#she laugh at rome burning with him

[companion-showdown]

Who is the Greatest Accomplice to the Doctor's War Crimes?

TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST

[massiveladycat]

i will never get over people laughing at octavian's death personally,,, he was SHOT INTO THE AIR!!! thats so painful. all the burns and the impact, plus being flung from a cannon and probably slamming into gaia (literal earth goddess) plus festus (gigantic metal dragon, i bet that HURT) and leo (pretty sure leo was burning)

he was a kid and he was annoying to some people and he was usually antagonized but he didnt deserve to die OR go out in that way. the gods are a thousand times worse than octavian, and apollo told him that he'd be a savior of new rome, but people still justify them. not to mind there are much worse people in the PJO universe (gabe, LUKE)

octavian ily they could never make me hate you EVER. idc what you say he could have been redeemed. did he do bad things? yes. but he was so deeply influenced and the day meeting with leo and the others, in which i remind you octavian literally was watching new rome get blown up (no wonder he was livid, his home was on FIRE).

like come on. octavian is a complex character and people aren't willing to admit that he could've been better and he was just a literal teenager in the sake of hating him because everyone else/pjo characters hate him.

he is such a tragic character imo because he grew up in new rome and all he wanted to do was protect it (and he was highly ambitious and aiming for praetor, i won't deny the fact that he was selfish but that is a quality that can be REDEEMED) and sure the way he went about it was messed up but most of his actions (except killing that one centurion) were justifiable

btw im not saying octavian's like an angel or anything im pretty sure i remember him "killing" a 5th cohort centurion once but then she was revived which . . . what was the point of that?? was it just to like make us hate him more?? huh??? and then was it even ever talked about again?? also yeah he blackmailed hazel thats not good also judging from the wikipedia it only said frank suspected octavian because.. he didn't have his spear?? what?? reminder that there is proof that a lot of pjo characters are unreliable narrators and for all we know octavian could've screwed up somehow and left his spear somewhere (just saying i'd do that too ngl)

also "I am the savior of Rome! I was promised!" i didnt know why but that quote DESTROYED me but now i know that it was because he genuinely believed he was doing the best for new rome and he'd finally have someone's praise and they'd praise him like they praised percy and reyna. pretty sure his mental state was not very good in that scene either and nico and will just let him shoot himself out of an onager on accident. also are we just going to gloss over the fact apollo told him that and encouraged him he was doing the right thing?? of COURSE octavian trusted apollo on that and believed it was the truth; apollo was his ancestor and someone he worshipped as an augur and trusted in for omens and prophecies and allat

yeah. octavian's an asshole. but he was a kid and he couldve been redeemed. then again i am a huge octavian apologist and im not saying you have to have the same opinions as i do also i will not be responding to any asks in my inbox im 2 tired to deal with that!! anyways dont go and insult people or me if you think the opposite thats fine !! i was just bored and found this in my drafts so whats the harm of posting it because im not going to get sent threats over this right,,, right??????

[kneelingshadowsalome]

prefacing this by saying I have absolutely no information on this period of history, but Rome was sacked and ultimately destroyed by Germanic tribes.

And naturally, the first thing I thought of upon learning that was Invader!König X Roman Maiden!Reader. Similar to your story, I’m thinking he decides to take the Reader as a trophy of war similar to his comrades. You and plenty of other maidens are tied up, thrown across horseback or across shoulders, and dragged off back to Germania. Depending on how dark you want it, König could wait for his little prize to want his cock, or he could have no patience at all and fuck her as soon as he gets a chance. Of course, he’s still somewhat of a gentleman, he’ll make sure she enjoys it, but like it or not his cock’s going in her.

I think this is an opportunity to lean even further into the barbarian König idea, with varying levels of darkness.

Save me dark barbarian!König... 🖤💋

CW: dark content, noncon groping, noncon cuddling, fear of SA, König's idea of hot sex is problematic to say the least, reader's level of enthusiasm/consent is ambiguous

He doesn’t care about your delicate sensibilities or noble background, he’s here to bring your Empire down and your weak men to their knees. It’s about time someone burned Rome to the ground; no amount of foreign perfume can cover the smell of shit in these streets…

But he won’t say no to gold or jewels, they might some day decorate his future wife's neck and wrists perhaps. Neither will he ride homeward without a slave to keep him warm. He hasn’t had a woman in months, the only thing closest to a cunt has been his calloused fist and he’s grown tired of that, nothing can compare with the real deal so a soft little female is exactly what he needs to keep him company when he and his warriors return North.

Your options are either freezing to death or crawling inside this giant’s cloak when he holds it open for you come nightfall, the voyage to Germania bringing with it the first snow and cold winds straight from Hades. You have no option but to go to this man for some body heat, the low rumble in his chest resembling the pleased purr of some untamed beast as he envelops you in wool and a hungry embrace.

He never speaks to you, only talks with his hands that roam all over your body as you cling to him with clattering teeth. Examining the wideness of your hips, the plumpness of your ass and tits, he serves himself a handful and some pinches as if he’s sampling fruit at the marketplace. Rubs your nipples between the pad of his thumb and pointer until you flinch from pain, mutters something pleased when he sees your skittish reaction. He won’t allow you to pull away however, not when you’re finally here, so back to his arms you go as he crushes you against his chest.

He’s amused at your attempts to both huddle closer and squirm away: why are you being so difficult when clearly, you want this too?

He saw how you looked at him back there when he was drenched in blood, that’s the reason he chose you. You’re sweeter than an apple, didn’t even scream when he swept your hair from your face to have a better look at you, you only eyed him with challenge when he inspected your lips, waistline and hips. A scared female would have avoided his eyes and begged not to be killed or worse, but you only lifted your chin and spat on his face, practically begging to get fucked…

And now you’re acting like you don’t want his cock while at the same time, you continue to stare at him like a deer in heat. If you don’t want him to fuck you then you should stop making him hard, but in truth König is only glad that he chose you out of all women. The ride back home won’t be dull with a fiery fox woman like you, he has to be careful that he doesn’t get bitten and bruised… How his men would laugh in the morning if they found out that the vixen he stole has made him hers, little teeth marks decorating his skin and betraying everyone your claim.

He would only be proud of you if you did that; women are quite adorable when they have some fire in them. But make no mistake, he won’t let you go no matter how hard you act like you hate him… Everyone here knows you want to jump on his cock; had he decided to inspect your pussy too while covered in your husband’s blood, he could’ve bet all his fortune along with his horse that you were already wet for him.

He could take you right now on this cold, hard ground, try to see how long it takes to make you wet and pliant. The only thing really keeping him from doing so are his men, no doubt wanting to see how a Roman lady takes their giant leader's cock. But he’s not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you naked, let alone watching him fuck you, he'd have to kill them all afterwards...

So he settles for making his naughty little slave warm, and both of you a little breathless. He can find a more discreet place for you tomorrow, order a break or two to ease the heaviness of his sacks, the aching hard ons he’s had ever since he saw you. He has to be careful not to break you, and remember to kiss you on your neck, he heard that that’s the key to make women wet and willing.

You seem so fragile and frail when you fall asleep, finally surrendering to him, your body yielding and molding against his. In the morning, you whimper sweetly when he squeezes your now warm, plush body, and plants kisses on your face, your neck. You have no idea that the warriors are already mocking him for “making you wait so long”, that he has listened to stupid jokes all morning with you securely tucked inside his cloak. You bite him when he tries to come too close, all the brutes around you burst to laughter as he howls from pain.

Not feeling at all sorry for him when he rubs his neck and looks at you with drowsy curiosity, you rise and spit again on the ground as if you had just tasted something vile. He can’t stifle his smile then, your idea of foreplay is much more fun than what he had in mind…

And you aren’t flung over his horse, but actually get to ride it with him, the arm around your middle like iron as he keeps you as close to him as possible. You don’t know that he’s reluctant to take an unwilling woman, and that this preference makes him the laughing stock of the group. Neither do you know that König has already pictured you inside his hut, baking bread and scolding children like the firebrand that you are, giving him a naughty little wrestle and a fistfight every night before bed... Shuddering from want like you do now on his horse as he exposes your breasts to the approaching winter.

You are about to faint as tiny snowflakes land on your nipples, melting instantly as this man starts to fondle your tits. Slumping against his blazing form, you can do nothing but accept your fate as the horse keeps walking and the men around you shout and whistle at the sight of your breasts. The rough barks of your captor quickly end their excitement upon seeing your exposed tits, the whistles stop and the men turn their eyes quickly away from you.

The man behind you is now perfectly content, riding in the crisp morning air while pawing your breast with one hand and holding the reins with the other, his groin grinding against you with the movements of the horse, making it clear that he might soon stop this torture altogether and take you to the nearby woods for a quick fuck…

[katyswrites]

don't call me 'baby'

PART 9 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), angst (so much angst, sorry), unprotected p in v, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), cum play, ddlg dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, kind of a derogatory reference to sex work, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 5.4k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 9 | forever the name on my lips

“So - Robin knows that this surprise party isn’t actually a surprise, right?” you asked.

Steve laughed over the phone.

“Uh, no - she 100 percent thinks you have no clue.”

You groaned. “I’m terrible at lying to her -”

“You’re not lying - look, you should see how excited she is -”

You rolled your eyes, putting the phone down on your desk and putting him on speaker. 

“You’re an enabler, you know that?”

“I am not -”

“You so are!” you retorted. “Every year, Robin tries to make my birthday a bigger thing than it is - it’s always over-the-top, and never what I ask for. I usually just like, want to go get drinks, or watch my favorite movie at home, but she decides to invite over 40 of our closest friends instead, or pull out some trick to outdo the year before. Did you know that our first year we lived together, she almost burned our place down by putting 18 trick candles on my cake?”

“Your point being?”

You sighed, leaning over the desk closer to the mirror to put on your mascara.

“My point being that you’ve taken a monster, and given her a real budget this time.”

He laughed again, and the sound of it made your heart ache. You took a deep breath, thankful he couldn’t see you right now.

“Look, I think she’s doing this because she loves you - plus, she’s mad that I stole you away for your actual birthday, so this was my bribe.”

You sighed, stepping back to pull on your dress - another new one you had commissioned, thanks to Steve’s credit card.

“I’m going to really have to practice my surprised face,” you said sarcastically. 

You reached for your earrings on the dresser, the ones Steve had bought you for the gala. You didn’t love the idea of walking around with a million dollars on your ears, but it was a special occasion, after all.

“What has she told you you’re allegedly doing?” he asked, voice tinny and slightly muffled through the phone’s speaker.

“Just meeting some friends for dinner - but, she said to dress a little nicer than usual. I can’t believe she thinks I don’t suspect anything.”

“Maybe she does - maybe you’re both putting up a silly charade for no reason, just to spare feelings.”

You nearly scoffed, but stopped yourself - he had no clue how much you were doing that with him already.

It had been nearly a week since you and Steve had returned from your birthday getaway. Since then, you had been spiraling. Every time you thought of him, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. When you were with him, it felt so right - when you were alone, you felt lonelier than you ever had before. You gave it a few days, just to see if the blissful environment of being on vacation was just tricking you into thinking  you had real feelings for Steve. After all, that wasn’t reality… right?

But now, nearly a week later, you nearly felt sick when you thought about him - the sight of him made your heart flutter, every nice gesture and sweet compliment made your stomach flip and your face bloom with heat. You were hopelessly in love - you were so stupid.

Since the trip, you and Steve hadn’t spent much time together. Part of it was him getting slammed with work - a relief, honestly. It had given you time to try and have some rational thought, and sort out your feelings. You getting your period right upon return to Rome also put a dent in things - you hadn’t exactly been feeling up to sex, which Steve had been understanding about. But, this had only made things worse - he still took you out to dinner a few days ago, insisting on still wanting to see you, if you were up for it. Afterwards, you had gone back to his place and just put on a movie, falling asleep on the couch. It was the first time you had ever slept over without having sex - somehow, more intimate than anything you had done up to that point.  In short - you were screwed. 

But, now you had to go to this godforsaken birthday party, with Steve in front of all of your friends, and act like everything was fine. In some ways, it was. But in others… the end of summer was fast approaching. And, the thought of that left a pit in your stomach.

“You still there?” Steve’s voice asked.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, zipping up the back of your dress. “Sorry, I’m just getting ready -”

“What are you wearing?” he asked jokingly.

“Shut up -”

“Right - that’s for later,” he said. You could practically hear him smirking through the phone. You roll your eyes again.

“Well, I’m ready to go, and I’m sure Robin is itching to get me out the door, so - see you in a bit?”

“Yes - except, you don’t know that,” he said.

“Oh of course - well, I’ll be sure to act surprised.”

“I’m sure you’ll kill it - see you, bye,” he said, promptly hanging up.

You didn’t take time to dwell on it, how formal he still could be sometimes - reminding you of exactly who you were to him, you supposed - as Robin started knocking on your door, asking if you were ready to go.

“Just a minute!” you cried. You reached for the dresser for a final thing - the ruby necklace Steve had given you for your birthday. When you opened the bedroom door to an impatient Robin in the doorway, you were clasping it on.

“Jesus - where did you get that?” she asked, gesturing to the jewel on your sternum.

“Birthday gift from Steve.”

Robin crossed her arms, shaking her head.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing, it’s just - how’s that going?”

“Fine,” you lied. “I told you, the vacation was fun -”

“Doesn’t it all just seem - like a bit too much?” she asked cautiously.

“I - what do you mean -”

“Well - the trip, the gifts, being with him for hours on the phone every night - it just feels like he’s more than a - benefactor, sugar daddy, whatever you want to call it -”

You felt your face heat.

“Robin - no - it’s just - it’s an arrangement, and it’s going the way we both said it would -”

Robin just stared at you for a moment, and sighed with defeat. 

“Whatever you say. Just - be careful, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt again -”

“I’m fine,” you said firmly. “I promise.”

A lie.

“C’mon - let’s go out,” you said, quickly changing the subject and heading for the door.

Robin didn’t get the chance to argue further.

*****

You took the bus towards the city center, walking a few blocks before reaching one of your favorite restaurants - you and Robin frequented the bar more than the tables, often going there to celebrate the end of the semester, or to drink your sorrows away after a breakup or shitty week.

“You could have just said we were coming here,” you said, letting Robin take your hand to lead you inside.

Robin just shrugged, and you could tell she was fighting a grin - she really is terrible at keeping secrets. But, you did your best to keep your face neutral.

When you walked inside, the place was dimly lit. You could practically feel Robin’s anticipation behind you, and felt inwardly thankful that she couldn’t see your face. Then, the lights flashed on, and you were bombarded with an uproaring “SURPRISE!”

Even though you were anticipating it, you still jumped - it was far more people than you had been expecting. 

“Holy shit -”

Robin was practically bouncing, grinning. “Happy birthday, babe.”

You shook your head. “I - did you invite like, everyone we know?”

She nodded excitedly. “Mm hm! And the whole place is rented out, so it’s just us - open bar too!”

How much did this cost Steve? you wondered.

“Robin - you really didn’t have to do all this -”

“Oh hush - your boy toy took you away from me on your birthday, so we’re celebrating now.”

You laughed, pulling Robin in for a quick hug.

“Thanks, Robs.”

She was positively beaming, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you’ve known about this for two weeks, that Steve had told you when he and Robin had been texting, how he had put his credit card down for the whole thing. So, you just smiled, and squeezed her tighter.

“Well,” she said when she pulled away, “you need a drink - your usual?”

You nodded, watching as she headed over to the bar. Soon enough, it was a whirlwind of friends, classmates, old co-workers, and essentially anyone you would even consider a friendly acquaintance swarming you, giving you a hug and wishing you happy birthday. There was even a DJ, playing all of your favorite music, the tables cleared to the sides to make the space empty enough to fit everyone - you were certain the evening would descend into dancing soon enough. Robin soon enough returned with your drink, and you let yourself actually relax. 

Then, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, and you feel yourself jump. You turn, smiling.

“Hey there, baby,” Steve said, pulling you close.

When did he start calling you that outside of the bedroom?

“Fancy seeing you here,” you joked. He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“What do you think of your party?” he asked.

“I think you’ve been too good to me.”

“Well, this was all Robin - I just helped.”

“If that’s what you’re telling yourself - I - thank you,” you whispered. “You really didn’t have to.”

He waved you off. “Nonsense - I like spoiling you. You look beautiful, by the way,” he added, his fingers coming to brush the pendant hanging from your neck.

The butterflies were back. Fuck.

“Only because you give me such pretty things to wear,” you retorted.

He laughed. “I’ll buy you every pretty thing you want, baby.”

Your heart fluttered, and you looked down into your glass to avoid eye contact. 

Then, a familiar voice was calling your name. You looked up, and smiled.

“Eddie?”

“Bella, look at you!” he said, bounding over and pulling you out of Steve’s grasp and into a tight hug. You laughed, Eddie practically lifting you off of your feet.

“You’re stunning, as always -” he says once he puts you down.

“Oh, shut up - flattery will get you nowhere -”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Can’t blame a man for trying, right?”

He then glanced over your shoulder.

“Steve, right?”

Steve nodded stiffly, forcing a smile.

“You two look gorgeous - want a picture?” Eddie asked, holding up the camera hanging around his neck.

“Oh, sure - Steve?” you asked, turning to silently plead with him.

Then he was back by your side again, arm snaking around your waist and pulling you close.

“Smile!” Eddie said from where he was crouching behind the lens. You did, posing for the photo. The shutter started rapid-fire clicking, and after a moment, you felt Steve’s lips on your cheek, and your face heated. You did your best to ignore it, letting Eddie get a few more shots as you pressed closer into him.

“What a beautiful couple!” Eddie proclaimed, grinning into the viewfinder. 

“Oh - Eddie, we’re -”

“She’s doing the heavy-lifting there!” Steve joked. You froze, unsure how to even address that. But Eddie just chuckled, saying something along the lines of you didn’t need to tell me that! and walking away, making a beeline for the bar.

Before you could say anything to Steve, Robin is running over, taking you by the hands.

“Sorry Steve, can I steal her?” 

He nodded with a smile, letting go of you as Robin pulled you through the crowd, babbling on about how Vickie’s ex had the audacity to show up, and how someone brought their boyfriend uninvited, and a hundred other things you would normally care about.

Steve hadn’t said no when Eddie called you a couple - what the fuck?

But, the next few hours were a whirlwind - you had lost count of how many drinks you had, catching up with friends you hadn’t seen all summer, learning who's dating who, what their plans were for the upcoming semester, asking how you’re doing - you decidedly did not mention that you had spent all summer as the mistress of a man a decade older than you - still, it felt nice to see your friends again, to catch up and try to relax. You ate your fill in the food spread that had been put out, all of your favorite things from the menu, a few extra things that Robin must have requested specially. So many of your friends remarked on how well you looked, how you were glowing, admiring your jewelry and asking where you got it (which, you pointedly lied about). Even Jonathan Byers showed up, the sweet yet introverted guy who you had befriended in one of your art courses. You were chatting with him and Eddie about their upcoming photography portfolios when you saw Steve again, approaching with a new drink for you.

“Oh, hey,” you said, accepting it gratefully.

“Having fun?” Steve asked, casting a glance to your friends.

“Yeah! Uh, Steve, you know Eddie, and this is Jonathan - not sure if you two met yet.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said, extending his hand. Jonathan hesitated, then took it, letting Steve shake it firmly.

Then, Steve’s lips pressed to your ear, whispering, “Want to dance?”

You bit your lip, nodding, and bid farewell to the other boys for now. The makeshift dance floor was starting to fill up now, your friends moving along to the music and spilling drinks onto the floor. 

“So, does Eddie know how to button a shirt?” Steve asked sarcastically.

You huffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re still jealous -”

“I - I’m not. He’s just - he’s such a flirt -”

‘He’s a flirt with everyone - he’d shoot his shot with you, if I left you two alone.”

Steve’s face turned red at that. 

“I - uh -”

“Besides,” you whispered, pulling him closer by his shirt collar, admiring the way his chest hair just barely peeked out of the open top button, “I kind of like how easily he gets you riled up.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

You closed your eyes, swaying to the music.

“When was the last time you did something like this?” you asked over the cacophony, gesturing to the club-like atmosphere around you. He laughed.

“I’m not that old - but, probably not since a little after I finished college… when I started working, I didn’t really have the energy for… all of this. And… Nancy never liked it much anyway.”

You felt your heart sink, and shook your head. You were properly tipsy, had the confidence to pull Steve toward you, taking his hands in yours. 

“Then - dance with me like you’re 20 again, yeah?”

“Again, I’m not old -”

“Will you just shut up and dance?” you said, pulling him close. He obliged, letting you bury your face into his neck as you swayed along to the music.

He twirled you, watched on fondly as you found your friends on the dance floor, and laughed as he saw how excited each new song made you. At one point, you caught him looking at you in the corner of your eye - he wore an expression so soft, so sincere, that he was almost unrecognizable.

“What is it?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing - I just -”

“Where’s the birthday girl?” Robin’s voice called from the other end of the room. The music faded, and she came out from behind the bar with a massive cake, lit with what you guessed were probably 21 candles.

“Everyone! 1 - 2 - 3-”

Then everyone was singing you Happy Birthday, pushing you towards the front to where Robin stood, wearing a wide smile. 

“Make a wish,” she whispered.

You sighed, knowing exactly what to wish for, and leaned down to blow out the candles to boisterous applause.

“Chocolate cake with mousse, of course - your favorite,” Robin said, serving you the first slice.

“I’d expect nothing less,” you replied, accepting it gratefully - it’s been the kind of cake you’ve gotten for every birthday for as long as you remembered. Even your parents remembered that each year, to their credit.

“Want a slice?” you asked, turning to Steve.

“Oh - no, I’m okay -”

“At least taste a bite?”

He sighed, smiling in defeat.

“Yeah, okay.”

You took a forkful and held it out to him, feeding it into his mouth. He groaned at the taste, fighting a smile.

“Yeah, okay - that’s delicious -”

“I told you -”

Then Steve reached out, gently wiping away what you presumed was some smeared chocolate from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“Did you have a nice birthday party?” he asked softly.

“Yeah - I did. Just - everything for my birthday was wonderful. I - thank you.”

Then he was pulling you close and kissing you, on the lips, in front of everyone. You let your eyes flutter shut and leaned into the kiss, tasting just a bit of chocolate on his lips, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne.

You pulled away, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“What was that for?”

He shrugged.

“I just really wanted to do that - is that okay?”

You nodded, eyes flitting to his lips again as your stomach did a somersault. You were so aware of eyes on you two, some whispers floating through the room despite the loud music, but you pulled him down for another kiss again, lacing your hands around the back of his neck.

“Take me home with you,” you whispered against his lips.

“Now?”

“Now.”

Then he was grabbing your hand, only slowing down as you bid goodbye to Robin, thanking her for the party, and you both practically bolted towards the door.

*****

It was nearly midnight by the time you reached Steve’s place - not that it mattered. You had jumped him nearly the second you got in the car he had called, closing the privacy shield between yourselves and the driver. You technically behaved yourselves - clothes stayed on, at least. But you kissed him like you needed him more than oxygen, all tongue and desperate gasps as you moved to straddle his lap in the backseat. You were grinding on his thigh, palming him through his pants like horny teenagers in their mom’s old Honda. 

You tore out of the car like bats out of Hell when you reached his apartment building, only maintaining self-control in the elevator thanks to the old man who got on with you and rode it most of the way. The moment you tumbled through Steve’s door, you were all over each other, shedding clothes in a trail leading to the bedroom.

“I missed this,” you breathed against his mouth, shedding him of his button-down.

“Me too,” he said, reaching to unzip your dress and let it fall to the floor.

“Steve - I want to thank you - for my birthday party - for everything -”

“Mm, okay - yeah baby, whatever you want -”

It was desperate, messy, and filled with carnal need, Steve tearing your undergarments off as he practically threw you onto the bed. He wasted no time, eating you out like your pussy gave him oxygen, making you cum on his tongue twice before even taking his pants off. You pulled on his hair, crying out his name as he coaxed your orgasms out of you, slowly kissing his way back up your body until his face hovered above yours. He was grinning, his chin glistening with your release, and you could have just stared at that forever.

“Steve, please -” you begged, “I need you -”

“I know, baby,” he said, crawling over you. “I just wanted to take care of you first, it’s okay -”

Then he was kissing you, fumbling with his belt and shedding himself of his boxers, pulling you close.

It had only been a week, but you nearly screamed when he entered you, gasping at the stretch.

“Fuck - you’re always so tight and perfect, baby - I haven’t fucked you since we got back to the city, it was drivin’ me nuts -”

“Me too,” you mewled, clawing at his back as he began to thrust into you. “Steve - please fuck me, please -”

And he did. But, the earlier desperation had faded - he rolled his hips into yours slowly, holding you close as he groaned into your skin. He pressed kisses to your neck, showering you with praises and sweet nothings in your ear. It didn’t feel like primal, needy sex - it almost felt like making love. He was soft, gentle, but knew your body better than anyone by now, touching you in all the right places.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect -” he murmured, smirking as you moaned at a particularly deep thrust, “my whole life, I’ve been looking for a pussy like yours, baby -”

“I - ah! Fuck, I - I know what you mean. You fuck me like nobody else - daddy, I -”

“I know, baby,” he said, pressing gentle kisses across your face. “Look at you, wearin’ the fuckin’ jewelry I bought you as I fuck you - I love when you do that - you’ve been so good, letting me spoil you all summer - like a good girl, I can’t believe it -”

He was rambling now, and you knew that meant he was close. You wrapped your legs around his torso, digging your heels into his back to pull him in impossibly deeper. Pleasure pulsed through your body, heat gathering in your abdomen, and you started meeting his thrusts with your hips in earnest.

“You close?” he asked. 

“Yes - I’m going to cum all over your cock, sir -”

“Thank god - I’m not going to last much longer -”

“I know - let go,” you said, pulling him down for a messy kiss. He groaned against your lips, his cock twitching a bit inside you.

“I just wanna stay buried in this pussy, baby - forever -”

“I know,” you whispered. “I never want this to end.”

You never wanted any of it to end. 

But you held onto him with desperation, losing yourself in the feel of him, his scent, the sound of his voice -

All that was running through your mind was I love you I love you IloveyouIloveyouIlo-

Then you were coming, convulsing around him with a scream. You arched off of the mattress, burying your face in his shoulder as your orgasm washed over you in waves, ebbing and flowing gently instead of crashing all at once. He followed moments later, hips stuttering as he filled you, your name on his lips like it was a sacred thing.

You both stayed like that for a while - you stared at the ceiling, soothingly running your fingers through his hair as he lazily kissed your neck. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, but eventually he began to soften, forcing him to pull out of you and roll over onto your back by your side. 

You turned your head on the pillow to face him - he was blissed out, smiling as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I think that was our best yet,” he whispered. 

You hummed in agreement - you had felt it the night of your birthday in the villa, too - something had shifted in bed. Yyou couldn’t quite place it. But, you knew it scared the hell out of you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing the backs of his fingers along your arm.

“Mm, yeah - just thinking.”

“About what?” he asked, propping himself on his elbow. “What’s going on in that pretty little mind?”

You could’ve cried from the gentleness in his voice, your heart fluttering a bit as you looked at him - you did your best to memorize his face, the way his hair fell, every freckle and mole along his body - and it hit you that this was ending soon. You didn’t even realize you had started to cry - but, hot tears were rolling down your cheeks, and you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

“Whoa - you okay? What’s going on?” he asked - he sounded terrified.

“It’s nothing - don’t worry about it -” you said, sitting up.

“Baby, you’re crying - of course I’m going to be worried -”

“Why?” you cried, the question coming out harsher than you had intended.

His face flashed with confusion and concern, and he sat up, too.

“What do you mean why?”

“Because - because you’re not supposed to care!”

“I - I don’t understand -”

“Steve! What the fuck are we doing here?”

“We - we were having a nice night, I thought - now I don’t -”

You wiped your tears, groaning with frustration.

“Steve - I don’t know how to be around you. You said this was just for sex, right? All fun, no feelings, all that bullshit? We literally wrote it down -”

His face went more neutral, and he nodded.

“Well, yes - that was the arrangement -”

“So then you don’t get to ask me what’s wrong - you don’t get to ask me how my day was, plan my birthday party with my best friend, call me nearly every night, name a goddamn star after me -”

“Whoa - you don’t like that I did those things?”

“No!” you screamed, frustrated. “I don’t like that you’re being my boyfriend!”

“I - I’m not your boyfriend.”

“Oh, you’ve made that very clear - so you can stop acting like it!”

You didn’t realize how loud your voice had gotten, your breakdown quickly pivoting to unbridled anger and frustration.

“I’m not - so what, you want me to fuck you and just send you home? Like a goddamn prostitute?”

“Well maybe if you had done that in the first place you would’ve saved yourself a whole lot of trouble!” you screamed.

He went silent for a moment, just staring at you. You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples.

“Steve, look - this summer - I mean, it’s been amazing. I really mean that. But, the summer is ending soon - when do you even go back to the States?”

“September 1st,” he said quietly.

You froze, your heart plummeting. “Jesus Christ, that’s in like two weeks - when were you going to tell me?”

He stared down at his hands, shaking his head.

“I - I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you - I just wanted you to enjoy tonight, and not ruin it, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I figured if I didn’t tell you, it would make it less real -”

“So you were just going to disappear on me?”

“No! No - I -”

He throws his head into his hands.

“Steve - look me in the eyes and tell me this is still just an arrangement for you.”

A moment of silence passes - there it was, your cards laid on the table. Your heart was thudding in your chest, waiting for his answer.

He sighed, and looked over to meet your gaze. 

“Of course it isn’t.”

Your stomach flipped, and you felt like you were going to be sick - oh God -

“Then - what the fuck do we do?”

He shook his head.

“I - I don’t know,” he admitted. “I - I don’t know what the fuck is even going on. I told myself I wouldn’t get… attached, and now -”

You scoffed.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s just - attached? Like a fucking dog you found on the street and have to give back to its owners or something?”

“Well, what would you call it?”

You paused - you considered confessing everything, that you were past the point of falling for him. No, you couldn’t - you needed to keep that close to your chest, not give him the upper hand.

“Steve - maybe we should just end this,” you said, the words feeling like a knife to the chest as they left your mouth.

“What? No - I - I don’t want to -”

“Steve - you said it yourself - if we got any personal feelings, we would stop the whole thing, before it got too far - we’re only delaying the inevitable anyway -”

“Come back with me,” he blurted out.

You stop mid-sentence, eyes widening.

“I - what?”

“Come back to Chicago with me - we can just do it. I can take care of you -”

“Steve - I can’t -”

“Why not?”

You just laughed dryly.

“Because - I have a life here. I have friends, a semester left before I get my degree -”

“You won’t need to work if you -”

“You really don’t get it, do you? I want to finish school, actually achieve something, and do something that matters to me. I know, you look down on me as some downtrodden peasant or something -”

“No, that’s not it -”

“But I’m smart, and when I’m done with school - I may not be rich like you, but I’ll be able to work for a living, and actually support myself. I don’t want to just exist for you -”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said - you were both raising your voices again. “This summer…it’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time. Maybe ever, actually. I just - I want to help you -”

“Well stop! I don’t need you!” you screamed.

He went silent for a moment.

“That’s what Nancy said, too,” he said quietly.

You sighed, your heart breaking for him.

“Steve - I didn’t know -”

“Maybe there’s a reason,” he continued, staring down to avoid your gaze. “I mean - you’re right - I’m meant to be alone.”

“I never said that -”

“You didn’t have to.”

You both sat in silence for a moment, unable to say anything else.

“Steve - I’m sorry that this is where the night went. But… we both knew this was coming. I - I think we’re going to both get hurt if we try to keep it going.”

He nodded, shoulders sagging.

“You’re probably right.”

There it was. The moment you had been dreading. 

The silence was deafening - neither of you daring to look at one another, letting the weight sink in of everything just said. You were certain you were going to be sick. 

“I - I should probably give these back,” you said quietly, gesturing to the earrings and necklace. You reached up to take them off, but he gently placed his hand on yours to stop you.

“No - keep it. Keep everything.”

“Steve -”

“No - nothing that I gave you was a loan. It’s yours. Keep onto the credit card, too.”

“Steve - I can’t do that -”

“Sure you can. Only use it for emergencies, if it makes you feel better to do that. As long as you don’t go over the limit… it’s yours.”

You shook your head.

“I can’t -”

“Please,” he said, eyes pleading. “At least until you’re done with school - focus on your studies, I’ll take care of it.”

“But - I’m not giving you anything in return -”

“Doesn’t matter. I promised to help you with school, and - I’m a man of my word.”

You sighed with defeat.

“I - I think I should go.”

“Probably best,” he said coldly. You couldn’t even blame him for that.

You gathered your things quickly, pulling your dress back on. He rose to follow you to the door, pulling on his boxers as he went. He stood in the doorway as you left, his face stoic - was he angry? Or did he just feel nothing? Maybe the latter - you were in love… and he had grown attached, whatever that meant.

“I guess this is goodbye,” you whispered.

“I suppose so.”

He won’t look at you.

“Steve - you’re going to find someone someday who’s right for you, okay? Someone you’ll actually want to be with. Then you won’t need - you won’t need someone like me. You’ll forget all about this - I know you will.”

Something softened in his face, and he shook his head.

“I somehow doubt that.”

You stared down at the ground.

“I guess this is goodbye,” you murmured.

He nodded.

“I wouldn’t change any of it,” he said quietly.

You could actually feel your heart breaking, crackling and splitting like it was made of porcelain. You still avoided eye contact, afraid you’d cry if you looked at him.

“My car can take you home,” he added.  “I don’t want you taking the bus this late, okay?”

You nodded solemnly. As you turned to leave, he said one more thing that stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait - I just wanted to say -”

He stopped for a moment, running his hand through his hair as he took a deep breath.

“I wish you well.”

That was it - the final nail in the coffin. The end of a failed negotiation, a transaction. You nodded firmly, turning quickly on your heels and walking straight ahead to the elevator, refusing to look back at him.

The moment you slid into the car, you gave the driver your address and closed the privacy shield again. But now, it was so you could sob into your hands, feeling your heart break in half as you pulled away from his apartment for the last time.

author's note: hi everyone - sorry about this chapter. The next part will be the finale - plus, an epilogue. I'll probably just write those together and post them in quick succession. Don't panic - you guys know I don't like writing sad endings (or if I do, I leave massive warnings). So, hang tight - it's going to be okay. Please let me know your thoughts - comments, reblogs, and messages are always appreciated!

[bloodandoranges]

“Dear god, please help me.”

Astarion/Tav (depictions of Astarion’s past and trauma, may be a bit confronting! I tried my best to keep it somewhat lighter but it’s…kind of impossible / no mentions of tavs gender / vague mentions of his former victims / angst / 18+ / happy ending with Tav)

song inspiration

I am walking through Rome,

with my heart on a string.

The streets of Baldurs Gate were no stranger to Astarion; he’d sauntered it countless times in his life, walked these streets nearly every day. But now, stalking like a fox in the dark through the dimly lit streets? He hardly knew where he was going.

He’d only awoken days beforehand, and here he was, on the prowl… Cazador, his master, had given the order to hunt; never to take more than their bodies, not a single drop of their blood…only their hearts.

Dear god, please help me.

She was such a sweet girl; he was her first. She’d laughed and sang to him, and tangled her fingers tightly into his hair as ran his mouth over her sweet soft body.

He was a little harder to woo, strong and stoic and quiet… but he became bashful after sweet whispers and a hand over his thigh. Astarion had him in his bed moments later, crying out his name.

I am so very tired

Of doing the right thing.

He had everything planned out almost down to the second, every single touch, every sweet words, every cry of false ecstasy. He became a master at his game. Despite the disgust he felt, the ache of autonomy no longer his? The nights spent in a sweet embrace of someone he didn’t care for far surpassed those in the dungeons, the nights the smelled of foul blood, of cracked and bloodied nails.

Dear god,

Please help me.

There are explosive kegs

between my legs.

There was no joy to be found in sex anymore. It was as monotonous and as natural to him as breathing was; he hardly even gained any temporary bliss from it. He existed to please - never to be pleased. He didn’t dare indulge in a thing.

Except this once; one darling he could not find it in himself to kill.

The adrenaline wore off within the first few days. His hands were bloody, nails cracked and torn. He wished and prayed for freedom for the first tenday, and the next? He prayed for death.

When the lid of the coffin was finally removed, after a year of pure agony? Even the dim light of candles burned his eyes as his frail body was dragged from his tomb.

He wondered how anyone could believe in the gods. How anyone could pray to them and believe their prayers would be answered; or even heard. How could benevolence even exist in such a world?

Dear God,

Please help me.

Will you follow and know?

Know me more

Than you do

Track me down

And try to win me?

The first time he laid eye on you he’d felt a spark; though he jotted that down to his new cerebral neighbour. Of course, you were just too good to pass up - the leader of this merry little band of misfits? He had to have you wrapped around his fingers; the only way he knew how.

Soft touches, kind words… promises he couldn’t keep.

Then he motions to me,

With his hand on my knee

Dear god,

did this kind of thing happen to you?

The nightmare had rattled him to his core. He stood over you, staring for what felt like hours before he made his move. And of course? You had to wake up.

After a heated discussion, you gave yourself to him…and as he drank greedily from you; it was cemented in his mind that was truly free …and that he owed a great deal to you.

He sauntered off into the night, sated, feeling more in control than he had in 200 years. And with that? He felt his resolve slip; he didn’t need to worry about manipulating you anymore. He had the ball in his court, so to speak.

And yet, as he hunted? You were all he could think about.

Now I’m spreading your legs,

With mine

In between

Dear god, if I could

I would help you,

In the all too familiar graveyard of Baldurs Gate, he draws you close, breath cool on your warm flushed skin — hands exploring your warm, soft body. You’d given him everything; or atleast given him the tools and the strength and the /love/ to get this far. He owed it all to you.

As he presses you back, he whispers sweet nothings, soft ‘I love you’s’, his hands taking the time to explore…eager to make you cry out for him, but even more eager to relearn your body. Eager to enjoy your pleasure, eager to enjoy his /own/.

Now I am walking through Rome

And there is no room to breath

But the heart

Feels free

Astarion cowered behind the shade of a few shipping boxes, grateful he had a robe to shield himself. He gave a choked sob just as you arrive, scrambling over to shield him further. He felt like everything had been stolen from him again, and yet, when you spoke?

“It’s okay. I’m here. We’ll figure something out.” You whispered as you cup his face, and suddenly, he felt his worries drift away. He trusted you completely; if you said you’d figure something out? He had to believe it.

As you cradled him, soft sobs wracking his body? He realized that he was finally, truly free. He’d find his own sun. Perhaps he already had.

[somewhereincairparavel]

Omg I need some platonic valgrace so bad rn (maybe some hurt/comfort?)

Also congrats on 400, I have a writing blog too lol

"Ditching work with Leo Valdez"

author's note: I'm actually super sorry if it's short for you! But enjoy anyways!

Jason stared miserably at the heaps of files and design folios in front of him. He was so fucking stressed out. So many shrines to design and construct, for so many minor gods and goddesses. He had to ensure that the shrines were all equally good looking, so that no minor gods feel inferior to the other. Shrines, let alone extravagant looking ones, could take YEARS to build. For all he knows, he could be in this project till he was 24.

These lingering thoughts troubled his mind. Jason's under eye bags were so visible, he could've sworn his hair turned a few shades lighter aswell due to stress. Realizing that he probably looked just as terrible as he felt, a few tears slid out of Jason's eyes. This feeling was starting to get so familiar these days. He was going through a terrible cycle of burn out.

sighing, Jason got up from his desk to grab his third cup of coffee, he headed out for a walk in the streets of New Rome, to go to his favorite cafe. He was a few steps close to the door, when he spotted a familiar mop of curly hair lingering behind him in the corner of his eye.

“Jason!” “I knew you'd be here man”

The voice of Leo Valdez had more of an effect on Jason's serotonin than any of Jason's coffees had.

Jason spun around immediately, and as if it was an instinct, bear hugged his best friend.

“Superman, i-i can't breathe” Leo sputtered out, laughing and squirming in Jason's strong grasp. Jason quickly pulled away. Leo raised his eyebrows, studying Jason's face in an “i-know-you-are-overworked” type of way.

Jason sighed. “Terrible burnout. I feel useless”Leo frowned, “why didn't you iris message any of us? Nico? Percy? Annabeth? ME? We care about you, man. Don't shut yourself out, please .Nico is worried sick about his bro.” Jason smiled.

“How are he and Will? I hope their relationship is still going strong” Leo grinned deviously. “They are super super gay and proud, don't worry.”

“As they should be.” Jason replied sternly like a mother that it made Leo giggle. “Anyways, the reason I'm actually here is, I WON TWO TICKETS TO THE THEME PARK!!” Leo smacked the tickets into Jason's face aggressively in excitement. “The one Piper said she always went to? Do you know how expensive those things are?? What did you sacrifice to the gods to get these?”

Jason's eyes sparkled. He had never been to theme parks before, and this theme park Leo had just won tickets to? It was not cheap. and the hopes of visiting one felt like a fever dream. It felt bizarre, the whole concept of carnivals, amusement parks and theme parks were non existent to the Romans.

“That's besides the point. All that matters is that there are TWO tickets. And I've invited YOU to go with me dude” Leo said. Jason's jaw dropped. “Wait? Seriously? You're taking me of all people to go with you? But why?”

“Dam bro you're so oblivious, it's cuz you're my best bud! Who else would I be taking? Besides, no offense, you look like you clearly need a stress free trip” Leo rolled his eyes. Jason cackled as Leo screamed through almost half the rides that he INSISTED he wasn't scared of. Jason had to reassure him that he isn't falling as long as he has his skydiving buddy with him.

“OKAY. Holy hephaestus. I am NEVER going on rides like that ever again dammit!” Leo leaned on Jason's shoulder for support. The longer jason replayed Leo's screams, the funnier it got.“Yup. I'm sure won't. Do you want ice cream? Because I'm paying, no arguments.” Jason stated firmly like a mother again. “For the love of god, could you stop with the mother voice? It makes me feel like I'm getting reprimanded “ Leo whined and Jason laughed.

“Okay so icecream or no?”

“How could I decline that offer, Superman?”

Without even realizing it, Jason forgot all about what he was upset about. That's the Leo Valdez effect for ya!

[wrongcaitlyn]

wrongcaitlyn masterlist

decided to make this for anyone coming from greatest of luxuries or new to my works in general, in case anyone wants to check out my other stuff! my ao3

my name's tawny (not caitlyn, lmao, that's actually from caitlyn kiramman from arcane), i use she/her pronouns, and i write pjo and marauders fics!

asks are open, i love rambling abt any of these fics (or general fandom stuff) <3

i currently have one main wip that i'm working on:

the greatest of luxuries (is your secrets): solangelo, part of the dear reader series, popstar!nico, and a sequel to talk your talk. updates every sunday!

other ongoing wip's:

checkmate, i couldn't lose: solangelo, hs/nerds/academic rivals (sort of) au, road trip with lots of fluff

i can fix him (woah, maybe i can't): solangelo, renegades au (so like, superheroes and villains), enemies to lovers (sort of) + secret identities

and several completed fics (both multi-chaps and one-shots)!

PJO COMPLETED FICS

dear reader series - popstar au - talk your talk and go viral (i just need this love spiral) - 34 ch, 145k words, solangelo - still hoping that the fire won't burn me (just one time) - one-shot, 11.1k, valgrace - you don't need to save me (but would you run away with me) - one-shot, 6k words, shelper - forever going with the flow (but you're friction) - 2 ch, 17.1k words, fierrochase

keep your eyes open series - hunger games au - staying on guard (every lesson forms a new scar) - 6 ch, 40.2k words, solangelo, MCD - i've got a lot to pine about (a lot to live without) - one-shot, 2.2k words, solangelo/will solace-centric, graphic depictions of violence, psychological torture

because i'm a mirrorball series - will solace-centric, canon-verse - i've never been a natural (all i do is try, try, try) - one-shot, 10k words, will solace from pre-tlt to botl, not tsats compliant (written before that was released and my own version of will solace lore) - i'm still a believer (but i don't know why) - one-shot, 9.2k words, will solace from botl to tlo, not tsats compliant, canonical MCD - when i break, it's in a million pieces - one-shot, 1.7k words, will solace-centric, battle of manhattan aftermath, all canon/tsats compliant - i'm still tryin' everything (to get you laughing at me) - one-shot, 3.5k words, solangelo from ttc to end of boo, mostly tsats compliant - i'm still on my tallest tiptoes (shinin' just for you) - one-shot, 2k words, solangelo during toa, all canon/tsats compliant - all along there was some invisible string (tying you to me) - one-shot, 1.3k words, solangelo pre-toa, missing scene that's referenced in tsats (their first kiss), all canon/tsats compliant

god, i'm actually invested (haven't even met him) - one-shot, 5.7k words, solangelo au where nico goes to camp jupiter after the giant war instead of staying at camp half-blood, and will meets him years later when going to new rome university

so american - one-shot, 9.6k words, solangelo fame au (country singer will & actor nico)

let's go (battle royale) - one-shot, 7k words, solangelo fortnite streamers au, lots of references to the greek gods-themed season

on a wednesday in a cafe - one-shot, 2.3k words, solangelo college/coffee shop au, an absurd amount of taylor swift song references

like i'd be saved by a perfect kiss - one-shot, 1.1k words, aroace reyna-centric during toa, reyna's pov of rejecting apollo

i'm a mess (but i'm the mess that you wanted) - one-shot, 5.1k, solangelo arcane/timebomb au, nico as jinx and will as ekko but canon divergent from what actually happens in arcane (you don't need to watch arcane to understand it though)

midnights become my afternoons - one-shot, 3.3k words, aroace leo-centric on the argo II, with a bit of leo & nico friendship, canon compliant

MARAUDERS COMPLETED FICS

reputation (regulus' version) series - celebrity au - starry eyes (sparking up my darkest night) - 16 ch, 113k words, regulus as rep era taylor swift au, james as joe, marauders as a band, background wolfstar and dorlene - baby, let the games begin - one-shot, 1.7k words, bonus chapter to starry eyes, jegulus (in between chapters 15 and 16)

clear blue waters (high tide came and brought you in) - 7 ch, 32.1k words, jegulus cruiseship au, background wolfstar and lots of teenager tonks, very fluffy

and one on hiatus!

may these memories break our fall: jegulus/wolfstar, percy jackson au, and follows the quest of heroes of olympus.

OTHER COMPLETED FICS

- overdue for a revival - one-shot, 8.6k words, harry potter au where charlie weasley becomes the comc professor in poa

[little-reader]

“The Son of A Monster.” Ch.5

Masterlist

Warnings; Death, blood, Slow-burn, Sexual tension, Gay awakening (For both), Cursing, Negan is the Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie apocalypse

<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3

You sharpen your knife, toning out the annoying scrape against the metal. You hummed the song “Do You Remember The Rain.” and peered over the porch to Rick and Michonne talking. They were leaving for something. You weren’t quite sure, but you guessed supply. Your dad will be here in a few days. 

Iris was walking down too, drinks in hand and smiling when she looked up. You smiled back and waved, getting up and placing your knife on the railing. “Let me help you.” You said, grabbing the cups from her hand and setting them on the porch steps. You captured her hands and helped her up the stairs, letting her sit in your previous spot.

She held her stomach as she leaned back, groaning slightly. You handed her the drink and sat on the railing. “Why’d you bring the lemonade?” You asked, taking a sip and humming. She shrugged and rubbed her stomach. 

“I wanted to.” She paused and sat up. “Start thinking of names.” You coughed and looked at her. She only smiled and raised her eyebrows, handing over a piece of paper. “I get to pick one of their names and you the other.” She said You looked down at the car. It had a line in the middle and on one side, it had two different genders and names. 

Baby A

Girl; Nova

Boy; Oliver Rome

You smiled and took out a pen, placing the sheet on the railing before writing down names.

Baby B

Girl; Isha

Boy; Ian?

You gave the card back, and she smiled. “In your shadow.” You said, kissing her cheek. She tucked it into her black sweater and got up. 

“I’ll see you later.” She walked off, waving to Carl with a smile when she passed him. Lucky, instead of hating her because she was married to you, (Mostly) everyone Loved her. They thought she was kind, sweet, helpful, and pregnant with twins.

You sighed and plopped back into the seat, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. You looked at your knife and placed it down. You cracked your neck and leaned back, relaxing as you closed your eyes. There was a slight breeze where the opened trees lay and where you sat. You Breathed in the smoke and breathed back out, allowing your nose to smell the tobacco coming out. 

The breeze stopped briefly, making you open your eyes and peer at the younger brunette by the stairs. “Carl.” You asked, tilting your head at him.” He hummed and looked over with boredom writing on his face. “You gotta’ look after your sister today?” You questioned, only to get a slight head shake from him as he walked inside. 

You sighed, threw your cigarette on the ground, and smashed it, getting up from your seat. “I didn’t just ask for no reason, Carl.” You stated, walking in after him. He turned with one eyebrow raised and took off his hat. 

“I don’t feel like doing anything today, Y/n.” He said, brushing through his hair before placing his hat back on his head. You huffed and groaned dramatically, throwing yourself backward and whining like a child. 

“Come on! We're supposed to be friends. Do you know what friends do? Trick question.” You asked, walking over to him. He rolled his eyes.

“I only said Yes because you wouldn’t leave me alone,” Carl said, heading upstairs. 

“Is that your final answer? If it is, I need you to repeat it, I didn’t catch any of that.” You said, following him once again. He sighed and slammed his room door. You huffed once again and left downstairs.

You went outside, rounded the house, and climbed the side of it, reaching the window where Carl's room was. You banged on in. Carl looked down at you through the window with disapproval. “Let me IN,” You yelled, hanging onto the side of the roof like a cat in a tree. Carl laughed and opened the window.

“You're a dumbass, you know that right?” Carl stated, closing his window when you were finally in. You flipped him off and fixed your shirt. Before he could say anything else, you interrupted him.

“I’m going somewhere, that means your following.” You said, Throwing Carl's shoes at him and unlocking the door. 

"Do I have a choice-"-Nope."

You yanked him by his hand and pulled him down the stairs. You picked up your bat and bag as we went to the “escape wall” and climbed over. You felt the slight breeze from the top as you quickly went over the wall and slowly climbed down. Carl then jumped down beside you and huffed, fixing his hat.

“It's rude to huff at people.” You say, smiling at him slightly as you begin to walk into the woods. Carl only huffed louder and more dramatically. You smile and huff louder than him while you turn. “Hush pretty boy.” You said, flicking his hat and walking deeper into the woods. 

It was relatively quiet, with few groans here and there. They would stop when you threw a knife at them. You watched the ground as you walked, but still acknowledged the world around you. You glanced at bushes here and there, looked into the mud, and listened to each and every sound.

“Boring.” You whined, huffing at the silence. “You bore me.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ toy,” Carl said, raising his eyebrow. You raised your arms in defense and laughed. Carl raised an eyebrow at your response. “You act like I'm Woody from Toystory.” He said sarcastically.

You laughed again. “Well, if you are woody,” You stopped and put a finger on your chin, tapping it twice. “That makes me” You pointed to yourself. “Buzz lightyear.” you did jazz hands as he looked at you stupidly. 

“Did your mom drink in the womb?” You gasped and hit him on the arm when he walked by. “I’m just asking, you act like you have a disorder or something.” 

(I am switching from the Second POV to First person From here on out :) )

I glare at him and Hit him again. “That's offensive you know,” I said as we continued walking. 

We stopped in the middle of the woods when we came across a lake. It had a lake cabin and a road leading down to a hill with fields. “This what rich people used to buy?” I started as I looked out at the lake with my hand covering the sun. Carl only shrugged.

I looked around, nothing out of the ordinary, so I walked around the lake. “How crazy would I be to jump into this right now?” I asked, dropping my backpack and taking off my shoes. Carl just stared at me in disbelief. 

“Walkers can be in there.” He said, pointing into the dark, green water. I shrugged and stripped down until I was in my boxers. “You are crazy, Your gonna fuckin’ die in there,” Carl shouted as I dived in. Carl watched bubbles go up and then stop. “Y/n, it's not funny.” He shouted from the edge of the lake. He put his backpack down and crotched by the edge of the water.

A firm hand pulled him down by his ankle as he yelped and was pulled in. A hand held the back of his neck and arms had him pulled into the other person. A finger went over his lips, which of course made Carl freak out, There wasn’t much he could do from in the water, but a scratch. 

He was pulled back up and onto the wet mud as I held my face. My het hair covered my eyes as I had my mouth gaped open and blood dripped down my cheek. “You asshole.,” I said, staring at him.

“Im an asshole? You pulled me under!” He half yelled, shoving my face angrily with his hand. “Thought you were dead, and then you pulled me under, what the hell is wrong with you?” He said angrily, shoving me off and trying to get up. The mud under us made him slip and slide as he went backward and his ass landed on my stomach. I felt the wind be knocked out of me as I coughed and shoved him off. 

“Oh my GOD..  you fat ass.” I wheezed as I got off of the ground. I coughed and grabbed onto the grass, making my way up. Carl glared at me as I laughed at him. “Get up dumbass,” I said, seeing that the whole side of his face was covered in mud.

“You shoved me into the fucking.” Carl grabbed a pile of mud. “MUD.” He yelled as he threw it at me. I flinched and covered my face as it landed on my stomach with a splat and rolled down. For some reason, that made Carl laugh out loud. 

“Oh, that’s funny to you?” I asked, shuffling my foot under the mud, that move made Carl stop laughing and plead with me. “I thought it was funny, but when I do it, it’s not?” I asked, then kicked the pile of mud onto him. 

His mouth opened in shock when it covered the other side of his face. Carl wiped it off and tried standing this time, he balanced himself out as I held out my arm for him to reach out and grab. He refused and started to walk. “You’re gonna fall, Woody.” I teased. Of course, he ignored me. And of course, I was right as I watched his feet slip.

I started to laugh loudly, and It was cut off by a scream as he grabbed my hand at the last second, pulling me down with him. “You fucker.” I said, pulling my face out of the mud and spitting out. I wiped it out of my eyes and looked down at him with a glare.

His hair is now covered in mud, as well as his back and clothes. Both of us sit up and cough, wiping the mud off of each other.

We lay in the field, covered in mud, and looked at the sky. Carl had his flannel beside him and wore his white t-shirt as he leaned against his bookbag. He had re-did his eyepatch after drying off and sent me back into the water to grab his hat.

Carl sighed and looked over towards me. “How did you stay underwater that whole time?” He asked, his brows together. I yawned and sighed.

“My dad made me do a bunch of sports. Baseball was one of the main ones, he coached that.” I said, looking at him. He looked a little confused by what I said. “My dad worked as a gym teacher and a coach before the world died… but he got fired a few months before everything happened,” I stated, playing with my hands. “My mom would take me to the beach on hot days, but mostly a pool. We would have competitions of who could stay under the longest, whoever one got to pick out supper or lunch.” I said, looking up at the sky and smiling.

I felt Carl’s fingertips touch mine and looked at him. He was looking at the sky with a bit of a saddened look. He started to speak. “My mom… She and My dad would get in fights, though she would be the only one fighting. Even after the walking dead, they fought. But she protected me from every bad thing out there, or tried to at least.” I watched his eyes close and I moved my fingertips closer until they touched each other. I watched our hands. 

Our feet squashed onto the concrete as we walked back home. We walked closer than earlier, our arms skidding together as we spoke. “You think elephants are still alive?” I asked, looking around. Carl looked up at me like I was stupid. “Well, you never know…. They could be the last ones standing.” I joked.

Carl hit my arm and laughed a little. “That wasn’t funny.” He said and stopped laughing almost instantly. I laughed loudly and hit him harder.

“You're an ass,” I said, bumping our shoulders together a letting out a little laugh. He nodded while smiling. I watched the trees sway in motion with the wind as it blew through them. 

We got home shortly and climbed back into the walls without anyone noticing, thankfully. I ran upstairs with Carl chasing me into the bathroom. “Fuck you, I’m getting one first,” I yelled as he pulled my foot from the stairs. He managed to get passed me and tripped my legs up. “You ass!’ I said, landing on the top floor. I heard the door open and the shower turned on in a matter of seconds and huffed, getting off of the floor.

I entered the bathroom, almost tripping over Carl's clothes, and looked at the mirror, peering at the cut on my face that was now covered in dirt. I turned the sink on and splashed water onto my face and wiped the blood off. I looked at the closed curtain and hit it. “You're a dick,” I said, sitting on the toilet seat. Carl only laughed as I took off my shoes and socks. “Turn around,” I said, hitting the curtain. “I’m getting in,” I stated, opening the shower curtain.

Carl huffed and turned around before I got in. I grabbed the shower head and pointed it at my head, rubbing the dirt off and watching it sink to the bottom of the tub. I looked down at Carl's slighted hunched-over body as he washed off the dirt on his arms. I grabbed the soap and rubbed it through my hair, rinsing it quickly. My eyes roamed his back, there were a few freckles and one scar. Without thinking, I rubbed my finger over it, making Carl's head sharply look over. 

I mumbled a quick “Sorry,” before taking my hand off. His eyes looked at my torso and widened a little. Scars scattered around, large cuts, two bullet shots, and scratches that have yet to heal. I laugh and rub the mud off of my stomach. “I’ve had quite a few interactions with some bad people,” I muttered. “I don't show these much. My dad hates them, felt like it was his fault,” I said, closing the shampoo and placing it back on the rack.

“Was it?” Carl asked. I paused, looking down at him. 

“You still haven't gotten the mud out of your hair,” I said, wiping the soap I had in my hand in his hair. He pushed my hand away and huffed as he started to scrub his head. I got out of the shower as the water dripped down my now wet boxers and hair. I grabbed a towel and dried my hair quietly as I heard the shower turn off. I put my towel over the rod holding the curtain. “I’m gonna go throw our clothes in the washer,” I said, grabbing the clothes off the floor. I heard him hum as he grabbed the towel off of the rod. I walked downstairs slowly and to my bag, grabbed my dirty clothes out of it, along with my jacket, and walked into the laundry room, throwing the clothes into the washer. 

I threw in some detergent and turned it on. I hummed as I walked out and walked down the hall. I hear my radio go off in my bookbag as I walk into the living room. I sighed and Ignored it as I went upstairs. Carl was reading some comics in his bed with fresh clothes. “You got extras I could borrow?” I asked, pointing to his closet. He nodded as he flipped his page. I opened it up and all there were was boring plain clothes. I grabbed the black rusty jeans and black long-sleeve shirt before putting them on and plopping on his bed beside him.

Chapter 6☝️🤓

[dreaming-in-prose]

be still my foolish heart

Summary: Penelope needs an answer to a burning question, so she goes to her betrothed's home the day before their wedding.

Read on AO3

The hem of her chemise felt heavy with dew as she walked across the cobblestone street to Bridgerton House. The unseasonably warm spring day had brought on an unseasonably warm spring night, and the cloak she had thrown on to conceal her identity, the very same one she would wear to the dressmakers to deliver the latest Whistedown in the dead of night, felt stifling. But she had to see him.

Penelope Featherington weaved behind their grand estate as she had so many times before, previously to meet her long-time best friend Eloise, but tonight she was meeting someone different.

My betrothed, she thought to herself with a mix of joy and disbelief. The very thought sent a swarm of butterflies through her stomach. She was engaged to Colin Bridgerton, the man her heart had yearned for all her life. She had spent years convincing herself that a life that included a romantic marriage was beyond her reach, that she would be content with a pragmatic match. But now, the reality of her engagement was a dream come true, a reality that was a stark contrast to the nights she had spent in bed, after a failed ball, after another season out, trying to convince herself that she would be okay with good enough. That she could accept pragmatism. A marriage where there may not be love, but there would be security. And maybe that could be enough. Perhaps we could even learn to love each other, she would say, unconvinced by her own acting.

For three seasons now, she had hidden in the shadows, her dance card empty and her prospects minimal, holding out hope that she might get the fairytale ending she had read about countless times, sitting at that window overlooking the Bridgerton house, by all accounts containing a happier family than her own. Idealistic in every way. The Bridgertons had no money troubles and did not struggle to find their place in polite society. In fact, after spending so much time with them, Penelope had even begun to believe a family could enjoy spending time with each other in earnest. So different was her own experience, with a social-climbing mother and two sisters who had the wits of half a woman shared between them, she had all but resigned to a life of partial happiness that always felt like it could be more. If she hadn't seen a family like the Bridgertons laughing and enjoying each other with her own two eyes, she may have convinced herself that partial happiness was all that there was.

And then there was him. Colin. Sweet Colin. He was curious and kind and clever. On his travels, he wrote to her, and in his script, he gave himself away as far more observant, far more clever than his family seemed to know. As he wrote to her about his travels, Colin painted a picture of a world outside London. One of a romantic life full of art, meeting strangers, and becoming worldly. She had caught herself sighing blissfully while reading his recounts of the days. Paris, Rome, Milan. Colin may not have intended it, but as she read his words, she got a glimpse into him: a romantic who could find beauty in every moment. She hardly ever allowed herself to dream that those romantic sentiments would be allowed to be directed towards her.

But in the dead of night, when she was truly truly alone with her thoughts, then Penelope would dream of him. Of his dark hair and light eyes looking at her full of love. Asking her for commitment. Craving her the way she had craved him for so long: completely, and in every way and every moment. But she never believed the fantasies that kept her company through the lonesome nights would ever make their way into reality.

Tomorrow, they were to be wed. She and Colin would say their vows and then be off to live together in bliss. Free to express their love both verbally and physically. The only problem was Penelope still could not fully grasp what would be expected of them on their wedding night. She could recall discussing the processes of conception, that when two people were wed, they could perform a particular act that would not only help to bring them closer together mentally but also create an heir. But what was that specific act?

Penelope found herself under Colin's window. Now, here, she realized how she had failed to consider this plan thoroughly. How could she get the attention of her betrothed without warning the entire house of her presence? With only the love stories she read to back her thinking, she began to search the garden for stones that she might throw at his window. How else was one to get their lover’s attention? As romantic as the act had been in all of the novels she had read that featured it, she found the actual act of throwing stones to be a strenuous task. She had never thrown very much at all in her life and never when precision mattered as much as it did now. To throw a stone amiss would mean exposing her.

Her first throw landed accurately enough, just to the right of his window on the wood siding. The stone made a satisfying "thump" before returning back down to the ground. Penelope leaned down again to find another stone, this one slightly smaller, thinking she would rather not press her luck with a broken window, and she pulled her arm back to throw it again. She released it, and it landed slightly lower, hopefully still audible but much closer to the siding of the home than to his window.

And again she began the process anew: finding a stone, preparing to throw and - Just as she set to release it, Colin's face appeared in the window, searching the yard for the cause of the interruption. The shock of seeing him threw off her aim, she noted, as the pebble left her hand, and a grimace passed over her face as she realized the stone was set to land directly at the window.

With a high-pitched thunk, the pebble made contact with the glass. Colin recoiled at the sound. Pulling from the diligent searching of the yard, he caught a glimpse of her. She pulled the hood of her cloak down, exposing her blushing face. She now felt herself become sheepish. It was foolish of her to come here and even more foolish to throw rocks at Colin Bridgerton's window like some romance heroine she knew she was not.

His eyes lit up as he saw her, and a grin graced his beautiful face. Her betrothed. She could not believe it.

Penelope wondered, in the moments after he had signaled to her that he would come down to her, whether it was truly real that she felt the way she did. Did his heart stutter just thinking about her? And threaten to stop in her presence entirely? Did she inhabit his dreams the way he did hers? Where they talked for hours, enjoyed each other’s company? And on occasion, shared a passionate kiss that always seemed to want to go somewhere further, to become more? Did he know what more there was to explore with each other?

She only stood there in the garden for a few moments, waiting for the door to unlatch. But in that time, she had enough room to think to let herself spiral, losing her grip on the shameless confidence and recklessness that had brought her here. To the Bridgerton estate. In the dead of night.

Colin's shock was the first thing she saw on his face. His eyes met hers in disbelief, seemingly prepared for the worst but optimistic that perhaps this was exactly what he thought it was: a late night call. With all the reckless abandon that entailed.

"Pen? Is everything alright? What's the matter?" His voice was low and gravelly as he kept it slightly above a whisper. And her eyes drifted down, seeing him in his sleep clothes. The thin fabric of the shirt and pants intended exclusively for the comfort of sleep displayed his sturdiness, indeed. His chest hair poked out the top of the low-cut shirt, and his breeches showed off his sturdy, well-formed thighs. Evidence of an athletic capacity she had never seen him display. She feared that if she did, she would be unable to hide her appreciation for his form and dexterity.

"All is well; I just can't sleep," she said through the sand in her mouth.

"Looking for something to occupy your mind from wandering? I can understand that. I am feeling anxious, too. But we must not be caught." He said, pulling her deeper into the yard

They walked together in the moonlight, the garden bathed in a silvery glow. The familiar surroundings of the Bridgerton house backyard provided a comforting backdrop to their conversation. Colin led the way to a set of swings hanging from an old, sturdy tree. Penelope followed, her heart beating faster with each step.

Taking a seat on one of the swings, Colin looked up at the sky, his expression thoughtful. Penelope sat beside him, the gentle sway of the swing soothing her nerves. After a moment of silence, she could not wait any longer. The anticipation of future embarrassment was eating away at her as she sat. She turned to him, her eyes searching for answers in his.

“I have not been entirely candid, actually. I need to know something. Before tomorrow.”

He looked back at her, curiosity flickering over his eyes. “Yes, Pen, anything. What would you like to know?”

"I ask not as your lover, but as your friend Colin," she says, her eyes searching for answers in his. Perhaps in those expressive, familiar blue eyes, she would find a hint of his feelings. “What is the marital act we will be expected to perform tomorrow?”

Colin's mouth fell agape. Indeed, he knew the answer to her question. His time abroad had been clarifying in many ways, including matters of the flesh, she suspected, but in his eyes, she could see his question: was she genuinely ignorant of it? And if so, how does one begin to explain something so impolite with any grace or poise?

The words caught in his throat, and he swallowed deeply to free them. "Well, Pen, your question is a rather valuable one. However, is it not customary for one's mama to address such matters? Thus, sparing one's future husband the potential embarrassment of the discussion?”

Confusion transformed into curiosity on Penelope's face. A smirk pulled at her lips as she took in his frazzled state. She stood from where she sat on the swing next to him. "Do I see confoundedness on your face, Colin Bridgerton? Do you also not know the details of the very act you and I will be expected to perform tomorrow?"

Her smirk transformed into a smile: he was frazzled and completely adorable.

Colin finally closed his mouth to set his jaw, clenching his teeth as he analyzed his betrothed before him. His eyes searched.

"Pen, I know well the answer to your question, but the presentation of the answer is what I am grappling with."

He seemed almost frustrated as he said it; Pen noticed, as children do when they are pretending to be more knowledgeable than they indeed are, perhaps. She let this idea carry into a gentle laugh.

"I would let you have more time to prepare, but I believe we have very little until the act must be done, Lord Birdgerton, and I would very well like to be informed."

Dismounting from the swing, Colin placed his feet on the ground and closed the distance between them. With his movement, she stood to meet him, him towering over her small stature. Every fiber of her body swelled in response to his proximity, to his scent. His mouth opened to speak, but again, no words came out. Penelope stepped forward, allowing her instincts to guide her as she putt her hands against his belly, feeling the warmth of his skin under his nightshirt.

"If it helps in your framing, how does it relate to what we did in the carriage together?" She whispered, carefully scanning the garden to ensure none of his many siblings had made their way out to spy. Just the contact of her hands on his stomach was enough to make it hard for her to breathe, and her acting was put to the test as she tried to hide her breathlessness as she scanned.

"Uh, yes, the carriage, right," his breath shuddered as her hands began tracing down as if to trail under his shirt. "Well, in the carriage..."

Her hand breached his shirt slowly, fingers touching warmly against his abdomen, eliciting a hitch from him.

"I quite liked what you did in the carriage. When I am alone in my chambers, I find it rewarding to recreate your techniques on myself while reminiscing. Does that relate?" She whispered mischievously, willing her heart to slow as she said it. His abdomen tensed under her touch as she spoke, and his tense jaw shifted into a smirk, his eyes glazed over in some hungry kind of admiration. Like he would devour her if he could.

Suddenly, she began to feel her heart beating in her ears, and the once familiar and comforting feeling of dew-kissed grass beneath her feet faded around her. No longer could she hear the chirping of the crickets, but instead, her thoughts were raptured by the memory of their time together that night and what her confession had elicited from him tonight.

Colin licked his lips, bringing one hand to cradle her face gently. Without thought, she found herself leaning into his touch.

Under his breath, he said, "Yes, that does relate, very closely, hopefully, to the act. I It is my earnest hope, um, that in such intimate moments, I shall always endeavor to bring you to, uh, satisfaction. Though it may not be traditionally taught as an essential aspect of the experience…" She let her hands wander downward as he spoke, a thumb grazing under the waistband of his trousers, feeling coarse hair there and a shudder from him. "Pen, I cannot think while you're touching me like that," he sighed.

"Like this?" She goaded, pressing her body to his, feeling an unfamiliar hardness pressing into her belly from his trousers.

"Pen, I-"

Her eyes gazed up at him deviously, her original interrogation gone from her mind in favor of discovering the rules of whatever the game was they were currently playing with each other. Colin let out a sigh, part frustration, part enjoyment. With a free hand, Penelope undid the bind on her cloak, releasing the stifling garment to the ground and letting her night rail be exposed. The cool breeze of the evening welcomed on her too-hot skin.

"I am beginning to believe you never cared to learn the answer to your question in the first place, Pen." He goaded, "In fact, I believe you came here not to ask an innocent question of me but to seduce me.”

Penelope opened her mouth to retort, to deny the accusation, but before she could, he continued, “But if you are allowed your fun, then I suppose it is only fair that I indulge in mine.”

Grabbing her by the waist, Colin gently and carefully spun Penelope a quarter turn, landing with her back against the tree from which the swings hung. With barely time for a breath, he pressed her body into the thick body of the tree with a kiss to her neck. The sound that escaped her lips shocked even her, as the warm pleasure of his lips on her spread through her body.

His lips felt hungry against her, with a tongue flicking out to taste her soft skin, where her neck met her shoulder, and she contained a moan. The feeling, the contact, with him, it threatened to turn her brain off entirely.

Caught in the bliss of their joining, Penelope reached her hand out to once again touch him. Her fingers craved to card through the hair on his chest and stomach, to explore the wanting she discovered even lower than his abdomen. She needed to have her hands on him as he put his lips to her pulse point, inspiring her to groan and tense against his touch.

As her fingers slipped again under the thin cotton of his shirt, finding a familiar purchase. Her hands trembled slightly at the contact, at the dizziness that came with the rush of lust she was feeling. Through the fog, she could hear a tsk from him, almost invisible.

The hands that had previously taken her waist, Colin's large, broad hands, so quickly found and enveloped both her wrists; pulling her hands away from his body, further from the satisfying heat of him, he pinned her hands gently but firmly against the bark of the tree they were leaned against.

But her body craved him. Deep in her stomach, a coil of heat had formed, a knot that formed from the same heat that gathered when he kissed her neck, when his hands brushed her waist, when his mouth was on her chest. Between her legs pooled a longing that was difficult to satisfy. She needed to touch him.

Penelope pushed against his grasp, her hips moving of their volition in search of contact, of satisfaction like what she had in the carriage, like what she experienced in her bed chambers, with a hand under the covers trying to quell the same drive that motivated her now. His hand stayed firm against her wrists, holding her still against the bark of the tree, keeping her from satisfying her needs. She could see the idea enter his mind before he acted:

Colin's smile was devious as he extended his knee out, slotting it gently between her legs, allowing her to press against him. Immediately, Penelope could feel her eyes fall to half-lids as the decadent electricity of the impact fed that fire inside her.

A rumble came from him as her eyes fell. Low and gruff, Colin leaned to her ear and, under his breath, whispered, "The act you and I are to perform tomorrow - It will feel like this, but so much closer. And as you reach your peak, I will be there with you, wringing it out of you. Once you're done, I will begin the process anew, bringing you to the edge again and again until you are spent. That is how I look forward to spending the rest of my years with you: making you so satisfied you cannot even dream of teasing me with your countless, persistent queries."

His words constricted her heart so much she felt she could burst. Her hands above her head, grinding against his leg, being whispered promises of a life of love and diligent pleasure, it threatened to cause her undoing. And when she looked up to him to see the glisten of arousal in his blue eyes, the smirk of mutual attraction as he watched her use him to seek her end, something grew in her. A need to both hold tighter and let go, that dichotomy of breathless need that threatened to push her over an invisible ledge.

Her hips quickened against him, her breath short and needy. She was nearly there, one step from walking over that edge. She just needed more. “Colin, please, I need you to touch me.”

As if he had been waiting for her to say it, he lowered his face to hers, and in one fluid motion, he locked his lips around hers hungrily. Their kiss was fierce and demanding. His soft lips against hers were the kind she had dreamed about.

His free hand lowered to take one of her breasts into his hand, with fewer layers between them than ever before. She could feel the heat radiating from his touch and imagined it was similar to the very same heat that was radiating through her body. The one driving her to press her hips into his thigh in pursuit of the release she imagined was nearly hers. She could feel it, just out in front of her.

His thumb began tracing over the sensitive peak of her breast; her breath quivered at the contact. His hand on her like this felt so good, almost too good. A moan managed to escape her lips as his thumb continued its circle, his index finger joining to gently pinch her nipple. The increase in sensation was delicious, combined with the feeling of his mouth on hers, his soft lips pressed to hers in a frenzy of excitement and pursuit; The liquid heat in her belly seemed to grow warmer, and her hips began to stutter in their motion as pleasure ripped through her.

"Colin," she moaned against his mouth, trying to keep her voice down.

“That’s it, Pen. Keep going." He mumbled against her skin.

She reclaimed his lips with hers, kissing him with the same urgency she felt between her legs. The world faded away in that moment, as the sensation kept building and building, until finally, the knot of attraction and lust and connection that had been steadily forming in her abdomen uncoiled in one abrupt motion, causing her body to tremble and a moan to escape her lips.

Penelope let her eyes flutter back open, connecting with Colin's stare. Blue, like the ocean, stared at her, luminous and shameless and hers.

His smile curved wickedly. Sudden awareness of their location, of her appearance, flooded into her. Colin's grip had loosened, and Penelope used her free hand to smooth her hair, clawing her fingers through her fiery mane in an effort to hide any evidence of their debauchery. "I'm a mess," she muttered, more to herself than Colin. A reminder of who and where she was before she had let herself be lost to the pleasure she had found in the wonderful friction between herself and Colin's muscular thigh.

"I could get quite used to seeing you this way, Pen." He said, her heart skipping at the raw lust behind his eyes as he said it, "If this is a mess, then I prefer you messy and reeling. When I see you amongst the ton, in polite society, I will cherish in the knowing that I have seen you undone, with words failing you, and so, so beautiful."

The way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her, the feeling of his leg still pressed between hers, it fueled an idea in her. A demand from her body. One to share the completely mindless, overpowering, demanding pleasure she had felt. Before she could think twice, she slipped her hand between them, finding the evidence of his pleasure straining against the material of his sleep pants. Thick and hard under her hand, she could suddenly vividly imagine where she wanted to feel that part of him. Suddenly, she ached, feeling the emptiness of not having him inside of her.

Colin's body flinched against the touch, in a combination of pleasure and a knowing that this was too far, even for two betrothed people.

"Pen, I cannot threaten anyone finding us this way. If you continue to touch me like that, I do not know if I will be able to restrain myself from this becoming more than stolen moments before our wedding night." His voice sounded velvety, luscious. It made her dizzy to merely consider it.

"I do suppose I have the answer to my question, and though you were no help in telling me, you have done well to show me, Colin." Unsteady, her hand applied pressure to the hardness she felt there, and he groaned.

Lowering his head, Colin brushed his lips against hers. Penelope tried to savor the places where they connected, the taste of him, the feel of his warmth, but mostly, her mind was preoccupied with talking herself down from the impulsive, reckless thoughts that begged for her attention. She wasn't ready for this moment to end yet.

"I will make it up to you tomorrow. And then again and again and again for the remainder of our lives."

They connected once more, lips meeting and expressing wordlessly the need they were both resisting.

When he pulled away from her, her mind was a haze. Before her body had time to chime in, her mind spoke, "I did not expect to linger this long, Colin. I should go."

"Yes, one should be well rested for their wedding day."

Neither made to move, their eyes connected, lips hovering not far from each other.

"Thank you for tonight."

"Of course. It was my pleasure."

She scanned his face, committing the details to memory of the curve of his chin, the dark lashes of his eyes, the color of his lips. And she could feel his stare on her, scanning her nose, seemingly counting the freckles that smattered across her face, memorizing the curve of her lip.

"It was nice... speaking with you." She said, pulling herself from the magnetic stare and finding herself moving away from him quickly, looking over her shoulder to steal one final glance.

And as she did, she noticed once again the chirping of crickets and the sound the breeze made through the leaves of the trees, all things that had faded from her as she was caught in the moment with him, suspended in time.

She couldn't wait for tomorrow.

[southslates]

i am singing now while rome burns

In which Lucy Gray stays with Coriolanus in the Capitol after the games.

Multi-chapter fic on AO3.

“Your dean wishes to report you to the President and have you punished. I should agree, for you broke my rule so that your little bird could sing.”

He could say he’s sorry, but he thinks that if she plans to kill him now, that would not do anything but take away his dignity. So Coriolanus stays silent.

“But she is just a bird,” Gaul laughs, loud with her chest, something off-kilter and insane about it. “And you were right. For your lovely proposal to work, there must be a victor. Now you understand, it is not often that I am wrong. I think you would be wasted in punishment, Mr. Snow. I think instead, I’ll take you in as my protege.”

[companion-showdown]

Who is the Greatest Accomplice to the Doctor's War Crimes?

TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST

[bradshawsbaby]

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.

[goldflinches]

AUgust no. 1 - Canon Divergence

Fishbowl rescue or at least an attempt at one (pre-dreamling)

———

It’s the witching hour. The light bulb above the sink keeps flickering and Hob Gadling is making a deal with another stranger.

She can help him find his stranger (my brother, she says with a pinched expression Hob can’t even begin to parse out) but she can’t do more than that (the rules, she mentions in passing, face as placid as a rip current). If Hob is willing to help, she can make a deal. (Another deal, she says with a wistful smile) (Hob shivers. Curiosity and cats, he thinks)

Hob takes the deal.

Even if he’s so painfully human that there’s little to offer her. When he offers his immortality, she laughs like it is joke they had shared many times before. (she tells him, I’m not of the habit of taking back gifts, Hob Gadling) (Hob shivers again)

So she bargains with Hob—the memory of the once-a-century meetings for the possibility of future ones (I can’t promise it for certain, she says, historically he's been very stubborn) (she is not wrong).

Hob tries to reason around it: How can he rescue someone he won’t remember? Can’t she leave something to guide Hob to him? (he doesn't try to reason out its cruelty, he's had a hand at it and this is just another round of weathering it) (it will be worth it. It has to be worth it)

He tries this: What about his voice? Leave that one part of him about him behind. I would know his voice anywhere, in my waking hours. in my dreams. She agrees (with a curious look, with a softness that Hob refuses to tread upon).

How do we do this? Hob asks.

I forgot to introduce myself, she says with a warm smile, I’m Death of the Endless, the end of all things—tiny, cosmic, and everything in between. The death of mice, Hob stands frozen as she reaches out to him, of the light bulb over your sink, of every star spinning in the universe. And of course, memory.

And she taps Hob’s temple and the memory of his stranger flickers out like the light above them.

———

Once Hob gets his bearings (Wych Cross. Fawney Rig. In the basement, for years. Decades), he races to his stranger’s rescue and finds…nothing.

Not nothing really. But just Fawney Rig is in ashes and not a single soul to ask, What the fuck happened?

———

One week ago, Alex Burgess uses a scroll that will free him of Dream of the Endless. It doesn’t work (not in the way he had intended) (but all roads lead to Rome, burning).

One week ago, Dream of the Endless gets a glimpse of realm, wreaked and barren, before he’s hurled back into his glass cage. (knowing makes it worse. knowing makes him turn his back from his guards and bite his thumb so hard that he bleeds) (knowing makes him draw a sigil on the glass and speak his first words in half a century)

One week ago, Dream of the Endless makes a deal. (Mother, is the last thing he says before she draws a bloody line across his throat) (hush darling, is the last he hears before it goes dark, before the glass breaks, before he finds himself free at last)

[stories-from-the-shaded-moon]

THIS IS SPARTA

Mr. Lon cleared his throat. “Is everyone done with their test?” He heard a chorus of answers, all of which were akin to yes.

“Well, I don’t have anything else for you to do. So, you have…” he looked at the ticking clock, “thirty minutes of free time.” He heard sighs of relief and smiled.

“Truely, a test on Greece couldn’t be that hard,” he laughed. “It was mostly wars, Persian and Pelopponesian, you lot like wars, don’t you?”

Then he saw a hand raised. It was Sky, one of his best students. “Yes Sky?”

“Well,” he laughed a little, “like, Sparta right?”

A wider smile rose on Mr. Lon’s face. This is why he loved his job. The thing about history is that there are so many interesting things about it. The thing about being a history teacher is that you can rant about it, and outside sources think that you’re teaching.

“What about Sparta?” Time felt the little guy inside of him start to jump.

“Are there more things about it?”

“Well, I’ve told you a lot. However, If you’d like to hear me…rant…about Sparta, I am more than happy to!” Time internally begged them to let him.

Then another hand raised. “Yes Twilight?”

“You said that their last training thingy before they became military was…killing a slave?”

“They called their slaves Helots, and yes. The last or near last thing they had to do to be considered a man, was to kill a slave. They also couldn’t be found out, or they’d get into reasonable trouble.”

“That’s…”

“Today, if there was a city or state who did that, someone would eventually burn it down for crimes against humanity…Well,” Time tapped his chin, his hand on his hip. “maybe it’d actually be about them killing disabled babies.”

Another one of his students caught their laugh in their hand, his royal blue beanie coming off of his head. “That’s going in the quotebook.”

Sky’s head was on his desk, his shoulders shaking. “Agreed.”

“Live abortion…” Twilight lightly chuckled. “That’s not funny guys.”

“Well, on a sadder note. The only graves that got marked, or had names on it, were those of soldiers who died for Sparta in battle, and women who died during childbirth,” Time thought about this ‘quotebook’ silently.

“On one note, Sparta is pretty barbaric, but Athens was honestly worse. Well, in my opinion.” Mr. Lon began walking in circles. “Yes, Sparta threw babies and killed them or killed slaves as a test, but women were actually appreciated and somewhat equal with the men. They were educated and learned how to fight. In the event that someone came to Sparta to invade and the men weren’t present, it was up to the women to fight. They had to know how to fight to protect Sparta.”

“That’s another thing, everyone in Sparta was under Sparta. The rich in Sparta were still under Sparta and fought to protect Sparta. That connection is probably why I don’t consider Sparta barbaric.”

Mr. Lon laughed. “Athens, on the other hand, was a hot mess. The poor were, in many cases, three years behind the rich. The Romans followed a good deal after Athens, which is probably why Rome fell the way it did.” He stopped at the boys’ table. “I feel like Rome took the bad aspects of Sparta and the average bits of Athens…”

“Isn’t it crazy that they called the ones who respected women, the savages?” A girl asked from some tables away.

“Well, Dawn, I find that ironic. But there are some barbaric aspects to the Spartans, no matter how beautiful I paint them.”

“But they basically saved Athens during the Persian war. They’d be dust without Sparta.” Dawn’s eyes looked bored, but Time could tell that she was challenging him again. She did this thing where she’d bring up a topic, and they’d debate about it for some time. Well, she was the captain of the debate team, he was the teacher responsible for the debate team. It’s only natural that she’d want to win. Well, she’s won one debate against him. Though, how was he supposed to know the message of My Little Pony other than Friendship is Magic?

But then again, how was she supposed to know that Alexander the Great and Hephaestion or Achilles and Patroclus were definitely not straight for each other?

“Ah, but Sparta would be dust without Athens in that sense. Yes, the Battle of Thermopylae was a Sparta stand for Athens. And, yes, without King Leonidas holding out for…three days, the Athenians wouldn’t have had time to evacuate to Salamis for the final fight, but if you really think about it, the Persian wars wouldn’t have been won by Greece without Sparta and-“

“The Persian Wars wouldn’t have happened if Athens didn’t send their ships.” Dawn cut him off. Time chuckled.

“Good point, however-“

“And after the wars, Athens decided that they wanted to fill themselves with hubris, which is why Sparta attacked them, which is why the Peloponnesian War happened, which allowed Alexander the Great to conquer Greece.” Dawn’s face grew a smirk, the same one she’d pull when she knew she’d won.

And, suddenly, Time found himself losing a debate about history in his own history class.

[wardentabriis]

Anyway here's Wonderwall. Aka the brief snippet of Brutus and Cato in my Augustus novel.

-

“Marcus?”

He turns over his shoulder, expecting the general to have risen to follow him. Instead, the man before him--smaller, bonier, darker--is of a more familiar breed. The lines at the edges of his eyes crease as he draws his own cloak about him against the chill and places a hand on Brutus’s arm.

“It’s nothing, uncle,” he says.

Cato’s stern form almost disappears into the night as Brutus continues his trudge towards his tent.

“You did what was right,” Cato says.

Brutus stops. “I know.”

“I’ll...speak to your mother, if it comes to that.”

Cato is nothing like his sister. In the dark, he stands in armor that nearly drowns him, and Brutus begins to doubt that he is the only hope left for the republic. Perhaps he was handsome once, perhaps a shred of character and charm could be found in his rhetoric, or in a younger face; Brutus can never imagine him any less stern than he is now, even in his youth. Cato was born an old man.

Brutus shakes his head. “It won’t. I’ve never done anything I couldn’t talk her down from.”

As far as he knows, he reminds himself. Servillia holds grudges other places. Why not against her son? Even if motherly love were enough to overcome them at home, he is still unsure whether he will be entirely forgiven if he should return.

“It’s civil war,” Cato nearly spits. “I thought it might end up this way. You’d think Caesar would have had enough civil war after the last one nearly skinned his hide. Pompeius...he should know better, but it’s what he had to do.”

Brutus nods.

“I hear Cicero will be joining us.” Cato places his arm on Brutus’s shoulder and guides him towards the soldiers’ tents. “Seems the last good men in the senate have all fled for refuge here. Sailing a winter sea is a less terrifying prospect than a Rome pissed on by that bastard.”

“A shame they didn’t leave many to support them at home,” Brutus says.

Cato scoffs. “I’d rather they were out here dying like men than stuttering against Caesar and his lot. Shows a great deal more spirit than staying safe in their villas. To die for Rome; that, my boy, is how a man should want to go.”

A wind blows across Brutus’ face, and the numbness in his extremities becomes a burning, prickling sensation. The air smells of sea salt and bird shit and fish bones. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse than the smell of the camp once he and Cato are in the midst of it.

“When do we sail?” he asks.

“A question better asked of Pompeius Magnus himself,” Cato laughs. “Should have inquired when you had the chance.”

“Should have,” Brutus reiterates, perhaps only to himself.

“I imagine we’ll wait it out a few days, see if we can grab any more stragglers on their way out of Rome. There are bound to be more, can’t be that all the good men have already fled.”

Maybe they have. And if so, Brutus isn’t certain what will be left of the republic when all is done. There seem so few here, hardly enough soldiers to defend themselves, even with the knowledge of more troops on their way or across the sea.

Cato bends forward to look at Brutus’ face. “You were always a troubled child. Your poor mother never knew what you were worried about. Not as if there isn’t enough to concern yourself with now.”

“There is...certainly quite a bit.”

Cato frowns. “I didn’t think your mother gave you enough room. To do anything more than politics and philosophy, I mean. Not that you aren’t a fine enough politician. But the boys your age started their training for war early. I never got the impression she had much faith in you in that career.”

Against his better judgement, Brutus laughs. “To be fair to my mother, neither did I.”

“At least you know how to hold a sword and stab.”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I hope so.” Cato slaps him on the back. “I hope you can return to what you’re suited to after all this nonsense. But perhaps you’ll have gained yourself a better reputation, fighting for the republic at the side of one of its greatest generals.”

Among the strong stench of soldiers’ garments left out to dry, sweat, burning, food long since turned, Brutus knows the scent of his own tent. Cato would not approve if he knew, but it is difficult to leave behind all the comforts of home. Namely, a bit of perfumed oil to keep away the bad air.

“Good night, uncle,” he says, pulling back the flap of his tent.

Before he ducks his head to enter, Cato grasps the sleeve of his tunic and pulls him back.

“Try not to harbor too much resentment.” Cato looks back towards the campfire, which Brutus has long since lost sight of. “We do what is right, Marcus, whether we agree with the methods or the people who execute them.”

He looks over the harsh lines of Cato’s face, as if he will find a response etched there. But he doesn’t. He can’t. And so he gives a weak smile before cutting himself off from the rest of the camp. The glow inside his tent is nothing but weak moonlight, which shows little but the outlines of his belongings and his bedroll. The heaviness of sleep is already upon him when he undresses and lies down. It is not difficult to fall into it.

[ibetonlosingroys]

Hunger Chapter 2

Roman just wants to self destruct in peace.

Read on ao3:

Roman’s head aches. There is a vice like grip wrapping around his forehead. It feels like his eyes may pop out of his face at any moment from the pressure. He’s sprawled out on the couch, where he has taken up a permanent residence and looks at the flickering images on the television, not watching it. The static blaring in between his ears is enough stimulation for him. He thought he would be hungry, but that stopped long ago. His stomach no longer growled, his mouth no longer watered at the thought of food. Roman had come to the realization that he could just remain like this forever, expending no energy and consuming nothing. He merely exists, and he thinks to himself that’s about all he can handle right now. This is fine. He might even like this.

Sometimes he sleeps, sometimes he just closes his eyes and listens to the room around him. He even gets up to use the restroom a couple of times. He laughs at himself, wondering what he has to piss out, not even a sip of water has passed his lips since the tailgate party. Was that just last night? It’s hard to remember. He has missed something important, that he is sure of. This is confirmed when he picks up his phone and scrolls past dozens of missed calls and texts from all three of his siblings. He’s even missed several calls from Mencken, so it must’ve been the election. “Whoops,” he says aloud, voice thin and crackly. He giggles and rolls over, pressing his face into the cushions and allows more time to pass.

The next thing he is aware of is a knock at his door. In his current state, it feels like a thunderous banging permeating his skull. He grumbles, rolling onto his back but before he can even contemplate getting up, there’s the sound of a key turning in the lock. Roman’s only ever given his apartment key to two people, Tabitha and his sister. He would sooner believe that his father rose from the dead than the idea of Tabitha choosing to enter his home again. So that just leaves…

Shiv barreled in the door, shoes clacking on the floor and calling his name. “Rome? You decent? You alive?” Her voice grew louder as she approached the living room. Roman levered himself into a more upright position on shaking arms and cleared his throat to speak. “You know Siobhan, in some cultures it’s considered rude to burst into someone’s home uninvited.”

“Roman.” Her tone was serious now as she dropped her bag on the floor and perched on the coffee table across from him. “You missed the election.” Her gaze burned through him and she gestured firmly as she spoke. “You weren’t returning any of our calls. You cannot go dark like that on the biggest news night of the next four years.” Her volume increased and Roman groaned, shoving the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and rubbing furiously. “Shiv, I can’t fight right now. I don’t feel good, for real, so if you’re going to really chew into me, can we pencil it in for a later date?”

He met her eyes fully for the first time since she arrived and watched as they narrowed at him even more. The silence grew but he refused to break. “Still fighting off that bug?” She asked. “Yeah, well haven’t had a lot of down time recently.” He gestures vaguely. Shiv reaches out, moving to feel his forehead with the back of her hand and Roman recoils with a chuckle. “No way, you’re not about to test out your maternal instincts on me, nice try super mom.”

Shiv straightens and pulls away, crossing her arms over her chest, “And what’s that supposed to mean?” She asks. Roman is far too tired to play any of their usual games. “It means you’re obviously pregnant, I don’t know how stupid you think I am,” he grumbles. “Well it’s like you said. Not a lot of down time recently. Hasn’t felt like a good time to share the news.” Something very real and very human crosses Shiv’s face, almost like hurt, and Roman feels like shit. “Yeah, the timing sucks. I’m really sorry Shiv.” He manages in an approximation of comfort. That stricken look is still drawn across her features and he decides he can’t stand it anymore. “Is it Tom’s?” He asks.

“Yeah. It’s Tom’s. Jesus Roman!” She uncrosses her arms and flails in exasperation. There she is. Roman chuckles, allowing himself to slump back against the couch cushions and rub at the tension pounding behind his forehead. “So you’re really sick huh?” She asks, and he hums in agreement. “Think you’re gonna be able to bounce back for the big show tomorrow?” Roman freezes. The funeral. “Tomorrow?” He asks, and fuck he feels his voice wavering. “Yeah… Rome, it’s tomorrow.” Shiv replies, her voice taking on a softness that he is only used to hearing when things are very very bad. “You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to,” she continues, “one of us can do it, it’s okay.”

He stares up at the ceiling fan, swimming in his vision. Shiv’s voice is too loud and the thought of tomorrow is too much. “I don’t wanna go, I can’t, I’m not going,” the words tumble out of his mouth beyond his control. “Not go at all?” Shiv is stunned. “I, uh, I appreciate that you’re not great right now, but it is important that you’re there Rome. Matsson will be there, and with it being so close to the vote…”

If Roman had the energy, he would scream. “I don’t care! I don’t, I can’t.” He feels tears prickling at his eyes and the absolute last thing he wants is for his sister to see him cry right now, but he doesn’t trust his shaking limbs to carry him into another room quickly enough. The only thing worse than crying in front of her would be fainting in front of her. “It’s too much,” he tries to explain as the tears leak out of his eyes, rolling down the side of his face and soaking into the pillow beneath his head. And oh god, he actually whimpers, sounding like a wounded animal. He brings his hands to cover his eyes and wills the couch to swallow him whole as he cries.

Shiv has fallen silent but he feels her hand come to rest on his shoulder. It’s warm and solid and horrifyingly, makes him cry even harder. “I’m sorry, Shiv I-” he chokes out, grabbing onto her hand and she shushes him. “Hey, come on. You’re okay.” She says, and Roman almost laughs. “You’re exhausted. You need some rest, let’s get you to bed.” She pats his shoulder and he groans, rubbing the tears from his face with the heel of his hand. He moves to sit up, sluggish and uncoordinated as the fog envelopes his mind.

“Do you, uh, need some help?” Shiv asks, feigning nonchalance, but her body language clearly displays her discomfort at this foreign act of care. Roman too would rather crawl out of skin than accept her offer, but between his body’s uncontrollable shivering and the clouds in his vision, he truly does not see another way. He merely grunts, nodding his head slightly and avoiding eye contact at all costs, and then there’s an arm wrapped around his back. One hand on his waist and the other gripping his arm, Shiv is at his side in an instant. “Alright, up on three, yeah?” He grunts again in agreement. “One, two, three,” the hands around him tighten and Shiv levers his body up as he pushes off of the couch and gets his feet underneath him.

A small groan escapes him as the room swims around him. His eyes are unfocused and his head lolls as he tries to find his equilibrium. “Take it easy, no rush,” Shiv speaks to him incredibly softly, her hands never loosening their grip on him as they begin their unsteady shuffle towards his bedroom. “You can lean on me,” she says, and it’s nearly enough to send Roman into a fresh bout of weeping. Figuring his dignity is long gone at this point, he drapes his arm across Shiv’s shoulders, allowing her to take some of his weight as they round the corner. “You’re okay,” she whispers again, and Roman wonders if it’s for his benefit or her own.

Reaching the edge of his bed, Shiv gently lowers him down to sit before telling him she’ll be right back. As quickly as he can muster, Roman pulls back his sheets and clambers under the covers. If Shiv were to actually tuck him into bed he sincerely thinks he might die. He drops his heavy head onto his pillow and sighs deeply, willing all of this to be one terrible dream. Shiv returns with a glass of water that she places on his nightstand and lingers by his bedside, not too close but not too far.

“Think you’ll make it through the night if I head out?” She asks, only half joking, rattled by the physical weakness displayed by her brother. He clears his throat and nods, “I am sorry by the way,” he gestures lazily with his hand, “for all of this, but especially going ghost on election night.” Shiv shifts on her feet slightly. “Yeah, well don’t be too sorry, at least your boyfriend lost.” Roman groans, rubbing at his eyes again, imagining the earful from Mencken he has waiting for him in his messages.

“Get some sleep,” she says, stepping closer. For the briefest of seconds, her hand runs through his hair and comes to rest on the side of his face. Her thumb rubs away a tear track and suddenly he’s seven years old again. His big sister has come into his room to check on him after one of Dad’s blow ups. He also knows that just like when he was seven, they’ll both pretend like none of this happened come morning.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he stops her before she can fully leave. “About tomorrow, I’ll be there,” he clarifies. Shiv nods, leaning on the doorframe and hand hovering over the light switch. “Good, I’ll see you then.” She switches off the light and grabs the door handle. “And eat something beforehand, yeah?” She almost makes it sound like an afterthought, but they both know. “Bitch,” Roman mutters, rolling onto his side as Shiv shuts the door behind her.