#Lucius has regrets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stylesispunk · 1 month ago

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'The soldier in the armour' | part i

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

next part

summary: Lucilla arranged a wedding between you and General Acacius to protect you from Emperor Geta. Acacius doesn't love you but he has swore to protect you.

w.c: 12k>

warnings: power imbalance, age gap, arranged marriage, creep man, suicide attempt, smut, fluff, and angst.

a/n: this is a mix of two requests! I lost one of the requests in my asks so if you see it, please feel free to yell at me haha there is it! 😭 I wanted to say sorry for taking so long on this, but I made the choice to mix both because I didn't have the time to write separately and I didn't want to make you wait anymore, don't hate me, please.

| dividers by @/saradika-graphics |

There were blurry reminiscent of the life you once had. It wasn’t very different from the one you had now, but it wasn’t the same either.

The empire seemed at peace back in the day, the sun caressed your skin with the tenderness of a loving mother touch, but now it burnt your skin as if you had been set in a fire.

You remembered your grandfather death.

You recalled your uncle’s death in the arena.

Maximus death, and with him the dream of Rome died, swapping the peace of the empire away.

You recalled a brother. He was your twin, and you remembered loving him.

Lucius.

Your mother had sent him away under sacred protection, with Comodous’s death, he was the next emperor in line.

But you had stay here. After all you were a woman and your blood didn’t have the value running through your veins.

You had been forced to live with the faded memories of Lucius's blue eyes, those that mirrored your own somehow, the ones that used to gleam with the particular mischief of a kid. Now, they haunted your dreams like ghosts, a reminder of the bond torn apart by politics and promises of protection.

Each day in the palace felt like a gilded cage rusted by the passage of time, where the air was thick with deceit, and every word spoken seemed laced with hidden agendas. Emperor Geta’s obsession with you had made life unbearable. His attention was suffocating, his gaze lingering too long, his presence a constant reminder of your vulnerability as a woman in the imperial court.

Under his and his brother rules.

And when your mother and the council proposed your marriage to General Acacius, you had resisted. Marriage was meant to be a union of love, not a transaction of protection. That what you were told by her when you were a kid. Yet, as Geta’s obsession grew more unhinged, and whispers of his plans to claim you as his own wife reached your ears, you knew there was no choice.

Lucilla braided your hair, the same way she had been doing it since you were a kid. Her touch was gentle, but her face displayed her worry. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and the occasional quiver in her fingers spoke of the weight they carried on her hands, not just as your mother but as a woman who had maneuvered through the treacherous politics of the empire her entire life.

"My sweet girl," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I know this is not the life you would have chosen. If I could take your pain and bear it myself, I would."

You turned to look at her, meeting her gaze through the reflection in the mirror. Her eyes, though still fierce, carried a shadow of regret that seemed etched into her very soul. For a moment, you weren’t the daughter of a woman which fate as empress, had been stolen, you were just a child looking for comfort in your mother’s arms.

"But you can’t," you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. "You sent Lucius away, and you kept me here. You say it’s for my protection, but sometimes it feels like I’ve been sacrificed for a safety it’s not real.”

Lucilla’s hands paused in your hair. Her reflection in the mirror faltered, the weight of your words cutting deep. "I sent Lucius away because he was a target," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I thought once he was older enough, one day he would reclaim what is rightfully his. But you... I couldn’t send you away, too. I couldn’t lose both of you."

"Instead, you bound me to this place," you said, unable to stop the bitterness in your tone. "To a life I didn’t choose, to a marriage that will feel like another cage."

Lucilla moved to face you, her hands resting on your shoulders. "Acacius is a good man," she said firmly. "He may not have been the man of your dreams, but he is a man who will protect you. And I swear to you, I chose him because I saw something in him. Something that told me he would be more than just a shield for you”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you didn’t respond. Deep down, you knew she believed she was doing the right thing, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less sharp.

“I wish I was dead” you whispered to yourself only.

The wedding day arrived cloaked in grandeur, yet it felt suffocatingly hollow. The palace was adorned with gold and crimson, every corner lit by the soft glow of countless lamps. Musicians played melodies meant to celebrate unity, but their music tortured your aching heart. Guests gathered in their finery; faces painted with polite smiles masking their true thoughts. You stood at the heart of it all, draped in a gown of ivory silk embroidered with golden threads, a symbol of wealth and duty, not love.

As you walked towards Acacius, flanked by your mother, the room blurred, as if it wasn’t truly real. The man awaiting you at the altar stood tall and composed, his features carved from stone. Acacius wore a ceremonial armor, the white and gold catching the light, but his expression was unreadable. His eyes met yours, steady and unyielding, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what he truly thought of all this.

The vows were spoken. His voice was deep, calm, and detached. When he slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch was light, almost hesitant. There was no tenderness, no sign of warmth. Only duty. The ceremony ended with applause that echoed in the vast chamber, but the sound felt distant. You were bound now, not by love, but by necessity.

Emperor Geta would stop his courting towards you.

Later that evening, you found yourself alone with him in your new chambers. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. You sat at the edge of the bed, your hands folded tightly in your lap, while Acacius stood near the window, his back to you. He seemed restless, as if the weight of his armor had been replaced by the burden of this union.

"You don’t have to speak to me if you don’t wish to," you said quietly, breaking the silence. Your voice was steadier than you expected, though your heart raced. "I know this wasn’t your choice any more than it was mine."

He turned then, his gaze settling on you. For a moment, his cold exterior softened, though only slightly. "It wasn’t," he admitted, his tone measured, as if he were weighing every word. "But it was necessary. Your mother asked me."

His honesty stung, even if it wasn’t unexpected. You nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "My mother,” you echoed, her title feeling heavy in your mouth.

Acacius sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the movement breaking his usual composed demeanor. "This isn’t what I imagined for my life either," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I’ve sworn to protect you, and I will. Even if this arrangement feels..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Unnatural."

"Unnatural," you repeated with a bitter smile. "What a lovely way to describe a marriage."

His jaw tightened at your sarcasm, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he crossed the room, stopping a few steps away from you. His presence was imposing, yet his movements were deliberate, careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you.

"I will do my duty," he said finally, his voice firm but not unkind. "And I will honor you as my wife. But I can’t pretend to feel something that isn’t there.”

His words were a knife, cutting through the fragile hope you hadn’t even realized you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard and nodded, keeping your gaze fixed on your hands.

"If you need anything, you only have to ask. I’ll be in my chambers." he said. And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your new reality pressing down on you. Acacius’s words echoed in your mind, and though they weren’t cruel, they felt colder than any rejection. You couldn’t blame him, not really. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You wished you could close your eyes and be anywhere else. In the gardens with your brother, in the safety of Lucius’s protection, or even in the quiet stillness of a life unbound by imperial chains. But instead, you were here, in this gilded cage, with a husband who was as much a stranger as the walls around you.

The following days were a blur of formality and silence. Acacius remained distant but civil, his actions guided more by duty than emotion. He escorted you through the palace when required, his hand resting lightly on your arm but never lingering. At meals, he was polite, engaging in conversations when prompted but offering little more than what was necessary. You were a pair in appearance, but the gulf between you was undeniable.

Lucilla watched it all silently. She offered no commentary, but her concerned glances betrayed her thoughts. Her belief that Acacius was the right choice remained unwavering, yet even she couldn’t deny the strain in your union.

One evening, after the day’s obligations had ended, you returned to your chambers to find Acacius standing by the window. He was in his tunic, having removed the heavy armor that seemed to weigh him down as much as the marriage itself. His posture was stiff, his shoulders tense as he gazed out into the fading light of dusk.

“Do you regret this?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. The question had been clawing at you for days, and you couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.

Acacius turned to you; his expression unreadable. “Regret isn’t the right word,” he said after a pause. “This wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s the path I’ve chosen. I will honor it.”

You crossed the room, stopping a few paces from him. “You speak of honor as if it’s enough to make this work,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “But what about us? Are we just to coexist in silence, fulfilling obligations without ever truly living?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, his cold demeanor cracked. “Do you think this is easy for me?” he asked, his tone sharper than you expected. “I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. But I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can to give you the life you deserve.”

“The life I deserve?” you echoed, anger bubbling to the surface. “I deserve a life where I’m not a pawn, where my choices matter. I deserve a marriage built on something more than duty.”

Acacius looked away, his jaw tightening. “And yet, here we are,” he said quietly. “Bound by something neither of us chose.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“I know,” Acacius said, his voice softening. You felt his presence behind you, and a moment later, his hand rested lightly on your shoulder. “I can’t change what brought us here, but I can promise you this; I will protect you. Always.”

“Why do you don’t like me as a person?” you asked, unable to meet his gaze

Acacius’s hand froze on your shoulder, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. The weight of your words hung in the air; unspoken questions laced with vulnerability. Slowly, you turned to face him, your arms still wrapped around yourself as if shielding your heart from the answer you feared.

“Why don’t you like me as a person?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “Is it because you didn’t choose this? Because I’m nothing more than an obligation to you?”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching yours as if debating whether to speak the truth or spare you further pain. Finally, he exhaled deeply, stepping back to create some space between you. His hand fell to his side, the warmth of his touch fading.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he began, his voice low and measured, as if choosing his words with care. “You’re intelligent, strong-willed, and far braver than anyone gives you credit for. But... this isn’t about you. It never was.”

Your stomach twisted, the pit forming at his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair as he stared out of the window. “Your mother,” he said finally, the words falling like stones. “I... I loved her.”

The breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as if the room had suddenly closed in on you. “What?” you managed to choke out, disbelief coloring your tone.

Acacius turned back to you, his expression a mixture of regret and resignation. “Lucilla. I loved her long before any of this. Long before Commodus fell, before your world became this mess of alliances and power struggles. But she...” He hesitated, his gaze softening.

“Asked you to marry her daughter because of Geta’s courtesy” you ended his sentence. You felt disgusted by his confession and guilty for destroying the chances of your mother and Lucilla of being happy together.

Acacius's eyes widened slightly at your words, but he didn’t deny them. Instead, he looked at you with a mixture of shame and helplessness, as though he carried the weight of his choices like chains he could never cast off. “It was more than just Geta,” he said quietly. “Lucilla believed—she hoped—that this union would keep you safe from him. And I thought... I thought I could do that for her.”

You stepped back, your heart pounding. The walls of the room seemed to close in, suffocating you under the weight of his confession. “And in doing so, you destroyed any chance you both might have had for happiness,” you said, your voice trembling. “Because of you, she sacrificed everything—for what? To tie me to a man who doesn’t even want me.”

“Hey,” Acacius said quickly, stepping closer, but you held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t try to justify it. You will never love me, and now I know why. Because all you see in me is her shadow.”

“No.” His voice was firm now, his eyes blazing with an intensity that startled you. “You’re wrong. I never wanted this to be about her, and I never wanted you to think I see you as anything less than who you are. But I can’t bury my feelings, and I can’t undo the choices we made.”

Your stomach churned with anger, disgust and despair. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?” you demanded. “You’ve tied me to a life I never wanted, a life where I’ll always wonder if I was just a piece in someone else’s plan. I’m always trapped in the middle of something.”

The tears you had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body. The weight of Acacius’s confession, of everything you had endured, crushed you, and the walls of the room seemed to close in around you.

“I can’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling, thick with emotion. “I can’t stay here.”

“Please,” Acacius began, his tone urgent as he stepped toward you, his hand outstretched. But you recoiled, shaking your head fiercely.

“Don’t!” you cried, your voice cracking. “Don’t come near me! Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay when nothing ever is. You’re just another person who’s used me, another person who doesn’t see me.”

The rawness of your words hung in the air, and for a moment, Acacius froze, his face etched with a mixture of pain and helplessness. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The walls of the room blurred as your tears continued to fall, and you turned abruptly, your feet moving before your mind could catch up.

You fled the room, your sobs echoing in the empty corridors as you ran blindly through the villa. Servants and guards turned to look at you, startled by the sight of their lady in such distress, but you ignored them. You needed to get away, away from Acacius, away from the suffocating weight of expectations, away from everything.

Eventually, you found yourself in the gardens, the cool night air biting at your skin. The sky above was scattered with stars, their distant light doing little to ease the turmoil within you. You collapsed onto a stone bench, your arms wrapping around yourself as you cried, the sound of your grief swallowed by the rustling of the trees.

You had tried so hard to find a place in this world, to make peace with the life forced upon you. But tonight, every fragile piece of that illusion had shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

As your sobs subsided, a cold breeze swept through the garden, chilling you to the bone. For a brief moment, you thought of Acacius, of the way his eyes had softened when he spoke, of the regret laced in his voice.

But the anger and betrayal still burned too brightly within you to let those thoughts linger.

The cool night air stung your cheeks as you sprinted through the gardens, past the rows of manicured hedges and marble statues. The villa loomed behind you, its walls suffocating even at a distance. Your lungs burned, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it had to be far away from Acacius, from the weight of his confession, from the life you no longer recognized as your own.

Your feet carried you to the outer grounds of the villa, where the shadows grew darker, the torchlight dimmer. The muffled sound of distant voices reached your ears, guards patrolling the perimeter, but you veered away from them, toward the narrow dirt path that led to the forest. The trees ahead beckoned like a sanctuary, their darkness promising solitude.

You barely noticed the snap of a twig behind you until a voice cut through the silence.

Before you could gather your thoughts, you heard soft footsteps approaching once more. Your heart lurched. "Acacius?" you called out tentatively, but when the figure stepped into the moonlight, your breath caught.

It wasn’t Acacius.

It was Geta.

He stood there, his face shadowed yet unmistakably troubled. The smugness on his face was characteristic but still you couldn’t name his expression you couldn’t place what he was feeling, desperation? Anguish? The way his chest rose and fell told you he’d been running, as if chasing you had been his sole purpose.

“Emperor Geta? wha-what are you doing here?” you demanded, your voice shaking, not with fear but with a volatile mixture of emotions you couldn’t quite name.

“I was on my way to pay a visit to our beloved General” he answered, his sinister smile still on his face, "I must admit," he said, stepping closer, his tone dripping with false amusement, "I didn’t expect to find you wandering out here all alone. What would dear Acacius think, hmm? Leaving his precious wife unguarded in the dead of night?"

Your heart pounded harder now, but for an entirely different reason.

Geta took another step toward you, and you fought the urge to recoil. The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that made your skin crawl.

"You’re drunk, emperor" you said sharply, hoping to mask the fear creeping into your voice. "Go back to the palace, Geta.”

But he only laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Oh, I’m perfectly sober," he said, his eyes narrowing. "And I think it’s time we had a little... talk, you and I.”

“What more could you possibly want from me, Emperor?”

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, they weren’t cold or calculating. They were raw, bare, and filled with an emotion that made your stomach churn.

“You,” he said, the word barely above a whisper.

Your blood froze. “What?”

“I’ve loved you,” he said, his voice trembling. “For as long as I can remember. And I’ve hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop. Not even when I tried to keep my distance. Not even when I told myself it was wrong.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath your feet. This was a nightmare—a fever dream born of the turmoil of the night. It had to be.

“No,” you said, shaking your head vehemently. “No, you can’t—you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer, though he didn’t reach for you. “I’ve tried to bury it; to pretend I could be the dutiful emperor everyone thought I was. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice...” He broke off, his hands clenching into fists. “It is like I am set on fire.”

“I—” you started, but words failed you.

Geta took another step forward, his desperation palpable. “Do you see now?” he asked, his voice softer but no less intense. “I’ve only ever seen you as mine.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice trembling as you raised a hand to keep him at bay. “Just stop. Whatever you think this is, whatever you feel—it’s wrong.”

He froze at your words, his face twisting with a mixture of pain and defiance. “Wrong?” he repeated, his voice cracking. “How can it be wrong when it’s the only thing I’ve ever been certain of?”

“Because I don’t feel the same!” you shouted, your tears spilling over now. “I will never feel the same. I’m married.”

Geta flinched at your words as though you’d struck him. His face, already a storm of emotions, darkened further. “Married,” he spat, his voice low and bitter. “To a man who will never truly see you. A man who cannot love you the way I do.”

Your chest tightened as anger began to bubble within you, momentarily overpowering the fear and confusion. “Love?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “This isn’t love, Geta. Whatever you think this is, it’s twisted. You’ve turned me into some...some object to claim, a possession to own!”

His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I have done nothing but love you,” he said through gritted teeth. “When no one else cared about your happiness, when they made you a pawn in their schemes, I thought of you. Always.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” you demanded, stepping forward despite yourself. “Why didn’t you, with all your power, say something? Do something? If you loved me so much, why didn’t you fight for me?”

Geta’s gaze faltered for the briefest moment, a crack in his otherwise unyielding façade. “Because I couldn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Because to love you openly would have been to destroy you. You think I don’t know how they look at me? How they whisper? They already call me unfit to rule, unstable. If they knew how I felt, they would have turned their wrath on you.”

“That’s not love,” you said, shaking your head, your voice breaking. “Love doesn’t hide in shadows. It doesn’t tear someone apart from the inside. It doesn’t...” You trailed off, pressing a trembling hand to your mouth as sobs threatened to escape. “It doesn’t feel like this.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves in the night wind.

“I didn’t want this,” Geta finally said, his voice almost a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you. But watching you with him, knowing you’re his...” His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “It’s killing me.”

“I’m not yours,” you said firmly, the words sharper than you intended. “I’ll never be yours.”

Geta’s face hardened at that, the softness of his confession replaced by something colder, more dangerous. “We’ll see,” he said quietly, his tone chilling in its calmness. “The gods have a way of changing fates”

The sound of hooves pounding the earth broke through the tension that had built between you and Geta. The rhythmic thundering grew louder, and you instinctively turned toward the noise, your heart racing in your chest.

Acacius appeared from the shadows, his silhouette cutting through the night as he rode forward, leading a group of horses. His eyes immediately locked on you, and in an instant, his expression shifted—darkening, as though a storm had formed within him. When his gaze flicked to Geta, the atmosphere around them changed.

Geta remained still, but his eyes narrowed. He knew exactly who had arrived. A low tension crackled in the air, like two opposing forces on the verge of collision.

“Emperor Geta,” Acacius said sharply, his voice hard, his stance unwavering. His hand instinctively tightened on the reins of his horse as if it were a weapon, a subtle warning. “It is too late for you to be out in the middle of the night”

For a moment, Geta didn't respond. The intensity of his stare met Acacius’ head-on, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. But Acacius didn’t flinch. His presence was commanding, and even Geta, in his turmoil, could sense the shift.

You stepped back slightly, the weight of the situation dawning on you. The conflict between these two men was palpable, and it made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. Your heart pounded, not just from fear, but from something deeper, more painful. The realization that you were now caught between these two men who seemed to hold pieces of your life in their hands.

Geta’s lips curled slightly in a sardonic smile, though there was an edge to it. “I bet is too late to pay a visit to our beloved general"

Acacius ignored the provocation, his eyes now focused solely on you, his voice softening. “Are you all right?” he asked, though it was laced with an undertone of concern, almost as though he was afraid to hear the answer.

You could feel your chest tighten as Acacius’s eyes met yours, the concern in his voice stirring something deep inside of you, something vulnerable. You wanted to say something, anything to ease the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. Your emotions were a storm, a swirl of anger, fear, and confusion that made it impossible to think clearly.

Before you could respond, Geta’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. “Does he really care, or is this just about keeping control? Do you really think he’s here for you?” He sneered, stepping forward as if trying to push Acacius out of the space between you. “Or is it just the idea of you that he wants to control, the power that comes with your bloodline?”

The truth was beyond the obsession Geta had towards you, there was fear. He was aware your blood belonged to the realm, so you weren’t a lover he wanted to possess but a treat he wanted to eliminate.

You weren’t just a woman who caught his eye; you were the reminder of the power he feared losing. Your existence in the realm, your connection to the throne, made you a target in his mind. His twisted love for you wasn’t love, it was a deep-seated need to control, to erase what he couldn’t possess or manipulate.

Your marriage to the General of Rome put you in a place where you could go back to ruling the empire.

Acacius stood tall, his eyes still fixed on Geta, the tension between them thick enough to choke the air around you. His expression was hard, his jaw clenched with quiet fury, but it was the protective energy that radiated from him that caught your attention. He wasn’t going to let this spiral any further.

"Whatever matter you think needs discussing, Geta," Acacius began, his voice steady but firm, "it can wait until tomorrow. Not tonight. Not in the presence of my wife."

The words were sharp, final. There was a strength in them that sent a clear message, a line that Geta could not cross. Acacius’s gaze never wavered as he took a step forward, a silent challenge to Geta, daring him to try anything more.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, torn between relief and dread. Acacius's words were a shield, but they didn’t seem to do anything to quell the storm brewing between the two men.

Geta’s face hardened, the flicker of emotion that had passed through him earlier replaced by a steely resolve. “Your wife, Acacius,” he said, the venom in his tone unmistakable, “is a part of this empire, and the future of it is bound to her. Don’t think for a second you can keep her out of this.”

Acacius’s grip tightened on the reins of his horse, his knuckles white as he kept his stance, unwavering. “I’m not keeping her out of anything,” he said, his voice low but deadly. “But as her husband, I will not let you use her to fuel your delusions of power.”

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze, the threat hanging between them like a sword poised to fall. But Geta, ever the strategist, knew when to back down. He held your gaze for one last moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned away, his posture stiff, and he strode off, leaving the two of you standing there in the quiet aftermath.

You exhaled shakily, feeling a weight lift from your chest, but it didn’t last. The shadows of what had just transpired seemed to cling to you, the fear, the confusion still buzzing in your veins. Acacius’s protection, though fiercely given, couldn’t erase the uncertainty of everything that had just happened.

He turned to you then, his expression softening, though the hard edge from earlier remained in his eyes. “Are you all right?” His voice was gentle now, and the concern in his gaze pulled at your heart in a way you couldn’t explain.

You nodded but soon after you moved your head, everything went completely black.

The world slowly came back into focus, the heavy weight of unconsciousness lifting from your mind like a veil being drawn aside. You blinked, the sharp light of the morning creeping through the windows, and the gentle rustle of sheets beneath you signaled you were no longer outside. You were back inside, in the cool, quiet comfort of your chambers.

Your body felt heavy, as though every muscle had been drained of energy, but the pain from the night before had faded, replaced by a strange weariness that seeped into your bones. You tried to sit up, but a soft voice stopped you before you could move.

“Careful,” Lucilla said, her tone gentle but firm. She was sitting by your bedside, her eyes fixed on you with a mixture of concern and calm reassurance. “You need to rest.”

Your heart raced for a moment, the fragments of the night’s events rushing back to you. Geta’s confrontation, the threat in his voice, and Acacius standing between you, the tension thick enough to choke the air. You could still feel the sharp edge of fear in your chest, but for now, you were safe.

“Mother…” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “What happened? Is… is everything all right?”

Lucilla’s eyes softened, and she reached out to brush a lock of hair from your face, her touch soothing. “You fainted, my lady. After the confrontation with the emperor, you collapsed. Acacius was frantic. He had you brought inside immediately. He’s been by your side all night.”

Her words made your heart flutter, a strange mixture of emotions flooding you. Acacius had been there, waiting, watching over you, just as he always did. But there was something else in the air, something unspoken between you and him that neither of you could ignore.

“He stayed with me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The thought of him there, protecting you, made something twist inside your chest.

Lucilla nodded, her expression softening. “Yes. He didn’t leave your side for a moment. He’s worried about you.”

As Lucilla’s words settled into your mind, the door to your chambers creaked open. You barely had time to turn your head before Acacius stepped inside, his figure towering in the doorway. His presence seemed to fill the room, his eyes immediately locking with yours. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a depth of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. For a moment, it felt as though the world outside of your small room had disappeared, leaving just the two of you, caught in the stillness of the moment.

He took a step forward, but it was the way he looked at your mother that made your breath catch in your throat. The same tension you had felt between you and him last night now seemed to make sense. The raw honesty, the confession he had made—the admission of his feelings, the vulnerability in his voice—was clear in that single glance. And in that moment, something inside you recoiled.

You were a burden.

“Acacius…” you whispered, barely able to speak, your mind reeling. You could feel the panic rising inside you, suffocating, as if there was no room to breathe in his presence. Was this what you had been running from all along?

He stepped closer, his voice steady but strained. “You’re awake,” he said quietly, almost as if he was still processing the fact. His eyes softened when they met yours, but there was a flicker of something darker behind them, something you couldn’t place.

“I was worried about you,” he added, his tone still holding a thread of concern, as if your well-being was his sole focus.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. Lucilla, sensing the weight of the moment, quietly excused herself, leaving you and Acacius alone in the quiet of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence between you two seemed to grow heavier, more suffocating. He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it fully. Every part of you screamed for distance, for space, and yet, he remained close—too close.

“Acacius, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. How could you put into words what you were feeling? The confusion, the fear, the overwhelming weight of it all? It wasn’t just about what Geta had done or said; it was about the emotions Acacius had stirred in you, emotions you didn’t know how to deal with.

You wanted to feel loved in a way your skin felt when the sun caresses your face in the midst of a cold winter.

But Acacius could never love you.

The days passed like slow, heavy drops of rain. The storm of emotions that had churned inside of you seemed to settle, but it wasn’t a calm; it was the oppressive stillness before something darker took hold. Acacius remained by your side, always present, but the warmth that once ignited in your chest when you saw him, when you felt his concern, began to dim. His confession, those raw words of love for your mother, left a lingering sting that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

Each time you saw him, you felt a coldness creeping into your heart, like the chill of winter settling into your bones. It wasn’t that you hated him, far from it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had broken. You had wanted to feel cherished, wanted in a way that made you feel whole, like the sun warming your skin during the harshest of winters. But instead, you felt like the shadows of something lost were all that remained.

The days blurred together as you drifted through them in a fog. The joy that once accompanied your moments with Acacius, his gaze, his touch, seemed to fade with each passing day. You were still there, still functioning, but you weren’t alive in the way you had once been. You were a shadow of the person who had laughed freely, who had dreamed of a future with the man who had stood beside you through every storm.

Now, his presence only reminded you of what could never be. Every word from him felt weighted, laced with an unspoken truth you couldn’t escape. He was there, yes—but it was Lucilla’s name that seemed to linger in the air between you, a constant reminder of what could never happen.

You stopped meeting his gaze as often, your conversations clipped and polite, but distant. You couldn’t pretend anymore that things were the same. You couldn’t ignore the hollow feeling that had taken root inside you, gnawing at you like a slow, insidious poison.

The days felt endless. The life you had once felt for each moment, for each glance he gave you, slipped away bit by bit. You told yourself you were strong, that you would move on, that you could adapt to the life in front of you. But the spark that once filled your soul, the fire that had kept you going, was slowly being smothered. Each day without clarity, without answers, without that spark, made you more resigned, hollower.

The days blurred into weeks, and life continued its chaotic, inevitable march forward. The grandeur of Rome, its towering structures and ancient streets, became a distant backdrop to the turmoil that had taken root within you. Despite the growing tension surrounding you, your presence at the grand events of the empire remained. There were battles in the Colosseum—events that had once stirred the blood, filled with anticipation and excitement. Now, they were merely noise, the sounds of clashing steel and roars of the crowd unable to penetrate the numbness that had taken hold of your soul.

Geta's obsession with you deepened, his presence more frequent, more invasive. His eyes never seemed to leave you, and every word he spoke, every look, was an attempt to assert control, to draw you into his tangled web of fear and power. But his attempts only felt more suffocating. You were trapped, like an animal in a gilded cage, unable to escape his watchful gaze. He wasn’t interested in you as a woman; you were a symbol to him, something to manipulate, to dominate, to erase the threat you posed to his fragile claim on the empire.

Despite your growing isolation, Acacius remained at your side. His concern for you was evident, though he seemed to be walking on a thin line, careful not to overstep or push you too hard. He knew you were withdrawing, knew that something had shifted between you, but he didn’t know how to reach you. He could see the distance in your eyes, the way you pulled away when he tried to comfort you. And it broke him, though he never spoke of it.

There were feelings he didn’t know he was able to feel, appearing.

The battles at the Colosseum grew more brutal, the spectacle becoming more and more gruesome with each passing day. The roar of the crowd no longer thrilled you. The sight of blood, the cries of victory and death—it all blended into a backdrop of life that felt increasingly distant, like you were watching it all from behind a veil. You were alive, yes—but you weren’t truly living.

One evening, as you sat beside Acacius in the grand hall, your hand in his, you tried to force a smile. You knew he was watching, hoping for some sign that the woman he once knew was still there. The fingers that held yours were strong, steady, but you felt a chill crawl up your spine. His warmth didn’t reach you anymore. His presence, once a comfort, now felt like a reminder of everything you had lost.

"Smile," he whispered, his voice gentle, coaxing. "Just for tonight. For me."

You nodded, a small, strained smile curling at the corner of your lips. But as you smiled, something inside you felt hollow. You knew what he saw—the facade of a woman who was still whole, still alive. But inside, you were dying. The life that once burned brightly in you had been extinguished, snuffed out by the weight of betrayal, fear, and a love that could never be returned. And as you smiled for him, you felt like an actor playing a part—faking a life that wasn’t truly yours anymore.

The crowd cheered as Acacius raised your hand, the symbol of his victory and his loyalty to Rome. But you couldn’t feel the victory. You couldn’t feel the joy. You just felt death. Not the death of your body, but the death of everything you had once been. The woman who dreamed, who hoped, who believed in love and light, was slipping further away with each passing day.

Acacius, for all his strength, could never reach you. You could see the worry in his eyes, the way he would glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, as if he was searching for something—anything—that would tell him you were still there. But you weren’t. You were a shadow, a flicker of the woman you used to be, trapped in the space between life and death.

As the days stretched on, Geta’s obsession with you grew more dangerous. His presence became a constant reminder of your captivity, the ever-present shadow of his desire to control. He wasn’t content with merely watching anymore. No, now he was making his move, pushing harder, testing boundaries. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t in the room. He was always there, lurking, waiting.

Acacius noticed it too. He saw the way you tensed whenever Geta entered the room, the way your eyes darted nervously, the way your smile faltered. He knew you were becoming a shell of the person you once were. And for the first time, Acacius found himself unsure of how to help you. He had always been your protector, your constant, but now, it felt like he was failing you.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he said one night, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I see it. The distance. I see you slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

You wanted to tell him, to let him in, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you turned your gaze toward the distant horizon, watching the sun set behind the buildings of Rome, casting long shadows across the streets. It was a beautiful sight, but you couldn’t appreciate it. The beauty of the world was lost on you now.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, though the words didn’t feel like enough. They would never be enough.

Acacius squeezed your hand tighter, as if trying to hold onto you, to keep you from slipping away entirely. But you knew, deep down, that it was already too late. You were already gone.

The days continued to stretch on, the weight of your own existence pressing down on you with each breath you took. You moved through life like a specter, haunted by your own thoughts, consumed by the shadow of everything that had transpired. The air around you felt thick, suffocating, and nothing seemed to reach you anymore.

One evening, after yet another long day of feigned smiles and empty conversations, you retreated to your chambers. You had long since stopped caring about the grand appearances, the masks you were expected to wear. In the silence of your room, the darkness that had begun to take root in your heart felt heavier than ever before. It was as though the weight of your despair had become a tangible thing, pulling you under, drowning you from the inside.

You moved toward the bath, the cool marble surface inviting you with its quiet promise of solitude. You sank into the warm water, hoping, if only for a moment, to drown out the noise inside your mind, to forget the suffocating reality that had become your life. The water enveloped you, and for a brief moment, you felt weightless, free—free from everything that bound you, from Geta's obsession, from the looming presence of the empire, and from the love you could never have.

But the peace was fleeting. The thoughts came rushing back, overwhelming and relentless. Acacius’s touch, his words, his confession of love for your mother—it all swirled in your mind like a storm, too much to bear. And in that moment, something inside you snapped. You wanted it all to end. The pain. The confusion. The crushing weight of everything.

As the water rose higher, you slipped under, the coolness surrounding you like an embrace. It was quiet. So quiet. The pressure in your chest intensified, a cold finality settling in. Your body felt heavier, the world fading as you sank deeper into the water. The voices in your head quieted, the darkness enveloping you completely. And for the first time in a long while, you felt... peace.

But fate had other plans.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume you completely, a sudden hand gripped your arm, pulling you from the water with desperate force. The world rushed back in an instant, blinding, harsh, and you gasped for air, coughing, choking as water flooded your lungs.

“No!” a familiar voice cried out, filled with fear. “Don’t you dare do this!”

Your vision swam as Acacius’s strong arms pulled you up, his face a mask of panic and determination. He moved quickly, his hands steady as he worked to lift you from the bath and cradle you against his chest. His voice was shaky, though he tried to hide it.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his voice breaking as he held you close, his hands pressing against your wet skin. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

You were too weak to respond, your body trembling, your mind foggy. But his words—don’t leave me—cut through the haze. They echoed in your ears, but they didn’t make sense. Why would he want you to stay when you were nothing more than a burden, a shadow of what you once were?

“Acacius…” you whispered weakly, your throat raw as you fought to speak. His name felt like the last thread that held you to this world. "Why...?"

His grip tightened on you, his body radiating warmth as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with desperation and anguish.

“Because I want to love you,” he said, his voice shaking but steady with resolve. “I’ve always wanted to love you. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. I don’t care about the empire, about the danger, or the expectations of the world. I care about you. I want to be there for you—to love you.”

His words hung in the air like an echo, reverberating through the silence that had settled between you. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to reach for that spark of hope, the promise of love he was offering, but the weight of everything you had been through, everything you had lost, held you back.

You closed your eyes, your breath still shaky, and tried to push away the wave of conflicting emotions that surged within you. Acacius’s love, though it was sincere, felt like a distant dream—a dream that you didn’t deserve. How could you accept his love when you felt so broken, so consumed by the darkness inside of you?

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but filled with the depth of the regret you felt. “I’m not who you think I am. I’ve lost so much of myself...”

Acacius gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and comforting, as though he were trying to steady you from the storm that raged inside of you. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze soft but unwavering.

“You’re not lost,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re not alone, even when it feels like it. I’m here. I will always be here, whether you believe it or not.”

The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into your skin, like a quiet promise. But even with that promise, there was still a part of you that resisted. You were drowning—not just in the water, but in the weight of your own thoughts, your own feelings. How could you possibly let yourself love again, after everything that had happened?

“I don’t know how to let anyone love me anymore,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Not after everything I've been through... everything that's been taken from me."

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours as his hands moved to hold you more firmly. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just let me be here with you, for as long as you need. You don’t have to carry the world on your own anymore."

His words settled in your heart, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel his presence. It wasn’t a solution to all that haunted you, but it was something—something real.

“You’re not alone, either,” you whispered, your voice still fragile but more certain than before. “I don’t want to be alone, either.”

The quiet between you felt like an unspoken promise, an understanding. You didn’t have all the answers, and you didn’t know how to fix what was broken.

Acacius carefully lifted you in his arms, his movements gentle yet strong, as though he feared breaking you. The room was quiet, save for the sound of his steady breathing and the soft rustle of the sheets as he settled you onto the bed. His hands lingered at your sides, making sure you were comfortable, as though he couldn't bear to be too far away, even for a second.

You lay there, your body trembling from the cold of the water and the emotions that had swirled through you in such a short time. But there was a warmth now, a steadiness in the way Acacius was with you, something that grounded you amidst the chaos. His presence filled the space between the silence, and you wanted to hold onto that feeling, to keep it close as though it were the last thread that could save you from the darkness.

But even as your thoughts tangled, your voice came out soft, barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm that had settled around you.

"Acacius," you said, your voice catching slightly. "Stay... please."

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, and you could feel your heart beating faster as you waited for his response. You weren’t sure what you were asking for—comfort, reassurance, or simply the presence of someone who cared when everything else seemed so uncertain.

Acacius didn’t speak at first. He simply moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his gaze intense, but filled with an understanding that pierced through the barriers you had built around yourself. His hand gently rested on yours, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, soothing motions.

"Of course," he finally said, his voice a soft promise, like the calm after a storm. "I’m not going anywhere."

He pulled the blanket over you, ensuring you were warm and comfortable, and then he settled beside you, close but not too close. His presence filled the space beside you, but there was a tenderness in the way he lay next to you, giving you the space you needed while still remaining close enough to feel his warmth, his care.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the room. The vulnerability in your chest, the fear of asking for too much, made you hesitate for a moment. But then, with a shaky breath, you spoke again, this time more urgently.

"Stay with me," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Just... for tonight. I don’t want to be alone."

Acacius’s gaze softened, his lips curling into a faint, reassuring smile. Without saying a word, he shifted closer to you, his arm slipping around you as he pulled you gently against him. His warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to rest, truly rest, without the weight of the world pressing down on you.

In that moment, as you felt his heartbeat steady against yours, the storm inside you quieted, if only for a little while. The darkness still lingered at the edges of your thoughts, but Acacius’s presence, his steady, unyielding care, was a reminder that, for now, you didn’t have to face it alone.

And so, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his arms around you pull you into a fragile peace, knowing that, for this one night, you were not lost.

In the days that followed, something shifted between you and Acacius. It was subtle at first, like the quiet change of seasons, but it was unmistakable. His devotion to you became more evident in every action, in every word. It wasn’t just the caring gestures—though those were abundant—but the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his touch seemed to convey more than words ever could. You could feel the change in the air, like the warmth of the sun breaking through the clouds.

Acacius, the loyal general, who had always been steadfast in his duties to the empire, had turned his focus entirely toward you. His thoughts, his actions, and his very presence were now centered around ensuring that you were safe, that you were cared for.

Every morning, he would bring you breakfast, a small smile on his lips as he placed the tray before you. He would sit with you, talking about the day’s events, but his attention was always on you, his eyes soft with concern, his every movement thoughtful. If you showed signs of fatigue, he would insist on helping you with whatever you needed, no matter how small. And when the nights came, he would always stay, watching over you as you slept, keeping his promise to never let you be alone.

At times, you felt the weight of his care, the devotion he gave so freely, and it both soothed and unsettled you. The fear of being a burden gnawed at your mind, but each time you tried to withdraw, Acacius was there, offering reassurance, pulling you back from the edge.

“What about when you have to go into battle again?” you asked once, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been haunting you ever since your marriage. No matter how much Acacius promised protection, he was a general first—a soldier bound to the empire’s whims.

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the confident, stoic mask he always wore faltered, and you saw the man beneath it, a man burdened with duty and uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I will make sure you’re safe before I leave. Always.”

His honesty was disarming, and for once, it didn’t feel like an empty reassurance. Still, the thought of him riding off to battle, leaving you behind in the suffocating grip of the palace, sent a shiver down your spine.

“And what if you don’t come back?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

Acacius stepped closer, his gaze steady. “I will come back,” he said firmly. “I’ve survived countless battles, and I’ll survive the next one. Because now, I have a reason to.”

His words made your breath catch, and you turned away, unwilling to let him see the tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t say things like that,” you murmured. “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”

“I’m not making promises,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m telling you the truth.”

You looked at him then, your emotions a whirlwind of fear, anger, and something else—something you weren’t ready to name. “You make it sound so simple,” you said bitterly.

“It’s not,” he admitted, his expression unflinchingly honest. “But I’ve faced death more times than I can count, and I’ve always fought to live. Now, I fight for you, too.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice raw.

“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come back.”

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “You won’t be,” he said. “If anything, you’re the reason I will.”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much to bear. You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to do this, Acacius,” you admitted. “I don’t know how to let myself care for someone when everything in my life has been taken from me.”

He stepped closer, his hand sliding down to take yours. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he said. “But let me stay by your side while you do.”

His grip was firm yet gentle, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years: hope.

“Just... come back,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I will,” he promised, his gaze unwavering. “Always.”

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe him.

After the gladiators’ fights had concluded in the Colosseum, you and your mother, left the arena, your minds still lingering on the chaos of the day. Acacius had been by your side throughout the event, his protective presence never wavering. But you noticed something had shifted in him—the tension in his jaw, the restlessness in his eyes, as if his mind was elsewhere. It was as though the very air around him had grown heavier.

As you made your way back to the villa, you could feel the weight of the looming battle on his shoulders. The orders from Emperor Geta and Caracalla had been clear: Acacius was to return to the front lines in two days. The idea of losing him, of seeing him walk into another battle with the same fierce determination he had shown every time, filled you with dread.

The villa felt quieter that night, the cool breeze brushing against the stone walls, but inside, the silence was almost suffocating. Acacius was pacing in his chamber, his armor now set aside, but his mind seemed far from peace. You watched him from the doorway for a moment, your heart aching as you saw him battle with his own thoughts.

"Acacius," you said softly, stepping closer.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world. "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I know you want more from me, but right now, my duty—my loyalty—it demands more than I can give."

You walked toward him, the soft sound of your sandals barely reaching his ears. "You don't have to apologize," you said quietly, touching his arm. "But I can see it... you're restless. You're carrying the burden of something you shouldn't have to face alone."

He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I have no choice. The orders are clear. If I don't return to battle, I dishonor my men, and if I do... I risk everything. Including you."

Your heart fluttered at his words. You moved a little closer, your voice softer now. "You don't have to risk everything alone. I’m here, Acacius. If you need my company tonight, I will stay. I will help carry your burden, if only for this one night."

For a moment, he stood still, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, his hands reached for you, gently pulling you closer until there was no distance left between you. The tension in his shoulders softened, but only slightly. His eyes, filled with uncertainty and longing, met yours.

"I don’t deserve you.” he murmured, his voice rough.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You are more than that. You are the man who has kept me safe, and for that alone, I would follow you anywhere."

He seemed to hesitate for just a breath, then, with a sudden urgency, he kissed you. It was gentle at first, a soft press of his lips against yours, as if he were testing the waters. But the moment your lips met, everything else faded. The weight of the empire, the war, the orders—none of it mattered in that instant. The world outside was silent, and the only thing that existed was the warmth of his kiss, the soft but undeniable spark between you.

As he pulled away slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little faster, your hearts racing. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You’ve made this so much harder”

You smiled softly, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want," you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes.

His lips brushed against yours again, this time more urgently, more desperately, as if the fear of losing you in the battle, or the fear of losing everything in the coming days, had driven him to this moment.

And in that kiss, you both found something you hadn’t realized you were searching for. You had been lost in the chaos of the empire, in the uncertainty of what came next, but in this moment, with him, everything felt right. You weren’t alone anymore.

As you pulled away from the kiss, Acacius didn’t let go of you right away, his hands still resting on your shoulders, as though afraid you might slip away. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in time with your own. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the world outside the villa’s walls completely forgotten.

Carefully, he brought his hands to your shoulders, traveling down your arms, at the same time your skin bristled under his touch. You had never felt this before, the mixture of nerves and lust of being touched with delicacy and love that you didn't know could exist.

He carried you to his bed gently, in slow steps without taking his gaze from your eyes that looked at him with curiosity and lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

Lust and desire.

The fabric of your dress felt suffocating against your skin and as if he had read your mind, he peeled your clothes off your skin leaving you completely exposed under his gaze. You gaped at him, half embarrassed, half impressed, then he pulled his lips back upon yours, palming your breast, as he made his way to his bed.

You chuckled as you lay there, and his face matched your smile as he continued to kiss you down your neck. The warmth of your uneven breaths mingled, enveloping you both as he quickly worked on his garments, and as soon as his clothes were removed, there was nothing to keep you apart. You curled your fingers in his hair as he kissed you all over your body for the first time. You could sense the emotions, but the intimacy and lust were like a fire in your core.

You felt Acacius' lips against your hips and angled them up for him. You were already dripping as he licked a route from your thigh to your cunt before sucking on your clit and pressing his fingers against you.

You whimpered while holding his head between your legs. His cock hardened as the sound from your lips and you clenched around his fingers. He sucked like he was hungry, forcing your legs apart till you had one calf under his shoulder. His free hand moved up your torso, grabbing your breast, as his nose rubbed against your clit. For instinct, you buried your heel into his back and dragged him closer until all he could taste was you.

He fucked you slowly, taking his time to taste your wetness on his lips before locking eyes with you. You were flustered, and your eyes shone.

"You...fuck," you whispered.

"I want you; I need you before leaving" he whispered desperately, going forward between your legs, forcing your knees up to your breasts, and plunging into you easily. You sighed and leaned forward to kiss him. Your hands were on the back of his neck, and he was on your breasts, attempting to touch you everywhere. As you both kissed, you raised your hips to fuck up into him as he drove down into you, attempting to be as cautious as possible.

You mumbled "Acacius, I love you" into his ear before he reclaimed your lips. He leaned down and sucked your nipples, lightly biting your breasts.

“I’ll come back for you cara mia” he promised, between thrusts, grinding his cock as deep as into you as it could go as you encouraged him with your moans and nails scratching down his back. Those marks would accompany the wounds of thousands of battles.

He slid his hand down to your pussy and rubbed along your clit. You fucked yourself harder on him by thrusting back against him right away.

When you came, he whispered something on your neck. You clutched around him and your hips trembled even as he continued to fuck you. Soon after, he began thrusting into you and eventually pulled out while making uneasy gasps in your shoulders. After that, the only sound in the room was the mingling of your breaths.

Acacius was nosing at your throat, promising he would come back alive to continue his life adoring you

The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of your breaths, which mingled together in the stillness. Time seemed to stretch, the weight of the moment settling around you like a gentle, unspoken promise.

his warm breath grazing your neck, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. His hands, still holding you with a tenderness you hadn't known before, seemed to search for something, as though memorizing the contours of your skin, tracing the lines of your jaw, your shoulders, your breath.

"I’ll come back," he murmured, his voice hushed, as though sharing a secret only meant for you. "I promise, I will come back to you. I won't leave you alone."

His lips brushed lightly against the soft skin of your throat, and you could feel the intensity of his words in that simple, delicate touch. You felt a sudden knot tighten in your chest, a mixture of longing and fear, but more than that, a deep, consuming need to believe him, to trust in the promise he was making.

"I will continue my life loving you," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, as though each word was a vow, a binding thread between you two. "When the battles are over, when the storm has passed, I'll be here and I will adore you for as long as I live."

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his body pressed so closely against yours, the heat of his devotion seeping into your soul. For a brief, fleeting moment, it felt as if everything else faded away—the empire, the scheming, the endless pressures. It was just the two of you in that room, your hearts beating as one, a bond forged in the quiet moments when nothing else mattered.

You took a deep breath, feeling his hands gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the stray tear that had escaped. Your hand instinctively reached for his, holding onto him tightly as if the act itself could somehow make his promise real, could anchor him to you forever.

"I need you to come back," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth behind them.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hands steady and comforting. Then, with a soft and almost hesitant voice, Acacius finally asked, "Could you stay with me tonight? Sleep beside me."

The vulnerability in his words surprised you. Acacius had always been the strong, unshakable general, the one who carried the weight of the empire on his shoulders with unyielding resolve. But now, in the quiet of your shared space, he seemed as human as anyone, his guard lowered, his needs simple, yet profound.

Your heart gave a quiet thud in your chest, and without hesitation, you nodded. "Of course," you said softly. "I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes softened, the slightest flicker of relief crossing his features. He led you over to the bed, the weight of the day seeming to leave him as he settled beside you. The soft rustle of the sheets was the only sound as he adjusted, his body tense but slowly relaxing as you lay beside him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, simply sharing the same quiet space, your presence the only comfort either of you needed. But the closeness was enough. It was as though the war, the orders, the empire itself could not reach you here, in this space that was just yours and his.

"Stay with me," he whispered after a while, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. His hand found yours in the dark, his fingers threading through yours, a simple but grounding gesture.

You squeezed his hand gently, resting your head on the pillow beside him. "I’m not going anywhere, Acacius. I’m here. And I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after, no matter what happens."

The words hung in the air, simple but true, and in that moment, you both found something precious, peace in the storm, a promise without words. Acacius’s breath slowed, his body finally releasing the tension that had held him captive for so long.

Acacius woke slowly, the gray light of early morning spilling softly into the room. For a moment, the heaviness of his reality came crashing down on him—the orders from Geta and Caracalla, the battle that awaited him, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The weight was still there, pressing on his chest like an unrelenting force, refusing to let him breathe freely.

But then, he became aware of something else.

You.

Your warmth was pressed against him, your head resting on his chest, your hand lightly curled over his heart. The soft rise and fall of your breathing matched the quiet rhythm of the room, and for the first time in days, maybe even months, Acacius felt the smallest flicker of peace.

He glanced down at you, his eyes tracing the curve of your face in the gentle morning light. You looked so calm, so trusting, nestled beside him, as though you belonged there. A part of him still couldn’t believe you had stayed, that you had given him this small gift of solace before he left for what could be his last battle.

Carefully, as though afraid to wake you, he lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for a moment, his fingers barely grazing your skin, and he let out a quiet sigh. How had it come to this? How had you, someone he had been ordered to protect, become the person who made him feel safe?

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He knew he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. And yet, here you were, giving him the strength he hadn’t even known he needed.

You stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him in your sleep, and he froze for a moment, unsure if you were waking. But you only let out a soft sigh and settled against him once more. He couldn’t help the way his arm tightened around you, holding you closer, as though he could shield you from the world for just a little while longer.

His voice was barely a whisper, more to himself than to you. "What have you done to me?"

As the minutes passed, Acacius let himself stay in that moment, letting go of the weight of his duty, if only for a little while. With you there, the storm within him seemed to quiet, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope.

When you finally began to stir, blinking sleepily up at him, he felt his chest tighten. Your eyes met his, and though your expression was soft, he could see the worry lingering there.

"Good morning," you murmured, your voice warm and still tinged with sleep.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice lower than usual, as though the morning had stolen some of his strength.

You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. "You didn’t sleep much, did you?"

He shook his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "No. But this... this helped."

You smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Then let me help you more. Whatever you need, Acacius, I’m here."

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as though it was the only thing keeping him steady. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, filled with something deeper than gratitude.

"I’ll remember this," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise you didn’t fully understand but felt all the same. "No matter what happens, I’ll remember."

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #marcus acacius smut #general acacius x you #general acacius

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multific · 2 months ago

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The City of Rome at Your Feet

Emperor Geta x Reader

Warnings: hint of insanity (a lot), spoilers for the movie, blood, soft mention of smut

Summary: It was always about the pleasures of the body. But your soul was happiest just around him.

Two souls have never been more intervened.

It was almost frightening.

How can two people be meant for each other so much?

They weren’t much different. Both wicked in their own ways.

Geta being the loud Emperor, while you remained the quiet Empress.

Same temper, same goals and the same love for violence.

You just expressed yourself differently.

You being a lady, were elegant and enticing.

Your marriage was only a wish. A wish which came true.

You prayed to the Gods, hoping for a husband who is just like you.

And you met the Emperors.

Caracalla enjoyed your wit and even if you weren't blood related, called you sister. But Geta enjoyed you as a woman and ordered you to marry him.

You had no choice but to accept.

You never expected for your marriage to turn into such greatness.

It was a marriage filled with fire and blood.

A love filled with passion and power.

And each night, not only your bodies but your souls also melted into one.

You noticed as time kept going on, slowly, the lines between you and Geta slowly blurred.

When Acacius returned from yet another victory. You stood by your husband.

"Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla, Empress Y/N." he greeted you as you looked at him, his words failed to get to you after that.

All that you remember is heading back into the palace then Acacius' words finally reached your ears.

"My wife has many subjects. She has to feed them." Acacius said and you looked at him.

Caracalla spoke up before you could.

"And you suggest my sister is not doing a proper job of that?" your eyes snapped at Acacius, who looked at you with regret in his eyes.

"I hope your wife will be able to come and join us for the games tomorrow. I appreciate she is busy with her... subjects, but I don't see why she won't be able to join us."

Caracalla laughed and your eyes never moved from Marcus instead, you took a step closer to him.

"In case you forgot who you were talking to, Marcus." you finished and raised your cup. The man nodded.

---

You enjoyed Gladiator games as much as the next person.

Watching men fight for honour and freedom. It was truly magneficent.

Marcus and his wife were also present after Marcus' lovely speech, you felt a dark presence.

The row behind you were making plans.

But you were a step ahead. Watching Lucilla look at the new Gladiator, Hanno.

You tilted your head and smirked.

You will have some fun with those three.

Your husband squeezes your hand as you turned and smiled at him.

Later that evening, you sent word, asking a guard to report to you as soon as someone visits the new Gladiator.

And someone did.

Lucilla.

You smiled.

"My Love! So happy today?"

"Of course I am. I just found out something very interesting."

"Dare to share?" he grabbed your waist and pulled you close.

"Maybe later, once I have it all laid out."

"I would like to lay you out right now." he moved his head into your neck and started biting your neck.

---

Your husband was yelling, you looked at the traitors in front of you.

"Torture me, but do not lecture me." you smiled at Marcus' words.

"You two are truly stupid." you spoke up and everyone in the room looked at you. "You thought you could save him. Your beloved son. Lucius? Is that his name? You are truly foolish."

"What are you talking about?" asked Lucilla.

"He's dead. Killed him myself." you watched as both looked at you in disbelief.

Then a guard walked out with a head on a plate.

"The same fate Macrinus wished for my husband." You turned to the man sitting on the bench while Lucilla broke down and Marcus moved. "Silly man." with one movement you stepped out of the way as the guards brought him to the floor.

"I wonder how the people of Rome will think of their beloved General once they learn how he attached their Empress. In her sleep none the less. Snuck in and tried to kill her. Sent by his wife, who wished to rule."

"You-" but Marcus couldn't finish his sentence as he was dragged away along with his wife and Macrinus.

"Sister, you are something else truly!" Caracalla laughed and you grabbed a knife and a silver plate, looking at yourself, you cut along your neck. "Genius!" Caracalla continued.

"Why did you have to do that?" Geta rushed over to you, worried as he put his hand on your bleeding neck.

"Proof to the people of my attack. Oh, Geta I was so worried! He came out of nowhere! Hiding in the silk curtains, he told me Lucilla wanted to take my place! I was so scared." your eyes were shiny with tears as Geta shook his head and looked at you.

Caracalla left moments before, laughing still.

Geta watched you and he let out a long sigh. "How did you know?"

"Lucilla was so obvious I'm surprised not everyone noticed. As for Macrinus... I never liked him."

Geta let out a laugh, this is when the healer arrived to check out your neck and put bandages on it.

The next day, you watched Marcus fight and fail.

You managed to put on the show of a life time with your injury, the people of Rome had no reason not to believe you.

All they saw is a hurt poor woman, their Empress.

This not only earned you but also the Emperors sympathy as everyone chanted for Acacius' death.

You felt your husband move his arms around you, pulling you close.

Rome was yours.

Geta was yours and you were only his.

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist:

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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maya-caffrey · 1 month ago

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Rain, Cinnamon, Cologne, and Conditioner

pairing: sirius black x reader

summary: Amortentia week is always chaotic. Especially so when you're lab partners with longtime frenemy sirius black

warnings: Language maybe, fic from reader's pov

a/n: been forever since i wrote for a marauder, lets hope this is acceptable 🙏🏻

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Although Slughorn certainly meant well, there was simply nothing that one could do to hate him a bit less during Amortentia week. Dramatic breakups preceded by "What do you MEAN you smell my sister's perfume!?", and hasty love confessions followed by immediate regret, for a spectator like me this was the best week ever at Hogwarts.

The class smelled faintly of rain and cinnamon to me, a lingering effect of the neighboring cauldrons.

"I honestly have no idea what I'm supposed to be smelling here, like, I am certain no one has smelled this exact smell before."

"James, come on, that is clearly Lavender."

"What?"

"I smell Lavender!" she said, weirdly enthusiastic about the smell.

"Lily, honey, say that again but slowly."

It took her a minute before she realized. Even the smartest people get confuddled sometimes. Of course, she'll never know what it smelled like to him.

Somewhere in the back, I saw Lucius Malfoy almost poke some poor kid's eye out with his wand, and next to his table was Severus Snape, staring menacingly into a cauldron that definitely did not have Amortentia in it. He was a weird kid. Creeps me out still.

Anyway, that brings us to Sirius and I, who couldn't agree on who gets to put the sneezewort in.

"After you," I said, not wanting to bear the brunt of what will follow. You see, Sneezewort gets its name from the fact that whenever it's added to a potion, it produces a puff of smoke that causes those closest to sneeze for a good entire minute.

"Oh, no, go ahead. I insist."

"Well, I insist more."

"I insist the most, then."

"Sirius, come on."

"Hey, you started it!"

"Well, you end it. I don't want to keep sneezing!"

"Oh, good, because it's my favorite hobby, sneezing incessantly."

There was no compromise in sight. That is, until-

"Alright Sirius, I'll tell you what. You convince Peter to do this, I'll get Marlene to go with you to Hogsmeade. For real this time."

"Please, I don't need you to be my wingman, I'm perfectly charming all on my own, thank you very much," he said, signature smirk decorating his face.

"You know you need my hel-"

"Yes I do, I was kidding, thank you so much, I love you."

I shook my head and laughed while waiting for Peter to take whatever bait Sirius was laying out. Sure, he was presumptuous and annoying, and the banter was endless, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't look forward to it every day at this point.

After Remus begrudgingly dragged a red-in-the-face Peter away from our table, we stirred the potion 3 times, and all that was left was to add the pieces of Lovelog. We added them at the same time and instinctively held our breaths and waited for the potion to turn pink, which it did. However, it didn't work.

"Dude, I smell nothing."

"Yes, thanks for pointing it out, (Y/n). Extremely astute observation. 10 points to Gryffindor."

"Oh, okay, sure, be all haughty after fucking up the potion."

"I fucked up? That's presumptuous! For all we know, you screwed up."

"Please, I used Slughorn's recipe down to the smallest detail there is no way it was me. You were the one who kept taking off to 'charm Marlene with your smile' every 5 minutes."

"Hey. I'm playing the long game and it will work. Eventually. Just- Admit that you screwed up, please?"

"Oh, no, no we are not doing this. Remus, could you come here, please?"

"Me? Oh, no, love. I am not getting involved with this," said Remus, vaguely gesturing in our general direction.

James threw a raisin-looking thing at Sirius' head to get his attention which met its mark, followed by a faint 'ow'.

"Oi dickhead! Lily says you're potion's working fine. She smells Lavender."

"Well dip me in milk and call me a cookie 'cause I cannot smell anything for the life of me over that fruity conditioner of yours," said Sirius, in an annoyingly accusatory tone that set me over the edge because well first of all fuck you. second of all-

"Oh, you're one to talk Mr I-must-use-the-entire-bottle-of-cologne. You smell like an axe showroom" Yeah, get his ass, me. "Also, I didn't use conditioner today, you pompous dick."

"Yeah? Well, get ready to feel stupid because I ran out of cologne yesterday. Ha. In your face." Wait, what?

Silence.

Contemplative silence.

A whole lot of good old silence.

Faces contorting in ways like never before as we unpack what just happened, in sweet, painful, silence.

"(Y/n) did you-"

"Uh-uh. Yep. Apparently. And you, uh,"

"Big time, yes."

"Oh, okay, so, uh, what now?"

"We could talk about it?"

Sirius Black wants to "talk it out". Yeah, we don't got this.

"Hey morons, you need to fu-"

"Yeah, thank you, Remus. We got it." "Yeah, Cheers, mate."

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #marauders x you #maya writes #sirius black x reader fluff #marauders x reader #marauders x reader fluff

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artytaeh · 1 month ago

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do i look like him? and it's mattheo riddle fearing to one day, live up to the chaotic evil that the riddle surname now represents. winning fistfights brings that satisfactory adrenaline that gets a smile to his face, only to falter, as soon as mattheo sees blood on his hands, clinging to his knuckles. he didn't inherit his father's extremely cunning behavior—the wickedness, though? hell, everyone seems to believe so. no matter where he goes, mattheo has the shadow of his father looming over him, as if it's an unavoidable fate. does he really look like voldemort? is he, sincerely, so terrible that it's not worth trying to know him? everytime he looks at himself in the mirror, mattheo tries to erase any semblance he shares with his father. he doesn't look like him, right?

do i look like him? and it's theodore nott when all of his sadness becomes frustration, fueling the irrational anger that outbursts from inside—one look in the mirror, and he can see the similarities with his father. not just physically, no; the frightening anger is there, the same fuming expression that he sees before his cane hits theo once, twice, as many times as the older nott sees fitting to teach discipline. theodore wonders just how much is left of his mother in him, whenever anger curses through his veins—and it's then, that he becomes what he fears, and loathes, the most. would he do terrible things in face of the anger he feels? is he about to be a terrible partner, the worst father like his own was, in the future? the thought makes him sick.

do i look like her? and it's lorenzo berkshire, once more prioritizing himself over anyone else's feelings. selfish, perhaps wicked—leaving no matter the consequences, as long as he's fine, everything's good; and doesn't that remind him of bellatrix lestrange, his mother, who didn't even choose his name? leaving a newborn baby and her husband, nevermind how much it would scar lorenzo's heart to grow up knowing that his mother didn't want him. for someone who he resents—and longs, merlin, how much lorenzo aches for his mother's acknowledgement—so much, enzo surely does look like bellatrix sometimes, much for charles berkshire's distaste.

do i look like her? and it's blaise regretting each fling, each possible girlfriend that he let go. growing up and seeing his mother constantly change partners, made blaise doubt true love—like birds up in the sky and fishes under the sea, blaise knows that there's so much more outside. what if this isn't the one? what if it leads to heartbreak? blaise is used to see people come and go, however, it never makes it easier to be left. so, he leaves first. with his long list of lovers, does he finally look like miss zabini?

do i look like him? and it's draco malfoy, living up to all of his father's expectations, the name that his mother imposed as such a reputation he needs to uphold. same hair, same eyes, same disgusting ideologies and behavior; does he finally look like lucius malfoy? is draco, finally, deemed of approval and praise? regretfully, he doesn't think so—his father would never look like this, disheveled in a bathroom, staring at the reflection of himself after another panic attack overwhelms his mind. lucius malfoy isn't weak, no; then what's so wrong with draco? merlin, please make draco look like him—it doesn't matter the consequences. he'll deal with them later... right?

#slytherin boys #angst #theodore nott #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #blaise zabini #draco malfoy

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therealvinelle · 18 days ago

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Do you think Tom would've ever tried to feed Dumbledore to the diary if he was given the opportunity?

"And now, for ze next brilliant plan- are you listening, Lucius? For zis next brilliant plan... I shall give my Horcrux to Albus Dumbledore and 'ope he doezn't worry about it when it acts like a cursed artifact and he doezn't try to find out wat it iz!"

"My lord?!"

"I don't see how this could pozzeblee be un bad idea."

I thought the above needed a silly little accent.

No, I do not think Voldemort would give his enemy, a man very knowledgeable about dark magic and who would be immediately suspicious on seeing "PROPERTY OF T. M. RIDDLE" inside, his Horcrux and hope Dumbledore wrote in it until he was possessed.

As it is (and this has been covered in the @rankheresy episode about horcruxes for the specially interested), I don't think Voldemort wanted it to be given to anybody in the first place. He'd left it in Lucius's custody, we don't know why, but what we do know is that Lucius decided of his own accord to get rid of it by planting it on Arthur Weasley's daughter. I don't think Lucius knew what it would do, or realized that the book he'd given Ginny Weasley was opening the Chamber of Secrets a few months later, and I don't think Voldemort had instructed him to give it to anybody at all. The idea that the Diary was the disposable Horcrux that Voldemort intended to use as a weapon is a conclusion drawn by Dumbledore, based on Lucius's actions when Lucius was acting under the belief that Voldemort had been dead for many years and the Diary was only going to be a problem for him if found to be in his possession.

(That Voldemort was furious when he found out, and that Lucius Malfoy has been out of favor ever since, or that Voldemort has put Draco in a "die-or-be-killed" situation that's playing out in Hogwarts while Dumbledore explains how cool Voldemort was with a piece of his soul dying because Lucius wanted to get back at Arthur Weasley, doesn't shake Dumbledore's conviction that Voldemort thought reopening the Chamber of Secrets was a very important endeavor worth losing a Horcrux.)

So no, I don't think Voldemort would ever, ever have given that or any other Horcrux to Dumbledore, and he bitterly regrets entrusting Malfoy with it in the first place.

#rank heresy #lord voldemort #tom riddle #lucius malfoy #harry potter #harry potter meta #diary horcrux

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vroomvroomwee · 1 year ago

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Underrated moment of season 2 is when Izzy said, "and we cannot let this crew suffer for out mistakes"

Because.... wow.

1. Izzy is admiting his mistake. Like this bitch has leearned, and he's acknowledgiiing it. He's realised what he's done and not only is he regretting it, but he's actively trying to fix it.

2. Acknowledging Stede as captain. "We". By confiding in Stede this way (even though he lied that Blackbeard is alive), he's admitting that Stede is the only other person on the ship with authority and in the position to give orders. I think this is one of the rare, or rather, the only instance, where he shows Stede genuine respect.

3. Most importantly. He actually cares for the crew!!!! We know as first mate that's basically your job, but this Izzy is a different person from the Izzy that had Lucius scrubbing the sides of the ship, or that had Fang pour him salt because he was too lazy to do it himself. He realises what kind of shit they've gone through, and be it guilt or genuine compassion, he's grown to care for them.

#izzy hands #you weird weird little man #israel hands #ofmd #ofmd 2 #ofmd s2 #ofmd2 #ourflagmeansdeath #our flag means death #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbeard

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currentfandomkick · 8 months ago

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Prompt:

Desiree overhears bruce wish for a do-over with his robins.

Said robins end up aged down and only with those memories of when they first were acknowledged as Robin by Bruce. Anything after? Gone.

Now Dick is 8 ready to destroy these people stealing his mom’s nickname for him. Yes he is deranged and feral. Yes he is assaulting Damian the most, as the kid also attacks him. He’s also certain Damian is mew to the states too and annoyed he cant understand the kid.

Jason is 12 and dealing with a Lot of homeless kid truama and whiplash of rich place and who are these other kids and why is the tiniest one trying to kill the second tiniest? Stop that! (Jason, the most responsible somehow) Damian listens to him best without the use of orders. (Only way to get Damian to listen otherwise) and is working on teaching Damian about how the states and Gotham work. Jason is the Great Culture Teacher, and hoarding food stashes and go bags everywhere. Just in case. Yes he has some for everyone and is only a little upset his peer Tim vanished before he could give him his.

Tim is 12 too, realized Batman had Jason Right There and fucked off back home to see what happened timeline wise. He decided to visit his apparent step-mom, Dana, and gets to meet his apparent(?) boyfriends (deal’s choice, just have there be two for Tim’s confusion as ‘i pulled not one but two hot boys? How?) reasons. Tim is Learning what he did in the last 6 years and is questioning how his older self stopped with a semi-regular sleep schedule and.. had no spleen? Dana, can we get that checked for me that mine’s still there and if i keep it? Yay. Oh, this should last a few months? Okay! He can work from home online and have Lucius handle the meetings—why was he made a teen CEO again?

Stephanie? Is the oldest at 15, and is baffled by the whole situation. She goes to see Oracle and handles patrols under Babs’ eye with a confused Cass. Yes Stephanie is mad at Tim and believes he was cheating on her at this time, but knows the Tim she saw was smaller. And this is in the future from her POV. She’s still mad. Also the least likely to cause problems on patrol atm as she’s already trained and threatened to break out Spoiler if he tries to stop her. Her favorites and Damian (he gets killing should be an option, but needs to work on his selection process) and Jason, who Gets being a poor kid. Dick stops attacking her on sight but is a savage and insults her form. He ranks below Tim due to proximity, and the fact this is a Tim before they dated.

Damian? Back maybe 2 years, to the mindset of ‘if i dont kill my predecessor, i am unworthy of my role by Father’s side.’ Problem: he and Dick are fighting (both initiate) and Alfred and Jason (when did his zombie guard get so small?) are the only ones able to separate them successfully. He is not allowed on Patrol, but Brown is as she’s able to run solo otherwise and Father has recruited her using Robin. Father has explicitly forbade attacking her in the manor, cave or otherwise on property, and forbid killing. Brown is the only one besides him questioning this, even if it’s mostly over comms… and he is absolutely working on learning magic to undo this spell and return to his rightful place damnit!

Bruce has Many Regrets about that wish. And hates magic

Meanwhile Danny is trying to work out which wishes of Desiree’s are safe to undo, as apparently her last spree included taking out Joker, who was well overdue for that, and helping a lot of families reunite. He’s not undoing that. But also she did help gorilla grodd take over a city. He. He’s gonna need help, isn’t he?

#long post #dpxdc #robins deaged #bruce is tired #danny is stressed #not ghost king au #dpxdc prompts

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dimplyowl · 6 months ago

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😩 one of the main things I see about Izzy and why he’s an innocent little lamb who has done nothing wrong is that he’s got a lot of internalized homophobia going on, as well as issues with toxic masculinity. And yeah, OFMD is all about taking those toxic societal expectations and telling them to shove themselves up their asses. And I think having a character who has those internalized feelings and who holds onto them until being proven that they’re wrong is an interesting character arc. Growth is a great thing! We love to see it!

The problem comes when people use those characteristics as excuses for any of izzys bad behaviors, as if they give him a free pass to do whatever he wants to do. But that’s not how these things work. The problem I have with Izzy’s character arc in s2 is that he doesn’t do anything to make reparations until his deathbed apology to Ed. He just kind of…continues to be there, ignoring Ed, letting the crew extend kindness to him and still not really engaging until Calypso’s Birthday.

You know who has done some really shitty things and does actually work toward making reparations? Ed. And that’s another thing I see a lot of Izzy fans say: that gb people give Ed a free pass for everything he did because of his childhood and his trauma and his self hatred and broken heart. But babes, when we talk about these issues, you’re misunderstanding why we’re talking about them. I obviously can’t speak for all Ed fans, but the majority of us aren’t listing these issues as excuses, we’re naming them as reasons for his behavior. So we can understand why he feels the way he feels and did the things he did.

I am fully aware that he did some really shitty things to people who care about him and who he cares about. I acknowledge that. I also know why he did them. And knowing why doesn’t make it okay. It helps me understand him more, and to know that he wasn’t doing them because he enjoyed them and, most importantly, that they’re things he regrets doing. That’s obvious throughout the entirety of eps4-6, in his hesitance to return to the ship, in agreeing to wear a burlap sack and allowing Lucius to push him over the ship, in taking time to actually listen to fang about his own experiences during the kraken era. It’s part of the entire reason they have a party, it’s part of turning poison into positivity. Ed doesn’t have great apology skills. His “apology” speech was definitely lacking as far as our modern standards are concerned. That’s fine. Those aren’t natural skills to have, they’re learned, and he never really had the opportunity to learn them. But you can see that he wants to, and he’s trying and he’s learning, and that’s the most important thing.

Izzy doesn’t do that shit. In season 1 he uses his position of power to bully the crew, to go against Ed’s orders (his captains orders; that’s essentially mutiny right there); he loses and turns his captain and a ship full of queer and poc to the cops; he then becomes captain and it takes less than a day for the crew to mutiny on him because he’s a fucking asshole and no one wants to work for him; and to top it all off, he tells his boss—his friend, supposedly, his depressed and already established to be suicidal friend—that he would be better off dead than be like he is.

Where are his attempts at reparation? Where does he turn around and say “yeah calling the cops on you was fucking horrible and I shouldn’t have done it” or “I shouldn’t have said those things when you were already struggling” or “I’m sorry for taking advantage of my power and using it to bully and abuse my employees and another captain’s crew.”? He doesn’t do any of that. He doesn’t even try.

Internalized homophobia doesn’t make intimidating your gay subordinate or calling your friend a “namby pamby in a silk dressing gown” okay. Toxic masculinity doesn’t make repeatedly insulting someone for having traditionally feminine traits and interests okay. Doing those kinds of things can never be okay. But recognizing these as faults and actively working to improve yourself and grow and apologize to the people you’ve hurt and try to make things better does make it more likely for the people who care about you to forgive you.

#our flag means death #ofmd #edward teach #izzy hands #Izzy hands hate club #ofmd meta #our flag means death meta #cw sui mention #izzy hands critical

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lilithofpenandbook · 4 months ago

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I heard someone say that the Malfoys were the best parents, what are your thoughts on this? And could you make a rank from the best parents to the worst?

Hmm, I'd actually say yes. There's a difference between being a good parent and being a good person. Someone could be incredibly accepting of those with impure blood yet be absolutely terrible parents, and vice versa.

When it comes to the Malfoys, yes, Lucius did influence Draco in the wrong way, yes, he did raise Draco to be a Death Eater, and we don't know how Draco would have been treated if he rejected Lucius's ideology. However, there is no indication that Draco was forced into believing what he did. He just was a product of his environment- not forced into believing it but also not wanting to not believe in it. In a way, it was Draco's normal. Additionally, while Draco was forced to be a Death Eater (I believe), it wasn't because he didn't want to be one, it's because Voldemort wanted to use him despite being too young, primarily to punish Lucius (and that to me speaks volumes about Lucius's love for his son- if Voldemort recognised it enough to know it would hurt Lucius then it must have been clear Lucius put Draco before Voldemort deep inside). I also believe Draco, once exposed to the actual reality of his beliefs and what they do to people, regretted believing them and hated it all, and wanted out, and ended up a good person, but that's another topic.

As for the ranking, in no particular order (aside from me remembering them):

The Riddles/ The Gaunts. As parents, I can't talk about Merope or Tom, however as people all I can say is that Tom is a victim of SA by Merope and that action of hers was absolutely horrific. However, I can also empathise with Merope because her father? The worst. Actually, I'm going to put him as the ultimate worst parent, simply because his actions are what led to Merope being so unstable that she seriously thought love potioning a man was a good idea. I am not condoning Merope's actions, however I do understand that she was very unwell and unstable as a result of the abuse she suffered, and if not for that then she probably would not have married Tom 1 and conceived her son under a love potion, which is the canonical reason for Tom being Voldemort, and therefore the reason for almost everything wrong. Almost.

I say almost because regardless of Voldemort, both Tobias Snape and the Black parents would have absolutely sucked and so regardless of Voldemort, both Severus Snape and Sirius Black would have experienced trauma (although not as horrifically as it was due to the war).

Tobias is worse than Walburga and Orion Black in my opinion, as it's heavily implied at least that he physically beat Snape and definitely beat Eileen. He's only above Merope's dad because I do think he wasn't as bad as him, and because part of Snape's childhood struggles is due to poverty. Him wearing ill-fitting old clothes and being bullied and ostracized has less to do with Tobias's treatment and more to the inherit poverty, however Tobias did nothing to help Snape, and was definitely an abusive husband. As a parent, he was neglectful and abrasive at best.

The Black parents are better than him, as parents. Yes, this is separate to their morals- I am judging them based on their treatment of their children. And when it comes to them, firstly there was Regulus, who was favoured and loved by them, even if they didn't raise him correctly. Then there's Sirius. And here's the thing, while I don't deny Walburga at least was abusive, the abusive itself was only confirmed to be abusive, which is horrible, yes, but not as horrible as the previously mentioned parents (wow, the bar is low). And another key element is the fact that Sirius was the one who left, rather than he being kicked out too. So while verbally abusive, I don't believe Walburga and Orion completely neglected Sirius.

However, a very similar set of parents yet miles worse are Petunia and Vernon. One of their kids was incredibly spoilt to the point of being incredibly stupid, the other was completely and fully abused. They beat the Blacks but are still only a little better than Tobias and the Gaunts.

As for Harry's actual parents, James and Lily Potter, they both loved Harry, but they didn't live long enough to decide whether they would be good at actual parenting or if they'd spoil Harry.

And I'm gonna mention the Evans parents too. I don't think they were good parents. Not as bad as a lot of these people, but not good. How else do you raise someone like Petunia, so jealous of her sister she abused a little boy? Yeah, no.

Now, Molly and Arthur Weasley are rather polarising. Some say they're good, some say they were bad. I'm going to say that they weren't perfect, but not bad at all. Yes, Ron wasn't always given the best treatment, yes, Molly favoured certain children, but at the same time she was the mother to seven very strong minded individuals, and still took care of Harry despite their poverty. And I do count them as "poor". Although they aren't as poor as some of the others, they're still not rich at all. The reason they don't struggle is because they save money with the hand me downs and everything. So I'd say that actually, they weren't bad at all. I personally don't like how much Molly yells, however that's probably because of my own issues, not because she's actually being harsh. Her family is loud. She had to be louder.

I'm also gonna mention the Dumbledore parents. The father definitely made a bad decision, however it was to protect his daughter. That doesn't however change how bad that idea was. As for the mother, again, maybe not the best decision at the time to isolate Ariana, especially because it resulted in her boys suffering. However I will cut them some slack because they weren't in any normal situation and that would affect their judgement. So not abusive by any means, but not the best parents either.

Hermione's parents. Where were they and why didn't they seem concerned over their only child? That's all I can say (perhaps they figured her being magical made her invulnerable?)

The last parents I can think of are Andromeda and Ted Tonks. And actually they're probably the best parents in the series. Nymphadora grows up to be a good, happy young woman, and they clearly love her even if they don't agree with her choices. I honestly can't remember anything wrong with them.

That's my "ranking" of the worst to best parents, out of all the people I can remember. Honestly, there's a very high number of bad parents here (the bar is so low that Not Smacking Your Child is enough to give Walburga a higher ranking, dear god).

Oh, actually I forgot!

James Potter's parents. Maybe one of the WORST up there with the Gaunts because how do you raise such a little psychopath? I can see where Sirius gets it but his family is known to be bad, so what was with the Potters? James was well cared for and adored (the words used in the book!) yet he spent 7 years bullying Snape. Just how? What kind of parents were his?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Thanks for the ask!

#harry potter #harry potter meta #the malfoys #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #draco malfoy #orion black #walburga black #sirius black #merope gaunt #tom riddle sr #tobias snape #eileen snape #the dursleys #james potter #lily potter #fleamont potter #dumbledore family #answered ask

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cosmicgendershifter · 4 months ago

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I had a thought about how Lucius, at the beginning of season one, discovers what's behind Jim's "mute man" disguise, and then Jim nearly kills him to keep their truth hidden--this is paralleled at the end of the season! Lucius sees through Blackbeard's disguise to Ed, the vulnerable brokenhearted human underneath the huge legend--and then Izzy pushes Ed to mask up (beard up?) again, so Ed nearly kills Lucius to protect himself from being revealed in the future.

Lucius has an unfortunate habit of stumbling into truths people would kill to keep secret. 😅 Which is a good metaphor for how closeted queer people tend to lash out at fellow queers who clock them, thanks to the terror and survival risk of being yourself in a queerphobic society. It's unfair, but true--I did something like that myself once growing up, and I think it's still the worst thing I've ever done (and my biggest regret).

Also, in both cases, it's the future romantic partners--Stede and Oluwande--who step in to moderate the situation, though Stede comes in late.

#our flag means death #lucius spriggs #jim jimenez #edward teach #oluwande boodhari #stede bonnet #my stuff

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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year ago

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Not Just A Trinket / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: hi! ur writing is EVERYTHING btw. ur an amazing writer. you mentioned you wanted to write for izzy hands again and i have a request– feel free to ignore if it's not what ur looking for :) maybe izzy hands x reader where the reader has a small gift for him (a little trinket, a beaded crystal bracelet– something they made for him) but they're WAY too anxious to give it to him because they're scared he won't like it so they end up just carrying it around, trying to build up the courage to give it to him pfft

AHHH thank you so much my lovely, that's so sweet of you, and so is this idea!!! :3 Also I know I'm a little early in the timeline mentioning Davy Jones but I like to think of Izzy as a trendsetter ;)

Warning: mentions of fighting/ injury and strong language, some sexual innuendo!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @nadsdraws.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands was beginning to detest feeling like this.

He would rather charge sword first at a horde of raging Englishmen: would prefer to scrabble and scrape and scratch through the eye sockets of thousands of the Spanish with naught but his bloodied fingernails. Hell, even grovelling under the sole of the snivelling wreck that now possessed his former boss like a twisted nightmare, a horrid regret, would be preferable. If his hand wasn't too firmly attached to tangled rope of one of the shrouds in a death grip, if his glove wasn't close to bursting at the seams with how tightly he was gripping, he had half a mind to draw his dagger out of its scabbard and gouge his heart out right there and then.

He looked furious. So much so, that Roach was quick to side step him as he hopped down the steps with fresh sewing materials in his hand, giving a final look back at the intent man who only bared his teeth at the cook in response. Valuing his life, or at least the ability to keep all his fingers, if the sight of the keen blade being twisted between Izzy's free fingers told him anything, Roach is quick to recoil back and raise a concerned eyebrow in Wee John's direction. He in turn just rolls his eyes and lowers his head back to his sewing, but the rest of Stede's crew are astute enough, from where they're lingering around the deck, to notice the thick tension brewing like cold shivers of electricity in the air. Even Jim and Oluwande were giving each other side eyes, pausing their hammering at the helm to dart their eyes to their side and trace the path of Izzy's line of sight.

It never wavered. Every time they looked, it never changed. He had spent the last two hours gaping sourly towards the edge of the quarter deck. Gawking solely at you, without a single movement, without a single flicker outside the bubble where you hunched.

You thought he was angry at you for arranging a special outing for Ed and Stede at Datura Grotto, finally indulging in finding a way for them to spend some time alone after your Captain had begged and hounded you for days; he had become so accustomed to bursting through doors trying to find you and ask for your help, that the poor daunted man nearly burst into tears when he smashed your bedroom door into your nose and nearly broke it. The rest of the crew believed he was plotting something: trying to pick out the quieter members of their friends first, as payback for being stuck on this so called 'straight out of Davy Jones' arsehole' of a ship for so long.

Izzy, though. Izzy knew he was smitten. And he fucking hated it. He hated feeling so vulnerable.

Out of all the crew members still pretending to mill about, only Lucius was daring enough to purse his lips and look brazenly back at Blackbeard's first mate. Only Lucius, in fact, was feeling equally brave, and equally vexatious that fine afternoon to muster up the courage to slide up beside him. 'Someone in a bad mood today, are we?'. He taps the ships railing with the point of his nail, the broom he had been pretending to sweep splintered pieces off the floor a moment ago soon forgotten about as he leans it against the side of the ship. He replaces the loss by dropping his hand to his hip, cocking his head and smiling at an increasingly agitated looking Izzy. 'Would it have anything to do with that fine young sea farer over there by any chance? How romantic, Dizzy Izzy. Oh, I do love a good fix-me-up-'

Oh, he was enjoying this.

Izzy's quick to snap, not even bothering to look in Lucius' direction. 'Fuck off, before I do you a favour and cut that little seducing tongue out of your mouth for you.' Lucius watches Izzy's fingers tighten into leather clad black balls on the rope ladder, and doesn't need a second warning to trot off back towards his friends again. With a final wide eyed look of shock, he turns back to Black Pete and shrugs, holding his hands up as if to say that he tried his best.

All the while, you just keep your gaze steady out and onto the brewing horizon of the sea, watching as foam shook out like reaching hands around your ankles as they across cut through the wave crests, only the salty sting of thrumming silence keeping you company underneath his watchful gaze. The beaded necklace you had spent the last week or so threading together, carefully crafted by trembling fingers and a bit tongue during long evenings spent in your hammock, was beginning to feel like an anchor weight in your pocket. You tried to distract yourself with mundane, idle chit chat with a very thankful Lucius, who had swung over to your side after Pete convinced him to go scouting out for some more gossip. Swinging his legs between the latches of the port quarter, he merrily took the hammer you were idly holding from your hand and began to 'fix up the ship', his wrist barely moving as he turned to you with a scheming smile.

'So, do you know what's going on then? Why Izzy's acting like this? I swear, that man. If he doesn't bend over right now and try to get that stick out of his arse, he's going to be a miserable sad sack of repressed irritation forever. He's like a jack in the box. I swear to god, I'm just waiting for him to burst.' The tone of his voice sounds almost worried, but Lucius is smiling and waggling his eyebrows the whole while. 'That would be kind of funny, actually. I've always imagined him as a stamper. Or maybe a screamer-'

You have no idea what to say, not understanding Lucius' oh so unsubtle hints, so you just run your fingers over the bulge in your pocket once more and chime in to his rant from time to time with a disinterested 'hmm' or distracted 'oh, yeah. Definitely.' It really didn't help that you were beginning to blush the same champagne hue as the bubbles between your toes with how gravely Izzy was staring at the side of your face. It was growing increasingly harder not to give into the temptation: to not just swing your head around and meet his hard-set eyes head on.

Once he realises you're dead set on staying right there, away from him, hiding in the corner all day, he sighs and let's go of the sails, marching off to do another impromptu inspection of the boarded vessel. It's an easy distraction: yelling orders at Wee John, spitting insults at Roach as he scurries out of Izzy's way, stealing the Swede's cup out of his hand and spraying beads of coffee around Buttons' feet. All of it was a Grade A fantastic distraction, and Izzy was hell bent on forgetting just how quickly time had gone by that day: Ed and the moronic, sappy, massive twat of an arse Stede would be back from their foliage constitutional any minute now, and Izzy was acutely aware that he was running out of both minutes, and chances to ask you to take a walk with him on the island himself. He had spent far too much of the morning wasting away, leaning his back on Stede's antique armoire and watching you with crossed arms: like a weathered statue, the growing umbra he cast somehow seeming to reach its tendrils out and blanch the fringes of the doorway. Even Fang and Ivan had been too terrified to come near him, and so he had been left alone. A silent sentinel, trying to figure out why the fuck his heart was cracking against the cage of his ribs and tearing their ligaments to shreds.

You hadn't exactly made things any easier for the man: feeling so intimated, you had spent the whole morning begging your friends to whisk you away from him at the first sign of danger. Whether that meant ducking behind Frenchie's lute like a crab, or hiding like a bulky turtle under the large bit of crimson cloth Oluwande was fiddling with the tassels of, you had used any form of escape to save you from the embarrassment of having to be near him. To let him see how flustered you became just at the overwhelmingly intense pressure you felt in the air any time he swaggered over to your side: to hide the fact that your eyes would widen in abject horror, your breath hitching any time the back of his gloved hand would 'accidentally' brush against your wrist as he went on his merry way, pretending it was all by accident. That it was all just a little game to him.

Little did you know, that he was feeling exactly the same way. The one time he had dared to come over to you that day had been an unmitigated disaster. He thought he was being... well, as kind as he possibly could be by slapping you on the shoulder and saying 'how good of a job you're doing.' He was nodding his head between every word, that jilted, simpering smile on his face as he supplemented his sentiment with an incredibly heartfelt 'at least Y/n knows how to do a fucking thing on this ship, not like you lot of useless fucking fuckers they have to work with. The rest of you are embarrassing, really.' He went to walk away, the side of his wrist glancing against the back of your hand as he finished with a breathless 'you lot could learn a thing or two from Y/n.'

He had staggered away from you as if mortally wounded, tongue bitten between his teeth as he tried as nonchalantly as possible to make his way back to the stern of the ship. While you were busy trying to bury your head down into your chest and avoid the smirking faces of Lucius and Pete, you happened to notice from the side of your eye that with each step Izzy was ringing out his hand. To your surprise, he used his teeth to rip his glove off, tucking it under his armpit as he wrangled with his fingers; he couldn't stop every cell burning as if it had just been reeled under the bottom of the ship. Couldn't understand why his fingertips wouldn't stop shaking as he flexed them.

Lucius was right. He was about to erupt, and he wondered if he'd ever be alright again.

It took until the sun nearly bowing over the jaded unicorn surmounting the anterior of the Revenge for you to find the courage to finally slink away from your convenient hiding spot to go over to Izzy. Well, that and the feel of Lucius literally dragging you up by the wrist and giving you a well meaning shove in the back towards the helm.

'Oh, fuck me', Izzy hisses as he watches you approach, turning his back to you to hide how flustered he was becoming with each tugging step at his heart you take towards him. He nearly jumps high enough to fall face first off the side of the boat when he feels your hand tentatively tap his shoulder, but he manages to inhale sharply and compose himself as best as he can before he flicks his eyes to look at you.

'I-uh-', you swallow thickly, shakily drawing your hand away from him and tucking it behind your back. 'I-, uh. I, I mean, I-'. The two of you, a far change of pace from usual, can barely keep your eyes on each other.

You feel like throwing your shoe at Lucius when you register the all too familiar sing song-y chime of his voice murmuring 'say something!' from behind your back. 'Or I swear to god, I'll kiss the man for you!'

'Well, I-', you start again, shooting the most vicious glare you could strangle out of you back at your friend. With a final sigh, you continue: 'I saw your necklace, and I don't mean to pry- but since you're always wearing black, which of course is incredibly cool, I just- well, I thought it needed a burst of colour.' Without a second thought, you scramble to pull your makeshift necklace out of your trousers, and shove the glistening glass emeralds and burnished pearls into his fist.

'It's just a silly thing, really. I saw Stede fixing Ed's red fabric and I just thought... well, you don't have to wear it. It's just a trinket, it's stupid. Really, you don't have to wear it. I'm sorry-'. After a pause, the burning sensation is enough to make you turn on your heel and bashfully start to make a break for the Rec Centre, just to get as far away from him as possible.

'It's not just a trinket.' The softness of his tone, despite how harshly he sounds out the letters makes you swivel back in surprise. He takes the opportunity to take a step forward and grab onto your wrist. He tugs you closer, until you're standing dangerously close to him: if he were to inhale deeply now, to puff his chest out just a tenth of an inch, your belly buttons would be tightly pressed upon each other. You can already feel his buttons strain against your shirt as he whistles out through bunched teeth, the breath sharp and warm against the side of your jaw. 'Don't say that. Never say that. It came from you, so it's not-... just, don't say that.'

He blinks, slowly releasing his viper grip.

'I like it. I really do. Thank you.' He motions awkwardly with a flick of his fingers to the side of his neck. 'Would you mind? With the gloves, I'm... not very good with clasps. Haven't, haven't used one in a long time.'

You can't stop your head from nodding, feeling like a wound up spring toy as you unfurled his fingers again and took the gift back. With a final swallow, you try not to turn cerise as you gently roll down the collar of his shirt. It folds easily down over his vest, until your bare fingers are dragging over the naked line of skin on his neck, just teasingly hiding the tense muscles of his upper back.

'You really didn't have to do this for me, you know.'

'Yeah... but I wanted to. You're not as much of an arsehole as Stede tries to make out.' You manage out a giggle, before you're back to biting your bottom lip in concentration, brushing a few strands away from the back of his head.

He wants to say more, but his voice chokes in the back of his throat like rifting water, his mouth trembling as your fingers brush over the coiled grey hairs bristling at the nape of his neck. It feels like a red hot poker is being dragged across his skin; he shivers at the feeling, a tight coil rolling across his limbs before settling uncomfortably heavy in the pit of his stomach.

He looks like he's about to weep when you take a step back, reaching up with a final pat to make sure the little metal swallow that adorns the centre of your necklace is lying perfectly against his breast. You may have lingered there a little longer than necessary... long enough for your palm to begin burning against the firm muscle of his pec, and for Lucius to draw out an enunciated wolf whistle, but it was definitely worth it. Even the sound of Frenchie snickering from the barrel he was perched on down on the deck was drowned out by the thrumming toll in your ears: by the sound of Izzy's sharp breath piercing your ear as he wavered uneasily on the spot. He didn't want to move away from you, not yet. He could barely even hear them. For the first time in his life, he didn't even fucking care. All he could focus on, over the bridge of his nose - through the gentle curls of his tired eyelashes, was you.

He was intoxicated - but even worse, he was finally beginning to understand. By god, he wondered. What the fuck had you done to him? Could this really be what Edward feels? Could anyone, really, feel this much?

'I hear swallows are meant to bring good luck', you state with bated breath, fingering the charm you had picked up from a market stall at the Republic of Pirates for a final time. It had reminded you almost immediately of Izzy: a hidden treasure, glistening white-gold, like fresh sunlight flitting across the glitter combs littered across the sea beds. It had been well buried within piles of muck: old straw, rotten bits of moulding fruit, bloodied bones twisted into odd shapes that you could barely recognise, but it had been lying there. Waiting just for you. A needle in the haystack. The final piece of the puzzle.

Izzy's breath draws in sharply as you absentmindedly begin to brush your pointer finger up and up: tracing the edge of his jaw line before rolling over the same bird tattoo lacing his neck, your eyes still drawn to the gap between his shirt where his Adam's apple lay tautly.

'Yes. Very good luck', he states, amazed he even found his voice. Surprisingly, he doesn't even try to pull away. He lets you trace your finger over the beak, gliding across the round belly until they're dancing teasingly over its tail. In fact, without his wonderous, dipped eyes looking away from you, he seems to be tilting his head in time, allowing you easier access to brush against his skin and steal his soul with every movement.

Before he has time to think of the repercussions of what he was about to do, the leather of his gloves flex around your cheeks and Izzy Hands has bowed his back down over you, lips knocking against yours. It's terse, and rather urgent in its forcefulness; it was both a slip of outrageous passion, and a terse reminder of his years out of practice feeling any sort of physical affection, and yet you couldn't help but brush up even closer to the man. He welcomes you eagerly, even though this eternity lasted only a moment: with his thumb, he tilts the jut of your chin up so he can lick his tongue against your bottom lip all the more easily. His knee slides forward until it knocks against your own, lurching you forward and saving him the embarrassment of having to voluntarily admit to his weakness and slide his other hand around the pulse point of your neck, until he was cradling the bone of your shoulder.

He finally draws back, his tongue darting out to lick along the edge of his top lip. 'Yeah, very lucky indeed.' He seems sorrowful to be letting go of you, but the loud whistling and snorting that begins to bounce back and forth between Stede's crew snaps Izzy back to himself. With a final glance back down to your lips, he struts off to pick up Lucius' long abandoned broom and starts chasing him across the ship with it.

#our flag means death #ofmd #izzy hands #izzy hands imagine #izzy hands x reader #israel hands #israel hands imagine #israel hands x reader #lucius spriggs #edward teach #stede bonnet #ofmd imagine #izzy ofmd #izzy ofmd imagine #con o'neill

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bun-lapin · 5 months ago

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TWST Voice Line Scene #20

(Jamil and Floyd reading a list of classes posted in the hallway)

🦈Floyd: Hmmm~! Next period is self-choice, right? What should we choose?

🐍Jamil: (sighs) I'm starting to regret letting you choose for the both of us. You better not pick anything strange.

🐍Jamil: Choose your subject carefully… but not TOO carefully, or you'll lose points for being tardy.

🦈Floyd: (laughs) Relax, Sea Snake~! We won't be late! And even if we are, it's not like anything bad would happen~!

🍩Ruggie: (racing down the hall) OUTTA THE WAY, CHUMPS!

Floyd and Jamil: ??!!

🍩Ruggie: (quickly passes them) What are you two dumdums doing just standing around?! Trein's class is the only one that's being offered today and he's pissed as hell! He said the last person that gets to class has to stay after school and deep clean Lucius' litter box!!

(Floyd and Jamil watch Ruggie run off into the distance)

🐍Jamil: ....Floyd. Look into my eyes for no reason in particular.

🦈Floyd: (slaps his hands over his eyes) Like hell am I doing that!! You can't Snake Charmer you're way out of this one! Eat my dust, Sea Snake~!!

(Floyd sprints blindly down the hall with Jamil in hot pursuit)

TWST Voice Line Scenes Masterlist

#wow i've made 20 of these! <3 even if i don't reply (because of extreme shyness)-#-i read and love all the comments that people leave on these posts <3 thanks everyone~!#twst #twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst writing #twst voice line scene #twst incorrect quotes #jamil viper #floyd leech #ruggie bucchi #bun-lapin écrit

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letsgobarbs · 22 days ago

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Chapter 3 (Fin.)

INDEX Warnings: They are provided on the Index page A/N: Anaticula means little duck/duckling.

Acacius stared at the honey cakes on the table. He knew Lucilla had not meant to be cruel but the sight of them made his chest tighten. He wondered, not for the first time, what they would taste like in his mouth with the same poison lacing them as she had used on hers. He could bet they’d taste sweet, they would taste of reunion.

Acacius…

“Acacius.”

“Acacius,” Lucilla called. He broke out of his reverie to blankly stare at her. And he regretted it.

As his priestess had not completed her contracted term with Vesta, Lucilla had taken her place as a replacement since there had been no requirements of youth or virginity— divorcees were acceptable albeit frowned upon. The role suited her as she had a post in the College of Pontiffs; since the death of the previous chief Vestal, Lucilla had taken her seat and established her voice in the Senate. But he couldn’t look at the red and white ribbons in her hair without choking on his sobs. Acacius went back to staring at the cakes.

“You cannot keep living like this, Acacius. It has been months since we have heard you speak.”

It wasn’t that he could not speak anymore. He has heard the sound of his voice when he wakes up in the dead of the night clammy, tears staining his cheeks and a hoarse scream on his lips— begging his priestess to not leave him. He just did not have much to say these days.

No, he actually had far too much to say. All his words were lost in his heart somewhere, they filled him up to his throat and suffocated him— stifled him— but they stuck to his mouth because the person supposed to hear them was not here. She had not left him, not truly. She resided in his heart. He spoke to her there without having to talk.

“Lucius could use your guidance… some of the Praetorian Guards are dissenting. We could use your help.”

They didn’t need his help, he was a soldier, not a politician. And last he had heard, their new Emperor was making the Praetorian Guards fight each other in the arena in the name of training. As for the guards who were causing too many problems by terrorizing the public or plotting a coup, Lucius would fight them in the arena himself, reasserting himself as a public hero.

His priestess had left him a letter, advising him to take the throne and then work towards establishing a republic rather than foisting the country over to rotting administrators and decaying pillars. She had counselled Lucius to wait for the senators to succumb to their vices; and nurture better successors for them.

She may have hinted that it did not take much to remove a senator from his post— both Lucius and his priestess shared a devious mind. Just last week Senator Thraex suffered an apoplexy while he indulged in his whores and had since passed away. The Emperor has been steadily introducing legislature that cut into the power of the Praetorian Guards, and levied higher taxes based on income.

Their mutual friend Ravi had leveraged her extensive information network to benefit the new Emperor who kept a very close eye on many restless Praetorian Guards and Senators. Any voices of dissent were swiftly nipped in the bud. But Thraex had been correct about one thing, politics did follow power; after an example or two, all other senators had fallen in line.

Ravi, too, had received a letter from his priestess. Lucilla, as well, who had been tasked with continuing his priestess’ efforts to educate the poorest children of Rome. She had left letters for Publius, for the Vestals, for her servants, for employees, for clients, for friends, for whores— even for Fortuna, Macrinus’ former slave.

There were letters for everyone but him. And that fact bothered him like a speck of dust in his eye he was unable to remove. He would sometimes wonder if she had cared so little for him, but he knew that was not the case. The absence of a letter for him, when everyone had received one, had felt like a purposeful slight and that thought hurt more. He had not known his anaticula to be so cruel. Which only meant she had been upset with him for not remembering her— for not recognising her.

After a particularly restless but clear night, when he had felt like smoke had diffused into his every breath, and when pacing along the roads of Rome had not worked, Acacius had found himself on the doors of the Temple of Vesta. He had made every little Vestal acolyte read aloud their letters from her. One of those girls had the eyes the same colour as his priestess. He had to leave because he couldn’t bear looking at her. He had dreamt of her giving him daughters that took after her.

“You should join us for the festival in a few days,” Lucilla continued explaining her planning for the festival. He appreciated her kindness, truly; he could understand she was trying to be there for him. After all, they had grieved Maximus together. But she would never be able to grieve for his priestess with him— she didn’t know her. After Maximus, Lucilla had her son to live for, and Rome to live for. He had nothing. He was not going to that festival, he couldn’t stand to be in a room full of people who didn’t know her— who didn’t speak of her. He felt too raw and vulnerable to be around those who were celebrating and making merry.

They shouldn’t worry, he wanted to say as much, but the words felt futile because he knew they would worry anyway, so he didn’t say them. The sun would set soon, and Acacius would go to the domus on the far side of the city and cook the food. He left the feeding part to others who could listen to the gossip, and glean important information. Acacius found his thoughts would drift out of his control, he was unable to focus on extensive conversations.

Then he would climb the mountain to watch the sunrise, he would lay on his back and reminisce about all the things he should have said to her then— informing her of his plans foremost, so she would not have… taken the drastic decision she took. He had shed countless tears into the earth of this mountain, softening it so it could engulf him, swallow him whole. And each morning the ground did not accept him, he would watch the sunrise even though its light no longer felt warm, it scratched and chafed him like dry, arid sand.

He would spend his morning training soldiers. He taught them how to march and fight. Help them with the construction of buildings, fortify city walls, and maintain the roads. There had been blissfully no wars, and what skirmishes had arisen had been dealt with diplomatically— Rome now offered people more sovereignty over their land, but still collected their tax. In the absence of war, he did woodworking. Acacius carved several idols of Vesta in her human form; they had all looked like his priestess.

He would go to the baths then, the ones she made free for the public, to ensure they were being operated in good condition. It was by no means something she entrusted to him, but the man she had left it to was ageing and could use the muscle. As all people in their older years, this man too was prone to nostalgia and reminiscing. He would recall the glory days of his youth as a soldier, and his stories would feature his beloved pupil— a young Vestal child he taught the art of fighting. His priestess.

Then it would be evening. There was something very morose about evenings. The silence of his home gnawed at him. The grief he had veiled in the air floods out in a deluge, and the waves of time slow. Acacius would wish nothing more than to reunite with his beloved in his dreams but sleep eluded him. He wished could drown himself in drink but found that he did not like his sight blurred because then he couldn’t envision her clearly. More often than not, he would sit staring into the blazing hearth and imagine her sitting beside him.

He could not express the injustice of it all if he tried. She was close at all times, he took her with him everywhere— nestled in his very being. Acacius belonged to her, but he would never know if she was his or not. They existed like two opposite shores of a river that do not meet— so near yet so far away. The distance, the grief, was unbearable.

It was not that he had not considered covering that distance. It would not be too difficult to swim across the river of the dead if she were waiting for him at the bank. But… he loved her. And that was reason enough to breathe. She had not just saved him at the Colosseum, she had breathed new life into him; and now he carried a part of her within him. He could not bear for that small flame to extinguish— deprive the world of that small part of her. For decades, he had only known that world which had been darker and crueller without her.

It was not that her work, and her accomplishments, required him as champion and supporter. What she had done in life will echo in eternity. And as she had hoped for, the people rallied for their communities; new faces took her place to continue the work she had begun. He knew others would take their place in the future.

Her name still rang on their lips, there were still signs of her around him. But he knew that one day she would be forgotten. The world would move on without her and it would leave him behind with her. But he wanted to live so he could remind them of her— her light, her kindness, and her love; because he would always remember her. Acacius would never be able to breathe in a world that had forgotten her.

“Lucius likes her brother. He wants him to join him in the city… run for senate. But the man has been resistant.” Lucilla was still talking to him. He wasn’t always this bad at listening— Acacius had always been more of a listener than a conversationalist. He stroked the soft red fabric spread over his leg; he had later learned that his priestess had spent days embroidering his cloak personally. Acacius did not dare read into the significance of the act fearing it would drive him insane.

“Acacius… I’m talking about her eldest brother. I heard you were friends once.” Her brother?

Instantly he felt ashamed, nervous. He had prided himself on being a man of his word but he had not kept the promise he had made to his priestess’ brother— his friend. Her family had been the only ones to welcome him with open arms when he had first come to the city in search of work.

He remembered her father, a respected general, who had taught him honour, hard work, and valour. Acacius had been incensed when they were accused by Commodus, and heartbroken when they had to leave in disgrace. He remembered her mother; Acacius had been too self-concerned as a young man to speak to her about her work and trade. But he remembered her rose petal jam, the taste of it, the scent of which her daughter wore on her body.

His priestess would always hide behind his legs after breaking her mother’s precious artefacts, knowing she would not be punished in the presence of a guest. Acacius would unabashedly lie for her. But he had not been treated as a guest in their home. He remembered her mother’s eyes full of admonishment and mirth, “I know the demon that has crawled out of my womb, Marcus. You’re much too sweet of a boy to destroy or break anything.” How wrong she had been, all he had done his entire life was destroy things. And he had allowed his actions to destroy her daughter too.

He thought of her brother, one he had called brother himself. They had fought battles together; he had never had to worry about being attacked from behind knowing his friend stood at his back. His friend had never taken to bloodshed the way Acacius had; he had the cunning of a politician tempered by his kind nurturing. He had promised his friend to watch over his little priestess, they had been so worried to leave her alone in the city without friends or family. And he had not kept his promise. She had died because of him.

“You could visit her family at their countryside villa… convince her brother to come to the city…” Lucilla left after some time without an answer from him— as was their routine. She did not need to hear the answer anyway, he would always say no. It was funny, he would have never imagined denying her several years ago. But he had been freed of his oath.

He could never face her brother. He wouldn’t know how. But the thought of seeing him had firmly grown roots in his mind, he could not stop thinking about it. Her brother had the same eyes as her, and he just wanted a glimpse of them full of life and vitality. That night, Acacius left without informing anybody, not that there had been anyone to inform.

Acacius paused, he was a soldier. His instincts never lead him astray. They helped him survive. He had already spent several days in this town which had been both blissful and distressing. Her presence was strong here— her scent was in the air; he could sometimes hear her laughter; he would see wisps of her hair in the crowd or turning the corner; he would hear whispers of her name. It had all felt like a dull knife sawing on his heart, reminding him of the loss and grief he carried.

But Acacius looked around him, and carefully studied his surroundings. The food stall served rose petal jam along with cheese and bread. There was a woman eating her meal; the sleeves of her tunic were tied into a more flattering shape with red wool strings. Despite their wealth, women wore their hair in much simpler coiffures. Women tended to wear their palla with intricately woven designs incorporated while the fabric was being produced on the loom; this town sported the additional fashion of embroidering over the cloth.

He made his way over to an old man sitting under a tree, unsure and hesitant about phrasing his question. Anticipation curled in his belly. But he sat there for several long seconds before clearing his throat.

“The family that owns the land here… I heard their daughter returned.”

“Aah”—the man grinned—“You must be one of the prospective suitors.” Hope unfurled in his chest, could it be?

“Prospective suitors?” Acacius asked.

“Yes, a retired Vestal virgin with a handsome pension from the state, who wouldn’t want to marry her.”

“She was in Rome?”

“No, no… not Rome. We heard about the Vestal they buried there. Terrible business that, killing an innocent woman for politics. This one was south of Rome, the temple in Bovillae, I think.” Acacius felt an incredulous laughter overcome him.

“You’re in luck, all the wealthy Patricians from neighbouring territories have come down to see her… But she hasn’t taken a liking to any of them. You are handsome enough to test your mettle against her. She’s no ugly duck that one but she is not young. Men prefer younger brides…” Acacius did not stay to hear more.

The instincts of a predator had already overcome his rationale. He stalked down the street in search of his prey. It would be easier to just show up at her estate lying in wait for her. But he had heard her laughter just around a few corners. His gait was quick and sure, she would not escape him— not now, not ever.

Acacius was in disbelief, a muscle twitched in his cheek, he was frozen at the sight of her. There she stood under the setting sun, bathing under its glowing light tasting the food out of a pot in the cart. He had walked past that cart just a few moments ago and had not realised it had shielded her from him. His feet carried him to her involuntarily, he heard that laughter again as she nodded about something, her gaze trained on the person speaking to her. He grasped her elbow and whirled her around to face him.

It was her. She was alive. She was alive. She was alive.

His fingers grazed her cheek, oh so gently, fearing she was a being of air and mist conjured by his dreams and hallucinations. Her skin was warm under his touch; her eyes stared up at him speechless and bewildered but alive— bright with vitality.

He didn’t know whether it was laughter or sobs that were escaping his mouth, but even as he enfolded her in his arms, they racked through his body. He held her tighter still as she jostled in his arms because of his own heaving breaths and jagged sounds. Acacius did not relinquish his hold on her, grasping her closer to him, feeling the shape of her shoulders and the strength of her spine with trembling hands. His legs too were trembling as sheer relief flushed through his body, she braced him around his chest— holding them both up so they didn’t sink to the floor.

He would remember to be angry at her later, but his tears soaked her clothes now. She was whispering something into his ear that he could not hear. Multiple hands were trying to pull him off her; another time he would realise how inappropriate it was for him to even touch her let alone hold her against him. But the entire Roman army could not pull him away from her now. He had forged all his strength, tenacity and ferociousness through decades of war for the sole purpose of holding on to this woman. He will not let go now that he has her again.

Her words finally pierced through the fog surrounding his ears, “Marcus… Acacius you are hurting me…”

He loosened his hold, just enough so that he could look down to observe her. He still kept her pressed into him; Acacius studied the contours of her face; and watched her take deep, steady breaths. She was panting with effort, her ribs struggling to expand against his own. He gave her more space within his enclosed arms, but she swayed on her feet, her hands grasped his shoulders for support, clenching his tunic in her fist. His lips lingered over her brow and temple, firmly kissing her, uncaring of the crowd that had formed around them.

“Step aside… give way, step aside.”

His priestess flung away from him at the new voice, turning around to face the intruder.

“Brother…”

Acacius looked at the man as he dispersed the crowd and sent them back to their jobs. The years had been kind to his friend, he looked fit and healthy, his skin flushed bronze from work under the sun, his hands still strong and powerful.

“He thought I was someone else.” His priestess explained without having been questioned. The sardonic stare his brother levelled at the distance between them, Acacius knew he didn’t believe her. And Acacius would not corroborate her lies.

He stepped away from her anyway, part in acquiescence with his pointed stare; but mostly so that when he chose to hit him for taking liberties with his sister, his priestess wouldn’t be accidentally hurt. But instead of the blow he had braced for, his friend engulfed him in a warm, welcoming embrace with several hearty pats on the back.

“We just got our sister back, Marcus. Have you come to take her away from us so soon? You must know we will not easily hand her over to you.” Her brother spoke over his shoulder. Acacius struggled to make sense of his words. Regardless, if they did not want to give his priestess to him, he would make peace with living at their doorstep like a pet dog just to be close to her. There was no getting rid of him now. His friend released him with a firm grasp on his arms.

“There will be no handing me over to anybody… I have considered renewing my vows with the Temple of Vesta.” His priestess primly interrupted, before leaving him staring behind her agape.

“Seems like you’ve upset her, Marcus.” His friend was having fun at his expense.

The dinner had been sadly oppressive. It wasn’t his host’s fault; they had all been enthusiastic in their welcome, and the conversation had flowed smoothly. Tears had stung his eyes, his nose had burned when he had met his mentor; the man was still strong for his age, jovial too. Acacius had been ungrateful for severing his connection with the man who had shaped him. He also wondered when he could start pleading and begging for their forgiveness for not having protected their daughter. But they had surprised him by tearfully thanking him.

Things had all gone downhill from there. He was tongue-tied, ashamed and lost. His priestess had lied to her family and had credited him for rescuing her. She would not meet his gaze the entire time. He had wanted to burst out the truth, Acacius was neither familiar nor comfortable with lies. Every time he had tried, she had spoken up to guide the conversation elsewhere. He couldn’t eat, his palms felt clammy and his skin crawled with anxiety until he had worked himself up into a temper.

He had come to several infuriating realisations when he had later found his priestess reposed over a bench admiring the moon, “Where you ever going to tell me?” His voice thundered through the garden.

She appeared unphased at his outburst, “General Acacius.” She had called him Marcus when he had found her.

“How many people know?” He choked on his words, he could not shake off the feeling of betrayal that coated his chest.

“Know what?” Her tone was mild as if they were discussing the weather. He scoffed.

“Oh. Not many, but they all will eventually. Since I am still in trade.”

“Why”—his voice broke—“Would you do this? I had promised to rescue you. I would’ve come for you.” Acacius took several deep breaths in the silence between them, shoving his sobs back down his throat. She was never going to tell him that she was alive.

“I was just tying up loose ends.”

“Loose—” He laughed this time, loud and scornful. Loose ends? Did she not realise he was the loose end? His heart was a loose end?

“But I came for you.” His voice was small and vulnerable— it expressed the injustice he felt. But the placid, distant way she looked at him made him feel like had no right to object to how she had wounded him.

“I’m sorry it was done that way.” There was not a hint of regret in her voice, just endless politeness that was driving him crazy— it made his jaw clench and teeth itch.

“Why tell your family I rescued you?” He demanded.

“Because you made plans for it. I appreciate your attempt at rescuing me, it would have worked had I not made my own arrangements.” Acacius paced the short length of his garden, her eyes followed his form curiously but tentatively.

“You do not need to worry about it,” she continued, “I saved your life at the Colosseum. And you made plans to save mine. Consider your debt to me repaid.”

He whirled around to face her, “Is that what you think this is? Agony over a life debt?”

“Well, of course.” She genuinely looked confused.

“So why do it? If you knew I would worry over a life debt, why make me believe you were dead? Why go with your arrangements? Why did you not wait for me? Why not trust me?” His words were rushed and frenzied. There was an angry fervour to them which made her flinch back and stare at him like he was an animal that would pounce on her.

Acacius abruptly put distance between them, he had enjoyed that fear in the eyes of his enemy, but he could not bear for her to look at him thus. He tried to rein in his temper, she was inexperienced in the ways of love, and she probably didn’t even know what he felt for her. His priestess had spent so many years alone, protecting herself and others with nobody to depend on. It must have been difficult for her to trust someone else to come to her rescue.

“No, you could not have saved me.” Her words were heavy with meaning. He believed the moonlight was playing tricks on him, her eyes could not look so cold, dark and lifeless. Acacius felt an urgency course through his veins, and sweat broke out against his back. She seemed so far away like she could slip from between his fingers again. Just as he moved to grasp her arm, her eyes met him in a hard, contemptuous stare; the polite smile on her lips was disingenuous and false.

“You would have forgotten about me. The moment I disappeared from your sight, you would have forgotten about me. That is how it has always been between us… it is how it will always be.” She had delivered the words with such certainty that they lingered in the air, suffocating him, long after she had bid him goodnight in that same soft, placating tone.

“Acacius?”

Her father stood behind a column, and Acacius spun to face him— flustered, embarrassed and entirely overwrought. He did not have any more conversation or niceties left in him. When had the man snuck up on him? How long had he been standing there?

“Join me for a drink, Acacius.” He had no choice but to follow.

He poured him a drink of wine, as both men sat facing the hearth. A large painting hung over the fireplace, it was his priestess’ mother. She had her mother’s eyes and colouring.

“The thing about brilliant women, Acacius, is that their mere memory could sustain you for a lifetime. Do you not agree?” And Acacius sighed with relief— because he knew. Her father knew that he had not saved her.

“I agree,” He whispered.

The older man gave him a kind smile, “How long do you plan to stay with us?”

He knew the question demanded a different answer. This was no host making living arrangements, this was a father asking Acacius what his intentions were for his daughter. There was much he could tell him, that he loved her, cared for her— every day without her was a struggle for survival that exhausted him like he had fought an entire battle when he had not even stood from his seat. But the words stuck to the roof of his mouth along with his tongue. She deserved to hear these words from him before anyone else.

“I am sorry… for not protecting her—”

“It’s not what I asked. I cannot blame you for not protecting her when I have failed to, as well. I know how it hurts to let her down, Marcus. And I am her father.” There was a charged silence between them before the older man sniffed into his drink.

“She used to send us these letters through her tutors. Desperately begging us to take her home, she would never say what was wrong… nobody could tell what was wrong. Her mother and I worried, but we always told her to be strong… You couldn’t imagine the horror we felt when we found out she had poisoned the Pontifex Maximus, what had pushed a child to such extents… she never sent us letters again, unless we wrote to her first. Never asked for help. I was surprised she came home honestly, grateful, but surprised.”

Acacius felt a stone lodge in his throat; worry and fear warred within him. She had needed a protector, he was supposed to have been there… He calmed his twitching fingers by pressing them to his thigh, hoping to ease the uneasiness in him. He remembered the previous Pontifex Maximus, the man had barred him from seeing his priestess because she had been too busy playing by the sacred springs. He bit the inside of his cheek in realisation that he had been lied to, he had gone home content to know she had made new friends, and was enjoying herself in the temple. He had believed that monster.

“She dug under the walls, you know?” The man looked smug and proud.

“She paid her men to dig from outside the city walls, tunnel under it to reach the crypt. Thank you for leaving her those extra supplies, she had needed them”—her father raised his glass at him in salute and gratitude—“she had to break the mud bricks lining the inside of the crypt to access the tunnel.”

“I had to send one of my men to fill the tunnel again to fortify the city’s defences.” He informed Acacius with a sigh.

“I had promised to visit her often and watch over her… I am sorry for not keeping that promise.” Shame coloured his voice, it came out so low that he was afraid the older man would not have heard him.

“We do not blame you, Marcus. The politics at the time had been… murderous. As a general, I understand. As a father, I will say that my daughter deserves to hear that apology. She always looked at you with hero-worship in her eyes, even when you were nothing more than a young inexperienced boy who didn’t deserve to be called a soldier.”

Acacius smiled at the memory of her large, twinkly-eyed smile, she had always depended on him— trusted him. It would have hurt her more for him to not have been there for her when she needed him.

“She will forgive you, I know. Maybe she already has. My daughter wrote the most colourful letters describing your ascent in the military. Nobody was prouder than her. So were we, I hope you know. My wife and I relished every news we heard of you— well— except for your marriage that is.”

Marcus felt his eyebrows rise in surprise as he shared a laugh with his mentor. He had not realised they would follow his career and life so closely.

“Her mother was so angry when you had married. She almost beat me up while we were sparring. Blamed me for stubbornly ruining things… If she had her way, she would have foisted our daughter on you as soon as she had turned seven, she would say to me”—His voice took on a higher pitch and an accented lilt to mimic his late wife—“you don’t understand, old man. I have travelled the world. I know a good man when I see one. This one is a diamond in the rough, you will never find someone better for our daughter.”

Marcus felt humbled, a warm glow spread across his chest. He had been nothing then, he had nothing with which they could trust him with their daughter. But their confidence in him was sobering.

“You do not have to tell me how you feel about my daughter, Marcus. The truth pours from your eyes. You have never been one for schemes and lies.”

You carefully peel the outer petals of the bloom before arranging it again in the vase; it instantly looks fuller against its companions. You heard the door shut behind you, it was probably someone who collected your empty breakfast tray. Someone cleared their throat, someone with a voice so deep it sent a girlish thrill through you. But you were far too embarrassed to face him this morning. It was best to get this over with as fast as possible.

Marcus. He looked at home in his soft tunic and wool toga, and briefly, you hated that he still looked so comfortable when he had you so unsettled since yesterday. You gave him what you hoped was a gentle smile and not the grimace you were desperately trying to contain.

“I’m sorry.”

You both spoke at once. You couldn’t help but give an answering smile to his amused one.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you decided to lead, “it was wrong of me to question your honour. I know you would have come to rescue me. But I am used to depending on myself.”

“And I am sorry that I never visited you at the Temple. I should have been there to lend my protection when you had required it. I know you are more than capable of protecting yourself, but you should not have had to.” He sounded so earnest.

“It is not your fault, Marcus. You were still a child yourself, and away at war for most of the time. Commodus was also purging those loyal to his father at the time. And with you fighting under Maximus then. Helping this family’s daughter would have just unnecessarily made you an eyesore.”

He was silent for a while as if considering his next words, he cleared his throat again, “Last night… I spoke to your father. And I expressed my interest in you— marrying you.”

You blinked in shock, it would have been more believable if he had told you the clouds were green today, and the heavens brown. An incredulous laugh builds in your chest as you realise he is entirely serious. “No.” It was all you said, all you could manage. And it had taken all your strength to say it, you had fought every dream and every instinct to deny him.

“Why not?” He asked so gently.

The truth was that you loved him, more than he could ever love you. And if you were to marry him, you would waste no effort in making him love you. But if he didn’t love you then you would grow to resent your marriage because you would be trapped in an endless cycle of begging for his attention and affection then feeling lonely and bereft at the lack of it. Eventually, you would wither away from the loneliness in a marriage to a man who loved another.

You gave him an excuse that was part truth and part lie, “Because we do not love each other, Acacius.” I love you, so much. You do not love me.

“But I love you.”

For a brief horrible moment, you think the words had slipped past your lips— that your mind had finally tired of keeping it a secret and shoved it out of your mouth. But as you looked at him, standing there with his brows furrowed over hesitant, pleading eyes, you realised he had said it. Acacius said he loves you… He loves you?

“Of course, I know. You have always loved me… but brotherly affection cannot sustain a marriage.” He didn’t need to go so far as to marry you to compensate for whatever way he imagined he had failed you and your family. Because that could be the only reason for marrying you. Anger curled in your belly, blistering and ravenous, did he truly believe you would settle for his marriage of duty and honour… after you had loved him for so long?

He was slowly stalking towards you, as if you were some spooked little animal he did not wish to alarm. He weaved around the table and the sofa, and you took a step back with every forward step of his until your back touched the wall behind you.

“You love Lady Lucilla.” You tightly remind him, he had said as much in the arena that day as well.

“Ah, yes, but brotherly affection cannot sustain a marriage.” He had a teasing glint in his eye that only infuriated you further. He stepped even closer, his hand clasped the side of your waist; you squirmed away from his touch— it was overwhelming. Did he enjoy being cruel to you?

You had never felt so angry at someone and noticed how beautiful they were at the same time. He was infuriatingly perfect— even with all his little imperfections; you adored the enraging way his left eyelid drooped ever so slightly more over his eye than the other, the creases across his forehead, and the crevices formed around his eyes.

“Do you think I am stupid?” You hissed at him as you fiercely shoved against him. But the bull of a man he was, Acacius didn’t budge at all. Damn him.

His fingers gripped into the softness of your belly, and he pulled you against him until your chest touched his. His other hand came up to roughly tangle with the braids and coils in your hair. He firmly pulled your head back, exposing your neck to him. It made you feel far too vulnerable, he could see the wild beating of your pulse on the side of your throat. He could probably feel the tiny shivers of anticipation racing across your spine.

“No… I do not think you are stupid.” He whispered, his breath teasing across your lips.

“You”—you were mincing the words in your mouth before they came out—“you… arrogant, stupid, self-centred, BASTARD!” You had shoved against him again, mixing physical strikes with the verbal ones. You clenched your fists and rained blows over his chest and arms. He absorbed the force of your hits as if he couldn’t even feel them. It only made you struggle harder in his hold.

“No doubt, I am all those things… but tell me why you think so, anaticula.” He sighed his endearment against your throat, his lips brushed your jaw. You flung your head to the side, hitting his nose with your jaw. You paused, panting with effort, and watched him twitch his nose and flare his nostrils to check the damage of your hit.

“Tell me.” He demanded once he believed his nose was alright.

Your face contorted into a scowl of rage, lips trembling with the pain you held inside. His hand receded from your hair to cup your neck. Acacius brought his thumb to gently massage the side of your jaw you had hit him with, his gaze on you intent and focused. It seemed he was reading your every fleeting thought and wavering expression. Helpless, resentful tears streamed down your face, they scalded your cheeks.

You could not possibly bear his gentleness right now; you had used all your strength and courage to leave him behind in Rome, and then again just now to seemingly deny him your hand in marriage. You were weak, your soul fragile— you could not barricade him out of your heart for too long. You summoned the last of your strength. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders and you leveraged their steadiness to fling yourself up and savagely bite his ear.

He reared back, pulling his ear out of your mouth before you could painfully bite down. He laughed, wild and free, as he squeezed the back of your neck to shove your face in his chest. He pulled the both of you off the wall, while you fought him with flailing arms and legs. Your foot caught his shin with a dull thud, you heard him grunt in pain. Acacius threw you on the seat of the sofa, knocking the wind out of you.

You gasped for breath while he stood over you, but you were not silent for long. You lunged for him again, screaming long and loud, uncaring of who heard you in your home. In a swift, smooth movement, he had you pinned down under him, his legs pressed down on yours preventing them from moving, your wrists were grasped in each of his hands, and Acacius pushed down his weight on you effectively cutting off both your screams and your breath.

Somebody furiously pounded on the door of your office, “General Acacius! My Lady!”

Acacius shouted at them to go away while he finally shifted some of his weight to his elbows. You tilted your chin up to take large, gulping breaths of air.

“If anyone opens that door, they will face my blade, do you hear?” His threat was ironclad; his voice— deep and hoarse. This must be what he sounds like in battle. The thought sent a pleasurable little current straight between your legs. You were embarrassed to feel your nipples tighten under your tunic. Please, please don’t notice them.

He did not take his eyes off your face, and the footsteps finally receded from the door. A tiny voice in the back of your mind panicked that the servant would return with your brother or, Dear Gods, your father; you would be caught with Acacius on top of you. You continued your struggle against him much more silently but with newfound vigour, arching and turning into him to throw his weight off you and onto the floor next to the sofa.

Acacius shocked you into stillness by licking a wet, long stripe across your cheek and tasting your tears. He looked at you with wild, overbright eyes. His grip on your wrists was beginning to ache.

“Stop struggling, you will hurt yourself, dulcissima.” Even though he spoke slowly, his voice sounded otherworldly, like he was possessed by some crazed, bloodthirsty spirit.

His grin was savage and predatory. “Tell me.” He commanded again.

You laughed hysterically, no doubt surprising him, bending your wrists in his grip to scratch your nails against his hand.

“I saw you,” you viciously informed him, “I saw you take that stupid oath to protect her and her child. I saw you marry her.”

Your chest heaved, touching his with every breath, the contact far too sensuous on your oversensitive skin. You had no more tears left, the last of them were drying on your cheeks. But the rage, the frustration, the pain still churned in you— they overwhelmed you, burned you alive.

“I have watched you for years!” You sobbed, “And you never saw me…”

It was as if the dam had broken with this one little truth; everything you had hidden and suppressed gushed forth with vengeance.

“I see you now.” He said. Damn you.

“You didn’t even know my name.” You shouted once more.

Acacius bit the uppermost swell of your breast, leaving indents of his teeth. A broken, keening sound left you and you arched into his mouth. When had he untied your tunic?

“I know your name now.” He swiped his tongue over the teeth marks he left.

“You…”—you swallowed another moan—“you didn’t even remember me. You forgot I existed.” All coherent thoughts had left your mind, you continued to mindlessly thrash against him, throwing your bitterness and aggravation at his body.

“I remember you now.”

Acacius leaned away and slid down your body, you nearly wept at the loss of him. His hands were rough and warm against your thighs; he had lifted both your tunic and stola until they bunched around your hips. He guided your foot over the back of the sofa where it limply hung in shock. He grasped the other foot under your knees and spread you open to his eyes. There was a mortifyingly wet sound at the movement; you could feel a slick moisture coating the inside of your thighs.

You struggled to cover yourself again, trying to pull your clothes down over the most intimate part of you. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t Acacius— Acacius would never do this. He would never take your virginity and deprive you of a choice in your marriage. Desperation burned in your throat. And you resorted to one final act of protest. Your hand reached up to soundly smack against his face.

There was a stinging current in your palm from the impact. A redness bloomed on his cheek, along with an imprint of your hand. You began to regret your choice of action at the sight of his marred face. For several long moments, Acacius was frozen with his head still whipped away from your strike. You anxiously waited for a reaction, forgetting to even right your clothes.

He slowly turned around to face you again, and gently clasped the hand that had hit him. He frowned at the redness of your palm before tenderly pressing his lips to the warm centre of it while giving you a reprimanding look through his lashes. He massaged and caressed your palms before interlocking your fingers with his.

Just as you had thought the storm had passed, Acacius swooped down in a swift and urgent motion. His jaw stretched, and the hot cavern of his mouth entirely covered your dripping sex. His tongue started flat against the base of you, between the cheeks of your arse and dangerously close to another hole farther down. It licked a strong swipe between the folds, scratching past the pert bud of nerves on the way to the very apex of her where short hairs curled. You arched into his mouth, quite incapable of sound as your belly contracted with the shock. Your eyes rolled back in your head and fell close until all you could do was feel.

There was a difference between innocence and ignorance; you had spent enough time with whores on the street to know what sexual congress between two people looked like. But they had failed to inform you of this…

He was tasting you, slow and intimate, as if he had all the time in the world. Each stroke elicited a different sound from you, he perused your reactions to him to draw forth more of your pleasure. His tongue circled the throbbing bundle of nerves sitting at the top of your slit before enclosing his mouth on it and he sucked. You rocked your pelvis into his face to ease the tension building at its spine.

Acacius dragged and pulled on that bit of flesh in his mouth, rolling it between his lips and tongue. You were quivering under him, his hands found your hips and pressed them back down into the seat under you. You felt his teeth graze over that sensitive bud as he nibbled on it. The tension snapped, and an intense white heat spread from your centre until you saw stars behind your eyes. You came, shuddering with the force of pleasure; every nerve felt alive. The loud wails and moans escaping your mouth broke on the need for you to gasp at the intensity. You had forgotten how to breathe.

He was still licking into your folds with devastating accuracy, coaxing more tremors from your body as he cleaned up your release with his tongue. Acacius pressed his tongue deeper into you, barging inside where your flesh was still contracting and releasing. You clenched over the sudden intrusion and… Dear Gods, Acacius was trembling between your legs. A low groan rose from deep within his chest and disappeared into the fluttering walls of your cunt. It was an intoxicating thrill, to know you could provoke such a response in the usually steadfast and composed man like him.

You waited, limp in the pool of pleasure and warm relief, for Acacius to resurface between your legs. There was a thin, silvery string that still connected his shiny, wet lips to your opening. He licked his lips regretfully, no doubt tasting you, his eyes voraciously trained on your pussy. His head bent down again, and you thought he might repeat his actions. Any resistance you might have had was already melted away from your body.

But his eyes flickered up to the door, hearing something you could not hear over the rush of blood and ringing in your ears. His shoulders slumped in defeat against your legs. And he pressed a reverent kiss against that sensitive and raw piece of flesh that made you twitch under him again. He looked down at your wanton form, thighs spread wide open for him in invitation, gaze half-lidded and enticingly parted lips.

There was a rightness that enveloped you as Acacius consolingly kissed inside your knee as he pulled your leg from the back of the sofa. There was… a new awareness, a new yearning as he helped you sit up and pulled your clothes back down your legs. You watched him, fascinated, as he fruitlessly fussed over your hair to fix your coiffure before settling to tuck the loose strands of hair behind your ear.

He kneeled by your feet. His large hands firmly stroking your thighs over your clothes, it sent another pleasurable thrill down your spine. Acacius reached for his toga that he had abandoned on the floor in your struggle, wrapping the cloth around him and draping it to cover the insistent bulge pushing forth below his torse— you caught a wet patch staining his tunic before you averted your eyes. Your mind configured lewd images of what the whores had taught you, but it was Acacius… Acacius inside you, inside your mouth. His hands came to rest on your knees as he sighed your name.

“I cannot change the past dulcissima.” The man was obscene. His tongue flicked over the side of his lips to taste you as he called you dulcissima— as if you truly did taste sweet.

“But I can promise you now that I will never have another woman except you in my lifetime— even if you refuse a marriage to me. You are everything I want. You are all I see now.” His eyes were earnest and sincere.

You looked down at where his hands were clutching onto your knees, his grip betrayed the anxiety and nervousness he felt in the moment. But you were distracted. His hands had new scars. They sprawled over his hands, some of them flat and lighter in colour, others puckered and slightly red. Your nails had scratched into the thin skin of his scars and drawn blood; you gently and apologetically grazed over his wounds before coaxing them around to see his palm. The skin of his palms was coarse, new callouses had formed over abrasions.

“What happened to your hands?” Your question was whispered into the skin of his palm as you imitated the kiss he had given your palm just earlier.

“Nothing.” His voice was deeper, lower in octave, you could sense the emotions he was trying to bury. The scars weren’t nothing if he wasn’t able to tell you how he got them. These weren’t the callouses one got from holding a sword or weapon. One of his fingers sat at an odd angle like it had been broken and then fixed.

A suspicion arose in your mind, “What did you mean last night when you said that you had come for me?”

He did not answer you, he did not need to. Acacius was a man of his word, nobody could have stopped him from digging you out.

“But I made a show of drinking poison. They must have told you.” He harshly gulped, his jaw twitching before he gave you a soft smile. His hands climbed from your thighs to hold your waist while he leaned up on his knees to give you a chaste kiss on the lips. It was nothing more than a press of two warm lips but it made a current run through your veins. You were going to marry this stupid honourable man who had fought over your grave to pull you out.

“I love you.” You finally told him. A wave of joy and euphoria overwhelmed you.

“I love you, too.” You giggled at his admission, still in disbelief.

You leaned down towards his face, Acacius turned his head to catch your lips but you jerked your head back from his. You both watched each other, and you admired his features again as he acquiesced to your silent demand to turn his face forward again; he watched your movements out of the corner of his eye.

You lined your cheek to Acacius’ jaw and in a fluid, cat-like movement rubbed yourself against him until the bristles of his beard scratched all the way down your neck and to your shoulder. You gasped at the delicious scraping sensation on your skin that sent a jolt of pressure to your nipples, through your belly and between your thighs. He huffed a small, amused laugh at your actions.

“Never known what beards felt like… thought they’d be softer— like fur.” You explained, eyes still coloured with lust.

“Should I shave mine off?” He teased.

There was a spot just to the side of your folds, inside your right thigh, that was still vaguely itchy and burning, his beard had rubbed that patch of skin raw. You looked down at him, dark and forbidding.

“I will never marry you if you shave it off.” You threatened.

The door of the office flung open; you and Acacius scampered away from each other. Your father and brother stood by the entrance looking livid as their eyes studied the both of you. Oh dear. You stood to say something in Acacius’ defence, but your brother turned to you with an accusing glare.

“Why would you do this to him? You cannot act like a savage animal in this civilised home!” You gasped, affronted and shocked, looking to your father to rein in his son.

“Really, anaticula, look at the state of him. What did you do to him? How will we ever find you a husband?” What did you do to him? You should be asking what HE did to ME!

You looked at Acacius. There was a clear imprint of your hand on the side of his face. You noticed with a wince that blood had dried near his ear, had you truly bit him that hard? His hands were also bloodied from your scratches. Very well, he looked like he had been mauled. It wasn’t fair at all, you were incensed at being unable to defend yourself. Even more so when you realised his shoulders were shaking from laughter.

“About the husband… I have just asked your daughter if she would marry me.” All three men turned to look at you. And you only had your eyes on one of them. Acacius looked… happy. His eyes were warm, twinkling with delight and contentment. He looked like a man in love. He was in love with you.

“Well… you haven’t exactly asked.” You still replied petulantly. Both your father and your brother whipped around to look at Acacius whose gaze on you was affectionate and devout. The smile gracing his lips made him look boyishly young.

“Anaticula, I find myself hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you. I know I have made you wait for far too long”—you both swallowed the emotions clogging your throat at the moment—“but will you please reach into your endless reserves of mercy and deign me worthy of marriage to you?”

You laughed through your tears, the words were so unlike Acacius that you could see him physically searching for them in his mind.

“Very well, but only because you begged so prettily.” You knew you would pay for your words later when lustful heat flashed past his eyes. But for now, you were drawn into each other’s arms again— as it was always meant to be.

INDEX A/N: I hope you guys had fun reading that last smut hehe. I enjoyed writing it, it's inspired by this romance novel I read during COVID (can't remember the name or the author) and I remember the heroine fighting the hero because the hero was a manwhore and she was like 'You never noticed me!' and he was all like 'I see you now.'

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