#Minerva actually means the world to me

[wilderflowergirlie]

Lily Evans is endorsed by McGonagall to be the Quidditch commentator because they "need someone unbiased but who is still a gryffindor" and who "has the capability to actually learn more about the game." So Lily starts the microphone up, ready to do her best and impress her teacher, yet somehow turns bright red whenever James Potter in his uniform and sweating passes by and winks at her (something he does more and more when he notices she likes it).

Eventually, McGonagall has to choose a new gryffindor, because too many audience members complained that the commentator A. repeatedly got distracted and would trail off and B. could be heard flirting with the star player during the game multiple times.

McGonagall, of course, knew this would happen all along.

[mask131]

The truth about Medusa and her rape... Mythology breakdown time!

With the recent release of the Percy Jackson television series, Tumblr is bursting with mythological posts, and the apparition of Medusa the Gorgon has been the object of numerous talks throughout this website… Including more and more spreading of misinformation, and more debates about what is the “true” version of Medusa’s backstory.

Already let us make that clear: the idea that Medusa was actually “blessed” or “gifted” by Athena her petrifying gaze/snake-hair curse is to my knowledge not at all part of the Antique world. I still do not know exactly where this comes from, but I am aware of no Greek or Roman texts that talked about this – so it seems definitively a modern invention. After all, the figure of Medusa and her entire myth has been taken part, reinterpreted and modified by numerous modern women, feminist activist, feminist movements or artists engaged in the topic of women’s life and social conditions – most notably Medusa becoming the “symbol of raped women’ wrath and fury”. It is an interesting reading and a fascinating update of the ancient texts, and it is a worthy take on its own time and context – but today we are not talking about the posterity, reinvention and continuity of Medusa as a myth and a symbol. I want to clarify some points about the ACTUAL myth or legend of Medusa – the original tale, as told by the Greeks and then by the Romans.

Most specifically the question: Was Medusa raped?

Step 1: Yes, but no.

The backstory of Medusa you will find very often today, ranging from mythology manuals (vulgarization manuals of course) to Youtube videos, goes as such: Medusa was a priestess of Athena who got raped by Poseidon while in Athena’s temple, and as a result of this, Athena punished Medusa by turning her into the monstrous Gorgon.

Some will go even further claiming Athena’s “curse” wasn’t a punishment but a “gift” or blessing – and again, I don’t know where this comes from and nobody seems to be able to give me any reliable source for that, so… Let’s put this out of there.

Now this backstory – famous and popular enough to get into Riodan’s book series for example – is partially true. There are some elements here very wrong – and by wrong I do mean wrong.

The story of Medusa being raped and turned into a monster due to being raped does indeed exist, and it is the most famous and widespread of all the Medusa stories, the one people remembered for the longest time and wrote and illustrated the most about. Hence why Medusa became in the 20th century this very important cultural symbol tied to rape and the abuse of women and victim-blaming. HOWEVER – the origin of this story is Ovid’s Metamorphoses, from the first century CE or so. Ovid? A Roman poet writing for Roman people. “Metamorphoses”? One of the two fundamental works of Roman literature and one of the two main texts of Roman mythology, alongside Virgil’s Aeneid. This is a purely Roman story belonging to the Roman culture – and not the Greek one. The story of Medusa’s rape does not have Greek precedents to my knowledge, Ovid introduced the element of rape – which is no surprise given Ovid turned half of the romances of Greek mythology into rapes. Note that, on top of all this, Ovid wasn’t even writing for religious purposes, nor was his text an actual mythological effort – he wrote it with pure literary intentions at heart. It is just a piece of poetry and literature taking inspiration from the legends of the Greek world, not some sort of sacred text.

Second big point: The legend I summarized above? It isn’t even the story Ovid wrote, since there are a lot of elements that do not come from Ovid’s retelling of the story (book fourth of the Metamorphoses). For example Ovid never said Medusa was a priestess of Athena – all he said was that she was raped in the temple of Athena. I shouldn’t even be writing Athena since again, this is a Roman text: we are speaking of Minerva here, and of Neptune, not of Athena or Poseidon. Similarly, Minerva’s curse did not involve the petrifying gaze – rather all Ovid wrote about was that Minerva turned Medusa’s hair into snakes, to “punish” her because her hair were very beautiful, and it was what made her have many suitors (none of which she wanted to marry apparently), and it is also implied it is what made Neptune fall in love (or rather fall in lust) with her. I guess it is from this detail that the reading of “Athena’s curse was a gift” comes from – even though this story also clearly does victim-blaming of rape here.

But what is very fascinating is that… we are not definitively sure Neptune raped Medusa in Ovid’s retelling. For sure, the terms used by Ovid in his fourth book of Metamorphoses are clear: this was an action of violating, sexually assaulting, of soiling and corrupting, we are talking about rape. But Ovid refers several other times to Medusa in his other books, sometimes adding details the fourth-book stories does not have (the sixth book for examples evokes how Neptune turned into a bird to seduce Medusa, which is completely absent from the fourth book’s retelling of Medusa’ curse). And in all those other mentions, the terms to designate the relationship between Medusa and Neptune are more ambiguous, evoking seduction and romance rather than physical or sexual assault. (It does not help that Ovid has an habit of constantly confusing consensual and non-consensual sex in his poems, meaning that a rape in one book can turn into a romance in another, or reversal)

But the latter fact makes more sense when you recall that the rape element was invented and added by Ovid. Before, yes Poseidon and Medusa loved each other, but it was a pure romance, or at least a consensual one-night. Heck, if we go back to the oldest records of the love between Poseidon and Medusa, back in Hesiod’s Theogony, we have descriptions of the two of them laying together in a beautiful, flowery meadow – a stereotypical scene of pastoral romances – with no mention of any brutality or violence of any sort. As a result, it makes sense the original “romantic” story would still “leak” or cast a shadow over Ovid’s reinvented and slightly-confused tale.

Step 2: So… no rape?

Well, if we go by Greek texts, no, apparently Medusa was not raped in Greek mythology, and only became a rape victim through Ovid.

The Ancient Greek texts all record Poseidon and Medusa sleeping with each other and having children, but no mention of rape. And the whole “curse of Athena” thing is not present in the oldest records – no temple of Athena soiling, no angry Athena cursing a poor girl… “No curse?” you say “But then how did Medusa got turned into a Gorgon”? Answer: she did not. She was born like that.

As I said before, the oldest record of Medusa’s romance but also of her family comes from Hesiod’s Theogony (Hesiod being one of the two “founding authors” of Greek mythology, alongside Homer – Homer did wrote several times about Medusa, but only as a disembodied head and as a monster already dead, so we don’t have any information about her life). And what do we learn? That Medusa is part of a set of three sisters known as the Gorgons – because oh yes, Ovid did not mention Medusa’s sister now did he? How did Medusa’s sisters ALSO got snake-hair or petrifying-gaze if only Medusa was cursed for sleeping with Neptune? Ovid does not give us any answer because again, it is an “adaptational plot hole”, and the people that try to adapt Ovid’s story have to deal with the slight problem of Stheno and Euryale needing to share their sister’s curse despite seemingly not being involved in the whole Neptune business. Anyway, back to the Greek text.

So, you have those three Gorgon sisters, and Medusa is said to be mortal while her sisters are not. Why is it such a big deal? Because Medusa wasn’t originally some random human or priestess. Oh no! Who were the Gorgons’ parents? Phorcys and Keto/Ceto, aka two sea-gods. Not just two sea-gods – two sea-gods of the ancient, primordial generation of sea-gods, the one that predated Poseidon, and that were cousins to the Titans, the sea-gods born of Gaia mating with Pontos.

So the Gorgons were “divine” of nature – and this is why Medusa being a mortal was considered to be a MASSIVE problem and handicap for her, an abnormal thing for the daughter of two deities. But let’s dig a bit further… Who were Phorcys and Ceto? Long story short: in Greek mythology, they were considered to be sea-equivalents of Typhon and Gaia. They were the parents of many monsters and many sea-horrors: Keto/Ceto herself had her name attributed and equated with any very large creature (like whales) or any terrifying monster (like dragons) from the sea. The Gorgons themselves was a trio of monsters, but their sisters, that directly act as their double in the myth of Perseus? The Graiai – the monstrous trio of old women sharing one eye and one tooth. Hesiod also drops the fact that Ladon (the dragon that guarded the golden apples of the Hesperids), and Echidna (the snake-woman that mated with Typhon and became known as the “mother of monsters”) were also children of Phorcys and Ceto, while other authors will add other monster-related characters such as Scylla (of Charybdis and Scylla fame), the sirens, or Thoosa (the mother of Polyphemus the cyclop). Medusa herself is technically a “mother of monsters” since she birthed both Pegasus the flying horse and Chrysaor, a giant. So here is something very important to get: Medusa, and the Gorgons, were part of a family of monsters. Couple that with the absence of any mention of curses in these ancient texts, and everything is clear.

Originally Medusa was not a woman cursed to become a monster: she was born a monster, part of a group of monster siblings, birthed by monster-creating deities, and she belonged to the world of the “primordial abominations from the sea”, and the pre-Olympian threats, the remnants of the primordial chaos. It is no surprise that the Gorgons were said to live at the edge of the very known world, in the last patch of land before the end of the universe – in the most inhuman, primitive and liminal area possible. They were full-on monsters!

Now you might ask why Poseidon would sleep with a horrible monster, especially when you recall that the Greeks loved to depict the Gorgons as truly bizarre and grotesque. It wasn’t just snake-hair and petrifying gaze: they had boar tusks, and metallic claws, and bloated eyes, and a long tongue that constantly hanged down their bearded chin, and very large heads – some very old depictions even show her with a female centaur body! In fact, the ancient texts imply that it wasn’t so much the Gorgon’s gaze or eyes that had the power to turn people into stone – but that rather the Gorgon was just so hideous and so terrifying to look at people froze in terror – and then literally turned into stone out of fear and disgust. We are talking Lovecraftian level of eldritch horror here. So why would Poseidon, an Olympian god, sleep with one of these horrors? Well… If you know your Poseidon it wouldn’t surprise you too much because Poseidon had a thing for monsters. As a sort of “dark double” of Zeus, whereas Zeus fell in love with beautiful princesses and noble queens and birthed great gods and brave heroes, Poseidon was more about getting freaky with all sorts of unusual and bizarre goddesses, and giving birth to bandits and monsters. A good chunk of the villains of Greek mythology were born out of Poseidon’s loins: Polyphemus, Antaios, Orion, Charybdis, the Aloads… And even his most benevolent offspring has freaky stuff about it – Proteus the shapeshifter or Triton half-man half-fish… So yes, Poseidon sleeping with an abominable Gorgon is not so much out of character.

Step 3: The missing link

Now that we established what Medusa started out as, and what she ended up as… We need to evoke the evolution from point Hesiod to point Ovid, because while people summarized the Medusa debate as “Sea-born monster VS raped and punished woman”, there is a third element needed to understand this whole situation…

Yes Ovid did invent the rape. But he did not invent the idea that Medusa had been cursed by Athena.

The “gorgoneion” – the visual and artistic motif of the Gorgon’s head – was, as I said, a grotesque and monstrous face used to invoke fright into the enemies or to repel any vile influence or wicked spirit by the principle of “What’s the best way to repel bad stuff? Badder stuff”. Your Gorgon was your gargoyle, with all the hideous traits I described before – represented in front (unlike all the other side-portraits of gods and heroes), with the face being very large and flat, a big tongue out of a tusked-mouth, snake-hair, bulging crazy eyes, sometimes a beard or scales… Pure monster. But then… from the fifth century BCE to the second century BCE we see a slow evolution of the “gorgoneion” in art. Slowly the grotesque elements disappear, and the Gorgon’s face becomes… a regular, human face. Even more: it even becomes a pretty woman’s face! But with snakes instead of hair. As such, the idea that Medusa was a gorgeous woman who just had snakes and cursed-eyes DOES come from Ancient Greece – and existed well before Ovid wrote his rape story.

But what was the reason behind this change?

Well, we have to look at the Roman era again. Ovid’s tale of Medusa being cursed for her rape at the hands of Neptune had to rival with another record collected by a Greek author Apollodorus, or Pseudo-Apollodorus, in his Bibliotheca. In this collection of Greek myths, Apollodorus writes that indeed, Medusa was cursed by Athena to have her beautiful hair that seduced everybody be turned into snakes… But it wasn’t because of any rape or forbidden romance, no. It was just because Medusa was a very vain woman who liked to brag about her beauty and hair – and had the foolish idea of saying her hair looked better than Athena’s. (If you recall tales such as Arachne’s or the Judgement of Paris, you will know that despite Athena being wise and clever, one of her main flaws is her vanity).

“Wait a minute,” you are going to tell me, “The Bibliotheca was created in the second century CE! Well after Greece became part of the Roman Empire, and after Ovid’s Metamorphoses became a huge success! It isn’t a true Greek myth, it is just Ovid’s tale being projected here…” And people did agree for a time… Until it was discovered, in the scholias placed around the texts of Apollonios of Rhodes, that an author of the fifth century BCE named Pherecyde HAD recorded in his time a version of Medusa’s legend where she had been cursed into becoming an ugly monster as punishment for her vanity. We apparently do not have the original text of Pherecyde, but the many scholias referring to this lost piece are very clear about this. This means that the story that Apollodorus recorded isn’t a “novelty”, but rather the latest record of an older tradition going back to the fifth century BCE… THE SAME CENTURY THAT THE GORGONEION STARTED LOSING THEIR GROTESQUE, and that the face of Medusa started becoming more human in art.

[EDIT: I also forgot to add that this evolution of Medusa is also proved by strange literary elements, such as Pindar's mention in a poem of his (around 490 BCE) of "fair-cheeked Medusa". A description which seems strange given how Medusa used to be depicted as the epitome of ugliness... But that makes sense if the "cursed beauty" version of the myth had been going around at the time!]

And thus it is all connected and explained. Ovid did invent the rape yes – but he did not invent the idea of Athena cursing Medusa. It pre-existed as the most “recent” and dominating legend in Ancient Greece, having overshadowed by Ovid’s time the oldest Hesiodic records of Medusa being born a monster. So what Ovid did wasn’t completely create a new story out of nowhere, but twist the Greek traditions of Athena cursing Medusa and Medusa having a relationship with Poseidon, so that the two legends would form one and same story. And this explains in retrospect why Ovid focuses so much on describing Medusa’s beautiful hair, and why Ovid’s Minerva would think turning her hair into snake would be a “punishment fit for the crime”: these are leftovers of the Greek tale where Medusa was punished for her boasting and her vanity.

CONCLUSION

Here is the simplified chronology of how Medusa’s evolution went.

A) Primitive Greek myths, Hesiodic tradition: Born a monster out of a family of sea-monsters and monstrous immortals. Is a grotesque, gargoylesque, eldritch abomination. Athena has only an indirect conflict with her, due to being Perseus’ “fairy godmother”. Has a lovely romance with Poseidon.

B) Slow evolution throughout Classical Greece and further: Medusa becomes a beautiful, human-looking girl that was cursed to have snake for hair and petrifying eyes, instead of being a Lovecraftian horror people could not gaze upon. Her conflict with Athena becomes direct, as it is Athena that cursed her due to being offended by her vain boasting. Her punishment is for her vanity and arrogant comparison to the goddess.

C) Ovid comes in: Medusa’s romance with Poseidon becomes a rape, and she is now punished for having been raped inside Athena’s temple.

[As a final note, I want to insist upon the fact that the story of Medusa being raped is not less "worthy" than any other version of the myth. Due to its enormous popularity, how it shaped the figure of Medusa throughout the centuries, and how it still survives today and echoes current-day problems, to try to deny the valid place of this story in the world of myths and legends would be foolish. HOWEVER it is important to place back things in their context, to recognize that it is not the ONLY tale of Medusa, that it was NOT part of Greek mythology, but rather of Roman legends - and let us all always remember this time Poseidon slept with a Lovecraftian horror because my guy is kinky.]

EDIT:

For illustration, I will place here visuals showing how the Ancient art evolved alongside Medusa's story.

Before the 5th century BCE: Medusa is a full-on monster

From the 5th century to the 2nd century BCE: A slow evolution as Medusa goes from a full-on monster to a human turned into a monster. As a result the two depictions of the grotesque and beautiful gorgoneion coexist.

Post 2nd century BCE: Medusa is now a human with snake hair, and just that

[leadyoutothelight]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia

This wasn’t supposed to be your place in life, you were the second daughter, a spare given to the temple of Minerva to serve as one of the many temple maidens. But when your father comes to you, telling you of your sister’s sudden passing, suddenly you’re thrust into a new role. Expected to fill her place in a political marriage to the famed General Marcus Acacius Rome’s beloved war dog.

Rating: Explicit +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Dubious Consent/Coerced Consent, Age Gap (no specified ages), Virginity Loss *discomfort mentioned, no blood* , Implied physical abuse from a parent, Patriarchal world and expectations of women, Grinding, Unprotected p in v sex, reader is a virgin, first time sex *please let me know if I miss anything*

Word Count: 8k

Author Note: Hello, first time writing for a Pedro Pascal character, but finally saw Gladiator II and I couldn't resist writing this! Please note, there is very little research into Rome actually done, I'm not writing this based on historical accuracy, just had an idea and wanted to write it. The title is based off a common Roman wedding vow meaning, Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.

Please let me know what you think!

-

Your sister is dead, you shall be the one to marry General Acacius. 

It had been the most your father had ever spoken to you in your entire life, the most he’d even looked at you. 

Being born the second daughter of a noble family is about as important as a new pair of sandals. Especially when you were the last born of five, and three of the five being boys. Your father was more than happy to direct his attention to his sons and his wars. Your sister and yourself were content to live in the house learning from your mother, waiting for the day your father drafted a marriage contract and sent you to a new household. 

Until it was decided that in a bid to gain the gods favor you were given to the temple of Minerva as a temple maiden, at ten you were bundled up with your few worldly items and left to the Priestess' devices. 

It was a sudden and chaotic change. But after the first year you found, you didn’t mind this new living arrangement. Yes, you had chores now, and you needed to share things. But you grew to like your new home with other women and girls working in the temple. Learning the day-to-day needs, and expectations of your new home. You flourished, and your mother and sister visiting every now and again helped you settle as well. 

The last time you’d seen your sister she’d been an excited mess talking the whole time of her engagement to General Acacius, that they’d be wed as soon as he’d returned home from another conquest.

“Just think sissy, me, a famed general’s wife!”  

Her eyes glowed in the lamplight as she’d clutched your hands in hers. You’d given her a smile and a nod, as she went on and on. Whilst you’d thought to yourself that you’d be stuck cleaning the temple floors for the next week due to staying out longer than allowed.

“You’ll be there right?” 

Her question pulls you out of your glum thoughts, and you give her a wide eye-scrunching smile. You don’t have the heart to disappoint, maybe with your father’s status you can ask for the time…

A pain twinges through you at the thought, the high priestess had been kind, giving you the time in exchange for you doing more chores when you returned. 

But today, a day you expected your sister to visit, with her finished bridal veil in tow. You expected to ‘oh’ and ‘aw’ over her hard work, compliment her delicate needlework, ask her jokingly which parts your mother had helped with. To comfort her, she’d mentioned fainting spells had started since the date had been announced. 

Maybe you’d even offer to bring her into the inner sanctum to ask the goddess to protect her, and her future husband. To give her calm in the coming ‘battle’ of marriage. 

But now you sit across from your father. A beast of a man, skin tanned and leathered from the sun. Scars criss-cross along his arms, you resist the urge to glance at his left pinky. Where only a ghastly stump sits. 

His voice brokers no argument, yet, you can’t stop yourself.

“What do you mean?” 

He blinks, those dark eyes boring into you, and you see a flash of anger, mixed with surprise. Again, your existence has been a fleeting one in your father’s opinion. He was the one who sent you here…he was the one who gave you to the gods. He can’t just–take you back. 

“I wasn’t aware you were an imbecile–” 

“I’m not, but you cannot take me from the temple–from Minerva herself–” 

“I have made the appropriate tithes and the priestess herself has granted your hand–”

“I am to serve the goddess, that is what you–”

“And now you shall serve the family!” It’s the way he stands, the clatter of the chair he once occupied. The roar of his voice, the one you know he uses to order his troops into battle with. You cower, well aware that this rage is one you don’t survive. 

Tears brim over your lashes, and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from arguing further, here in the temple, you are free to share your opinions. Voice concerns, even vent frustrations, rare luxuries in this male dominated society. You’ve found you enjoy the thrill of conversing, and theology the other maidens and priestesses provide. 

But now, that’s all being taken, when you’re so close to the priesthood. To take the sacred robes of Minerva, learn the sacred rights. Bless soldiers, generals, and emperors in their great conquests for the Roman Empire. 

That was your purpose, your place in this world. Being born a woman was a curse in this empire, but here you were safe, here you could make a life. 

“You shall be collected in the morning, the wedding will take place in a week's time.” 

That tone again. One brokering no peace, no argument. The voice he commands thousands with, and you are one of them. 

The next morning passes in a blur, your few things taken by slaves. You’re barely given enough time to hug the girls, and women you’ve come to see as your new family. Careful to hide your tears as the High Priestess stops you outside the temple doors. 

“Go with Minerva’s blessing,” her voice is soft, though there is an edge to it. You don’t respond, for fear that you’ll fall to your knees and beg her to stop this. Claim Minerva’s hold over you, refuse your father’s demands. 

But she won’t, your father is a powerful man, marrying you to another powerful man, and not even the goddess of war can prevent it. 

You’re whisked away on a chariot handled by one of your father’s trusted soldiers. A clear warning to behave, the city passes by. A few of the bustling crowds pause to watch you entourage, but it’s fleeting, they return to their day-to-day lives as it's nothing new to see a noble pass in their gilded transports. 

A blink and you’re home. The home you hadn’t seen in years, still a marbled behemoth, a villa of luxury befitting one of Rome’s finest generals. The sandstone pillars glow in the mid-afternoon sun. Banners the color of blood mark the door, along with coal black braziers that will be lit when the sun disappears behind the mountains. 

Awaiting you is a group of slaves, heads bowed, they drop to kneel as you are escorted from the chariot and into the house. 

It’s barely changed, since you last ran about the halls, as a wild precocious child. Tripping over your feet to follow your older brothers. The large atrium, with a lapis lazuli lined pool. Filled with various plants your father brought home to your mother. More braziers and torches line the halls. 

Gold, and weapons decorate the walls, all of them spoils of war taken by your father. Silk curtains billow in the afternoon wind, and distantly you smell the incense your mother uses throughout the villa. 

Your sister used to smell of it, well, the incense and rose water. A pang ricochets through your chest.  Her voice doesn’t greet you, and you’ll never hear it again. Instead it’s the rush of silks, and the patter of feet, and your mother enters the atrium, in the warm glow of the sun she shines. 

Dark hair in tight ringlets cascading down her back, her eyes shine with unshed tears. She stops seeing you in the entrance, then her arms spread wide, and like a child you rush into them. 

She smells of her personal fragrance of jasmine, and cinnamon. The mixture your father had gifted her after a long campaign many years ago. She buries her nose into your hair, fingers threading through the tresses. She presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Mama,” you whimper into her bosom, and she shushes you. Pulling back, her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against the apples of your cheeks. 

“Well, not the way I expected my beloved child to return to me but,” another kiss is pressed to your forehead. Her lips are soft and warm, tears well and threaten to spill a lump gathers in the back of your throat. “I am grateful to have some time with you again.” 

 For a moment, you’re grateful for the reprieve as well. But it’s short lived. She ushers you into the house, into her personal chambers. Where she sits you on the lounge, it’s darker here. Not as many windows, and most of them blocked by curtains. 

The incense is thicker here, and you stifle a cough as you settle into the dimness with her. 

“Oh my dear one, how I’ve missed you.” She smiles, and again her eyes take you in. Just as you do her, she’s aged in the years you’ve been gone. Where once was smooth skin, you see wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. The creases of her lips, a few grey hairs decorate her dark curls. 

“I’m sorry it wasn’t under…better circumstances.” You mutter, fingers toying with the robes you had left in. They’re still the temple robes, a simple woven woolen tunic. Good for completing chores, and easy to move in. 

Not like her opulent robes, her pure white muslin, with a deep blue dyed sash. A golden belt cinching in her waist. Her smile falters, a look of pain crosses her expression. 

“Y–your sister fought hard against the sweating sickness,” her voice wavers, and tears spill over her lashes, smudging the kohl lining her eyes. “But, she has been given her last rights, and she rests now in Elysium.” 

You nod, your chin quivers, as your own tears rain down from your eyes. Your mother tuts, and leans forward her hands warm and soft, unlike your now calloused fingers and palms.

“She would not want us to mourn–” 

“But Mama, she wanted this,” you gesture to the room of grandeur around you. Feeling your mother’s gaze watching you as you struggle with your next words, “I was promised to Minerva–to the gods!” 

You stand beginning to pace as you consider everything, and are finally able to do so.

“She should be here, I should be at the temple, learning the rites, blessing soldiers–”

“My darling you’re here now,” your mother’s voice is firm, a tone you recognize as her warning, and just like your father you know she’s not going to entertain you abandoning this marriage. “Come.” 

She offers you a bedecked hand, rings, and bangles gleaming against her skin. All the finery a woman could want. Sullenly you take her hand as she pulls you beside her, her hands take yours in a solid grip. 

“Your sister’s passing was a tragedy, but the gods have smiled upon us, in that Acacius is willing to continue the betrothal with you,” her voice is soft, you stare at your clasped hands. She’d done this before, when you’d first been promised to the Temple of Minerva. 

How strange to be here again, a child begging her mother to see reason and send you back. She pulls your hands up to her lips, pressing a warm kiss to them, as more tears spill from your eyes. Rolling warm, and wet down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want to marry him Mama,” a soft sob leaves you, and you bury your face into her shoulder, losing yourself in her smell once more, you forget how much you’ve missed her. Missed this, just being with her, but there’s a hollow feeling inside of you, your sister should be here, and that makes more tears form. Another tut and her arms wrap around you, a hand goes to your cheek, another to your back. “I was happy at the Temple.” 

She hums low in her throat, the hand on your back rubbing soothing circles against your spine. She is warm, and solid, a soothing presence and she lets you weep. You don’t know how long you cry for but finally the hiccuping sobs ebb and you calm. 

She pulls back her hands returning to your cheeks as she takes in your red eyes, and tear-streaked face. 

“My love, I will say this to you, I understand more than you know,” she brushes a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, curling the wayward pieces behind your ear. “I know the fear of marrying a man, much less a military man.” 

You sniffle as she gives you a weak smile. “I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.” 

She pulls back, her hands resting on her lap, your tears have dried and you sigh, nodding, face downcast as you consider her words. 

“I swear my love, I know your sister dreamed of love, and of a grand marriage, I assure you that General Acacius is a good man,” her fingers lift your chin and your eyes meet, she gives you a final wistful smile, “it may not be a marriage of love, but…maybe it can be a marriage of equals.” 

-

The next week passes in a blur, and suddenly it’s the hour before your wedding. The final adjustments to your sister's dress are being made. You stand alone, a slave placing pins in the areas the garment might drag. 

Silently staring at the reflection in the copper before you. You don’t recognize the girl in the reflection. Your hair has been styled in the traditional bridal braids. A golden hairnet pinned against your scalp, a few strands have managed to escape. Make up paints your skin, mica shimmers on your eyelids, kohl darkening your waterline. 

The slave pauses in her adjustments, she glances up with a fearful look. 

“M–my lady, I’ve run out of pins–” 

A spark of your father’s rage courses through you, of course it doesn’t fit you it was meant for your sister. 

“Go fetch some then!” 

You don’t mean to snap but your nerves are shot as it is. She jumps and with a fearful bow leaves the room. Alone you slump, staring at yourself, unwilling to keep staring at the stranger before you. Your sister truly spared no detail, the embroidery along the edges is her finest work. With golden thread painstakingly sewn into the edges, when it catches the light it almost seems to glow like fire. The main shawl dyed a deep burgundy, is decorated with words of protection, along with her favorite flowers, pale lilies blooming along the skirt. 

I want him to think me a goddess made flesh. 

You hear her in the back of your mind, and wonder…if you should have admonished her. Maybe her vanity was her downfall, and the gods sought to correct her error. Tears spring to your eyes at the thought, no, they couldn’t have. 

She was good, and kind; her only wish was to marry and give her husband strong sons. Now she lays alone, and cold in the family crypts. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud chorus of calls from the atrium.

You hear it somewhere below, the revels have begun. The boisterous voice of your father as he jokes and cajoles with his old war fellows. The wine is flowing freely tonight, he has much to celebrate. 

“-it’s a good thing you had another one!” 

A laugh from your father as he claps someone on the back. 

“Ha! The only thing a second daughter is good for!” 

The rage sparks again, and before you can stop to think, you’re grabbing a jar of perfumed oil. Throwing it with a shriek, it lands with a satisfying shatter against the copper mirror. The thick liquid drips to the floor in a dark puddle on the sandstone. 

Your outburst has called attention to the crowd, a few moments of silence and your mother appears with the slave who left you. She gives a withering glare to the woman, who cowers, before turning her gaze to you. You clench your fist ready to fight, the rage in you growing, daring your mother to say something, anything.

“My love–” there is no time to admonish you, as a great rushing of horses and the wheels of a chariot sound, along with calls from the atrium. 

He's here. 

Before you can think your mother and the slave rush to finish the last minute adjustments, and finally the fine veil is placed over your head. You're dragged through the halls, almost tripping on the skirt, that’s still too long for your legs. 

Your sister’s belt is cinched so tight it cuts into the soft fat of your stomach, at least an old pair of your sandals fits, one of the only things of yours on you tonight. Your mother stops you just outside the atrium. The crowd is rowdy, the sweet smell of wine, the smokey herbs of the many roasted beasts, and finally the mixture of the florals from the many bundles of your sister’s favorite flowers fills your nose.

It’s beautiful, and your sister would have been beaming. You feel your stomach churn, your mother’s fingers rub soothingly along your arm, but it doesn’t quell the fear to run, the deer forced into the hunter’s trap. 

You don’t want to, but your eyes search the crowd, none of your brothers are in attendance. Your mother mentioned that all had been called away to far reaches of the Empire, one a rising commander in his own right. Another a promising scholar in Alexandria, and the last is a Senator, most likely schmoozing with the twin emperors to gain more political favor. 

Of course none of them felt it dire to come to their younger sister’s funeral, and the other’s marriage. You’re not surprised…though maybe a bit hurt, after all…they should have at least come home to give your sister her last rights. But even that is too pitiful a request compared to their great lives.

There are others here, all your father’s friends, and their wives, entertaining themselves with food and drink. Dressed in the finery expected for nobility, none of them take your attention for too long. 

You see your father speaking animatedly with someone you don’t recognize. He wears the traditional Generals uniform, the armor a pitch black, with the extravagant golden embellishments. A long red cape, fastened at his shoulder, you almost wonder if the man came straight from campaign. 

Then again…the twin emperors have been insistent that their empire grow, and the General has been the ever faithful war dog. You’d never met him in person, only the high Priestess of Minerva could bless the generals before a campaign.

You are loath to admit it, but he's handsome. In a rugged way, a strong jaw, full lips, a proud nose, with tanned skin. His beard is shorter but well kept, and his hair, was probably once a deep brown, has greyed and silvered with age, is kept in neat curls. 

His eyes remain on your father, but as if the gods enjoy your torment, seem to feel your gaze upon him. He turns, and those eyes the color of polished mahogany lance through you. 

For a moment you forget to breathe, forget to think. Those eyes take you in, just as you had done moments ago. But it’s short lived as your father spots you, and your mother. 

“Ah! Acacius, your bride arrives!” He leaves the General to come usher you over, you’re grateful for the veil, the fabric is thick enough it hides your face, so he can’t see your face very well, can’t see the panicked look in your eyes, as your father yanks you from your mother’s protective grasp. 

You want to reach out to her, to claw your way back, scream, dig your fingers into his eyes till he releases you, but resist. As he pushes you to the General, up close he’s nothing like you thought. He bows his head to you with a soft, “my Lady.” 

You respond in kind with a low bow and a muttered, “my Lord.” 

And with that the ceremony begins, with Acacius taking his place besides the officiant. One of your father’s many senatorial friends. 

Your father’s grip is a painful shackle around your wrist, the stump of his left pinky digs into your arm. 

“You will do well to make him happy girl,” he snarls beneath the music, his gaze burning a hole into the side of your skull. “It’s because of me, he accepted you, remember that.” 

You bite your cheek, the taste of copper filling your mouth as you ignore the remark, in favor of staring at the man who will take his place. 

The ceremony is short, the officiant stumbles over your name, as he clearly practiced for your sister’s name. It makes the ache in your chest grow, through the ceremony you feel the General’s gaze upon you as the final call for the gods to bless your union is made. 

“General, you may now reveal your bride, and take her to your home as is commanded by the gods.” 

Your heart has leapt from your chest to your throat as his hands take the veil and lift, revealing your face to him. 

Your eyes meet his, and he stares silently at you, those dark eyes taking you in, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His lips are soft, the rasp of his beard against your skin sending a chill down your spine. The kiss is quick, emotionless, before pulling away, he glances to the side, you follow his gaze. Your mother stands beside your father, tears stream down her face, and your heart breaks seeing her in such despair. 

“Take a moment with your family, I will collect you in a moment.” 

You don’t waste a second rushing away from him to your mother’s arms, she collects you with a soft sob. You can’t help the tears that spring forth. 

“My love, my dear,” she weeps into your hair, and you cling to her, a little girl once more. Afraid of your father’s anger had you broken something, or worse he had come home from a failed campaign, and no one would be spared from his rage. 

She would be alone after this, alone with only your father for company, and he barely stayed home long enough to acknowledge her. She presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Please…Mama, please,” a whimpered plea into her bosom, where your tears stain the silk, you look up to her eyes wide and terrified. “Don’t let him take me.” 

Her lower lip quivers, and more tears spill from her beautiful eyes, she shakes her head, her answer, and it cleaves your heart into two. She can’t stop this, no matter how much you beg, plead, all she could do was make sure he was a good man. You feel it then, Acacius’ arms wrap around your middle, the shriek that leaves you is animalistic, your fingers claw into your mother’s dress. 

“No! Mama! No!” It only takes one pull from Acacius for your mother to release you, your fingers pulled from her dress by your father. So you go to the next best thing, his arms, nails dig into skin. He grunts, the only sign of his pain, as he hauls you away from your mother who wails in chorus with your panicked shrieks. 

Your mother collapses, her palms slapping against the marbled floors in grief, your father just stands there, no better than a statue. No one will comfort your mother tonight…though you hope, somehow your sister will. That her spirit will curl about your mother’s form and give her rest. 

Or maybe she’ll spare you the horrors of the wedding night, but as you struggle uselessly against Acacius you know neither of those things will happen. As he drags you from the atrium to his chariot. You struggle, scream, and cry a final plea to Minerva to intervene. 

But alas she does not answer, and you're dragged from the safety of your mother’s arms and to Acacius’ villa where your wedding night awaits. 

-

It’s quiet in the spacious bedchamber, as you consider the marble flooring beneath your feet. Acacius hasn’t appeared since he placed you here. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you’ve ripped the veil and golden hairnet off. Your hair remains in its painful tangle of braids, you’re unsure of how to get them out without help. 

You take in the room around you, and from what you could see of Acacius’ villa like you thought it’s a luxurious home, maybe even greater than your father’s. 

You take in the fineries here, golden chairs and marble-topped tables. The fires of the braziers warm the room comfortably, and a soft breeze from the outside keeps the air fresh. The light of the fires gleam off the cups, and decanters of wine placed about the room, even the bed silks are a fine fabric you’ve never felt before. You absentmindedly run your hand over the softness, considering your options. The bed is pushed to the farthest wall, a behemoth of dark wood, and fine muslin curtains. 

Large windows line the eastern wall, to let in the light of the morning, and doors lead to what you can only assume is a terrace. Your legs twitch as you consider rushing to the doors, seeing how far the drop is, escaping into the night, the General none-the-wiser. 

But the idea is foolish, he’s a General with thousands at his beck and call, you are a noble girl, raised in the halls of a temple…You’d get no further than the city gates if you’re lucky. 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the sounds of footsteps echo into your silence. Your head snaps to the noise, a deer suddenly aware of the danger lurking somewhere in the trees.

He stands in the doorway, orange light of the fires play over his face, his eyes black pits, face unreadable. Your heart stutters in your chest, as you both consider each other. 

He’s removed his armor, though it does nothing to soothe you, he still stands with the rigidity of a military man. Prepared for battle should he need to be. You consider fighting him, but it’s a laughable idea. 

He could kill you with a flick of his wrist if he so dared, but he hasn’t moved closer. So you both remain silent, observing. 

It is a tense standoff, both of you sizing the other up, Acacius makes the first move. Taking a chair and settling into it with an exhausted huff. 

You tense, watching him as he takes a cup and decanter, pouring a healthy swig of wine, before drinking deeply. He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, his fingertips trace the rim of his cup. 

“I am pleased to see you haven’t run yet,” he gives a humorless chuckle, and takes another drink. “I will say, this is not how I expected my wedding night to go.” 

You remain silent, waiting for his next move, he doesn’t say anything for a moment staring into the cup with a pensive look. 

“Those braids look uncomfortable,” those umber eyes meet your gaze. You can’t find your voice, so you nod. He sets the cup aside and stands, you can’t help your gaze falling to his exposed legs. The bunching of his muscles beneath his skin, the subtle strength there as he approaches you, a subtle grace to his movements that years of swordplay, and war-making has refined. The glow of his skin in the firelight, paints golden highlights along his flesh. 

A clearing of his throat stops your exploration, your gaze snaps up to Acacius, he gives you a small gesture to turn around. Tense you follow his directions, a moment of indecision, before the softest touch against your scalp. 

You can’t stop the yelp that leaves you, and the jolt of your body. The touch leaves, and there is a sigh through his nose. You wince, awaiting the strike that’s sure to come. 

Acacius surprises you again, a hand cups your chin and turns you to face him. You’re shivering, and fearfully you look up at the General. 

“I–I’m sorry–” 

“I promise, I will not strike you my Lady, I just want to unbraid your hair.” His hand is warm, his fingers large, and his palm is rough with calluses from holding a sword. You try not to notice how his hand easily encompasses your lower jaw. You nod, and again turn away. 

This time when his touch returns you steady yourself. For such large fingers, you’re surprised at their delicate caresses. As he finds the pins, and ties that keep your bridal braids in place. Slowly the pain of the too tight braids are relieved. 

His touch is gentle, the final braid is undone and he takes a moment to card his fingers through your tresses. A ripple of something courses through you, goosebumps alight along your skin. He chuckles, you finally find your voice. 

“Thank you, my Lord.” 

He doesn’t answer, instead you feel the brush of his knuckles against your cheek, again you jolt away. 

You know what must be done tonight, but you had hoped, and prayed, that he’d busy himself with his something, anything else. That you’d be forgotten and left to your own devices for the night. Acacius sighs through his nose, disappointment clear in his tone. 

“It is our wedding night—”

“I know my Lord–”

“I do not wish to force you.” 

The statement silences you, your heart pounding in its cage as you clench your fists in your lap. 

“My Lord Acacius please–” 

“My Lady,” he kneels beside you, one of his hands easily encasing both of yours. You resist every urge in your body to pull away from him, to scream, shout that you won’t allow him near you. “Your father told me, he would visit in the morning, to assure his daughter had done her duty.” 

You will give him this, he looks disgusted at the prospect, those full lips pulled into a grimace as he considers you. You glance down at his hand over yours, before meeting his gaze again. 

“Lord Acacius please, I was given as a child to the Temple of Minerva, I have no…no sense of the things required of a wife.” 

You press forward, one of your hands leaving the captivity of his to cover it. He seems surprised at the touch, glancing down at your hand before meeting your gaze again. His eyes are beautiful, and considering him for a moment, you recall your sister’s voice. 

He’s handsome sissy, you would agree. 

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes, you do agree, he’s handsome. A part of you was jealous that she remained at home, with your mother. But after settling in the temple you knew this life would never be yours, and some small part of you…knows that hint of jealousy still lingers, somewhere deep in your mind. It would have grown a bit more seeing who she married today. 

“You can learn–”

“I was given to Minerva,” you snap, a spike of your father’s rage, Acacius’ brows lift, a flash of surprise crosses his face. The hand beneath yours tensing. 

“What’s done is done, and your father would sooner kill you then return you to the temple.” 

His eyes darken and your shoulders slump, he’s well aware of your father’s reputation then. Well aware of the violence he so easily wielded even when not in battle. 

“But you could return me–” 

“I do not intend to.” 

That statement leaves you bewildered, and scrambling to come up with something, anything for him to change his mind. He leans forward, in the glow of the braziers he looks otherworldly, and you can’t find your voice. 

“I swear to you, I shall be a devoted husband, and I am willing to give you liberties in this union,” you consider silently, gaze going from his eyes and to his lips, “I cannot give you all the freedoms priesthood promises, but you will want for nothing.” 

You bite your cheek, searching his umber eyes for any hint of a lie. His other hand comes up once more to cup your cheek. This time you do not flinch from his touch. 

“I can make it pleasurable for you,” heat rises to your face as his thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek, “but this union must be consummated tonight, as the gods demand.” 

The silence between both of you is thick, he’s right, you know he is. There is no way you will be able to return to the temple, it is either death or Acacius. 

I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.

Your mother’s words ring out in your mind, you close your eyes to stop the tears forming there, and nod. 

“I need to hear you,” he whispers, he’s moved closer to your face, the warmth of his breath ghosts over your lips. “Please, my Lady.” 

“I–I accept Lord Acacius, but–” you don’t know why it tumbles from your lips so freely, “but please, I don’t want it to hurt.” 

His lips press to yours suddenly, your eyes snapping open at the touch. The kiss is quick, he moves on from your lips to your cheek, then jaw, ending at your neck. 

You gasp as his tongue slips from between his lips, wetting the skin above your pulse. A heat rushes through you as his lips suck on the skin there, teeth nipping. 

Your fingers turn to claws as they grasp at his tunic, his hands shift easily, one going to cup your head. The other around your waist pulling you against him. His lips continue their exploration of your neck, finding new bits of flesh that he attends to. 

Pulling noises from you that surprise you, as a feeling courses through you, like you're hot and cold at the same time. You can feel your pulse between your legs, his mouth shifts further up your neck, Acacius pauses at your ear. 

“As we are going to be husband and wife,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, his lips sending electric zaps along the cartilage. You shiver as his voice drops to a rasp, “please call me Marcus, can you do that?” 

He nuzzles into the corner of your jaw, giving the skin another nip, a soft keen leaves you, as the nip sparks with a soft pain before dulling to a throb. As your fingers flex again in his tunic, unsure if you want to pull him closer or push you both apart. 

He has to be doing something, must have given you something, for this–feeling, this sensation to be burning through you. 

The hand at your waist is quick, fingers plucking at your sister’s belt, and it releases with a soft clink. The soft leather falls away, leaving your dress to sag, heat rises again to your cheeks and you squirm a moment. 

Acacius’ hand in your hair tightens, and for a moment you fear you’ve angered him. But all he does is move lower, the tip of his nose trailing down your neck, along the path he created with his lips. 

Marks of varying colors have bloomed across your skin, before stopping just above the cut of your bodice. Those deep brown eyes meet yours in silent question, you give a nod. The pulse between your thighs is growing. 

He works quickly finding the folds of your dress that keep it around your shoulders and covering your breasts. The silk falls away, you move to cover yourself, only the other temple maidens, and the priestess’ had ever seen you naked. 

Embarrassment fills you, should he see you, but Acacius is quick, his hands find your wrists. The short tussle sends you back onto the bed, Acacius hovering above you. He positions your hands beside your head. For a moment you consider fighting once more, thinking he intends you harm, but freeze as you see his eyes explore your newly exposed flesh. You can feel every touch of his gaze as he takes in the swell of them, your nipples pebbling in the sudden chill. 

“M–Marcus–ah!” 

Saying his name spurs him into his next move, his face descends and he presses a kiss to your sternum, then shifting to your right breast. The scrape of his beard on your skin sends flutters of pleasure through you. 

A surprised moan leaves you as his lips find your nipple, pulling the hardening bud between them, sucking lightly your body convulses. Your eyes roll, the muscles of your abdomen clench, fingers twitch digging into his knuckles as he keeps them pinned. You gasp, back arching, pressing harder into his mouth. As if your body begs for more of the sensation. 

“M–Marcus,” you whimper his name as his tongue swirls around the bud, and gives it another suck, toying with it gently between his teeth. “Marcus please!” 

Your mind is becoming a fog, unsure of what you’ve begun to beg for, but the pulsing between your thighs has grown almost painful, and even as Acacius switches to your other breast giving the neglected bud the same attention. 

You squirm, thighs pressing together, another soft moan leaves you as the pressure gives some relief. Acacius pauses in his attention to your breast, his eyes are changed, that umber brown swallowed by the dark of his pupil. He presses kisses to the swell of your breasts, before asking, “What do you need of me my Lady?” 

You whine struggling to understand his question, as your thighs writhe, you bite your lip whimpering. 

“You said it wouldn’t hurt–” 

“Where does it hurt?” His reaction is quick, he returns to your face pressing a kiss to the underside of your chin. “Tell me.” His breath is warm, and smells of the sweet wine he indulged in before all this. 

“B–Between–” it feels foolish to say it, to mention the heat between your legs, the strange throb that’s continued to grow since he began to touch you. 

“Where?” he asks again, another soft kiss to your jaw. 

“Between my legs,” you whine, the writhing of your thighs no longer offering the necessary relief. You feel feverish, unwell, your stomach tightening uncomfortably. Acacius huffs a laugh against your neck, he releases your hands trailing his fingers down your arms. Over your breasts, where he pauses a moment to toy with your nipples once more. 

Your body reacts back bowing, pressing yourself into his palms, Acaius hums appreciatively, before his hands delve lower. Pushing down the rest of your sister’s wedding gown, you’re left bare to him. 

Again the embarrassment of it floods you, but Acaius is quick to stop you, laying on his side, he pulls you against him, one hand cupping your hip, cradling it  between his legs where something rubs against you, your other hand nestled between your bodies, the other splayed to the side finding purchase in the sheets. 

Acacius pauses taking his bottom lip between his teeth whilst considering you. 

“I promise this will make the pain go away,” he whispers against your cheek, and you nod, half mad with the overwhelming sensations devouring every coherent thought. 

“Please.” You whine, and his hand slides between your legs, a noise leaves you that’s closer to a howl than anything. The rough pads of his fingers find your clit, two circle the bud slowly, teasingly. Before pinching it between them, your hips buck into his palm. He groans softly into your hair. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, the sudden onslaught of pleasure leaving you reeling in its wake. 

Only a few garbled pleas, and his name can leave your lips, it’s all your mind can remember to say. As his fingers release your clit, and return to swirling in indiscernible patterns around the sensitive bundle.

It feels like too much, the rough stroke of his finger pad against your clit, your fingers close around his wrist. 

“W–Wait–” your tongue can barely form the words, it’s too much, and if he keeps touching you like this, you fear you’re going to break. A sensation you can’t name growing in your belly, the throb between your legs. The wetness there drips down your thighs, staining the sheets beneath you. 

“T–too much, it’s too much.” Acacius hushes you, the muscles of his wrist flexing against your palm, as he continues his pattern. Every touch sends bolts of lightning up your spine, clouding your thoughts. 

“It’s alright, let it come,” he whispers against your throat, the rasp of his beard adding another feeling that makes your body ache. Muscles bunching, toes curling, your mouth opens in a silent scream as something washes over you. Overwhelms you, your nails dig into his shoulder. He muffles a noise into your collarbone. 

This must be the gods, or death, or–or something. Your body convulses, the throbbing between your legs pulses with every beat of your heart. Eyes rolling in your skull, Acacius groans as you settle. Something hard presses against your hip, but you're still caught in the undertow of whatever spell he’s placed you in. 

“M–Marcus,” you whine, as his finger toys with your clit again, the feeling borders on painful, as the touch causes another throb to race through you. “Wh–what did–” 

“To help with the next part,” he hums, his fingers leave between your legs. He pulls away from you. Body shivering at the loss of his warmth, the solid form of his body against yours, and you feel more exposed than ever before. A deer caught in the line of Diana’s arrow. As those soft umber eyes look over your exposed flesh, pausing at the swell of your breasts heaving with every breath. He pulls instantly at his wedding tunic, shucking the last article of clothing off. 

His skin is a sun kissed tan, and scars lace across the expanse of his flesh. Swords, spears, knives. All manner of brutality has marked him, as your gaze travels lower you stop. The hardness you felt against your hip, long, with a mushroom-like head, a pearl of fluid leaking from the tip. It bobs with his breathing, veins pulse along the shaft, it looks painful. You pull your hazy gaze to meet his, and your breath hitches. 

His eyes gleam in the firelight, he reminds you of the towering Jupiter, or Mars. A god made flesh, and your heart stutters as he kneels on the bed between your legs. That fear returning full force. You stumble, and scramble in the sheets. They stick to your sweat-coated skin, and you can’t escape as he settles over you. 

Caging you beneath his form, you struggle, Acacius traps your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I will go slow,” he whispers, as again, tears brim along your lashes. His thumb rubs the hollow of your cheek, in an attempt to soothe. It doesn’t, as your heartbeat spikes, and your hands go to his chest weakly. His skin is rough, the scars knotted and strange against your fingers. He makes a noise low in his throat as your hands splay over his flesh. 

“But–I thought–” he settles between your thighs, you look into his eyes, pleadingly, a gasp leaves you as his length brushes against your core. He grunts, and his length twitches, you feel it, sudden and foreign. You squirm, and a hand lashes out grabbing your hip to still you. 

“Be still,” he whispers through clenched teeth. It’s a command and you listen, forcing your eyes closed, his hand leaves your hip to trail between your bodies. For a moment you think he only means to pleasure himself, but you tense as the head of his cock brushes against your cunt. 

“Acacius what–” you're silenced by the pain, though his previous ministrations helped, he’s large. The stretch of him entering you burns, your fingernails dig into his flesh, as if that will quell the pain of him entering you. 

You can’t breathe, can’t think, as all your mind can focus on is the stretch of his cock filling you. The way his length spears you, opening you, a soft whine of pain leaves you. Acacius huffs above you, the fingers beside your head curl into the sheets. He leans down forehead against your shoulder. 

“So tight,” he rasps, he almost sounds to be in pain as well. You think for a moment, maybe he’ll stop, that it’s too much for him as well. But he presses on, inch by painful inch he opens your cunt. “I’m sorry.” It’s whispered to the flesh above your heart, his lips brush the skin, sending a jolt of something through you once more. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he settles. You whimper feeling the press of his hips between your own. 

“Acacius, please…” You don’t know what you’re begging for, as the uncomfortable fullness settles. You swear you can feel every part of him, the throb of his cock as it rests heavy and thick in your cunt a warm sort of pain that lingers behind your navel. His cock twitches and you jolt, Acacuis grunts above you, again that hand returns to your hips. 

“Y–You must be still,” he gasps, your fingers flex, you glance down, seeing the red half moons  where your nails dug into his flesh. You silently hope he felt a bit of the pain he put you through. “Tell me when it stops hurting.” 

You glance up, those eyes giving you pause, he’s watching you. Taking in every wince, every hiss of breath as he remains still inside you. For a moment you consider lying, telling him it’s too much, but as you both remain there you feel it. The burn subsides, though the fullness remains. 

You take your lip between your teeth considering him, the greatest General of Rome, waiting for your lead. You shift, and Acacius gasps, your cunt flutters around him. He shudders above you and his length throbs again inside you. 

“D–Don’t–move,” he pants his fist clenching again on your hip, his head lowering to press his forehead to your shoulder again. A stutter of breath against your skin. “Does it still hurt?” 

A whispered plea into your breast, you hesitate to answer him, fearing another onslaught of pain. His voice is soft, as his hips give a subtle thrust, “I swear my lady, I will make sure we both find our pleasures.” 

A choked noise leaves you, as his pelvis grinds against your clit, your cunt walls quiver around him. Acacius gasps, his arm shakes, and you whine. 

“Please–” he grunts, “tell me I can move.” His dark eyes meet yours and your lungs refuse to breathe, your heart stops beating for a moment, and the world slows. His skin shins with a layer of sweat, he’s trapped his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Move,” a whispered acceptance, Acacius takes it with fervor, pulling his hips back, your head falling back into the softness of the sheets. You feel every inch of him, every pulse of his veins as he pulls from your soaked core. 

Acacius curses under his breath as he begins a steady, hard rhythm. Every thrust of his hips sends new shock waves of bliss up your spine. Your cunt flutters around his shaft, with every thrust he seems to plunge deeper. 

Your legs shift, thighs settling on the solid form of his hips, the movement making you tighten. Acacius gasps, you feel it, another pulse of his cock. He grunts a hand moving from beside your head to between your bodies. Fingers finding your clit again, you keen, toes curling as another wave threatens to overwhelm you. 

“Are you close?” He huffs, his hips continue in their thrusting, his fingers dance along your clit. Your eyes can hardly focus on the man straining above you, all you can offer is another high pitched moan, your hips beginning to rise to meet his thrusts. 

Acacius groans again, his arm shaking as he pistons into you with a gratuitous fervor, the sounds of your coupling fill the room. Your skin shines with sweat, as does his, those eyes meet yours as he grits his teeth. 

His fingers press against your clit, and his cock thrusts so deep inside of you that for a moment you see stars. Your body stills, you forget to breathe for a moment, you think a scream of his name leaves you, as your back arches pressing into Acacius who shouts. 

Your cunt quivers around his length, you feel a warmth as his cock throbs inside of you. Both of you remain still, breath returning in soft pants as your vision returns to you. Acaius huffs above you, his hair, once well styled is mussed about his face. But you think distantly that it suits him, he leans down pressing his forehead to your chest. 

For a moment you wonder if you will have to remain like this, until with a slow movement Acacius pulls from you. A whine leaves you, as he pulls from your cunt. 

You lay on the bed, eyes closed, sweat cooling uncomfortably on your skin. None of your muscles wish to work, and you don’t sense Acacius still in the room. 

You’re shocked to feel…disappointment worming its way into your mind, after everything you should be grateful that he’s left you be. 

But you’re surprised again as his footfalls sound, with a tired blink you open your eyes and glance up. Acacius has put on a robe, and he kneels beside the bed with a rag, he takes his time cleaning you. 

It reminds you, for a moment, of the baths in the Temple where you would clean, and help clean other initiates. His hands are careful as he reaches between your thighs, noticing you tense he’s gentle. Careful of your still sensitive core the roughness of the rag makes you whine, hips bucking away from it. His hand steady's you as he works.

The rag cleans away the wetness that drenches your thighs, and butt. He finishes his cleaning, and then moves to lift you from the edge of the bed to the middle, carefully tucking you into the soft sheets. Your body doesn’t respond to anything, not even the want to help him does it respond, until he turns to leave. 

“Marcus,” your voice is soft, unsure, but he stops and turns looking at you, “aren’t you…going to stay?” 

His eyes seem to lighten at the question, he bows his head, “Would you like me to?” 

You nod, and he relaxes moving back to the bed he settles in beside you, careful not to move you too much. You don’t mind it though, you notice that his sheets smell of jasmine. You huddle into the sheets, staring at the general silently. 

And you consider…this marriage my not be one of love…but maybe…of equals.

[eastwindmlk]

A @jilymicrofics for the prompt Retire, Jan 14th

Word count: 838

It was strange, after more than half a century, to be cleaning up her office for the final time. To carefully wrap her trusty tea set in yesterday’s Prophet, sift through the boxes of paperwork in search of what to archive, what to keep and what to finally bin. 

As she sorted through an assortment of old assignments and Christmas cards from a bygone age, Minerva finds herself reminiscing. Once familiar faces and voices curled from the depths of her mind, a fond smile on her face. 

The corners of her lips trembled like her aged hands when her fingers brushed along a script that gave her pause. Because even after all these years, all these hundreds of students, she could still tell whose penmanship this was. 

The large letters crammed onto the parchment, like he knew he was going to run out of space for his sweeping t’s and large loops. The words slanting upwards as if wanting to escape from the paper. 

She did not doubt that, at the time, that was precisely what he’d had on his mind, while stuck doing a detention assignment for her. It was supposed to be an essay, but in true James Potter fashion, he’d ignored the explicit instruction and instead composed a letter. 

Dearest Minerva, 

As we sit across from each other in your office, a pot of lapsang souchong between us, I am aware you are pretending to be cross with me. For the sake of posterity, I will pretend with you. Though we both know that they deserved every miserable second. 

In the future, however, I will strive for a more creative solution. Even if I think turning their belts into snakes was quite a nifty piece of transfiguration. I will let you be the judge of that. Being the expert and all that. 

Speaking of the future, I am supposed to write an essay about where I see myself next year. Which I could have answered effortlessly a fortnight ago. But things changed. Every paper is full of it now. And I refuse to sit idle just because I happened to have been born into a family that fits into their narrow view of our world. 

One year from now, I will be as restless as ever. Using the privilege that comes with my name to help those who cannot help themselves. However, unlike before, I will not humour myself with the delusion that this can be achieved by mere words. 

I will gladly put my wand with my conviction and face whatever is in store beyond the safety of these walls. Together with my friends, we will make a difference. 

My friends and I are talking about getting a place together, somewhere nice and lively. We were hoping to travel, see some of the world. Those plans are on hold, at least for now. Though none of us will say it aloud, we hope that the four of us will be around for it.

So, we spend evenings talking about this trip, imagining places to go and things to do in the hopes that the four of us will get to go.

Hopefully, I will be dating Lily Evans. (Please don’t tell her I said that.) I think she is finally coming round to me. She no longer glares in my direction, though I can still feel her eyes on me sometimes.

Maybe I am crazy, but I can tell it is her just from the way it feels. Her watching me is special somehow. Often I itch to turn to her, to catch her looking. To catch a glimpse of her smile or her fluster. Just the fraction of a moment where I can believe she might actually feel the same way. 

Or maybe not the same way. I would not wish this complete and utter agony on her. If she does come to fall for me, I hope she falls softer. I hope that I am not too blind to see and catch her before the rough landing. 

That is only if I will ever be lucky enough to be enough for her. To have grown into a person, she can depend on rather than the childish prick (I am so sorry, did not mean to curse.) I used to be. 

I am afraid I am running out of space. I could fill several more rolls of parchment (Which is not me asking for more) with hopes and wishes for the year ahead. Some more achievable (Pass my N.E.W.T. s) and some more hopeful (Snog Lily Evans. Again, please don’t tell her I wrote any of this.)

Your favourite student, 

James Potter 

Her fingers crumpled the paper where she gripped it tight, a lump rising in her throat. Her eyes scanned the content of the letter once more before pressing it briefly to her heart before placing it atop her pile of keepsakes. 

Minerva pushed herself to her feet, in dire need of a break and craving a cup of lapsang souchong. 

[tealeavesandtrash]

🎄 Sweet Dreams of Holly and Ribbon: Part 7 - 9 Days Until Christmas 🎄

Read in full || Part 1 || Part 6 || Part 8

“I just don’t understand why I have to dress up as well.” Sirius mutters as he pulls at the collar of his top. It’s a truly horrendous elf outfit - gaudy green and red and completely unnecessary.

“It’s a Potter family tradition,” James replies cheerfully, completely unaware  - or more likely uncaring - of Sirius’ plight. 

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

Sirius glares at James which, given his current get-up, isn’t intimidating at all. Lily’s Mrs Claus costume is understandable with James as Santa (they have always been suckers for matching costumes) and to be fair the dress fits her well and actually looks good, while Harry is the epitome of adorable as he runs around in his reindeer onesie. The three of them would make an annoying adorable family photo.

And then there's Sirius who would currently make a very good Will Ferrel in a knock-off Elf reboot. James is a master of roping people into his schemes which Sirius never had an issue with when they were in school and the schemes were causing as much mayhem as possible. But now those schemes involve Sirius playing dress up while James makes his - incredibly important - debut as Santa Claus for the Christmas Fete. And Sirius had been so close to resisting until James pulled the trump card and announced mournfully that Harry was looking forward to them all matching and it would ruin the Christmas magic if Sirius didn’t at least try. 

So Sirius gets stuck with an hour of elf duties, left alone to manage the queue to Santa’s grotto while Lily does a lap of the stalls with Harry. It’s not the worst thing in the world, the kids seem to love it and it’s certainly a conversation starter for some of the parents, but hat is itchy and bells jangle every time he moves.

When Lily returns she also has Teddy and Remus in tow. Remus just gives him a knowing smirk when he clocks the costume while Lily hands Harry over.

“He only has £5 spending money,” she tells him sternly. “Don’t let him spend it all on sweets and don’t spoil him.”

There’s a lapse of awkward silence after Sirius is relinquished from grotto duty and they set off, the normal buffer of Harry and Teddy absent as the two of them scamper ahead.  The second he’s able, Sirius rips the hat off and shoves it into his jacket pocket.

“So,” Remus says slowly. “Is that better or worse than the jumper?”

“Don’t rub it in,” Sirius groans at the reminder. “I am really sorry about that, I should have apologised sooner.”

Remus eyes him curiously for a minute before shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I know they're hideous. I’m pretty sure James is pandering me by wearing it, but he’s so sincere I can’t tell.”

“Trust me, he genuinely loves it.”

“Well play your cards right and you might get one next year.”

“Is that a threat Mr Lupin?”

“I think that outfit alone is karma enough.”

“Yeah well, I would have been Mrs Claus if Lily had let me.”

Remus is still watching him carefully. “Do you have the legs to pull off that skirt?”

“I know you’re joking Lupin, but I will have you know I used to have a very promising drag career.”

Remus snots, “What happened? Did someone push you down the stairs, ruin your career and take the lead?”

Sirius pauses a moment. “Was that a Showgirls reference?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Remus shrugs with a sly smile. “So who Nomi-ed you?”

Sirius huffs a laugh. “Fucking hell you’re full of surprises aren’t you.”

Remus’ lips quirk up more at the comment, eyebrow raised. 'Language’ he mutters, head jerking slightly to Teddy even though the kid is too wrapped up in the tombola stall to pay attention to their conversation. 

Sirius watches Remus as he gently ushers Teddy along before he spends all his pocket money on the one stall. There’s something about him that Sirius can’t quite figure out, Minerva wasn’t kidding when she said there was more to him than meets the eye. Every time they meet it's like another piece of the puzzle gets unlocked and all Sirius wants to do is find all the pieces and complete the Remus Lupin jigsaw. 

He has to take a couple of strides to catch up with them, who have moved onto a guess-the-number-of-jellybeans-in-the-jar completion. 

“For the record,” he carries on, “it wasn’t anything nearly that dramatic. I just stopped when I joined my dad's company.”

“Well surely the work hours didn’t clash,” Remus says, glancing back over to Sirius. 

“No, but apparently that sort of side gig promotes a bad image of the company.” 

Remus frowns. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Sirius shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“That doesn’t make it okay, Sirius. That’s blatant discrimination.”

“Yeah I know,” Sirius heaves a sigh. “But pick your battles and all that.”

Remus is staring at him intently now like he’s trying to unpick the deeper implication of the words and Sirius has to drop his gaze under the scrutiny that leaves him exposed to the emotional vulnrabilty. Tentatively, Remus reaches out and gives Sirius’ hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry you have to put up with that,” he says quietly enough for only Sirius to hear.

Sirius squeezes back. He swallows thickly, letting their hands stay clasped for a little longer than maybe they should before eventually dropping his hand and crouching down next to Teddy who is staring intently at the large jar of jellybeans. 

“So,” he whispers conspiringly. “How many do you think there are?”

Teddy has a deep-set look of concentration. “Ten thousand,” he says with utmost certainty. 

Sirius lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s a lot. I think I’m going to go with ten thousand and one.”

Teddy giggles. “You can’t guess that, it’s too close to mine!”

“Hm, ten thousand and two?”

Teddy shakes his head again. 

“Ten thousand and three?”

At that Teddy pauses, thinks it over, and gives his nod of agreement. 

He watches with earnest as Sirius carefully fills out their names and guesses on the answer sheet. And, when Remus goes to pay for their entries, Sirius quickly cuts in.  “I’ve got it, half of it’s mine,” he says as he bats Remus’ hand away. 

“I can’t expect you to go around paying for my kid.”

Sirius just shrugs. “It’s fine, any friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine and all that.”

Remus doesn’t argue with that, although Sirius suspects it may be to just avoid causing a scene. Still, he fixes Sirius with a look that he can’t quite decipher as he hands over the money to the stall owner. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle. 

Read in full || Part 1 || Part 6 || Part 8

@annaliza999 @marigold-hills @veganbutterchicken (If you do/dont want to be tagged in the next parts lmk <3)

[teecupangel]

IDEA: Desmond gets turned into a creature of your choosing, just has to be able to “write”. And yknow how we always go with the ‘his writing becomes illegible’ thing? What if all of his writing is unreadable except the word “Desmond”. Drop him in with Ezio and watch the chaos unfold.

I was thinking what creature we should go for and my brain just went ‘screw it, go with Slime Desmond so we don’t have to think if the creature can actually use a quill or if he’s using his hands to write’.

Then my next thought was “Wouldn’t it be funny if Desmond could write ‘Desmond’ but he can only write it in a specific language that Ezio doesn’t know? Like… the Isu script?” but you know what would be funnier?

Desmond had always been an intelligent creature.

He used his strange body structure to make creative shapes that Ezio would be able to decipher and understand. He was the best scout and planning partner to have.

His uncle believes Desmond was a descendant of the slime ‘companion’ the legendary Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad supposed had.

If he was, Ezio could see why everyone believed Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad was the best mentor the Brotherhood ever had.

Desmond made everything so easy that Ezio knew he needed to not depend on him too much. He needed to be able to stay on his own feet. To show that he was a formidable Assassin in his own rights.

That was why he asked Desmond to stay in Monteriggioni while he went to the Vatican to finally confront Rodrigo Borgia.

He focused on the safety of his family, knowing it was Desmond’s soft spot.

And it worked.

Desmond stayed and Ezio went to Rome alone.

And then he heard Minerva’s message.

‘Desmond’.

She specifically said Desmond’s name.

Desmond wasn’t a usual name and…

It was the only ‘word’ Desmond could write.

So when he returned to Monteriggioni, he briskly walked towards Desmond and crouched in front of him. Desmond’s entire body seemed to be vibrating slightly and Ezio pointed at him as he asked in an almost panicky tone, “Desmond?”

Desmond created too slimey appendages and pointed at himself, waving the tentacle-like appendages furiously.

“Desmond!” Ezio repeated and Desmond began to vibrate more noticeably.

“Desmond!” Ezio said cheerfully and Desmond started bouncing in front of him in pure joy.

“Why is my brother repeating Desmond’s name?” Claudia whispered from behind them, looking both confused and tired already.

“I’m not entirely sure…” Mario answered as he rubbed his chin.

“Ah, of course!” Ezio grabbed Desmond midbounce and held him in his arms before turning to face his family and allies. He recounted Minerva’s message and what he had seen, making his allies wear different expressions on their faces.

When he got to the part where Minerva specifically said Desmond’s name, Mario’s eyes widened as he asked, “Nipote, are you saying…”

“Yes.” Ezio raised Desmond to his eye-level as he proclaimed…

“Desmond is a messenger like Minerva! He keeps writing the name Desmond because he is looking for him!”

Desmond’s happy vibrations immediately stopped and then…

WHACK.

A tentacle appendage suddenly appeared from Desmond’s body and smacked Ezio behind the head, making the Assassin yelp in surprise and let go of Desmond.

Desmond quickly hopped away from them and went straight for the secret door that would lead to the Sanctuary below.

“What? What did I do? Was it supposed to be a secret, Desmond?!” Ezio followed the slime, already knowing it would be sulking behind the statue of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

… leaving his family and allies back in the office who stared at the secret entrance.

“…………. well… who’s going to tell him that Desmond is angry because the obvious answer was he’s the Desmond in the message?”

“I will respectfully decline. For one, I don’t want to argue with Ezio about how that idea is foolish as this Desmond is meant to be alive centuries from now to save the world.”

“O dio mio, does that mean our Desmond used to be Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad’s Desmond?! Is Desmond immortal???”

“I’m going to bed. Wake me up once my brother stops being stupid.”

[castkorb]

I made this post a few days ago and was asked for more input on Sting's character in regards to future Rogue so here's some more thoughts:

enjoy <3

Future Rogue explicitly says he killed Sting and took his power but I have my doubts about that:

f!Rogue said to Natsu that in one year from the games Frosch would be killed by Gray and thus his pillar would be gone and he would succumb to the shadow, meaning during Avatar Gray and Rogue would fight.

But Tartaros happened before Avatar, and during this arc we witness Sting and Rogue's first shown improvement after swearing change in the name of Sabertooth, which culminates in both of them killing Jienma and erasing Sabertooth's ugly past for good. also using a unique unison raid that only they can do <3

Which solidifies the fact that Rogue is no longer intimidated by his shadow because, as he said himself, Sting would be able to kill it. He no longer lives haunted by the thoughts of his shadow taking over him because he knows Sting will always be there to protect him.

But this obviously all happened in the good future where the world didn't end and now THIS is where the fun begins.

What happened in the bad future where f!Rogue is from?

If my memory serves correct f!Rogue later revealed that his plan was to open the gate of Eclipse to let dragons from the past in and rule them to overcome Acnologia, who would soon descend and raise the world into chaos.

Now I don't think he gave an exact date as to when would this be but, Acnologia did indeed appear later during Tartaros so we're going to assume that's when the apocalypse started in the bad timeline.

And let's rewind for a sec to what happened in the good timeline's Tartaros: Sting and Rogue helped Fairy Tail, saved Minerva and killed Jienma, which is a direct consequence of what f!Rogue did during Eclipse.

I explain:

What would have happened after the games ended in this bad timeline? Would Sting have accepted to become Sabertooth's new master? His resolution begins when he gives up before Erza and the rest during the final battle but I don't think he really makes up his mind about it until the dragons are attacking the city and he fights to protect his guild, both he and Rogue do.

It's not until both of them are fighting at the end of the world that they realise what made Fairy Tail the strongest guild, and even after having tecnically lost, this battle gave them something f!Rogue probably didn't expect.

It gave them hope.

So can we really assume they would've followed the same path had they not fought the dragons? I find it absolutely marvelous and poetic how f!Rogue, having lost all sense of compassion, hope and having nothing left but rage, wanting to cast his revenge in this new timeline indirectly saved him and his beloved from the horrors he had to endure.

Which brings me back to my first statement. In the bad timeline Sting was left with nothing after the games ended, sure Jienma was gone, he got Lector back and he had Rogue but what was he supossed to do from there on? Without the cataclysm of the Eclipse gate I assume he'd want nothing to do with Sabertooth again, or maybe he did, but then as Tartaros arrived maybe the guild had not yet gone through the experience of truly fighting along your peers to protect them, none of the guilds had. except, yknow, fairy tail but they're literally the mcs here

We can't forget that they were fighting literal demons here, plus Acnologia himself. -Again taking in mind the experience of fighting dragons had also not happened here-

You could also argue that the FACE project the Tartaros gates had planned might've actually worked in this timeline, which would result in over half of the population or more being left without magic to fight, it's understandable the world fell into chaos pretty quickly and a huge number of people died, as we saw in f!Lucy's timeline.

And Sting and Rogue were probably neither mentally nor physically prepared to fight all of this right after the magic games, they didn't have time to bond with their guildmates after Jienma died the same way they did in the good timeline, hell I'd even argue Sting was probably in a worse state because he got his emotional and physical strenght tested back then and there's no way he'd recover from that in such a short time with only Rogue's help.

Throughout the manga we see how Sting is the uplifting half of this duo, he's the one who constantly reassures Rogue and the rest of the guild, he's taken his admiration for Natsu and learned from it in that sense, but is bad future Sting like this? Is he able to smile and shine a path to the people he loves, is he able to fight for them?

In my head f!Rogue didn’t kill Sting because Sting likely gave up fighting or chose to sacrifice himself. that being to give Rogue another chance to live or because he knew one of them would die and he knew he wouldn't be able to live without Rogue is up to interpretation :)

And this proves to me that neither can live without the other, when Sting died f!Rogue either lost his mind and gave into grief not fully, he would after Frosch's death and took his powers in order to survive or to preserve a small part of Sting with him, which makes this shit sadder when his shadow fully takes over him and he's no longer concious of this, using his partner's power, the only power able to guide him and subdue him to kill without remorse.

f!Rogue said that Frosch was his pillar but I refuse to believe Sting is not a pillar for him as well, he may have fully lost against his shadow after losing Frosch but his relationship with Sting having ended simply with a "I killed him amd took his powers" I will not accept, Rogue lost half his heart when Sting died/was killed and Frosh was the last bit of sanity that remained of him after that, which was ultimately but not the only reason he wasn't strong enough to fight his shadow.

As you can see I have a lot to say about this arc and I would've given anything for it to be explored more but alas I've spent the last 6+ years rewritting the entirety of this manga in my head and I love to dive into the possibilities, like what could have happened if Sting had lost Rogue in that future? what happened to the rest of the Sabertooth's members? I can be here all day.

But anyways I feel I'm not good enough at expressing my thoughts in written form but I hope it's understandable enough? I'm growing more confident though so hopefully I can puke more nonsense about this two <33

[ladykf-writes]

New Fic Series: The Goddess' Roulette

Summary: By the time Genesis was healed, the world had been ruined three times over and was barely hanging on. Seeing an opportunity, he offered his life and blessed powers as a WEAPON of the Planet for one chance to change things.  Now he’s on a whirlwind ride across space and time to become a version of himself Minerva believes is capable of doing the job.

Just wanted to let you know, I started the first fic in this series (largely because it was planned and no other fics were cooperating) -- and it's where it all starts, with Genesis and Minerva post-Deepground. This series is going to be fun, but also require some hefty work and returning to old friends media. Not a hardship, but time consuming.

The premise is this: Genesis is willing to give everything to change the fate of Gaia, to do things right, to fix what he sees as his most grievous sins that set off a snowball leading to the massive damages to the Planet. (He's not entirely wrong.)

As far as Minerva is concerned, he's not ready for that yet. He needs time to gain skills and maturity -- and he will gain these by going to other worlds and helping other people. The people include, in fandom order:

DBZ's Son Goku

FF9's Garnet til Alexandros

FF15's Ardyn Izunia

MCU's Tony Stark

Sailor Moon's Usagi Tsukino

SWTOR's Barsen'thor (my player character OC)

Zelda's (OoT) Ganondorf

This isn't the order I'll be starting in, I may actually add / subtract others, too. I'd really love to tuck Threads of Fate (Dewprism) in there, and I'm tempted to add Revan (KOTOR) though I'd also prefer not to double up fandoms. Idk.

For each of these, he has something to give, and something to learn. They'll all be posted as separate fics, of course, but I do advise reading all of them. I mean, come on guys, it's me. If you're here because you like my writing doesn't it stand to reason you'd like my writing in other fandoms? ;)

Anyway after allllllll that, he goes back in time to Gaia to deal not only with ShinRa and its scientists, but with Jenova in a final fic.

It's ambitious. It's a little crazy. It's a series of stories I have wanted to tell for an age, so I will and hopefully some of you will like it. No ETA on arrival, paying more attention to DW and WTT right now... but it's coming, be assured it is coming. (Also it's fair game for asks, I do know enough about it to answer those!)

[saintsenara]

I am living for the rare pair asks and answers!!! Break it down for me (any or all, your choice)!: Viktor Krum and Ron, Snape and McGonagall, Trelawney and Umbridge!

thank you so much for the ask, @nanneramma - three absolutely top-tier choices here.

viktor krum/ron weasley

listen... unrequited kron is quite literally canon. ron wanted krum to sleep in his bed [come on, king, have some chill], kept a little model of him on his bedside table [and then snapped it when krum had the temerity to fancy someone else], and just generally had such little idea about what to do with his hitherto untapped bisexuality that his embarrassing behaviour made everyone within a ten-mile radius profoundly uncomfortable.

do i think krum would be into it...? yes.

as he says to harry at bill and fleur's wedding, one of the perks of being an international quidditch star is the opportunity to nail your fans. finding a fan who's as enthusiastic as ron would undoubtedly be about this scenario is like hitting the jackpot.

minerva mcgonagall/severus snape

a genuine obsession - sustained by every single fic @kellychambliss has ever written about the two.

firstly because i’m an equal-opportunity age-gap fan, and there is far too little older woman/younger man in the fandom, but also because i’m a huge fan of the fanon that snape and mcgonagall are friends prior to dumbledore’s death - i’m not sure it’s canonically plausible, but who gives a fuck - and i like the idea of that blossoming into something more, especially in fics where snape survives the second war. after all, he is a man who definitely needs to be treated quite strictly [and i don’t just mean in the staff room], there's a shared loneliness and grief to them both, they’re intellectual equals despite the age gap, and bickering about quidditch is absolutely fine as a method of foreplay.

plus, you can’t tell me dumbledore’s portrait doesn’t ship it.

sybill trelawney/dolores umbridge

well, they've obviously got the "enemies" part of "enemies-to-lovers" nailed [behave].

but, actually, i'm not sure i back it. the thing that's really interesting about trelawney is that she's clearly very aware that the face she presents to the world is a work of fiction - she knows, absolutely, that she's not really a good seer, that her colleagues think she's weird and off-putting, and so on - and i think that the insecurity she feels about this and the affect it must have on her relationships is a really fascinating thing to work through in both platonic and romantic ships which feature her.

umbridge, on other hand, also lives - essentially - in character at all times, but believes she's entirely right to do so. she's never letting go of her righteousness enough to give a crap about poor sybill, I fear.

[my fave trelawney rare pair? her with rita skeeter, who does have the 'being well aware you're a fraud' vibe. my fave with umbridge? her with prison.]

[night-raven-miscellany]

✨pre ob drabble

What it says on the tin. Note that I actually wrote this before doing my open thread so... Erm... ???? Idk. Have fun tho! I'm going to prep to have asks sent by this weekend hehehe

Casimir had been on his way back to Diasomnia from class, but not before searching for someone to help him study for an exam later in the week. That was when he caught a glimpse of a familiar prefect in the distance, and he quickly hurried over.

“Ah, my dearest vassal, Yuna! It’s good to see you this evening,” Casimir began, but Yuna didn’t seem to acknowledge him. “I was wondering if-“

“Huh? Did you say something?” Yuna asked monotonously. Her eyes seemed more distant than usual, and she generally just seemed more absent than usual.

“Oh! W-well, I was wondering if you’d be willing to join me in the task of-“

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Yuna said. “Just give me a date and time and I’ll be there.”

“But I never even-”

“I’ll be there,” Yuna said, her voice sharp. It sent shivers down Casimir’s spine. “Don’t worry about it.”

Casimir was concerned. He knew Yuna could be a bit standoffish at times, yes, but she was never usually this cold. Not to him, not to anyone.

But recently she had been acting off. This was only one instance of many that he could count as of late. He had noticed how Yuna was beginning to push people away, not just him, but the other first years, as well as her own companions within the Ramshackle dorm: Grim, the Ghosts, and the other student residents who had found themselves there as of late. It was worrying, to say the least.

“Yuna,” Casimir spoke, his voice losing its typical bravado. He was going to let down his guard in an attempt to hopefully coax whatever it was that was troubling Yuna out of her. “You’ve been acting… strange… recently. It’s… making everyone worried… are you okay?”

The sudden question seemed to temporarily snap Yuna from whatever stupor she was in, and she blinked slowly.

“Am I… sorry. I’ve just been dwelling on some things recently and it’s just been… really draining, is all...”

That answer didn’t satisfy Casimir, and he figured that maybe he would try to probe her a bit more.

“Well… why don’t you share with me? We’re friends after all, right?”

Whatever he had just said seemed to be the wrong move. Yuna’s gaze hardened again and she scoffed.

“Friends… hah. I’ve been thinking a lot about that word recently. What does it even mean anymore? Hell, what does any of this mean anymore?”

The gleam in her eye was terrifying. Casimir had never seen anything like it. It was sharp, fierce, hateful. If there really was such a thing as an ‘evil eye’, Casimir was certain that it would look exactly like the look in his friend’s eyes.

“Yuna…” Casimir started, but was quickly cut off by a quick hand in front of his face.

“Don’t.”

Casimir frowned, his wings drooping behind him as he bit his lip. Instead of going to finish his thought, he simply remained silent, watching Yuna as she walked off towards the Ramshackle dorm, like an empty shell of her former self.

He would have to consult someone… anyone. He needed advice, and fast.

------

Friendship. Yuna thought. Why does that even matter anymore? No one here cares about such a thing, and the one who I thought cared about it turned out to be lying to my face my entire life.

She couldn’t explain it, but she felt a deep feeling of betrayal welling up from within her. Minerva has shown up at her door out of nowhere after sending her countless cryptic letters and all but admitting to being the reason she was trapped in this world in the first place.

She felt as though she wasn’t allowed to share her own struggles with anyone, either. After all, all she had done since coming to NRC was fix other people’s problems. She didn’t have time to focus on her own, and no one else did, either. Any time she did, something would happen that would just add to her stress. That, or no one would notice something was off in the first place. It had been weeks since Yuna had started covering her hands and arms to mask the strange, dark markings spreading across her skin, and still no one had mentioned a thing about it.

Sure, Casimir had asked her if she was alright, but he probably had ulterior motives. They typically always do, She reasoned. It never comes from a place of genuine concern.

But even if he didn’t have any sort of ulterior motive, it didn’t matter. Clearly he hadn’t noticed anything else other than her outward demeanor changing. He didn’t really care if something was wrong.

When she returned to her dorm, she did not acknowledge the ghosts attempting to greet her, nor did she acknowledge Grim’s requests for her to slow her pace as he dashed behind her.

Instead, she simply opened the door to the Ramshackle basement and went downstairs, closing and locking the door behind her. F

There was only really one thing she could do about her problems at this point.

She needed to be alone again.

[writingamongther0ses]

Find the Word Tags

@oh-no-another-idea, @winterandwords, and @karkkidoeswriting tagged me to find some words!

Blue- Bride of Loki

The dress was periwinkle, going down to her knees. White stockings went into periwinkle Mary Janes. It was designed to hide as much magma-based skin as possible, excluding her face, her bangs pushed back by the blue ribbon Alpha One had tied into her hair. Matching it was a white ribbon that went tight around her waist and tied into a bow in the back. “Why don’t you show your eyes more?” Alpha asked, hands tight on her shoulders.

Night- No Religion Here

“No, dear one.” Hades said, patting her head. “He has requested to stay with his siblings. He’ll take the night shift during school days and day shifts for the rest of the time.” Made sense. Hades was the only one in the household that actually liked night.

Water- Villains

Sliding into a chair, Minerva made a calm request for some water and a bottle of Merlot. Smoothing down her dress, she managed to casually push the other chair out with one of her heels. The back was caught by a gloved hand.

Uncertain- Cooking for Jasper

Damien blinked, uncertain of how to react, both at Basil using dude and the kid. "Oh, uh... Sorry, kid." He couldn't help it, he just felt bad. He wasn't sure why, but the kid had an air like the entire world was pushing him to the edge.

Joke- Among the Stars

Not for the fact that he had a daughter, no. Her family's running joke was that they could only produce girls. He had fallen in love with the idea. Kate had been…his mother’s name, years before she birthed him, his father long out of the picture.

Blanket- Bride of Loki

Siv blinked dumbly at the white ceiling. What? What had happened? Where was she? Her throat was dry and achy, matching the ache deep in her chest. She raised a hand to her throat. Instead of a thick vine cutting off her air, there were what felt like bandages. They stretched all the way to her collarbone, taped tight over her scar. She pulled her hand away and moved down, feeling what felt like a thick blanket that had been draped under her.

Respect- Undead Flowers

“Doing the same. And fuck, did I respect Marigold.” The woman stopped walking, turning back to stare at the grave. Seemingly sensing her rising question, she explained.“I was an old friend of your mother’s.” Lily felt her eyes grow wide. “I haven’t gotten a chance, so…” She headed back to the grave and she found herself trailing behind. The woman knelt next to the grave, knocking a fist against the stone. “Solid,” she mumbled, seemingly to herself.

Follow- Reporting on Atlantis

PassionZeether (follow): Did not expect Doggerland to blow up VeganIceGirl (follow): What do you mean Atlantis is real?! CharmsMural (follow): Doggerland: *blows up* Archaeologists: *start poking around* Atlanteans: WTF is going on?!

Fight- Treasure Triplets

"Which means you and him fight the same way,” Connor finished, sounding more intrigued than anything else. “And if White Knight is James Glass… Interesting…”

Sight- Bride of Loki

Siv, despite the cold mood she was in, couldn’t help but feel a smile form at the sight of them. The garden was filled with better memories of simpler times. She kept moving though, not wanting to be out in the open for long.

Might- Bride of Loki

"Hang on," Kari said as she shrieked some more, pulling out his scanner. When he looked up, she was trying furiously to cover her chest again and pull herself down at the same time. It might’ve been because it was a mess, but it looked like her hair had poofed out, like what a cat did when it was agitated. "What's that on your chest?"

Tight- Bad End

“Fair enough.” He set the torn branches next to the pack and then stood up straight. He regarded the girl, holding the lantern tight. “Come here.”

I'll tag, with no pressure, @albatris, @ashen-crest, @mxxnlightwriting, @mjparkerwriting, @mjmnorwood,

@dragonfelling, @seastarblue, @illarian-rambling, @raevenlywrites, and @vsnotresponding to find: horror, hope, dream, origin, nation, nut.

[jazzfromthevoid]

What if I was a little girl, who wanted to be cool?

What if, in my desperate attempt at being cool, I imagined myself getting possessed by a demon, and then banishing it in a very cinematic manner?

What if my chosen name was Minerva, and to reflect that I called the demon Athena Pallas?

What if two years passed?

What if I could access different universes now?

What if I accidentally stumbled upon the universe where I did get possessed, and I did banish the demon?

What if the demon spoke to me the second I entered that universe, greeting me as an old friend?

What if it turned out that the demon specifically targets children, getting into their minds and masquerading as their imaginary friends, to steal their life energy that it feeds on?

What if the demon was over three thousand years old?

What if it asked me to let it into my mind, to let it feed on my energy that it didn’t have the chance to eat while it was attached to that me?

What if it turned out we never properly separated the thing that kept it attached to me, and my banishment only meant it roamed the world for two years, hungry and desperate?

What if I took pity?

What if I let it in?

What if it settled in my mind, and we made a truce?

What if, while in my mind, it took a form identical to mine, apart from the eyes - red pupils on purple sclerae, so inhuman that it was almost scary?

What if it said she liked being called Athena Pallas?

What if she stayed in my mind, and I could bring my mental self to her any time I wanted to?

What if she served as my “pocket therapist”, snarky but seemingly well-meaning?

What if she claimed it was only to keep me alive and producing energy for her, but I could see how she lit up every time she saw me, how she was willing to crack jokes at me?

What if I once encountered a monster, who tried to force my mind open and turn me into an empty shell?

What if, when I almost gave in, I felt something spark in my brain, I fainted, and when I came to, there she was - wiping the remains of the monster off the walls of my mind?

What if she smiled wearily, noticing me, and said “Oh, there you are, kiddo”, so genuinely that I was actually inclined to believe she was my friend?

What if one day she decided to play a game on some people, and asked me to lend my body to her for a little (“I’ll return it, don’t worry, kid! I won’t even change it… of course, the eyes will look like mine, but not physically, it’s just what they’re gonna see… I can manipulate their perception, didn’t you know?”)

What if I agreed?

What if we played the game, and it was fun, and when it ended she was genuinely laughing?

What if I was the only victim of hers who knew what she was, and still made her happy?

What if she hugged me?

What if she separated the hug and said that I had given her all the energy she needed from me?

What if she bid me farewell and said I would never see it again?

What if it disappeared, leaving my mind empty?

What if I missed it?

Where do you get the ideas for things like this??? I'm in awe

[magicaleggplant]

extremely belated montreal worlds impressions, part 1

i've been meaning to write this for weeks now, but never found the time for it. finally putting some thoughts down in words before i forget everything.

this post covers the pairs and women's events. part 2 will be ice dance and men (if i ever get around to writing it...) warning for extremely unfocused writing; i have been so stupidly busy lately.

ETA: here is part 2

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

PAIRS:

pleasantly surprised by how much i enjoyed pairs at worlds! the short program was remarkably clean, and while the free was messy, there were still a few bright moments. the level of pairs did decrease after the last olympics, but i think many teams have been gradually building up their technical content and skills, and it's good to see teams coming from many small feds. i have to admit that i did not watch many pairs events this season (it's the first discipline i cut when i don't have time to watch everything), but pairs live is much more fun than pairs on screen. i can appreciate their elements much better. in general, my favorite thing about watching live skating is the sense of speed and scale.

miura/kihara: i was nervous as hell for them but they pulled through! i really didn't know what to expect after all of their injury struggles this season. it wouldn't have surprised me if they didn't make the podium, so i'm thrilled for their silver medal. this was my second time seeing them live and it was clear that they weren't at the top of their game - there were a bunch of little mistakes scattered throughout their programs. the free went much better than i hoped. i'm glad they went back to an old program, but i really wish they had started the season with better programs to begin with... (hear me out: have you considered lori nichol for choreo?) but i think at their best, m/k are still the class of the field. their speed and skating skills really, really stand out when you see them live. i cannot stress enough how fast they are; no other team comes close to their speed. their lifts are also very steady (when ryuichi isn't injured, anyway). i was happy that the audience cheered loudly for them even though they were clearly rooting for deanna and max to win. it was a tough season for them but they are such strong skaters, and i really hope the next season goes better. i'm also really glad they were able to get a medal ceremony do-over after the men's ceremony. they looked happy there.

stellato-dudek/deschamps: the crowd was HYPED for them, i couldn't believe how many people came to watch pairs for them, considering it always gets scheduled in the middle of the week! i'm happy for their win, though there was a little bit of home cooking to help out lol. they have great programs this season. it's a bit of the opposite situation with m/k where i really liked sd/d's programs, but their actual skating, not as much. their lack of speed is really obvious compared to m/k. many of their elements feel like a fight instead of effortless. but i was really impressed with how they held up under the pressure of a home worlds. deanna's determination is amazing.

hase/volodin: ok, count me impressed by this new team. they still have a ways to go in connecting with each other, but their elements are really solid and their skating skills aren't bad, either. technically speaking, i'd put them behind m/k but above sd/d in quality. i enjoyed their short program a lot; the free was a bit of a snooze, imo. minerva is a wonderful pairs skater. i'm looking forward to seeing them improve. that one lift entry they do is SO cool.

other notes:

really enjoyed both of hocke/kunkel's programs. they're fun, i'm a fan now.

also enjoyed golubeva/giotopoulos-moore quite a bit

still can't believe cats won euros

peng/wang's throws were too big for this rink. i was very sad at their placement, but cheng is such a wonderful skater and their choreo was excellent, i especially love their free.

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

WOMEN:

a very up and down worlds after a very inconsistent season. so, more or less as expected.

kaori: her fs was a MOMENT. i think the first time i saw kaori live was...2017 skate america? it was her first senior season, and i remember being so impressed by the lightness of her jumps then. the same is true this time, but her growth has been astounding. kaori was not one of my favorite skaters when she was younger; she absolutely is now. while her free skate this season is not my favorite of hers, i love how her range of expression has expanded. her skating is lush, luxurious, she's learned to take her time with the music. and god, her speed. she makes everything look so easy. i'm so happy i got to see this confident, mature kaori win her third world title. the crowd was losing their shit for her, as they should. also love how she was the team mom at the medal ceremony with the two younger medalists. she's such a great role model.

isabeau: i feel like every time someone talks about her, they have to add the caveat that they hate her jump technique. which, yes, i do agree with that. but from now on i'm just going to talk about the positive aspects of her skating, because i think she deserves more of that. it was my first time seeing her live and i liked her! she's musical, her arm movements are beautiful, and she's not slow at all, except on jump entries. her spins are great when she hits them. i appreciate her a lot more after seeing her live. her reaction after her fs was really cute.

chaeyeon: unexpected medalist but i'm happy for her! she is not my favorite among the top korean women but i'm impressed with her improvement this season. her sp is one of my favorites. that kind of quirky program suits her really well. the fs is a bit muted, but i think she does a good job with it as well. her musicality is the less obvious kind, but it's there. she's gradually growing into her own style.

loena: her sp was a lot of fun, the audience really got into it. she can sell a program, alright. loads of charisma and she skates BIG. the fs...well, to be fair, even without the jump mistakes, i never liked it. i appreciate what loena brings to the women's field, but i hope her programs are better next season. maybe a change in choreographer would be interesting?

haein: sirens is a masterpiece. i'm so glad she could skate it cleanly like that at least once. she has my favorite step sequences in the women's field by far. we'll just ignore everything else in the fs except for the step sequence. i love her so much and i want her to win another world medal someday.

mone: her skating skills are a dream, her overall quality is chef's kiss. but when she's nervous, you can really feel it. she skated like she was terrified in the sp and it showed. it detracted from the performance. i'm glad her fs went better. i hope her confidence improves and that this worlds was a good learning experience for her. i randomly ran into her on the concourse and she signed my japanese flag! she’s so tiny and adorable.

hana: on the other hand, hana does not skate scared. she just goes out and does her thing! but to me her skating still feels a bit "small" at the moment. her lutz-toe technique is terrifying... she can also work on her dance skills a bit more, her overall polish. but i love her programs. i still can't believe she made koo koo fun work. i love that she never does conventional "pretty" programs.

other notes:

amber: love her, but it is what it is. her 3a was excellent.

katia kurakova's fs reaction was a great moment. i like that she's trying different styles of music now, but i think she went a bit too far in the "serious" direction. her natural spark feels too muted.

young you: my darling. we all wanted so badly for her to do well... her sp was wonderful, though.

olga mikutina is becoming a new fave of mine. her skating is powerful and she's a good performer!

also love niina petrokina's powerful skating

[s0phos-writes]

lupin iii - fuck it im writing my own silly movie

so this is a combination of two "ideas" i had - one with a self-insert OC and one of inserting someone else into the story lmao im still on the fence between asking for forgiveness and asking for permission but we're gonna say our piece and see where we land afterwards…

if the person i took inspiration from is reading this and recognizes what im talking about no you dont LOL NO uh you can tell me to take it down or w/e if you think i'm over stepping lol;; ANYWAY NOW THAT THAT'S OUT OF THE WAY

so… i have two OCs… one is the girl of the week (GotW) - a librarian named minnie (short for minerva); the other is the villain - an agent of a secret evil world police (or maybe just CIA lmao) named mal (short for mallory). can you guess which is the self-insert lmaooo

i don't have the like actual plot figured out? like i don't know what the lupgang is after or why the librarian gets involved -- the only clear like scene? i had was the GotW has a van (a book mobile perhaps?) and she helped lupin escape zenigata by hiding him in the van and distracting zenigata with flattery and trash talking lupin lol i thought it was cute

as for the villain… idk i just had the thought (after being inspired by some art) what if zenigata, but worse? like she isn't above harming/maiming or even KILLING to get what she wants (him) IDK MAN its fucked up but i thought it was interesting… like when we meet her, we learn shes been watching lupin for a while , maybe not even a relatively long while but she became obsessed.. Maybe its in the name of the law that she pursues him but she wrestles with the internal struggle of wanting to control him, become him? Break him? I think ultimately destroy him so that she can have peace of mind once again… OH and i also wanted her to be a “Magnificent Bastard” [thanks trope talk!] bc its so fitting and i would love to see her lose her cool i just think that’d be neat…

I also wanted to explore themes of identity like i imagine mal like gets to lupin in the beginning bc he typically has the upper hand in every situation but with this woman, he doesn't? and it shakes him so we get to deal with what does it mean to be "lupin iii"? [basically i want to explore that moment in part V(?) where the bad guy reverse-uno-cards lupin's escape plan-literally explodes him-and he sleeps it off for two days but he's ultimately fine?? like bitch no wtf that was kinda a big deal??? at least i think it should've been]

and of course the secret weapon that lupin has that wins him the day is the power of friendship lmao idk if i should say cuz maybe its a spoiler? but also who cares 1. idk if im even actually going to write this and b. its not like everyone that reads that (if it exists) will see this and be "spoiled" ok so here goes: the real trump card that villain doesnt prepare for will be fujiko bc she expects fujiko to sell him out for one corn chip but surprise ! she doesn't lol so really this is a continued exploration of fujilup lmao cuz im a simple man

[hpsaffics]

Authors are revealed for the HP Saffics Summer Exchange 2023! Check out the 33 fabulous double drabbles on AO3 or below 🏖. Treat giving starts tomorrow and will continue all week (Jul 21-Jul 28)!

1. wrenches, redheads, and romance, oh my! by @leftsidedown [G, Millicent/Ginny]

Ginny's apartment is in need of a little extra love.

2. Deal with the Devil by @storyof-eden [T, Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Narcissa]

Hermione makes a deal in order to save the one she loves.

3. On Display by @sugareey-makes-stuff [E, Katie/Alicia]

Katie tries to be good and lets Alicia watch her.

4. What Would It Take by @herochicklyrrie007 [G, Cho/Luna]

Luna's tired of no one believing she and Cho are more than friends, maybe it's time to do something to show the world how they feel about each other?

5. House Points by @bee-prescott [T, Hermione/Minerva]

A vignette of Minerva and Hermione's life together

6. Chocolate-Stained Fingertips by @slythercrux [G, Hermione/Luna]

After the war, Hermione slowly learns to find beauty in the slow rhythm of her everyday life. (And Luna finds her voice again without needing to utter a single word.)

7. Harpy by @hermioneclone [M, Narcissa/Ginny]

The new owner of the Holyhead Harpies is getting under Ginny's skin.

8. Spare you the pain by @an-organism [G, Millicent/Astoria]

Three days into a stay at St. Mungo's, Astoria wakes to an all-too-familiar face. Millicent wishes the both of them could be anywhere else.

9. the lady of the lake by @nanneramma [M, Giant Squid/Lily]

During a swim, Lily comes into her own.

10. She would’ve made such a lovely bride (what a shame she’s a lesbian) by @caitiewantstobeavadakedavrad [M, Narcissa/Marlene]

Nice dress, princess. Those three simple words destroy Narcissa’s wedding

11. Wrapped in Love by @mugsdontlie [M, Minerva/Pomona]

It’s a cosy late afternoon and Minerva helps Pomona take care of their plants in the greenhouse.

12. toss me, turn me by nocturn [T, Millicent/Pansy]

Waking is always the worst.

13. Never Again by @fiestylilmetalbendingqueen [M, Narcissa/Lily]

Narcissa's holding out hope for a hopeless situation.

14. Trophy by @byrainchance [M, Katie/Angelina]

Katie and Angelina share a post-game celebration.

15. Divination by @leftsidedown [G, Bellatrix/Sybil]

Bellatrix is pregnant, and that means cravings. Good thing her wife's psychic?

16. Interchange by @padaminpadam [T, Fleur/Angelina]

Fleur’s dress was the colour of a ghost, like a hunter wearing the skin of her prey.

17. Work can wait, my love by @cottagewhore [G, Hermione/Narcissa]

Hermione gets sick, luckily Narcissa is there to take care of her

18. Sweat it Out by strawhouses [M, Pansy/Ginny]

Pansy’s a hell of a Keeper, actually; it’s just that Ginny is in a constant state of wanting to mess her up.

19. Words Are All We'll Have by @rhiaflamesong [M, Lavender/Millicent]

Her boldness to act on her feelings was too little, came too late.

20. Beyond The Veil by @miss-grimwood [T, Bellatrix/Lily]

Bellatrix never meant for them to hurt Lily, she just wanted her all for herself.

21. Daffodils Swaying With Pansies by @hadesvampire [T, Narcissa/Pansy]

Narcissa has watched Pansy matured, always spending some time during summer breaks at Malfoy Manor. But she was never caught watching Pansy until this moment.

22. A Most Suitable Suitor by mouldy_voldy [G, Astoria/Pansy]

Astoria has brought home a prospective suitor from a respectable family. Mrs Greengrass has thoughts.

23. Going Beyond by @bleepbloopbotz [T, Hermione/Bellatrix]

Using a time-turner, Bellatrix arrives in the future of Hogwarts and meets a remarkable witch.

24. desperately mine by @fantasyborn [M, Astoria/Daphne]

Her sister may be set to marry Draco Malfoy but Astoria will always belong to Daphne.

25. Whispered Secrets by @digthewriter [T, Tonks/Ginny]

Whispered secrets turn to forbidden love. She holds your hand and you don't want to let go.

26. Flawless by @schmem14 [T, Hermione/Marietta]

Hermione has to work with an old enemy. It doesn't help that she's attracted to the one person who could ruin her career forever.

27. skin so soft by @mrsprobie [G, Hermione/Pansy]

Hermione is on a work trip with Pansy and they have to share a hotel room. The problem? There's only one bed.

28. She Got There First by @sliebman10 [T, Alice/Narcissa]

When Narcissa finds out Voldemort's plans for Alice and Frank, she has to protect her former girlfriend from that fate.

29. comfort in the absence of light by @picklesonjupiter [M, Marlene/Dorcas, Narcissa/Lily]

An attempt at normalcy after the war.

30. the air and lingers (resilience) by @blue--dreaming [T, Astoria/Ginny]

Ginny is curious, and Astoria finds her confidence.

31. I Will Stay If You Dare by @hawksquill [M, Hermione/Tonks]

Sometimes Hermione's friends with benefits arrangement with Tonks feels like the only simple thing in her life. But that's about to change.

32. leaning over the edge by @iamsiriuslyriddikulus [E, Pansy/Ginny]

Back at Hogwarts months after the war, Ginny is haunted by memories and nightmares. Only Pansy can offer relief.

33. dinner on saturday by @silv3reyedstranger [T, Pansy/Ginny]

they've certainly come a long way from being enemies, and things are different now. maybe, just maybe, they're ready for the next step.

Read all double drabbles in the collection on AO3!

[teecupangel]

Ok hear me out: Desmond as one of Ezio’s bastard children. He gets captured or something by whoever and gets forced to use the apple (since Ezio could open the vault because dna or some shit I wasn’t paying attention and by extension Desmond would also be able to)- which leads to the Apple basically sending Desmond into 2012 where he grows up for a while?

So forget Desmond going to the past- let’s send him into the future and warp his entire perspective of time so he just comes back and has NO idea what year it is and doesn’t believe anybody when they tell him when it actually is

I mean, if you really wish to hammer in the angst, you can make Desmond’s time in the future at the start being hopeful, with people helping him because he looked lost. Getting him on his feet and helping him move forward in this strange new world. Desmond was pushed into the future young enough that he has no problem acclimating with everything that was happening with the stubbornness and curiosity of a child but old enough to remember the Borgias and how Cesare taunted him about his father who didn’t even know he existed and would never think to look for him.

Let’s say Desmond is around… 10 or 11 years old when he’s transported in the future. That would make him be born in 1490, during the time a 31st year old Ezio was looking for any clues that would lead him to the Apple. It is during this time that he shared a night with a woman who looked a lot like Cristina.

Too much like Cristina, some may say, to be a coincidence.

Ezio would say that he had too much to drink back then and he had, as shameful at it was, not remembering the night correctly.

We’ll keep it a mystery if her similarity to Cristina was simply a coincidence or if this was the Calculations at play… with something more. (To muddle the waters, you can have other people say that she didn’t look like Cristina at all, if anything, she looked like Sofia… maaaayybbe)

Anyway, the main point is that Desmond returns to the past (or his actual present) on 1503 when Ezio took the Apple from the Borgias.

And this is where the timey-wimey aspect of this entire thing changes…

So we can have:

Desmond’s time is accelerated and he’s been in the future for the past 10+ years. He was living and found small pockets of happiness in the future that he considered returning to the past as… a punishment.

Desmond’s time in the future advances the same time as the past so, to him, 3ish years have passed as well. This would make Desmond around 13~14 years old roughly.

Regardless, Ezio knows Desmond is his son because Leonardo remembers seeing him and hearing Cesare talk about him (this is also the main reason why Ezio was looking for Desmond the entire time he was in Rome as well).

And here’s the kicker:

Desmond isn’t the name given to him by his mother. Desmond Miles is the name he took when he was taken to the future.

And now we have the subplot of Ezio wondering if his son is meant to be the Desmond that Minerva spoke of in the vault. And if he is… did that mean Ezio had to help Desmond return to the future so he can save the world?