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ah-bright-wings · 1 year

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The Garden - A Holy Saturday Story

A night wind rustles through the garden. Acacius shifts his feet, eyes following the bounce of a tree branch, though no night creature disturbs it. The sky is empty of clouds, leaving the moon silver and naked. The faint blush of dawn touches the horizon. Acacius feels his back touch the stone behind him and he straightens himself.

“Have you noticed,” he says sideways to Longinus—who alone remains awake while the other two in their guard sleep, rotations completed—“that you can’t hear any insects?”

Longinus doesn’t respond. When Acacius turns his head, he sees the man’s face is set, eyes unfocused. He’s on his back, one hand behind his head, the other on his belly, calloused fingers curled. His thumb taps an unsteady rhythm.

“Longinus,” Acacius says, and the man finally looks over, though for a moment only.

“Hercules died,” he says.

“…Hercules.”

“He was a demigod. He died. So, the sons of gods can die.”

Acacius’ grip tightens on his spear. “You’re speaking of the Nazarene.”

“Who else could I speak of?”

It’s not a biting retort, but an earnest one. Longinus has not spoken since they left Golgotha. Now, his voice is quiet, gruff. Uneasy. The brush rustles, and Acacius’ head snaps towards it. Longinus doesn’t flinch. His eyes remain fixed upwards.

“Are his followers really stupid enough to try stealing the body?” Acacius asks when he’s certain there’s no one in the garden.

“Does their god have sons?” Longinus doesn’t seem to have heard the question. Or, he’s heard and ignored it, continuing his own thoughts. “He must. All gods do. His mother must be a great woman.”

“He’s not a demigod,” Acacius says, a sigh held behind his teeth. “And we saw his mother. She was plain. So was he. Just a man.”

“He wasn’t just a man.”

“Why not?”

Longinus’ thumb taps on the curve of his bottom rib. “You saw what I did.”

“I saw a man die on a cross.”

“And the earth shake at his death.”

“Earthquakes happen.”

“Not like this.”

“If you are so certain,” Acacius says, “perhaps you should make an offering to appease his father. The lightning could strike you any moment now. Oh yes, look, here it comes.” He lifts a hand to the clear sky above.

Longinus’ jaw shifts. He pushes himself up on his elbows so he can properly see his fellow legionnaire. There is still blood on his tunic, spattered against him by the wind when he thrust his spear through flesh. “Be careful what you mock.”

“I mock nothing. I mock no one. Is their god so powerful? Hm? He does nothing for them while Rome rules. He sends only rain while his ‘son’ hangs on a cross.” Acacius snorts and readjusts his stance. “They have one god, and he has forgotten them.”

“You’re a fool,” Longinus tells him. “Even Petronius recognized him for what he was.”

“The centurion is superstitious.”

“And you aren’t?”

“We did our duty.” Acacius is growing uneasy. Something rustles again in the brush. “So he was unusual. So, then, what? It changes nothing.”

“He prayed for our forgiveness.”

“Then he was sentimental.”

Longinus mutters a crude retort and lies down again. Acacius smiles thinly. The Nazarene had disturbed him, with his piercing eyes and silence under their whip, though he won’t admit it. The man’s eyes had been open when they pulled him down from the cross. Acacius had shut them to hide from them.

“If he truly was the son of a god,” Acacius says, after the silence has stretched out like a shadow and grown heavy, “then we’d be the ones who killed him.”

“Yes,” Longinus says quietly.

There is a warm wind stirring the trees like a breath. The earth is otherwise still around them. For hours, it has been still, as if creation is holding its breath, and just now, it has let it out again, sending puffs against Acacius’ skin and raising the soft hairs. The other two guards stir in their sleep. Longinus sits suddenly upright.

“Something is here,” he says, hand on his sword. He’s up before his words are out, kicking the others so they wake. The dawn makes itself known. The wind rises quickly. Clear is the sky, but the moon trembles as if afraid, hiding its face. A shaking begins, deeper than stone, making the trees shudder and groan, causing the roots to untwist themselves from the ground. Caius, who had laid his head on the Nazarene’s tunic, which he had won, has gone pale. He clings to his sword and shouts into the wind. His words are lost.

A man—no, it is not a man, though it is dressed in the white robes of one—comes across the grass, silent in its steps. When Acacius looks at it, terror seizes him. It’s a flash of terror, bright and terrible, illuminating all within himself that he has tried to hide. This is death! he thinks. This is death! His legs are limp beneath him. His face is crushed against the ground.

The man who is not a man places its hand on the stone. The wax seal melts away. Though the soldiers had strained themselves closing the tomb, the stone is pushed away with one hand, as easily as a boy might pick up a pebble and toss it away. It lands on its side, though it makes no sound. The being sits on it.

When Acacius comes to his right mind again, he is on his belly. His cheek is damp with dew. With his head turned sideways, he can see, two paces from him, Longinus, who is prostrate on his belly also, arms bent at the elbows so that his hands cover his head. He is shaking. Acacius hears him speaking, though it is more a babble than intelligible speech, the words forced from his lungs as he weeps.

Mercy, Acacius realizes. He begs for mercy.

There is still a terror in his own self when he raises his head to see the tomb. The being is gone. The tomb is open, stone cast aside, seal destroyed. Slowly, Acacius turns his head from side to side. The garden has come alive. In the new light, green has unfurled itself splendidly, trees putting forth their fruits and flowers like offerings so their fragrance fills the air. He sees fruit he does not know, nor has ever tasted. In the dipped branch of an olive tree, a grey dove sits.

His sword is gone. When did he drop it? He lifts himself and looks for the others, who are sprawled on the ground like dead men, though they breathe. He should check them. He should look for wounds. But something draws him towards the tomb, until he’s at the dark mouth of it, leaving the others behind, breathing in the cool, damp air.

The tomb is empty.

“My gods,” he whispers, and he is terrified. He takes a step back, then another, turning from the empty tomb and the white linen cloths folded neatly where the body should be. His sandal catches on a root. He sprawls. The ground strips the skin from his knees. Blood rolls down his right calf as he limps forward.

Father, forgive them, had said the Nazarene, with a tongue swollen from thirst.

“Run,” he tells Longinus hoarsely, grabbing the back of his tunic and hauling him upright. The others rise too. Their swords are abandoned. The Nazarene’s red garment lies crumpled on the ground. In the tomb, the graveclothes are folded.

Father, forgive them, the man had prayed.

They know not what they do.

Acacius falls again, knocking the breath from himself. No one stops. The other three run ahead, fleeing the emptiness of the tomb, and though he gasps after them, they do not hear.

There is no strength left in his limbs. As if gripped by fever, he trembles. Every story he has heard of the wrath of the gods comes to him here, crouched in the dust, made as low as beasts, while some great and holy fear passes over him. He covers his head as Longinus had done and begs for mercy.

Son of a god I do not know, he pleads, have mercy on me. Have mercy on me.

A hand touches his shoulder.

Peace, says a voice he has heard before. Be still.

Immediately, the trembling leaves him. The terror that had overshadowed him passes on, leaving him be, and he is alone in the dust, alone, breathing. A dove coos. When he opens his eyes, he sees it on the path ahead, feathers ruffling. His eyes follow it when it takes flight.

The tomb is empty. The seal is broken, and the Nazarene is gone. At last, the world has thrown off its silence, and it sings around him, crying out while he stands mute. For a moment, he is still, seeking the source of their song. From where does it come? He cannot discern it. He abandons the stillness and presses on.

It is only when he rejoins the others that he finds his skinned knees made whole.

#not art #holy saturday #triuduum #holy week reflection #last year I wrote about Mary and John #this year I wanted to try something a bit different #ended up doing a bunch of research for it when I wrote it tonight #learned a lot about roman military oaths and names and such #learned about pigeons/doves #even learned about what causes a person to have their eyes open after death #writing #anyway #happy holy week

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blueberry-pride · 1 year

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Hello, hello! Major congratulations on making the Centurion Follower Event!👍 Now for the event, I'd like to request a fluffy scenario in which Farena meets Leona’s girlfriend after hearing about her from Cheka, please. It takes place during the Tamashina-Mina event. Thanks a bunch!

The Royal Meetup Part 1

Leona x FEM! S/O

Centurion Follower Event Special (March 1-25) warnings: N/A

Berry: thank you so much! OMG I've just been thinking about this when I was playing the event ;=; one scenario with Leona coming up! this was longer than expected and I wrote this around 3-4AM. I'm fine *laughs*

You choked on your drink.

Sure it's sounds concerning, but the thing that caused you to do so is even more.

"We'd like to request miss (Y/N) (L/N)'s attendance to the royal palace along with second prince Leona at once." Stood four tall and rather intimidating female beastmen whom you can assume were part of the royal guards. That and because Leona perked right up and had a slightly shocked expression on his face when he heard their voices.

You and Leona had split up from the usual group, where the chamberlain offered to tour the group around while the two of you explored booths that catered to both of your interests.

In the midst of you two conversing (and often times teasing each other), you began to notice a looming shadow behind Leona, and that's where it led you to this predicament.

"Under whose orders?" Leona spoke up as he stood beside you as he peered his eyes at the group in front of you. One of them nodded with a smile as she gestures towards you.

"Your nephew, crowned prince Cheka has been singing excitedly to your brother that you have found a partner. First prince Farena was informed that miss (Y/N) was coming along to this event, so he sent us immediately to come get you."

"I-..." You uttered. "I'm going to meet your brother?" You looked up to your boyfriend with excitement only to see him rubbing his temples, muttering under his breath. "noisy little..."

"We must leave at once, we must not let your brother waiting, we'll be taking the li-"

"-We'll be taking the limo, I understand." Leona sighed as he then laid a protective hand on your back, guiding you to the parking area where you saw a matte-black limousine.

Surrounded by even more strong beastwomen, they had already been standing at attention and bowed their head as soon as they noticed you walking closer. Leona then went ahead and opened the door for you, nudging his head towards the cool interior of the vehicle.

The car ride was smooth as it took the scenic route, making you able to see more parts of Sunrise City. It was a breathtaking view as it had you leaning against the window almost the entire ride. but what really caught your attention was the small army of royal guards jogging at the same speed as the car.

"When you said that the women of Afterglow Savannah are a force to be reckoned with." You turned towards Leona. "You really weren't messing around." You chuckled as you continued to watch.

"Told ya." He smirked. You faced him once more, raising an eyebrow at him. "That's it? no teasing remark like how I should do that next time when we're in PE?" You nudged his elbow with a smile.

"Well excuse me for not bursting at the seems of seeing my brother again." His arms crossed as he overlooked the city passing by, getting even more and more closer to the palace.

You hummed as you place a gentle hand on his forearm. The lion beastman looked towards you only to see you give a reassurring smile, scooting yourself closer to the point you're on his lap.

"We'll be okay..."

"Have you met my brother?"

"He just wants to see how his lil bro is going is all."

"I could have easily just sent him a letter stating 'Dearest brother Farena, I'm in a loving relationship with someone who can finally put up with me. here's an image of her for reference~" He chuckled to which you rolled your eyes at.

"hm...so why didn't you?" You asked. Leona instinctively wrapped his arm around your waist, his brows furrowed as the vehicle has now reached the royal gates.

"Could you imagine the press hearing that their scorned second prince being in a relationship with someone?" That made you keep quiet for a while as the thought of meeting Leona's family now making you feel nauseous.

He notices this and pats your head softly with a soft grin. "Don't dwell on it now." He opens the door and offered his hand towards you. "Let's get this over with."

"Ah so you must be miss (Y/N) (L/N), what an honor to finally see my little brother's significant other!" A booming voice nearly frightened you. You both were waiting in one of the many lounges within the palace and now were face to face with the first prince Farena Kingscholar.

Farena stepped forward and bowed his head in front of you. "May I shake your hand?" He asked excitedly, having the same familiar glint in his eyes as Cheka from the last time you saw him. You nodded, laughing a bit nervously to the whole situation.

"It's an honor to meet you as well uh, your highness." You stammered as you quickly make an attempt of a curtsy. Through that split second, you could hear Leona stifling his laughter at the scene.

Farena looked at Leona with a sigh. "Brother.." He nagged. "It is not nice to laugh at your woman, she's trying." Farena gestured towards you with a small smile.

"It's not that Farena my dearest brother." He said with a smug where it earned him both you and Farena rolling your eyes at him. "I just simply find my woman amusing and adorable about her first time meeting royalty is all."

Farena turned towards you. "Is Leona always likes this to you?"

"One of the many charms that made me fall for your brother, your highness." You sigh as you shook your head at your boyfriend.

The first prince nodded along and then clapped his hands. "Well, I see that Leona has indeed found someone who shares his sense of humour." He trudged along as he hook an arm around Leona, making you chuckle in the process. "As his older brother, that puts me at ease."

Leona quickly removed Farena's arm away from him. His ears flattened at the embarrassment. "Is that all you needed to say, I have a job to do in the Catch The Tail event, remember?"

"I am very much aware, no need to remind me now but this will take a moment." Farena noted as he went to my side once more. "if it's alright with the two of you, I'd want to talk to (Y/N) in private."

End of part 1 (Part 2)

Berry: yeah as I'm writing, and as much as I want to continue it all here, this could be getting long so part 2 will be uploaded shortly!

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twstファンアート #twst wonderland #twst savanaclaw #savanaclaw x reader #savanaclaw #twst scenarios #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x you #twst leona

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defiledheartsblog · 1 year

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"Do I hear an apology"

"No, Lord Centurion"

"No?"

"No, Lord Centurion"

"Hm- I suppose I don't. How weird is that"

😂😂😂

Man, I swear I love the interactions with Marcus. The fact him and MC purposely go out their way to annoy each other, will forever leave me in shambles. But out of all the pestering, I think it's the dirty shoe scene that is one of my favorites though; MC had that man eye twitching Lmao.

Haha I'm happy to hear you like their banter! It's always a blast to write. 😆

#marcus #defiled hearts #interactive fiction

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1358456 · 2 months

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Generation IX Pokemon Nicknames, Part 2

Continuing!

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A toxic seed that's made of stone? Hmm. Kind of looks like a Shelgon without limbs. And blue. "Bluegone". It's blue, and its limbs are gone.

Huh, a skeletal dog with a tombstone on its head. It actually looks pretty cool. Kind of like a Cuphead enemy. "Tombhead".

A flamingo without the n. "Anti Plasma". It really doesn't like N.

... What is that? It has a lot of HP, but the worst defensive typing ever. I can't see me making one.

Carvanha-esque fish. ... Ehn, its stats are pretty bad, so I doubt I would ever make one.

Whiscash-esque fish. Dondozo, huh? The name reminds me of Yakuza 8's Dondoko Island. So... "Trash Pirate".

This tiny fish had oddly high stats. Why. I'll call this "Sushi Gin", the restaurant that you go to in MANY Yakuza games. I think it actually exists in Kabukicho?

Undead Primeape? Looks more like an undead Mankey "Ex-Mankey".

... Huh. So instead of Alola forms of Kanto Pokemon, we have... whatever this is of Johto Pokemon? Well, if I never made a Quagsire or a Girafarig... And Dunsparce came back because why not.

Huh, a Bisharp evolution. That's cool. From a Pawn to a Bishop, to a King. ... Isn't that a demotion, given chess rules? At least it makes my nicknames for this thing pretty easy. It'll be whatever my Bisharps are named, except... I would need to re-RNG them. "Promotion" and "Centurion".

... Um... huh? These all have the same Ability, but... they're just monster versions of existing Pokemon? ... ??? Well, I guess the nicknames are pretty straight forward. From the top, "Nahpnod", "Ffupylggij", "Sugnooma", "Suigamsim", "Anoraclov", and "Notengam".

... The hell? These are just... robotic versions of existing Pokemon? These are like the Purifier variants of regular Protoss units in Legacy of the Void. Hmm. Well, I can't give unique names to each of these like the Purifier faction units, so... from the top, "Mechaphan", "Delibot", "Harifier", "Hydragoon", "V-07-CAR-0N4", and "Robotar". ... Hydragoon sounds like a Hydralisk crammed inside a Dragoon chassis...

Hm. So the base 600 total non-Legendary is once again a Dragon type. Dragon/Ice, eh? Hmm... I wonder if a Dex Holder team overhaul is in order... Baxcalibur, the Dragon/Ice typed Ice Dragon Pokemon. ... Then its name must be "Dragon Ice". Dragon Ice the Dragon/Ice typed Ice Dragon Pokemon.

... "Coinstring", because that thing looks like the Cheesestring mascot, but it's made of coins.

Huh, so these must be the region's trio/quartet. Why the Chinese sounding names? Isn't Generation IX supposedly to be based on Spain? I still rarely name Legendary Pokemon, so... none for now.

More of these weird monster/mecha variants. Monsters get the names of "Ecnemalas" and "Enucius", and the mechs get "Gallade 3.0" and "V.1r1 Zion".

I assume these are the version mascot Legendary Pokemon. Hmm... I have no nicknames for these.

Huh. Apple Dragon. Why are these two so far apart in Dex number? Grass/Dragon so it gets annihilated by the Dragon type's classic weakness of Ice, eh? Well, if I had to give it a name, I would call it "Invaluable". Fits the Apple Dragon quite well. Apple, because of who sings the song "The Invaluable" and in what album, and Dragon because it's the ending song of Yakuza 8, or Like a Dragon 8.

... "Mugman".

... Is that another trio in the same region? Hmm...

Huh. There's... a lot of text associated with this one. I ain't reading all that. It's a Mask Pokemon. Okay. I have nothing.

Huh. Another base stat 600 total non Legendary, and another Dragon at that. It's a... bridge dragon. ... I got nothing good.

More monsters and robots. Well, there was a monster Suicune, so get the monster Raikou and Entei here... in reverse order because why not (Dex goes Raikou, Entei, then Suicune). And there was that robot Virizion, so get Cobalion and Terrakion in here... also in reverse order (Cobalion, Terrakion, then Virizion). ... F*ck Keldeo, I guess. So from the top, "Ietne", "Uokiar", "Robokion", and "Carbot". I was going to say "Cobot", but that sounded like Carbot, so... Carbot it is, from Carbot Animations. ... What is with this generation and knock off copies of existing Pokemon?

So we have a gem-turtle, then we have a roadkill form, and then a... er... Gigantamax form where the turtle stands on top of its roadkill form that's above a Protoss Plasma Shield flare... ... bwuh? That's a fancy ass turtle, so I'll give it the name of... "Gemtle". The most non-fancy name there is.

Last one! ... A peach seed Pokemon, eh? ... It has base stat 88 across the board except Def, which is at 160. Hm... that's... pretty mediocre. Not bad, but... not amazing. ... I got nothing super creative. So "Poison Seed" it is.

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Whew. That's all of them. There was a lot more than I thought there'd be. And I guess it's pretty hard to come up with a suitable nickname for Pokemon in a game that I will never have and don't want.

Given the sheer number of monsters and robots, you'd think the game's region was based on Tokyo and not Spain.

Now, the Baxcalibur and Archaludon are the only base stat total 600 non Legendary that I did not yet give to a Dex Holder in overhaul posts, in my mission to give each one to a Dex Holder. Obviously the overhaul posts only matter in whatever short story I make that uses Pokemon, but... I might as well see that mission through. ... But who...

#generic post

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 1 year

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Gentile. | Chapter 34

You find literary inspiration in your grief. Word of Jesus’ upcoming sermon reaches Quintus. An unsuspecting centurion bears witness to something not meant for his eyes.

Chapter list

‘Shed it from your shoulders, that hurt, let it drag me under in your stead. No agony can match how your misery makes me feel, o, what sweeter burden than to take away your torment. My heart burnt and bled with you when you reduced to ash, scattered in the wind like a flock of countless birds, carried by their wings into nothingness. Your absence leaves me frantic but o, my love, be free, though it spells my—’

You start when Quintus’ fist bangs loudly against his desk, and you watch with misty eyes how the ink from your pen bleeds into the papyrus you had been holding, staining the paper beyond saving. The final words of your unfinished poem blot out.

“I can’t believe it! That new tax collector Gaius found is just… He’s just inept, (Y/n)! Look at these numbers! I’ll need to speak to him about it soon.” The nasal drawl of Quintus increases your annoyance and you slowly put down your pen, trying to keep yourself together.

For the first time in weeks, you had found yourself comfortable enough to take up your writing again, and this poem had been meant for Lucius, inspired by recent events, yet your husband dragged you out of that state with his usual reckless abandon. “It makes no sense at all, darling! Every day I am reminded that no matter how beautiful this city is, no matter how delicious the fruits are, the people are and will always be utterly revolting and incompetent! A reform in education is necessary at this point, for who writes their ledgers like these? Not us!” Quintus keeps on chewing without even casting a glance your way and you quickly dry your wet cheeks on your sleeve, sighing deeply.

Something in your husband’s demeanour momentarily shifts. “Hmmm… Perhaps that isn’t such a bad idea after all.” He grabs a slip of paper and pens down a few notes. “What if I just… Requested the proper tools and funds to set up a system that allows this strange folk to actually learn something useful… Don’t you think that is a good idea?”

You open your mouth to reply, but a painful rush of discomfort shunts through your oesophagus. Putting a hand on your chest, you huff back a serious wave of heartburn, and to your relief, it fades just as quickly as it had appeared. Quintus frowns at you. “Are you okay?” His voice is unusually caring.

“I’m fine,” you say, slowly rubbing your palm over the top of your stomach. “Just some indigestion I’m dealing with.” You hiccup and your husband raises an eyebrow.

“Right…” he utters before pointing at his letter. “Anyways, what do you think of that idea?”

“Educational reform?” you query, and Quintus nods. It is surprising to have him ask for your opinion. “Do whatever you think is best, Quin.”

He rolls his eyes and gives a slight shake of his head, tossing the letter aside. “The one time I ask you something, you don’t even make yourself useful.” When you don’t reply to his snippy comment, he exhales and turns back to his work. “As soon as my son is born,” he suddenly pipes up, “How will you spend your days? I presume you aren’t planning on sticking your nose into your silly books every day, hm? You can still sit back now, but things are going to change.”

You slightly narrow your eyes. “Of course I am going to care for the baby. What are you talking about?”

He waves his hand in the air to dismiss it. “Oh, just making sure. You’re writing your poems again, so I was worried for a moment.” His dark eyes flicker over to you and he narrows them, “No more daydreaming, understand?”

“I am not daydreaming,” you counter, “This is a letter for Lucius.”

“You and Lucius….” Quintus clicks his tongue, “When will you realise that his abandon regarding our culture has caused this tragedy to happen? If it were up to me, I’d rather not have you see him at all. But I’m not that cruel.”

Your eyes widen at his tone, as if he expects you to be grateful to be in touch with your own flesh and blood. Biting your tongue, you cast down your gaze, not wanting to enter a confrontation right now. Instead, you choose to let your mind settle on the idea of your brother lovingly smiling at your letter, reading it out loud to his little girl, who beams with joy after hearing from you. With slightly trembling fingers, you start a new draft, getting rid of the damaged one.

You have barely written the first sentence when footsteps approach – one set you’ve grown almost embarrassingly familiar with – and you quickly adjust your palla to look more presentable, sitting up straight and tucking a few (h/c) locks behind your ears. Atticus and Gaius enter the incense-clouded space with in their possession a notice containing Hebrew text that you do not understand, and Quintus’ eyes skim over it quickly upon taking it from the centurion.

“What’s this?”

“Jesus of Nazareth.” is all Gaius needs to say to have your husband sigh deeply in annoyance. Your heart flutters as you listen intently to the conversation.

“About?” Quintus presses, miffed.

Atticus hums. “He’s planning on hosting a sermon nearby.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Your husband’s eyes shoot up and a scowl settles itself onto his features. “A potential crowd, then. Bah, I don’t think a lot of people would be interested to listen to Him, anyways. I want you to temporarily increase Roman presence on the streets, just to deter people from going. I’m sure it will be fine.”

Across the room, your eyes momentarily meet Atticus’, and he smiles almost invisibly. You cannot keep yourself from returning it, and you duck your head when Quintus turns to you slightly, then back to the two men standing in front of him.

“I will make sure of that, Dominus.” Gaius obediently states.

“If any of them run amok, arrest them at once. The last thing we need in this place is a riot.”

He bows his head slightly and steps away to leave the room. Atticus lingers.

“Cohortes?” Quintus mutters in slight question, “Can I help you with anything?”

Atticus hums, rubbing his chin in thought, slightly smiling. “I’m just curious to see how things will play out. You don’t seem too concerned about it all.”

“Because I am not,” Quintus retorts. “I’ve got everything under control.”

The marshall chuckles. “We’ll see.” he whispers, then casts a final glance your way, desirous in nature. Your husband falls silent, estranged by the gesture, yet does not open his mouth to ask. You feel yourself inhale deeply and a fluster reaches your cheeks, for something ignites in the air between you and your secret lover that goes perhaps not even unnoticed by the Praetor.

It is the closest Quintus gets to suspecting anything, for when Atticus withdraws himself from your field of vision and a shivering breath tears from your lungs, your husband does not investigate further than a thorough observance of your abashed expression.

As he returns to his business, you mull over the words as a question pops up inside your mind. Even though you already know the answer, it leaves you before you can give it another thought.

“Can I go see the sermon?” you ask. Quintus’ jaw flexes at the insinuation and he slowly turns his head, the vein on his right temple already throbbing with unspoken frustration.

“What do you think?” he rumbles with a miffed grin on his lips, “I thought we had already established that He has nothing for you. Why are you so interested in Him, anyways? Worry about the baby instead, and pray enough to the gods lest they become displeased with your blasphemous sympathy for that Jew.”

Swallowing thickly, you grind your teeth together. “If He has nothing for me, there is no harm in going there, hm?”

With an annoyed roll of his eye, Quintus slams his pen onto the table. “Will you stop your stupid whining? I cannot care less about what you think is interesting. Your father was right when he said I should keep you under better control, because you’re starting to look like your sister-in-law!” You feel all air leave you at the disrespectful mention of Valeria, “Speaking against me, trying to change my mind, doubting my judgement. Who said that you could act like that, huh? Just because you are pregnant does not mean you can say whatever you want!”

You do not counter his ungrounded anger. Instead, you find yourself calm enough to stand up, steady despite your aching ankles, and run your palms down your tunic. “I will excuse myself to my room,” you say with a wavering voice. The miffed scowl he sends your way tells you everything he is feeling right now.

“I think not. I have had quite enough of your rebellious behaviour lately, (Y/n)!” The legs of his chair scrape against the floor as he stands and he paces towards you. “I will not tolerate this.” His shoulder tenses and you slightly cower.

Gulping, you brace for impact. It does not come. Instead, his palm cups your cheek. “Look at me.” Quintus mutters, “Everything I do and everything I decide is for you, you know that? It is for the sake of this child, the sake of our future.” He ghosts a hand over your tummy and you have to resist slapping it away.

Patience, you tell yourself, stay strong, for Atticus will get you out of here soon. The last thing you now need is your husband’s suspicion lest he fight against the plans.

“I love you.” Quintus states with a certain edge to his tone that you’ve rarely heard from him. “I love you so much.”

The worst thing about these words is that he believes them himself. Though, maybe they are actually true, and they are his personal, twisted perception of what love actually means.

��I love you, too.” you respond, although the words are void of meaning. They feel alien on your tongue when addressed to him, so different from whenever you direct the same words to the man you actually love, and it takes everything within you to not look away from Quintus, who tilts up your face to meet your gaze.

“Don’t do anything stupid, (Y/n).” Once again, his expression of adoration is laced with something that establishes his control over you. “Whatever idea you have about that Preacher, and about that sermon, get it out of that pretty head of yours. Don’t meddle in things you don’t have enough capacity to think about, do you understand me?”

You give a small nod and push away your immediate reaction of disgust when he brushes his lips against your forehead. “Now go rest,” he says, “You are clearly struggling with your hormones, speaking up like that against me, hm? After some sleep, I’m sure you’ll be good as new.” His mouth quirks upwards and you mirror it with a feigned grin of your own, softly whispering an affirmative answer.

As he steps back, you let go of the breath you had been holding, grab your writing materials and turn to the exit without saying another word, apparently having convinced him of your obedience. Passing by a few guards, you step out into the village and turn for the estate. With your parchment under your arm, you walk into the estate, where a servant immediately queries whether you’d like a cup of water, which you gladly take.

In the kitchen, you take a seat and slowly drink from the cup, allowing your ankles some rest. The slight swell as well as the painful strain that has started to plague your limbs since a week or so causes discomfort every so often and you wonder how these ailments will develop throughout your pregnancy.

On the table stands an empty vase that is highly due for a refill and you press your fingers against your lips in thought. Reaching into your pocket, you find a few denarii that you take out. You look over your shoulder to find the nearest servant, the same woman who had offered you the water, who is still standing with a jug in her hands, awaiting further command.

“You, please, come over here.” you call her over, not knowing the young woman’s name. She rushes towards you, already lifting the jug to pour you another serving, but you shake your head, smiling. “No, that’s not it. I have another task for you.” You hand her the money and nod towards the vase. “I would like you to go to the marketplace and find an Ethiopian woman who is selling flowers. Get a nice bouquet to stand on the table. Pay the amount of money she wants for it, and what is left of it, you can split between her and yourself, alright?”

Her eyes widen in puzzlement. “Ma’am,” she whispers, “I’m not allowed to accept–”

“No one has to know.”

The young woman’s face lights up with a slight smile, a tad confused still but gratitude shining through.

“A-At once, my lady.” She heads out immediately and you hum in amusement, glad to hear that you’ll be able to support two people at once despite your husband not allowing you outside of the house.

Once you finish your water, you plod up the stairs with heavy steps. Turning into your small study, you take off the outer layer of your garment and toss it onto the small sofa before sighing deeply, massaging your neck for a second. When you pivot to your desk and see a small folded letter on there, your heart stutters, for you know of only one person who would leave such a thing for you.

Your letter to Lucius can wait another day.

You grab it and quickly cast a glance at the door to see if anyone has appeared there, and to your relief, nobody has. With trembling fingers you unfold it and let your eyes scan the familiar handwriting, your heart soaring at the short but sweet note. ‘I want to see you. Go wherever, I’ll find you. Yours, A.’

Blushing, you hold the letter against your chest for a second before tucking it away in the bottom drawer of your desk hastily, rushing towards the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom to check yourself in the mirror.

A few spots darker than your own skin colour have appeared on your cheeks which you’re certain have to do with your pregnancy and your (h/c) hair is shinier than usual, which you smile at. You unbind it, take your brush and run it through it a few times before putting your hair up again, dabbing some perfume behind your ears and fixing your garment, momentarily considering adding some jewellery but realising it would only raise suspicion.

On your way downstairs, you contemplate on how to sneak out properly without alarming any guard keeping an eye on you, but just as you turn the corner in an attempt to grab your cloak, you nearly bump into the servant who you had sent out earlier to get flowers, who profusely apologises.

“My lady, I-I’m so sorry for bothering you, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s alright, calm down!” you say with a reassuring smile, “I’m not mad.” When you notice her hands are very much empty, you frown. “Hey, was everything alright at the marketplace?”

The servant girl barely dares to look at you and holds the denarii you had given her in your direction with a bowed head. “My lady, the flower merchant wasn’t around. When I asked about her, they said she went to follow some Preacher after her friend was healed.”

Your breath hitches and your eyes widen. “Are you… Are you sure? With whom did she go, did they tell? What preacher is she following? She— She isn’t Jewish, right? If she is following the Preacher I suspect she is following, what sense would that make?”

Her cheeks flush and she clears her throat. “I-I am but a messenger, my lady. What I just told you is all I know.”

You nod slowly and fold her fingers over the coins in her hand. “Of course. Thank you, and keep it. For your troubles.”

Her dark eyes meet yours and she is visibly startled. “My lady, I cannot… I cannot take this… I don’t want it.” She pushes her hand into yours and suddenly finds confidence to do so. “I appreciate the gesture, but I won’t keep money that has been made over the backs of my own…”

Her voice trails off when she realises what she is saying and her free hand goes to her lips to cover them, fear suddenly shimmering on the brims of her eyes. “I-I– My lady, forgive me, I didn’t– Didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.” you tell her, “Don't worry, everything is okay.” You pocket the denarii into your own tunic, not at all offended at her rejection. How could you blame her? “I’m sorry if I put you into an embarrassing situation, it was not my intention.”

It is obvious that she isn’t used to being regarded kindly by Romans, for genuine surprise falls over her face. “N-No harm done,” she says, not used to hearing apologies, and shows you a ghost of a smile before stepping away. “I-I will check again for you tomorrow, my lady, perhaps that there are other flower merchants at the market, then.”

You give her a kind smile and nod. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

Flustered, she brushes past you into the estate to continue her work, and you momentarily look at her in thought. Once you remember that you had been on your way to meet with Atticus, you shift into motion.

You throw over a cloak and pull the hood over your head to shield yourself from any direct contact and head for the back door, where the guards have been slacking off in your past weeks of regular absence and are instead busy playing a game of knucklebones. You nearly kick against one of their helmets that stands near the door and barely evade getting noticed, but neither of the men seem to be alarmed at all, likely taking you for another servant.

Heading around the block of houses, you soon find your way into the fishing village, attempting to enjoy your surroundings for the sun is bright and the birds are chirping, though your mind is set on just one thing – getting to the roof where you had met a few weeks prior whilst remaining unseen.

A few familiar faces pass you by, but none seem to take note of your presence, for your hooded figure is one of many and you have grabbed your oldest cloak to fight unwanted eyes, trying to blend in to your best ability. In spite of the lack of attention, your heart beats against your chest loudly, spurred on by the painful strain in your limbs and ribs, and you are slightly out of breath when slipping up a few flights of stairs, hoping that you remembered the route well. After all, it is light outside right now, and you suddenly realise that the place where you had met Atticus before might not be as private now as it had been at night.

You stand still for a moment, looking around to see if anything catches your eye – any alleyway, remote area hidden away by barrels – anything.

“Looking for someone?”

You nearly faint as your gut drops into your sandals at the sudden voice behind you, and with a hand on your chest you turn towards the source of the noise with genuine offence on your face, and you raise your hand to push away whoever it is, but Atticus’ charming smile meeting you under the shade of his own hood makes your arm slump back to your side.

“Atticus!” you cry out, and he chuckles lightly, shushing you by pressing a finger against his lips.

“Not too loud, love. Sorry about scaring you, I just couldn’t resist.”

You click your teeth and roll your eyes, playfully stomping his arm. “You fool, you’re lucky that I love you.”

He lets out an amused sound and takes your elbow into his arm to guide you to a more secluded area, where he turns you with your back against the wall, removing his hood. You reach over to sort out his tousled hair, which has started to grow wild again as time passes.

“You look handsome.” you purr.

“Not half as much as you are beautiful.” he counters, ever tantalising. You blush and put your hands on his shoulders, slipping them around his neck lazily. With a soft murmur, Atticus presses his mouth against yours, stubble longer than last time you kissed him.

It lasts a few seconds but is long enough to calm your nerves as well as your racing heart, which now settles into an easier pace. You notice how comfortable you’ve grown around him, with the butterflies and weak knees still present, but in a way that is more calm than before, for he is the only person around whom you’re not walking on eggshells.

“So, you’re here.” you whisper, “The day after you left, the night of the banquet, strange things happened.”

“The Baptiser.”

You hum in agreement, a little puzzled. “You know him?”

“I witnessed him say goodbye to Jesus.”

Your eyes widen, and Atticus soon clarifies. “I had been shadowing the Zealot before coming to visit you, remember? He was on his way to Machaerus.”

Searching his face, you wonder if you should tell him about what John the Baptiser has insisted on. Atticus cups your chin, scrutinising your expression, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“You want to go to the sermon,” he states. It’s not a question, because he’s certain, and you don’t even need to ask him. You slowly nod, smiling sheepishly.

“I would like that very much.” you say, “I’ve… I’ve spoken to John the Baptiser after he had been taken into custody, and he insisted I should go.”

Atticus’ brow knits together. “Oh? And what did you think of him?”

You let your eyes fall to the ground for a moment, fingers fiddling with the amulet around Atticus’ neck. “Well, I… It was odd. He… He knew everything about me. About us… He–He mentioned my confusion, and that I’m unhappy in my own marriage, and that… Well… That I am chasing the wrong kind of love.”

Atticus lets out a scoff. “What could that possibly mean? How could he ever know that? It’s nothing, darling, it’s likely a wild guess, hm?” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and caresses your cheek. “What you and I have is more true than anything either of us has ever experienced. How can that be wrong?”

Your eyes flutter back up to him, and then you look away in thought. “Hm… He talked about love found in God. But one does not pursue a romantic relationship with God, right? That would be strange and hardly appropriate. Like… Me chasing a different kind of love? One that is not romantic?”

“I must admit that I don’t know how to answer that question, (Y/n),” Atticus sighs, “But I can understand why you’re curious about it. Although I’ve never even considered having a personal relationship with any of our gods. How does that work, huh? Darling, I know you’d rather not hear this, but please be mindful when listening to a man like that. After all, he’s considered a bit of a – and forgive me for lack of better term – lunatic. He’s been living in the wilderness for years, who can attest to his claims?”

Atticus’ expression is patient as you look up at him pleadingly, searching his face. “I’m aware,” you say, “But please, I am dying to find answers. That Preacher, He cannot just be a nobody. You know it, too. You’ve seen Him, you’ve witnessed things as well, aren’t you interested?”

“Of course I am.” he instantly replies without hesitation. “He intrigues me. I think Quintus is being naive in writing Him off as nothing but a threat. Following His actions has made me aware that He cannot be an ordinary Rabbi.”

“Then let me please go with you to the sermon. Please.”

Your fingers tighten in his cloak and Atticus hums softly, contemplating the answer. “You know that it won’t be easy to get you out of your husband’s supervision,” he says, “But I can try my best.”

You grin a little. “I’m here now, am I not?”

He nods slowly and puts his forehead against yours. “You’ve outsmarted him, darling…”

Giggling, you chew your bottom lip. “This time.”

Lowly humming, he gently puts a hand over your throat and brushes his lips against your jaw, your chin tilting upwards as his nose grazes your cheekbone. “I’ll sneak you out to that sermon, don’t you worry now. I could even try to convince Quintus to let Gaius bring you, that would make it safer for you.”

“Thank you,” you reply, breathless, fingers wrapping around his wrist whilst he gently pecks your cheek, smiling against your skin.

“We will figure it out,” he promises, “We always do, don’t we?”

“Like having secret meetings in alleyways?”

“Mhm… Come here, love, our time is short and I cannot let this opportunity pass by without having properly kissed you.” he hoarsely murmurs.

You melt against him, arching upwards, softly sighing at the affection whilst he softly kisses you.

The sensation of his whiskers scratching your lips, his fingers wrapping around your throat carefully, playing with the dynamic in a way that sparks no panic, the intoxicating scent of his perfume makes you forget about the world around you, as if the only people in existence are you and the cohorte.

It is enough to momentarily forget about Quintus.

It is enough to let down your guard for just a few minutes.

Secluded, both of you believe yourselves to be safe.

However, a wordless patrol of Quintus and Marcus, laced with awkward air between them that makes it so that they exchange no small talk, approaches through the alleyway, and what was originally an uneventful routine soon turns into something incredibly unexpected.

The second they turn the corner, Gaius staggers back in shock whilst Marcus lingers a second longer, jaw hanging open at what he is witnessing, and the Primi pulls him back into cover, equally as dumbfounded.

“What in the—”

“Sssh!” Gaius shushes him, “You want to get in trouble? Don’t speak so loudly.” Carefully, Gaius cranes his neck to peek around the corner – to see if what he had been seeing is not just his own mind playing tricks on him – and indeed, he has not been fooled, for there is no doubt that he has just caught the very wife of his superior in an utterly compromising position with the spy of the Cohortes Urbanae he had been conversing with almost amicably mere hours prior right before detaining Jesus. Confusion floods him and he tears away his gaze, not necessarily wanting to continue seeing the image that is now permanently engraved into his brain, and he wonders for how long it has been going on.

“We must tell Praetor Quintus.” Marcus immediately hisses, “That–That whore belongs in the Red Quarter–”

“Not so fast, Marcus. And… Don’t call her that, be careful with your words.” Gaius cuts him off, voice a low volume. Neither you nor Atticus appear to be aware of the two witnesses, and a soft croon from you drifts through the air alongside a love-confession that was meant to remain private, and Gaius closes his eyes in aversion, pity, discomfort and conflict. “Since Dominus answers to the cohorte, we might get in trouble with Rome if we tell on him.” He isn’t certain why, but the Primi can see why you’d be attracted to the marshall over Quintus, something he otherwise never would have considered.

“But we have sworn our loyalty to our superior, have we not?”

“Marcus, consider it for a bit longer. Both of us might lose our jobs in the long run if we tell on the cohorte.”

The other soldier gestures towards you. “But the lady–”

“What lady (Y/n) does is not important. She’ll give Quintus a child regardless of what is going on there right now, we know nothing of what is happening. Trust me, I’ve seen people get demoted for being tattle-tails. Praetor Quintus may praise you for it, but a man like Atticus will find out who talked. He’s one of Rome’s most experienced agents, you don’t want to get into his business, trust me.”

Marcus’ jaw flexes and for a moment he peeks around the corner to see the two of you still entangled in an embrace that is far from just friendly, and his gaze hardens. “How can we… How can we possibly not report this?”

Gaius sighs, shaking his head. “Think about what I said, okay? What is happening there,” he points at what’s taking place right behind him, “Is not our problem.”

Marcus opens his mouth to reply, but the voice of Atticus prompts both men to shuffle a little away, close enough to hear what is going on yet far enough to not be spotted after him taking two steps.

“I promise to come get you before the sermon, alright?” Atticus tells you, and you nod eagerly. Gaius’ brow rises at the words. “Any moment in between now and then, if you need me…”

“I know where to find you…” you finish his sentence, “Or the other way around. Just to steal a kiss…”

Atticus deeply chuckles and adds: “Or something else,” followed by a shy laugh from you.

“Sweet-talker…” you murmur before sharing another languid kiss. It makes Marcus visibly cringe and his shoulders tense up.

Gaius, equally as put off by the vivid image that has just been sketched, puts a hand on Marcus’ arm. “Just… Pick your battles wisely.” the Primi concludes one last time, “This is not worth losing your job over. Let’s continue our patrol before the others wonder where we are.”

On that note, the two soldiers continue their walk, and blissfully unaware, you remain with Atticus for a few extended moments before you have no choice but return home lest your husband find out that you’re gone.

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#atticus aemilius pulcher #atticus x reader #atticus x you #the chosen atticus #the chosen quintus #the chosen x reader #x reader #reader insert #gentile

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primevein · 11 months

Text

The Prime of His Youth: Book II: The Quest for Fire: Ch01: Household

Jack stood in front of the Forgefire Parliament. The members were the same as last time. The Mistress of Flame stood to his right. She still wore her cape, but in addition she wore clothing similar to Arcee and Sirenia, except with her own firey colouration. Opposite them, from right to left was Windblade from the Warrior Century, Ridgehopper from the Naturalist Century, Whitehead from the Medical Century, Tethys from the Hydrology Century, Molana from the Energon Century, Helia from the Construction Century, Michaela from the Artisan Century, Amalthea from the Archivist Century, with Arcelia by her side, last by not least Apple Eye from the Agricultural Century. Beyond them, the gallery was once again filled. This meant that nearly every femme in the city had arrived. He hoped that mean good new, as bad news would likely not be as interesting. This time they had a podium he could climb and stand on his own. Arcee stood to his left. June in a slip dress over her exosuit and Sirenia stood behind him.

The Mistress of Flame loudly tapped her staff on the ground a few times, and the Parliament quieted down. She walked out between the podium and lecturns, "After tremendous discussion and debate, here is what we have decided to vote on: Should we allow the foundation of five new cities. These cities will be designed for and welcoming of Humans and Femme Cybertronians. Other Cybertronians would be denied permission to live on this planet permanently, but would be allowed to visit. These five cities will each be independent, and each will have one seat in a Parliament when it is called. The Forgefire Parliament will be the supreme body of law for all of Caminus." The Mistress of Flame stopped to his right, and soundly struck her staff onto the ground. All of the Centurions raised their hands. "Vote is unanimous." She then turned to Jack.

"Uh?.." Jack asked, "That's not just because I'm a Prime, is it?"

"Just?" the Mistress of Flame asked.

"I like your moxie." Helia stated.

"You did not make light of our concerns." Tethys added.

"It was quite beautiful." Michaela added.

"It was quite reasonable." Whitehead stated.

"Our agriculturalists would LOVE to work on something with more tangible benefits." Apple Eye added.

"The Battle Sisters find it romantic." Windblade stated, "And if we're empowered by the Forgefire Parliament, we will be able to deal with any issues. If Arcee is staying here, I would ask her to join the Battle Sisters."

"My primary job will be as a wife!" Arcee exclaimed, to immedate unease, and gossip in the gallery. "But, if something actually threatens Caminus, I will fight."

"And the Prime?" Windblade asked.

"Hm, what?" Jack asked.

"Will you help if Caminus is threatened?" Windblade asked.

"Of course I will!" Jack replied.

"I am feeling more confident." Windblade stated.

"Did you think I wouldn't help?" Jack asked.

"I didn't know what to think." Windblade simply stated.

A pause happened as no one else spoke. The Mistress of Flame soundly struck her staff against the ground. She then stepped out once again, "Arcelia has found a ship willing to contract a permanent course between here and Terra. This will be essential for colonization. It will require 20 cubes of Energon per round trip. There is a Cybertronian on Terra who prepares Synthetic Energon, who will provide all the Energon we need, but must be paid in Terran currency. This means that we will have to be charging in Terran Currency on Terra for the journey. Motion to contract this ship?" she asked.

Once again, it was unanimous.

Jack looked on curiously.

"It is, you know, essential." Helia stated.

"You'd be surprised by how accommodating we can be." Amalthea stated.

"Our culture has stagnated for millennia." Michaela stated.

"A number of our Battle Sisters would love to visit on your Terra, or our Cybertron." Windblade stated. "They have promised me they will be doing so in reasonable numbers."

The Mistress of Flame stepped forward and turned around to look at him, "Anything you would like to add?"

"A bill of rights?" Jack asked.

"And what is that?" The Mistress of Flame asked.

"Rights that the government can't infringe on?" Jack asked. He then looked back at Sirenia.

Arcee stepped aside as Sirenia stepped up beside him. "The first Ammendment to the US Constitution is the right to freedom of speech and assembly."

"So, people could say anything?" Michaela asked. "I don't think I like that."

"Legally, if you insult someone, and they strike you, you are the aggressor." Arcelia stated.

"Oh." a startled Michaela stated, and then developed a neutral voice, "I don't know how I feel about that?"

"How do you handle that?" Jack asked, and Windblade spoke up.

"If someone insults another, one of the Battle Sisters will show up and thrash them."

Jack stood silent, unsure of what to do. He breathed in deep as his senses came back to him, "So, what is the actual law like?"

"Why would we need a law for that?" Windblade asked.

Again, Jack stood silent, unsure of what to say. He breathed in deep, "This actually makes a crazy kind of sense. I wish Humans could live like that."

"They can." Sirenia stated, and he looked at her. "Small Human societies are often based more off of social consensus than through legislation. When social cohesion fails is when legislation has to move in."

Jack thought about that for a few minutes, "If we are going to found colonies, we will need to decide on rules before everyone shows up."

"Or social mores." Sirenia gleefully said.

"So, what?" Jack asked, "We have a number of the femmes from Caminus living in the cities?"

Gossip could be heard in the galleries as the Centurions thought it over.

"Yes?" Windblade asked, and turned to the gallery, "It will be voluntary!" she shouted, and turned back to the parliament. "How long does Human development take?"

"A generation is 20 years!" June shouted, as she climbed up to stand beside Jack. "That's the time it takes for children to become productive adults, and, in theory, a new generation to be conceived."

"So, Humans work on 20 years cycles?" Michaela asked, and turned to Sirenia, "How long is 20 years?"

"About 4 gigacycles." Sirenia stated.

"That's it?!" Helia asked, and looked at Jack. "How old are you?"

"19." Jack replied, and looked at Sirenia.

"3.5 gigacycles." Sirenia stated.

"You're not an adult?!" Helia asked.

"Adulthood is considered to be 18 in Nevada." June stated, "Generations is more about how long it takes to create a new wave of Humans."

"He is less than one generation cycle old?" Apple Eye asked, and looked to Arcelia, "Are you sure he's a Prime?"

"Sure." she replied.

"I also didn't come here as a Prime." Jack stated.

The Mistress of Flame tapped her staff on the ground, "He made me swear to not reveal it."

"Why did you come here?" Tethys asked.

"He was accompanying me." Sirenia stated, "I had a spiritual crisis and had to speak to the Mistress of Flame. I feared my duty to Jack would prevent me from coming. It was June who convinced me to ask him. He didn't just give me leave, he agreed to accompany me. And reminder that while traveling in space, they must LIVE in their exosuits. Without the bubble, a small breach would mean their doom. Their supplies cannot be sourced on site and must be brought with them. And Human food will often spoil if not cared for properly. For my wellbeing, they were willing to risk all of that."

"We all know how Sirenia is." Windblade strongly stated, and Sirenia nervously looked down.

June reached out to gently grab her arm, "It's okay." she warmly said to her.

Sirenia seemed to be filled with renewed confidence, "Humans normally live in patriarchal households."

"What?" Jack asked, "I was raised by my mother!"

"After the death of your father, and was unnecessarily arduous." Sirenia stated.

"He'll get to spank you." Arcee whispered to June from behind, followed by a snicker.

"Why don't we ask how June feels about this?" Sirenia asked.

"I... honestly don't care anymore." June voiced, "I've worked long and hard to provide for Jack. To teach him... everything his father should have. Now that Jack is an adult, and I can think about myself? I honestly don't want to. I've dedicated my life to Jack, and don't see a reason to change that now."

The Mistress of Flame took a couple steps foward and turned around to look at her, "For clarity, do you support or oppose the proposal for patriarchy?"

"It's not Jack we have to worry about." June stated, "Not every man is going to be as good as my son."

"They did say a Battle Sister would show up and slap any man who hurts his wife." Jack said to her, and her eyes grew wide as she thought about it.

"I have seen the way our current laws horrendously hurt men." June stated. "Maybe our attemps to write it down have stopped us from thinking about it." She then turned to Sirenia, "You don't want men to actually control women, do you?"

"I meant it more as a form of household organization. And only one peson per household would need to be productive. Outside the household." Sirenia stated. "Actual organization of the household need not be enforced."

June looked at Jack before looking back at Sirenia, "So, I'd be in Jack's household?"

"Correct." Sirenia said to her.

"But I could still do what I want?" June asked.

"Correct." Sirenia stated.

"And I could still be a nurse?" June asked.

"Correct." Sirenia repeated.

"Then I guess it works." June replied. "It's kind of a relief to not have to take care of everything."

"And wear breezy skirts." Arcee said from behind her.

"Yes." June said. She then turned around, giving Arcee a shocked look.

Jack turned to look at her, "You are enjoying this way too much." he said to her.

"I'm not the one trying to make a new society, Jack. That's all you. I believe in you." she lovingly said.

"Other issues you'd like to speak about?" the Mistress of Flame asked.

#transformers #prime #the prime of his youth #darcee #jack darby #arcee

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