’s thicker, coarser ones. Your whimper and squirms were met with an intensified touch – Josh took the plunge and dipped a singular digit into your entrance, and you felt as though you’d combust if things didn’t progress soon.

“Soft and wet,” Josh agreed, his finger pressing forward and pulling back gently. “Finally get to feel you, Y/N. How do you like to play, sweet thing?”

Danny hummed, still mouthing over your stomach. “Did you like it when we played with your pretty little tits? Or do you like Josh’s finger inside you better?”

You were becoming frustrated with their sudden slow-down after taking advantage of the whole bed situation so quickly. “I like them both– I just need more,” you whined, your pussy clenching around Josh’s finger as you tried to fuck yourself faster. “Come on, guys, I know you can do better.” You switched tactics on them, goading instead of whining, and Danny chuckled against your skin.

“More?” he asked, looking at Josh. “What do you think, Josh– wanna fill her up a bit? Add a couple of fingers?”

Josh answered in action, fitting a second finger in beside the first and upping the speed, angling his fingertips to run along your walls until he found that sweet spot inside of you. You gasped and bucked your hips, but Danny held you down gently.

“Shit– right there, Josh!” you affirmed, stilling so that he could focus on that spot.

The lights suddenly flickered back on, and everything paused as you took in the now lit-up scene with blown-pupil eyes. You all three blinked at each other, drinking in the finer details. Finally, Danny’s lips quirked up in a smirk and he pressed a kiss to your hip while Josh continued fingering you.

Josh’s next words weren’t directed at you; he’d heard you, and he wasn’t budging on his positioning, but instead, he met Danny’s eyes and smiled, which you barely caught with your eyes fluttering shut as they were. “Better, she says,” he scoffed, gently mocking your nettling. “If there’s anything I’ve learned about better, it’s that fingers are always better with a mouth. Daniel, care to assist since you’re already down there?”

“More than happy to,” Danny said with a shark-like grin, and your lips trembled with a moan as you watched him converge with Josh’s fingers, then felt his tongue envelope your clit, rolling pressure and darting around in circles like a pro.

This man knew what he was fucking doing.

“Hot fuck, you guys,” you keened, their combined efforts quickly uncovering your growing orgasm. “Have you– ahh– you done this before?” you asked shakily, vacillating between closing your eyes to take in the sensations and watching them both work between your legs.

Josh and Danny shared an amused glance, and you realized that the question wasn’t as pointed as you meant it to be – you’d be the first to claim that you weren’t in the state of mind to care, but you also found it in you to roll your eyes when Josh said, “Yeah, a couple of times,” for the both of them, since Danny’s mouth was occupied, his lips suctioned around you.

“I meant together.”

Josh chuckled and then pinched his pinky and thumb together so that he could bind his middle three and slowly delve them into you underneath where Danny was. “No. But we did talk about it when we got drunk together once. Only once,” he assured quickly, “we didn’t, like, plan this all out beforehand. The opportunity presented itself, though, and you seemed into it…”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Seemed?”

“Touché,” he said, three knuckles deep into your wet core and building a steady rhythm that pushed you higher and higher.

Danny’s contributions were exacerbated when he grasped the undersides of your thighs and pressed his face into you as hard as he could while still trying to avoid taking away Josh’s ability to finger you.

“Ah– ah,” you croaked, back arching as the coil grew tighter. “Guys, I’m gonna– fuck me, I’m right there; I’m gonna cum, just keep going!”

“No need to tell us twice, sweet thing,” Josh cooed. “Come on, now, let go. You can cum pretty all over my fingers, all over Danny’s mouth. Show us how you do it. God, you look so beautiful,” he babbled, fingers working faster inside of you as you cried out once more and fell off the edge of the cliff.

You fisted the sheets with one hand, and with the other, you pushed Danny’s head away, spasming with overstimulation as he kept sucking you up even as you came down. “Danny– that’s a lot,” you gasped, hips twitching from the force of the orgasm.

He listened, and pulled away just as Josh withdrew his soaked fingers, rubbing them together and then spreading them apart, where they webbed with your release. As Josh brought them towards his face, Danny caught him by the wrist and beat him to the punchline, his lips – still glistening with your cum as well – wrapping around Josh’s digits and sucking them clean.

A shock of arousal shot through you at the sight, and you were liable to fall apart and never be put back together again when Danny popped the fingers out of his mouth and was immediately pulled into a searching kiss afterwards. Josh’s hands remained firm, one on the side of Danny’s neck, and the other tangling with Danny’s at his side. He was smirking when he pulled away, and the side-eye he sent your way told you that he was aware of what he was doing to you, how he was playing you.

Like a damn fiddle.

“You taste like an angel,” Danny remarked, turning his attention back to you. “Doesn’t even matter where I get you from.”

“Come here,” you huffed, guiding him into another kiss, this time pushing your tongue into his mouth, as if you could taste the remnants of all three of you together. You could feel the tip of his cock catching your tummy every so often, though, in the hovering position he was in, and the desire you had to be dicked down by these men returned in full force. “Fuck me, Danny,” you breathed against his lips. “I want you inside me. Please.”

“Shit,” he cursed gently, lowering himself so that he was covering every inch of you from head to toe. You were totally encompassed in him, so you wrapped your legs around his waist to lock him in.

Josh looked on, slowly stroking his own cock to find relief. “Go on, Dan,” he encouraged. “Give it to her like she’s asking.”

“Begging,” Danny corrected, running his thick head through the result of their sloppy-wet work. “I’ll fuck you so good,” he promised, lining up with your entrance. “Get you to cum again for us so that I can see this time. I can’t just miss out on feeling you clench around some part of me.”

You popped your hips up, trying to get him to slide into you (it would have been easy enough with how wet you were from your last orgasm). “I’ll cum for you,” you keened impatiently, “but I need you to actually fuck me first.”

Josh snorted. “Still a little spitfire even with a dick in you, aren’t you?”

You were about to retort that there wasn’t a dick in you yet, when Danny finally pushed past the initial resistance that served as a reminder that you really hadn’t taken much more than your fingers and a small vibrator recently. He was substantially bigger than yours or Josh’s fingers, even three of them.

“Yeah,” he hissed, throwing his head back as he eased in. “Open up for me, angel; let me in that pretty, pink heaven.”

Josh laid down beside you, plastered to the length of your body as you wrapped your legs around Danny’s waist and encouraged him to start moving. The hand that wasn’t still stroking himself snaked up your body to pinch and play with your nipples as your breasts jiggled in time with each new punch of Danny’s hips to yours.

You could smell Josh, so close to you, even beyond the scent of sex that was slowly permeating the air around you. “Danny fucks like a god,” you whimpered to no one in particular, barely holding onto your sanity as you were filled to the brim time and time again.

Danny’s grip on your hips tightened at your praise, and your attention was yanked back to the man currently rearranging your guts in the middle of the night in a crappy motel while one of his best friends waited his turn. “Say it to my face.”

You met his heavy-lidded gaze, and reached up to him. He leaned into your palm, and you smiled at him. “You are crazy good at lighting me up, Daniel Wagner.”

“Warm her up, make her burn, ” Josh murmured, leaning over to replace his fingers with his tongue.

With the warm, wet swirl around your nipples and Danny’s hand making its way to press down on your lower stomach, changing up the angle that he hit inside you, you were more than close to your second orgasm. “Feel that, Y/N?” Danny huffed, slowing to grab your hand and push it to where he’d been a moment earlier. “Feel how fucking deep I am?”

Maybe it was because you wanted to feel him, or perhaps you weren’t imaging it at all, but you could have sworn that each time Danny’s hips smacked into yours and he sheathed himself balls-deep, you felt him nudge the heel of your hand where it impressed into your stomach. Regardless of whether you could with that hand, though, you could certainly feel him in other ways, so you whined and nodded, focused on the sensations.

“God, you take me so well, Angel. Wanna live here,” he whimpered, hips stuttering as he joined you on the precipice.

“In a shitty motel?” Josh joked, re-inserting himself into the situation. “Or so far up Y/N’s cunt she’s gonna have a hard time thinking about anything else for the rest of the trip?”

Danny panted, hot and loud, and grunted as he embodied his livelihood: rhythm, reliability, and consistency in each slide into you bringing you both closer and closer to the edge. “The second one.”

Josh nodded, slipping his fingers down to circle your clit, obviously reaching the end of his patience and no longer willing to wait his turn . “That’s what I thought. Can’t blame either of you, really,” he sighed, pushing himself up on one arm to kiss whatever breath Danny had left in his lungs away.

Even then, Danny didn’t falter, and his steady thrusts soon paid off. You both gave into the pressure, and Danny yipped out his orgasm against Josh’s lips, topping it off with a deep groan as he emptied himself into you, shallowly pumping himself through it before he collapsed onto his forearms, lips brushing yours as he caught his breath.

“Are you ready to take Josh?” he whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth before you could answer.

“Before that, actually,” Josh interjected, moving in closer and encasing you in their body heat again now that the chill was creeping back in and cooling your sweat quickly, “I’m gonna need you to move off our sweet Y/N, here. There’s something else I’d like to do before I get to follow in Big Dick Dan’s footsteps.”

His hand was running up and down Danny’s bare back, and you felt the rumble of laughter rise from Danny’s chest, so there was no surprise when a laugh that was a little too loud escaped his face, now crinkled up in joy. “I swear they don’t call me that. I’ve never heard that nickname in my life,” he giggled, and Josh pursed his lips exaggeratedly from beside you.

“Not to your face, maybe.”

Danny did as Josh asked, though, and gingerly pulled himself out of you, sighing as he finally rested his entire weight on the bed at your side. Josh quickly took his place, eyes roving over your lower half and then meeting yours once he apparently found what he was looking for.

Making his way down your body, he wet his lips. “Let’s see if you still taste as Danny has so lovingly named you, Angel,” Josh said, lowering himself to fit in between your thighs. He wasted no time in spreading you apart and lapping you up with the flat of his tongue, catching the slow drip of Danny’s cum as it leaked out of you.

The gasp that flew out of your mouth sounded offended, almost, and Danny’s fingertips dug into the skin of your arm, where he’d been caressing a few seconds earlier.

“Fuuuuck,” Danny rumbled, low and long. “How’s his mouth feel, Angel? Is it as good as it always looks onstage?”

You moaned with your lips sealed shut, pushing your hips into Josh’s mouth. “Better,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed. You stayed like that, with Danny reaching up to stroke your nipples and kiss your neck while Josh ate you out enthusiastically, slurping and sucking until he had his fill and came up for breath.

He looked slightly crazed, pawing desperately at your thighs while he rocked his hips, cock catching the sheets in a way that must have been driving him insane.

“Come on, Josh,” Danny cooed, pulling your leg over so that you were laying on your side, spread for Josh since Danny hooked you in his elbow. “You’ve gotta be so hard. Give it to her. She’s got another one in her, right, Y/N?”

You bit down into Danny’s shoulder as you nodded, then met Josh’s gaze. “Come on, Josh, come and take me higher. Get us in the fast lane.”

Josh positioned himself behind you, cuddling as you had been at the beginning of the night, but now you were much warmer, and much more fatigued. As he shakily guided himself to your entrance, slicking up the tip of his dick with what he’d left behind, he pushed in slowly and said, “You have us for the entire night, angel, no need to rush.”

“Yeah,” Danny hummed against your open lips, spread in the ecstasy of being stretched once more, “no need to rush at all. We need to keep you warm all night.”

…

Jake and Sam were already waiting for you in the lobby when Josh and Danny had managed to drag themselves out of bed. Considering they hadn’t been the ones fucked half to death until the sky began to lighten, you were unsympathetic to their whines about being tired, and were quite proud that you managed to walk all by yourself without the assistance of a wheelchair.

Sam caught sight of you first and waved you over, looking restless and jumpy and ready to leave. “This motel sucks. The coffee is cold and I’m pretty sure from last year, so I’d skip it,” he huffed.

Sam wasn’t a huge coffee drinker, so the fact that he’d been desperate enough to try coffee from the ancient-looking carafe was a surefire sign that he hadn’t slept well either.

For entirely different reasons than you, Danny, and Josh, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You seem a little grumpy,” you smirked. You saw recognition on his face and turned to see Danny and Josh finally stepping out of the stairwell, since the elevators didn’t work.

“Yeah, because I couldn’t fucking sleep when it was in the negative inside the room. Were you guys freezing last night like Jake and I were?”

You doubted the others would need much convincing to stop for breakfast and coffee, so you just shrugged your bag over your shoulder, shook your head innocently, and smiled. “Nope,” you said lightly. “I was toasty all night long.”

~~~

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gwennafran · 1 month

Text

Some general text and layout updates overall. And well… A bunch of student updates. Seven new students were added, for starters (turns out a few of the Malani nobles already had been around).

This is one of those chapters where it is more obvious than usual, that I ignore bruises, but does add more long-lasting cuts.

Also, I made this a bit more Tumblr friendly, splitting it up in four sections. Because this file has gotten really long.

Awonke got added. I’m by now developing the same love-hate relationship to beads as I have to ringlets and tiny braids.

Zama got added. So bright. His hat kinda looks like a crown, but… Happy accident, I guess.

Lindiwe got added. Between the high collar and layered sleeves, I went full Renaissance. That hair isn’t going anywhere during combat, though. And the hat is undoubtedly very tightly pinned to it. On top of it, the top part of her dress actually is cut a lot like a doublet. I could see it be a secret duel getup.

Angharad got some small face adjustments. Also, it’s been long enough I removed the small cut from book 1 on her face (the other cut still is hinted).

Tristan got his hat back. Rejoice!

Kasigo was already on the sheet. Now with an entirely different expression. And fancy clothes. I reused the hat, though.

Emini got added. Pearls are always in fashion. I hope for her she doesn’t get into an honour duel while having her stay (corset) strap in her shoulders like that.

Forty-Ninth Brigade:

Is no more. But things are still a bit up in the air for some of them.

Ramona got some cuts on her cheek and a crunched nose.

Tengfei has been called handsome by Song twice now. So, he got prettied up. Which is extreme considering his look is changed as he’s going away. I guess am nothing if not thorough.

Malani Nobles of Unknown Brigades:

Fanyana with his neat cloud of hair. I forgot it was meant to be a jerkin instead of a doublet. Let’s just retcon this into being a jerkin on top of a doublet, made to match each other.

Branwen and Morcan: When you mirror the file and add some tiny differences. Justifying it with saying they like to mess with others like that. I kinda cheated on the headpiece and updated the fashion. A silver band with a veil just sound so very, very medieval. And while they certainly like to live on their ancestors doing one notable thing a very long time ago, that seemed a bit extreme.

#pale lights #fanart #character design #cast overview #gwennafran art #Oh look - colours and cool designs from all those fancy noble brats

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amerikanhervi · 3 months

Text

"Gather around, Cubs." The Primus shouted, stomping her foot to the sheet-metal floor of the Fahrar training grounds. "Today's lesson is straight from High Command. Listen close, and listen well."

The Cubs gathered around, standing in single-file horizontal format just like they trained. They looked amongst each other confused. High Command? "What could be so important?" they thought. "We're just kids!"

The Primus took a steep inhale through her teeth--the strain visible on her face as she thought about how to explain this. It felt absurd and unnecessary but orders are orders. She brought her palms together and began to speak.

"One of you among us is the child of the worst Sire in all of Black Citadel. You have a legacy of treachery, lies, and the sorcery of gods long slain." The Primus took a shaky breath, looking among the crowd. "The problem is that we do not know which one of you it is."

The cubs all looked amongst each other looking for any clue or sign that could be readily apparent. Yet they found nothing as such things cannot be seen or sensed. They must make themselves apparent in time. A paranoia to root deep in the seed of the youth.

"So instead we will tell you a tale of what you should not become, unlike your Sire before you. A traitor to the High Legions with no home, no people and no Warband."

"The Queen of Beggars."

The Cubs Oooh'd and Aaah'd. The first time a lesson was being taught that was not hard technical theories or physical applications of mathematics. They were now paying close attention to every word that left the Primus' lips.

"She, at your age, learned she had the powers of Earth, Water, Fire and Air. Forbidden sorceries that she should have left well alone. Even when her friends and family turned away from her she refused to stop this silly use of her powers.

Instead of returning to the loyalty of Warbands, or to reach out to her Primus and learn a truly necessary skill like hand-to-hand combat or mechanical engineering--she learned to lie and cheat."

"She ran from the Fahrar, and never returned. We thought this the end of her--a forever Gladia rummaging for scraps to survive on the edges of the Citadel. This was a silly mistake. Instead she had found her way to the Gladium Canton--and her honey and sugar lies reeled in many.

They formed a "Union" of Gladia. A grievous bastardization of what it means to be a Warband. They made a mockery of our great system. Crime had been at this point a nightly thing. Murders, hospitalizations, arsons

--and the Legions had finally had enough."

The Cubs were listening intently to the Primus. They were enraptured by the tension and presentation. They were taking in everything as it was said--which brought peace to the Primus. That they would process this and take away the right messages---she hoped.

"The legions invaded the Canton with the intention to arrest and execute this traitor. They had her whereabouts, her connections and her lieutenants. Yet when they did. They had discovered that the whole canton was rigged to explode. She had known they were coming, and they had brought with them the newly elected Ash Tribune."

"All that was left was rubble."

There was long silence among the Fahrar. The cubs shuffled around and the patter of Charr walking under the stairs could be heard as they were working on their responsibilities. Though the general air of unease among the older workers was palpable. Thick in the air like a mist.

"She now is at large with her bastard of a 'Gang' as she calls it. Reigning terror over Black Citadel operations and hard working Charr all across Diessa through her violent crime and manipulation of our intelligence. Though no one knows how she even gets it."

"So, my little cubs. Remember what is important to you: If you are not a good worker, if you are not a cunning worker and if you are not a Warband worker---you will end up like her. Tending to the rocks and mountains with no family, no hope--and no dreams except the death of good men and women for no other reason than your sick, narcissitic pride. Sorcery is the origin of laziness and deceit."

"DO NOT USE TITAN MAGIC."

#Niddhil #GW2 #Guild Wars 2 #The Queen of Beggars #Charr

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bradshawsbaby · 1 year

Text

Si Vis Amari Ama

III. A Gladiator’s Oath

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairings: Rooster (Roman Name: Gallus) x Female Reader (Roman Name: Sabina), featuring Hangman (Roman Name: Carnifex) x Phoenix

Summary: A girl whose freedom was stolen to pay her father’s debts. A gladiator enslaved for the entertainment of Rome. A love they never thought possible.

Author’s Note: We finally get to meet the rest of the gladiators! As previously mentioned, all of the TGM characters have been given Latinized names to fit with the time period of the story. Check out A Roman Guide to the Daggers (which is also pinned on the series masterlist) as a cheat sheet if you ever get confused!

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: Slavery in the ancient world, mentions of physical abuse, gladiatorial training/combat, discussion of minor injuries, brief language, tension/pining, alternating point of view.

“Gallus, duck!”

The echoes of harsh grunts and heavy breathing filled the air, the unrelenting thwacks of wood on wood reverberating across the open grounds of the training arena as bruised and battered men sparred with their practice swords.

You couldn’t help but glance up at the sound of his name, your eyes drifting past the other dueling gladiators until they landed on the familiar figure at the center of the main ring. He was in the middle of a heated bout with one of Dominus’ other prized champions, the two of them glaring at each other with an intensity that spoke of a rivalry that ran deeper than just friendly competition.

The advice Gallus had been given had evidently been sound, as the other man was swinging at him with his heavy shield, aiming straight for his head. You could feel your heart in your throat for a moment, but Gallus quickly parried with his sword and jumped backwards out of the reach of his opponent.

“He almost had you. You’ve got to be quicker than that,” the dark-haired man shouted, the one who was standing at the head of the training grounds, feet planted firmly on the ground and muscular arms folded tightly across his chest. He was older, probably around the same age as Titus, and from what you had gathered, he was in charge of training and conditioning the gladiators at the ludus.

Gallus only glared in response, his mouth turning down in irritation as he lunged at his fellow gladiator, the two of them engaging in the brutal power struggle once more.

At the sound of Phoenix clearing her throat beside you, you spun back around to the task before you, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks.

“Enjoying the show?” she teased, smirking knowingly as she wrung out the tunic in her hands with a forceful twist. “There are many in Rome who would envy you, you know. Getting to see all this, up close and personal. And for free, too,” she added with a laugh, blowing a loose strand of dark hair out of her eyes.

Your cheeks were positively burning now as you dropped your gaze to the basin in front of you and reached for another piece of dirty laundry to scrub clean. “Oh, no, I was just—well—I’ve never actually seen a gladiator fight before. I was just a little curious,” you admitted sheepishly, carefully running the bar of salt that was burning your palm over the filthy tunic you’d just lifted from the pile of dirty linens that you and Phoenix had collected earlier.

Phoenix’s hands stilled as she sat up straighter and looked at you with wide eyes, clearly shocked. You weren’t sure you had ever seen Phoenix surprised before in all these months you’d known her.

“Aren’t you Roman by birth?” she questioned, arching a dark brow curiously.

“Yes,” you murmured in response, feeling almost embarrassed of your heritage. Your people—if you could even still call them that—were the ones who had stolen your friend from her homeland and sold her into a life of slavery.

“And you’ve never seen a gladiator match before?” she demanded, as if she simply couldn’t believe something so outlandish could be true.

You sighed, brushing a bead of sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. “Well I was only a child when I—my parents never took me—and neither did any of my masters. I’ve never even stepped foot inside the Colosseum,” you confessed, scrubbing at the laundry until you felt your fingertips would bleed.

“Hm,” Phoenix murmured thoughtfully, shaking her head before getting back to work herself.

“Have you? Ever been to the Colosseum, I mean?” you asked curiously. Though the two of you were around the same age, you felt that Phoenix had a sort of worldliness that you didn’t possess. You trusted her to explain things to you that you’d never experienced yourself, or didn’t understand.

She nodded, sitting back on her heels as she bent over her work. She draped the tunic she’d been wringing out over the edge of her basin as she pressed a fist into her lower back, deftly massaging the ache that throbbed there. “A few times. My last dominus would take his wife and daughters to the games sometimes, so I’d accompany them. And I’ve been there a couple times with Domina,” she added, doing her best to refrain from rolling her eyes at the mention of your mistress. “But we never stay long. She always complains of the heat.”

“I’ve only ever seen it from the outside. Are the games as grand as everyone makes them out to be?” you wondered, sitting back on your heels as well and taking a moment’s respite.

“They can be,” Phoenix nodded, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. “It depends on who’s hosting the games, and how much they’re willing to invest. Those who want to worm their way into Caesar’s good graces usually pay for at least a week’s worth of games, sometimes with exotic animals and chariot races. The crowds go wild. You’ve never seen a place so packed with people in all your life.”

You shuddered slightly, your skin crawling at the mere thought of it. Maybe you wouldn’t like the Colosseum so much after all.

Just as you were about to ask Phoenix to tell you more about the games, however, you heard a familiar voice from behind you.

“Hey, you two, back to work!”

Titus’ jovial face suddenly came into view, the old medicus circling around the two of you until he was planted in front of your wash basins, grinning down at you.

“All we do is work, old man. Our fingers might just fall off soon, and then where would that leave you?” Phoenix joked, lifting yet another wet garment to wring out.

“Hopelessly lost, that’s where,” Titus winked. “They’ve got you on laundry duty, eh? Tough break, my girls. I’ve never met men who stink so badly in my entire life,” he said, wrinkling his nose as he gazed across the training grounds at the pairs upon pairs of fighters.

“We’ve dealt with worse,” Phoenix said nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders as she glanced over at you.

“Ah, I see,” Titus nodded, eyes twinkling as his focus shifted towards your face. “Is that right, Sabina?”

You looked up and met his kind eyes, those eyes that seemed to look within and know you in a way you didn’t understand. You smiled, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s no trouble,” you answered him, picking up the bar of salt once more.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Titus responded, though there was no judgment or condemnation in his tone. He simply continued to look at you for a moment, a curious tilt to his head, before his smile returned in full force. “But I won’t pry, especially considering how kind you’ve been to help me around here.”

In the past couple weeks since you’d assisted Titus in caring for Gallus, you’d been tasked with more duties around the ludus. You had a feeling it had something to do with a private conversation the medicus had had with Dominus. In addition to your chores around the villa, you were now also responsible for tasks such as cleaning the gladiators’ cells while they were out training, delivering meals to the men, and tending to any injuries—and there were many of them. Occasionally, on days like today when the laundry wasn’t being sent out to the fuller, you and Phoenix were responsible for that as well.

Domina had not been happy when your master had first brought up your new assignment.

“I need her here in the house with me. That Greek slut assists Titus enough as it is. Take one of the other girls if he needs someone else. That fat cow from the kitchens. Oh, what’s her name? Flavia! He can have her,” Aurelia had pouted, tossing her dark blonde locks over her shoulder.

“He asked for Sabina, and Sabina is who he shall have,” Dominus countered evenly, taking a long sip of his wine. He didn’t even look up from his cup as he spoke to his wife.

You stood before your masters with your head lowered and your hands clasped in front of you, trembling slightly. You wished more than anything that they would just dismiss you.

“But I told you—”

“Enough, Aurelia!” Atticus suddenly barked, slamming his hand down on the low dining table.

You and your mistress both jumped.

“There are plenty of slaves in this household who can braid your hair and paint your face,” your master snapped, waving away the slave who approached to refill his cup. “But there are very few who Titus trusts with the care of my gladiators, and so if he says this girl is needed, then she is needed. And that is where she shall go.” Atticus stood suddenly and towered over his wife, who lifted her head to look up at him. “Do not forget who is the head of this household,” he ground out through gritted teeth before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

Aurelia sat silently on her dining couch for a moment, stunned into a rare state of speechlessness. Dominus rarely spoke to her so harshly, and he rarely refused to give in to her demands, so it was clear she was reeling.

But only for a moment.

When she turned her head to look at you, her dark eyes narrowed sharply. Rising gracefully, as was her way, she adjusted her stola, her bracelets clinking along her slender wrists.

“Look at me,” she demanded coldly, grabbing roughly at your chin until you obeyed and lifted your eyes.

“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing here, but I see right through you. Don’t think I don’t,” she whispered, her voice edged with something dangerous.

“Domina, I’m not—”

Her slap hit you like a clap of thunder, the sound of it bouncing around the room until it rang in your ears. You resisted the urge to step back and cup your face, knowing it would only make her angrier, although you couldn’t stop the tears that sprung to your eyes unbidden.

“I did not ask you to speak!” Aurelia snapped, adjusting her rings as though irritated you had disturbed them. “If my husband commands you to go work in the ludus, then there isn’t much I can do about that. But know this,” she muttered, stepping closer to you and grabbing your wrist so tightly that you almost cried out in pain. “If the day comes when you grow swollen with the bastard of a savage, I will throw you out of this household faster than you can cry for mercy. So I’d keep those legs closed if I were you.”

You did your best to swallow back your tears as you gazed up into the cold eyes of your domina, the pain in your wrist shooting up to your elbow as she twisted cruelly.

She smiled. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Domina,” you nodded meekly, nearly gasping in relief when she finally released you.

“Get out of my sight,” Aurelia dismissed you with a careless flick of her hand, tossing herself back onto her dining couch and calling out to the other slaves to fetch her something to eat.

“She’s a miserable bitch,” Phoenix muttered later, after you had told her what happened. The two of you were sitting alone at the end of the table in the corner of the kitchen, Phoenix carefully examining your bruised wrist.

“Phoenix,” you whispered frantically, gazing over both shoulders. “You shouldn’t say such a thing.”

Your friend waved her hand in the air, a look of defiance flashing across her face. “Oh, what worse can they do to me? And besides, she is.”

“I don’t understand why she’s so upset,” you sighed, tears pricking your eyes once more as you thought of her violent treatment earlier. “And what she said—I have no intention of—”

“Of course you don’t,” Phoenix said in a soothing voice, resting her hands over yours and squeezing gently. “Ignore her. She’s just projecting her own fears onto you.”

You cocked your head in confusion, looking at your friend. “What do you mean?”

Phoenix looked back at you, startled, and then started laughing. “Oh, my sweet friend,” she murmured, lifting your hand and kissing it in a sisterly fashion. “You truly are too good for this awful world. Are you telling me you’ve been in this household for nearly three months and you really don’t know?”

“Know what?” you blinked, beyond perplexed at this point.

Sighing softly, it was now Phoenix’s turn to glance over her shoulders. Satisfied that no one was around to eavesdrop, she leaned in closer. “Aurelia has quite the taste for those savages she supposedly loathes so much,” she whispered, lifting her eyebrows pointedly.

It took a moment for the pieces to connect in your mind, but then your eyes widened. “You mean Domina is—”

Phoenix nodded, covering your mouth with her hand. “She might consider them barbarians, but she certainly can’t get enough of them in her bed. I can only imagine how terrified she is that one of them is finally going to get her with child.”

You blanched at that, your jaw falling open in shock once Phoenix released you. “D-does Dominus know?”

“He’s not a stupid man,” Phoenix shrugged. “Everybody else knows, so why wouldn’t he? But he turns a blind eye. You know how he is. He pretty much lets her have whatever she wants,” she muttered. “Except,” she emphasized, “his Pugiones.”

Pugiones, you had come to learn, was the nickname Atticus used for his champion gladiators—of which Gallus was the foremost. You weren’t sure why, but it suddenly made you feel less sick to think that your mistress hadn’t gotten her claws into him.

“So she hasn’t—?”

Phoenix shook her head. “As far as I know, she only sleeps with the newer recruits, the ones Atticus doesn’t care as much about. He puts all his money and attention into his stars. They’re the only ones that are off limits.”

“How many gladiators does he own?” you asked, realizing you didn’t even know.

She thought about that for a minute. “It’s hard to keep track. We lose some, and then we get some more. But I think at last count, we were up to thirty.”

Your eyes widened at that. You hadn’t realized it was so many. Besides Gallus, you’d really only ever seen a couple others, and only from a distance.

“You’ll get to know them when you start helping me and Titus,” Phoenix said, as if she had read your mind. She hesitated a moment, then added, “Just don’t get too attached. There are many who don’t come back.”

It had only been two weeks, and your friend’s warning had already proven to be true. As you began assisting with the medical care of the men, you spent much of your time among the newer recruits, the men Dominus had only recently acquired, who lacked the skills and training necessary to fight without badly injuring themselves. When they left for their bouts in local arenas or the Colosseum, many of them did not return. But Dominus always refilled the ranks with more, determined to build an elite army of gladiators.

You didn’t see much of the Pugiones. As seasoned as they were, they didn’t injure themselves quite as often, and Titus and Phoenix usually managed any issues that they had. There had been a few instances where you’d felt their eyes on you, but you always kept your gaze averted and avoided them at all costs. You didn’t want any problems with Domina.

Today, however, as you watched them all fight, you realized that you didn’t know much about them at all. You didn’t even know most of their names. Phoenix had said it was often better that way, but it seemed that you should at least know the Pugiones. After all, they were the champions. They always returned.

After speaking to you and Phoenix for a few more moments, Titus turned and began walking around the perimeter of the training arena, watching a few of the men in particular with those careful eyes of his.

That’s when you turned to look at Phoenix, dropping the tunic you’d been scrubbing into the basin. “Would you mind telling me a little bit about them?” you asked, nodding your head in the direction of the stars of the ludus. “I feel like I should know something, especially if they’re the most popular gladiators in Rome,” you added, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Phoenix smirked, standing up slowly and stretching her arms over her head. “Oh, alright. I’ve known those idiots for quite a while, so I suppose I can tell you a little bit about them,” she grinned, taking your hand and pulling you up beside her. “Come, let’s act like we’re going to hang some of these linens up to dry,” she said, handing you an armful of damp clothing.

As the two of you walked, you passed by one gladiator who was practicing sharp thrusts with a long, pointed sword. You’d learned that when it came to simple practice bouts, the men used wooden swords. Perhaps they had become too elite, and Atticus feared arming them in his own home.

“That’s Caius,” Phoenix whispered, glancing briefly in his direction. “He grew up in Egypt. He can’t even remember where he was actually born, but he’s been a slave most of his life. See the long shield he carries? He fights as a Secutor.”

You nodded to show your understanding, trying not to stare too long. He was handsome, now that you could see him up close, with a strong jaw and a focused gaze.

Next up was a tall, lean gladiator with skin like ebony whose size belied the gracefulness of his movements. His shield was similar in shape to Caius’, but slightly smaller.

“Pollux,” Phoenix whispered. “They often call him ‘The African.’ I know you wouldn’t think it to look at him, especially now, but he’s one of the funniest people I know. He’s a Murmillo. Similar to the Secutor, but you can see his shield is a little smaller.” She stopped a moment to adjust the pile of wet tunics in her arms. “Sometimes he gets paired to fight with Felix,” she explained, nodding her head in the direction of the gladiator practicing beside him.

Your eyes landed on the shorter man, with tan skin and a head full of riotous black curls.

“Why doesn’t he fight with a sword like the others?” you asked quietly, noting the trident and net that Felix held in his hands instead of a sword and shield.

“Felix is a Retiarius,” Phoenix told you, keeping her voice low as the two of you continued to walk. “He fights with the trident and net, as you can see, and very little armor. The Retiarius is popular in the arena, but he has to be skilled to survive. Felix is the best there is of his class.”

You and Phoenix stopped short when you came closer to the main ring, where Gallus and his light haired opponent were still battling one another.

“I believe you’re already acquainted with Gallus,” Phoenix murmured with a sideways glance, chuckling under her breath.

Embarrassed, you glanced down at your feet for a moment. Your attention was drawn back upwards, however, at the sound of the men’s loud grunts.

“And who is that?” you questioned quietly, looking intently at the man that Gallus had been pitted against. From what you could see, they were almost evenly matched in skill and ability.

Something flashed briefly in Phoenix’s eyes, but she quickly scoffed and shook her head. “They call him Carnifex. He lives for the attention the crowds shower on him,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “He’s smug and arrogant and hates the fact that the crowds love Gallus just a little bit more than they love him,” she went on. You noticed that she hadn’t taken her eyes off him, even as she complained about him. “He’s a Murmillo, like Pollux. From Gaul originally. They tried to execute him there, but even the hangman could not kill him. That’s how they gave him his name.”

“And their trainer?” You glanced over at the older dark-haired man, the one who was still watching Gallus and Carnifex with the eyes of a hawk.

“Magnus,” Phoenix stated. “He’s a Rudiarius. He used to be a gladiator—one of the best, in fact. So good that he finally earned his freedom. Now Atticus pays him to train his men and make them the best of the best. He does a good job of it, too.”

The two of you stood quietly for a moment, listening to Magnus bark out orders, which Gallus seemed particularly resistant to.

“Magnus fought in the Thracian style,” Phoenix explained, glancing over at you. “It’s the same style Gallus fights in now, so he’s particularly hard on him,” she said, her voice softening slightly as she looked over at her friend.

You glanced between Phoenix and Gallus for a moment, and couldn’t explain the sudden lump that formed in your throat. Unbidden, the memory returned of Gallus demanding to know where Phoenix was when you’d gone with Titus to patch him up.

“You and Gallus—I mean, it’s none of my business, of course, but the two of you seem very close,” you stammered, suddenly feeling a bit foolish. “Are you—?”

“Me and Gallus?” Phoenix asked, throwing her head back with a laugh. “No, no, no. Nothing like that. He’s like a brother to me, nothing more,” she assured you. “He and I have known each other a long time, that’s all. We’re comfortable with each other.” She turned to look at you. “We belonged to the same household before we got sold here, so we look out for each other, you know? The same way I look out for you now,” she smiled, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

You smiled in return, feeling an odd wash of relief.

“He and Carnifex really seem to be going for each other’s throats,” you murmured, your eyes widening as you watched the two of them lunge back and forth, their half naked bodies glistening with sweat in the midmorning sun.

Phoenix sighed, nodding. “Old rivalries don’t really die,” she said under her breath.

You blinked in confusion. “But they’re from the same ludus. Surely they don’t actually fight each other?”

“Not now,” Phoenix agreed, pursing her lips. “But Carnifex didn’t always belong to this ludus. When he and Gallus were first starting out, first making names for themselves, they used to get pitted against each other all the time. I think there’s a part of them that can’t really let that go, even now.”

The both of them seemed to be tiring out now, their breathing growing more labored as their swords and shields clashed. You realized, looking at them and all the many scars that littered their bodies, that these were men who had been pushed long past the point of human endurance. They’d been forced to fight and fight and fight for so long that they didn’t even know how to stop anymore.

Suddenly, however, with a move so swift your eyes nearly missed it, Carnifex knocked the shield from Gallus’ grasp and dropped him to the ground, the larger man grunting as he landed on his scarred shoulder.

“You’re getting slow in your old age, Gallus,” Carnifex smirked, standing above him triumphantly with a smug expression on his admittedly handsome face.

From his spot on the ground, Gallus glared up at him, his dark eyes stormy and filled with barely suppressed rage. Lightning quick, his leg shot out and swiped at Carnifex’s feet, knocking him onto his back.

“And you’re getting complacent in yours,” Gallus shot back coldly, the tip of his wooden sword planted into the sand, mere centimeters from Carnifex’s face, as he pressed his knee into his chest.

“Alright, that’s enough for today, you two,” Magnus called out, lifting his hands up into the air. “That’s enough.”

Gallus and Carnifex both rose from the ground with quiet groans, neither looking at the other as they separated.

Magnus slowly approached Gallus, looking up at the larger man as he began speaking. “Gallus, that was good work out there today, but you need to—”

You watched in surprise as, without even looking at his trainer, Gallus pushed past him with a frown and stomped off to the trough to get some water. Gaze slipping back in Magnus’ direction, expecting him to scold or punish Gallus for his insolence, you were even more surprised to instead see a flash of hurt cross his face before he turned away and began talking to the other gladiators.

“What was that?” you asked Phoenix, your curiosity piqued despite yourself.

“I have no idea,” Phoenix told you, lifting her shoulders as if in surrender. “Something happened there, but no one knows what. They used to get along just fine, and then one day it was as if Gallus couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as Magnus. But he won’t talk about it, and I won’t push.”

You nodded, accepting her response and leaving it at that. If even Phoenix didn’t know what the problem was between Gallus and his trainer, then it certainly wasn’t your business.

“Ladies,” Titus called out to the two of you, approaching quickly. “Finish hanging those things to dry, and then come meet me back here. I need you to tend the Pugiones today while I deal with the other men,” he sighed, rolling his eyes skyward. “Six broken fingers, three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and four teeth knocked out. These new recruits will be the death of me.”

Hurrying off, you and Phoenix made quick work of the laundry and then returned to the training grounds, where all the weapons and shields had already been carefully collected and stored away. Your dominus was nothing if not fastidious in the management of his ludus, and nothing was to be out of place.

The newer recruits, the ones that Titus said he would deal with, were gathered at the far corner of the grounds, some of them lying flat on their backs, while others sat clutching at various injuries. You could hear their moans of pain even from where you stood.

The Pugiones, however, were stoic and silent as they sat upon the low stone wall on the outer edge of the training arena, waiting for you and Phoenix to come tend to their wounds, which were decidedly much less pronounced than those of the younger men.

“None of them got hurt too badly today,” Titus explained, appearing over your shoulder and making you jump slightly. He wasn’t a small man, but he did manage to be stealthy when he needed to be. “Just your usual bumps and bruises. With two of you working, it shouldn’t take long to see to it,” he said, nodding his head once with certainty. He started to walk away, then turned back to look at you. “Oh, Sabina, I would appreciate it if you could check on Gallus’ injury, the one from a couple weeks ago. I removed his stitches just the other day, but he’s being a stubborn mule, as usual.”

The medicus didn’t even give you a chance to reply before he was off again, whistling a jaunty tune as he made his way over to the other gladiators.

“Is he sure he doesn’t need one of us to help him?” you murmured, biting down on your lower lip. You suddenly felt a strange knot developing in the pit of your stomach. “The newer men’s injuries seem so much worse. Surely only one of us needs to tend to the Pugiones.”

“Oh, would you like me to go help Titus and you stay here alone?” Phoenix asked, giggling at the horrified look on your face. “Don’t worry, I’m only teasing,” she smiled, bumping your shoulder with her own. “Titus likes to handle the new recruits on his own as much as possible. He knows how hard it can be when you come to care for someone, and then they don’t come back, so he tries to spare us that as much as possible,” she explained, her smile dimming slightly as she reached for the basket of medical supplies that Titus had left for you. “Come on, let’s go deal with this lot.”

As the two of you approached the men, who somehow seemed even larger and more handsome the closer you came, Carnifex looked up and smirked, releasing a low whistle.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite Grecian goddess, Phoenix,” he called out, a twinkle in his eyes, which you now noticed were a startling shade of green.

Phoenix smirked in return, stopping in front of the Gallic gladiator and dropping her basket at his feet. “Well if it isn’t my least favorite gladiator, Carnifex.”

Pollux, Felix, and Caius snickered at that, which earned Caius, since he was the one sitting beside Carnifex, a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“Ow,” Caius complained, rubbing at his side with a frown. “Come on, you set yourself up for that one.”

“You know Phoenix could probably drop you faster than all the rest of us, right?” Felix jumped in, laughing. You liked his laugh. It was open and easy and quickly made you forget that he was one of the fiercest fighters in the Colosseum.

“And she would, too!” Pollux added, chuckling. He glanced over at you as he said it and smiled. He had a nice smile.

It was funny. You’d been so terrified at the thought of living in a household with these men, but they were so—ordinary. They weren’t monstrous killers. They were just men.

Carnifex grumbled under his breath, his eyes quickly taking in Phoenix’s figure before he looked away.

“Aw, don’t be mad just because Gallus bested you today. He’s bested us all,” Caius grinned, earning him another shove in the ribcage.

Gallus, for his part, just sat quietly on his perch, gazing forward without looking at you or anyone else.

“I’ll have you all know that you’re making an absolutely horrible impression on our new friend here,” Phoenix scolded them, holding up a hand in your direction. “See, Sabina? I told you they were idiots, the whole lot of them.”

“Oh, so this is Sabina,” Pollux smirked knowingly, shooting a glance down the line at where Gallus sat, his spine stiff as he stared straight ahead.

“We’ve heard good things,” Felix nodded. “From Titus, of course,” he added quickly at Pollux’s subtle nudge. “And Phoenix.” He held out his hand towards you. “I’m Felix,” he introduced himself with a grin.

You found yourself smiling as well as you stepped forward and placed your hand in his, shaking it firmly.

“I’ve already told her who all of you are and all the stupid things you do, so don’t think you’ll be impressing her,” Phoenix grinned, reaching into the basket to pull out a vial of acid vinegar and some clean bandages.

“Aw, but you love us, Phoenix. Don’t pretend that you don’t,” Caius pretended to pout, winking playfully in your direction.

Phoenix merely harrumphed in response, ducking her chin to mask her smile.

“Alright, Carnifex, you’re first up,” she said, grabbing his hands and examining the knuckles. “Looks like Gallus really put you through your paces today.”

Carnifex bristled at that, his back straightening. “A cheap trick he pulled at the end. I would have had him otherwise.”

“You would have had him if you weren’t so cocky,” Phoenix shot back evenly, glaring at him.

You couldn’t help but notice the look that passed between them as they stared into each other’s eyes, some subtle challenge, some underlying current of tension.

Maybe it wasn’t Phoenix’s relationship with Gallus you should have been asking about.

“So,” Pollux cleared his throat, cutting through the sudden strain in the air. “Sabina,” he called out to you as you began lifting Caius’ knuckles and examining the damage. “How long have you been a part of the esteemed household of Atticus Cornelius Juventus?” You didn’t fail to detect the note of sarcasm in his voice as he asked the question.

“Nearly three months now,” you replied, dabbing some acid vinegar onto the fresh cuts you saw littering Caius’ hands and forearms. “My last dominus passed away and his property was auctioned off, so I was sold here.”

“Three months? And this is the first we’re seeing of you?” Felix questioned in surprise, his dark eyebrows rising as he looked over at you.

“I work mainly in the villa, for Domina,” you explained. The tension returned to the air at the mention of Aurelia. “I had never been inside the ludus before, not until a couple weeks ago when Titus asked me to help him.” Care for Gallus, you left unsaid, but when you glanced in his direction, you found that his eyes were suddenly on you.

“Well lucky for us then,” Caius grinned down at you as you carefully wrapped his hands in white linen strips. “You really do have gentle hands.” At the sound of Gallus clearing his throat, he hastened to add, “Unlike Phoenix here. She manhandles us worse than Titus.”

“Mhm, and it’s what you deserve,” Phoenix smirked, finishing her work bandaging a cut on Carnifex’s arm. She pointedly avoided his gaze as she moved down the line to Felix.

“There you are,” you told Caius with a smile, glancing up at him when you were finished.

“Thank you, Sabina,” he smiled in return, flexing his hands carefully.

As you stepped back and started to move towards Pollux, Phoenix suddenly stopped you in your tracks. “Oh, I’ve got Pollux. He and Felix don’t have many injuries today. Why don’t you go check Gallus like Titus asked you to?”

You weren’t sure why it suddenly felt like everyone’s eyes were on you, but you had never wanted to run and hide more than you did in that moment. Knowing you couldn’t do that, however, you simply nodded and offered your friend a tight smile. “Okay,” you said softly.

Heart fluttering uncomfortably inside your chest, rather like the birds Dominus and Domina kept for decoration in the garden, you approached Gallus while staring down at your bare feet. Soon enough, however, the intensity of his gaze drew your eyes upward until they were meeting his dark ones. They were a dark brown, you realized, as the sun hit them. They were the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen.

“Hello,” you stuttered, your mind recalling the last time you had truly spoken to him, when he had apologized for his behavior the first time you’d met.

“Hello,” he murmured in response, his voice even deeper than you had remembered it. He sat completely still as you moved closer to him, his eyes never leaving your face even as you ducked your head to gingerly lift his hands and examine his knuckles.

Feeling uncomfortably warm under the heat of his stare, you found yourself entranced by the many scars that traced their way across the backs of his hands. Your thumb lightly brushed against his bruised knuckles, and you couldn’t tell if it was him or you who shivered in the midday heat.

Reaching for the vial with trembling hands, you carefully dabbed at his very minor injuries with the acid vinegar, admiring the way he didn’t even flinch at the sting. You were so focused on wrapping his hands with bandages that you didn’t notice the way he was now staring at your arm.

“What happened?” he asked quietly, reaching out to lightly brush his calloused fingertips against the yellowish bruise that was still marring your wrist.

Startled, you glanced down in embarrassment, your skin feeling hot where he had touched you. “Oh, nothing,” you answered quickly, mortified at the memory of where that mark had come from. “I’m just clumsy, that’s all.”

Gallus wasn’t buying your excuse, not for a second. “That isn’t a mark that comes by accident or chance,” he said, stilling your movements as he raised your wrist up with a surprisingly gentle hand and further examined the bruises—the ones that matched perfectly with the shape of your domina’s fingers. “That’s a mark left by a human hand.” There was something in his voice as he said it, something rough and angry, but you knew it wasn’t an anger directed at you.

“It’s nothing, Gallus,” you murmured sharply, his name slipping off your tongue as you pulled your arm from his grasp. You softened when you saw the way he stiffened. “Please,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly over that one word. “Just leave it alone. I promise I’ll be more careful.”

“You’re not the one who needs to be careful,” he said in a low voice, his eyes narrowing. There was something dangerous in the way he said it, a veiled threat that wasn’t meant for you, but that made you shiver all the same. His eyes softened a fraction when he realized his words had unsettled you. “Forgive me. I’m a brute, as Titus never fails to remind me.” His fingers closed over yours for a moment as you finished bandaging his hand. “I just—I don’t wish to see you hurt.”

“Nor I, you,” you whispered, swallowing past the lump that had lodged itself in your throat once more. You cleared your throat, mindful of the fact that the others were sitting just a few feet away from you, though they seemed lost in their own conversation. “Speaking of Titus, he wished for me to check how your healing is coming along,” you told him, raising a hand towards his chest.

Gallus was silent for a moment, just looking at you, but then he slowly removed the straps attaching his armor to his body, giving you an unrestricted view of his naked chest.

Titus really was a master medicus, for the mark of his stitches was already fading fast, a clean line across Gallus’ chest that would hardly stick out amongst all the other scars marking his body.

Taking a breath, you stepped in between his legs and ran your fingers over the wound, freezing when you felt the way his body tensed under your touch. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” you asked in concern.

“No,” Gallus said stiffly, shaking his head. “It no longer pains me. I’m fine, really. You don’t need to check up on me.”

“Titus said you were being stubborn,” you told him with a small smile, glancing into his eyes as your hands stilled on his chest.

“Titus would know,” Gallus muttered, a tiny smile gracing his own features. “He’s one of the most stubborn men I know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, and it pleased you to see Gallus’ smile grow wider. He had a lovely smile, made all the lovelier by the fact that he didn’t seem to smile often.

“So will you be around here more often then?” Gallus asked after a moment of silence, watching as you stepped back and began to pack up the remainder of the supplies. “With Phoenix and Titus, I mean.”

“Yes, I think I will,” you nodded. You weren’t sure what possessed you to say it, but you suddenly added, “So I suppose you’ll be seeing more of me.”

Gallus didn’t say anything in response to that, just continued to gaze at you with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Before you could embarrass yourself further, Magnus suddenly appeared in the middle of the training grounds, calling out to the men. “I’d like to speak to you all for a few moments,” he announced, noting that Titus seemed to be almost finished tending to the younger men.

The rest of the Pugiones rose, bidding you and Phoenix farewell, but Gallus remained where he was for a moment, his thoughtful expression turning to a frown.

“Gallus, Magnus is calling for all of you,” Phoenix told him, hefting the basket and resting it on her hip.

“He can wait for a minute,” Gallus snapped, in a tone that was evidently harsher than he intended, considering the apologetic glance he threw Phoenix’s way. Sighing, he slowly rose from the wall and glanced between the two of you. “Thank you, Sabina,” he murmured, lightly touching your arm before he turned and made his way over to where the rest of the gladiators were gathering.

“The two of you seemed cozy,” Phoenix whispered after he had walked away, nudging you with a playful wink as she helped you clean up the rest of the supplies.

“We were just talking,” you insisted, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as you avoided her gaze.

“Mhm,” Phoenix grinned, resting a hand on her hip. “But there are very few people who Gallus enjoys talking to,” she emphasized, nudging you again with a laugh.

You were saved from further interrogation by the unexpected arrival of Hrodebert, one of Atticus’ chief stewards in the household. You didn’t deal much with the stewards, but you’d come to know him quite well over the past few months because of his close friendship with Phoenix. A quiet and studious man who had been kidnapped from his homeland in Germania when he was a child, Hrodebert had developed an affinity for numbers and figures, which was why he was one of the most trusted members of Dominus’ household, so trusted, in fact, that Atticus had placed him in charge of the accounts related to the ludus.

He squinted in the sun as he approached you and Phoenix, and you felt a stab of sympathy for him. Over the years, Hrodebert had been expected to stay up all night, burning the midnight oil while poring over accounts and ledgers, and it had significantly impacted his eyesight. There were times, you knew, when Phoenix stayed up at night to help him in secret because of how badly his eyes ached.

“Hello, Hrodebert,” Phoenix greeted him, momentarily forgetting about your interaction with Gallus as she approached her old friend. “What brings you over to the ludus?”

“You and Sabina,” Hrodebert replied, his mouth twisting into an apologetic frown as he looked from Phoenix over to you. “Domina is demanding—ahem, asking—for your presence in the villa. According to her, you’ve spent enough time over here with—and I quote— these filthy savages.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “And you’re to clean yourselves up before you enter her presence.” Grimacing, he added, “I’m sorry. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“It’s not your fault, Hrodebert,” you told him kindly, resting a reassuring hand on his arm. “Thank you for coming to get us.”

Hrodebert smiled, nodding. “Of course. I figured it was better me than someone else.”

“You’re right,” Phoenix nodded as the three of you began walking back towards the villa. “Because another messenger I might just shoot.”

You and Hrodebert couldn’t help but laugh at Phoenix’s indignant tone.

As your two friends began walking ahead of you, chatting about some account that Hrodebert was trying to organize, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder at where the gladiators were currently in the midst of some sort of debriefing with Magnus. And though you knew you shouldn’t be seeking him out, your eyes somehow landed immediately on the tall, broad-shouldered Briton who had quickly become the most challenging puzzle you’d ever encountered.

Your heart skipped several beats when you realized that his gaze was fixed on you as well. Nearly stumbling over your own two feet, you turned hastily and followed after the others.

He couldn’t explain the ache in his chest as he watched you walk away, being swallowed up by the impenetrable walls of the villa of Atticus Cornelius Juventus, but it persisted all the same.

You had consumed his thoughts these past few weeks, ever since that day when he’d opened his eyes to find you standing above him, your hands as gentle as a dove when you touched him.

It would only grow worse, this ache, now that you were working around the ludus more frequently. He didn’t know if he could stand it.

But he also couldn’t stand the thought of you staying away.

Watching you disappear inside the villa, he felt an unsettling fear snake its way up his spine and squeeze his heart—or what was left of his heart, anyway. Those bruises on your wrist. He couldn’t get the sight of them out of his mind’s eye. And he knew exactly who had put them there, even if you wouldn’t say. That miserable bitch. She took anything that was beautiful and good and crushed it for her own sick amusement.

The thought of her hurting you made him want to burn that villa to the ground.

He had to talk to Phoenix and Hrodebert, had to make sure that they protected you where he couldn’t.

Where he couldn’t? Had he deemed himself your protector now? How could he protect you when he couldn’t even protect himself?

But he would protect you. Of that, he was certain. He didn’t understand the feelings that you had awakened inside him—he didn’t want to understand them—but he knew that he would do what he had to do to keep you safe.

As he and the others began trudging their way back to their cells, exhausted after a long morning of training exercises, he was pulled out of his silent reverie by the conversation happening around him.

“She was sweet,” Felix was saying, running an exhausted hand through his dark curls. “And Phoenix likes her a lot, so clearly we can trust her.”

“Titus likes her, too, so that’s two strikes in her favor. If she can win over that grumpy old man, then there must be something special about her,” Pollux nodded in agreement, rolling his aching shoulders back.

Gallus realized they were talking about you.

“Pretty, too,” Caius added, waggling his eyebrows with a grin. “You think she has a thing for gladiators?”

“Stay away from her,” Gallus said sharply, causing all of their heads to turn in his direction.

Pollux and Felix exchanged a look, while Caius and Carnifex raised curious brows.

“Do you have a thing for the pretty new slave girl, Gallus?” Carnifex asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “And here we thought you were celibate, considering how you never seem to—”

“Just stay away from her,” Gallus said darkly, taking a tense step in Carnifex’s direction. “She’s here to help us, not to warm your beds.”

Carnifex smirked challengingly at Gallus, but the rest of them threw their hands up in surrender.

“We’re not going to bother her, Gallus. You have our word,” Felix promised, looking at him seriously.

Pollux and Caius quickly echoed his sentiments, and even Carnifex finally relented and nodded in agreement.

There were very few people on this earth that Gallus liked, and even fewer that he trusted, but his fellow Pugiones were among them. Even Carnifex, as much as he may have disliked him most of the time. If they gave their word that they wouldn’t bother you, then he knew it was as good as a blood oath.

“We need to look out for her, the same way we look out for Phoenix,” he told them, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the villa. “Don’t let anyone else bother her either, otherwise they’ll answer to me.”

The rest of them nodded, exchanging silent glances once more. They’d never seen Gallus, usually so aloof and cold, like this before.

“Alright, men, let’s get some rest before Magnus drags us out for some new form of torture,” Carnifex announced, stretching his arms over his head.

Letting out tired groans, they nodded and headed off to their own cells. As the champions of the ludus, they were each afforded their own space, which was more than could be said for the newer recruits.

As Gallus trudged into his cell, he pulled off his sandals and dropped down onto his bed, ignoring the fresh pitcher of wine that had been left on his table. His body ached and his joints popped as he rolled over, staring at the wall and trying to get the image of your face out of his mind.

It was no use. As he drifted off into a restless sleep, he could see nothing but the beauty of your smile, hear nothing but the melody of your laughter, feel nothing but the gentleness of your touch.

In all his years risking his life in the arena, fighting for the entertainment of those who had enslaved him, he had never felt as helpless as he did when he thought of how he could do so little to keep you safe.

You held him captive, and for the first time in his life, he found that he didn’t mind.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #miles teller #hannix #hangman x phoenix #Ancient Rome AU #si vis amari ama ⚔️

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