#gladiatohr

[a-byronic-heroine]

@gladiatohr liked for a starter

The Sith had observed the fighter over the course of several days in the arenas before deciding, yes, this one would adequately serve her purposes. He would be useful during her travels should he choose to join her, and she knew he more than likely would. After all, she was offering him freedom. All she wanted in return was a little bit of loyalty and willingness to join her in her travels. The places she went were typically very dangerous. Places where the Dark Side of the Force ran wild and unchecked, and it corrupted everything from animal life to the air itself. When she studied the ancient temple ruins and perused artifacts in the rubble, she was vulnerable. A fact she had learned well recently. Having someone to watch her back would help her avoid any more near death fiascos.

She was waiting for him in his holding area below the arena unseen. It had been no trouble to get down there: a few broken necks and warnings were all it took to get what she wanted. Once they shut the gladiator in with her, she slowly began clapping from her shadowy corner, revealing herself. She allowed the illusion of pale blue eyes and golden toned skin to remain in place. Most found the Dark Side’s effects on its users to be unsettling to look at. “Well done,” she offered drolly as she removed the hood of her black robes. “You are quite the capable fighter. Tell me, do you imagine someone else’s face being drained of life when you kill your opponents, or do you just enjoy the thrill of delivering death?”

[ebonyforged]

@gladiatohr​: 🗡️ - to point a weapon at your muse . 😳🤨?! || misc action memes (always accepting)

Guns, fists, bombs, it’s all fine, but Ebony fucking hates blades. They’re quick and unpredictable, their wounds always deceptively severe. A sharp blade will cut deep, but a dull blade will tear and leave even graver wounds.

This one sits against her neck and the sting of it is so distinct yet hard to place that she can’t tell if it has done any damage yet. Her neck feels hot, face flushed with equal parts panic and rage, so she wouldn’t be able to tell even if there were already blood seeping down.

At least she has something pointed at him, too, a decorated barrel pressed into his stomach.

“So now what? You hurt me, I hurt you, no one wins.”

[ebonyforged]

@gladiatohr​: “⁇” for a DRUNK text 😨 || text prompts (accepting)

To [ Saturn 🔱 ]: whats a girl gotta do to get you to come over and bake me a fresh batch of brownies To [ Saturn 🔱 ]: i will let you top the next 2 times To [ Saturn 🔱 ]: even if i beat you when we spar To [ Saturn 🔱 ]: which i will so you better take the offer

[ingolds-archived]

@gladiatohr​. —  “ now i resemble a sort of god. ”

     they want to roll their eyes. the observation doesn’t come as a surprise; of all the warriors theo knows, saturn is the quickest to identify his own strengths, to lift his arms to rousing shouts of triumph that echo across the battlefield. theo can’t argue his prowess, or the fluidity he wields his weapon with; the parading, though, they could do without. theo prefers a more silent acknowledgement, or none at all, if they had their say. the decision is not theirs to make; in fact, it seems the commanders prefer the yelling, the pounding chests, the chorus of conquest that blends with desert sand.

     the city has grown quiet with the sun’s journey downwards, crowds returning to their homes; theo is no exception. they don’t, however, return to their own quarters. they find saturn in the armory, and take up residence at the stone edge beneath the windowsill, back nudged up against a column.

     “ do you let every victory go to your head? ” they muse aloud, without any intention of receiving an answer. they recline opposite where saturn polishes his trident ardently, gaze aimed out the window and to the plaza below. “ that’s going to catch up with you someday. ”

monologue at 3am / accepting

[ingolds-archived]

@gladiatohr. —  ❛ 24. a kiss on the neck.

     they manage to wrangle saturn through the doorway, into his barracks, with just an arm around his waist. they would have carried him more adeptly if not for the risk that their power is questioned, an inquiry into how they are capable of lifting a grown man like we weighs nothing. saturn had invited him out unexpectedly, and embraced him as a friend; a gesture that only rattled them in the time it took them to realize he’d been taking advantage of the peoples’ celebration and kindness. only an hour in and theo had thought it safe to get him back, to look after him in the event he tried to do something stupid, or reckless, or both.

     they just about pour him onto his cot, saturn boneless and loose as a cat, with a grumble in his chest to match. his arm stays around their shoulders, fingers pressed into their upper arm, and when they begin to straighten back up, his hand slides to theo’s nape, tugging him down. saturn’s lips meet their throat, just shy of their pulse, and theo thinks maybe he was aiming for their cheek, their jaw - only, he missed, and theo blazes, an inferno igniting in their veins. it only lasts a second, an apology or gratitude or something else branded into their skin, and when theo tilts his chin down to look at saturn, his breathing has gone deep, regular, indicating sleep. the moon illuminates a wrinkle between his brows, the flutter of his lashes, and their own stare gleams, an animal in the night. is he aware of what he did? will he remember it in the searing morning sun?

     they’re not sure. come the next day, they don’t ask either, content to leave the question unanswered. saturn’s gaze stutters on him, holds, but when theo meets him, it slides away, as if it was never on them to begin with.

the overwhelming desire to kiss / accepting

[ingolds-archived]

@gladiatohr. —  ❛ 18. a kiss during combat.

     a drum is beating in their head. boom, boom - their heart in their chest, rushing blood to their temples, the thin skin of their wrists, the backs of their knees. combat does this to them. it sets them alight, sparks flying, muscles coiling up like a spring, prepared for the violence at hand. they hadn’t planned to agree to saturn’s suggestion to spar, with his eager eyes and his hands steady where they polished the sharp points of his trident, but his insistence that theo would somehow lose that engagement had tipped them over the edge. let saturn claim victory? never. not as long as theo was still standing, still breathing, with a sword strapped to his hip and a shield upon their back.

     their blade is tilted to saturn’s carotid, scant centimeters between hardened steel and soft skin. it is a threat and a promise. see, it whispers, told you so. the idea of an equal match in a sparring session is foreign to them - what is not foreign is saturn pressed into him in one long, hot line, thrumming dangerous, teeth bared in a challenging grin. saturn fights dirty, clawing and scrapping for the win, and doesn’t dare let theo gain any distance. they have him pinned, unquestionably the victor - why, then, does the climax of this fight still hover over them, like lightning curling white-hot and intense around black clouds just before it strikes?

      rat-tat, the snare drum says, and saturn curls his fingers into the leather at theo’s shoulder to yank them close. it tips theo off-balance, and they only manage to part their lips with the intent to speak before saturn’s mouth is on theirs, as rough and as needy as he fights. theo grunts, surprised - and then they’re bracketing saturn in with their arms, chest to chest, knocking teeth when saturn bites at their mouth.

     winning doesn’t seem so important anymore.

the overwhelming desire to kiss / accepting

[a-byronic-heroine]

@gladiatohr asked: ‘ you’re getting sloppy. ’

Kly wheezed, doubling over to try and catch her breath. Her body was warring with itself. She’d just begun the process of letting a Force ghost possess her when they’d been ambushed by mercenaries looking for a quick and easy buck. Now, every breath and footstep was a war between herself and the consciousness wreaking havoc in her mind. She could feel it poking and prodding, looking for her every weakness. Slowing her down and trying to gain a foothold so it could take over. 

“You try,” she stopped to grimace as pain ratcheted up her spine. The voice that came from her mouth was warped and not totally her own. She could feel the other presence in her mind, bucking against her to try and get free. “You try letting a pissed off ancient Sith Lord in your head. See how you feel.”

[a-byronic-heroine]

@gladiatohr asked: ‘ no offense. you’re good, but you’ll never be better than me. ’

Kly snorted from underneath Saturn. He’d managed to pin her in one of their sparring matches. A one off, nothing more. She was still tired from her research; letting Sith spirits possess you while you slowly drained them was exhausting. She relaxed against the cool floor, her body going lax as she smiled up at him.

“You win one time, and already you’re gloating about it? Maybe you should wait until this happens on a more regular basis. Now get off me, or I'm making you carry me to the sofa."