#so... maybe next month

[omaano]

SW Hades AU January Update

Woohoo, look at that we have a header for the monthly updates now!

Some links and previous updates: May - June - July - August - September - October/November - December - everything else in this AU

I finally got around to not only finish Quinlan's character illustration, but also add a background, glow effect and text box to him.

I've got to say, I am very very proud and more than a little surprised at how well he turned out! Green is my nemesis of a color (that's partly why I decided to tackle Quinlan and Kit in one go - bite the bullet in one go and all that) but funnily enough all his greens are rather desaturated dark yellows (including his skin tone). Gosh, initially I'd picked those colours off of Ares, and up until I added the warmer red to the edges of the shadows on his skin I was very very terrified that I'd made a huge mistake here. (It's part of my art process, spending a significant amount of it being terrified that I messed up my colours beyond saving TT^TT) But he turned out amazing and super shiny!

Adding those snakebite piercings was also such a big brained idea (can you tell that I'm really really happy with him? XD) and this illustration is defnitely up there among my top faves with Shaak Ti.

Kit in comparison was a lot more straightforward (hah).

The foreshortening and positioning of his arms was... well. Not Fun, let's just stick with that, but I'm very good at dying on very small hills, and I'd got it in my head that I'm gonna push this pose A Bit. In the end it wasn't as much as I'd hoped for, but I did try for some exaggeration in the posing and anatomy as well. (Have you seen Ares's hands and forearms and Dionysos's thighs??)

Further SHOUTOUT and a million thanks to @hastalavistabyebye for their enthusiastic tags under all my Hades posts, and for being the genius mind behind these additional trinkets for this AU:

Fizzroot Shake for Nectar (we gotta be safe with teenagers around), and Tiingilar for Ambrosia ❤️❤️

Additional extra ramblings below the cut to save space on your dashboards:

Let's move from the trinkets back towards Kit and Quinlan last, yeah?

Fizzroot Shake and Tiingilar

It isn't as obvious with the big character illustrations as with the smaller images, but I really do have some trouble with keeping things - colours and shapes - simple. It's more obvious on small things that really cannot pack or fit in all those details, so I had to do a lot of repainting (like with the fizz fuzz foam of the shake, or the bowl of the tiingilar), and truth be told I'm still not happy. Might be that the drawing is still too detailed - but in my defense this was a wind-down project for me these past few weeks.

I have collected a few references for shapes and materials and colours from both Hades and Hades2 as you can see on the margins. I am still obsessed with the glow of Hestia's keepsake, it just glows, I love it! If I were to change a few things on these I think it would be to add some more orange/yellow to the Fizzroot Shake to offset the purple a little more (like how the purple bow balances out the very bright yellow/orange of the nectar/ambrosia), and work more black into the bowl of the tiingilar. I was thinking about adding more of that blue to it, but I wonder if even at this level there is too much of it...

Anyway, I will surely be forced to learn a lot more of this when I sit down to finish all my keepsake versions. Some of those are certainly still too detailed in their current design D:

Kit and Quinlan

I took a lot of inspiration for both Kit and Quinlan's clothing from concept art and character models from TCW. Especially for the pistols and the holsters for Quinlan's black getup that he would have worn if the Dark Acolyte storyline made it into the show, I believe.

I was also very very tempted to draw Kit wearing a really high cut swimming suit without the shorts/leggings. The ones that are cut so high they display the entirety of the hips and most of the ass as well probably? But I chickened out in the end, and stuck with a semi-see-through layer on his thighs too smh

I also try to be more intentional with my shapes in these designs. I'm not sure how I'm doing with that, but I tried for a lot of triangles with Kit. And lots of greens and orange, of course. To prove that I'm learning from those Hades style breakdown videos that I'd watched last year. So I made some notes on dominant shapes with the both of them (it was mostly triangles, and Kit also got a rectangle note as well), and to pick one bright, highlight colour while I keep the others desaturated to support that colour.

I think I did better on that front with Quinlan than with Kit. The yellow and gold of all his markings and jewelry pop real nice (and even the little "jewel" highlights of green and torqois worked so well in support of each other! I was really surprised, I generally hate adding them at the end...) and with his dark clothes, skin and hair they really support that metallic brightness even with the warmer tones worked in at the edges of shadows.

Kit on the other hand, I feel he turned out too bright and warm green, and so the orange in his vambraces and clothes don't pop that much. It lacks a bit of balance maybe. There was a time when he seemed to be too dark and desaturated a green, and that was likely the step when I got too scared to trust the process and turned up my saturation a bit too much. So I tried to work a bit of light yellow into him with that bottom lighting, and it did what it could but... oh well. I still quite like it, don't misunderstand me!

I know I sound a bit nitpicky here, but in truth I'm trying to work out what I could learn from these pieces that I might use in the next one! I'm trying to be more intentional with my work, but it doesn't come very easy to me, so working through these things in these posts do help a little. And who knows, maybe it will help someone else too :)

*

Taglist of anyone who wants to be pinged once a month for these updates <3 If you want to be added to the list send me a message, or just reply to this post (a 👀 would do, nothing fancy required ;))

@elwinged @yeehawgeek @velsayshi @lionsaint

If you want to be taken off the list just message me and I’ll take you off, no hard feelings :)

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Vanny and Amanda from DBD would get along..

[summergirl2408]

After about 11 months and 777.5 hours of work I am finally done and I am obsessed with the end result

pattern by @forineffablereasons / @darcylindbergh

stitched on 18ct aida fabric with 2 strands of dmc floss

[crowatyourwindow]

Kenji and his cow Hanako II were the best duo from wan change my mind

[erwinsvow]

there's one time before you and jack start dating, but after you had switched over to night shift, that you need to cover someone during the day so you exchange shifts and are there all day. he doesn't get a text about it, finds out when he sees you running around at six forty-five looking tired and overwhelmed. it makes sense, your sleep schedule had adjusted to nights and it's calmer sometimes so the day shift seems hectic in comparison.

(he doesn't know this, but you were also thrown off. no one making you perfect cups of coffee and tea when you need them, no one handing you a granola bar half way through the shift because he knows you don't sit down and eat unless you're forced. no one encouraging you with silent stares and carefully selected words that you can hear when you close your eyes and try to sleep. no, he doesn't know about any of that.)

so when he finds you for the step-off he cracks a joke about you abandoning the team and going back to your old ways. you tell him right away that you'll be back tomorrow night, and then you lean in just to tell him i'm never going back to day shift. you had just meant it was so much different than what you'd gotten used to and you think you really prefer the schedule like that, prefer the environment and all that. but the words linger in his head the rest of the night. (more specifically—how you leaned in, how it's like a secret the others can't know. night shift has ruined you, spoiled you. you could never go back. at least, that's what he thinks about for the next twelve hours. ruining you and spoiling you. or something like that.)

so you give him and the rest of the night crew a case presentation on the patient you were taking care of all day—and it's really nothing but you go through everything you need to tell him and give your treatment recommendation and justify everything. others from the day shift fill in the blanks and finish out the rest of the story so jack knows what to expect for the rest of the night out of this bed. and he doesn't know why he says it, just feels proud that you presented so well, that you didn't get nervous at his questions, that you didn't doubt the care you gave the patient. leans in and tells you that you did a great job, that he'll miss you tonight. and you beam up at him with that blinding smile, your eyes sparkly and you feel a rush of energy like you could work another twelve hours if he was saying things like that all night.

and your smile. jack sees it often enough, he doesn't know why he has the same reaction every time. temporarily, his brain shuts off. the neurons stop firing. the thoughts die down, the room goes quiet. he just stares at you and smiles back and you two kind of stay like that until robby coughs and the nurses are laughing and your day shift co-residents are nudging each other. and you turn back to them sheepishly, and jack scratches the back of his head and they go to the next patient. but before you leave for the night he makes sure to ask if you've eaten, and you tell him you're about to go do it. and he looks at you kind of serious, and keeps his hand on your upper arm and says make sure that you do.

and well, like always, you listen.

[delicourse]

Another year, Another lesbian pride gown moment🌸

[temeyes]

gave my period cramps to Ghost Call of Duty this month

[bluerosefox]

Fenton Coded

Tim... Tim just stared.

He...

Huh.

He had once entertained the idea that he wasn't really a Drake, a very long time ago when he overheard his mom and dad arguing and some words were said in the heat of the moment, but to be honest Tim always thought the obvious culprit of anyone being his dad would most likely be Bruce (Bruce even admitted he had a small fling with his mother but that was two years before her marriage)

But before little Tim's curiosity could really take hold on the idea, he had saw on the news Robin performing a Grayson flip and the hint of Tim not being a Drake left his mind. Robin was Dick Grayson! And if he was Robin that had to mean Bruce Wayne was Batman!

Then well... his stalking of the Bats started and the rest became history.

But now, as Tim was staring at his own DNA test, something he never bothered to do until that damned Demon brat wanted to make sure he was ONLY blood son of Bruce (and doing a DNA test something even Bruce never thought of doing due to well… how he was towards Tim during his first months as Robin)

He well…

He kinda needs to find out who this Daniel Jackson Fenton is.

(Tim finds out he isn’t a Drake, but also not a Wayne (because Damian wanted to make sure he was only blood son) but is instead a Fenton)

[tempo-takoyaki]

ur comics are very fun :3

I saw that almost tgcf is gonna get a second season/part

Is that outdated or will we get more almost tgcf comics?

Also good luck with the shop!

Thank you so much!! :D About season 2: the plan was to have it ready for... for this month (April), but I recently realized that I might have to delay it (again) because I've been informed that working at a library, taking care of a shop, and working on a webcomic with an editor are actually three separate jobs and not just me fucking around /srs. So, I've actually done all the sketches for season 2, but I'm still currently into the inking stage and going at it very slowly.

But since it's been 2 years sinc season 1, I think you guys deserve a treat, so here's a little snippet of it:

[qifreyplushie]

dump of more hc studies & charcoal + assorted goofs and gaffs

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

spot of encouragement before finals

sunspot by @venomous-qwille!

(oh yea and here's some soliel)

[chloesimaginationthings]

would love to see any drawings/ur design on jeremy fizgerald (if u have any)!! /nf

Been working on a design, can tell me what yall think!

[flyingwargle]

may fanfic recs!

some of these fics are rated e!

sakuatsu

The Hard Stuff e. 6.5k. the premise is sakusa wants to give atsumu a bj but it's more than that - it's a relationship study about boundaries and reciprocating for one another. a really wonderful read!

a star in the face of the sky (or, PROJECT: HOW TO GET ATSUMU A BOYFRIEND) t. 7.7k. atsumu admits to osamu that he's finally going to chase after his long-time crush and osamu, the one in an actual relationship, gives him a list of steps on how to do it. very cute read!

i got you (all figured out) t. 10.1k. bokuto is the team's big brother and when said big brother gets sick, who has to care for him? sakuatsu (and hinata). fun dynamics and dialogue, and of course, the confession is absolutely worth it.

the rhyming of the rain e. 25.8k. sakusa has been pining for atsumu since high school but never did anything about it, especially after atsumu gets a boyfriend. the pining is so, so strong in here. sakusa is so whipped for him, it makes you feel like you're not good enough for atsumu. (there's only one nsfw scene if that isn't your cup of tea but interested in the pining!)

over the edge of my bones m. 47.9k. 5/5. single dad atsumu with softy omi is an agenda you need to experience at least twice in your life, and the prose is absolutely immaculate. hikaru is a treasure that deserves to be protected.

iwaoi

Red, red, red t. 4.2k. at a sleepover, a survey is conducted on which seijoh player everyone would date. everyone chooses iwaizumi, and only one person chooses oikawa. i wonder who did 👀

Circle of life t. 6.8k. iwa vs. buying pads for his daughter. i love girldads, especially girldads who'll do anything for their girl, like buying pads. made me nostalgic about my own experience when it happened to me.

tooru and hajime (and ushiwaka) go on vacation t. 8.6k. oikawa and iwa go on vacation and somehow, ushijima is there as well. very funny, and very fluffy.

tejano blue g. 12.4k. you have not read godly setting description until you've read this fic. it's iwaoi at the beach and iwa being utterly in love with oikawa. what's not to love? (this fic is part of a series but i believe you can read them separate, as i've only read tattoo your name across my heart so far and you should, too!)

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle t. 66.3k. 3/3. it took me a long time to start this fic because of the word count-chapter ratio (i have a lot to say about word count-chapter ratios) but i went for it and i. do not. regret it. this focuses on oikawa as an entomologist reconnecting with iwa, pro volleyball player, after his marriage is called off. lots of bug imagery and symbolism, depictions of parental expectations, and top-class pining. highly recommended.

bokuaka

Behind Bricks e. 60.4k. 14/14. au where akaashi works as an escort and falls head over heels with bokuto. akaashi is so self-sacrificing in this fic, and his gradual acceptance that he can be loved is so, so satisfying. also, it's deathbelle. you cannot go wrong with deathbelle, ever.

sun, duck, and silence t. 61.6k. 5/5. THE PROSE IS IMMACULATE. lots of loving side characters, amazing akaashi character development, with a touch of magical realism. the result is this beautiful fic.

kagehina

promises to keep t. 4.5k. for kageyama's birthday, hinata makes a bunch of coupons for him to use. incredibly cute premise and increasingly fluffy prose. be prepared for your teeth to rot.

can’t help (helping you) t. 7.7k. college au where hinata and kageyama compete to see who'll score higher on their final exam, except they help each other out and discover something else about their affections along the way.

waking up with you m. 8k. hinata wakes up naked next to kageyama and they didn't actually sleep together and he forgot, right...? kageyama agrees. until their teammates tell them otherwise. absolutely hilarious with top-notch dialogue.

plain as day t. 9.3k. in which kageyama notices hinata and continues to notice him over the years. i just loved the flow of this fic, all the different ways affection are explored, and kagehina getting together. very cute (can you see the trend where i like cute kagehina fics)

The Subtle Art of Getting Caught t. 83.7k. 11/11. thank you to @sorainhere for the rec! this was so damn cute to read - following kagehina's journey from high school through adulthood and retirement was so, so satisfying and fluffy. one of my favorites <3

other

denial t. 4.8k. 4 times tsukishima denies he cares about his teammates and 1 time he's called out for it. i just enjoy reading about the salty dinosaur showing he cares, even if he doesn't think he does.

Administer Mouth to Mouth m. 10.5k. sunaosa. au where osamu falls head over heels for suna, the sleepy receptionist at atsumu's gym. as someone who goes to the gym, i find these fics fun to read, and the dynamics are also hilarious.

a captain, a corner, and a parisian chocolate shop not rated. 10.8k. ushiten. ushijima (and nearly all of the jnt) visit a particular chocolate shop in paris during the olympics to help ushijima make a move on the redheaded chocolatier. very funny and cute!

Song of the Fireflies g. 17.7k. this is written by the same writer as Below Destiny, an ennoshita character study i very much enjoyed, and this is (not related) a tsukishima character study. it explores his arc during the tokyo training camp very well, and it reminded me a lot of my own mindset when i played sports (very brief but memorable). give this a read if you're a tsukki fan!

[eleanor-is-probably-my-real-name]

—The Running and the Hiding— (3,9k words)

_________________________________

Emperor Geta x fem!reader

Request: @coruja12345: I would love to read a time travel fanfic, in which the modern reader goes back in time, Geta is obsessed with her and she doesn’t like him because she thinks he’s arrogant.

Summary: On New Year’s Eve you make a small wish that maybe could be responsible for you falling quite literally into a different time. Drunk and clueless you find yourself at the feet of a Roman emperor, who may or may not wants to kill you. Now you have to try your best to not die—which gets awfully complicated with that emperor finding some interest in you…

Shorter summary: time travel is a bitch and Geta, too.

Trigger warnings: alcohol (alcoholism if you squint really hard)

A/N: i am horribly sorry for posting so rarely. also, i wrote the first bit somewhere in january and finished the other two thirds, or smth like that, just now at 1:30 am. i plan to do some more parts and if you’re lucky you’ll get it even before this year ends, ha! i hope you like this piece of something here, i’d love if you give some feedback! love you!

Part: 1/?

_________________________________

Be careful with what you wish for.

You have heard that phrase — of course you have — but no one ever pays attention to these kinds of wannabe wisdoms, as you believe. So why would you?

Oh, but how could you have known the silly little wish you’ve written on that damn piece of paper on New Year’s Eve would ever find a real meaning? That the wish for a “drastic change of that boring life” you’ve burned in a drunken haziness over that stupid lighter would come to hit you like a train?

Maybe you should have thought about that phrase, after all.

When the first of January sees the first light, your guests (three friends it were; you like it quieter) have already left, and you are still awake. Sitting on the kitchen floor with a half-empty bottle of tequila and smeared lipstick, you regret half of the evening. You don’t regret it for people you miss or people you desire, no, you never minded a more lonesome life. You’ve simply drunk too much of everything.

And so, still slumped on the floor with only one shoe on and hair in a total mess, your head starts to hurt, and you consider getting up and making yourself a nice hot tea.

Minutes pass. You don’t move.

Then you groan and take another sip from the tequila. What a great way to start the new year, you think. It is just the same way it started last year. And the year before. And the year before that.

You grab the bright red hair clip, of which you are not sure if it is even yours, lying on the kitchen floor and try to put your hair away into something. You only half succeed, the alcohol in your blood is not helping.

Eventually you decide that you need to do something—anything. Considering cleaning up your apartment and deciding against it very quickly, you get up, nearly fall, and search for your second boot. You feel dizzy, horribly dizzy.

When you finally find that shoe (it was behind your sofa), you believe that for this very moment there is no better thing to do than go out for a walk with a bottle of tequila.

And that’s what you do.

Or, at least, try to.

With a jacket, boots, and that glittery mini dress of yours, you stumble out of your small apartment, drinking from the bottle like an alcoholic (you are not an alcoholic, you tell yourself). You don’t know what makes you think you have a plan or even a destination to go to, but you don’t care.

You reach the stairs and, once again, are horribly aware of your dizziness. Things seem much farther away, and they turn and twist and spin. Awful feeling.

And then you trip. On the stairs.

And you fall, and you scream. But when your already miserable head hits something, no noise leaves your mouth anymore. Pain and dark is the feeling.

And you think you are dead.

You are, in fact, not.

When you slowly come back to your senses and feel a hard floor under your back, you don’t open your eyes right away. Legs and arms are twisted under and over your body in weird ways, and you fear that something is broken. You don’t dare moving yet.

The air is the next thing you grow to be aware of. It feels fresher and smells warmer — unlike your hallway. But maybe your senses are mocking you after that pathetically hard fall down the stairs in the drunken mess of yours.

Your eyes flutter open. First, you don’t recognize your surroundings because of your awfully blurred view. You blink a couple of times, trying to push the headache away and to see.

And when you finally do, you realize that you really don’t recognize your surroundings.

What?

You jolt upright from your lying position, sitting straight. Your look darts around, trying to understand the things you find in front of you. Instead of the narrow green hallway walls, you see wide and open marble columns. The walls are gigantic, adorned with colorful frescoes of ancient people. The floor is not dark and dirty, something you normally avoid touching with something that isn’t your shoes, no, now it is smooth and light and noble. Again, marble, you think.

And then you turn your head to the stairs you have fallen off and find no dirty old wooden staircase. It’s also marble. And it’s wide and high, and you feel incredibly small with all of this looming over you.

“What the hell…,” you mutter slowly.

Where are you? The room must be in a palace, you have never seen anything bigger. But you very certainly do not remember ever making your way towards such a building, no amount of alcohol would make you forget something like that. There is no palace in the small town where you live, anyway.

Then how did you get here? Are you dreaming? Are you in a coma? You count your fingers, watch your surroundings, and count your fingers again. Ten. Nothing has changed. And how detailed the frescoes are, how vivid the colors. You have never dreamed in such realistic ways.

You take a very deep breath. But it has to be a dream. There is no other reasonable explanation. You must have fallen way too hard, you decide.

A dream, just a dream.

You suddenly hear voices. And heavy steps, rattling with iron. People are coming, heading right for where you are crouching, probably very pathetically. And you hear their voices growing louder, deep and strange.

Deep, because there are men laughing. And strange, because the words leaving their mouths are very much not your language. Not at all! Oh, damn, your fall must have been really hard, your hallucinations are now speaking new languages.

The hall, in which you sit in your puddle of misery, is big, so the men‘s voices sound much louder when they enter that room. Your heart begins to race as you see the figures coming through the massive door, right in your direction. Shit, shit, shit! What do you do?

You try to stand, pressing your hand into something sharp. You curse, pain darting through your hand and blood running immediately from that ugly cut on your palm. That the tequila bottle has shattered into a hundred pieces you only realize now, and you would have taken the time to mourn the waste of the good tequila (it was never good, you just like getting drunk) (you definitely don’t have a problem) if it wasn’t for the men freezing a couple of meters away from you.

Oh, fuck.

You have to get up.

Your legs are shaking when you try to stand, needing to avoid using your poor cut hand for that. A headache stings through your forehead once you are out of your seated position, and your vision runs dark for a couple of seconds too long (you blame it on the fall). You nearly tumble to the ground again, you aren’t close to being sober.

“What are you doing there?” One of the men calls with an aggressive tone, that makes you flinch.

Strange, you think. The words are so horribly unfamiliar, and yet you understand. Your brain is a genius for coming up with a completely new language.

Still, you are confused.

You take some time until you answer; your head spins, your hand hurts, and you slowly start to feel warm liquid running down your fingers. You wipe it off on your jacket and remember afterward that it’s blood.

And the men come closer, and you think you can answer anything because it’s not real, it can’t be real! You could ask them where you are, and you could ask who they are. Also, you could try to explain that you would like to go home (or maybe a hospital, if you think better of it), but after blinking at them for too long, you say:

“What?”

Oh, they don’t like that answer. They understood, you realize, and after recalling the word you just said, you notice that you haven’t spoken your language.

“Are you not hearing right, girl?” They are closer now, and you back away a step.

“I have no idea,” you say, because you really are clueless.

“Oh, so you’ve forgotten the reason for your little visit to the palace, right?” the other man mocks.

That man is taller but slimmer than the other, but he is dressed the same as his companion. They are wearing armor and helmets, fully made out of metal, and on their belts are hanging dangerous-looking swords. Swords! You gulp and hope they are only decoration.

They are, actually, not decoration, because the first man suddenly pulls his sword out in a sharp motion and points it right at you, and you gulp, stumbling another couple of steps away.

“Wait, wait, wait!” You pull up your hands in a desperate attempt to appease the men. “The thing is, I have no fucking clue how I got here, okay? I fell down the stairs, being drunk like shit, and boom, I am here.”

You chuckle nervously.

There is a long pause. The men look at you and seem incredibly uncertain whether they should laugh at you and kill you or kill you right away. That’s what you read from their expressions.

“I know, I sound crazy.”

The taller man nods slightly. “Yes, you do.”

You inhale and exhale deeply, shivering, and let your gaze dart around to maybe find an answer in this hall, written on the columns or drawn on the floor. But that only makes you more miserable and hopeless. Everything feels a little bit too real, and you don’t like it. You really don’t like it. The throbbing pain in your head and the bleeding wound on your hand remind you that things seem to be pretty existent. You never cut your hand so painfully in a dream and you start questioning your mental stability.

“You have to believe me,” you then plead, “it’s the truth!”

“What are we supposed to believe?” The first man says again, “That you have fallen from the sky? Like a present from the gods? Ha!”

The muscles in your face tense as you feel yourself getting more and more desperately frantic.

“And what are you wearing there?” the other man remarks. “Are you a whore? A whore from the barbarians? I have never seen such clothes.”

“Ouch,” you are offended, “I like my dress, actually.”

The dangerous-looking men share an uncomprehending glance. Then the one who has his sword pointing at you turns again towards you, his expression becoming that aggressive sternness again.

“You know how you look, right?” He moves a step closer. “You, girl, look like a damn intruder. Like someone who breaks into the palace of the emperors and is, let me say, up to no good. What are your plans, huh? Espionage? Stealing? Murdering the emperors?”

A subtle fear starts to cramp around your gut. You realize that you not only have no idea how you got here but also have no protection. If all of this is real and these men are right when telling you that you are in a royal palace of two emperors, then you are screwed. Nothing else can explain what you are doing here in the middle of the night.

You absolutely look like an intruder with very bad intentions, and you have nothing to make you denying it believable. This is probably a good moment to start praying, because everything feels, again, too real and too hostile to rely any longer on your hallucination theory.

“I—I don’t—“ you start, but get cut off.

“Yes, of course, you are innocent, completely harmless. You can tell that to your cellmates in the dungeons.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. This is really bad.

“If I think about it,” you start, taking slow steps back, “I’d rather not visit the dungeons, you know?”

You turn around and run. Or you try at least, because you only come two steps forward before being dragged back by your jacket, your arms being forced onto your back, and every attempt to wriggle your arms free is futile and only answered with a harsh grip.

“Oh, yes, you think you are smart, don’t you?”

“No, not really—ouch!”

 Your arms are being twisted painfully.

“Oh, just shut your mouth!” The man who is not holding you, the smaller one, barks.

If you really think about it, you come to the conclusion that talking back, giving unfunny retorts, and trying to run away are the worst possible things you could do in your terrible situation. But you are still drunk. You don’t think rationally. And that is a problem. You should be much more scared.

The men drag you through the halls, your curses and insults (that are horribly loud, by the way) echo in these high rooms, with their massive walls. The ceilings are being held up by these gigantic and elegant columns, and fine statues of soft women and heroic men fill every corner. You would have been amazed by the beauty of this place if it wasn’t for you being painfully torn by two men towards the dungeons. God must hate you very much, because you probably will die here.

It is a long hall where you come to a sudden halt.

“What in the gods’ names is this insufferably loud noise for?” A voice calls out, turning into a scream at the end, making your captivators flinch, now.

You try taking a clear notice of your surroundings again to see to whom that voice belongs. That’s harder than expected, because the alcohol in your blood denies you a clear vision, your eyes simply refuse to focus quickly enough. Not that you have had any chance anyway, because your head, no, your whole torso, is pushed harshly down to bend over. You’re now facing marble floor and your feet, thanks to the man holding your head down.

Steps come closer. Two people, three? You are not sure, everything is too dizzy anyway.

“Your majesty,” the taller man holding you speaks. He also has his head down, bowing, you realize, and suddenly he doesn’t sound so confident and harsh any longer. Humbled, he is. “My emperor, please, forgive us this disturbance.”

“It is in the middle of the night, and you are not even able to make sure that this palace is not being kept from sleeping.”

“Greatest apologies, your highness, greatest apologies,” the other man beside you quickly says.

“We make sure that the prisoner is being silenced and brought to the dungeons as quickly as possible,” the man gripping you mumbles, “your highness.”

Ah. A prisoner you really are now. Great, your new year couldn’t be better!

The man, who spoke and screamed at the two men holding you captive, scoffs.

“Cut out her tongue if necessary.”

What?

“Of course, your majesty.”

“I wouldn’t like that,” you mumble without thinking.

“What was that?” the so-called emperor says.

The air is thick suddenly, and horrible tension seems to be crushing you. Even the two men beside you shift uneasily. They are not bowing any longer.

“We will punish her for that, your—“

“I don’t remember talking to you, idiot!” He snaps. “Show me your face.”

Finally, the grip on your head loosens, and you inhale deeply to steady your racing heart when you slowly get back into a straight and less humiliating position. You feel, however, not less small.

The man in front of you has a killing big authority, according to the way the men are acting, but he himself isn’t big. In fact, he’s rather small, with red hair and no shoes, only dressed in a red sleeping gown, you guess. If it isn’t for his unpleasantly stormy expression on his face, you would believe him to be pretty harmless, like a sweet, sweet dog. (If you really think about it, he could be categorized as a furious chihuahua. But you stop thinking of weird dog metaphors.)

Beside him stands a woman, not bigger than the emperor himself. Light fabrics are hanging from her shoulder, wrapping elegantly around her body down to the floor. Beautiful jewelry adorns her arms, her neck, and her hair, and the long, dark curls fall nicely coiffed over her back. She looks obediently down at her feet, and you are not sure of the role she has to hold.

You start to feel weird in your clothes.

“Speak up,” the man with the red hair, the emperor, demands.

The situation is overwhelming, and you want to go home very much.

“Um,” you start, because you think too slow and need to remember what it is exactly he wants to hear, “I said I wouldn’t like that.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you want to run away.

“I could also let you fight to the death in the arena if that suits you better,” he says blankly.

“Excuse me?” You gulp, and a nervous smile shivers itself onto your lips. What have you gotten yourself into? Where the hell are you? You find no reasonable explanations anymore.

The emperor seems to enjoy your reaction, chuckling, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he starts shouting at you again just to see your miserable face.

“Please, don’t act as if you don’t know what happens to intruders. You surely can’t be that stupid,” he says and makes a step toward you.

“I—“ your voice cracks, “I am not an intruder, I promise!”

He looks you up and down, judging you. “What weapons was she carrying?”

The smaller of the men guarding you stutters around. “She, um, she wasn’t carrying any weapons, your highness.”

His gaze wanders back to you. “I seem to have misjudged you, you really are stupid.”

You feel pathetic.

“I don’t even know how I got here, I swear! I fell off the stairs, bumped my head, and, just like that, woke up here,” you explain hastily, trying to somehow prove your innocence of any crime. When you see the emperor not reacting in favour of your well-being, you quickly go on: “And I am not insane!”

That makes you, actually, sound more insane.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He starts, his voice low.

“Sometimes, yes…” You mumble, not thinking.

“Stop that!” He shouts, and the taller guard gives you a hit on your already hurting head.

“Do you even realize how incredibly ridiculous your story sounds?” he goes on, his voice loud and his face furious. “Do you even have the slightest idea who you are talking to? Jupiter, have mercy on me. I am Emperor Geta, ruler of the Roman Empire, and I forbid you from lying to me like that, you—“ he struggles to find an insult—"you barbarian!”

You traveled through time. That’s the first thing that comes to your head, the next thing is the tears forming in your eyes without you wanting them to.

“Please!” You beg, suddenly falling to your knees. “I don’t know anything, really! Do you see my clothes? I don’t know what happened. Do you think I would come up with that weird explanation to disguise stealing? I don’t want to die!”

There is a weird silence where you crouch on the floor in the most humiliating state possible, the guards not knowing what to do, Geta eyeing you with anger and some sort of interest. Your sniffing is the only sound that can be heard for that time, and when the confused man lets your hands go, you wipe your nose with your hand. It’s the bloody one, and you now have blood smeared under your nose and on your lips.

“My emperor, Geta,” a shy voice suddenly speaks up. It is the soft woman. “May I state a thought?”

He turns towards her, realizing that she is present, and makes a disinterested “hm” and an approving hand movement.

“I don’t see why she would be lying about that. The guards haven’t found a weapon or something stolen. She seems to be severely wounded, it could explain the loss of memories. I know from experience that that is something possible to happen.”

“That doesn’t explain how she got into my palace!” he snaps.

“No, no, it doesn’t. But,” the woman looks at you, “she doesn’t seem to have bad intentions. Before you want to raise your judgement, which I trust to be fully reasonable and legal, we could maybe give her some time to remember some things about… her story.”

You don’t understand why she is helping you, you really don’t.

Geta seems to consider. His eyes twitch over your face, then your body.

“How do I make sure she won’t hide anything she remembers from me?” he thinks out loud, an awfully presumptuous tone in his voice.

The woman is about to speak up again, but he raises his hand sharply, signaling her to stay quiet. She obeys.

“If you, you stupid girl, have to tell me something in the next weeks, I will grant you a punishment that does not involve your death,” he says and goes down onto his knee to look you right into your eyes, “because Cornelia believes you didn’t want to murder me in my sleep, and I trust her. Besides that I think that you,” he suddenly grabs your face, holding your cheeks too tightly between his thumb and the other fingers, “have a quite interesting pretty face.”

You startle at the sudden touch of Geta. His face is much too close to yours, and your stomach clenches.

“Also, I am not in the mood to see you dead.” He lets go and stands up again.

How merciful, you want to reply, but this time you can stop yourself. You just escaped death for at least some days.

“Prove yourself.” He holds his hand right in front of your face, and you need some time to grow aware of what he’s demanding with that. While you slowly lean forward to press your lips as softly as possible (you don’t want to touch him at all with your lips) onto his fingers, you think that you could as well bite him.

But you choose life this time.

He pulls his hand away (thank God) and looks at the taller man, who is still standing right beside you.

“You.” He points at him.

“My name is Augustus, your highness.”

“I don’t care the slightest for your name,” he hisses. “You lead her down to the dungeons. You,” now he speaks to the smaller man, “leave. Tomorrow I will talk to her.”

Oh, no, no, no! Not the dungeons! You try to wriggle yourself free again when your arms are again being grabbed, but you have no chance of escaping.

Emperor Geta turns around, already about to leave, but he stops and hesitates.

“Cornelia,” he speaks to the woman, “bring her something proper to dress in. These clothes she has are horrible.”

“Wait, no, I really like my things—hey!” You are dragged off.

“Gods have mercy, don’t you ever shut off?”

That’s the last thing you hear from Geta before he is gone, out of the hall, and you are, once again, being dragged through the massive palace towards the dungeons.

Never in your life have you been in such a desperately pathetic situation, and you curse yourself for ever finding your normal life boring. Right now you would like to do anything that didn’t involve trying to convince a crazy Roman emperor that you suffer from amnesia and needing to come up with a damn good explanation of how you got here.

And you have not the slightest idea how to do that.

Shit.

[spyford]

puzzle pieces

[xerorao]

"I'll give you the time to pray... as if possible."🐺