#In the Shade of Aurelias

[pearlypairings]

 "Magic can be beautiful….” Eddie raises his chin and takes one hopeful glance at the sky, maybe seeking the appearance of the first star to twinkle beyond the trees. Christine looks up with him, but is unable to see anything beyond the darkening sky of branches and leaves and trunks. His voice mellows, somber and careful in its timbre. Without warning, he sings. His voice is soft at first, rich in its alto notes. It pulls her in immediately, and her fingers buzz knowing this is more than just noise. The song builds with purpose in mind, and she hurries a glance away from his mouth and back to the canopied sky.  Little lights twinkle amidst the crowd of leaves and overlapping branches; they dance and dazzle on their own, mesmerizing Christine as they glide together to form a familiar shape above them with the swell of his voice: golden petals of an aurelia flower.

Special thank you to Honeymell/ @itsdancingquen for creating this stunning commission for my fic In the Shade of Aurelias AKA one of my favorite scenes where Eddie gets to show off a little for Chrissy :)

Go check out more of her art and commission one yourself, you won't regret it <3 !

PS: i'm so sorry for the long pause in updates. this fic is so precious to me and I will return to it when I'm finished with my other longfics <3 thank you to those who've read, commented, and checked in with me about it<33

[empyreansentinel]

nisha had to die bc if she survived to 3 they'd be unstoppable.

[pearlypairings]

WIP word: good

excerpt from the next chapter of my hellcheer fantasy-au:

His fingers curl over his scar slowly, the rest of him tense from her reaction. His gaze drifts to the tall bushes he pushed through just minutes earlier. “You know, we aren’t evil or impure at our core. Our powers can be beautiful and good, they’re not curses like they’d have you believe.” The trees in all their dark splendor seem to leer over them now, with Christine feeling a slight shiver creep along her neck. “I don’t…I don’t know what I believe anymore.” 

hint: the "he" in this quote isn't Eddie :P

[el-michoacano]

Aurelia is not an OC. She was in the very first episode of Breaking Bad! See? This was her! 😂

[blueberry-gills]

Do you think the Drifloon would hate me if I combined all the current name suggestions I have for her so she has like ten middle names or something

[whoneedslovewhenyouhaveknives]

out of the shade (and into the light) has been finished!

Thank you to everyone gave this fic a kudos, comment, or just checked it out!

In celebration, I'm posting the AU art I drew for the Agents underneath the cut!

Above were the original concept sketches for Marika, or Agent 4! I knew I wanted her to have the large scars on her face and tentacles, but got a little mixed up in the timeline when I drew this. This was supposed to be post-Metro, as her eyes and scar have changed color, but I forgot to give her the ink scars around her eyes and on her tentacles, plus her warped ear, so... a concept sketch it will remain.

More Marika, this time after just being freed from sanitization! Not all the sanitized ink is outta her system yet, hence the funky and fading coloration. She is Tired.

Finally for Marika, we have her mid-sanitization! I had a lot of fun with the goopy ink effects and the coloring!

Next agent up, we've got Ikuko, or Agent 3! She was very fun to draw, even if I grabbed my dying black pen to color her cape instead of my gray one... Oh well, it added a cool texture at least.

And lastly, from literal sketch to lineart to coloring, we have Taeko, or Agent 8! She was definitely the most... interesting to draw, with all the suction cups, but she turned out really nice! Since she wears a lot of black, I went with more of a hatching thing rather than straight coloring.

[sincere1ystar]

Shining just for you

coriolanus snow x fem! reader

After things get messed up between the two of you at the gala, Corioanus is desperate to fix things between you two again

authors note: guys when i mean desperate i mean DESPERATEEEE

Everyone always said that the C in Coriolanus Snow stood for calculating. What a silly saying, because when it came to you the C in Coriolanus Snow stood for clueless.

The image he built himself as a man who oozes with power crumbles in a matter of seconds around you. You liked it that way, you knew it was just a persona and if life hadn’t pushed him around the way he did he would’ve stayed soft.

When the two of you first met you didn’t fall pity to his charms like the rest of the peers around you. He liked that about you, you were diligent. You had beauty and brains, unlike those lifeless souls that threw themselves at him as they fluttered their eyelashes. He considered himself lucky to call himself yours and he wasn’t afraid to show it either. Every gala he was there right on your arm, and if you didn’t encourage him to go converse with the other party-goers  to others he probably would have stayed there.

You had built a home in Coriolanus’s heart, love was too weak a word to describe his emotions towards you. He didn’t consider himself a violent man, but for you he wasn’t afraid to roughen up the edges of himself. To make his image seem more powerful than it already was, so people would fear him and not even think about hurting you. 

Of course he got invited to many galas, it was only natural considering he had made a name for himself now. Still, he viewed them all as pointless affairs and if you weren’t so fond of going to them he wouldn’t bother to even step foot in the venue. 

Although his signature color is a shade of deep red, he often matched whatever color you were wearing. Tonight it was a cerulean blue to match your dress of the same color. The only thing that stayed the same was the white rose in his handkerchief pocket that eventually ended up behind your ear. 

As you’re finishing up the final touches to your look Coriolanus comes behind you, adjusting the straps of your dress as he leaves soft kisses on your neck.

“Coryo we’re gonna be late-“, you try to protest but he quickly silences you with a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“We can spare a few minutes can’t we darling?”, he cooed.

By the time you manage to drag him to the car sent for you two, you’re already late to the party. Not like Coriolanus cares though, it was time well spent.

Usually when the two of you arrive to any sort of event, he would stick by your side for atleast the first part of it until some buisnessmen or some senator pulled him away. But this time since your arrival was later than usual, the minute you two walked through the doors some of his fellow associates dragged him off to discuss business. You don’t mind much, knowing he has work to do as you walk over to a few friends of your own.

While you enjoy yourself, chatting away like the social butterfly you are, Coriolanus finds the whole event to be tedious and torturous . He wasn’t even paying attention to what his colleagues were saying, too busy stealing glances at you giggling as your friend told a story about her latest date. He’s so intrigued by observing you as if he was stuck in some trance, that he doesn’t notice Aurelia, a woman married to a local senator whom she openly despised, practically throwing herself at him.

He doesn’t snap out of it , not until he feels her red painted lips slightly touch the tip of his ear. The only thing he feels in that moment is utter disgust. The fact that someone other than you attempt to get this close to him was appalling. Did she not see the wedding band on his finger?

After chatting away with your friends for a while, you politely excuse yourself to make your way to Coriolanus since it seems that all his fellow politician friends have now left. Just as you’re about to approach him, you notice her. The woman who is all over Coriolanus, as if she wasn’t married already to another senator and he wasn’t already yours.

You’ve always been the confrontational type, which is why it’s no surprise when you come up right beside them ready to tell Aurelia to back off. Well that was before you overheard her say in that sultry voice of hers, “A man like you shouldn’t be stuck at some flimsy party like this Coriolanus. I bet you want to get out of here don’t you? Y’know my hotel room is better than any party…”

Before Coriolanus responds, you storm out with anger hot on your heels. How dare he. You decide to just go home, taking the car despite Coriolanus still searching for where you went. He can find his own way home. Better yet why doesn’t he get a ride with Aurelia, surely there’s another spot left in her husband’s car.

Your rage doesn’t die down, even as you reach the manor and tuck yourself into bed. You don’t have too much time to notice how empty it seems with Coriolanus’s side of the bed being vacant before he rushes in, his words overflowing out of his mouth. But it’s all a blur to you, tuning him out completely as you shift your body to face the wall while pulling the blanket up.

It’s not until late at night just as you’re about to fall asleep, when you realize he’s begging.

“Darling.. darling please”, he mumbles almost pitiably. He continues desperately kissing your skin with your back still turned to him. “Didn’t even notice what she was doing.. was too busy looking at you”.

You don’t say anything in response and continue staying still, but you’re not pushing him away and Coriolanus takes this as a sign to keep going. “I pushed her away the minute I noticed what she was doing. I would never be unfaithful to you darling, you know that… you’re the only one for me”.

The stubborn part of you wanted to continue to ignore him, but the more reasonable side of you decided to hear him out. “I suppose… I was overreacting just a little bit. Fine”-, you start before you were cut off by his kisses.

“Thank you. Thank you sweetheart… I know I don’t deserve it”, he rasped while leaving little frantic kisses all over your face, “Don’t deserve your forgiveness. Don’t deserve you”.

“Not so stoic and cold are you now Coriolanus Snow?”, you think to yourself. Oh how funny it would be if all his politician friends see how he acted under your finger.

[slimybeth69]

Thirst: Part 5

Marcus Acacius x Lady Reader (no physical descriptions) Rating: Explicit -- SMUT

Your freedom had a price and Marcus Acacius was willing to pay for it… but you also had to do something for him.

Summary: Marcus does something he's never done before.

Warnings/tags: Rough sex, dirty talk, mean!marcus, cream pies. Overstim(kinda).

Marcus Acacius has his hand in yours. Both of you have the hoods of your robes up so they’re covering your face. 

"Keep your head down, and avoid the eyes of anyone you may see," he whispers to you before opening the door to the bathhouse.

The thrill of being in public with Marcus electrifies your senses. In the bathhouse and behind the walls of your room…you and Marcus have bared everything to one another, but venturing out into the open spaces feels like a sin.

As Marcus takes your hand in his, you can't help but grin with childlike excitement. You gaze up at him with this rare permission of him being your escort.

The soft glow of the setting sun casts shadows across both of your faces, but you see his features illuminated like a work of art. 

"You are very handsome, General." You whisper. 

Marcus leads you through the expansive entryway, his strides purposeful and strong. He glances down at you, with the smallest hint of a smirk on his face. "You’re stunning," he whispers back to you. "I’ll keep this image of you in my head for next time I must leave." 

His eyes flash across the courtyard before he leans down to steal a quick kiss. Your fingers intertwine with his like the vines on the walls of this estate. 

As you enter the public villa that houses your private chambers, the clicking of your sandals against the polished stone floor echoes off the high ceilings. You can't contain your excitement and you giggle as he pulls you in front of him to press his chest into your back. 

The pressure of Marcus's fingers around yours is a gentle reminder to calm yourself. "Shhh, Aurelia..." he cautions in a hushed, gentle reprimand. "Your excitement is going to draw unwanted attention."

Despite his words, you catch the ghost of a smile curling at the corners of his mouth when you turn to glance at him over your shoulder, a sign that he too finds joy in this moment. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the giggle that’s threatening to escape your throat.

As you ascend the grand staircase, lost in your wonder, both of you fail to notice the group of aristocrats making their way down the stairs.

They move with the grace and poise of those accustomed to power, their opulent gowns and togas, a sign of their wealth and status. As they come closer, their eyes fall upon Marcus.

You feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. You quickly avert your gaze, focusing instead on the swirling pattern of the marble slab beneath your feet.

Marcus nods politely as they pass, his grip on your hand remaining firm. 

As the group of people disappear around a corner, Marcus leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "One day you won’t have to hide your face," he whispers, his breath warm and inviting. "I want you right here, by my side."

You lift your chin, meeting his gaze. "I want to be underneath you, Dominus ," you sigh to him.

Marcus groans quietly and his fingers clench around yours with bruising intensity, his touch almost painful in its desperation. When he speaks, his voice is a low, rough growl that sends shivers down your spine. "The things I am going to do to you... The way I am going to make you scream..." He leans in closer, his face inches from yours. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as his warm breath ghosts over your lips. "Are you ready to be completely claimed by me?"

You nod breathlessly, allowing him to lead you. Your feet carry you on autopilot, your mind fogged with lust… like it always is with Marcus.

He leads you to your private room, pushing the door shut behind him with a click. 

Marcus doesn't waste time. He wraps his fingers around your throat, pulling you in for a rough kiss. His other hand grips your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "I thought about this while I was away," he growls against your mouth. "Thought about painting your insides with my seed until you're dripping with me."

A whimper escapes you at his words, your body arching into his touch, craving more. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and intense as they drink you in. 

"Strip," he commands, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. "I need to see all of you. I hate seeing you in clothes…"

With shaking hands, you begin to disrobe, peeling the thin robe from your body, revealing your skin prickling beneath his intense gaze, goosebumps rising in the cool air of the room. When you stand bare before him, a groan so low it could be a growl leaves his throat. "I would carve your form into marble if my hands were good for more than wielding a sword." he breathes, gazing over your naked body. 

"Your hands do much more than just wield a sword, General," you sigh as he takes a step towards you and is on you again, his hands mapping out every curve and crevice. His tongue and teeth explore and tease the soft skin on your neck and shoulder.

One minute you're tangled in his arms, the next you're being tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll. You scramble to right yourself but he's on you in an instant. 

It’s a playful struggle as you twist and turn underneath him, pulling your hands from his as he tries to overpower you. 

Marcus’s hands are rough as they slide across your smooth skin before he grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your stomach and is pinning your wrists above your head as he forces you down onto your chest.

A thrill of excitement runs through you at his show of strength. "Marcus!" You yelp in surprise as he spreads your thighs with his knees as he climbs between them. The mattress is cool in contrast to your slick, sweaty skin and his hot, hard body against your back. 

He rubs his lips over your ear, "Tell me what my hands do to you, perfect girl…"

You’re overcome with need for Marcus. “I think of them when I touch,” you whimper arching your back and grinding your ass against his hardening cock. “I crave your touch– crave you,” you gasp.

A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrates through his chest at your desperate confession. “Fuck, you're so eager aren't you?" he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "You want it that bad?"

You try to respond but it comes out as little more than a whimper. He adjusts his grip on your wrists as he forces your hips up and back, opening you up to him. You can feel the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance, slick with your arousal.

“I held back in the bathhouse,” Marcus rocks his hips forward with a deep groan, sheathing himself inside your tight heat. "I’m done holding back," he taunts you breathlessly. 

The burning stretch of him filling you from this angle has you gasping. “Algea… oh m-my g-gods…” Your body's so sensitive after the intensity in the bathhouse, and you can feel every thick inch of him as he sinks deeper. 

“I know… I know, I tried to warn you,” he whispers as his hands press firmly into the middle of your shoulders. “Algea and all the gods combined won’t be able to help you now.” He pins your chest into the pillowy-soft bed. “You’ll grow accustomed to it over time. It’ll hurt less soon, my perfect Dove. Touch yourself while I fuck you,” his words are strained as he struggles to adjust to your tightness.

You're completely at his mercy here, pinned by his powerful hands and the weight of his muscular body. Each deep thrust pushes his throbbing tip against your cervix. Your toes curl and you frantically reach between your legs and rub desperate circles around your aching clit.

The intense pressure and almost blinding pain from being stretched and fucked open so deeply is now mingling with the pleasure from your fingers. You sigh loudly and grip the sheets tighter in your fist as he sets a brutal pace. 

"Don’t I feel good?" Marcus taunts you, "Perfect girl, you make such a mess– so wet on my cock.” 

The sounds of him thrusting into you, of wetness and flesh colliding, his cock soaked with your arousal forcing its way in and out of your pussy. Each deep stroke pushes your excessive slickness out, only for it to be drawn back in again as he pulls out of you to deliver another powerful snap of his hips. 

The feeling in your lower belly is coiling tighter and your walls flutter around his massive girth– it still feels like you’re being stretched taut and might be torn in two. Your fingers tighten the circles around your clit and you put weight behind your touch. 

“I’m going– oh M-Marcus… You’re going to–” You stutter though the pleasure and push your hips back against his, surrendering to him completely. “It’s happening,” you moan into the sheets as your body unravels underneath him.

“Yes it is,” he growls down to you as your orgasm washes over you. “You’re taking my cock so well, sweet girl. Come undone on it.” His fingers dig into the soft skin on your back as he draws the thrusts out slowly, but delivers them with more force. 

The intensity from it has your fingers frozen on your clit, trembling. The pressure of his hands pushing you into the bed steals your air and your mouth can only hang open while he fucks you through the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Your eyes shut tightly and your grip on the sheets gives you white knuckles. Every nerve ending inside of you is burning and tingling in the best way.

You gasp as he continues his bruising thrusts, tears springing to your eyes. “Marcus!” You keen loudly, the feeling of his cock brushing against your cervix has you quivering so violently it’s almost like you’re shivering.

His hands leave your back, but his chest finds space there as he pushes your hips flat into the bed. "What is it, Aurelia?" He coos into your ear, his voice still deep and rumbling.

“P-Pl-Please, it- I c-can’t… M-Marcus…t-t-too– t-too m-m-much!” Your sobs are tangled in the brain-scrambling bliss.

"Are you giving up on me already, Aurelia?” He growls, one of his thick forearms snakes around your neck and pulls your head up against his shoulder. His hips never stop moving, they’re unrelenting and powerful as they slam against your ass.

It quickly becomes too much; you’re so sensitive and sore now that the pleasure is fleeting fast. “Yes!” You cry out, the tears staining the silken sheets below you as they fall from your eyes and drop from your cheeks. 

“Oh…poor Dove,” he whispers as he nips sharply at your earlobe. “Can’t take Dominus' cock the way she thought she could?”

You’re choked by the feeling of him at your innermost barrier again and your walls clench down around him. “I c-can’t! I can’t t-take it any– anymore…”  Everything is too much, you can barely think about anything but the feeling of every ridge and vein on his cock– because it’s all you can feel. You feel every thick and throbbing inch of him almost painfully. 

"Do you need me to come?" He groans, his own thrusts becoming erratic as he struggles to hold back his own release. 

Desperate for relief, you nod and whimper, "Yes, p-please, Marcus. I can't t-take it anymore."

Hearing your plea, he finally gives in and he buries himself within you. With a grunt he releases his hot seed into you, his cock twitching uncontrollably as he empties himself. Your walls convulse around him, milking him as he holds himself at the deepest parts of you that he can reach. 

Marcus moves his forearm from around your neck to under your breasts. With his cock still inside of you, he crawls up the bed and drags your limp and spent body underneath him. 

He’s still inside of you when he lays on his side and pulls you close to his chest, nuzzling his nose into your hair. He lets out a deep, content sigh as his other hand comes to blindly wipe the tears from your face. It’s clumsy, and he mostly just rubs his hand across your cheeks, closed eyes and forehead. 

“Was it bad?” He whispers quietly after a moment of catching his breath. 

You’re half asleep, unable to form a coherent thought– let alone a full sentence. “So good hurt,” you babble and make him chuckle. “Stretched me,” you whine as he kisses along your shoulder. 

“I sure did,” he murmurs against your skin. “That’s why it was important that you liked me, cared for me.” He adds, his hand roaming the curves of your stomach. “If you hated me, or resented me at all… you wouldn’t have enjoyed it.” 

“I still cried,” you tease sleepily, snuggling your body back against his. When you wiggle your hips, his soft cock slips out of you. 

Marcus sits up and rolls you so you’re laying on your back, and he’s sitting between your legs. He’s staring at your cunt with wide eyes, almost like he’s amazed by the sight. “Do you like having my seed inside of you?” He gently runs the tips of two fingers up the length of your reddened, puffy slit. 

You nod and watch every move he makes. He coats his fingers in the mixture of your releases and brings them to his lips. His eyes dart to yours as he sucks them clean. 

Then he repeats the process, gently skimming the release dripping from your entrance, but instead of bringing it to his mouth, he places the tips of his fingers at your lips. “Taste us,” he traces your mouth with the slickness before pushing them between onto your tongue.

You lap at the mixture and you sigh at the bitter, tangy saltiness of both of you combined. 

His eyes drift back down to your leaking cunt and he sighs. “Such a beautiful sight watching me drip from you.” 

Marcus fetches a rag from one of the drawers in your room and cleans the both of you off. 

He wraps himself in one of your sheets like a toga, and you dress in a simple tunic you would sleep in and join him on the balcony of your chambers. He’s sitting on one of the two lounge chairs, you sit down across from him in the other.

He pours you a glass of wine and then himself one. Neither one of you says anything for a while. You’re enjoying the cool breeze of the night air, thinking of what the future holds for you up here in this tower.

“What are your plans for me?” You ask after finally working up the courage to speak.

Marcus swallows hard, avoiding your eyes. “It’s quite complicated,” he explains softly.

You sigh, “So those nice things you say are all just…talk? Wanting me by your side? Being the vision in your head?” You hate to even utter those things because it makes you feel terrible. 

Marcus tuts quietly and reaches for your free hand, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips. “It’s not just talk.” He whispers. 

There is no excitement in your tone or happiness in your eyes when you finally address him. "So, what now? You just stop by to drop off a load every once in a while and then leave me here to raise your bastards?" You scoff in annoyance.

Marcus chuckles to himself, "My bastards?" 

You nod your head emphatically and wrinkle your nose. "Yes. Bastards.” You hiss at him. 

Marcus looks very unimpressed. "I want to plant the seed of a decorated Roman general in your belly, and you’d call it a bastard?" 

“That is what you call a child born to a mother who is not the wife of the father!" You exclaim, losing your patience with him now that he’s no longer inside you.

"How many do you have running around out there in the streets right now?" You point out of your window accusingly. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you about my position here in Rome…or my relationships.” He kisses the back of your fingers again.

“Your position?” You question, eyeing him as you sip the wine. 

“I may not hold as much power as I said I did, or as much influence,” he confesses quietly. “Which is why I do not let you leave, or like to be seen with you in public…” 

You frown and tilt your head to the side, “Why would you lie?” 

“To impress you,” he smirks when he says it, and there is a hint of a blush behind his cheeks. 

“Impress me?” You snort softly. 

Marcus nods and catches your eye, “I’m being forced to fight, forced to leave you for so long… like a trained dog.” He frowns. “I have a powerful army, but I hold little influence here in the capital.” 

“You’re married to an influential woman, apparently.” It’s hard to forget about Lucilla. It’s hard to not be jealous that he’ll leave you here eventually to go be with her. 

“She is the daughter of the previous Emperor.” He explains. “She is a good woman… I’ve known her for quite long. Our relationship bloomed from a shared respect for a man we both knew once. I care for her very deeply.” 

The blood in your veins begins to boil. Terrible and horrible thoughts race through your head and make you even more angry. 

Lady Lucilla is past her child rearing years…but that doesn’t mean she can’t desire a child! Is this what he bought you for? To be a child mill for his wife? 

"You will not take my child away from me for Lucilla to raise it." You snarl at him. "No, I will cut off your hands before you can even think of doing such a thing."

Marcus blinks at you. "Are you finished?" He asks once you’re done speaking.

“I don’t know! I don’t know what your plans are for me! Or for this child you want to plant inside of me so badly!” You scoff and drink down the rest of your wine. 

Marcus' eyes dart out onto the street below, the other balconies and then into your room like someone may be hiding in there, “I plan on getting us out of here, my sweet girl. You and I… and Lucilla so that she can live freely with someone she loves,” he explains in barely a whisper. “Our marriage was something of convenience, which is why I have you now...”

[andy-15-07]

A Family Beyond War

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader Word Count: 2616 Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The sun burned high in the sky over Rome, its rays reflecting off the golden armor of General Marcus Acacius as he stood on the training field. His two sons, Cassius and Tiberius, mirrored his stance, their youthful faces determined as they wielded wooden practice swords. Marcus’ wife, Y/N, watched from a shaded pergola nearby, her youngest daughter, Aurelia, seated beside her with a scroll of poetry in her lap. The warm air was filled with the clanging of swords and the occasional barked correction from Marcus.

Cassius, the eldest at 18, struck forward with precision, his blade aiming for Tiberius’ midsection. Tiberius, 17, blocked, his movements slightly more hesitant but determined nonetheless. Marcus stepped forward, his commanding presence evident as he corrected Tiberius’ stance.

“Keep your guard high, Tiberius,” Marcus instructed. “A single mistake in the field could cost you your life.”

“Yes, Father,” Tiberius replied, adjusting his posture under his father’s watchful gaze.

Aurelia looked up from her scroll, her brow furrowed. “Must they always fight? There is more to life than swords and shields.”

Y/N chuckled softly, brushing a strand of Aurelia’s dark hair back. “Your brothers wish to follow in your father’s footsteps. It is their way of honoring him.”

“But I do not wish to honor bloodshed,” Aurelia replied, her voice tinged with disapproval. “What glory is there in taking a life?”

Before Y/N could respond, Marcus’ voice rang out. “Enough for today! Cassius, Tiberius, well done. Your skill improves daily.”

The boys beamed under their father’s praise, their faces flushed from exertion. As they approached, Marcus’ eyes softened as they fell upon Y/N and Aurelia. “And how are my ladies?” he asked, his tone gentle.

“Aurelia was just lamenting the barbarity of your craft,” Y/N teased, a playful smile on her lips.

Marcus knelt beside Aurelia, his hand resting on her shoulder. “You disapprove of our training, little one?”

Aurelia hesitated, then nodded. “It is violent and cruel. Surely there is a better way to resolve conflict.”

Marcus’ expression grew thoughtful. “Perhaps you are right, Aurelia. But until the world embraces peace, men like your brothers and I must be prepared to defend our home and our family.”

Aurelia sighed, her gaze falling to her scroll. “I wish the world could see the beauty in words instead of war.”

Later that evening, the family dressed in their finest attire and made their way to the Colosseum. The massive structure loomed ahead, its arches and columns illuminated by the setting sun. The roar of the crowd grew louder as they entered, the scent of sweat and anticipation thick in the air.

Y/N took her seat beside Marcus in the reserved section, their children flanking them. Aurelia sat stiffly, her discomfort evident as the first fight began. She flinched at the clash of swords and the cheers of the crowd as a gladiator fell to his knees.

“Barbaric,” Aurelia muttered under her breath.

Marcus glanced at her, his brow furrowing. “Aurelia, come with me.”

Surprised, she followed her father out of the stands and into the quieter corridors of the Colosseum. Marcus stopped in a shaded alcove, turning to face her. “Speak your mind, daughter.”

Aurelia took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly. “I hate it, Father. The blood, the violence, the cheers for death. It’s monstrous. How can you support this?”

Marcus’ jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, he knelt to her level, his eyes filled with a rare vulnerability. “I do not enjoy it, Aurelia. But it is a part of the world we live in. The Colosseum is not just a place of death; it is a reminder of Rome’s power, of the discipline and strength that built our empire.”

Aurelia’s eyes welled with tears. “Must strength always come at such a cost?”

“No,” Marcus admitted. “Strength can also be found in compassion, in wisdom, in the courage to speak against what you believe is wrong. You have that strength, Aurelia. Do not let the ugliness of this world dim your light.”

She threw her arms around his neck, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “I love you, Father. I just wish things could be different.”

Marcus held her tightly, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. “So do I, my little poet. So do I.”

The weeks that followed saw a shift in the family dynamics. Marcus encouraged Aurelia’s passion for poetry, often asking her to recite verses during family meals. Cassius and Tiberius, inspired by their sister’s bravery in confronting their father, began to view their training with a new perspective, seeking to emulate not just their father’s strength but also his wisdom and compassion.

One evening, as the family sat together in their garden, Aurelia stood and cleared her throat. “I have written something,” she announced, her cheeks pink with nervousness.

Marcus gestured for her to continue, pride evident in his eyes. “Let us hear it, Aurelia.”

She unfolded a parchment and began to read, her voice steady and filled with emotion. Her words painted a picture of a world where swords were beaten into plowshares, where the cries of battle were replaced by songs of peace. As she finished, the family sat in awed silence.

“Beautiful,” Y/N whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Marcus rose and embraced his daughter. “You have a gift, Aurelia. Never stop sharing it.”

In that moment, the general and his poet found common ground, their love for each other bridging the divide between war and peace.

As the seasons passed, Aurelia’s poetry began to gain attention beyond their household. Word of her talent spread, and soon she was invited to recite her work at gatherings and festivals. Marcus and Y/N attended every event, their pride in their daughter evident to all who saw them.

One day, Aurelia returned home with a scroll in hand, her eyes alight with excitement. “Father, Mother, I have been invited to present my work at the Forum!”

Marcus smiled, his heart swelling with pride. “The Forum is a place of great importance. You will be speaking to some of Rome’s most influential minds. Are you ready for such an audience?”

Aurelia nodded confidently. “I am ready. My words will speak of peace and understanding. Perhaps they will inspire change.”

On the day of the event, the family arrived at the Forum, where a large crowd had gathered. Aurelia stood on the raised platform, her presence commanding despite her young age. She began to speak, her voice clear and passionate. Her words wove a tapestry of hope, challenging the audience to envision a Rome where wisdom and compassion reigned supreme.

As she concluded, the crowd erupted into applause. Marcus watched with a mixture of pride and awe as his daughter descended the platform and was surrounded by admirers. He saw in her the potential to shape a better future, one that transcended the violence and bloodshed that had defined his own life.

That evening, as the family gathered in their garden once more, Marcus raised a cup in a toast. “To Aurelia, whose words have the power to change the world. May her light guide us all.”

The family joined in the toast, their bond stronger than ever. In that moment, they were not just a family of warriors and poets but a beacon of hope for a better Rome.

As Aurelia’s influence grew, she began to attract the attention of Rome’s elite. Senators and scholars sought her counsel, and even the emperor himself invited her to speak at the palace. Marcus, though wary of the political implications, supported his daughter’s endeavors, knowing that her voice was a force for good.

Cassius and Tiberius, inspired by their sister’s courage, began to explore their own paths beyond the training field. Cassius developed an interest in engineering, designing structures that could benefit Rome’s citizens. Tiberius, meanwhile, turned his focus to diplomacy, using his father’s teachings to mediate disputes and foster alliances.

One evening, as the family dined together, Tiberius spoke up. “Father, I have been invited to accompany a delegation to Gaul. They believe my skills as a mediator could be of use.”

Marcus regarded his son with a mixture of pride and concern. “Gaul is a land of uncertainty. Are you prepared for the challenges you may face?”

Tiberius nodded. “I am, Father. You have taught me well.”

Marcus placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Then go with my blessing. Make me proud.”

As the family’s influence continued to grow, they became a symbol of hope and unity in a fractured empire. Marcus, once known solely as a warrior, found his legacy evolving through the achievements of his children. Together, they forged a new path for Rome, one that balanced strength with compassion, and tradition with progress.

And through it all, Aurelia’s words remained a guiding light, reminding them of the power of hope, love, and understanding in a world often overshadowed by darkness.

As Aurelia’s influence spread, the delicate balance between her poetic pursuits and her family’s military legacy continued to shift. Her poetry, infused with visions of peace and a world beyond war, struck a chord with many in the elite circles of Rome. It wasn't long before high-ranking senators, philosophers, and even foreign dignitaries sought her counsel. Her words, once confined to the walls of their home, were now finding an audience in the halls of power.

Marcus, despite his initial hesitation, couldn't help but feel immense pride in his daughter’s growing stature. He had long been known as the great general, a man of iron and blood, his legacy tied to the battles he fought and the empire he helped to build. But as Aurelia’s influence grew, he realized that his legacy was evolving, shifting into something more than just strength and conquest.

Cassius and Tiberius, too, found their paths diverging from the training fields and the weight of their father’s expectations. Cassius, with his keen mind and inventive spirit, took an interest in engineering. Inspired by the growing need for infrastructure in Rome, he set about designing new aqueducts to carry water to the farthest reaches of the city, improving life for the common people.

Tiberius, always more thoughtful and diplomatic than his brothers, began to consider a future in statecraft. His natural ability to mediate disputes, honed in the small lessons his father had given him over the years, became a vital tool as he began traveling with the diplomatic corps. He was frequently tasked with negotiating with foreign dignitaries, ensuring that Rome’s alliances remained strong, even as the empire stretched its borders farther than ever before.

One day, while Marcus and Y/N enjoyed a quiet evening together, their conversation turned to their children’s futures. Y/N, ever the pragmatic one, voiced her concerns.

“Do you ever wonder, Marcus,” she began, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and worry, “how our children will fare in the world? Our sons, particularly, are stepping into roles that will shape Rome’s future. I fear the weight of their legacy may be too much for them to bear.”

Marcus, who had always been a man of action rather than reflection, looked at his wife with a rare softness in his eyes. “I fear the same,” he admitted, his voice low. “But they are their own men now. I can only guide them, not live their lives for them.”

Y/N smiled, her hand finding his across the table. “And Aurelia? She is unlike any of us, and yet she is perhaps the most important of all.”

Marcus chuckled softly. “She has a power in her words that no sword can match. I believe she will do more for Rome than any general ever could.”

Weeks passed, and Aurelia’s name became a familiar one in the highest circles of Roman society. One evening, after a particularly well-received performance at the Senate House, Aurelia returned to the family home to find her brothers waiting for her.

“Well, well,” Cassius said with a teasing grin. “The poet returns from conquering the hearts of the Senate.”

Aurelia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “They don’t know what to make of me, but they’re intrigued. It’s a step forward.”

Tiberius, his brow furrowed in thought, placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done more than step forward, Aurelia. You’ve made them listen. Do you realize how many people are talking about you?”

“I don’t want them to talk about me,” Aurelia said, her voice soft but firm. “I want them to hear the message in my words.”

Cassius gave her an appraising look. “You’ve always been the brave one, haven’t you?”

“Bravery has nothing to do with it,” Aurelia replied, her eyes meeting his with quiet intensity. “It’s about doing what’s right, even when it’s difficult.”

Tiberius nodded. “I think you’re right. Maybe there’s something to your vision of a different Rome—a Rome that isn’t built on conquest, but on understanding and strength in other forms.”

Marcus, who had overheard the conversation from the doorway, stepped into the room with a proud smile. “And what would you know of that, Tiberius?” he asked, his voice warm yet teasing.

Tiberius met his father’s gaze with newfound confidence. “I know that Rome cannot grow only through the sword. There must be other ways—ways that preserve the essence of our strength while also allowing for compassion and diplomacy.”

Marcus nodded slowly, impressed by his son’s resolve. “You have learned much, Tiberius. Perhaps the time will come when your role in Rome will be as important as any general’s.”

Cassius chuckled. “Don’t get too comfortable, Father. We still need you in the field. No one can fill your boots just yet.”

Marcus laughed heartily, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Perhaps not, Cassius. But there may come a day when it is you who steps into them.”

One evening, when the family gathered for dinner, the conversation turned to an unexpected subject. A letter had arrived that morning from a foreign delegation in Gaul, requesting Tiberius’ presence for an important negotiation regarding Rome’s borders.

“Father,” Tiberius began, looking up from his plate, “I’ve been invited to represent Rome at the negotiations. It’s a significant step for me.”

Marcus studied his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke. “It is a dangerous path, Tiberius. The politics of Gaul are volatile. But I trust you. If you believe you are ready, then go.”

Tiberius’ eyes shone with a mixture of pride and fear. “I will, Father. I will make you proud.”

Aurelia, always the most thoughtful of the family, placed a hand on his. “You don’t have to prove anything, Tiberius. Just do what you know is right.”

As the family shared a quiet moment of reflection, Aurelia felt the weight of the changes around her. Cassius, Tiberius, and even their father were finding their own paths—paths that had once seemed unimaginable in the shadow of their military heritage. They were forging a new Rome, one that blended the strength of warriors with the wisdom of poets, engineers, and diplomats.

In the days that followed, Tiberius prepared for his journey to Gaul, while Aurelia continued to write and speak of peace. Marcus, ever the watchful father, took pride in the direction his children were taking, knowing that the empire was in capable hands—hands that understood the power of strength and the importance of compassion.

And so, as the seasons changed and the world continued to turn, the Acacius family stood at the crossroads of tradition and progress. Together, they carried the legacy of Rome forward, not with swords and shields alone, but with wisdom, courage, and the power of words.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

nymph. [part 5] l General Marcus Acacius

Summary:  you have been with him for a long time, but he has never seen you. but everything has changed.

Warnings:  angst, fluff, memories of death and arena fights, old romance, lots of sadness, some tears, gods and mythology are treated in a simple way

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter. I've hidden something there… something that happened a while ago and came back to them. I'm curious… I'd like to know what you think of this series. or anything I write. My inner critic probably does too well. But I'll leave you with this and thank you for your time.

I hope you will be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

nymph [masterlist]

It was another hot day and even though you were in the shade, you could feel the heat pouring off the sand in the arena. You had never seen a place like this before. It was massive, raised above the rooftops, as if it was shouting to everyone "I will be here for eternity while you turn to dust".

Marcus was strangely quiet and nervous that day, you could see it in his gaze and how close he was to you. Brutus and Aurelia, as they had promised, showed up at the coliseum with you, but it didn't help.

The crowd around you, the greetings from the other guests and the place itself, General Acacius was restless and would have given anything to be able to take you away from there.

But your eyes, like the eyes of a child, absorbed it all, absorbed his world.

"Marcus! How good to see you!" a cheerful and resonant voice reached your ears as well.

"Lucilla." Marcus nodded as the woman smiled fondly at him. "I’m glad to see you in good health."

She was beautiful. Golden hair fell in waves down her back, a robe draped around her shapely body, and precious stones and gold sparkled on her hands and neck. 

Lucilla was beautiful and she definitely knew it. How else could you explain the spell she cast over the people gathered in this place.

She gave him a smile. "I was glad to hear in what glory you returned to Rome. Why haven't you visited me yet? It's not nice to keep old friends waiting."

"I had my duties."

"Duties?" she repeated, and her gaze wandered to you. You didn't look in her direction, but you could clearly feel her searching gaze on you. "Is this your new..."

Your name left his lips like the words of a prayer, Lucilla immediately felt it. Despite everything, the smile didn't leave her lips.

"I'm glad to see you're happy, Marcus." she said, her hand tenderly squeezing his arm. "If she gives you this happiness..."

"She gives me more than I dare to ask for."

The woman nodded. After a short moment, she withdrew to her seat, but you still had the impression that her eyes hadn't left you and Marcus.

"Everything’s good? Come on, let's take our seats."

You sat down at the back and after a moment you saw Emperor Geta and his brother appear in the box. All the majesty and splendor of their personas was overwhelming, but you had the impression that the people around them seemed to stiffen and began to weigh their words more carefully.

However, you didn’t have time to look at them more closely. The fights had begun.

Marcus felt ashamed and embarrassed. When he saw the expression on your face, his heart stopped for a moment. He wanted to take you away from there, to erase from your memory what you had seen, what you had heard... 

Your fingers tightened on the ornate armrests of the chair and you slightly leaned forward as your widened eyes watched the bloodshed in the arena with horror.

"My dear..." he whispered in your ear, but only a sigh escaped from between your parted lips.

He took your hand and kissed it, but that didn't help either. Your fingers were ice cold. Gods, Marcus regretted ever letting you see all this!

The conversations and laughter of his companions reached him as if from behind a curtain. All his attention was focused on you and only his alertness allowed him to react appropriately when any words were directed at him.

Let this all be over! Please...

Brutus and Aurelia took you back home, Marcus's duties forced him to stay. You barely spoke to him or his friends, still dazed by what you saw.

"Take care of her." Brutus ordered Melitta when she appeared to welcome you home.

You were barely able to understand her words, although she spoke to you calmly and with concern.

"Where is she? Melitta!" his loud voice echoed through the darkened corridor.

The girl quickly approached him, leaned around the corner, and bowed quickly.

"My lord." she said "I tried my best, but she..."

"What about her?" Acacius growled, approaching her "Speak, girl, if you value your life!"

She raised her head, looking at him pleadingly "I prepared her a bath to ease her nerves. She's still there..."

"How long?" he frowned.

"Since she came home."

"It's been a few hours!"

He pushed Melitta aside and went inside. The stuffiness and the smell of incense immediately filled his nostrils. You were there, sitting on the edge with your feet immersed in the water. The maid had to cover your shoulders with a robe. But what frightened Marcus was your gaze. Glassy eyes stared into space, you looked like a sculpture.

"My love." he said quickly approaching you, he touched your cheek, directing your gaze to him "I'm so sorry."

"Marcus..."

He saw the tears running down your cheeks, your trembling lips, the crease between your brows. He had never felt so helpless before.

"I'm sorry you had to see this. I have no words to justify myself, but please... Just say something."

"I don't understand this, Marcus." Your whisper was barely audible. "I've seen the wrath of the gods, I've seen the battlefields, but this... Just to please a handful of people? Do you all despise your lives so much?"

"I have nothing to defend what you saw."

"How could you defend it? There were ordinary people there too..."

"Thieves and bandits. Slaves."

"People." You took a deep breath. "So who am I, Marcus? What am I? I feel like I'm floating between worlds, not belonging to any of them... I saw the delight on the faces of some, and the terror in the eyes of the dying. Where am I in all of this?"

Warm, large hands cupped your face. Gentle brown eyes looked at you with fear, but also with love and care.

"You're here with me. That's what matters." He said. "Our life is beyond all of this. I'll take you away from here, somewhere where you'll feel free, safe... You belong to me, and I belong to you. That's all that matters."

He saw the shadow of a smile on your chapped lips and couldn't help but taste them. They were salty from tears, but still soft and comforting. 

"Come on, love. Let me take you to bed."

With incredible ease he lifted you into his arms and carried you to the bedroom. You were so fragile in his arms, when he placed you on the bed he was still surprised that you were real. It was late, the house was silent and the room was filled with the sweet scent.

You watched as Marcus removed the gold bracelets from his wrists and then his toga, which he placed on a nearby chair. The glow of the candles danced on his wide back.

"Lucilla."

Your quiet voice caught his attention as he poured himself some water from the jug on the table. He turned around, you were sitting on your heels and staring at him. Your face was so soft in the light.

"I saw how she looked at you." you continued calmly. "Something connected you. Feelings, right? Strong ones."

Acacius nodded.

"What happened?"

He cleared his throat and took a few steps, his thoughts returning to those times, the times of his youth.

"It was years ago..." he began "I was a young soldier, gaining experience. She was lonely. Like me."

"She's beautiful."

"Not like you." you smiled slightly and continued "Our paths crossed."

"Did you love her?"

Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands, which suddenly seemed colossal, rough. Inappropriate for you. However, your presence next to him was so soothing, he closed his eyes.

"I thought so." he replied "I thought it was love. But everything changed suddenly."

Your hand rested on his shoulder "How so?"

"I don't know. I was away from Rome for a while. When I came back, when I met her again and kissed her, I felt like I was betraying someone. It sounds crazy, but it was true. The shadow of an unknown person, someone I had lost and didn't even know, hung between us. I couldn't... Lucilla sensed it, she didn't ask questions. I devoted myself to the army, to Rome." He looked at you, a faint smile playing on his plush lips. When you stroked his cheek, Marcus sighed quietly.

"I've never told anyone about it. Is it possible to suddenly wake up one day and feel like something's been lost? Because that's how I felt. I didn't know what it was, but I felt like someone had cut out a piece of me. No one could fill it. And then, years later, you appeared... You were there like the wind, like a breeze or a warm gust." his lips brushed your wrist, you rested your forehead against his and closed your eyes. “I felt you before I saw you. And once I saw your face, gods, it was like I woke up from a long sleep.”

For almost four days, General Acacius's house had been just you, Melitta, Antigonus, and the rest of the servants. His duties had forced him to report to the barracks, and this time he couldn't find an excuse.

It was your first separation in a long time, and although you missed him, every day surprised you with something. Like when Antigonus said you could accompany Melitta to the market. Or when you went to the nearby temple together.

Aurelia and Brutus, Marcus's friends, also visited you, but seeing that they had torn you away from sitting among the maps and notes you were so passionately devouring, they decided that nothing would threaten you. So if it weren't for Antigonus' complaints, you would probably have moved the bedding there.

You felt it again.

You didn't tell Marcus about it, but you waited for the familiar scent to fill the bedroom again. Maybe you were wrong? Maybe it was all just a vivid dream?

But when you stood by the open window to the garden, you heard the quiet words of prayer, you knew you were right. The grass was soft under your bare feet, and the pleasantly cool wind brought relief after the hot day. You walked quietly so as not to scare anyone away.

And when you stopped behind the rose bush, you saw her.

Melitta was kneeling in front of burning candles, with incense made of herbs and flowers that gave off a scent so familiar to you. Her quiet voice mixed with the rustle of leaves and cicadas.

You didn't want to interrupt her prayers, it wasn't right. But you listened to the words and with each subsequent one you felt as if your heart was sinking.

These were not ordinary prayers. Regret, sadness, a plea for forgiveness, a promise to improve... All these words were accompanied by Melitta's silent sobs, carried through the night to the stars along with the smoke of her incense.

And then you understood.

She was just like you.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

@ashleyfilm @gothcsz @littlenicpascal @missladym1981 @axshadows @psychoenergy @sabsunflowergirl @pedrofan @heckzprince @hard-candy-writing @mynameisbaby9 @94namkooksworld @bbyanarchist @picketniffler @tranquilty @psyched2b @jeewrites @tuquoquebrute @aotfantasmagorias @mynameismothra @kluvspedro @fefa-la-printcessa

[pearlypairings]

in the Shade of Aurelias

↳ art by @macau1ay; inspired by chapter two :)

new update back from hiatus✨ || hellcheer fantasy au || summary: Christine and Eddie rejoin her knight and part of his magic-imbued crew, causing some relief and a bit of friction. new chapter on ao3 with a little recap :)

[itsdancingquen]

comm I did for @pearlypairings and their fic In the Shade of Aurelias, another incredible one please go read it!!!! This was so much fun to make!

I still can't how many of my commissions are all those incredible talented writers wow I feel like im dreaming 😭

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

Masterlist

Hi! I'm Ashl. I write bits of stuff and whatnot. My page is dedicated to all the things currently giving me brain rot so it will be an odd amalgamation of things.

I've compiled a masterlist of writings because it's just starting to get hard to keep track of things really.....

Gale Dekarious:

Reading By Firelight - Gale watches Tav during their nightly ritual of reading by the campfire, yearning for them.

Caught In The Act - Gale watches you on an evening wondering what it is that your read every night, one day he finds out that you have been reading filthy smut.

Part One, Part Two, Part 3

Sunset Springs - You and Gale head of to the local springs at sunset, whereby you address the budding chemistry that is palpable between you two

Lovers Tragedy - Gale is goes to the netherbrain to follow Mystra's command, whilst the reader pleads for him to reconsider.

Gale Thoughts.

- Blackstaff Academy

Part one, Part Two: Gale Pov part 3, Part 4 , Part 5

So close, yet so far

- Came Back Wrong:

Part 1 ,Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 part 6

you find Gale in Moonrise Towers, mute and missing a

The wizard of Moonrise , Broken Silence

Rolan

The Tiefling Wizard - You find Rolan, drunk and after Lorroakan has marked his face, you help him to your room and look after him

Part One, Part 1.5, Part 2, Part 3.

The Wizards Tower - The reader works at Sorcerers Sundries and helps to look after Rolan

Touch Starved Rolan - pretty much what the title says.

Part One, Part Two

Rolan finding our his human crush thinks she hates him.

Rolan apologising and making amends to his crush

Heat Cycle - Rolan is mid heat cycle when you enter his office

Librarian, Part Two - you take a job at Sorcerer's Sundries as librarian and assistant, dreaming about Rolan

Rolan week fics - Day 6: Kiss , Day 7: The Night Before

Zevlor

Thoughts about Zevlor

Zevlor's Human S/O asking if she can worship his infernal traits

The Hellrider's Redemption -

Part one, Part Two Part Three Part four part five

Buggy The Clown

Well I Guess I'm A Fool For You:

Part One, Part Two, Part 3, Part 4.

Sailors Folly:

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four.

Eddie Munson

One More Drink - Eddie is in his 40s, reader in their mid 20s. You meet Eddie at a dive bar in town after your date stood you up out of nowhere, you spend the night in Eddie's company until you end up nearly passed out drunk.

A Late Night Session - You were part of the Hellfire crew and had just finished your most recent campaign, Eddie invited you over for the night after the rest of the club had left.

Batttle Aftercare - Eddie, your neighbour, had been brought to you injured, it was up to you to look after him

Summer Heat - You take refuge in the shade of your new trailer, only to notice a new neighbour of yours

Emperor Geta

Treasure - Geta saw you and wanted to make you his precious treasure, adoring your skin with paint so he could see if anybody touched you.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four.

The Empress - You were just as bloodthirsty as Geta was, a delightful surprise to him

Part One, Part Two, Part Three Part Four

Thoughts on Geta taking his son to watch the games.

- The Making Of an Heir

- Geta's Concubine.

Part one Part Two

Emperor Caracalla

- Little Dove: Caracalla noticed you in court and wants to make you his, to revere you as his own.

Part one , Part two , Part Three , Part Four , Part Five, Part Six

-To Love An Emperor.

Part one Part two Part three Part Four

- Being Caracalla's favourite concubine

- Aurelia - an alternate pov from the Geta's Concubine, centred around Aurelia who was summoned for Caracalla

Haarlep:

Anon Asks:

part 1 part 2 part 3

Halsin:

Anon asks:

Part 1, part 2

Harper Geraldus:

Anon ask:

Harper geraldus part 2 smut

Sam drake:

Aftercare

Wyll:

Wyll ask about his infernal traits

Tav asking Wyll to teach them dance

Lucinas/Spite

Rook walks into Lucinas' room at night, encountering him and Spite:

Night Of Spite , A Touch Of Spite, An Aftermath of Spite

Dammon:

An anonymous ask about being thankful for Dammon's weapons

You ask Dammon on a date

Karlach:

Annon ask about confessing love to Karlach

[tightjeansjavi]

Et Auream - Act IV : The Girl

A/N: I just want to start off by saying that for this chapter and the next, please heed the warnings. Also, I have included one historical inaccuracy regarding the reasoning for Marcus to tell Aurelia his first name. His reasoning was because only those who were worthy could know a gladiators true identity, and since she is about to save his life, he feels that she is worthy. Historically, roman male citizens had three names: first name, family name and nickname. It would be seen as too intimate or disrespectful to address a male citizen by their first name (typically only if this male citizen was an emperor or someone in power). This is why Geta, Caracalla and others refer to Marcus as Acacius. Aurelia is the only one who has been granted the privilege to call him Marcus (thus far) Thank you to @sinsofsummer for betaing as always <3 word count: 4.9k Summary: Marcus opens up about his past to Aurelia, but does not divulge further than what he is comfortable with. Time is forever fleeting, but he hopes that their meeting will not be a one time occurrence. Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! This chapter includes SA of a minor (not by Marcus) loss of virginity, hyper sexuality as a result of SA, slight stockholm syndrome (if you squint) sexual enslavement, domestic abuse, canon typical violence, angst, misogyny, minor character death, language, +18 minors dni! If I have missed anything, please let me know! series masterlist

When Aurelia was just a little girl, and the world was bright, shiny, and new to her innocent eyes, she begged her parents for a horse of her very own. A beautiful ivory mare, or a sunburnt black stallion. She was too young to understand the pecking order in society, too naive to recognize that her family was not blessed with riches from the gods above. No, her parents were poor common folk; farmers whose only duties were to produce enough crops to feed Rome and her noble pupils. She didn’t understand the means of power, wealth, and status. 

Her parents prayed to the gods for their crops to prosper, and the gods answered, but a sacrifice would have to be made. her parents promised that where she was going, she would be rewarded with a thousand horses of all different shades and breeds. Instead, she was met with an iron collar around her delicate neck; a symbol of ownership. She was a slave to a Dominus, stripped down to an object to be bought and used in whatever means he felt necessary, and she had only just flowered. 

Her parents abided by the god’s wishes for them to sell their only daughter, and yet, their crops shriveled and dried to dust. It was too late, the damage was already done, and she could never return to the home she once knew. 

When Aurelia’s parents sold her off to senator Cassius, she had expected to live her life of servitude in a dingy cell, wearing tattered garments and begging for scraps. No matter how foul and unsettling Cassius was in her eyes, in a twisted way he did treat her better than she had expected. Atleast, she had convinced herself that he had. He ensured her that she would be educated in the arts and literature and all things a proper Roman lady should be taught. For that, she should be grateful, but only bitterness resides when she imagines the life she could be living had her parents not thrown her away so carelessly.

She was granted her own room and bed with silken sheets and a wardrobe with garments of every color. Handcrafted and threaded with the richest fabrics she had ever laid her eyes upon. Cassius prided himself in his appearance and so the same expectations were set upon her.

The first night of her new life, Aurelia found herself helping him undress and sink into the bath that she had prepared for him. He paid no mind to the obvious scald marks appearing on her small hands from the water being too hot for her delicate skin to handle. “You will tend to me in whatever manner I may request of you, Aurelia,” he said sternly, leaving no room for her to protest against his command. “Yes, my Dominus,” she responded quietly, her voice laced with nervousness. He grinned at her displeasure and ignored the fear that lingered in her eyes when he grasped her wrist, smaller than his own, and he dragged her hand beneath the steaming water to wrap around his hardening cock. 

“I will make you happy, my pet. Just do as I ask and never fight me,” he hummed in contentment and his head tilting back against the fine porcelain as her wrist moved around his hardened shaft with shaky, insecure and unguided movements. 

“Yes, my Dominus.”

He didn’t wait for her to be well adjusted to this new life. He was the type of man who would take as he pleased, no matter the consequences. “You will lay with me tonight in my chambers, Aurelia,” he said from the entryway of the bathing area. A linen towel was secured around his hips, and she took little notice of her hands trembling as she followed him down the dimly lit hallway and to his private quarters. After that night, she was no longer a girl. She was a woman. This was evident from the dry crusted tears that laid like canyons upon her soft cheeks and the blood that stained his linen sheets with the loss of her innocence and youth.

As time went on, the pain subsided little by little. It left her experiencing confused and conflicted feelings. It felt wrong to experience pleasure from the monster, a man that took her away from the only life that she knew. Yet, her body began to crave it; yearned for that forbidden touch and that crescendo of muscles spasming, and her cunt fluttering. She felt like a woman entering her divinity through the arousal of slickness between her thighs and tender breasts; a body graced with curves, swells, dips, ridges, and soft skin.

Like summer turned to fall, and fall to winter, her feelings began to sour; turned bitter like grapes that exceeded their fermentation period. Resentment reared its ugly head the further she strayed from girlhood and entered into womanhood. All those hours of studying had gifted her knowledge that she once did not possess, and she wanted more out of her life. She craved freedom above all. Her anger and resentment towards him manifested and she could no longer keep it at bay. Her youth, stolen from her, but she intended to gain her autonomy back in some form. This angered Cassius greatly that his once perfect, compliant, obedient, pet had begun to unabashedly disobey him. She was his. His property. her mind, body and soul belonged to him, and him only. 

“You will never be free from your servitude. No matter how many fruitless hours you spend praying to the gods. You will always belong to me,” he hissed through gritted teeth, towering above her trembling, cowered body that laid upon the cold tile in his chambers.

Her cheek felt hot to the touch where he had struck her, and the tang of copper bursted along her tongue from the torn flesh of her upper lip. 

She glared at him through her tears, vision blurred before becoming clear once again. His bedroom chamber was deathly silent. “I belong to no one.” 

He swiftly yanked her up by the scruff of her neck dragging her at his will towards the crumpled sheets along his bed. “You will remember my once unconditional kindness after I have fucked the defiance out of you, girl.” 

She knew no tenderness from him after that night and was only met with cruelness. 

She took solace in Cassius aging faster than most men, but perhaps it was due to the constant stress of losing the bitter war against the Caledonians and being a trusted advisor to Emperor Geta. Any day Cassius could lose his tongue…or his head, and she found herself praying for his death every morning and every night to no avail. 

When Cassius was away for days, weeks at a time, she found her freedom and solace through familiar faces. The brothel became her oasis along with its inhabitants. She lay with men, women and indulged in the simple pleasures. Her garments became tattered at her own doing, and she finally felt as if she owned a sliver of her autonomy once more, but she was not yet free. 

The Ludus Magnus

“Marcus,” he whispered, “My name is Marcus.”

Time ceased to exist for both the golden one and the gladiator. He had never told a single soul his true birth name that his mother had bestowed him. No one in his twenty three years of life was worthy to know his identity–until he met someone who had shattered his psyche and stitched it back together all in one breath. He did not believe in soulmates–at least, he thought he didn’t. There must have been a reason why his mother came to him in his dreams and spoke the words she did. It made him believe that she was somewhere out there, watching over her son, and doing all that she could to lead him down the right path. Surely, this stranger would be entwined to his fate and him to hers.

“Sir…” her voice wavered, “I am unworthy to know of your birth name.” 

Marcus gave her an incredulous look, one with furrowed brows and lips pursed in utter confusion. “What unworthiness do you speak of, my lady?” 

“Your birth name is sacred to your creed and identity, is it not? Only those who are closest to a gladiator, such as a family member, or lover is worthy to know of one’s birth name.”

His lips pulled into a small, yet noticeable grin, and for a moment he forgets about the pain from his deep wounds in his back and the pulsing sensation in his shoulder “You are familiar with my creed? Then you speak true. Only a person of worth is granted the knowledge of my birth name, my lady. You are more than worthy. You’re about to save my life after which I will be forever indebted to you.”

“You are not yet out of death’s grasp, Marcus,” she reminded him. 

“Then we must not waste another moment, my lady.” Aurelia positioned herself behind him so that she could easily assess the damage that was inflicted to his back and shoulders. The lacerations were deep, and she could only imagine how many times the biting sting of a whip was brought upon him. The tips of her fingers gently brushed an unmarked area of skin with careful tenderness. The scar that resided there was raised, and although it did not cause him pain, he flinched nonetheless. “I…noticed in the arena that you favor your left side,” she said quietly and sat back on her haunches before reaching for the pitcher of water and vial of olive oil. “You are very observant,” he said softly. “Is there a reason as to why you favor it?” He turned his head over his shoulder so that he could observe her briefly, before he faced forward once more. “I suffered an injury when I was just a boy.” She tore a strip of fabric from her stola and dipped it generously into the water. “This will sting,” she warned him preemptively. The soaked strip of fabric descended against one of the lacerations. The cooling touch is soothing, yet the pain intensifies. He lurched forward from the sensation, gnawing on the soft flesh of his cheek so that he would not cry out. “I fell from my horse,” he continues. “How old were you, Marcus?”

He did not immediately respond, and his mind began to drift to that fatal night where his entire world was turned upside down. He inhaled a shaky breath before continuing, “I was nine.” “It was the eve of my tenth birthday–and it was entirely my fault. I should have been more careful, but my own recklessness guided me. All it took was for me to lose my stirrup, and my whole life changed.” “What happened?” “What didn’t happen,” he muttered through clenched teeth. His entire body tensed up, and it had nothing to do with his physical wounds, and all to do with his mental ones. “If I had not fallen from my horse, my father…would still love me.” His words were laced with bitterness, sadness, and guilt at the forefront. “I–I don’t understand,” she whispered in confusion. “Your name,” he said suddenly. He was not yet ready to divulge in something that was deeply personal. “What of it?” “You have yet to tell me.” “Marcus,” she starts. “It is not of importance right now–” “Please,” he begged. “I must know your name, my lady.” “Aurelia,” she concedes in a whisper, “my name is Aurelia.” “Aurelia,” he repeated, testing the way it sounded on his own tongue.

“You do not have to reveal more than you feel comfortable telling me, Marcus,” she reassured him. “You would be the first to hear of my past in its entirety, but I am not ready to revisit it.” “I understand,” she said earnestly. Silence passed between them, the words of her name echoing in his eardrums, Aurelia, the golden one.

She worked methodically on tending to his wounds, and when they are fully cleansed, the pitcher of water faintly reflects a light pinkish hue. “Marcus, did you always want to become a gladiator?” she finally broke through the silence with a question that left him frozen on the spot. “No,” he muttered. “Had I been given the choice, I would have declined it, but the choice was never mine to make. My father–he sold me to a slave trader that was well-known for training gladiators for the Colosseum. The first time I grasped a sword, I was thirteen, and I had no desire to…kill. When I turned eighteen, and had proven myself as a valiant fighter, I was brought before the emperors. My Dominus was reluctant to sell me, at first, but Geta was persistent, and offered more coin than my Dominus had ever seen, and well…here I reside.” “And I presume that your reasoning to defy the emperors in the arena was because of the resentment you hold towards your father?” 

“You ask many questions, Aurelia,” he said flatly, but intended for it to come across as lighthearted and teasing. 

“I’m—sorry…” she trailed off. “I should not pry,” she bowed her head in shame 

He turned around fully so he could face her and when he took in her appearance of shame, he frowned and gently brought the knuckle of his pointer finger to rest beneath her chin. 

“Aurelia, do not feel shameful for your curiosity. Your questions do not upset me, my lady. Forgive me if my tone has expressed otherwise. It is…comforting to have someone to confide in. I have never experienced these privileges until tonight.” 

She lifted her chin slowly, her eyes meeting his softened gaze in the dim light. “It is a privilege that most do not get to experience in their life.” 

“Indeed,” he sighed and slowly dropped his hand from her chin and rested it on his bare knee instead. “I do not know what came over me in the arena today,” he admitted. “I have killed many men before without a second thought…but I saw the fear in his eyes, and I just could not bring myself to kill him.” 

“Marcus, to not kill when you have been commanded, takes compassion and bravery. I have never witnessed such an act. It left my Dominus enraged and perplexed. It is the reason that I sought you out this evening. When we returned to our villa, I could not stop thinking of you.” 

Heat began to rise to their cheeks in tandem and he swiftly averted his gaze to the wall behind her instead. 

“I feared for your safety, and despite knowing the risks of traveling after nightfall, I…had to make sure that you were okay,” she continued. 

“Emperor Geta did not command that I would be punished for my defiance,” he said as if he was capable of reading her mind and knew exactly what question was lingering there.

“He did not?” confusion etched across her face at his words. “Who gave the command?” 

“Well—I am under the impression that he did not give the command, and his praetorians took it upon themselves to punish me. I imagine that sounds a bit…improbable, but I did not hear him utter the command,” he let out a frustrated breath as he himself could not wrap his mind around what had taken place hours prior.

“That does sound implorable, but I believe you.” 

“You said that your Dominus is a Senator, yes?” he interjects.

“Yes, he is,” she confirmed. “He works closely with the emperors, but mostly Geta, or so I have overheard.”

“And you haven’t had the displeasure of acquainting them, have you?” He referred to the emperors. 

“No,” she shook her head. “Cassius does not allow me to stray far from his side, or to be in the company of other men. He is unaware that I have left the villa, but he spends his evenings in the brothel for many hours.” 

“Be grateful that you have not made their acquaintance, Aurelia. Nothing good comes from either of them,” he said gravely.

She nodded in understanding. “Your wounds will heal with time, Marcus. I have done all that I can to cleanse them. Olive oil contains healing properties. It will keep the wound moist, and repel debris from contaminating the surrounding flesh. If the gods grant you reprieve, you will not face an infection,” she murmured. 

“You’re leaving?…” 

“I must,” she said regrettably, and slowly rose to her feet. “Cato will still be expecting to return me to my Dominus, but I intend to slip away before he has the chance.” 

“Cato will be asleep by now, my lady. He nurses a bottle of wine each evening, and sleeps till late dawn.” 

“Regardless, I should leave you to rest,” she insisted. 

The likelihood of Marcus ever seeing her again was slim, given the circumstances that they were facing, but something in his heart told him that this would not be a one time occurrence. 

“Will I see you again, my lady?” his tone held a sense of hope, something he hadn’t felt in many years. 

“If the gods allow it, then yes, you will,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I am grateful to you, Aurelia. If the gods do not allow us to see one another again, I promise I will hold onto your kindness in my heart. Go now, quickly!” he said hurriedly. “Ride fast and swift. I will pray that your travel is perilous, my lady,” he reached for her hand and brought it up to his lips, brushing the soft skin of her knuckles with a farewell kiss.

“Iterum visurus sum, Marcus. Promitto,” (I will see you again, Marcus. I promise) she whispered.

He dropped her hand from his embrace, falling back against the wall in exhaustion, “Adero, te exspectat, auream unum,” (I will be here, waiting for you, golden one)

Palatine Hill

The moon had since risen high in the starry sky when Geta returned to Palatine Hill.

The palace was quiet and he had expected that even Caracalla had retired to his quarters for the evening, but this was squashed when he heard a hushed voice coming from the grand triclinium (dining room). He investigated further, driven by curiosity.

“I advise you to cease your squirming,” Caracalla whispered against the ear of a servant girl belonging to Geta. “There will be a severe price to pay if a single drop of wine leaves my cup and does not end up on my tongue,” he warned her.

“Dominus, please,” she whispered in his grip. Her eyes were glassy with tears reflecting the soft glow that was emitted from the many surrounding candles.

“Do you know what happens when you struggle, my dear?” he posed the question in a seemingly non-threatening way, but his tone said otherwise. “I will constrict around you like a snake, and my coils will tighten and tighten till those pretty eyes bulge right from your head!” he cackled manically.

She struggled further, not heeding his warning and all hope seemed lost until she locked eyes with a familiar figure looming in the entryway. “Emperor Geta!” she cried out in relief.

Caracalla scowled and followed her gaze till it too landed on his brother’s displeased look written across his face. “And like a savior dressed in gold, he arrives,” the younger emperor said with an annoyed roll of his eyes, “You have quite the impeccable timing, brother.”

Geta gave her a reassuring nod, and granted her a moment of reprieve. “Why are you antagonizing one of my servants, Caracalla?” he walked further into the room and dragged his ring hand above one of the flickering candles. His eyes locked onto his brother’s in a staredown.

“I have all the authority to antagonize her, Geta. She came to my chambers on your orders, after all. I was actually quite touched at the gesture…until she tried to murder me!” he said dramatically to make a show of it all. He was a wild fan of theatrics and the eldest emperor didn’t bat an eye at his pointed accusation.

“He lies!” the servant wailed and Caracalla swiftly slapped her cheek with the back of his hand to silence her.

“Peace, brother,” Geta said calmly and took the seat across from him. “Your accusations are false. I was…attending business all evening. I would not have the time to confide in one of my own to carry out such a treachery.”

“Ah, business,” Caracalla wiggled his eyebrows suggestively in a light jest. “I even have the weapon she carried that was intended to kill me,” he dangled the small blade in his freehand as proof.

“That could belong to anyone, Caracalla. There is no proof that she was in possession of it. I demand you release her this instant.”

A deep set frown crossed over Caracalla’s features and he drew his attention back to the severant, whose name he wouldn’t even bother to remember. He pointed the edge of the blade against her cheek that felt hot to the touch from the phantom bite of his cruel hand just moments ago. “Can’t you just play into my theatrics for once?” he sighed in disappointment, but his eyes flickered with something truly sadistic and amoral as he drank in the terrified look painted in her irises.

Geta rubbed his temples with his ring clad fingers, the ruby jewel on his left middle finger reflected in the candles glow. “Perhaps if these…theatrics did not involve one of my own servants, I would be more willing to participate.”

“Iocum de omnibus suges, frater,” (you suck the fun out of everything, brother) Caracalla hissed.

“Immo ego, tyranne,” (Indeed I do, tyrant) Geta said coolly.

Caracalla dug the edge of the blade into the softness of her cheek. A bead of blood pooled at the surface of the shallow wound, causing her to whimper from the sudden pain.

“You will play along, Geta. Especially with her life so delicately hanging in my grasp,” he chuckled. “So, what will her fate be, hm? Will you be merciful like Acacius?”

“I will not have you spilling her blood so carelessly. There is no game to play, Caracalla. Now, I will ask you again, release her this instant.”

“Ah. Ah. Ah. That is not how the game is played! Pretend that we are back in the Colosseum and she is begging for her life!” Caracalla said gleefully and dug the edge of the blade further into her cheek. “That’s your cue, girl. Beg for your life and make it believable!”

“Mercy, I beg! Mercy upon me!” she cried out, but Caracalla was unsatisfied with her performance and proceeded to drag the blade down her jaw and to the column of her throat. He leaned in close enough that she could see his pupils dilate and grow darker.

“Your performance is quite…pitiful,” he snickered. “You can do better than that.”

“Caracalla,” Geta said in a warning.

The younger emperor simply waved him off and applied pressure to the edge of the blade against her throat and locked eyes with his brother with a sadistic grin plastered on his thin lips. “Beg for your emperor to be merciful.”

She cried out into the peaceful evening air, begging and pleading for her life to be spared and when Geta arose from his seat, Caracalla’s hand ‘slipped’ and the edge of the blade sliced through her throat fatally. He released her from his grip as she clawed at her neck, blood spurting onto the table below and all over Caracalla’s evening robes, staining golden hues to deep crimson. She made a chilling gurgling sound that emitted from the back of her throat and her body slumped across his lap, twitching before growing still.

“Oops. My hand must have slipped,” Caracalla said with a light sigh that was lacking empathy. He looked down at her deceased body, still warm in his lap with disgust and pushed her to the floor beneath his sandaled feet while she continued to bleed out.

Geta stood unmoving, his left eye twitched, but he did not advance towards his brother. “I quite liked that one,” he muttered under his breath and reached for the empty chalice in front of him. He snapped his fingers once and another servant appeared with a pitcher of wine trembling in her grasp. She quickly poured his wine and was careful to not spill a single drop. Before she could retreat, she felt the cooling touch of his many rings brushing against her skin as he gently grasped her forearm. “Peace, girl. Retire for the evening.”

She bowed quickly and turned on her heel to leave.

“Leave the wine!” Caracalla barked.

The pitcher was carefully set down in the middle of the table and soon the two emperors were alone.

“You’re too soft with them, Geta,” Caracalla muttered over the rim of his chalice.

“No, I just consider all those who serve me to be valuable. I don’t wish to see any of their blood spilled and wasted so carelessly,” he gestured to his dead servant on the floor.

Caracalla glanced down at her deceased form and to disrespect her further, he placed his sandaled foot to rest upon her cheek as if she was his own personal foot rest. “And what of Acacius? Does he still hold a great value to you even after his display of defiance?” he questioned sharply.

“Even in his defiance, Acacius is still valuable. He has always been strong spirited, and I will simply just have to tighten the reins a bit. He will soften to me eventually, but all in due time.”

“That is if he lives much longer,” Caracalla mused and swirled the contents of his chalice with a bored expression.

“He’ll live long enough to vex you, I am certain.”

Caracalla snorted under his breath at this. “And tell me, brother. How do you intend to tame a heart as fierce and defiant as his? How will he suddenly grow loyal to you, hmm? Furthermore, even if your plan is successful, he has no experience on the battlefield and zero strategy. Brute strength will not be enough to sustain our armies.”

“Our armies?” Geta snarled as he leaned over the table, narrowing his eyes at his brother. His upper lip curled in disdain.“You mean, my army?” His tempered demeanor had shredded away, and his claws were unsheathed.

“Your army? The same army that will be wiped off the map if you and I do not reach an agreement? Do you wish to see Rome fall to her enemies, brother? To be stripped of our titles and forced to be slaves for the rest of our miserable lives? You wouldn’t last five seconds having to serve someone outside of yourself,” the younger emperor snapped coldly and the tension brewing between kin could be sliced with the very same blade that was stained with the blood of the innocent.

“An agreement?” Geta snorted at his brother's blatant idiocy. “I will be the reason that Rome remains in power. When Acacius becomes the general of my army and defeats my enemies, you will be eating your words. How foolish are you, truly? Servitude? No, you amentis, (idiot) they will have our heads displayed on spikes for all to see if Rome is to fall.”

“Temper, temper, brother. There is no need to grow restless, we are simply conversing, are we not?” he cackled. “Perhaps your business did not quench your thirst entirely, hm? I cannot say the same for myself,” he subtly gestured to the dead servant. “She met mine quite well. Shame that she had to die…I would have quite enjoyed having her in my bed again. Which of your servants shall I kill next?” he leaned over his half of the table, his eyes dancing with mischief as he took another long sip from his chalice, teeth gleaming in claret over the golden rim.

“My business satisfied me plenty, brother,” Geta responded with a curt nod and rose from his seat.

“Oh, before you go,” Caracalla commenced and leaned back against the plush cushion situated at his lower back, “Perhaps for your next attempt at murdering me, you choose something…” he snapped his fingers as he tried to think of the word, “discreet,” he grinned. “Ah, Yes! Discreet. What about poisoning me?” he suggested. “You could slip something into my drink or food and I would never know.”

“That is the most wicked, Caracalla. I quite enjoy the mental image of seeing you claw at your throat as blood seeps from your eyes. I think that is what I will dream of tonight,” he tipped the rim of his chalice in Caracalla’s direction mockingly.

“And I will dream of cutting your vile tongue out and feeding it to one of your whores,” Caracalla quipped back.

“Indeed,” Geta mused. “Sleep well, brother,” he said with a subtle wink. He downed the rest of his wine before setting the empty chalice along the table, leaving the room without another word leaving his lips.

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[acronym-chaos]

The Vast Inspired ID Pack

[PT: The Vast Inspired ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Aella, Aether, Altair, Altan, Arcus, Argo, Atmos, Aurel, Aurelia, Borealis, Celes, Cirrus, Clio, Cosmo, Dorian, Drift, Eira, Eos, Ether, Gale, Galen, Horizon, Icarus, Ilma, Ion, Janus, Kael, Kepler, Lorelai, Lumen, Lyra, Maia, Miren, Nebula, Nimbus, Nova, Nyx, Orion, Phaedra, Polaris, Pyxis, Quillan, Selene, Skye, Solara, Solaris, Stellar, Stratos, Tempus, Thalassa, Ursa, Ventus, Zephira, Zephyr

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Ae / Air / Airs, Aby / Abys / Abyss, Astra / Astral / Astrals, Bound / Boundless / Bounds, Clo / Clou / Cloud, Drift / Drifts / Drifts, Echo / Echos / Echos, End / Endless / End, Flo / Float / Floats, Hi / High / Highs, Horizon / Horizons / Horizons, Sy / Sky / Skies, Soar / Soars / Soars, Sta / Ar / Star, Va / Vas / Vast, Wi / Wind / Winds, Vo / Voi / Void

Titles

[PT: Titles].

A Gaze Into Infinity, A Soul Bound to the Sky, An Entity Lost in the Clouds, Avatar of the Vast, Sky-Touched Being, The Boundless Wanderer, The Echo in the Void, The Endless Fall, The One Who Floats Through Space, The Skyward Gazer, The Unfathomable Depth, [Pronoun] Who Soars Above the Clouds, [Pronoun] Who Commands the Sky, [Pronoun] Who Drifts Through the Abyss, [Pronoun] Who Seeks No Horizon

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, end ID]

Requested by anon!

Also tagging: @id-pack-archive

[heracrosshero]

Making a return

Massacre Girl stood still in the middle of the room, listening to Aurelia's gentle breaths. Gentle isn't something Massacre Girl would ever associate with the Boros archangel, nor was vulnerable. It was abundantly clear to her that there would never be a better opportunity to assassinate a guildmaster, especially of the Boros. Just one quick drag of a dagger, and all of Ravnica would be in an uproar by morning.

It would be. so. easy. Massacre Girl fantasized about all the angelic blood pouring out of Aurelia's neck. Of how it would stain the white linen sheets she rested upon. Oh to see those sheets ripped to shreds from her blades. To see the briefest moment when the pain would shock Aurelia awake, only for the bloodloss to instantly pull that consciousness away... Forever.

Massacre girl imagined what an angel's wings drenched in blood and guts would look like. What shade of red would they turn? What noises would escape Aurelia's throat as it was cut? How would her strong arms feel around Massacre Girl's waist?

...What was that last one?

The Rakdos woman mentally stuttered to redirect her thoughts away from that anomaly. However, each attempt only lead to new paths of strange curiosity quite unrelated to bloodshed. Aurelia's deep, booming voice, reduced to a sweet whisper in her ear. Those soft, downy wings acting as a thick blanket over her back.

What was happening here?!

Try as she might, Massacre Girl couldn't separate her usual bloodlust from this new lust. These feelings twisted together into a lightning storm in her brain and body. As an assassin, Massacre Girl was always professional; the definition cold blooded killer. However, as a Rakdos cultist, her nature was to follow her emotions, not to hide from them.

And while this turmoil wracked Massacre Girl, Aurelia continued to slumber without a care in the world.

How insufferable

Massacre Girl finally decided on a new path to take. She needed time to process, but she'd be damned if she walked away here without a victory over Aurelia. Massacre Girl drew out a thing dagger from its sheath without a sound. She slid her feet across the cold floor until her head loomed over the angel's prone body. With the tip of her weapon, she shifted Aurelia's dusk-red hair away from her neck.

With a swipe like the blink of an eye, Massacre Girl cut a lock of that hair. Holding this trophy in her hands, she grinned and leered at Aurelia.

Now to leave a calling card. Otherwise she might not notice I gave her a tiny trim.

Massacre Girl reached down to her belt and tucked away the hair. Then, she unhooked a black collar and leash that she had carried with her, just on a whim. Massacre Girl gingerly placed the collar and leash on the bedside table next to Aurelia. Then she briefly went back into the entry room of Aurelia's quarters and found pen and paper to write a note. With her surprise complete, Massacre Girl felt satisfied enough with herself to leave before she pushed her luck too far. She had been humiliated by herself enough tonight, she wasn't going to wait for Aurelia to wake up and do worse.

With one last glance at that beautiful, insufferable soldier, Massacre Girl slipped out of the room and back into the dark, stark halls.

When Aurelia awoke the next morning, she rubbed her eyes and stretched before noticing the object left on her table. Fire blazed in her pupils and her heart rate shot up as she lunged to grab the collar she had once put on Massacre Girl to keep her in check. Attached to it was a short note in scratchy handwriting:

"Returning this to you. Had a fun time wearing it.

P.S you should really redecorate in here, it's boring. XOXO, M.G."